#The name gets more unfitting each time I go on there

[yesimwriting]

thinking about bestfriend!felix who's known for being touchy within his social circle, so when he holds your hand as you walk around campus and leaves giggly kisses against your cheek, your jaw, your neck after a few drinks, you think nothing of it.

especially because it comes up in conversation from time to time. everyone that hangs out with him regularly enough has at least one story: felix smoothed circles against my back until i fell asleep on the bathroom floor after a party; he's kissed the top of my head twice; i've never seen him end a hug first.

and you've seen things--at parties, while studying, while out with friends in general. so you genuinely have no reason to think there's anything strange or different about the way he treats you, and neither does anyone else.

at first.

one night, when you're still new enough to felix and his world that you feel extremely out of place at a party that he invited you to, he calls you over to where he and his friends are sitting. you walk over to them, greeting everyone politely before moving to take the available space next to felix.

he grabs your wrist before you can actually sit. you're confused, but given little time to react. felix mumbles an absentminded, "c'mere" before pulling you towards his lap. it's a little flustering, but you sit, because that's just how felix is.

okay. normal enough. conversation continues. no one thinks twice about it. farleigh thinks it's a bit of overkill, but just assumes it's a combination of alcohol and maybe an attempt at laying the groundwork to hook up with you a little later in the night.

then, someone asks about potential vacation plans over break and farleigh brings up an inside joke from the last trip he and felix went on. it's casual, but it's clear that felix is supposed to say something.

farleigh looks over in time to see felix holding one of your hands to his lips. alright. still not the most egregious display of platonic affec--felix takes his time pressing kisses to each of your knuckles.

it's not just the gesture. it's the way felix watches your reaction through his lashes and the amount of care in his focus. as if you're the only one in the room. there's a patience there that's practically devoted.

maybe farleigh had it wrong. he thought you were just one of those platonic friends that felix would cart around for a few months before getting bored. maybe it's more romantic, or at the very least sexual.

then felix's eyebrows draw together. "you're cold." you start to say that you're fine, but before you can get the words out, felix is holding both of your hands between his.

in the beat that it takes farleigh to recover from the slightly nauseating display, the rest of the group has gone quiet. they're all watching felix dote on you like you're the reason for the moon hanging in the sky. annabel whispers something about the "unsuspecting".

farleigh eventually tries again, directly stating felix's name. he finally looks up, a little confused, as if coming out of a trance. farleigh repeats his earlier comment, finally getting a reaction from felix. the group recovers because while the moment had been almost uncomfortably intimate for something so casual, this is far from the first time felix has started (casually) seeing an 'outsider'.

some time passes and you finish your first drink. when felix notices, he asks if you want another. you tell him that you don't mind getting your own, but felix is insistent. you stand so that he can get up.

a part of you wishes you could have found an excuse to go with him. the gesture, in theory, is nice, but without felix's protection, being left with his friends feels like he's thrown you to the wolves.

annabel, a little tipsy and now curious asks, "so, how long have you and felix..." she trails off with a knowing look.

you kind of get what she's implying, but it feels like too random and too unfitting of an assumption to be accurate. "oh, we've been friends since around right after syllabus week, felix ask--"

"no," she shakes her head, "i mean--" she tries again, this time asking with precise language.

your face grows a few degrees warmer. "oh." the slight laugh that follows the syllable is too genuine for it to be you playing coy. "no, it's not--we're friends."

friends. you genuinely believe it. annabel fixes you with a tight lipped smile that makes something in your stomach knot.

you decide that her question must have been prompted by you sitting on felix's lap. you've also heard enough stories about them to assume that they have an on again off again, sort of thing, and because you really don't want to make an enemy of her, you try to justify it, "that was just--you've known him way longer, he's just like that."

oh my god. he's fooled you. completely convinced you that that's normal. before annabel can really react, felix comes back. he hands you your drink and kisses your cheek before sitting down next to you. he doesn't ask you to go back to where you were sitting before, but he does keep a hand on your knee.

----

some bestfriend!reader concepts ft oliver

another bestfriend! felix blurb :)

bestfriend! felix and reader basically dating

[pupkashi]

scars

gojo learns to love the scars on his body

a/n: hi friends ! here is sweet and soft lil something about our favorite white haired sorcerer <33 thank u for the request and i hope u guys enjoy :3

wordcount: 1,547

masterlist

he stares at it every morning. when he pushes his hair back to fix it and put on his blindfold, when he wears a shirt that isn’t his Jujutsu uniform. his eyes seem drawn to the faint scars on his forehead, neck and chest.

they seem jagged and out of place compared to the rest of his smooth and perfect skin, serving as a reminder of his failures and losses.

“g’morning pretty boy,” you mumble, walking past him and sitting on the toilet, too asleep to notice the way satoru jumped, quickly letting his hair fall to cover the scar.

the pet name seems unfitting as his eyes move back to the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. “morning sweets” he finally answers, washing his face and grabbing his toothbrush.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, still as intuitive as ever when it came to your lover.

“‘m fine, just a bit stressed,” a tight lipped smile as he hands you the toothpaste. you don’t believe him, but you decide to hold off until at least after you’ve woken up a bit more.

you don’t say anything as the two of you continue to get ready, letting your gaze linger on satoru. there was nothing you could think of that could’ve made him upset so early

it’s a bit quiet as you both make your way into the living room, flowing easily as you two make breakfast, making each others coffee, with satoru carrying the plates to the table and you the coffees. (the last time he carried the coffees burned his hand and spilled both cups everywhere.)

and as he’s about to head out the door you’re pulling him by his collar, fixing it a bit and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. satoru melts into your touch, hands slipping around your waist and all worries being thrown out the window.

“have a good day angel boy,” you mumble, pressing on last kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“cant be that good if I’m not with you,” he pouts, not bothering to make a motion to leave, not until you’re forcing him out the door as he whines ‘just one more kiss!’

it’s anytime there’s a reflective surface, he’s stealing a glance, making sure his neck is covered. he’s so careful about it, wanting to keep his scars hidden, too ashamed to show them to the world.

“sensei is that a scar on your neck? that’s so cool how’d you get it?!” yuji’s voice is enthusiastic and his eyes are glimmering as he stares up at his teacher.

satoru physically tenses at the acknowledgment of the scar on his neck, quickl flashes of that day coming into his mind. geto, riko, where it all went wrong.

“just a nasty fight is all” he shrugs his shoulders, hoping the younger boy would drop the topic.

“but if you have infinity how’s that happen?” his brows furrowed as satoru tries to calm himself down.

“yuji come look! megumi found something!” nobara calls out, the pink haired boy rushing to her side as making their way to their other friend.

satoru’s hand unconsciously brushes over the raised skin, recalling how he’d tried so hard to get the skin back to normal, begging shoko to help him.

that afternoon he’s wearing a bigger sweater, letting his messy bangs fall over his forehead and trying his best to cover up his neck when he catches you staring at him.

“what?” he asks, a nervous smile on his lips. did you realize how ugly they were? were you finally done calling him pretty?

“nothin’ you just look so pretty” you sigh, smiling as you press a kiss to his cheek, hand reaching to push his bangs out of his eyes. satoru stops you immediately, his much larger hand wrapping around your wrist, eyes wide as he realized what he’d done.

“I’m sorry” he mumbles, hand shaking slightly as he lets go of you, rushing into the restroom and taking deep breaths. you were gonna hate him after that, you would realize how fucked up he was and you were gonna leave him and-

three soft knocks on the door pulls him from his thoughts, “angel boy? you okay?” you sounded worried, and he couldn’t help the tears filling his eyes.

“I’m sorry if i overstepped, i didn’t mean to” your voice smaller, satoru opened the door immediately, almost instantly pulling you into his arms.

“no you didn’t” a shaky breath leaving his lips as he debates on where to go from here. “it’s just, i don’t really like my scars,” he frowns, eyes averting your gaze.

you gently take his hand in yours, leading him back to the couch, watching as he tentatively fiddles with the hem of his sweater, pulling it off of him.

there’s a scar running from his neck down his chest, the skin raised ever so slightly. he shrinks as your eyes land on the skin, clenching his jaw when he lifts his bands and reveals the smaller scar on his forehead to you.

“they ruin everything,” he whispers, watching as your fingers ghost over the skin.

“may i?” you’re looking up at him, and he doesn’t know what the emotions swirling behind your eyes are, but he nods anyway. shivering when your fingers make contact with the skin, trailing down the entire length of it.

he jumps a bit when you place a feathery kiss to the top of the scar, he watches as you continue to kiss down his chest, following until the end of the scar. your hands feel cold compared to his now flushed skin, watching as you look up at him.

you don’t say anything as you cup his face in your hands, pressing a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. “they don’t ruin anything, pretty boy,” your words laced with love.

“but-” he begins, the shake of your head cuts him off, the slight furrow of you brows is enough to have him stay quiet.

“no, i don’t wanna hear it,” you frown, “they don’t make you any less attractive, they don’t make you any less of my pretty boy,” the words comfort him in a way he never thought words could. the warmth blooming in his chest has his eyes watering slightly. “in a way they show how much you’ve grown, what you’ve learned and lost” you begin, your fingers intwined with his, grip tightening a bit.

“you don’t think they look, i don’t know, ugly or out of place?” he pouts, still not daring to look into your eyes.

“don’t be silly angel boy,” you grin, pushing his bangs out of his face, pressing a kiss on his forehead, atop his small scar, “nothing about you could ever be ugly, you’re the prettiest.”

his cheeks are dusted pink as a small giggle slips past his lips, finally meeting your gaze when you gently lift his chin with your index finger.

“but as much as i love you, you smell like sweat,” you scrunch your nose up, “so go shower,” laughing when his jaw drops, letting go of your hand and sniffing himself, scrunching his nose in agreement.

satoru doesn’t hesitate to wrap himself around you, smothering you in a hug, laughing loudly as you struggle to free yourself.

after his shower satoru’s eyes linger on his scars, the dewy mirror distorting his reflection slightly. for the first time since he can remember, satoru doesn’t think about that time when his eyes land on his scars, rather he thinks of the love of his life, the one who comforted him through it all, the one waiting for him now.

a small smile on his lips when you welcome him into bed, clinging to him as soon as he slips under the covers. you pull him close to you, peppering kisses along his jaw, then his cheeks and finally landing on his lips.

“you’re my pretty, angel boy,” you whisper, eyes staring into his cerulean ones, “i don’t want you to ever think otherwise,” pressing one last kiss to his lips before cuddling into his chest.

instead of flinching away, he lets you. he lets himself relax as your hand rests over the scar, only the thin fabric of his t shirt separating your fingers from grazing the skin. he relaxes into your touch, smiling when you press kisses to any open you see, whispering compliments into his ear, comments reserved for only him.

slowly satoru finds himself not even glancing at his scars in the mirror, he no longer tugs at his shirt collars, and he doesn’t dread staring at the mirror. he doesn’t sleep with a shirt anymore, and he walks around shirtless, a boost of confidence shooting through him when he catches you staring.

they no longer feel out of place or ugly. not as you kiss them, each press of your lips more filled with love and tenderness than the last. not as your fingers ghost over them, giggling when he flexed his abs under your touch. not when you accidentally let slip that you think he looks hotter with scars.

not when you’re there to kiss away any insecurities he has, to push away any doubts in his mind with a shower of compliments.

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[shirefantasies]

Sweet Spot- Boromir x Reader

Warnings: teensy bit suggestive

Lie down was the echo of your every thought, even as your gaze was pierced by blue at the lady Galadriel’s stare, even as your heard her whisper into those dark crevasses about the fear and apprehension held deep in your heart, your own personal insecurities amplified by your beloved wizard companion’s fall. If Gandalf had failed, after all, what if you were not enough? Your exhausted mind posed, and if so, would the man you’d come to love on your journey tire of you? Find you short of the glory amidst which he was raised, unfit for great white halls and soaring towers? Perhaps you were simply out of place.

You are exhausted, the Lady of Lórien’s voice echoed once more through your mind with a flutter of her golden lashes, such times change many a thought. Go to him. He will show you every answer and more. Perhaps he shall benefit from your presence as well.

At that, your gaze fell from the Lady’s small smile, drifting out to the smattering of ancient trunks, each one extending to the heavens with its spreading green hands. Steps spiraled up most of them, but your hollow met the earth, carven as it was into the tree’s base.

With one final nod Galadriel’s way, you accepted her wisdom and strode softly across the damp ground and fallen leaves to one of the hollows. To your luck, you had chosen the one in which Boromir reclined, and when he caught sight of you a smile broke across his face, striking some tension out of your muscles with the shock of joy. Extending an arm, Boromir beckoned you closer, and you quickly obeyed, dropping down to his side upon the cushions that filled the hollow.

“A rare luxury,” he commented, wrapping an arm around you the moment you settled into him, your back to his chest, “is this not? Here we are, clean and safe again in a bed no less! Well, a bed of sorts.”

You’d traveled with the man enough to recognize when his tone opened itself up to coloring with false cheer, and despite his warm embrace this was one of those times. His words hardly struck your ears for all your concern.

“What is the matter? Did something happen? Or is it just...everything?" You did not dare speak the wizard's name. Not yet.

"All the words the Lady spoke," Boromir replied, body deflating against yours, "she spoke to me of Gondor falling, about my father, and though she told me not to lose hope, how can I not?"

"Lady Galadriel spoke into the pits of my worry as well," you rotated in his hold to face him properly, his forehead hitting yours immediately, “but she also reminded me that our exhaustion changes many a thought. Whether it is true in your eyes or not, you are a great man and just as well a son. I see it in the way you care for the hobbits and all you meet. You may feel you can get no rest here in these woods, but please try. For me. For Frodo and the others.”

“Your words are true and sweet as your heart. What would I do without you?” Boromir’s breath fanned your face, his arms snaking even further about you as his smile began creeping back.

“They were not my words alone.”

“Oh, but from who else would I have taken them?” Shaking his head and whispering your name, Boromir pressed his lips just beneath your ear. “I shall rest indeed if only you stay here with me. I need you.”

Another kiss, this time down to your collarbone. "Please."

Of course he needn't ask you twice. Swallowing, you simply nodded your response, tilting your head for access as Boromir's lips traveled back up your neck. Minutes passed like moments as your beloved nuzzled you, nose and lips warm against you; he held you there in relish of your skin and you welcomed it even as you teased him.

"Is this what you call a rest?" You breathed, grinning wickedly. "Will you sleep like this, then?"

"Believe me," he smiled, "the feeling of you in my arms is all the rest I could ever desire."

Your heart somehow leapt and quieted at that, all its sinking ceased at words so soothing...and so heating, too. Much as you doubted yourself, it was true that in Boromir's arms you felt to be enough. More than, you reflected as he smoothed your hair and kissed your forehead.

“I confess I lost hope for a moment too,” you told him, “I wondered how I could survive this if Ga- if others could not. How I might live up to all those I love, and yet now I see.”

“What is that? What do you see?” Boromir’s green eyes peered at you intently, pupils wide and shining and brows furrowed slightly in concern.

Smiling softly, you reached up to trace the lines of his cheek with your hand, soft skin and rough stubble alike brushing the back of it.

“We all carry this same burden in one way or the other. And yet when we let ourselves be seen there it goes again. We fall when abiding by our own strength only- I have yours as you have mine.” Your hand slid further down, smoothing the front of Boromir’s tunic and then grasping his.

With that, he brought your joined hands to his lips. “Well said. You see? That is why I love you. Why I need you.”

“And I love you,” you replied breathily between Boromir’s rapid pecks, giggling as he went right back to lavishing attention upon the sweet spot on your neck, “I need you just as well. My captain of the white tower. My strength, my guardian.”

“My heart,” Boromir shot back, stopping his barrage to rest in the crook of your neck and shoulder, finally settling down; his heart began to slow beneath your hand, still firmly grasped in his against his chest, “shall we now rest?”

“We shall,” you replied with a grin, leaning on him and reclining all the way upon the blanketed floor, “sweet dreams, love.”

“Only such now that you are by my side.”

“I will never be found anywhere else,” you whispered, pressing one final kiss to the crown of Boromir’s head, heart soothed as it beat in time with his.

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[auspicioustidings]

Ae Fond Kiss - Part 2

Love in the Guise of Friendship

Summary: 6 months pass and you learn to deal with your grief with help from an unexpected source. Words: 3.2k TWs: allusions to suicidal thoughts

Parts: 1 2 3

13 days after the world ended

“Please take him.”

You were a terrible mother. You couldn’t even hold your own son. You hoped as Joseph cried and Kyle took him and tried to soothe him that someone would come and take the baby away from you. You didn’t deserve to have something so precious when every time you held him you wanted to throw up. A few times you had, putting him down quickly and diving for the toilet. Head leant on the toilet seat, sweaty hair sticking to it and looking at the little thing on the hard tiled floor whose eyes belonged to a spectre, you sometimes wished you would do the right thing and just die already so someone better could take him. 

Kyle had stayed in your flat since the world ended. Johnny’s mother had wanted to and it was a small mercy that she hadn’t pushed. The idea of her being there made you want to lay down and let the earth swallow you up. You hadn’t seen Price although the groceries that arrived every few days had his name next to the order. Nothing at all from Ghost. You wondered if he found you disgusting. Sometimes it felt like he could see right to the heart of you. Sometimes it felt like he had seen the ugliness when your baby had died, and then he had seen it when your husband had died, and now he knew that you were wretched and unfit for love. You half expected him to show up in the night to take Joseph away.

“Come on little man, can’t be giving your mum such a hard time. If this is what you’re like now you’ll drive her right mental when you start teething.”

Fuck. The sob that came out of you was a broken and pathetic thing. It was just that Johnny had said something similar when you had first taken Joseph home. As it did at least five times a day, the grief smothered you so entirely that Kyle had to steer you into the nest of blankets and pillows you had built yourself on the couch. He was staying in the bedroom with Joseph right now. You couldn’t go in there yet. You didn’t know when you would be able to. 

“It’s ok, we’ll try again tomorrow yeah?”

