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bunny584 · 4 months

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OBSESSED: NANAMI (PT. II)

A/N: Because our collective husband won the contest. Gege texted me saying obviously Nanami would win. He also said if I don’t post a second part immediately Choso gets the boot next season. So I’m doing this for ALL of us 🤗 (I swear, I swear I’m 90% done with H&H for those of you that follow/have tolerated my lollygagging).

C/W: Fluff, Breeding, Mature, 18+

“It wasn’t over…it still isn’t over.”

Lines from The Notebook bubble from your lips onto Nanami’s bare chest. You’re curled onto him like a Cheshire cat. Your pretty, flushed mouth pets him. Followed closely by muffled sniffles. You bury your misty eyes and runny nose into his ratty, old college baseball shirt.

The one washed heather grey from the days turned months turned years of your careful handwashing.

I can get you another shirt, my love.

But I want this one, Ken. It reminds me of when we first fell in love.

Your answer is the same whenever he offers. Pouring all of your being into mending the natural little holes, the frays, and strain that comes with time.

His precious girl.

You nurse his shirt back to health, time and time again. In the same way you kiss him on rainy Sunday mornings. And pull him into the kitchen to dance with you under candlelight. And sneak extra food into his packed lunch on days he has to work overtime.

You are celestial.

With you he’s entrenched in the Heavens.

With you he builds the palatial wings of his own personal Icarus. Flying close, nearly too close, to the blinding warmth of your Sun.

“It’s so romantic, isn’t it?”

You shift up higher on him. Torsos melding together. Both your thighs cradled between his pajama clad legs. Nanami drags his fingers along your delicate spine.

God, he revels in you like this.

“It is, baby.”

Nanami catches the glassy mosaic in your eyes. Worthy of display in the Sistine Chapel.

You quickly bury your head into his neck, embarrassed about crying over a movie you’ve both seen over 10 times.

“I’m being so ridiculous, I’m sorry. It’s the stupid, dumb, stupid hormones.”

You press a cloud soft kiss into his chest and it reverberates down to his thundering heart.

Truthfully, Nanami has spent the entirety of the film watching you.

Tiny wrinkles in your button nose during some scenes, giggles and full belly laughs at others. You try to bite back your sobs. Slap away your tears before they splash against his abs — like they don’t correlate with the same points in the plot everytime.

He purposefully chose The Notebook after dinner because of your reactions. Just so he could fall in love with you all over again.

Just like Icarus.

Who fell from flying too close to the Sun.

Because loving you feels like a blissful free fall. With no ground in sight.

“I can’t wait to marry you.” The words flow out of Nanami. He can’t seem to contain it.

A pretty gasp escapes you. You pull away from the TV to shift closer to his face.

“Oh, Ken. I can’t wait to—“

“Kiss me.” His voice is throaty, laced with growing need.

Such an obedient girl.

Your lips are addicting. A fiend’s paradise.

He surges his hands in your hair while his tongue traces and tastes every corner of your mouth. You whine into him. He sucks on your tongue before taking your bottom lip into his teeth.

“Baby,” You breathe against his lips. Gentle pants melding with his.

Nanami kisses a hushed I love you into your mouth, before shifting your bodies on the plush couch.

His cock has been throbbing the entire movie. His shirt has inevitably shrunken over the years. Where it used to fall past your mid thighs, now it rides halfway over your hips.

Your plump, perky ass has been in plain view the whole night. Nothing protecting you from his invasion except for a thin, baby doll thong. Navy. Like the letters on his alma mater’s shirt.

Because your body is in heat, preparing you for a baby, your breasts are noticeably larger.

Filling out his shirt in the most mouth watering way. Your nipples, hard and sensitive, enticing him with every miniscule movement.

God, the way you wince and squeal when you brush your buds too harshly against him. Or whimper when the supple, puffy flesh of your tits push against his rigid body a little too hard.

His cock bucks off his thigh every single time.

The next 3 days Nanami will be reduced to the most rudimentary version of himself.

He’ll follow you around the house like a lap dog. Burying his nose and mouth and lips and tongue into every part of your body. He’ll grope you. Rub his crotch into you at every turn. Cum from just sucking on your nipples, if you let him.

You two have decided to abstain from sex when you ovulate. Until you are ready to create a love child.

He says you, because Nanami is fully ready, eager, to have mini-yous filling his home with life.

And really, he’s happy to let you dictate your family planning.

But the next 3 days will be torture. His needy, oversensitive heavy cock will drive every thought. He’ll jerk off more times than he can count.

Nanami is on his back now, with you perfectly perched on his manhood. Nothing but your thin panties cupping your precious little cunt. His length tents right up against you, begging for entry.

Both of your warm hands caress each hill and valley of his abs. Little crystals line your wide, puppy eyes. Tip of your nose so deeply flushed from all your tears. Cheeks dusted rose from your sex rubbing against his in this position.

No matter how many years you two have been intimate, you always blush, and squirm, and look away and hide your face like it’s the first time.

And it just makes him want to bury his cock in you. And take you. And worship you. And keep you swollen with his cum.

“How did I get so lucky?”

Again, Nanami means to think the statement but it rolls off his tongue on its own accord.

“D-do you mean that?” The way your bottom lip quivers makes his cock drool.

“My love. Your name was etched into my heart from the day I met you.”

Nanami pulls himself up so that your chest collides with his. You whimper at the sudden contact and the sound decimates his brain.

He crashes his lips into yours once more.

Your sweet mouth is blinding. You immediately evanesce into him. Little “ohs” and little “mmms” escape you in the pockets of breath Nanami allows you.

His cock jerks violently against your warm, dewy folds. Your arousal has soaked through your measly barrier. Now mixing with his, staining his sweats.

“Oh sweetheart,” Nanami husks against your lips. His fingers go to move your thong aside and are now drenched.

“So wet for me. Such a needy girl.”

He circles your puffy clit twice. And you buck against his veiny hand.

“Mmnnggh…oh god, K-Ken..” broken little moans kiss Nanami’s neck, while he pets your soaking wet folds.

“My precious girl,” he muses, fully aware of how pliant you become under his sweet words and light touch.

Nanami shifts his hips upward, just to avoid his legs falling asleep. But the sound that emanates from your lips is mind altering.

The friction from his fingers on your sensitive bud and his barely clothed, steel pipe length bullying into your opening drives you to see stars.

You bury your head back into the crook of his neck. So embarrassed about the way your hips start rutting against his cock. Slowly. On low autopilot.

Nanami grips your fleshy ass with his free hand. Pushing you deeper onto his rod every time you hump him.

“Oh yeah, baby?”

He gently teases into your ear. It’s such a fucking turn on. You rutting against him so desperately. Blushing up to your ears. Trying and failing miserably at fighting your body when it’s in heat like this.

Your nails dig little crescents into Nanami’s back. Small little puffs of air feather his skin.

“That’s it, pretty girl.” Nanami huffs.

“Use my cock. Make yourself feel good.”

You mewl at his words. Frustrated that the friction you want, need, is escaping you.

“I-I’m so…” words broken by your sloppy, desperate humping. Nanami grips your ass tighter. He suspends his hips upward to help you.

But his adjustments just make you whine louder. Pulling your face out of his neck to glare at him. Little frustrated crystals fall from your eyes. Your pupils are completely blown. Eyelids heavy. Nostrils flaring.

Fucking hell.

He could cum from just looking at you right now.

You need his cock. It feels criminal not to sink into your begging, decadent, pretty little cunt right now. When your body has worked so hard to prepare you to be stuffed and bred.

“I’m so horny,” another salty tear rolls down your pretty face.

And Nanami has to look up at the ceiling.

Because you say things like that.

While dripping around his dick. With your puffy tits and lips. Wearing his shirt that reminds you both of when you first fell in love.

How can you expect him to maintain any decorum?

“I-I-I love you with all my heart, Kento.”

And, he’s off.

You snap his last remaining string of self control in half.

Nanami takes another bruising kiss from your lips. His hands start dragging his shirt over your head. And you immediately moan into him.

“Be gentle with it!” You scold through delirious groans.

He can’t help but smile against your lips. His sweet, tender hearted future wife. So protective. Even if it’s just a cotton t-shirt.

“Forgive me baby, I’ll be more gentle.”

Willing his hands to move a beat slower. He pulls the prized possession over your head and sets it on the couch ledge behind you.

His eyes instantly drop to your sensitive nipples. And you squirm away from his searing gaze.

“My beautiful wife.” Nanami murmurs.

He places feather light kisses on your sensitive mounds.

Your tiny fingers wire through his hair and gently tug. And Nanami’s cock twitches in return. Leaking more of his arousal onto the mess you both have created.

“Can I make love to you baby? All I need is my tongue.”

Grit in his tone almost sharp enough to nick your skin.

You roll your bottom lip under your teeth. Wanton and utterly fucked out, you drop your hand to his crotch for the first time. Evoking a loud hiss from your soon-to-be husband.

“I want to feel you.” Hot desire woven throughout your angelic features.

Your voice calls to his manhood. The last remaining blood in his brain diverts directly to his groin.

“I…” Nanami pulls in a deep, shaky breath.

“I won’t be able to pull out, pretty girl.”

You take a kiss this time, swirling your sweet tongue around his. Nanami melts into your mouth like chocolate. Palming both of your hips with his large hands.

Pull out? He won’t be able to last more than 5 seconds inside you at this rate.

“You’re my husband,” your dulcet voice absolutely fucking his brain.

“And I want to feel you.”

Nanami has to bite back a pathetic whine. There’s barely 3 seconds left before he’s thrusting into you like the caged animal he is.

“Sweetheart, I could…” No, he knows he will.

“I will get you pregnant tonight.”

He offers you the last warning he’ll be able to mumble before he starts.

You cup his face. Place a chaste kiss on his swollen lips and grind onto his helplessly rock hard cock.

“Then let’s make a baby.”

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wynnyfryd · 6 months

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Trailer park Steve AU part 23

part 1 | part 22 | ao3

cw: alcohol, recreational drinking

Steve fusses with his hair in the side mirror again, tugging awkwardly at his borrowed clothes. He feels stupid, standing here fidgeting in the parking lot like some kind of nervous freshman, but half of Hawkins seems to be here tonight and Robin’s got him dressed like a loser — worn green flannel and a ripped black tee with a faded picture of The Smiths. Jesus. “Did you really have to dress me like this?”

“What? You look cute!”

“I look like I raided Jonathan Byers’ closet.”

“No, you look like someone a certain neighbor is going to be drooling over all night.” Steve’s grateful for the dark then; for the blush it hides on his cheeks. “It’s not my fault you don't know how to make a deal; if you wanted to borrow a specific shirt, you should have said so before we shook on it.”

“Besides,” she ignores him when he rolls his eyes at her, “you wouldn’t even let me smudge eyeliner on your lower lash line like I wanted to, so I really don't feel like you’ve earned complaining privileges.”

“I’ll complain if I fucking want to,” he grumbles under his breath. He runs a hand through his hair one more time, then forces himself to look away from the mirror. Rolls his shoulders back and down. “He’s not even here, anyway.”

“Ah-ha! So you did check.” She links their arms together, starts dragging Steve across the uneven gravel, her ankles wobbling in her low-heeled boots. “‘Just looking for a good parking spot,’ my ass. God, I’m always so right about everything. I'm, like, cosmically correct. I should really play the lottery next time I visit my grandparents..."

“Uh huh.” He’s not sure what luck and correctness have to do with each other, but sure.

She stumbles over a rock; pushes into his side, grinning, “I’m serious! I’ll play the lottery, and I’ll win big, and then you’ll see. Might even split my winnings with you if you’re nice to me.”

“I’m literally so nice to you all the time, but okay. Can’t wait to take half your earnings when you get ten bucks off a scratcher.”

“Hey, five bucks is five bucks! That’s like an hour and a half of our lives.”

Jesus Christ. “That’s just depressing.”

They walk arm and arm down the narrow footpath to the party — ferns brushing their calves, dry dirt beneath their shoes kicking up tiny clouds of dust — and as the path opens up Steve sees the place is packed. More packed than the overstuffed parking lot let on. There are people scattered over the picnic grounds in groups of fours and fives, a full dance floor under the main pavilion; a DJ set up at the front with food and drink stands to the side; a giant bowl of spiked punch; a tower of solo cups; a couple of coolers filled with beer.

In the surrounding grass he sees more tables, more people. A couple of guys he remembers from swim team rally around an arm wrestling match; another group plays beer pong on a brown fold-up table that they definitely stole from someone’s church. There's a circle of burnouts playing hacky sack behind a tree.

The bonfire burns brightly on the hillside in the distance, and beyond that he spots the faint glow of trail lights leading up to a bridge under the falls.

Part of him wants to follow the trail. Shake Robin off, pretend like he’s going to take a leak. Find a nice rocky overhang to camp under for a while.

Listen to river sounds. Gentle slosh; cricket buzz.

Maybe he gets drunk up there alone. Maybe he just enjoys the solitude; lies on a rock on his belly by the icy river’s edge, swirls his hand in frigid water and doesn't dream of dark brown curls.

“Steve?” Robin nudges him. “You good?”

Another, much less annoying part of him reminds him that he’s Steve Goddamn Harrington. He knows how to have a good time at a party.

Who cares if he feels too old to be here, or if it’s weird to see so many faces that used to call him Captain or King? Who cares that he's one smudge of eyeliner away from looking like a full-blown new wave art freak?

He’s not about to slink off to do depressed weirdo wallflower shit when the DJ’s playing Wham!

“Yeah.” He squeezes her shoulder. “You want a drink?”

“Yes, please.”

—

The drinks are strong.

Steve’s pretty sure the punch bowl is a lot more hunch than punch, but there’s still no sign of Vickie, and Robin’s getting that sad little stress wrinkle between her brows about it, so Steve says bottoms up and starts chugging.