You managed a limp nod as you burrowed into the bedding that had stopped smelling like cosiness among a winter pine forest a week ago. You would try again tomorrow.

–

23 days after the world ended

“She can’t be on her own.”

Simon had hoped that you’d be at least a little better by now. You’d never be ok, he more than anyone understood that, but you would learn to live again. You hadn’t seen him since that horrible night. The 141 never officially attended the family funeral, they had taken a portion of the ashes and held their own memorial for their fallen brother. But Ghost had seen you, had been there in the shadows keeping watch.

He had near threatened to quit if Gaz wasn’t given leave to stay with you. He had asked him to, although he suspected he might have done it anyway. You needed someone and after seeing how you had paled speaking with Johnny’s family he had made arrangements. Mrs MacTavish hadn’t been happy to stay away, but he was blunt when he told her that despite her best intentions, being around Johnny’s family would break you right now. He was steadfast in his belief that there was still enough of you left to break.

“Garrick…”

“Don’t Garrick me Lieutenant. You… you’re better at this kind of thing than I am. Stop being a prat and get over here, she needs you right now.”

“We don’t even like each other.”

“You don’t have to. You understand each other, that’s enough.”

He knew that Gaz was right. If anyone understood this sort of all encompassing grief, it was going to be him. He had already pulled you back from it once before. But it was different this time. This time his own grief was choking him and if he added it to yours he was scared it would kill you both. 

It was selfishness that had kept him away this long. Gaz was grieving too and he had been left with the responsibility of keeping your head above the water in the sea you had made of your sorrow. He had stayed by your side even when his own support system was waiting for him in his London flat. He had met Gaz’s partner a few times, he knew they would be there to soothe him like he needed. But because Ghost was a fucking coward, instead his Seargent (the one he hadn’t let fucking die in his arms) was with you. Only now the cracks were starting to show and Gaz needed to be home before he splintered entirely under the weight of it all. 

“Ghost?”

“Ok. I’ll be round tomorrow.”

–

30 days after the world ended

“You have got to be kidding.”

There was no way that the big scary man in the balaclava, that you still hadn’t seen him without despite your best efforts, was this hopeless at cooking. 

“S’too fucking long! Or your pot isn’t big enough!”

Oh God he sounded so unlike himself right then. Gone was the gruff, smug bastard and in his place was, dare you say, someone embarrassed. And he damn well should be in honesty. What grown man couldn’t even make spaghetti? All the pasta noodles had a section of scorching from where they had been left laying against the edge of the pot. There was a startling sound in the air, one you had forgotten existed. His eyes were wide as it carried through the room. It took you a moment to parse the sound. It was coming from you. You were laughing. 

His wide eyed surprise quickly giving way to a glare over the fact that you would dare laugh at his expense only made you laugh harder, clutching at your stomach with one arm and wiping frantically at your watering eyes with the other. 

“Big scary skull man defeated by Italian food!” you wheezed, your entire body clinging to the feeling of giddy lightness at this moment. “Is that why you wear it? Hiding the mortification from being outdone by” you paused to read the packet and the ridiculousness of it only made you laugh hard enough to be snorting like a pig, “Fedelini number 10!”

Ghost nearly ripped off his balaclava right there and then to prove he was not in fact mortified which would have been a disaster considering his logical brain was certain his cheeks and ears were burning red, but little Joseph rescued him from the further humiliation when he gave a happy gurgle from his high chair that had you scooping him up. You were laughing and cooing at him as you showed him the burnt pasta, telling him about the big scary skull man who was hiding his face for fear of reprisal from every Italian on the planet.

It was the first time you had held him without those storm clouds in your eyes and that awful rigidity from all the tension swimming through you. He was struck terrified for a moment that he would fuck up and this fragile happiness would shatter, but when you turned to him, making fun of him through the baby, his mouth was moving before he could overthink it. 

“Your ma’s a brat Joe. She forgets that I saw her attempt at a birthday cake.”

“It was avant garde! And it was still delicious!” you said with a gasp of outrage that he would dare to bring up the great birthday cake disaster of 2021. 

“You know he only told you that to spare your feelings, right princess?”

You pressed Joseph to your chest with a hand to his ear, feigning blocking him from hearing such slander. 

“This is why the universe messed up your hearing J, to protect you from all these lies coming from casper over here.”

The pasta was thrown out and you ordered in (Italian of course). Now that you could hold Joseph without your gut roiling you found you didn’t want to stop, but you still paused at the bedroom door and passed him off to Ghost instead. He didn’t push it, not tonight, not after you had laughed and held Joe and not drowned at the mention of something Johnny had said. Soon though. He was getting you back into a proper bed soon.

–

2 months after the world ended

Price was staying out of it although taking great amusement in watching it happen (even if his heart felt like it was in a woodchipper watching the biggest two casualties of his war). Joseph in his arms was happy to tug at his beard and not too concerned about the fight happening. 

You were like a fucking feral cat is what Ghost thought as you kicked your legs and battered your fists against his back. He didn’t really think about it when he laid a spank on your ass causing an indignant squawk from you. Maybe if either of you were willing to see one another as anything but enemies it might have caused an entirely different reaction.

“You put me down you fucking animal!”

“Language princess, little ears listening.”

Oh he thought he was hilarious clearly since you both knew Price had turned off Joe’s hearing aid the minute this started kicking off. You thought otherwise. Stupid bonehead didn’t have a funny bone in his body. Prick.

“I’m not bloody sleeping there!”

“Yes you bloody are!”

He had coaxed you into the bedroom over the last few weeks, but despite his efforts you still wouldn’t sleep in the bed and he had completely run out of patience. Compassion had been fully overruled by annoyance. You were an absolute pain in his arse and it was driving him crazy that you would be so stubborn about this. 

Plus he was starting to get antsy about sleeping on the bedroom floor. Since you were on the couch he couldn’t take that, and even though the bed smelled faintly of Gaz which would have been fine, the first time he had laid down in it the bottom pillow still held a whisper of whiskey in front of a fireplace, frosted pine trees perfuming through a window. So he had slept on the floor and not told you. Then he had just sort of kept doing it. 

“Jesus fuck woman!” he hissed when your nails dragged up his back as he crossed the threshold to the bedroom. 

“Should’ve wore your fucking kevlar if you were intending on getting into a fight with me. I’m going to rip you apart casper.”

He laughed as he grabbed your hips and up ended you over his shoulder and onto the bed, an offt coming from you as you bounced. You hadn’t been on this bed since the world ended. The thought of it would floor you. It had taken a monumental effort to even be in the room. Ghost had only convinced you with the fact that Joe slept better with the crib in the bedroom and needed his mum to put him down for naps and sleeps.

Only now all the panic you usually felt in this room, all the horror of the idea of being in this bed, was crushed under the weight of your fury at this idiot’s smug eyes looking down at you. Not on your life would you let him win a fight. Just because he was a lumbering giant with bad taste in masks did not mean he could take you on. So instead of hyperventilating and crawling off the bed to curl up on the floor and cry, you lunged to throttle him. 

When the growling and yelling stopped a minute or so later Price peeked into the room to make sure you hadn’t actually killed one another to find both of you in the bed, your back to Simon’s chest with his legs pinning yours and his arms holding you lightly in a sleeper hold. Not enough to significantly cut off your oxygen, but enough to immobilise you and have you silently simmering with rage at being caught. 

There were red lines down Simon’s arms, claw marks. Your hair was a mess, mussed and wrecked from what must have been a savage wrestling match. Was that…? Price laughed as he bounced Joseph.

“Better hope she isn’t rabid Simon.”

“He started it” you grumbled, maybe a little chagrined now faced with the reality of Captain John Price seeing teeth marks on his soldier’s forearm. 

Joseph perked up and chubby little hands flailed as he reached toward you. Price sat down on the edge of the bed to hand the little bundle of trouble over into your arms, Ghost’s hold loosening as his legs released yours and his arms dropped, hands finding a comfortable position lightly resting on your hips.

Neither of you put any conscious thought into the position, you sat between his legs, almost leant back on his chest with the baby cooing happily in your arms as Ghost waggled his eyebrows over your shoulder. You were both content to just lay all your attention on the most perfect baby to have ever existed and his beautiful eyes. 

The woodchipper whirred violently.

–

4 months after the world ended

You didn’t know what was more startling about the fact that Ghost had just burst into the bathroom with Joseph in his arms, the fact that you were naked in the bath or the fact that you could see Simon Riley. 

He sort of lived with you now, neither of you willing to be the first to voice that you were doing a lot better these days and probably didn’t need someone living in to make sure you didn’t go off the deep end. You thought Kyle was going to say something about it last time he visited, but he seemed to think better of it and kept quiet. 

But in all that time you had never seen him without his mask. You had caught glimpses of a strong jawline when he ate, seen clear eyes when he stopped putting eye black on them a few weeks back. Strangely after wanting to trick him into letting you see him, you had ignored the chance of it a week ago. He had been leaning over the crib and you caught a glimpse of skin that told you he had his balaclava off. Only you didn’t walk in. You don’t know why you didn’t. Instead you quietly left the room again and stood by the wall outside, covering your mouth to smother an unexpected sob when you heard the soft sound of a lullaby being sung.

He was a wild and twisted sort of handsome (not that he hadn’t told you several times he was good looking, for such a large and intimidating man he was actually a bit of an arrogant, smug tosser once you got to know him). The scars didn’t really make you flinch, you were married to Johnny after all and while his face wasn’t too badly marked up outside of a few knicks and small lines he had plenty of gnarled scar tissue around his body. You had been married to him. His face hadn’t been too badly marked.

“Ok, hang on, let’s do it again for mum Joe.”

Simon looked almost crazed as he stuck his tongue out at your son, seemingly not bothered in the slightest that you were still very much completely naked in the bath. You would have screamed at him to get out, only as he started screwing up his nose and crossing his eyes J laughed and any concern about your state of dress or his rude interruption died in your throat. 

“Oh… oh my God! Fuck wait where’s my phone! Can you do it again J? Is Simon’s face funny?” you cooed, nearly sliding and cracking your head open as you rushed to your feet and lunged out of the tub to get your phone from the counter so you could make sure you had video evidence of this moment forever. 

Both an unmasked Simon and a dripping wet and naked you cooed and made silly faces and laughed along for the next 10 minutes before Joseph decided he was well and truly tuckered out from practising his new talent and conked out on Simon’s shoulder. 

Only without the excitement of baby’s first laugh did you both realise the situation and blink in shock at one another. Simon’s eyes flickered briefly over you, and absolutely ass that he was he bit his lip to stifle a laugh.

“Nice piercing.”

Your face blazed red. Simon Riley had no business knowing that you had a barbell through the hood of your clit.

“Cute scars.”

Simon found the tips of his ears warming. You had no business knowing that he had a variety of scars on his face.

As if the spell keeping you both frozen in place broke, you snatched a towel and turned to wrap yourself in it while he turned his back so you couldn’t see his face. Both stood in the bathroom, backs to one another, there was an awkward beat of hesitation with neither of you knowing how to diffuse this situation. 

“I’ll… put him down. I’ll put him down.”

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll just… get dressed.”

“Right.”

You were both very careful to not bring it up again, even when Simon never wore the balaclava around the house after that.

–

6 months after the world ended

It was love in the guise of friendship. Neither of you were stupid enough to acknowledge it. 

–

2 hours after the fuck up of the century

“Permission to speak freely Captain.”

“Granted.”

“I fucking told ye so. Simmons has always been a shitebag, and now he’s fucked us.”

“...I won’t make you stay.”

“Aye, but we both know if I pull out of this now the world gets dirty.”

The despair settled into Price’s bones. John MacTavish should be on his way to exfil right now, but instead was on the other end of a burner phone as Price sat in the helo that wouldn’t be taking his Sergeant home as planned. 

He hated this. He hated holding little Joseph MacTavish knowing that Soap was missing it. He hated looking at you and seeing the way your eyes sometimes glazed, mind drifting to your apparently dead husband. He hated looking at Simon and seeing a man slowly falling in love and drowning in guilt about it.

But he had to get dirty to keep the world clean. 

So they changed the plan. Simmons had well and truly fucked it and now they needed to be in it for the long haul. John MacTavish would stay a dead man. Vladimir Makarov would be given no reason to suspect that his double agent was a triple agent, which meant a comms blackout until Soap was certain beyond doubt that it was time to pull the trigger. Nobody but him, Price and Laswell would ever know.

There was one thing asked of Price and he swore to it. He would do anything in his power to make sure you and Joseph were happy and looked after. He didn’t dare comment when after a moment, Soap added Simon Riley to that small list.

[creativepromptsforwriting]

How to choose a first name

do not repost

First names often stick with someone for their whole life, even though it's becoming more popular to change their first name to reflect their own personality. A name chosen before someone can even develop a personality/is born can lead to names that don't fit a person that well. In fiction, you already know a character's whole personality and can name them accordingly.

First names can be more experimental, since they are freely chosen by the name givers, not like the last names.

Origin

A first name can indicate where a character or more importantly their parents come from. Every country (and each region inside a country) has often used names and therefore names that people would associate with that country and wouldn't think twice if someone from there was named like that.

This does not mean that the name has to be originally from that country. Depending on the country and their population there will be influences from other languages over the years that make names completely normal in a country whose language does not fit that name. It may just be pronounced a bit different.

(Ex. Jacqueline was a very popular name in the 90s in Germany, despite it being hard to spell for German kids, and sounding nothing like German, while at the same time it's pronounced very different from the French or English version to still fit somewhat into the German language)

How to find good names for a specific cultural background

I do not recommend generators. They are fun, but most that I tried for German names gave reasonable last names, but very archaic first names or names that kind of looked German, but did not actually exist. Same with baby name sites. Some of these names don't make any kind of sense.

Better solution: find the Top 100 baby name lists for that specific country, it's more accurate of what is a common name there (but find the ones from the years around where your character is born. Not the most recent ones!)

Living with their first name

Decide if your character is happy with their first name and how they use it. Do they think it fits them? Do they get bullied or do they get put into a box because of it? Do they want to change it or do they only go by their nickname? Does it fit their last name? Who calls them by their first name?

An unfitting name

Here are some examples for why a name might not fit a character that well or why it could be surprising to be named how they are. This can be fun to explore in a story and give some insight into their parents' thought process and motives.

Parents that want their child to assimiliate easier to a new country by giving that child a normal name for that country, but that doesn't fit with their own cutural origin

Parents that want their child to succeed in life by giving them a name that they think is a royal or upper-class name, or a name fit for a celebrity, therefore choosing names that are not common in their own surroundings

The parents subscribe to a lifestyle that fits the name (a very old-fashioned one, or one that seems more free-spirited), even though the nameholder may not fit into that lifestyle

More: How to use nicknames | List of Names

Coming soon: a guide on how to name your characters in general and how to choose a last name specifically

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

[yns-world]

House of The Dragon Reacting to You Being Named Heir

part i of The Heir series

part ii

a/n: fem reader, race not specified, size not specified

In this imagine, your competition is: Rhaenyra, Daemon, Aegon, and Aemond

Context: King Viserys saw all of his potential heirs unfit for one reason or another, therefore he broke tradition and chose to name Lady Y/N of House L/N to create a new dynasty under her name. 

Rhaenyra: She was secretly happy that a different heir was promised so she can breathe easier knowing that the weight isn’t on her. She admired how you ran things, it was similar in thinking to hers. Given her experience with this kind of politics, you honored her as being your Hand, one of the many positions that you had given to women during your reign, and you two were a match made in the First Heaven. There wasn’t a single deal or conflict that you two couldn’t solve. You two were a dangerous duo against your enemies, yet respected. You two were perfect. The chemistry between you was felt at your coronation itself, but neither of you made a move until it was time for you to wed, and you wouldn’t-- for you only had eyes for her. 

Daemon: He was bitter to say the least, but he’ll try to get into your bed to be crowned king. It won’t work, you’ll only use him as a toy and this makes him want to chase you-- no one’s thrown away a Targaryen, least of all him. Eventually his obsession would turn into passion for you. He wants to learn everything about you-- why you became heir, why his brother chose you over him. His curiosity would blossom into love when you two spent more time at council meetings and got to know each other more. At your coronation, he would gift you a dragon egg.

Aegon: He vehemently disapproved of it. He can’t believe he was just tossed to the side like that, especially since he was the one in the running against you. Aegon would grow up to spite you, and even orchestrated a few (failed) assassination attempts, but as he grew into his late-twenties, he realized your rule was indeed permanent and nothing could change this fact. This realization sent him into a spiral, one of which only alcohol could soothe. 

Aemond: You becoming queen or Aegon becoming king all means the same to him. At first he didn’t mind it, just paid his usual manners and went about living. Over time though, he would learn the reasons behind your crowning. Your generosity, your wisdom, and your heart for not just the Seven Kingdoms, but for the world. He would grow to fall in love with your ruling, and soon fall in love with you. 

At the announcement party:

Daemon lifted his goblet to his lips while his eyes stayed glued to the heir apparent-- who was currently accepting gifts and toasts by other powerful Houses of the kingdom. 

“Pathetic. As if it wasn’t bad enough to strip us of power, but to name a girl heir?”

Rhaenyra held her chin high and shoulders back as she took in the same view of the new heir. It made her proud that there would be a queen afterall. 

“Better her than you. All eyes will be watching her now. They won’t pardon her like they have pardoned the Targaryens.” Rhaenyra added.

“On the contrary, sister.” Aemond chipped in, walking towards the two in a calm manner, his hands clasped behind his back. “A new name brings new hope. And new hope means softer hearts.”

Daemon rolled his eyes. “Fantastic. A fairytale princess is to be the protector of the Seven Kingdoms. We’ll surely last.”

Rhaenyra looked back at the new heir sitting on the throne and had a hopeful glint in her eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Uncle. A new dawn washed over King’s Landing.”

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)

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[kydrogendragon]

Five times Dream failed at being a normal human around Hob and the one time Hob learned why (by Fall Out Boy)

Relationship: Dream/Hob Rating: Teen Words: 5641 Warnings: None Ao3 Link

For square A2 of the Dreamling Bingo. Masterlist can be found here.