They wince their way through two cups each. Robin plugs her nose on the second one like she’s about to do a high dive, and Steve laughs and takes her hand, leading her into the crowd just as Take on Me comes on. The lights all blur together as they shimmy and shake and twirl, moving like a couple of dorks, but Steve’s having a great time. Bobbing his head to the beat; a big, dumb grin on his face as he moves his hips. Robin shouts “Watch this!” over the music, and the next thing he knows they’re competing to see who can bust the worst dance move.

He brings out all the big guns, the full-groan dad maneuvers.

The sprinkler, the lawn mower, the fucking disco finger.

Robin answers with a sloppy attempt at the robot, so he makes up a new move he calls be kind, rewind, and she laughs like a horse and pretends to walk down a flight of stairs.

She’s crouched into a goofy lunge, two steps into the ascent back up, when the song fades out and a ballad takes over. The crowd presses in to slow dance; Robin steps on someone's toes.

“Hey, watch it!” the person hisses.

Robin startles hard; knocks herself off-balance when she tries to stand up straight, babbling, "Oh, my god, I'm so sorry! Are you- are you okay? I'm such a klutz, oh, my god, I'm—"

Steve snatches her up under the armpits; puts her back on her feet. Then he looks up and realizes who exactly she just stepped on.

Well, shit.

—

part 24

tag list part 1 below the cut, let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

@a-little-unsteddie @ahsokatanoss @aliea82 @alyelf @anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @awolfstudio @bambibiest @bananahoneycomb @bookbinderbitch @bronwenmarie @cheonsazu @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cuips-not-cute @dauntlessdiva @dawners @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @fandomfix8 @gregre369 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @hallucinatedjosten @hellion-child @hiimlevi @honoragreyskull @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @kas-eddie-munson @kingelyx @lifeisacrisis @littlebluejane @marvel-ous-m @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @milklechee @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @munsonslure @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @phoenixtheone @questionablequeeries @runninriot

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #st fic #robin buckley #jonathan byers #my writing #my fic

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kcrossvine-art · 5 months

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Hi friends! Just a day after this years Yule and a few days out from Christmas, regardless of what you celebrate during this winter months, we're gonna be cooking a tangy tango between two traditional english staples-

Yule Plum Pudding and Wassail from Lord of the Rings Online!

(You can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to this Yule Plum Pudding?” YOU MAY ASKPlum Pudding is not a "pudding" as us americans think of it; its closer to a fruitcake but less shit.

Cranberries

White raisins

Macerated prunes (in brandy)

Chopped candied peel

Blanched almonds

All-purpose flour

Cinnamon

Nutmeg

Cloves

Sugar

Breadcrumbs

Lemon zest

Unsalted butter

Eggs

Whole milk

Half a bottle of brandy

It also doesnt contain any capital-P plums! it actually does contain plums im so fucking stupid i never connected the dots that prunes were dried plums oh my god. But they still ued any dried fruit, and "Plum" here is just referring to any dried fruit. And what about the birth of todays wassail?

4 cooking apples

2 pears

Brown sugar

Cinnamon sticks

2 lemons

A bottle of sherry

The other half bottle of brandy

Wassail is very similar to apple cider drank in the fall, with a few differences like the addition of pears and different alcohol source. It was commonly drank while "wassailing" which was a Yuletide predecessor to christmas carolling. People would go door-to-door with a big bowl of wassail, play music, and give well wishes- offering drinks from the wassail in return for small gifts!

AND, “what does Yule Plum Pudding and Wassail taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

The puddings like a fruitcake but if a fruit cake tasted good and wasnt a brick

Its thick and rich, and somehow actually tastes like plum despite that not being intended or making sense

I love the macerated prunes so much. Juicy berries to forage for. Enrichment

The icings reminiscent of buttercream but more savory than sweet

The wassail is like drinking the golden edges off the clouds at sunset

Its got a little bit of the dryness from the sherry that makes your mouth water the moment you stop drinking it

You just want to keep drinking more to sate yourself

Even without eggs its surprisingly full bodied and thick

I had to make a few substitutions from traditional elements due to either being not available or too expensive, but with a little problem-solving nothing was too hard to do.

. Used a bundt cake pan instead of a pudding tin . Suet (animal fat) was historically used for plum pudding. I couldnt find any and used butter instead . Used golden delicious apples when called for . Used concorde pears when called for . Some wassail recipes fold in egg whites before serving, to make the drink creamier. I didnt do this, but if you do, the recommendation to drink it fresh still stands (and strongly)

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I gotta admit, I was nervous approaching this recipe. Not only because I didn't own and couldnt find a "pudding tin" without ordering online, or because the concept of steaming a pastry(?) feels foreign and odd, but also because of how old and storied this dish is. You always run into the issue with historical foods who date back to the times where oral history was the only history. The issue of people being combative that their recipe is the only true variant of the recipe, and all the others are mucking the whole thing up.

Its good to remember that like with most dishes, cooking is something that evolved and continues to evolve overtime. Unless someones trying to rewrite history and claim that ants on a log is a creme brule in which case you should run them over with a '98 Pontiac Sunfire.

Theres a few things I'd do differently when cooking again, like chopping the blanched almonds. They were a bit too big when left whole. And adding some amount of heavy cream to the icing? Maybe? To give it a fluffier/milkier feel? But the proces of cooking itself was very straightforward and I have no real complaints or modifications to make. When having leftovers of the pudding it did seem to "mature" and taste better and better the more days i kept it in the fridge, so thats something to keep in mind! But it tastes great a day after all the same.

I give this recipe a solid 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Happy winter everyone! Congrats to another year of staying alive!

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Yule Plum Pudding Ingredients:

16oz cranberries

12oz white raisins

9oz macerated prunes

4oz chopped candied peel (any fruit)

2oz blanched, chopped almonds

4oz all-purpose flour

Measure spices with your heart (cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves)

8oz granulated sugar

8oz fresh white breadcrumbs

lemon zest (one lemon)

4oz grated unsalted butter

4 eggs

8oz whole milk

Pudding Icing Ingredients:

1½oz unsalted butter

1½oz all-purpose flour

10½oz whole milk

3oz granulated sugar

2 tablespoons brandy

Yule Plum Pudding Method:

A week before making, macerate your prunes in brandy.

Mix together all the dried fruit, peel, and almonds. Sieve flour and spices together then add to the fruit mixture along with the sugar, breadcrumbs, rind, and grated butter.

Beat eggs and then blend with 8oz of milk.

Stir the egg/milk mixture to incorporate into the dry ingredients. Add prunes, and stir some more.

Put batter into a well-buttered pudding basin, with parchment paper to cover.

Get a large pot and place a kitchen towel or something similar at the bottom- then place the pudding basin on top of the towel, inside the large pot.

Fill the outer pot with water until it’s halfway up the side, cover the pot with a lid (or foil).

Steam on the stovetop at 210f for 4-6 hours depending on size of pudding basin. If the water gets too low, add a bit more.

After steaming, uncover and allow to cool to room temperature. Do not remove it from the pudding basin! Cover with fresh parchment paper and foil and store in a cool, dry place for at least a day.

(optional) to reheat; steam for 40-80 minutes, until warmed through.

Pudding Icing Method:

Place butter in a medium saucepan with the flour, pour in the milk then whisk everything vigorously together over a medium heat.

As soon as it comes to simmering point and has thickened, turn the heat to its lowest setting, stir in the sugar, and let the sauce cook for 10 minutes.

Add the brandy and stir to mix. Keep warm until required.

Wassail Ingredients:

4 cooking apples

2 pears

Brown sugar

4 Cinammon sticks

2 lemon

1 bottle of Sherry

½ bottle of Brandy

Wassail Method:

Core the apples and pears, leave the rest intact, and set in a baking pan. Fill the hollow centers with brown sugar.

Add about an inch of water to the pan and bake at 350f for 30 minutes, or until the fruit is soft.

Move the fruit to a large pot, add a bottle of sherry, half a bottle of brandy, lemon peel, and 4 large cinnamon sticks. (Feel free to use less booze!)

Bring the pot to a simmer for about 45 minutes, stirring occasionally. Strain before serving!

#cross cooks lotr #dessert #baking recipes #the lord of the rings #digital art

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dumbsoftheart · 5 months

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threads of fate

pairing: peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x preachers daughter!reader

tags: 18+, mdni. dub-con, heavy and dark religious themes, dark themes, fingering, kissing, swearing, sliiight voyerism, corruption and innocence kink,

summary: after a chase in the woods, coriolanus becomes devoted to making you his one and only follower.

notes: i don't know what came over me.. enjoy!

word count: 7.2k

౨ׅৎ

the blood of the lamb, washed over the sins of those strayed away from god, atones those begging to be spared from destruction. the saccharine ichor was the ultimate gateway towards deliverance- and thus sought out by sinners and saints alike to be granted eternal redemption for the transgressions that permeated the sweats and tears of the individuals whose secrets would have them damned to the dreadful inferno beneath their feet. the sweet lamb; symbol of innocence and purity, and the wolf who hunted it, the face of deception and treachery, stood now in the heart of the woodlands, the sweet kill hidden shamefully in the asylum of the crowded aspen as it’s predator tauntingly whistled in pursuit of it’s coveted prize.

tears fell in a waterfall down into the vessels of your collarbones, trailing down and staining the frail white fabric of your dress, unveiling the soft tanned skin of your chest in its wake. with one hand clasped tightly against your mouth, you tried to conceal your wails of fear and the threatening thumping of your heart so as not to draw attention to the towering figure looming dangerously close to you, chuckling lowly as he carefully made his way through the maze of trees and forestry. your other hand was clutched desperately on the golden cross that hung around your neck, thumb haphazardly caressing the delicate engravings and etchings of the cool metal.

hail mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus. holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death.

shame washed over you as you thought of your mother and father- your dear father, and what they would make of your inevitable disappearance. you were taught the way of the lord since you emerged from your mothers womb; it followed you everywhere you went. by all means, you had lived your life for god himself. what would he think of you now? the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of god. and yet there you were, a thief, running from, no doubt, god’s punishment for your sins.

despite your fathers widespread fame throughout the district, your family struggled to bring food and water to the table regularly. seeing the despair that clouded your mothers eyes as she failed to provide a dinner some nights for her family had driven you towards madness. you grew desperate- desperate to alleviate the stress that haunted her and satiate the hunger that settled in your stomach for the fifth day in a row. you rationalised, that with your undying devotion, god would find it in him to forgive you. with all the work your father put into his sermons and dedication to delivering god's word to the poverty stricken peoples of district 12, the divine being would be forgiving in his punishment in recognition of the loyalty you harboured.

now, you knew you were wrong.

you berate yourself for even entertaining the stupid idea of pilfering from the small bakery near the marketplace. in truth, it wasn’t even stealing. you had waited until dark threatened the sky, then snuck behind the establishment to snatch a few meagre, stale loaves that had been carelessly discarded in a small bin beside the refuse receptacles. combined with the butter you had been gifted earlier in the week, these provisions would barely suffice to stifle the persistent pangs in your stomach for a few days, at most. you naively assumed you were in solitude and hastily fled when you’d filled up your small leather bag with as many old rolls and loaves as possible.

oh, how wrong could you have been? you never caught sight of the face of the man who now charged after you- only a faint glance at a familiar blue that weaved its way through the trees- but the adrenaline rushing through your veins urged you to run, and to never stop. and now, here you were, caught in the act, pathetically weeping as you waited for the repercussions of your actions to find you.

you moved to press your back harder against the thin trunk of the tree, a twig snapping under the weight of your foot, and your eyes widened with fear as the sound reverberated against the still of the forest, the soft footsteps that trailed behind you coming to an abrupt stop. then, a voice.

“my dear, it would make it so much easier for us if you just came out. i promise you, i don’t bite.” it purred. the way he spoke was low and unrecognisable, laced with an amusement that had you shiver with the depravity of it. your crying ceased at an attempt to remain as hidden as possible, nary a whimper escaping from behind the painful grip of your hand across your mouth.

“i know you know what you did was wrong. i mean, stealing from a bakery? i wonder what your father would think of you now, his daughter a thief.”

you fought back tears at the mention of your father, shame once again weighing at your conscience, “come out, and i promise your punishment won't be as harsh as it should be.”

the proposition had you thinking for a bit, the truth behind the words appealing to you for a sliver of a moment. before you could consider your next step; find an out or comply to the omnipresent man’s offering, a gunshot pierces your ears, and you let out a shriek so loud you swore all of panem could hear you.

you begin to wail again then, uncontrollably, screaming and begging for respite as your body gave in under the weight of itself; your knees buckling and falling harshly against the ground. you shake with the ferocity of a small rodent before you’re pulled up by your shoulders and engulfed into a familiar, warm hug. your eyes wide with panic, you thrash your head back in forth in an attempt to find the man who was tormenting you, only to see that he was now gone, and in his place, a small search party lead by a peacekeeper cheered in glory at the sight of you. relief washed over you as you looked up to find your father, falling into the safety of his arms as he escorted you out of the forest, giving a curt thank you to the peacekeeper and another man you recognized to be one of your fathers students, before dragging you to the comfort of your home.