1

Upon entering the cafe, Dream is met with two realizations. One, this place is, by far, the coziest place with reviews that promise excellent coffee in walking distance of his flat. The second, that Dream is never going to set foot in this building again due to the sheer beauty of the man behind the counter.

The man moves with well-worn grace, pulling shots of espresso and chatting with customers with ease. His longer chestnut hair is pulled up into a quintessential messy bun, a few strands stick out and frame his face from where they escaped confinement. Then, there is his smile, rich and wide, with lines and crows-feet at his eyes that give away how often he uses it. And when his honey eyes swipe across Dream, he can feel his heart stop in his chest.

His body moves on autopilot, queuing up in the ever-growing line as it would be socially unacceptable to leave as soon as one entered, after all. He has at least a handful of people in front of him. It gives him time to gradually coax his brain back into something functional rather than something that only revolves around rapidly growing fantasies of the man whose name he does not even know.

He watches, enraptured, as hands and arms, dusted with lovely dark hair, reaches into the case of pastries and plucks a delicate, golden-brown croissant from the shelf. There is strength in his build, yet tenderness in his touch. This does nothing but fuel images of how this man’s hands might feel upon his own skin instead. How he might wrap Dream tight in his arms, yet cradle his face with the delicacy of a freshly baked pastry.

“—can I get you?”

Dream blinks. He is standing in front of the counter and the man that now occupies every fantasy in his mind stares down at him with a friendly smile. There is a shadow of hair upon his jaw and chin and Dream wonders how it might feel brushed against the side of his face. He takes a breath. Dream was supposed to have more time to pull himself together. He swears there were more people ahead of him, when did they all leave?

He doesn’t even know what he wants. He has been spending far too long gazing at the man, who is even more enticing up close. The soft, golden lighting in the cafe reflects in the depths of his eyes and Dream feels himself falling into the pools of earth and warmth inside of them.

Then the man raises his brows in question and his smile falters. And Dream realizes he has yet to speak and this is where he is supposed to order something rather than gawk at the man like some infatuated teen.

“Black coffee,” he says.

Why the fuck did he say black coffee?

“Sure thing! What size for you?” The smile returns as his hand hovers over the stacks of paper cups of alternating sizes. Dream’s eyes are drawn to the movement like a moth to fire. Not an unfitting metaphor given how he feels he is close to burning up in the man’s presence.

“Medium.”

That is better than him saying large, at least.

“Perfect! I’ll get that right out for you. That’ll be two pounds even.” The man says, fingers lifting a cup off of the stack. His voice is, perhaps, even more charming than the rest of him. It sings, happiness in each note. And perhaps it is simply that the man is excellent at customer service, but Dream likes to believe that it is also just how the man is.

He blinks and fishes through his pockets for the cash to hand over to the man. He sets the coins in his outstretched palms and fails spectacularly at not cataloging how the pads of this man’s fingers feels against his palm.

“Name?”

“Pardon?”

“Name for the order? There’s a few black coffees so far,” the man says with another easy smile.

Again. Why did he order a black coffee? He hates black coffee.

“Dream,” he says and his heart flutters as the man smiles so wide his eyes crinkle.

“Dream,” his voice says, honey sweet. And now Dream knows how his name sounds on the man’s lips. “I like it. Well Dream, should be just a tick and it’ll be ready down at the end!”

Dream nods and slowly makes his way towards the back wall near the end of the counter and takes a breath for the first time since the encounter. His hands shake, even with their placement in the pockets of his trousers. He has, he thinks, not completely ruined that transaction. Not with the way the man smiled at him. He’d even…even said he liked Dream’s name. The only thing that would make it better is if he’d been cognizant enough to catch the man’s name.

Dream plays back the interaction in his mind when he’s dragged out of his thoughts by the sound of his name upon the man’s lips once more. He looks up and sees the man smile as he sets down his drink onto the counter before flitting back towards the nearly empty queue.

He smiles, grabs his drink and takes a sip.

And immediately spits it back into the cup. Why. Why did he order black coffee? Why couldn’t his brain panic and say literally any other drink?

Dream looks up and sees the man looking at him with concern in his eyes.

His blood runs cold as he stares back, wide eyed. Surely the man must hate him now. He’d wasted a perfectly good drink, insulted it even, and insulted him.

Dream rushes out, drink abandoned on the counter.

He can never come back here again.

~~***~~

2

It’s two weeks later before Dream dares to venture back to the White Horse Cafe again. Two weeks too soon, he thinks, as he steps through the doors. This time, for better or worse, there isn’t a line. There are a few patrons scattered in the mismatched, but charming seating. Most with either a book in hand from their own collection or freshly bought from the adjoining book store, or tapping away at laptops or tablets alike.

Dream takes a steady breath in before stepping up to the counter. The man’s back is to him at the moment, arms moving in gentle motions as he works on another’s drink. He takes this time to both mentally prepare himself to order something that’s not black coffee as well as to take in the sight of the man’s form. His clothes are dark this time around. A simple black tee is all that covers his upper body with sleeves loose over his biceps.

His breath hitches as he notices a grouping of small, black lines peaking out from both the collar of the man’s shirt as well as out of the sleeve of his left arm. The man is inked as well. It truly is as if he was plucked straight from Dream’s deepest fantasies. The universe is cruel.

Honey brown eyes meet his and part of Dream prays that he does not recognize him. But of course, he does.

“Hey, good to see you again! Decided to give us another shot?” the man calls to him with a smile. He places a lid on the cup he’d been working on and sets it on the counter before meeting Dream at the register.

“I—” He was unprepared for such a question. He’d prepared himself for what he would drink or what he may eat, yet somehow he hadn’t prepared himself for the man joking around with him. He’d thought he would have been viewed with bare minimum politeness, not…this. “No.”

No?

The man cocks his head. “No?”

“No! I mean—” Dream panics. Nothing good comes from him panicking and yet…“—Yes, just not with regular coffee.”

“Mm, that bad?” There is still a smile on his face. That is a good sign.

“Yes.”

Yes!?

“Ouch, brutal honestly. Refreshing, though. Most people just suffer through it if they don’t like it then tell me it was great. Doesn’t help me out much, though. What didn’t you like about it?” the man laughs. Dream’s eyes dart down away from the cheery gaze that’s aimed at him. Then he spots the mysterious nametag he’d missed the first time.

Hob.

The man’s name is Hob. It is a name he has not heard before, though he is not one to judge. Suddenly, he now has a name to the face that has featured in 65% of his waking thoughts and 90% of his dreaming ones. This is both a curse as well as a blessing.

“Hob,” he whispers. Which only draws the man’s attention to him. And then he panics, yet again. “Black coffee is an excellent choice to establish a baseline of quality for a business. It is hard to achieve a truly exceptional one.”

“And ours definitely didn’t meet your standards, I take it?”

“No.”

Why does he keep talking? It is not as if he is an expert in coffee. He comes more for the rush of sugar rather than caffeine. Now Hob is surely going to think he is some sort of coffee snob like his sister. Why does he do this to himself.

The man taps his fingers on the counter top in thought. “Well, any suggestions on how to improve it? Maybe a better coffee bean distributor or roastery? Or maybe you’ve some good tips on the preparation—”

“There is nothing you could do that would end in a cup of black coffee I would enjoy.” He should never speak again. While he wasn’t incorrect, it is for no fault of Hob’s nor any roastery or individual coffee bean. He is tempted to race out of the building right this instant, especially as the easy smile falls completely from Hob’s face. He has ruined this. He had come back, intending to fix things and he ruined it.

“Right,” Dream tries not to die on the spot at how the cheerful tone in Hob’s voice vanishes. “Well, anything that’s not coffee that I can offer you?”

Dream swallows against the lump in his throat. “A small vanilla latte.”

Hob nods. “Coming right up.”

Dream is never coming back here again.

~~***~~

3

Dream is back at the White Horse Cafe, though not by his own will this time. His sister insisted upon catching up—something he is not disinclined to—but she picked the location this time and chose here, due to it’s proximity to his own flat. Kind of her, in theory, though disastrous in truth. Dream could have, theoretically, asked that they meet elsewhere, but he knows his sister. Telute would not have dropped the subject as to why Dream didn’t want to meet there and then he’d be forced to explain the disaster that is his interactions with Hob. And there is no way that he is doing that. So he steps into the cafe and hopes that his sister is already there.

The cafe is empty of her presence and Dream can feel his shoulders tense. Slowly, he turns his eyes towards the counter and sighs out in relief at the lack of the handsome man. Instead, a woman with short curly hair stands in his place. Dream approaches the counter and manages to order his usual large (not small) caramel (not vanilla) latte from the woman he now knows as Peggy. The drink doesn’t take long and he grabs it from the counter once it’s ready and finds a seat, tucked back into the corner, away from the crowd and view of the register.

He waits, sipping at his drink as he stares at the screen of his phone, waiting for his sister’s arrival. Then, a few minutes later, her face appears beside a text.

Dream, so sry, work got craaazy! Raincheck? <3 — T

He sighs and rests his head against the top of his phone. He has risked yet another terrible incident (far too soon for Hob to forget Dream’s existence, at that) and for nothing.

Dream looks down at his bag and considers, given that his drink is still full and the place is currently Hob-less, that it would, perhaps, be safe to stay here for a time and work. That had been his initial plan when he’d first come here, after all. The atmosphere of a cafe, especially a quaint and quiet one such as this, is unbeatable for his productivity. Words fly from him with ease that he struggles to achieve in many other places. And, as he looks around, there is even an outlet beside this table. Such a perfect opportunity may never present itself again.

So, Dream retrieves his laptop and charger from his bag, plugs himself in, and opens his word document and the words fly.

He’s pulled forth from the world spawned to life with fingers and keyboard by the sound of a mug on his table and a shadow falling across his face. Dream looks up and freezes when he sees familiar chestnut hair and warm eyes.

Hob stands beside him, hands now resting in the back pockets of the denim he wears. His hair is set free, the longer locks falling in front of his face as he smiles. Saliva pools in his mouth (he’ll blame it on the smell of pastries later). Looking up at him at this angle was one he was wholly unprepared for. He has imagined such angles before, though in manners he is certain Hob would ban him from the premise for mentioning aloud. He hates that he knows this knowledge will feature heavily in his imaginings tonight.

"Sorry for interrupting,“ Hob says, nodding towards the newly made drink. ”Just wanted to say I was glad you gave us another shot. And to give you a refill, on the house, as a thanks. I know we're still new so if there's anything you think needs changing, let me know!"

Dream’s gaze finds it cannot move from the sight of Hob standing over him. The way the light shines behind him, casting a near halo around his head. He is bathed in the now late afternoon glow that shines in from the front windows. He is truly beautiful here. The fact that Hob works here is more than enough (if only Dream was capable of being normal then he would be a regular here), so there is very little he could imagine changing.

Though…

The thought of Hob changing, specifically how he would shed his shirt, tacky with sweat built up by working in the heat and steam of pastries and coffee, is one Dream has no problem imagining. How his hair would look splayed out on the dark sheets of Dream’s bed, how his stomach would flex under his hands. How Hob would beg for more as Dream slowly eases his jeans down further and further. Yes…the only things Dream wishes to change is—

“You.”

Fuck.

Hob’s jaw tenses and Dream can watch in real time as his face closes. This smile, this new smile, is one he has witnessed on many underworked retail workers. It is impersonal, disingenuous, and as Desire often describes, dead inside. And Dream has placed it there with his inability to be a functional human.

He is a disgrace.

Dream watches, frozen in place, as Hob simply nods and walks off without another word. If he had not ruined things before, he most certainly has now. No longer would there be a chance to fix things. No longer would he be welcome in these walls. Hob surely thinks Dream hates him. If only he knew…

He slowly turns back towards his laptop. He saves his document, turns it off, and packs his bag. He gives a look back to the offering Hob had given him. It is still warm in the ceramic mug, and wafts with scents of caramel and cinnamon and topped with a dollop of whipped cream. It looks heavenly. Dream’s stomach churns.

He slings his bag over his shoulder and leaves, vowing that this time, he will never return.

~~***~~

4

Dream is beginning to think the universe is out to spite him personally as he stands in line at the White Horse Cafe yet again.

This was, once again, not by his own choice. Rather, Lucienne had insisted upon grabbing a drink during their lunch break and claimed she knew of a lovely spot a few blocks down. By the time they turned on this street, Dream knew where she was taking them, but it was too late to suggest anything else. He spent the few sparse minutes he had left before the walked through the doors to prepare himself.

He determined—given that any other reaction would result in him needing to explain the issue to Lucienne which, like his sister, was unacceptable—that he would simply ignore Hob to the best of his abilities. It was hard, not following the man as he worked with efficiency behind the counter alongside Peggy, but he willed himself to focus on what Lucienne was saying to him instead.

He felt proud for catching 75% of what she said.

But now, they stand just two people away in the queue from the register and Hob has been primarily handling transactions thus far. This means Dream will have to speak with him. And order. And not mess things up yet again. All the while, not cluing Lucienne into his constant internal debate he’s had going since about two blocks down from here.

“—should expect to have a new shipment in by tomorrow. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind dropping by and signing a few copies on the shelves?” Dream blinks away from where his eyes were latched onto the pastry case and definitely not Hob’s backside.

“Mm.”

“You’ve been quieter than you usually are. Are you alright?”

Dream sighs and turns towards his friend. “I am fine, Lucienne. I am simply…tired.”

She gives him a soft smile as she looks up at the sprawling drink board. “Well, caffeine will do you some good, then. What are you getting? My treat as a congratulations for signing that contract.” As much as he does not wish for her to spend her money on him, Dream is glad that this means he will not need to order the drink himself.

“A large caramel latte.” He turns his gaze towards the floor. “Please,” he tacks on to the end.

It does not take them long to reach the front. Hob is there; he hears his voice directed toward Lucienne. Dream purposefully stands off to the side of her and clenches his teeth lest his mouth betray him for a fourth time in front of this man. It is a unique form of torture, forced to listen to the sound of Hob’s voice and knowing he is not allowed to see him. If Hob sees him, if Dream meets his eyes, then he will be forced to see the hatred that surely lies inside. And he cannot handle that. It is bad enough he is here in the cafe, thankfully he has Lucienne as a buffer, but the next time she asks if he wishes for a coffee, he will have to ensure this is not a repeated destination.

The order is complete and Hob directs them towards the counter as usual, though Lucienne steers them towards a table first and Dream’s heart sinks. He should have known they would stay here to drink. Part of him is tempted to ask Lucienne if she would prefer a table outside, though she would see right through him. He has never been one for outdoor dining in any form.

It doesn’t take too long before their drinks are ready. Dream stays seated as Lucienne stands and fetches them. He wants to look up, to see where Hob is, if he’s ignoring Dream’s presence as well, but he knows he shouldn’t. It would only torment them both.

And yet.

Dream looks up from the table to see Hob cheerfully taking orders as if nothing is wrong. And there isn’t, he supposes. There is only something wrong with him. Then Hob looks over. And their eyes meet. And Dream’s breath stops and Hob holds his gaze for seconds longer than normal, but he does not smile. Hob breaks contact first, looking down before turning away.

Dream feels sick. He should not have come. He should have insisted that they meet elsewhere and save Hob the trouble that is Dream’s existence. But all that is left is to get through their time here and then he will leave Hob alone in peace. As he deserves.

~~***~~

5

His sister insists he is an idiot.

This is not news to Dream. He is well aware of his faults and failures as a functioning human, but he tries. And, after listening to her hour lecture followed by constant quips at his expense for the rest of the night, Telute successfully convinces Dream that, at the least, he should go and apologize to Hob so the poor man does not think he is hated for no reason. So, after having sworn he would not go back to the White Horse for the fourth time, he finds himself inside the White Horse yet again.

There is a decent queue already, which surprises him for how late in the evening it is. With a sigh, he lines up, mentally rehearsing the apology he would give Hob. He will explain…well, maybe not why he has been as rude as he has to the man (as that would entail explaining how Hob’s charm and attractiveness has removed any shred of normalcy and logic from Dream’s mind), but he would explain how poor he is with social functions in general. And that, while he does not expect Hob to forgive him, he hopes Hob will understand.

Peggy, he notes, is here again as well as another employee. This place is growing. Or, perhaps, this employee has always been here and this is simply the first time Dream has seen her. It is not as if Dream is a regular, after all. As much as he had initially planned on being such.

The queue moves quickly. Hob handles the register while the other two handle the drinks and food. It is efficient and, much to Dream’s dismay, makes the line move faster than he wishes. Before he knows it, he is standing in front of Hob for the fifth time.

Hob gives him a weak smile—not a standard service smile, nor the bright ones he had first received from the man, but rather something close to pained or tired—and speaks. “What can I get you?”

To which Dream eloquently replies with, “I—your coffee is decent.”

Hob’s lips quiver as the weak smile he’d worn threatens to grow. "Going to attempt a black coffee again? We've changed our distributor since then and lots of people said they like the stuff better.”

"No. The black was disgusting.” Hob's smile falls once more and Dream winces. This is not going as he had planned.

"Right. No black. Your usual then?”

"I…yes…Yes, just the usual.” Dream digs for his card as Hob rings him up. The words he wants to say feel trapped behind his teeth, all mixed up and wrong. He clamps them down tight, afraid of what terrible concoction would be released if he dared speak. All that waiting and rehearsing, nothing but a waste. He cannot even apologize correctly. He should have never listened to his sister. He should have stayed far away from Hob and the White Horse. He does nothing but cause hurt.

When Hob hands him back his card, rather than a polite “thanks” his brain decides to say, “You are not disgusting,” and he proceeds to die inside.

Thankfully, Hob looks more confused instead of being offended further. “...thanks? I think. Um…your order should be ready at the end of the bar here shortly.”

So, Dream goes. He waits diligently for his order. He watches Hob smile and chat with the other customers in line and lets himself pretend that is him that Hob talks to. He watches, and catalogs, and when his drink is ready, he leaves with a final glance behind him at the White Horse.

And then is immediately greeted by the heavens opening up the moment he steps outside the door.