౨ׅৎ

when your father found out the reason behind your being in the woods, you’d landed yourself a life of extra chores and punished to more frequent church visits until your father decided you had repent enough. your father, reassuring you of god's forgiveness as his child, warned that your actions wouldn't fade from memory. he emphasised the necessity of restoring your relationship with the lord and savior. you were under his constant watch, now. each morning, before dropping you off at school, he compelled you to pray fervently for protection over your family and yourself, urging you to plead for deliverance from the consequences of your actions.

with your increased presence in church taking up most of the time you had to yourself, you found yourself taking note of the other frequent church goers. your father, of course, and his dedicated student, were a constant in your peripheral vision. the old couple who lived only a few minutes away from you, mrs. harmon and her froofy, dirty church outfits, her boisterous children, and her grumbling husband. you noticed small things; like how the wife of the newly-wed couple in town had stopped wearing her wedding ring, and how her husband seemed to never give her a second look. how the twin boys in the grade below you suddenly surpassed you in height, and their younger sister now seemed to lack a certain innocence that was pertinent in her character before. you made a small promise to yourself to pray for her.

there was one person, however, who you were not familiar with, yet you could feel it in the deep ends of your bones that you knew exactly who he was. he had begun to appear only once a week, his shiny buzzcut and blue peacekeeper uniform sticking out sorely from the rest of the crowd. then, twice a week- then three- and then suddenly you found you could not escape from him. everywhere you turned, he was there. when you walked home from school, you would catch him patrolling somewhere nearby, or laughing and chatting with his peacekeeper friends. when you opened the church doors for mass, he would be first to walk in, handing you a small smile before making his way to sit in the pew farthest away from you. he was there, everywhere you looked, and it unsettled you greatly. there was a lack of sincerity in his eyes when he smiled, and for a moment you thought that it had seemed like hunger, but you pushed the idea away before your brain could process it. one night, when closing the church doors and heading to your home, the small sound of rapid footsteps triggered your fight or flight response, the latter winning. when the man rested his hand on your shoulder politely, handing you a handkerchief you had dropped, you felt a strange sense of deja vu. the speed at which it sounded he had ran towards you didn’t match how he stood before you now; breathing even, chest pushed out pridefully, his dark sapphire eyes never leaving yours. but you were so sure that the man had been sprinting, just like the man who had sprinted after you a few weeks ago had. you gave him a small thank you before speed-walking your way to the front door, panting heavily as you locked it shut behind you and your hand made its way back to the pendant on your neck, grasping it so tightly it hurt, the stipe digging into the soft flesh of your palms as a way of grounding yourself back to your senses.

that night, when you got on your knees to pray, you couldn’t shake the look on the mans face from your thoughts. his features themselves were even, lacking any sense of emotion, but his eyes troubled you the most. the way they bore into yours made you feel as if you would burst into flames right then. it made you feel as if there was something he wanted from you, but your poor innocent soul couldn’t figure out what. when you nestled yourself into your bed that same night, you vowed to stay as far away from him as possible.

you hadn't realised how hard that would be.

he approached you the next morning. it was saturday, and the usual gloomy weather of district 12 had been forced away and replaced with the harsh, bright sunlight. it shone spectacularly through the stained-glass windows, gracing the dark wood of each side aisle with vibrant reds and yellows and blues and brightening the deep red carpet that lay evenly along the nave. you stood behind the pulpit, readying your fathers sermons and homilies for that week's sabbath. he had barged in unannounced, making his way towards you slowly as you pretended to ignore the tall figure making its way down the red path.

“good morning, miss,” he spoke lowly towards you, peering upwards slightly as the pulpit was slightly taller than the rest of the church, and you pretended to read through the cards and flip through your bible as if it were you preparing to speak in a mere 15 minutes. he cleared his throat once, and you waved your hand nonchalantly towards the pews, “the preacher will be ready shortly. please, have a seat.”

from behind your fathers flashcards, you could see a small tick of his jaw and he pressed his lips together tightly, nodding slowly before making his way to his usual seat, feigning interest in the architecture of the building.

“its quite beautiful, no?”

you hummed.

“i wonder how the district could afford to pay for it.”

the comment caught you off guard, causing you too look up at him with scrunched brows, your lips parted in confusion. surely, he knew the capitol had paid for it- and even then, what did it matter? a sanctuary for god deserved only the best of resources, you thought. the beauty of the church was a reflection of the beauty of your religion, the intricacies and meticulous carpentry of the building spoke to one of the three transcendentals that point to god. of course, it would be beautiful.

before you could think of a response to the bizarre musing, your father burst in, pressing a light kiss to your cheek and thanking you kindly for preparing for him. the man stood up to make his way to greet the preacher, and you were out of sight as fast as lightning.

that cycle continued for a while. he would sit in the pews, admiring the architecture (when really, he was admiring you), then stand to greet your father enthusiastically, frowning ever so slightly when you disappeared the moment he made any closer to your father. eventually, you had become quite good at avoiding him. you saw him less in the markets, saw less of him in church, and rarely caught sight of him anywhere else. that was, until you found him at your doorstep one hot summer day.

you and your mother swore it was the hottest day to see district 12, and you sat on the porch in a small, lace trimmed top and cut-off jean shorts. your hair was carelessly tossed into an updo to relieve your neck of some heat, and you sat in your fathers old chair as you sipped on some juice your family had been given earlier that day.

you weren’t expecting any visitors that day, so it was safe to say you nearly choked when the man appeared from behind the path of thrush that hid your small home from sight of the church, dressed only in the blue dress pants of his peacekeeper uniform and a thin white shirt, silver dog tag swinging like a pendulum across his chest as he made his way towards you. your father had emerged delighted, mr. snow!, he cheered, patting the man- snow, what a fitting name- on his back and urging him inside. you scrambled to the backdoor and into the kitchen where your mother rest, the door slamming behind you loudly as you entered, causing her to jump.

“dear?”

“that man daddy’s talking to- who is he?”

she gave you a halfhearted shrug, “i wouldnt know, pumpkin, it’s probably business with your father. he goes to the church, no?”

you nodded, pacing back and forth, ignoring the crazed look your mother threw at you as you processed the information.

“do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” she reminded you, and your jaw dropped at the silent accusation she threw at you.

“absolutely not, mother!” you stormed back out the door, drowning your mother’s laughter out with frustrated mumbles of has she lost her mind? and what a woman! how she could ever think something about snow was tempting you was beyond your understanding. however, when you made it back to your chair and your watered down glass of juice, the sight of a shirtless ‘mr. snow’ and your, otherwise fully dressed, father in the garden, dripping sweat shamelessly into your mothers vegetable patch, a snap thought breached your mind that perhaps there was something tempting about the mysterious man.

that sent you into a frenzy. your knee bounced anxiously as you silently begged god to forgive you for the thought, and that it was simply intrusive, and not reflective of the morals and high grounds you held closely to your heart. nervously, you grabbed the book you had abandoned weeks ago and shoved your nose into the pages as if to distract yourself from your own brain and its wicked ministrations.

you weren't sure of how much time had passed, yet it felt like the man's stay was suspiciously short as he and your father made their way inside. you gave him a curt nod, and your father gave you a small lecture about manners, insisting that the two of you become accustomed to one another. and there you were, legs drawn up to your chest as if to protect yourself from the sinful looking man before you.

“my name is coriolanus snow,” he said. coriolanus. it was unlike any name you’d heard before. you returned the gesture softly, hoping that he would disappear behind your father into the house and you could breathe again, but he stayed and stared at you with that look, “your father tells me we’re the same age. he’s a nice man.”

you bit your lip at that. the same age? there was something about coriolanus that seemed older. it also begged the question: what was someone his age doing as a peacekeeper? you opened your mouth to pry at him, but he cut you off, stepping closer.

“tell me, dear, what sins weigh in your heart?”

you drew yourself back further into the safety of your chair, face laced with disgust as you tried as hard as possible to distance yourself from the imposing man now caging you into your confinement. his breath was heavy on your nose, and your heart pounded harshly- from what, you weren’t sure. fear? a sense of danger? temptation? his lips were so close to yours now, you could smell the faint scent of cologne that mingled with the saltiness of his sweat, and you tried your best to keep your breathing as even as possible, feigning indifference to his proximity to you poorly.

“i dont know what you mean, mr. snow.”

he smiled at that, laughing lowly. he didn’t expect you to know what he meant, of course, but he had an inkling that if he played his cards just right, he’d have you right where he wanted. he leaned closer now, lips dodging yours, lightly brushing your nose as his head turned to whisper in your ear.

“do you think of me at night? our little chase?”

“wh-what?”

“you’re smart, miss. think about it.”

he disappeared into the house, bidding goodbye to your mother and father and whisking himself away. your mouth remained parted, eyes wide with confusion as you tried to process what his words could have meant.

surely, he couldn’t mean..

no. absolutely not, you decided. coriolanus may have unsettled you ungreatly, but he was a peacekeeper- and your father had always told you that they served to protect you, that they would never harm you purposely. you stood shakily and made your way quietly into the old house, reeking of old wood and boiled vegetables. you sat on the couch near your brother, holding his head to your chest as you stroked his hair comfortingly, still trying to process. from the kitchen, your father called, “he’s a nice boy, no? perhaps he could be of some influence to you, sweetheart.”

you agreed meekly, despite disagreeing with your father completely. you werent entirely sure what he saw in the man at all, yet you were adamant that he was, in fact, not a good influence, but a parasite. you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. he made you feel unsafe- unsure of yourself, and for some reason, your faith. you decided he was no good; but yet you couldnt make any understanding of the bittersweet ache between your thighs.

when coriolanus walked home that evening, he couldn’t fight his smile. he saw you, in all his glory, struggling pathetically under his gaze, squirming and fidgeting uncontrollably as he trapped you within the cage of his arms.

the sacrificial lamb has been caught, he thought.

what a stupid, stupid lamb.

౨ׅৎ

you rushed into church near 5 am the next day, sleep deprived from the constant running of your mind and the damned words of coriolanus snow.

“our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” you repeated to yourself, kneeled below the large wooden crucifixion of jesus, hands clasped tightly together, your head resting painfully against the white of your knuckles.

what you were praying for, you didn’t know. you couldn't go to the confessional- heavens forbid, no. confessing secrets of your dreams of coriolanus’s hands, the outline of his jaw, the way he whispered his sinister words so sweetly into your ear- to your father? you would rather be hanged for the whole district to see. there was nothing sinful about your dreams, exactly, but it felt sinful, dirty, downright hellish. you thought of his lips, the soft and pink flesh of them, the stormy blue of his eyes- and, oh god, you couldn't stop replaying his words in your head.

‘do you think of me at night?’ he had asked you so earnestly. as if he needed you to tell him yes, you did think of him, every night. it wasn't a lie, of course, only the way you had begun thinking about him had changed. but that wasn't your doing at all, was it? no, he was to blame, for speaking to you like that, for dangling his dog tag so close that it brushed your cross indecently, for showing up to your house and stripping himself half naked, sweating impurely over the soil you and your mother sowed and reaped with love, with innocence, purity. it was entirely his fault, from the way he seemed to be forcing himself into your life. the church door creaked open, and you continued to pray, “give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

your heart raced as footsteps neared closer, as if you knew exactly who they belonged to.

“what troubles you, little lamb?” his voice took you with fear, the way it rumbled in his chest and reverberated on the walls confining the two of you, alone. you raised your head, refusing to look back at him, “i do believe that's none of your concern, mr. snow.”

you heard him chuckle lowly, repeating the words mr. snow to himself under his breath. it made you shiver, and you recited the bible verses your father drilled into your head from as young as you could remember: vindicate me, o god, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation; rescue me from deceitful and wicked men.

you could feel him now, knee pressed lightly against your back. you stood up and turned to face him, eyes wild and daring as they searched the azure maze of his own. his hand reached to stroke your hair, and you flinched.

“why is it that you fear me so much, do you think?”

“i’m not afraid of you.”

he tsked, “‘fear’ is different than ‘being afraid’, darling. to be afraid is a fleeting moment. your brain's immediate response towards danger,” he moved to touch your hair again, now more forcefully, tucking the loose strands along your hairline behind your ear.

keep back your servant also from willful sins.

he continued, “i asked, why do you fear me?”

you tried to search deeper into his eyes, trying to grasp any understanding at what he was trying to communicate to you. your mind ran amok, and it was no help that coriolanus's hand now snuck its way into your fingers, fidgeting with the soft digits mindlessly.

“i don't.. i don't know-” he cut you off by stepping closer before you finished. you had wanted to tell him that you didn't know why he thought you feared him, that you didnt understand the question, and that you needed to get home soon, so to please excuse you.

“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”

you let out an involuntary laugh, giggling childlishly at the accusation. you stopped, when his eyes darkened.

“i’m sorry, mr. snow, but i really don’t know what you mean!” you were struggling to contain your girlish giggles. what he imposes between me and god? it was such a bizarre statement, so plainly laid out for you, that you couldn’t even comprehend it entirely. your laughing ceased, for good now, when his hand circled tightly around your wrist.

let them not have dominion over me.

then i will be upright.

“i’m not stupid, love. i saw you, yesterday, practically drooling over me. i wonder what your father would have to say if he saw the sinful way you ogled at me,” he paused, and you swallowed painfully, “and dont tell me you’ve forgotten all about our little chase, hm? wasnt it exhilarating?” now, panic engulfed you. you tried to back away from him as the pieces etched themselves together in your brain, but his hold on your wrist was only getting tighter.

“that was you?” your voice was impossibly small, weak from the alarm that blared in your head. your eyes darted back and forth desperately, searching for an out, hoping and praying that someone might burst in and see the scene before you, tear hades away from his persephone and save her from her impending doom.

i will be blameless and innocent of great transgression.

he dipped his head to your neck, lips deliciously grazing over the supple skin of your collar bone, pressing kisses so light you could barely feel them as you tried to wriggle from his grasp.

“of course it was me, darling,” the way you felt him smile against your skin was chilling, and you fought back tears as he moved impossibly closer to you, “isn’t that adrenaline rush just addicting? tell me, dove, what do you think about me when you lie in bed and replay our precious little moments together in that pretty head of yours?”

your breathing quickened, and you winced as coriolanus gripped tighter at your wrist, his other hand painfully gripping the small of your waist, massaging the gentle muscle of it. you could feel his entire body pressed against yours, and a tear threatened to slip when you felt the hard pressing of his lower region on your stomach. you shook your head, refusing to give in to his line of questioning, but his grip on your waist tightened and you cried out in pain, “your hands!” you whined, relief slowly making its way to the sore area of your waist as he loosened his grip. he made to grasp your chin under his index, forcing you to keep eye contact with him and urged you silently to keep going.