Thunder rolls in the dark clouds up above. Rain slams into the pavement and the chill in the air slices him to the bone. Had this been literally anywhere else, Dream would go back inside and wait the storm out. But he knows he cannot. He should not. So instead, he sits at one of the tables sheltered away from the rain by the canopy above him and sighs. At least his drink is warm.

~~***~~

+1

Hob wipes his hands off on a paper towel and tosses it into the trash. Sweat still gleams on his forehead and his legs ache from standing so long, but he’s glad to finally be off for the day. As much as he enjoys owning this place, it can get really fucking tiring.

He sighs as he exits the employee bathroom and nods towards Peggy and Jo who are currently manning the cafe. He’s grateful that Jo agreed to help part-time. Lately, they’ve been getting busier and busier and as much as Hob loves the extra business, it was getting to the point that he and Peggy couldn’t keep up. Eventually, he predicts, he’ll need to hire someone else full-time. Maybe a designated baker. He’d do it himself, but he loves chatting with the customers too much to give that up. Well, save a few. And save a very specific man who he’d unfortunately seen again today.

Dream.

Hob has no idea what he did to anger the man so much, but the contempt he’s got for Hob is plain to see. Christ, and that glare of his. Downright bone-chilling at times. And he doesn’t treat Peggy that way, either. He’d asked. When Hob had seen him in the line, he was tempted to swap out with Peggy for a bit just so he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever insult the man would spit back at him. But today wasn’t an insult…he didn’t think. He was, apparently, “not disgusting.” Which, maybe for Dream, is a compliment.

With a sigh, Hob steps out and is greeted by both a massive downpour of rain as well as the man that’s been haunting his working life for the past four months. There Dream sits, back turned to the cafe, with his hands curled around his coffee like a life-preserver of warmth in this chilly weather. He’s shaking, even. Christ, the man ordered almost an hour ago. Has he really been here the whole time? Why the hell didn’t he come inside?

He moves before his brain can think and sits himself in the chair across from Dream. He folds his hands atop the table and stares at him. Clearly Dream didn’t hear the door open over the thunder and the rain as his eyes are wide as they stare back. Fuck, he looks cold. There’s barely a hint of red in his face. Was being even in the same building as Hob so terrible?

"Did I do something to you?“ he asks, brows furrowed. ”You keep coming back so clearly it's not the place or the coffee that you hate, it's just me, so…" Hob bites his lower lip and shakes his head as he trails off. He doubts the man would even give him an answer. Probably just huff and ignore him like he had last time he was in.

Instead, Dream flounders, opening and shutting his mouth like a fish out of water. It’s so far from the stiff, almost regal air he always carried with him before that it takes Hob aback. Maybe the man’s brain was going from the chill.

He sighs as his face falls, hiding behind the drink in his hands. Hob has to strain to hear the quiet words over the sound of rain, but he does manage to catch, “It…is not you. I am…bad. With people.“ Hob blinks. “I am…sorry. For the—for everything.”

Suddenly, each past interaction flashes through Hob’s mind with haunting clarity as the missing piece of the puzzle slots into place. Christ, it’s obvious now. The man was clearly just shite at interacting with people. And knowing Hob and his overly personal manner of service, he’d probably made it ten times worse on accident. And then proceeded to worry over it, thinking it was something more personal than it was.

"Fuck,“ he says, his head collapsing into his hands. ”I'm sorry. I just…I've been trying to figure out what it was I did so I wouldn't annoy you in the future. Got so wound up in myself I didn't even think…and now I'm accosting you while you're just trying to enjoy your coffee. Christ, I'm sorry. I'll leave—"

"No!" Hob blinks in surprise. "I mean…I…" Hob raises a brow, but waits, trying to give time for Dream to speak. He gives the man a smile, hoping maybe it’ll ease any fears. Dream takes a breath before speaking again. "I would. Enjoy your company. If—if I have not made you hate me."

Hob chuckles and lets himself relax. "Not at all. Why don't we start over, huh?“ He holds out his hand and smiles. ”Nice to meet you. I'm Robert Gadling. Friends call me Hob."

Dream stares at his outreached hand, but Hob waits and is rewarded by Dream reaching out to shake it in return. “My name is Morpheus Endless. My friends call me Dream.”

“Nice to meet you, Dream.”

“It is nice to meet you as well, Hob.”

“What do you say we go back inside where it’s warm, yeah?”

Dream smiles—actually smiles—and then stands. “I would like that.”

~~***~~

+2

A year later

“Here you go, dove,” Hob says, setting his boyfriend’s favorite mug—black with rainbow speckles like stars—beside his computer, next to the half-eaten pain au chocolate. He’s since perfected the recipe after Dream had, lovingly, critiqued that the croissant suffered from not raising as much as others due to it’s fillings. Now, it’s equally as fluffy (and buttery) and filled with perfectly melted chocolate. They’re his favorites and he’s been told a few times since that they’re the best ones in the neighborhood by other customers. He may or may not have added the croissant and caramel latte to the menu as a “Dream Special” as well, in Dream’s honor. Dream pretends he hates it, but Hob has learned to read his expressions by now.

“Thank you,” Dream says, leaning up for a kiss which Hob indulges him in. It’s rather strange to think that over a year ago, Hob thought Dream had hated him, though he’s since learned that it wasn’t simply Dream’s anxiety with strangers that caused him to be as brusque as he was. No, Hob learned the truth behind their early interactions.

Apparently, and much to Hob’s chagrin, Dream had been too busy drooling over Hob to form any sort of polite response. It was a fact he lorded over his poor boyfriend for a good few weeks after, but he feels he earned it. After all, Dream made him question their interactions for days after each one. He’d earned a bit of retribution.

Now, it’s just a thought that makes him smile every time he catches Dream’s intense gaze on him as he works. And if he wears a bit tighter shirts on warm days, or makes sure to flex his muscles when he knows Dream’s watching, well, it doesn’t hurt anyone, right? And if he enjoys knowing that his boyfriend used to jack off to the idea of kneeling before Hob when he’d brought over that free refill all those months ago because he learned what Hob looked like from that angle, well…okay. Hob’s just a man. He might tease him about that a bit more than Dream really deserves, but it’s incredibly flattering, okay? Can you really blame him?

“How’s the next book going?” Hob asks, peering down (and maybe purposefully pressing his chest against Dream’s ear) at the laptop. Dream’s finger’s twitch above the keys. He hears his lover takes a deep breath and Hob can’t help but smile.

“It…is going well. I am nearly finished with the first round of edits.”

“That’s incredible, love. So proud of you.” Dream hums and leans against Hob. His eyes flutter close and Hob wonders how he manged to get so lucky as to keep this ridiculous creature.

“Does this mean,” Dream says, tilting his head up to peer into Hob’s eyes. “That I have earned a reward?”

Hob smirks. “What kind of reward were you thinking?”

Dream’s eyes narrow in that predatory fashion that gets Hob’s blood racing. “Perhaps…dinner. At the Italian place we like. And then…dessert at home?”

“Mmm, sure you don’t want dessert first?” Hob teases. He watches as Dream’s eyes darken and he thinks to himself that it’s a bloody good thing that he owns the place and can cart Dream away into the storage closet with him because he’s not sure if he’ll make it through his shift.

“Perhaps we can be indulgent and have dessert twice?” He feels Dream’s hand reach up the back of his thigh and squeezes the globe of his arse. Christ, he’s definitely going to need that storage closet.

“For you love? Anything.”

[saltysultry]

Untouched: Part Four

Pastor Lemuel Childs x OC

Synopsis: Pastor Childs has been lost this past year after what his family and the parish went through. But when a young woman comes into town, aimless and without guidance, the Pastor takes it upon himself to be her shepherd, and lead her out of the darkness... And into his arms.

Warnings: older man x young woman, religious exploitation (kinda), religious trauma, smut, masturbation, orgasm denial, religious hypocrisy, angst, OC is a virgin, Pastor Childs is not a great person but he sure is hot as hell, I apologize for any spelling errors

@justme12200 @its-in-the-woods @hiddlebatchedloki @michele131

Word count: 6k

Lemuel drove her home, looking over at Virginia every so often. She seemed content, elated even despite looking exhausted. She was humming along to the radio that was playing Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson, her head filled with nothing but the memory of what just transpired inside the cold church.

Once at her house, Virginia was helped out of the truck and swept into Lemuel’s arms again, carried to her front door where she reached out and unlocked it. Lemuel pushed through until he brought her inside.

“Couch, please.” Virginia said, nodding over to the brown, velvet couch in her living room. 

Lemuel did as instructed and set her gently on it. Virginia reached over to the side table and switched on the lamp, finally lighting up the dark room. Lemuel sat down next to her, letting out a long exhale. He had underestimated what carrying a full grown woman could do to his back.

“What time is it?” She asked him.

Lemuel took a look at his wristwatch, squinting down at it in the dim lamplight. “About ten o’clock.”

“Do you think the others will think…” 

“I’m their pastor, Virginia. Our absence from the celebration wouldn’t be a scandal. You are my woman now.” 

Lemuel smiled at her before leaning in and giving her a kiss. Virginia was surprised, humming as Lemuel’s warm lips pressed against hers. 

“Sister Slaughter was very clear about it with me.” He said when they parted.

“Oh, so she talked with you too?” Virginia pouted.

“Hope’s never really been shy ‘bout her opinions.” Lemuel said. “She’s got a keen eye for when people like each other.”

“She was asking when we were gonna marry.” Virginia giggled.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Lemuel gave her a look.

Virginia scoffed and cupped his cheek. “No offense, Lemuel, but as much as I like you, I think callin you husband would be a little too fast for me.”

“What would ya like to call me?”

Virginia thought about it. To call Lemuel her “boyfriend” would be so… Immature and unfitting. He wasn’t some boy to go on cutesy dates with, though she was sure that Lemuel was planning on dinners, walks by the river, and more so called “punishments.” He was more than her pastor, his role breaching outside the confines of performing sermons and orchestrating baptisms. Their alone time in the church just proved that. And he was clear about his affection towards her.

So, in the plainest of languages… What were they?

“I guess, I’ll just refer to you as ‘sir’ or ‘Pastor.’” Virginia answered. 

“It ain’t a sin to call a pastor by his first name.” Lemuel said. “Especially by the woman he is courting.”

“I’m aware, Lemuel.” Virginia chuckled.

“C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”

He sought to ensure she was properly cared for before eventually leaving to return to Hope Slaughter’s house to retrieve Dilly. He didn’t mean to abandon his ward, but his woman was in need of some aftercare. He helped her into her nightshift, tucked her into bed, setting a glass of cool water on her bedside table. 

He kissed her one last time, instructing her to say her prayers once she was alone. It felt wrong to leave her after what happened that night, but Lemuel couldn’t stay. 

As he turned the ignition in his truck, Lemuel thought over what their days together would be like. He wasn’t one to let himself dream, but Virginia was very much real and very much willing. 

So, what was the harm in picturing her in a white dress, saying the traditional vows, then saying the awaited “I do.” Lemuel had carried her over the threshold into her uncle’s old home, how would it feel to carry her over the threshold into his home? 

She would look beautiful in the morning, waking up next to him with her strawberry blonde hair tousled from sleep as her chest rose and fell with each breath. She would be a sight in his kitchen during the morning, pouring him his coffee while he read one of his many collected books, the house smelling of bacon and dark roast. 

Or Virginia sharing the clawfoot bathtub with him, her body slacked against his as his hands cleaned her-NO! Lemuel chose to ignore those impulses. Despite what happened in the church, the point was not to continue to torture himself with lustful thoughts. He and Virginia had proven themselves capable of resisting temptation.  

Right?

“Fuck…” Lemuel squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back.

He was in need of a cold shower when he returned home later that night. He wrapped his calloused hand around his hard cock and pictured it was Virginia’s mouth. In his mind, she was on her knees before him, dressed in nothing but that silver chain with Christ on the cross. As he pumped himself, biting his lip to stifle the moans, he envisioned Virginia’s soft lips around him, her cheeks hollowing out as she took him in effortlessly, very unlike the virgin she was.

“Virginia…” He rasped and swallowed, his head propped up on his arm against the shower wall as the cold water drenched him. “Virginia…”

She had felt it when she was strewn over Lemuel’s lap. His hardness was poking into her while she was receiving her punishment. Virginia decided not to comment on it out of respect for her pastor, but the feeling lingered in her mind when she lay awake in bed. 

She was conflicted still, even now with the confirmation of their relationship. Lemuel was a proper Pentecostal man with strict views about sex. He had chosen to refrain from giving himself release when they were together in the church.  

Then again, every Christian knows that even the most outwardly chaste believers were perverts in private. Virginia’s own mother, a very prudish woman in theory, was very naughty in practice.

When she was alone in her room, her prayers said and Lemuel gone away, Virginia’s hands found their way between her thighs, desperate to touch the ache that had been burning since she was pulled over his lap. Virginia closed her eyes and breathed steadily through her mouth as she slipped two fingers down her slit, covering them in her wetness. 

As she touched herself, circling her fingers around her swollen clit, Virginia pictured Lemuel’s tongue. Using her other hand, she inserted three fingers and imagined it was Lemuel’s cock, filling her up. 

She imagined they were consummating their marriage, Virginia’s virginity now belonging to her pastor. His age and wisdom enveloping her in security and adoration as he pounded into her, stretching her so she perfectly fit his size. 

“Pastor…” She moaned.

Virginia’s nipples peaked and her toes curled as she felt herself nearing her climax. She shifted around on her back, her ass rubbing against the mattress, reminding her of the bruises he gave her. She missed his hand, strong and calloused with age, marking her and casting out the evil he claimed was inside her. 

“Cast it out!” 

Virginia’s eyes rolled to the back of her head when she brought herself to climax. It was long, warm, and it took the noise out of her throat as her muscles stiffened. She hadn’t come that hard before.

She breathed heavily as she came down from the euphoria, blinking herself back into reality. As she calmed down, her head no longer spinning, Virginia then felt incredibly sick. She pulled her hands away from her pussy and sat up in bed.

Filthy sinner.

Within seconds, Virginia was in her bathroom, quickly turning the faucet in the bathtub until it ran hot water. She shed her nightshift and panties and lowered herself into the tub as it began to fill up. She couldn’t stand the sight of herself, all sticky with her own arousal. She scrubbed herself repeatedly, harshly exfoliating her skin until it was red and burning. 

I deserve this. She thought to herself as she winced from the burning pain. 

Virginia felt incredibly defeated as she sat in the hot water, in pain and in tears. She missed Lemuel but was grateful he wasn’t there to see her, already acting on her lustful impulses right after she atoned. She feared she’ll never be cured of this evil that festered within her no matter how hard Lemuel tried to cast it out of her.

…

“This is delicious, Dilly.” Virginia said.

She had been invited to another dinner at Lemuel’s the next day. Dilly had made a roast with greens for them, along with some blueberry cobbler for dessert. If Lemuel hadn’t already set on making Virginia his woman, she would’ve found a way to befriend Dilly so she could enjoy her cooking. That's what she said to the young girl.

“Thank you, Miss Godwin.” Dilly smiled bashfully. “I can teach you some of my recipes if you want.”

“Would you?” Virginia’s eyes widened. “That’d be wonderful, thank you.”

Lemuel looked at the two young women before him. He was pleased they had gotten along so well. While Virginia was closer in age to Dilly than to himself, he noticed a paternal way in which she doted on the girl. She asked after her days in school, if there were any other kids she liked, what she was mostly excited about after graduation.

“Well, I’s only gonna get my diploma then come work here in town.” Dilly said. “Sister Slaughter needs someone to help her at the station and when she’s too old, she’ll be giving it to me.” 

Virginia frowned. “You’re not going to college?”

“There’s a boy by the name of Luke who’s got his eye set on Dilly.” Lemuel explained, setting his fork down next to his plate. “And Dilly’s takin to him as well.”

Dilly blushed and looked down at her food. Virginia looked between the two and stifled an amused laugh. 

“You’ve got a boy?” 

“He’s really nice.” Dilly shrugged, trying to repress the smile that spread across her face. “And Pastor likes him too.”

“He’s hard working and kind. And a Holy Ghost man, more importantly.” Lemuel said. “You might’ve met him at service, Miss Godwin.” 

Virginia thought back to all the parishioners she met since attending church. She recalled some young faces, though she couldn’t place this Luke character.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve found someone, Dilly. You should have him over here for dinner sometime.” Virginia immediately regretted her words, feeling like she overstepped in Lemuel’s house. 

Lemuel just smiled. “That ain’t a bad idea. We should get to know him better, see what kind of man he’ll be.”

“Yes, Pastor.” Dilly said before returning to her food.

The two women cleared the dinner table and Dilly concerned herself with the dishes while Lemuel brought Virginia to the living room. They sat down next to each other on the couch, at an appropriate distance.

“How’re you feeling?” Lemuel asked.

Virginia glanced over her shoulder towards the kitchen. She hoped the running water and clinking of dishes was enough to cover their voices.

“Fine, thank you Pastor.” She answered quietly.

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout Dilly. She knows we left together during the party.”

“She know ‘bout what you did to me at the church?” Virginia raised her brow.

Lemuel chuckled. “She knows I had to instruct some discipline on a fellow parishioner. The details aren’t important. And, I think it goes without saying that it’d be best if you didn’t go tellin others about what happened.”

Virginia couldn’t help but blush. The idea that anyone would find out about what Lemuel did to her made her stomach cramp with anxiety.

“I didn’t plan on it. I mean, it wasn’t like it was wrong or anything, right?”

“It’s alright, Virginia. What we do is between us and the Lord.” He assured her. Lemuel reached a hand out and lazily played with the end of Virginia’s braid. “Now, I wanted to ask you what you thought about it.”

“What do you mean?” She looked down at his hand, admiring the veins and wrinkles on his knuckles.

“It’s a simple question. What did you think ‘bout your punishment?” He repeated, his expression flat.

Virginia blinked, her brow in a knot. She cleared her throat. “Uh, I…” 

She knew it wouldn’t be right to admit she enjoyed it. The point was to discourage her lustful thoughts and encourage chastity and modesty. To want to do it again meant to express no regret about sinning.