“your..” you let out a shaky sigh, “your h-ands, your voice, the words you speak to me. i don't understand why.”

he cooed at you now, as if proud of you for speaking up. your eyes darted to his lips, and you saw something flash in his eyes, “anything else?”

let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight,

lord, my rock, and my redeemer.

you tried to look down at your feet as if to run away from the question, but his hold on your chin was unrelenting. shamefully, you whispered, “your lips.”

he let out a small ahhh, as if the admission shocked him. he knew, of course. of course he knew. you poor thing. sweet, little lamb, so innocent and pure. untouched by lust, blind to its deceptive allure. he knew from the moment he’d gone after you in those woods and failed to catch you, that he would do everything in his power to make sure you would never escape his grasp again. he knew when his frail attempts at getting closer to you failed, he had to resort to a harsher solution. he needed to infiltrate every space you breathed in, and break his was into your mind until he had you right where he needed you to be: malleable, so he could corrupt you just as easy.

he knew your father protected you, the extent to which he went to protect you, as well. banning sex education in your school, ensuring your mind stays as pure as possible to the exploits of fickle men and their wants. you knew the basics, thanks to your mother and her worrisome self, but her teachings were meddled down into some confusing allegory that left your mind as clueless as before, so that you stayed intact, perfect and pristine in the lords eye as well as the rest of the district, in your white frilly dresses, light makeup, and perfectly crafted manners.

he knew how easy it would be to get in your head. the human body is funny, like that, wherein it begs for things it doesn’t know of. he knew when he flexed his hands you caught sight of it, when he swallowed you intently watched the way his adams apple bobbed, he knew when he showed up to your home and stripped himself almost bare it would plague your mind with an unknowing want and desire, and soon enough, you’d have no choice but to give in to it, abandon your god and his lessons for coriolanus alone.

he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, swiping his thumb across yours as if to mirror himself, and then ducked his head closer, “go on.”

you squeezed your eyes shut. everything felt so, so wrong, and you didn't know why, but you couldn't stop. when he continued to toy with your lip, slightly plunging the tip of his finger past them and into your mouth, you let out an involuntary, small moan, and your legs shook and quivered as the strange ache from yesterday returned.

“wh-what?”

“kiss me.”

your eyes widened, and you shook your head. coriolanus thought it was adorable, how you struggled to piece together what was about to happen, how your brain tried desperately to fill in the blanks with information it didnt know. you heard coriolanus sigh disapprovingly at your protests and he shoved his thumb further into your mouth, causing you to choke. he removed it, then wiped the saliva that remained over your bottom lip before inserting the digit in his mouth, tasting you.

“its okay, little one. you can kiss me. he wont mind,” you didnt realize your fingers lingered over the necklace nestled on your chest, and your gaze followed his finger as he gestured upwards. he wont mind. you racked your brain over the things coriolanus said to you from he entered the church.

“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”

now, you truly hoped someone would burst in, and you could scream and wail as you explained the horrors coriolanus was about to commit to you (even if those horrors were unclear). he was so close, and something still pressed hardly against your stomach, and suddenly you couldn't breathe, “he would mind. i promise to pray for you coriolanus, i don't know what troubles you, but the lord-”

he cut you off by shoving his lips onto yours harshly, groaning at the contact. his hands made their way to rest on your clothed breasts, and you wriggled and struggled to try get away from him, but your efforts were fruitless. you were cornered, now. a lamb with nowhere to run or hide, forced to face its fate. he ravaged your lips, hands restless as they caressed all over your protesting body. the ache between your legs grew, and a small part of you realized that the last thing you wanted right now was for someone to walk in, and see the preacher's daughter being completely defaced by a peacekeeper.

“your god cant give me what i need, angel. cant you see? you did this to me,” his hand grabbed yours as he pulled away to speak, trailing it down the hard muscle of his abdomen and palming the hardness that threatened to burst through the seam of his pants. your eyes were wide and doe-like, and coriolanus never needed to fuck you more. his lips met yours again, and his other hand fumbled to remove his pants, hissing when the air hit his straining cock, all while you tried your best to distance yourself from him as much as possible. your face was hot, and your hands remained in the air, unsure of where to rest them, as you slowly allowed coriolanus to slip his tongue into your mouth.

“good girl,” he practically growled, and you let out a pathetic squeak when you felt your core tighten, pleasure washing over you at the small praise. coriolanus was turned on beyond conception, moaning disgracefully as he stroked himself through the fabric of his underwear. if you could see the spectacle the two of you were making, in the middle of church- no less, the thought alone had coriolanus close to the edge. you gasped when you saw him palm himself, and without thinking, your hand brushing his ever so slightly, lingering a second too long before his eyes snapped up at yours, pleading you to go ahead and touch him.

when you finally pressed your hand to his clothed region, you swore the way coriolanus threw his head back with a small mewl and moan would land you an eternity in hell alone.

“thats it, baby, jus’ like that.. keep going..” you gasped when his hand sneaked its way under your dress- your sunday best- your hand faltering a bit when his long middle finger lightly grazed your clothed cunt. the foreign feeling it elicited from you had you desperately searching coriolanus’s eyes for an answer, unable to speak as his fingers that toyed with the most intimate parts of you had you moaning softly and lowly, uncontrollably. you continued to palm him, and his hand slipped into the lacy cotton of your panties, cursing hotly under his breath when he feels you.

“so wet for me. you dirty fucking girl, look at you: making a mess in church.” you didnt know what he meant, but shame burned through your skin. confusion grappled at you and you began to sob, not ignoring the way your tears seemed to make coriolanus throb beneath you, “please stop, coriolanus, this is immoral.”

“baby, if it feels good, then it cant be bad,” he stroked the tear stains on your cheek softly, cupping your face with false earnest as he pulled your head to lay on his chest, “does it feel good?”

coriolanus reveled in the way you looked up at him, like a devoted follower in the arms of their saviour. when you nodded slowly, he gently spun you around and shoved your face into the cool wood of the crucifixion behind you, his hand painfully pushing against your cheek enough so that you couldn't look anywhere but above you, into the sad eyes of jesus.

your panties were ripped off with a shriek that was muffled by coriolanus’s hand around your mouth, and you sobbed as pain mixed with pleasure as he gave a few slaps to your dripping cunt, mumbling about how pretty it is. in a desperate attempt to wiggle out of your new position, you accidentally arched your back further, giving him more access.