Virginia needed to choose her words carefully.

“I only ask for your honesty.” Lemuel added.

She pressed her lips into a thin line as she tried to piece her words together.

“I think… That it was necessary. It was painful, but also…” she winced at her own words. For someone who had been fantasizing dirty things about her pastor, Virginia sure was bashful.

“Confession is good for the soul, Virginia. Allow yourself to be open to the Lord’s guidance by admitting your true feelings.” He said, his hand traveling further up her braid until he reached her ear, tucking some hair behind it. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

Virginia smiled weakly. “Thing is, Lemuel, I didn’t want you to stop.”

I didn’t want to stop either, Virginia.

He looked into her eyes, waiting for her to continue. Virginia felt incredibly naked sitting there next to him, feeling his eyes on her body. As if his silver tongue wasn’t skillful enough, his hazel irises were weapons of their own.

“And, if I remember correctly… You seemed to enjoy it as well. At least, from what I felt.” She felt hot at the mere memory of the erection in his pants. “I was wondering, after you left… That maybe it was wrong of me to want you to punish me again.”

“Is it wrong to find pleasure in redemption?” Lemuel said.

This confused Virginia. From the way she saw it, Lemuel had taken her across his knee to beat the devil out of her and cast out wickedness. Now, such wickedness was considered a good thing? 

“Virginia, you know that some nuns sew thorns into their habits?” He asked. Virginia shook her head. “They did it to feel closer to Christ. To take pleasure in physical atonement is to take part in a long tradition. In the beginning, it hurts, makes you shudder and invert. But the more you get used to the pain, one can sometimes feel… Elation or satisfaction.”

She remembered the feeling. Her body had transcended and suddenly, she was outside herself, floating in euphoria. 

“The lord rewards his believers when they seek redemption.”

Lemuel’s words were beautiful as they were assuring to Virginia. Lemuel, ever the eloquent pastor. He smiled at her then took her hands in his. 

“Understand me, my girl, my aim ain’t to make you feel guilty ‘bout your sins. We all carry our own crosses, think impure thoughts, or harm others, whether voluntarily or involuntarily.” Lemuel’s voice fell, his hazel eyes averting Virginia. “I have my own demons to cast out too.”

“That’s very nice of you to say, sir. But… If I want for it to happen again, wouldn’t that mean I would want to indulge myself again? To want to sin?” She asked.

Lemuel sat with that inquiry for a moment, his brow wrinkled and lips almost pursed in thought.

“Do you seek to disobey the Lord?” He asked her earnestly.

Virginia shook her head. “I never mean to.”

He could see the desperation in her sad eyes. Virginia very much wanted to be good. Lemuel wished he could wrap her up in his arms and hold her tight, keep her away from all temptation and evil.

“You said that whenever your mother beat you, it made you feel like nothing you did was right.” Lemuel recalled. Virginia didn’t understand the sudden change in topic. “When I took you across my knee, I didn’t do so with the intent of continuously making you feel inadequate. You’re a good woman, Virginia. A Holy Ghost woman now, too. And if I may be frank, darling, I’m getting a little tired of this discussion.”

“What do you mean?” She blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Goodness, no, Virginia.” 

For a while, Lemuel had felt pity for Virginia. She wasn’t raised in love, she had been uncertain in her faith, and she always seemed to believe she was doing something untoward or incorrect. Virginia had her strong moments, it was the facade she put on when meeting Lemuel on the side of the road. A wall of protection she had built up over the years after being abandoned and let down over and over again.

Lemuel saw now that his task was to break it down. Make her his faithful woman and keep her pure.

“Do you trust me, Virginia?”

There was no hesitation. “Yessir.”

“Then trust I know what’s best. ” He concluded. Lemuel looked intently in Virginia’s eyes, his brow wrinkled. 

Virginia smiled softly. She very much wanted to surrender herself to him. After years of depending on no one else but herself, she imagined it must have felt so freeing to just… Let someone else lead her. Underneath her closed-off exterior was a lonely woman always worrying about herself, about what God expected of her, and what others thought of her.

Lemuel expected some inner turmoil within Virginia. There would always be that voice in the back of her mind, telling her to rebel and disobey. She was human and to worship the Lord meant to limit oneself. She had been off the path for years now and even with her now converted, she still had a long road ahead to navigate. 

She had her share of serpents rattling in her heart. But Lemuel was a snake tamer, and a young woman like Virginia was no challenge compared to a venomous snake.

“Now, tonight, when you say your prayers, I want you to remember how you felt when you allowed yourself to let go.”

Let the Lord fill you with his light.

Virginia longed for that closeness. She wanted Lemuel to pull her onto him, to bring her to that same euphoria that made her weak and willing. If Dilly hadn’t been nearby, she would’ve tried to initiate another punishment. 

“I will, Pastor.” She said. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say-”

“I’m heading to bed, sir!” Dilly called from the kitchen. “Dishes are all done!”

“G’night, Dilly! Thanks again for an amazing dinner!” He responded casually before the sound of Dilly ascending the stairs echoed down the hall. “You were saying?”

“What I wanted to say was that I’ll miss you tonight.” Virginia said, averting her eyes bashfully. “Every night I… No, I shouldn’t say it.”

“Speak freely, Virginia.” He ordered gently. “You can tell your pastor anything.”

She swallowed, lowering her head. “It’s a bad, bad thing to do. I know that. But I can’t help it.”

“Do what?” Lemuel pressed. “C’mon, you’re a big girl. Speak in plain language.”

She fidgeted in her seat, wishing she hadn’t even brought it up in the first place. 

“After you helped me to bed… I-I touched myself.” Virginia spoke slowly. “I wanted more but you were gone and then I just… I know it’s wrong.”

His expression remained neutral, which instilled further anxiety in her. 

“And I prayed for forgiveness afterwards. I won’t do it again, I promise-”

“I’ll drive you home.” Lemuel interrupted, suddenly standing from the couch. He  extended his hand to her, helping her up. “C’mon, it’s already late.”

“But, don’t you-”

“Don’t argue. Just come on.” 

Virginia closed her mouth and inhaled through her nose sharply. Already, she was struggling with taking orders from her pastor. But, he knew what was best and she would have to get used to it. So, she smiled and nodded.

“Yessir.”

“There’s a good girl.” He kissed her cheek and escorted her to his truck.

…

To say she was frustrated would’ve been an understatement. Virginia very much wanted to be good. She had done well so far in life, keeping herself pure and never throwing herself at any man. But the more time she spent with Lemuel and couldn’t so much as get to kiss him the way she wanted to kiss him made her all the more wanton. She would focus on the lines on his face and neck, the gray in his hair, the veins on his hands, or the warmth of his hazel irises whenever he looked at her and she’d be totally his.

Lemuel, on the other hand, was too busy trying to heed the morals he’d be preaching about. About chastity and restraint. Virginia wasn’t the only one with desires. He too wanted to give into his urges and ruin her. He’d relish in watching her be broken. He pictured her face many times at night, imagining her discomfort giving way to pleasure as he fucked her.

When he brought her home, just the two of them alone together, Lemuel had to keep reminding himself that the point of being her guide was to retain a certain image. He cannot let himself falter and just give into whatever they both wanted. He was supposed to be her strength. And so, he felt it necessary to remind her.

“Is this goodnight, Pastor?” Virginia asked him when she fished for her house key in her coat pockets. 

“No, it ain’t.” He said quietly. “I didn’t want to disturb Dilly.”

Virginia paused, stopping herself from unlocking the door. “Why?”

“Let’s get inside first.”

She felt the familiar ache of anticipation from when Lemuel took her to the church. Was this going to be another demonstration? Was he planning on punishing her?

Virginia’s face grew warm as she pushed inside with Lemuel following close after. Once she tossed the keys onto the dish on the nearby hall table, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her back against him, her back flush against his chest.

“What’re you-”

“I’d be quiet if I were you, sweetheart.” He whispered, his voice low and bordering on threatening. Virginia bit her lip and shuddered against him. Lemuel’s lips were hovering just above the shell of her ear, his breath almost tickling the side of her neck. “First let me tell you something. Thank you. Thank you for being honest with me.”

He kissed her hair before brushing it away to kiss at her neck. Virginia whined from the touch, wanting to break free of Lemuel’s hold and pounce him. 

“None of that, now.” He said with a thick drawl. “Since you seem to be having trouble keeping your hands where they’re supposed to be, I’ll have to teach you the importance of restraint.”

Another lesson. Virginia smiled excitedly but quickly repressed her obvious eagerness when Lemuel turned her to face him. He could see that daring look in her eyes, practically begging him to give her all he got. 

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear with you, my girl. Feeling the lord’s light when redeeming yourself of your sins is one thing. But to then immediately seek out the same pleasure you was atoning for afterwards? I’d say that is very sinful.”

Virginia wanted to protest, to explain herself. Lemuel could see it on her face as she tried to hold her tongue.

“What?” He asked, squinting his eyes.

“I knew it was wrong, Pastor. I just thought… I didn’t know what I was thinking.”

“You weren’t thinking, Virginia.” Lemuel said harshly. “You should’ve called me.”

“I was afraid of disappointing you.” She lowered her eyes.

Lemuel tilted his head and caressed her cheek. He could see the guilt in her moistened eyes. She almost recoiled from his touch, though not because she feared him, but because she deemed herself undeserving of his affection.

“Oh sweetheart.” He told her, the pad of his thumb brushing against her warm cheek. “Keepin these things from me will only hurt you. Do you remember what I said ‘bout redemption?”

“Seeking it is what separates us from the damned.” Virginia recited. 

“Yes. But holding ourselves accountable by sticking to what we purvey is ‘nother thing. We can’t just ask the Lord to forgive us for our sins if we’s just gon to commit ‘em again and again.” Lemuel said. 

He could feel his stomach tightening as he lectured Virginia. Knowing his own hands had done many dirty things while thinking of this young woman… He would surely suffer the snake’s venom. The hypocrisy was burning white-hot within his chest. Perhaps it was the flames of hellfire rising up within him, reminding him where he was destined should he continue this charade. 

“What must I do, then?” Virginia looked up at him with the same hopeful, big eyes that begged him to tell her what to do. To make it all okay again. 

Lemuel couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and kissed her, his mouth open and hungry as he claimed her. She melted against him, her body weak and mind slowly growing numb. Just as she feared, Lemuel could say anything and make her his slave. A dangerous hypocrite with a silver tongue and a gentle, deceiving smile.

Eventually, he pulled apart from Virginia, their foreheads resting against each other. “Here’s what I’m gonna do to you, young lady.” He breathed. “I’m gonna take you to your bed, you’re gonna show me what you did, and then you’ll atone.”

Virginia didn’t even question the logic of this so-called punishment. She just nodded, whispered “yessir” and led him to her bedroom by the hand. 

Lemuel stood at the edge of her bed while Virginia stripped down to her bra and underwear. She did so slowly, keeping her eyes down to the floor while her pastor watched with folded arms and closed lips. His hazel eyes, usually warm and inviting, were now cold and observant. 

Virginia clutched at the silver Jesus that hung between her breasts, silently praying as she then climbed into bed. 

“Show me what you did.” Lemuel instructed.

Her face flushed, Virginia laid back and spread her legs before him. Lemuel remained still at the foot of her bed, his head slightly tilted to the side as he observed. She bent her knees and adjusted her hips, trying to fight the urge to cover herself and shy away. 

First, she sat up for a moment to remove her bra. Once unhooked, she slowly slipped down the straps then let it fall off her shoulders, exposing her mature breasts, which were pale with small blue veins. She then tossed the bra to the side, letting it slip off the bed. Lemuel’s gaze didn’t falter, his violating gaze sending shivers up her spine. 

“Keep going.” He said quietly. 

From how composed he appeared to be, Virginia couldn’t help but wonder if he had done this sort of instruction before? Surely not, unless other parishioners also came to him when they felt guilty after they masturbated. 

She inhaled through her nose then laid back. Raising her hips off the bed, she curled her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and slid them down from her hips to her thighs to her ankles, until they came completely off and fell to the floor, off the edge of the bed at Lemuel’s feet.

Braving it, she then parted her bent legs again, with Lemuel between them in perfect view. For a second, Virginia could’ve sworn she saw his nostrils flare and the corner of his mouth twitch. And from how his pants suddenly looked tight at the crotch, she realized this wasn’t just a lesson about restraint for herself but for him as well.

He said he had his own demons to cast out, didn’t he…

“Beautiful.” Lemuel whispered so quietly, Virginia almost didn’t hear it. Clearing his throat, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So soft…”

Virginia was beginning to ache as she ran her hands up and down her thighs. Lemuel pressed his lips together but his breaths were deep and short. He was holding back from reaching out and touching her himself, his hands gripping at his crossed arms. 

“What do you picture when you’re heated, hm?” Lemuel asked.

With her hooded eyes bashfully looking up at him, Virginia lulled her head and bit back an uncomfortable smile. “Your hands.”

“My hands?”

“When you spanked me.” She added. “How powerless I felt over your lap.”

“You were such a good girl too. A shame you then sullied your own redemption by actin like a slut.” Lemuel said almost sneeringly, though his tone was more humorous. What a tease he could be sometimes. 

Virginia found she liked it when her pastor called her that. A slut. Even if it was a mean word and certainly should insult any woman to be referred to as such. But hearing Lemuel’s low, intimidating voice say such a thing only made her ache harder.

“Tell me more.” Lemuel urged.

Virginia’s hand ventured between her thighs, the tips of her fingers just barely caressing her vulva. She very much wanted more, but didn’t want to rush it. Like Lemuel said, this was all about restraint.

“When I touched myself, I thought about your voice.”

“And what would I say?”

“Tell me I was bein’ bad. You’d pray for me. Then, you’d tell me what you’d do to me.” 

Lemuel sucked in a breath. Virginia was working him up. Perhaps she had power within her words too.

“So, if I were to say those things…” 

Without warning, Lemuel grabbed Virginia’s ankles and yanked her to the edge of the bed until her legs dangled off the edge. She gasped, her eyes widening in surprise as her pastor leaned over her, his hands on either side of her head.

“If I were to tell you that… I’d take you across my knee, use my hand on you until you cried for me to stop then fuck you mercilessly like the whore you are…” He whispered, his lips hovering above her own.

Virginia slipped two of her own fingers into her slit, the tips of her fingers slick with her arousal. She moaned as she then swirled her wet fingers around her aching clit. Lemuel looked down at her hands, admiring how slowly she worked them on herself. 

“That’s it. Good girl.” 

He leaned back up then sank to his knees at the edge of the bed. He rested his palms atop Virginia’s thighs, keeping them spread as his head leaned in close to her sex. He watched closely as Virginia touched herself. Lemuel licked his lips at the sight of it, how wet she was, how delicately her fingers moved. 

“Bet you’re thinking ‘bout how my tongue would feel right now.” He teased.

Virginia could feel his hot breath waff over her. Just the sight of him kneeling between her open legs, his face so close to her sex he could just easily lean in a few inches and taste her. She wanted him to envelop her clit with those lips of his and suck. She wanted his tongue to prod at her entrance. She wanted his fingers to curl inside her and make her squirm.

“Oh Pastor!” She moaned, her hips bucking as she felt herself build inside. 

Lemuel’s hands rubbed her thighs while Virginia slowly brought herself closer and closer to release.

“You want me to touch you?” 

What kind of question is that? Virginia thought. He was venturing into cruel territory now. She knew he wouldn’t want her to give in. She was supposed to be a good girl. Be obedient to her pastor and to the Lord. 

“No.” She answered breathlessly.

“No? Why?” 

“Because it’s wrong.” 

Lemuel hummed, his brow knit. “That’s right, and yet you do this? You dirty slut.”

“Yes, Pastor. I’m a dirty slut.” Virginia repeated. “I love touching myself to the thought of you.”

“Hmm.” His hands were brushing up against her inner thigh, almost touching her where she wanted him. “But you DON’T want me to touch you?”

“No sir!” Virginia affirmed as she threw her head back, getting closer.

“Ah, then you should understand that when I say stop…” Lemuel then took her wrists and pulled them away from her sex, stopping her completely. “You should stop.”

Virginia looked down at him, her face contorted into a pained expression. “Why’d you-”

“Ah-ah.” Lemuel hushed her. “I said stop.”

Virginia was just about to finish! Her insides were clenching for something to fill her. Her clit was pulsing and hard. Her heartbeat was racing rapidly. How dare Lemuel do this to her!

“It’s hard.” She whined.

“Virginia.” Lemuel pulled her until she was sitting up. “Don’t think it don’t hurt me either. But we can’t always get what we want, can we?”

Virginia wondered if she could get away with coaxing Lemuel into giving her what she wanted by promising to relieve him as well? But that wouldn’t be right. She had done wrong already. 

“No sir.” She relented, taking in a deep breath. 

It was hard, but Virginia chose to try and ignore her desire for release. She didn’t deserve a release. Not if Lemuel believed she didn’t.

“Good girl. Now, let’s clean you up and then we can talk.” 

Lemuel drew a bath for Virginia. He helped wash her, reciting some verses while he scrubbed her arms and back with the sponge. Virginia even let him massage her scalp with shampoo and conditioner. It was nice to be pampered and the hot water of the bath helped calm her body down from the lack of satisfaction. Even Lemuel’s own arousal eventually subsided.

“Have you ever done this before?” She asked as Lemuel tilted her head back and rinsed her lathered hair.

“Do you think I make it a habit of watching pretty girls touch themselves?” He said candidly.

Virginia shook her head. “No, you don’t seem the type.”

“Well, I figured you’s a special situation.” He shrugged. “Being new and without a hand to guide you, you need a specific kind of attention I’m willin’ to provide.”

“Hence the spanking and the restrained gratification?” 

“You’re cheeky tonight.” Lemuel remarked playfully. “Well, every pastor’s different. They have their own ways of leading their parishioners.”

“And you specialize in rattlesnakes and gettin’ me naked?” 

“Is that a complaint?” 

Virginia looked over her shoulder back at Lemuel, who quirked a brow at her. She then chuckled, which made him chuckle too. 

“I’d sooner leave the church than complain about your methods, sir. And by the way…” She folded her arms on the edge of the tub. “Thank you. For tonight.”

Lemuel smiled at her, touched by her sincerity. “Of course, darlin’. And I wanna set a new rule. Whenever you feel those urges, I want you to get down on your knees and pray for strength. And if you really feel the need, I want you to call me. I’ll talk you through it.”

Virginia felt a twinge of rebellion within her. She’d want to disregard these new rules, touch herself anyways and tell Lemuel that she just prayed for strength and it went away. But if she really believed in the judgment of the serpent, she’d do as her pastor said.

So, the young woman agreed happily and kissed her shepherd, thanking him again for being so good to her. 

Lemuel helped her out of the tub and dried her off, wrapping a soft, baby blue towel around her and holding her close. “My beautiful girl.” He breathed against her wet hair.

Why are you still fighting against this? Virginia thought to herself. There was no better feeling than when Lemuel held her. That voice in her head that kept tugging at her gut, daring her to disobey and fight back. To insult Lemuel’s authority and show him what she was made of. And as tempting as it was to Virginia, the idea of slapping Lemuel’s hand away and rejecting his generosity made her sick. 

He took her back to her room, let her dress herself in panties and a white nightshift, and then put her to bed. But, instead of leaving her like the last time, Lemuel stripped himself down to his boxers and climbed in with her.

“You’re staying?” Virginia’s eyes lit up.

“I think there’s no harm in keeping yah company tonight.” He said before snuggling up behind her, spooning her with his warm body. Virginia’s heart swelled as she pressed herself against him. “Especially since you did well.”

Yeah, she thought. This makes it all worth it.

A/N: Sorry for taking forever with this chapter. My computer crapped out on me, I'm in the middle of moving, and life is a little blah atm. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I plan on writing two more, including the finale before the summer's over. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated, my loves <3

[oonajaeadira]

A Welcome Home At Resolution Ranch

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle / Jack "Whiskey" Daniels

Pairing: Jack Daniels x reader

Reader: Adult female. Former agent, now the manager at a guest ranch. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T. Fluff.

Warnings: A little bit of angst, but on the edge of healing

Summary: When the news comes through that Jack met his end in Cambodia, you know better.

A/N: Well howdy, friends, and welcome to a good, soft, fix-it fic. What inspired this? @writeforfandoms did when she sent in an ask for a game....

"I wish you would write a fic where Jack is fine and nothing hurts and there are stars in the sky and there is plenty of banter and softness. Maybe horses."

Since her birfday is this week and writing Jack for each other is a love language, this is especially for her. <3

“You sure I’m ready to go on my own?”

Charity is a good girl. A little accident-prone at times, sure, but it’s mainly out of a lack of confidence. She’s got a real knack with the horses though, and you’ve learned to let her be on hand whenever the ranch has new guests check in; that million-watt smile of hers is worth a welcome mat covered in gold. She is Jack’s kin in every way, except he sucked up all the ego in the family and left little over for his niece.

Handing her the roster clipboard, you grant her an approving grin. “You grew up on these trails. You know them better than I ever will. You’re every ounce the guide any of us are. Now you’ve got eight guests riding with you this evening, two of them are about your age, and pretty handsome young gentlemen. You’re about to win the hearts of some suitors with that sweetness of yours…and if not, then for sure their grandparents. Have fun. Oh,” you remember, pointing to a name on the roster, “this lady here is a bit of a tick, but she has it bad for Morgans. Put her on Sasha and she’ll be shining so bright there’s nothing gonna dim her stars.”

“But Sasha’s your horse.”

“She won’t mind. Now get. And remember–”

Charity rolls her eyes. “Don’t let anyone tell me that they know horses better than I do, I know.”

“Good girl. Now you do a good job on your first solo run and I’ll have a big surprise waiting for you when you come back, hear?”

“I’m not a kid. I don’t need a reward.”

Turning the girl around by the shoulders and sending her off in the direction of the stables, you refrain from swatting her playfully, showing her the respect of a coworker. “And I’m not baking you cookies either. I’m not going with you tonight because I have something I gotta do. You’ll get the benefit of that thing whether you do a good job or not. I was trying to be encouraging.”

Her black braid swings down her back as she walks off to her task–both excited and scared, clutching the clipboard with both hands. 

“Oh, and Charry?” She stops to turn and listen. “Don’t put anyone on Whiplash. Leave her in the stable tonight.”

Once she’s given you a nod and marched out of sight, you wander back into the main lodge and relieve everyone for a few hours. You’re ready to take the front desk on your own. No worries, you explain, there’s only one guest booked to come in in the next hour and everyone else is out on the twilight ride. You’ll take it from here.

Once the lobby is quiet, you prop yourself out on the porch in a rocking chair with your boots up on the railing, tip your hat down low, and keep your eyes on the horizon--gradually more pink and gold by the minute--where any cars coming over the mile-long driveway can’t pass your notice.

It’s been six years now since you were secretly decommissioned from Statesman and your agent status revoked. Emotional trauma is a hell of a thing, and some agents take a beating. When head of the organization deems an agent unfit for duty with needs of long-term recovery and care, it’s their call to order it and–with the help of one other top officer–secretly install the probationed agent in a situation where they are anonymous and removed from any society that they could harm or could harm them. The organizational file would relate how the agent was killed in action, with the true story being kept by the two in charge. A total erasure of personage, total disappearance.

If and when the agent passed an evaluation and elected to return, they became extremely valuable as a secret operative, since everyone would assume they were deceased. 

If they decided not to return, the agency made sure they were provided for. For life.

Sometimes they came back; thrill of the hunt, what they know best and all that. But overall, the return rate was low. Something about a slow down calls after a life of deception.

In your case, Jack was chosen as Champ’s second and–having always been one of the only agents that damn cowboy liked working with–suggested you head up his family ranch for your rehab period. Tasked you with making it a nice working vacation ranch for families. Came out and visited you often enough to make sure you were getting on.

And, of course, to make sure you were getting off too. 

There was a lot of hay on property, and Jack was a damn nice rolling partner. Said that he liked that he never had to pretend with you. Not now, not ever.

And you always felt exactly the same.

But the timing was never perfect. And the world had always needed one or the other of you to save it.

Distractions.

After the requisite five year probation, Champ and Jack made the ceremonial trip out and asked if you’d like to be re-evaluated and “reborn”. As much as you’d been itching during the first couple of years to get back in the game, the quiet life had softened your body and won your heart. You’d gained the trust of the employees. Knew all the horses and their idiosyncracies by heart. It had become your home. Walking away to spend days without sleep, lying, taking lives without stopping to think twice….just didn’t appeal anymore.

With Champ’s understanding, you had respectfully retired, and with Jack’s blessing, you’d planted yourself permanently. The ranch was your calling. Your heart. Even with some of Jack’s relatives working and living here it could get lonely at times, but then you’d catch yourself watching the fireflies in the sunset or riding Sasha through a particularly pretty meadow and everything seemed right with the world.

And hells. If the lack of companionship was the only thing you had to complain about, well the universe must have heard. It’s rung the hospitality bell for you.

Taking the letter out of your pocket, you glance over it one more time. An announcement of an agent down. Cambodia. Drug conspiracy. Agents Galahad, Galahad, and Merlin of Kingmen, London. Agent Whiskey showing mental trauma and poor judgment. A violent engagement. A meat grinder. Signed by Head Agent Champagne.

So that’s the story they assigned him, huh. A meat grinder? Really? So stupid. But then, you got to assist in penning your own death, so it makes all the sense in the world that Jack got to have a say in his. Of course he was going to go out in the corniest way possible, of course he was.

Tsk. A meat grinder. Jesus.

Before long, the stars are starting to peek out and there’s a plume of dust on the horizon. Then a black car at the core of it, making its way along the drive. By the time it pulls up in front of the porch, you’ve hidden the letter back in your pocket, stood and made your way to the bottom of the steps. 

Two doors open. From the front a driver emerges, short and sturdy, young and hale, heading for the trunk to retrieve luggage. But when the back door opens, there’s the duo of a boot and a Stetson which emerge together then unfold into a tall, cool drink of Jack Daniels.

It’s a showdown at twilight, but you both keep your hearts in your holster for the time being and instead reach for your sass. “Driver? This here’s a working ranch, so you can just leave the luggage. Guests here are required to haul their own.”

They do as they’re told with a nod, dropping two suitcases and a duffel in the dust. The whole time Jack stands, unmoving, hands on hips, watching with a bemused incredulity as the driver then simply gets back behind the wheel and literally drives off into the sunset, leaving Jack's bags like carrion.

“Well shit. Is that any way to welcome a man home?”

“Maybe I just wanted you all to myself, cowboy. You ever think of that?”

There’s a delicious moment underscored by cricket strings that allows for both of your grins to stretch to full capacity.

But still, he’s a man whose wind has abandoned his sails and you both know why he’s here. It doesn’t mean he’s not still Jack Daniels though. And while he might not come at you with an oppressive swagger, he still comes to you, the cockiness giving way to a genuine fondness.

“Well. Hello, gorgeous.”

“Let me guess,” you tease, opening your arms to guide him to his landing, “You have a pack of cold ones and your roomie’s out so I can scream your name as loud as I want.”

His embrace is more than just happiness to see you. It’s heavy with relief, with longing. He needs it from you as much as you from him, and he hums low into your neck as he lifts you so that your toes just leave the ground before plopping you back down. This is the point where the usual hug might end, but he stays. He stays just a few more breaths and you can tell he’s taking a cure in the moment.

“Come on, cowboy,” you hum into his shoulder. “Let me help you with these bags. I prepared the best room in the house for you.”

Silently, you both heft a suitcase and he takes the extra duffel, and you make it up the stairs of the main house to the biggest bedroom and flip on the light.

“Isn’t this your bedroom, Brandy?”

Throwing a suitcase on the quilted bed you shake a finger at him. “Uh uh uh, that’s not my name anymore, Whiskey.”

He follows suit, unburdening himself. “And that’s not mine. Belongs to Ginger now.”

You can’t--and won't--hide your delight. “Well hot shit. Good for her. She’s always wanted to go out into the field.” But it’s also bittersweet. It's been six years. “How is my girl?” 

“Oh, she’s doing real fine. Took over as Champ’s right hand when I went out and Tequila hopped the pond to work for those Brits.”

“Damn. Well, I’m proud of her. I wish I could tell her. If I could have just had one more agent to keep in touch with….wait.” Something in Jack’s little smile gives you pause. “Waaaaait a minute. Did she–???”

He finishes the thought for you. “With the transfer of title, she also became Champ’s number two. So she’s got access your retirement file. I’m sure she’ll be booking a vacation here soon enough.”

Turning to the window and clamping a hand over your mouth, you hold your own reflection and do your best to keep the tears for later. It’s been six years and your old friend is in Kentucky right now, finding out any day now that you’re not dead after all, that you’re only a plane ride away. A long dreamed-for reunion is coming. Oh god. 

But Jack’s here now, and he’s going to need your support. And of course he’ll demand your attention–”You never answered my question. Where are you sleeping if I’m in here?”

Turning to him, you wink. “Who said I was moving out of this room?” His blush signals that you’ve just out-Jacked Jack Daniels. Stepping in closer, you take his hand. “Hey. I just wanted to give you a view of the stables. If you want me here, I’ll share the room with you. If not, the guest room is free and I’m comfortable sleeping there too. This is your home now, cowboy. I want you to see the sun in the morning. Give you a reason to get up every day.”

“Sunshine’s wherever you are, partner. It’d actually be real nice to have a reason to stay in bed.”

His words spread through you like a good bourbon. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” It’s a warm moment, new for both of you. Instead of the thrill of the promise of sharing a bed and the obvious adventure that awaits, you have something now that you both never had before–time. Time to hold. Time to breathe. Time to heal and take it soft and slow. “Come on, cowboy. I wanna show you something.”

Picking up his Stetson from the bed, you place it lovingly on his head, your fingertips lingering as they trail down his sideburns. He wears the hat well, and the facial hair. And the deep adoration. Before he gets lost in the moment, you lead him out of the main house and down toward the stables.

“So. A meat grinder.”

He grins as he watches his feet, big hands swinging at his side. “Can’t blame a man for people wanting to remember his demise. That one’ll be talked about.”

“Little over the top, isn’t it?”

“That’s the way I went in, apparently.”

“Stupidest death I’ve ever heard of.”

“But you’ll remember it, won’t you.”

Rolling your eyes, you lead him to one of the front stalls of the stable. “Yeah, but I’d never believe it. Jack Daniels? Taken down by an unarmed, unstable agent and his apprentice? This hulk of a man tossed around and yanked into a grinder as if there’s one big enough to take you?”

“You’re real hung up on the meat grinder part, aren’t you. You do know the target was actually processing people and making them into burgers, right? I don’t see why it’s so unbelievable–” But he stops like stone when you reach your target stall. “Is that…Well slap my chaps. That’s the prettiest mustang I’ve ever seen.”

“You like her?” Clicking your tongue, the lithe and beautiful bay immediately comes to you, tossing her mane, ready for the apple you’ve got on offer. And when you hide it behind your back, she knows to put her nose to yours, to nuzzle you gently. “This is Whiplash. Fast as a shooting star and twice as bright. Picked her out myself. Helped Charity to train her up, which is why she’s also sweet. That girl has the patience of a saint. Must get it from the other side of the family. But this mare was a passion project for both of us. Thought you might like to claim her,” you say, handing the apple over to him and, with it, Whiplash’s attentions. “Anytime you need to clear your head, she’ll run you to the moon and back.”

Jack holds out the apple reverently with one hand, running the other along the mare’s neck. “Always wanted a mustang. Thought I’d have to settle for the automotive variety. They’re not the kind of horse you keep at a pedestrian ranch for just anyone to ride.”

“I know. It was meant to be a surprise for your next visit. But now that you’re here to stay, she’s even more yours than she was before.”

Now it’s Jack’s turn to hold those tears for later, his beautiful brown eyes gathering up all the rising moonlight. Swallowing hard, he gives you a nod, a thanks that he can’t put into words just yet. Instead, he deflects. “Where is my favorite niece?”

“Your only niece is out leading a twilight ride. It’s her first lead. I told her I’d have a reward waiting for her when she got back as long as all the guests are alive and kicking. She doesn’t know you’re coming yet.”

He nods. Goes back to petting Whiplash. The full day and the journey finally come to settle on him and all his thoughts seem to rise to the surface and float in his tired expression.

You reach out. Hook a finger in his belt loop and give it a coy tug. “Hey. Can I ask you...what happened, Jack?”

He has to take a breath. Two. Then he gives Whiplash a final pat and takes your hand, weaving it through the crook of his arm, and you wander out into the darkening pasture together.

The mission was nearly doomed from the start. With Tequila down and Harry still recovering and Eggsy still green, it was just a mess. It didn’t help that his heart wasn’t in it, that he kept thinking about his loss so many years ago, that maybe it was better if all the addicts were just taken down in one fell swoop so they could stop hurting themselves and everyone else. Running the New York branch and distribution on top of fucking saving the world every five minutes–the burnout was getting to him and just made him fixate more. 

Harry saw through him but misinterpreted his reluctance. Harry shot him to take him out of commission, knowing full well that Ginger could fix him. Jack went back into action too soon, too hot. Went straight to Cambodia. Joined in the fray. Ended up taking out his rage on Poppy and brutally jamming a needle in her neck, overdosing and killing her rather than neutralizing her and taking her in as he should have. Harry and Eggsy were kind. Stood up for him with Champ. Helped to corroborate a story so he could step down. Jack let the record show that they were the heroes so they could go back to the Kingsmen in triumph and he could heal in peace.

This is what surprises you the most.

That Jack let himself go down as the bad guy.

“You could have just said you were taken down by one of Poppy’s men and walked away a martyr.”

He simply watches the first fireflies come out in answer to the first stars, squeezes your hand a little tighter, shakes his head. “If I’d had my head in the game, a good agent wouldn’t have died. Merlin. His name was Agent Merlin. Damn fine man. And if Harry and Eggsy hadn’t been the excellent agents they are, my lapse of judgment could have killed a lot more folks. This is my way to atone.”

“And there’s no way in hell you’d let anyone think you got taken down by some nameless thug.”

“Shit. Got me there.”

All you can do is show agreement with a knowing nod. “You know, when I first came out here, I couldn’t wait to leave. But you knew, didn’t you. You knew that I needed this.”

“I did.”

“Cocky bastard,” you mumble in loving admonishment. “Did you understand that you were nearing the end too? That you were sending me out here to give me time to be ready to bring you home?”

“I wasn’t aware of it at the time, probably a little too confident to ever think I should stop.” He turns to you, a sweet little apology in the corner of his smile. “But maybe a little part of me knew.”

“Yeah, that little part of you has gotten me into trouble before.”

He huffs a little laugh, tilts your chin up with a knuckle. Still holding your hand and sliding it inside his jacket against his chest he whispers, “Ain’t the part I was talking about, sweetheart.”

When he kisses you, it’s a different Jack than the one you used to settle for on occasion. This Jack is ready to put down his revolvers and his whip, ready to concentrate on himself, on you, on a life far from trouble. His kiss holds in it the promise of summer sunsets and long trail rides, of barbecues and lemonade and lazy mornings sleeping in. And there will be stars that are brighter...and nights under them for just the two of you. It’s a kiss that leaves no doubt that there will be many more to follow, each one with its own brand of sweetness and a happy ending well-earned.

No more distractions.

Time enough.

_____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

[velvet4510]

I guess I’m one of those weirdos who so deeply feels the essence of an instrumental leitmotif from a film score associated with a particular character or couple, that I start associating said leitmotifs in my head with ANOTHER character from an entirely different film/book/series. And I’ve built up a whole library of leitmotifs for LOTR characters even though I ADORE Howard Shore’s original score for the trilogy. I consider these leitmotifs to be add-ons, NOT replacements.

Nor do I intend to completely dissasociate all of these themes from their intended films/characters; some of them are perfect fits for the films they were written for. It’s just my mind going wild like usual. (But I admit, in some cases, the pieces are from films I dislike, and thus I would rather see these great songs associated with something of LOTR quality rather than what they were actually stuck with, especially when the lack of lyrics gives you the freedom to let the melody take you wherever it takes you, personally.)

In the case of Silmarillion characters and relationships, well, it’s a different story - it really is my attempt to cobble together what could be a hypothetical score, if it were brought to the screen. Obviously it’d never be this exactly, but I would hope a composer for a potential screen adaptation of The Silmarillion might be inspired by themes like these.

In some cases, the characters these themes were originally written for don’t resemble the corresponding LOTR characters very much, or at all. Also some of them have titles that by themselves could not be more different from and unfitting for Tolkien’s world. It’s just the melodies on their own, without context or even name, performed by these gorgeous orchestras, that have come to remind me of particular Tolkien figure(s).

I also have found lots of “love themes”, both romantic and platonic, for character relationships, as you’ll see. I’ve included romantic themes for canonical couples, as well as for pairings that I personally ship. I know Shore already gave Aragorn and Arwen a theme, but as I said, these are all extra additions and not replacements.

And yes I have a lot of Star Wars stuff in here, because I love Star Wars…but I love Tolkien more.

For the heck of it I’ll share some of these, with links to each song on YT. It’s hard to explain why I made these choices/associations, but maybe you’ll get it if you listen to some of them.

CHARACTER THEMES

The Valar = “Guardians of the Whills Suite” by Michael Giacchino

Lúthien Tinúviel = “Once Upon a Time in the West” by Ennio Morricone

Túrin Turambar = “Anakin’s Theme” by John Williams

Nienor Níniel = “Helena’s Theme” by John Williams

Frodo Baggins = “Romeo” by Nino Rota

Sam Gamgee = “Rey’s Theme” by John Williams

Aragorn = “The John Dunbar Theme” by John Barry

Gandalf = “Yoda’s Theme” by John Williams

Legolas = “Rose Tico” by John Williams

Éowyn = “Marion’s Theme” by John Williams

THEMES FOR LANDS/LOCATIONS

The Undying Lands = “Out of Africa” by John Barry

ROMANTIC LOVE THEMES

Frodo x Sam = “Love Theme from Ben-Hur” by Miklos Rozsa

Beren x Lúthien = “Love Theme from The Godfather” by Nino Rota

Faramir x Éowyn = “Han Solo and the Princess” by John Williams

Aragorn x Arwen = “Love Theme from Cinema Paradiso” by Ennio Morricone

Sam x Rosie = “Love Theme from Dances with Wolves” by John Barry

Bilbo x Thorin = “Andante Cantabile” by Bernard Herrmann

Thingol x Melian = “Indecent Proposal” by John Barry

Fingon x Maedhros = “Wuthering Heights” by Alfred Newman

Galadriel x Celeborn = “Central Park” by James Newton Howard

Finrod x Bëor = “Somewhere in Time” by John Barry

Aegnor x Andreth = “Love Theme from The Scarlet Letter” by John Barry

Finduilas x Gwindor = “Deborah’s Theme” by Ennio Morricone

Túrin x Beleg = “Across the Stars” by John Williams

Mablung x Nienor = “Wanda and Vision” by Christophe Beck

Tuor x Idril = “Conversation Piece” by Bernard Herrmann

Eärendil x Elwing = “Tennessee” by Hans Zimmer

Maglor x Daeron = “Midnight Cowboy” by John Barry

Elrond x Celebrían = “And Then I Kissed Him” by Hans Zimmer

Pippin x Diamond = “Love Theme from East of Eden” by Leonard Rosenman

Merry x Estella = “Love Theme from Rebel Without a Cause” by Leonard Rosenman

Elanor x Fastred = “Theme from A Summer Place” by Max Steiner (arranged by Percy Faith)

PLATONIC RELATIONSHIP THEMES

Elrond & Elros = “Brothers” by Hans Zimmer

Merry & Pippin = “Flying” by John Williams

Legolas & Gimli = “Rain Man” by Hans Zimmer

Boromir & Faramir = “Luke and Leia” by John Williams

Bilbo & Frodo* = “The Mother’s Love” by Miklos Rozsa

Sam & Elanor = “The Ludlows” by James Horner

I may add to this as I think of more, or even replace certain songs entirely if I come across a better match. Always return to the pinned post here to see the most recently updated list.

* Bilbo & Frodo’s melody is heard in the first minute of the linked track, 0:00–1:01, and again at 1:48. Also, the love theme I associate with Frodo & Sam starts playing at 1:03, making this whole thing fit all the hobbits even better.

[fangsforiris]

Paintings Talk

Prompt: Woman in the Painting, Ghostly Dream, Another Woman, Who is She?

Person: Beatrix [Sakamaki]

HC’s:

🫐 If Christa was known for her Forbidden Beauty, and Cordelia her Femme Fatale appeal, then Beatrix would be… Beatrix.

🫐 Beatrix was known for her stoicism and statuesque appeal.

🫐 Sometimes even being referred to as ‘Ice Queen’ or ‘Plain Woman’ for how she maintained a steady, yet un-stained reputation.

🫐 But do not let that mistake her for being ugly. She was far from it. She was a classic, vintage beauty.

🫐 As in, she was made to become a muse. Made to be a painting, a statue even. Just… something to be admired.

🫐 From the long blond tresses going all the way down to her hips, to those striking blue eyes that send shivers down spines. But it was also the way her lips were full and curled, as if she knew she was on display for the world around her.

🫐 Ever since she was a little girl, she could remember the admiration from potential suitors, remember their stares and deeply clouded eyes.

🫐 Overtime, she’d learn that she would have to play into it, lest she became unfit to be wed and bring dishonour to her family and house.

🫐 There was something intriguing about Beatrix that forced many to be pulled into her spell.

🫐 She wasn’t a femme fatale by any means, nor would she like to entertain it on purpose.

🫐 (But that didn’t mean she couldn’t pull it off, oh no, far contrary to popular belief, if she did something, the one thing she’d do is do it well.)

🫐 But she mimicked the aura of that of the old renaissance paintings.

🫐 The ones that you’d be forced to sit and stare for hours, unable to get bored of it.

🫐 She had a ghostly appeal, almost. Especially when she would go on to die.

🫐 If she was a painters muse, then what would become of her once the body’s been dead and buried?

🫐 For this reason, Karlheinz commissioned many paintings for her.

🫐 In fact, in the castle, she has the most paintings commissioned and posted about out of all the 3 wives.

🫐 Karlheinz was not immune to her bewitchery (if one could call it that,) Beatrix just had something to her that comforted the sullen, but intimidated the guilty.

🫐 Karlheinz would spend hours watching her be painted, the small details mattered. Never was he more attentive in anything when Beatrix was getting painted.

🫐 He’d even use it as an excuse to shamelessly watch her. (Not that he had any shame to begin with.)

🫐 Out of all his wives, he certainly appreciated how cordial the two could cohabitate alongside one another.

🫐 The two didn’t care for playing house, they both knew this, but they would converse as if they knew each other lifetimes ago.

🫐 Beatrix may respect Karlheinz as a superior, and as a bright mind to grace their time, but she too knew her self-worth— And Karlheinz knew that as well.

🫐 He 100% respected Beatrix the most, as he enjoyed the small company the two would share, and her willingness to listen to his rambles.

🫐 The small late nights the two would share without the need for physical activity, it was the platonic affection the two could indulge in that made it all the worth it.

🫐 They both knew they had their reasons for marriage— Beatrix for higher social standing and upholding her family name, and Karlheinz for increasing his lineage and fame as king.

🫐 They both knew they could never love each other, but it was the fact that the two held a mutual respect and understanding for one another that strengthened their bond.

🫐 Karlheinz would play with her hair when stressed, on the rare moments when his existentialism overbore his entity, Beatrix would listen and stay as a loyal ear.

🫐 Beatrix could be anything, but she was loyal until the end— even as a widow from her previous marriage before Karlheinz.

🫐 On that note— she was 100% wed to another man before Karlheinz, maybe even two husbands before the Great King.

🫐 So she was not a virgin when she laid with Karlheinz.

🫐 I suppose it was third times the charm, as she became a widow to two men, but only on the third would the husband become a partial widow.

🫐 Once she died, there… was something wrong with the paintings.

🫐 It was as if the eyes moved, apart of her soul present in each and every one of the paintings located in various locations of the castle.

🫐 There was something about Beatrix’s paintings that made the hair on your arms and neck stand up. The type of thing where you get cold feet. As if your breath was being taken away under the eyes of azure.

🫐 Some have even said that their magic was drained after passing by. Some have even felt their undead heart skip a beat, before ceasing all action.

🫐 Even a whisper or a shudder of a scream would be heard through the halls.

🫐 Like… her paintings were cursed?

🫐 It was due to these strange, paranormal occurences, that some areas within the castle were bordered down.

🫐 Karlheinz didn’t have the heart in him to take down the paintings, his attachement far too strong.

🫐 Shuu remembers walking past her painting in the hall nearing the old ballroom before being renovated. For a moment, he swears blue flashed, energy being emitted from the painting. He tripped, his gaze plastered on his shaking hands. He wouldn’t tell a soul of how he slowly turned his head, his peripheral view displaying the mouth of a woman turn into something akin to a cynical smile.

🫐 Rumour throughout the castle and higher end nobles spread of her paintings being painted with her blood. A pint for each painting, as if she wanted to live on in some form.

🫐 Perhaps it also included her magic..?

[allfryam]

kingly duties

Charles was a young but handsome prince. He was very active and in shape, and he loved to exercise. He had short curly hair and long, muscular legs. His blue eyes complimented his perfect smile, and he knew it. He often bragged to other boys his age about how he was more attractive than them. when he turned 20, his father, the king, became very ill and eventually passed away. Charles, being the oldest son, stepped up to take his father’s throne. With this, came lots of responsibilities. He needed to oversee the entire kingdom, ensure the castle was safe, and many other important matters. With all of these newfound duties, he didn’t have time to exercise. He mainly sat in his enormous throne and worked in his personal office. The only good thing about being king was the feasts. Each night, the castle would hold a grand feast with loads of luxurious foods, desserts, and beer. Charles would indulge and enjoy himself with mountains of delicious food, and wash it down with a keg of beer. At least he knew he wouldn’t have to worry about going hungry. One day, Charles decided the extravagant dinners weren’t enough for him, so he requested a bountiful breakfast be delivered to his room each morning. Charles would wake up, ring a bell, and within a minute, three chefs would be in his room to take his breakfast order. He would usually get some pancakes, some sausage, lots of eggs, French toast, bacon, waffles, pastries, and hashbrowns. He would douse it all in syrup, scarf it down like he would never eat again, and wash it all down with a gallon of orange juice. one day, his perfectly fitted clothes became a little tight. His servants were struggling to button his pants, and it took them much longer to button his shirt. He shrugged it off and demanded he get new clothes. After only a few days of having his new breakfast feasts, he started growing hungrier by lunchtime. He decided that each day for lunch, he would choose a lucky citizen from the village to eat lunch with him. The first person he picked was a young man named Shane. Shane was about 19 or 20, with a great body. It almost made the king jealous. Shane took his visit as an opportunity. Charles didn’t have any brothers to become king when he died, and Shane happened to be next in line. Shane had noticed the extravagant feasts Charles was eating, and he noticed how his clothes were growing ever tighter around his midsection. Shane was going to make the king eat so much that he would be declared unfit to be king because he was too fat. When Shane arrived at the dining hall, King Charles was already there waiting on the food. Shane sat next to him and they catted for a while until the food arrived. The chefs brought out platter after platter of luxurious fattening foods. The kings mouth started salivating. He dug in and didn’t bother to use silverware. He used his bare hands to shove mouthful after mouthful down his sexy throat. Shane nibbled at some steak and ate a few veggies. Charles took his plate and finished it off. The amount of food was starting to diminish and Shane could tell Charles was getting full. Charles stopped to take a breath and let out a massive burp. He rubbed his bloated belly and moaned in pain. “I could help you finish the rest” Shane offered. Charles reluctantly agreed and Shane put handfuls of food into Charles mouth. “Almost there sir. Keep eating.” Shane said. Shane didn’t notice Charles dick getting hard as he continued to feed him. When the food was finally gone, Charles was escorted back to his room where he laid naked on his bed, jacking himself off to the thought of Shane feeding him.

[muniimyg]

ok let me get this straight - jk and oc were together, zion already in the picture, oc is pregnant with second baby, jk gets accused of plagiarism at work, oc works herself to the bone to clear jk’s name and it works, but jk stays at the company that accused him….. bc of oc working so hard, she gets a miscarriage. she resents jk for not putting his family first, and she also resents herself for working so hard and losing her second baby. she asks for a break up but they don’t really break up so she doesn’t know what it’s like to lose him (?) also she’s mad that jk doesn’t want more for himself, but his decisions are his own and that’s what he wants (?)

that new chapter hurt so bad :( sometimes you just think love is not enough

after all that all i can say is tanginaaaaaaaa ang sakit 😭😭😭

timeline (as of 16)

(11 months ago) jk and oc have established careers and are raising 3 year old zion together. jk is a visual director for an advertisement company and oc is lawyer, trying to make partner at her firm.

they've been having issues in their relationship where oc is upset because jk keeps rejecting work promotions. she knows jk works hard and is capable so it frustrates her that he limits himself. it's not that she wants him to work himself to the bone,, it's the fact that he doesn't try. on the other hand, jk is upset because he feels like her career gets in the way of their relationship.

(10 months ago) jk's plagiarism issue begins. oc prioritizes fixing it for jk because she sees this as an opportunity to show jk how her career benefits their relationship. on top of that, she pushes and makes his name spotless because this is how she defends jk. this is how she shows her devotion and care towards him. as she does this, (it's been hinted in the past chapters that she has issues with stress and self-neglection) ((which is a very realistic flaw might i add)) she puts jk first and her health second (((unintentionally)))

(9 months ago) oc is pregnant (don't quote me on the sex math this requires). jk settles his lawsuit. oc doesn't love his decision and jk does not communicate why he settled. due to the fights, confusion, stress, and anxiety; oc goes through a pregnancy loss at 5w. she did not know she was pregnant and neither did jk ((idk if that was clear in the story))

the same time she's going through all of this; her work gets piled up and she begins to deal with burn-out. oc also still tends to zion's needs and realizes that she's going through post partum depression. to cope, she focuses on work and zion.

jk doesn't feel neglected; he feels confused. oc doesn't talk about the loss and neither does he. they both avoid it and begin to blame everything around them to be the issue. ie: work/career.

it gets so bad that oc isn't functioning like she should. she wants space and asks jk for a break. not a break up. a break. eventually, it grows into one. they continue to sleep with each other regardless.

(present) oc attends therapy to clear her headspace, fully knowing that she is unfit for their relationship. jk continues to pursue her (which is romantic in a sense but also very suffocating when you need space to heal).

,,, haynakoooo. tbh true love is when u know love isn't enough,,, so u do everything to grow together jus to be together.

diba yun sila? hehe

also u're right

tangina talaga!

[anexistingexistence]

More Headcanons Because I Have Too Many Of These (Shaw pack, again, but this time it's couple headcanons! The variety on here is unmatched):

-Darlin doesn't cook. We've already established that. But once Sam told them what his favorite food is, they made it for him, and Sam found it so surprisingly delicious that he started giving them a bunch of compliments for it (because, you know, nobody believes Darlin when they say they know how to cook or that they're good at it). Darlin, being Darlin, now stands in their kitchen at least once a week to make Sam his favorite meal in exchange for the praise they get for it.

-Angel and David had weekly sleepover dates before they moved in with each other. Sometimes it was at Angel's place and sometimes at David's and Angel would always go way overboard with the pillow fort and the snacks. With that in mind, for one of their anniversaries after moving in together, Angel reconstructed the couch into their biggest pillow fort yet and turned the living room into a little movie theater. They and David stayed up the entire night watching movies and eating snacks and only went to sleep in their pillow fort at around five in the morning because Angel drifted off during the movie they were watching.

-Baabe has an unconditional love for all things beautiful. And Ash just happens to be the most beautiful person they know, so, of course, he is their victim of choice for their creative endeavors. One time, Baabe got especially creative and spent an entire day dying Ash's wolf form's fur in rainbow colors to take pictures of him afterward. The only problem was, the color didn't wash out again. So, for a month or two, whenever Ash shifted, he would be a very vibrant, rainbow-colored wolf. He didn't mind (he actually really liked it) but David found it sort of... unfitting for the security jobs and a certain pizza guy had a lot of questions whenever Baabe's "dog" would walk around in the background while they answered the door. Once the dye washed out, Baabe promised to let Asher dye their hair any color he wanted. He has yet to cash that in.

-Sweetheart's obsession with stuffed animals (specifically cats) was not something Milo was prepared for when they invited him over to their place for the first time. Needless to say, that date was spent cuddling in bed and explaining the naming process behind all 82 of the ones on display in their room (honorable mentions to: Squishy, a black thing that barely looks like a cat anymore whom Sweetheart got at a thrift store, Poofers, the biggest cat in Sweetheart's collection, and Harold, who is a red cat with a little top hat sewn onto its head). Sweetheart took a liking to Milo's curiosity behind all the plushies' names and stories, so it became a common thing for them to buy and gift Milo fluffy cats for anniversaries, holidays, and anything else that would give them a reason to give him cat-shaped gifts. Once they started living together, the two of them had to install several shelves on their walls and buy an extra closet for the ungodly amount of stuffed animals the duo possessed. Also, Aggro commonly sleeps in a nest of cat plushies because of course he does.

[echoweb2]

Please Support Siraj's Family in Rebuilding Their Home

I've been ask to share another story!

Siraj (@siraj2024) is a Gazan man who is the head of a family of five. Due to the war, they were displaced six different times, being made to evacuate their once beautiful family home, and forced to live in unfit tents, with a inhumane lack of basic necessities and prone to disease. Their goal is to rebulid their home. Thier cousin Ahmad has taken it upon himself to raise money for their campaign. Their goal is roughly 60,000 USD$ or (82,000 CAD).

They are extremely unfunded as I write, having only 42 CAD$ (29.40 USD$) to their campaign.

If you can, please go to his gofundme page, even the smallest of donations help. And just reblogging this with tags, if you're not able to donate, can get this on more eyes.

Here's the story taken directly from the gofundme:

"hi, my name is ahmad and I'm raising a fund for my cousin Siraj and this is his message:

Building our house was not easy. It took over ten years of tireless effort, long hours each day, and the accumulation of debt. But it was our home, a place filled with love and dreams for the future.

At the beginning of the ground war on the Gaza Strip, our area was engulfed in fire and random shelling, which led to our beloved home being hit and destroyed. After that, we were forced to move six times, seeking refuge in places unfit for living, where we faced constant threats, evacuation orders, and danger both day and night.

Today, we find ourselves living in a poor tent on the street, surrounded by others in similar conditions. These tents lack the basic necessities of life, and epidemics and infectious diseases are widespread.

My children have lost their childhoods among these makeshift shelters. They don’t know how to play or learn. Instead, they help with hard tasks like fetching drinking water from long distances, cleaning around the tent, and much more. They deserve better.

Our dream is simple: to return to our life before this brutal war, to rebuild our beautiful home, to educate our children, and to provide them with safety and stability. This is our ultimate hope.

With your support, we can transform our story from one of pain to one of hope. You have the power to alleviate my family’s suffering, to stand by us, and to support us in rebuilding our lives.

The stages of our house being bombed

The struggle to obtain drinking water – we walk long distances, and sometimes we cannot go due to the danger of bombing.

Our current living situation (in tents): It is a small, very hot tent, lacking the minimum basic necessities for life, and where dangerous diseases and epidemics are widespread.

Total cost:

- Construction: $40,000 USD

- Finishing: $20,000 USD

- **Total: $60,000** USD

Your generosity can help us rebuild our home and our lives. Thank you for your compassion and support."

As always, donate if you can, and if you can't donate, please take just a moment to reblog.

The campaign was documented by Nabulsi✅ Don't hesitate donating!

[justmeinadaze]

We're A Family Part 8 (Steddie X You)

A/N: This chapter is kind of more Eddie based than Steddie but both are still present and cute with Aurora and Dylan. I know in past chapters Eddie has always been very good with Dylan and kind of comes off more as like the fun dad so I wanted to write a chapter that explores more of the protective side of him when it comes to the reader's son. He's shown it of course with the reader and Aurora when he found out she was pregnant so :)

Warnings: This is more of an angsty chapter with fluff and some smut. There is mediation again between the reader and Charlie with lawyers and he degrades her (calls her a slut/whore). He does something extremely stupid when it comes to Dylan (Hopper has to get involved) so her son calls Eddie to help him. Eddie alludes to certain details when it comes to life before Wayne.

Word Count: 3261

“Are you kidding me?! She’s fucking two men, changed her name like that makes her fantasy scenario real, and she got pregnant! I haven’t even gotten remarried and yet she’s the better influence on my son?!”

“I think it’s convenient that you left out how you were fucking other women WHILE we were married.”

You and Charlie glare at each other across the mediation table. You really did have every intention of giving visitation back to your ex but right now he wasn’t make a great case for himself. You weren’t going to allow Dylan to be alone with him if he was going to continue to act like this and, honestly, your son still hadn’t expressed any interest to visit with his dad. 

“Last time I spent time with my son was almost a year ago. I think it’s been more than enough time to revisit visitation!”

Glancing at your lawyer you allowed her to speak for you. “We absolutely can but that’s not what this is. I mean you’re claiming that her environment is unfit but all you want is visitation?”

“My son needs a good influence in his life.”

“Yeah and he has three in the house.”

He starts to speak but his lawyer shooshes him. “Lidia, we can talk about visitation at least and go from there.”

“We can talk about it but the fact of the matter is, Dylan doesn’t seem to want to go over and Y/N doesn’t feel comfortable with him being alone in his care. Apparently, we tried that 10 months ago and it didn’t work out so well.”

“Just because I found out she was a whore and having my son call other men ‘daddy’.”

“Ok, we’re done here. If that’s how he wants to be then we’ll see you in court.”

#################

“He said what?!”

“Eddie, calm down.”

“Baby, DON’T…don’t tell me to calm down.”, he sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “He has no right to talk to you that way.”

“There’s nothing I can do.”, you shrug. Steve’s eyes shift between you both as he bounces Aurora in his arms. “I mean everyone else is calling me that.”

“That doesn’t make it ok and thankfully no one has had the balls to say it around us including your ex because they know we’ll beat the shit out of them.”

“Oh really, freak?” You playfully wink as he makes a face at you. 

Dylan slides into the kitchen and climbs on to a chair at the table as he places his homework in front of you. “Mom, I need help.”

“Good thing you came to me because I don’t think these two can handle eight-year-old math.”

“Did you hear that, Ro? Mommy thinks she’s so funny. Yes, she does.” The baby coos and smiles at Steve as he mocks you.

Later that night as Eddie put Dylan to bed, you and Steve sat together in your room playing with Aurora.

“Dada. Can you say Dada?”, he grins up at her as she leans back against his knees. Steve cranes his neck to try and look at you as you lay on your back beside him. “What was Dylan’s first word?”

“Mama.”, you smile as you reach out to pinch her cheeks. “Mama? Do you think we should give you both your own name?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Neil Patrick Harris’s kids call their dads ‘Dad and Papa’. Should we do something like that?”

“I think it would be more confusing for her. I mean Dylan says ‘Dad’ to us both. It’s already going to be interesting enough explaining why he calls us ‘Eddie and Steve’.”

“Yeah…THAT will be the interesting part.”, you giggle. “I told him I changed my name and he said that was cool.”

“Good. I’m glad he likes that. Yeah? You like that to, honey?” His grin grows with Aurora’s. “Mommy’s last name is the same as yours.”

“What did mommy do now?” Eddie sighs as he jumps into bed beside Steve, leaning in to give the baby sloppy kisses on her cheek as she laughs and reaches for him. He places her on his stomach, laying her back against his knees. 

“Dylan also mentioned something to me but you can’t tell him I told you. I think he should talk to you himself but I think you guys should be prepared.” You sit up and cross your legs as you face them. “He said…he’s been wanting to call you dad full time…as in no more ‘Eddie and Steve’. He’s just nervous because of everything with Charlie and he knows it will make his dad angry.”

“What did you say to that?”

“I told him it was his choice. If he feels comfortable then he should be able to.” Your eyes flick between them. “What are we thinking?”

“Can I ask you something?” Eddie continues when you nod. “If he wanted to call Vivian ‘mom’, would you be ok with it?”

“I…would be ok with it in the sense of…that’s how he feels and what he wants. It would still hurt a bit that he would be saying it to the woman Charlie hurt me with me but…” Steve reached out to run his thumb along your face. “I told Dylan whenever he was ready, he should talk with you both so you can tell him how you feel.”

###########

“Hawkins Auto Repair. This is Eddie.”

“Eddie?”

“Dylan? What’s going on, kid?” The metalhead glances at the caller id, noticing it’s not the elementary schools or your cell phone number. “Are you ok?”

“My dad picked me up from school. I told him I needed to call mom to let her know but he said I shouldn’t. Eddie, I want to go home.”

Eddie’s cell phone starting buzzing in his pocket, realizing he had a few missed calls from you and Steve. 

“Ok, kid. Sit tight. I’m on my way.”

****

Eddie’s van skidded down the street just as he pulled up to Charlie’s house. 

He quickly got out, banging on the front door until it swung open and to his surprise Vivian was standing on the other side.

“I told him this was a bad idea.”

“Where’s Dylan?”

She points towards the back of the house but as the metalhead walks down the hallway, Charlie exits a room, meeting him halfway. 

“You’re not taking my son. He’s safer with me than with you freaks.”

“Said the man who just basically kidnapped him. How fucking stupid are you? Do you really think Y/N’s going to ever let you see him now?”

“I don’t care what that slut thinks or does—”

Eddie stepped forward till he was right in Charlie’s face. Both men were about the same height but Eddie’s fury made him seem so much taller.

“Watch your fucking mouth. The only reason I haven’t hit you yet is because Dylan is around somewhere and is scared enough but if you insult his mother one more fucking time…I swear to God, Charlie.”

“My son isn’t scared.”

“Oh yeah? Then why did he call me begging for me to come pick him up?”

“Dad?”

Dylan’s head poked out of a room with his backpack on his shoulders. 

“Dil, keep playing your video games and I’ll be right there…”

Both men watched as your son carefully slid around Charlie’s angry, intimidating frame into Eddie’s arms who immediately picked him up and held him protectively.

“Dad, I want to go home.”

Your ex exhaled, closing his eyes as he realized his son wasn’t referring to him but the man holding him. Eddie took the opportunity, turning around and heading out the front door with his son in his embrace.

#################

You were pacing in the living room as Steve spoke with Chief Hopper in the kitchen. As soon as the front door swung open, Dylan ran through searching for you. 

He tackled your body and you picked him up into your arms, not caring that he was much heavier and harder to lift now that he was older. 

“Are you ok?! Where were you?! What happened?!”

“Charlie picked him from school and took him back to his house.” 

Both you and Steve looked at Eddie, your eyes filled with more fury than they had ever seen. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” As you started to head for the door, the chief cut you off and pulled you back into the kitchen.

“Ah, no. No killing. At least hatch your plan when a police officer isn’t here. What…what do you want to do now, Y/N? Do you want us to go get him and bring him in?”

You glanced at Dylan who was still hugging your waist as you ran your fingers through his hair. You looked over at Eddie, who’s arms were folded as his concerned eyes kept scanning over your son. 

“We never had a mom who cared about us the way you do with your son…”

“Yeah…let’s, um, let’s do that.”

#################

“Hey, princess.” Eddie slid down next to you on the steps leading into the backyard, lighting a cigarette before offering you one that you gladly accept. “What’s running through your mind, baby?”

“Was he scared? When you picked Dylan up, did he seem terrified?”

“I wouldn’t say scared. Confused. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t call you and tell you where he was.”

“I’m glad he was able to reach you…”

Eddie blows a cloud of smoke from his lips as he wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Hey. He’s ok. He’s a smart kid and knew exactly what to do. You did the right thing to by telling Hop to arrest him. This wasn’t ok, sweetheart. He needs to understand that he can’t do things like this.”

“I didn’t want this for my son. I… I don’t want him to go through what you went through.”

Eddie took the cigarette out of your hand, squishing it with his in the ashtray, and promptly tugged you into his chest as he held you to him. 

“Y/N, he won’t. He has so many people that love him and are there for him including the man that was there for me. He’s going to be alright, baby.” You pulled back and gently kissed his lips. “I think it’s worth noting… Vivian is on his side to. She’s the one who let me in and said she tried to talk Charlie into bringing Dylan back to you.”

You nod as you wipe your eyes and head back into the house. Steve was on the floor scrolling through his phone as Dylan laid next to Aurora as she played. As you sat next to him, Steve flashed you his phone showing you text messages from Hopper. He had arrested Charlie, processed him, and whenever you, Eddie, and Dylan were ready to come down and fill out some forms. 

You leaned against the man’s shoulder as he kissed your forehead. 

“Eddie? Steve?”, Dylan called their names without looking in their direction as he reached out to tickle his sister who cooed. 

“Sup, little man.”

“Can I call you dad now like Ro will? All the time?” He was still looking away from them, almost as if he was afraid of their answer.

“Of course, kid.”, Eddie smiled.

“Of course. As long as you’re comfortable.”, Steve follows.

“Cool… and you’ll call me your son?”

“We already do.”

His little face finally looked up to meet the three of yours, grinning. As he began to stand to head upstairs, Steve reached for his shirt and pulled him back to give him a hug. Dylan let him go to hug Eddie before giving you a kiss on the cheek and running up the stairs. 

#############

You had so much trouble sleeping that night, thinking about the day’s events and everything that happened. You thought about little Eddie seeing his dad arrested and behind bars, picturing him feeling so confused and alone. You imagined that’s why he knew what to do and kicked into protective dad mode to get his son back where he knew he was safe. 

Then, you couldn’t help but think about Charlie. When you met him, you knew he had problems with his stepdad. He always told you he would never do anything to hurt Dylan or make him feel like he was unloved. Retracing the memories of your marriage, you wondered how he got from there to here. He probably felt like this was the best option to getting his son back after feeling like he was slowly slipping away. Charlie was desperate. What he went through didn’t excuse the behavior but you couldn’t help but sympathize with him. 

Your hand reached out caress Eddie’s cheek when you saw him sigh in his sleep. Scooting closer to him, you pressed your forehead to his as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His palm slid down your lower back, pulling your hips to his as you wrapped your leg around his waist. 

You marveled at the impulse; the fact that for him that was an automatic reaction as he still slept soundly. 

“Eddie?” You gently pecked at his lips as you whispered his name. “Eddie.” 

He softly exhaled before slowly reciprocating your kisses. “Hm… what’s going on, babe?”, he grumbled in a sleepy tone. 

“Nothing. I just…can you make love to me?” 

Without hesitation, Eddie rolled you on to your back, kissing your cheek and neck, down your body until his head disappeared under the covers. On the other side of you, you felt a warm chest press against your side as Steve’s hand grazed your stomach. His eyes were still closed as his breath warmed your ear. 

“Do you just need Eddie, honey?”

You moaned when you felt the metalhead’s tongue play with your clit. “Please…I always need you both. Fuck.”

One of your hands reached down to rub the bulge in Steve’s boxers as your other pressed Eddie closer to you. Steve’s own palm ran over your smooth skin and along your breasts as he delicately kissed your neck. 

Eddie always had a way of knowing what you needed when it came his lips between your legs. His mouth and tongue devoured you in all the right ways until you felt your legs shake and you came, him licking you clean before tenderly kissing your thighs.

After gradually climbing back up your body, you opened your legs and wrapped them around his waist as he guided himself into your entrance. You both moaned as his head fell into the nook of your neck, thrusting his hips at a steady pace as your fingers tangled in his hair. 

“Thank you, Eddie. Mmm—not just for today but—mmm—for everything. I love you both so much.”

The metalhead’s movements stopped as he lifted his head to look down at your face, his eyes much more coherent. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing—”

“No, not nothing.”

Your eyes turn towards Steve who also seems more awake as he waits for your answer. 

“You don’t talk about your life in detail before Wayne. I understand that and you know I would never push you.” Your palm reaches up to caress his cheek. “I just…after today and everything you did for him…I keep picturing little Eddie being alone and scared…”

Eddie gently smiles as he begins thrusting into you again, leaning down to kiss your lips. “Sweetheart, little Edward Munson went through some shit. That’s why you four —mmm—are safe with me. I get it and like—mmm—Steve said Aurora and Dylan are going to have a better life.”

You whimper as he pumps into you faster, hitting those spots that make your toes curl. “I love you, baby. Cum for me, princess.”

As his forehead falls on yours, you pant soft moans against his lips as you cum, your pussy clinging to him as he follows after, spilling his seed inside you. 

While Eddie places tiny pecks down your neck, you glance at Steve as he curls into his frame, stroking his cock as he cums. 

“Steve…I could have—”

“No. You and Eddie needed this. I’m fine, baby, trust me.” He rises from the bed, heading for the bathroom to get a rag as Eddie pulls himself out of you and rolls to his side. 

“Unlike my dad, Y/N, I genuinely believe… Charlie wasn’t being malicious. I think he felt trapped. It’s no excuse though. For Dylan’s sake, hopefully, he’ll really shape up now.”

Steve returned quickly taking care of you before bouncing back into bed and pressing himself to your side. A breathy laugh escapes his chest as the baby monitor lights up, Aurora’s gentle cries filling the room. 

“I got her. You two try and get some more sleep. You have an interesting day ahead of you.”

############

Eddie sat with Dylan in Hopper’s office as they filled out their statements of the events that had unfolded. You had already completed yours since there wasn’t much to tell besides what your court order states and the panic you felt when you went to pick up your son and he wasn’t there. 

As you sat just outside waiting for them, a tiny figure took a seat beside you on the bench you were sitting at. Vivian’s sympathetic eyes met yours as she turned to give you here full attention. 

“I’m sorry for what he did. I had no idea he was even planning to do that. When he came home with Dylan, I thought…I thought you had said it was okay. But then he asked to call you and Charlie said no and…”, she exhales as she tries to form her next words. “I know… you hate me and you have every right to but I hope you know that I love your son very much. I want Charlie to be in his life but he needs to do this the right way and this”, Vivian gestures absently around the police station. “This wasn’t it.”

You nod as she speaks, absorbing her words. It comforted you to know that she cared for your son that way and should he ever go back to that house in the future she had his best interest at heart. Just like with Eddie and Steve, Dylan was safe with her. 

“I don’t hate you. Not anymore anyway.” You flash he a tiny smile. “I hate that—”

“No, no, Y/N. You don’t have to… I get it.”, she cut you off. 

“Hey, Vivi.”, Dylan grinned as he walked over to give her a hug. 

“Everything ok?”, Eddie asked.

“Yeah. We were just talking.” You smile reassuringly as you rise to your feet. 

“You made the payment, Vivian?” She nods at Hopper’s question. “Alright, let me make a quick call and they’ll bring him down here. Y/N, I’ll finish typing all this up and send it to you later to get to Lidia.”

It’s your turn to look at Vivian with sympathy as she shrugs. “My father owns that hardware store in town. He took out another mortgage so we could bail him out.”

Eddie sat beside her and without warning yanked her into his arms. Dylan watched them with wide eyes trying to understand. You on the other hand, understood exactly what was happening and the metalhead affirmed it as he pulled away.

“My mother did this dance a lot. So many times in fact that we lost our house and she lost her job. Make sure he understands, Vivian, you’re only going to do it once.” ################ @adequate-superstar @kalinaselennespeaks @luna-munson83

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