“let me show you how i can love you,” he whispered into your ear, before returning his fingers to the slick mess that coated your cunt, your body jolting when they occasionally brushed over your clit, the unfamiliar sensation already too overwhelming for you to handle. with a few more agonising strokes of his fingers, he prodded at your hole, teasing your entrance in a way that had your eyes roll to the back of your head. when he finally slipped them in, your hand pounded desperately against the cross you were pressed up on, pleads to stop falling pathetically into the hand of coriolanus and onto deaf ears. he was merciless with it, greedily pounding his fingers into you in a way that had your knees gravitating towards each other and animalistic grunts of pleasure vibrating through his hand.

something in you burned, your body was pleading for more as an unfamiliar coil formed in the pit of your stomach. your hand continued to bang against the cross, tears falling as you forcibly peered into the eyes of your saviour while you got your cunt ravaged in the middle of his shrine.

“oh god, oh god” you mumbled through his hand. you were unsure if it was shame, or the delicious way coryo pumped his fingers into you, but you grew lightheaded and dumb, eyes hazy as you grew closer to your release.

“thats it, take it. you’re filthy, taking my fingers so well in the middle of church.” now, both hands scraped desperately against the cross, leaving marks in the wake of your fingernails digging into the hardwood. coriolanus tugged your head further up, forcing you to stare at him with tears streaming down your face and desperate pleas for him to stop going unheard. he smiled coyly when he felt your pussy clench around his fingers, and he withdrew them just before you reached your release, a loud, agonising whine of relief and desperation leaving your smushed lips. he was quick to replace his fingers with his cock, the slow intrusion of it making you let out a low, droned out groan as he stretched your virgin cunt past its limit.

he removed his hand from your mouth, and a string of prayers tumbled out of it, “o my god, i am heartily sorry for having offended thee,” and “and i detest all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend thee, my god, who art all good and deserving of all my love.” it earned you a slap to your ass, and you cried out loudly as coriolanus shoved your dress off of you, watching as it fell uselessly around your legs into a pool of white. he flipped you around, admiring your soft breasts and the way they spilled over in the hold of his fingers, and he traced the soft, plumpness of your belly as he chuckled lowly at your continuous prayer. with his cock still nestled into you, he leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

“god loves you, but not as much as i do,” and then he thrust his cock into you with such force that you nearly tumbled to the floor. his hand rest on your lower back, forcing you to arch closer to him, your hips meeting his unwillingly at his fast pace. coriolanus’s cock grazed the inside of your gummy walls perfectly, and you found yourself slipping from reality as he continued to pound his dick into you, moaning when you contracted around him without rhythm, your inexperienced self almost overloaded with pleasure, unable to control your body.

“you’re being such a good girl, taking my cock like this,” he weaved a hand through your hair, “‘n you’re gonna let me cum inside you, yeah? gonna make a woman out of you.” you couldnt focus on the words he was throwing at you, lost in pleasure as the tip of coryo’s dick hit that one spot over and over again. the way he spoke to you had you at a crossroads, and it didnt help that he was fucking you into oblivion, and now you understood what he had meant when he said he imposed between you and god, because you were becoming addicted to the push and pull of his cock inside of you.

“thats right, take it. you look so pretty all dumb and fucked out on my cock,” you reached to grab his arm to steady yourself, your orgasm creeping in closely, “you gonna cum for me?”

you didn't know what it meant, but you nodded anyways, completely lost in bliss, “coryo..” you moaned out, his brows raising slightly at the new nickname, a smirk settling on his face. moans and mewls lewdly left your mouth as he quickened his pace, his unused hand massaging at your tits, twisting and pinching softly at your nipples as you thrashed with pleasure under him.

“gonna make you worship this fucking cock, baby” he was close himself now, his head falling and his voice itching up an octave, lewd moans clashing with yours as the rhythm and pace he set began to falter, and he fucked you as hard as he could as he chased your high and his own, “gonna make you devoted to me. you’re never gonna wanna be away from me again,” his face twisted with pleasure, and you circled your arms around his neck as you tried to ground yourself, the coil in your stomach slowly beginning to unravel and threatening to snap. a shadow passed, and your eyes widened with terror as you slapped coryo’s arm haphazardly, begs falling from your mouth to stop. he turned his head lazily to look at what you were whining about, but his thrusts didn't stop.

“let them see what a dirty fucking girl you are.”

your walls tightened and your eyes rolled so far back into your head you were scared they wouldn't come back up as your orgasm reached you. you covered your mouth, shrieking desperately as the shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, the newfound feeling unrelenting as it took over every part of your body. coriolanus repeated words of encouragement and praise as he fucked you through your high, before bottoming out and releasing his load in you, christening your walls. you whined at the feeling, so full and drunk off of it that your concerns of the passerby faded. the both of you stood there, panting heavily, both groaning when coryo slid out of you. he slapped his tip on your puffy clit one, two, three times, before a loud knock rapped on the church door.

you could feel coriolanus’s spill leaking out of you as you crouched on your knees, hidden, and you cried silently, the reality of what had just happened to you settling in. coriolanus snow had corrupted you, in the worst possible way, and now you could only feel yourself crave more of him. as he spoke to the intruder, egging them to run along, a thumb caressed your head gently, as if to tell you he had everything under control. the small southern drawl he’d begun to pick up was more prominent. when the intruder finally left, you were forced to your feet, and coriolanus grabbed your ruined panties, resting on his knees below you to shove them into your used cunt, before making his way back to his feet, towering over you. he spoke to you like he would if he were on duty:

“you go on home now, miss. and tell your father i say hello.”

and you did.

౨ׅৎ

@dumbsoftheart, 2023

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow smut #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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lynn-writes-things · 2 years

Text

till death do us part

• jjk men reacting to your death

ft: Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Toji, Yuji, Megumi, Toge, Yuta (no Sukuna cause truly I cannot picture him caring, sorry)

wc: 1.9k

cw: I’m sure you could gather this from the title, but death! specifically reader death! no details given, nothing explicit, just mentions of reader being dead and the boys dealin with it :( ALSO: mentions of blood + injury in Yuji’s ; mentions of major depressive episodes in Megumi’s ; mentions of disordered eating + alluded suicidal ideation in Yuta’s

Satoru Gojo:

Is it too sad to say that he’s starting to get used to people he loves dying? At least you weren’t killed by him. That’s a plus, he guesses. Gojo tries to keep face, he acts like he’s fine, like he didn’t just lose the love of his life. He still smiles and laughs, but it’s always forced. He visits your grave on a daily basis, usually at night, so no one sees him. Honestly, he talks to you like you’re still there - fills you in on all the gossip, all the latest missions, what he’s done today, etc. But he always, always tells you how much he loves you, how much he misses you. Poor guy is grateful for his blindfold, because if anyone were to catch him on his walk back and see how red and puffy his eyes were, he think he’d lose it. He curses the higher ups for sending you on such a dangerous mission alone. Curses himself for not going with you. Overtime, he’ll heal up, he’ll learn to be happy again.. but he has no idea what to do with the ring he never got to give you, though..

Kento Nanami:

He leaves again. Not for good, no, he has to track down the fucking curse that got the best of you. He’ll do it if it’s the last thing he ever does. And honestly? He’s gotten reckless with his fights. Nanami let’s his anger fuel his actions, which means his judgement is clouded, it makes him sloppy. He doesn’t care for his own life anymore, not if it means a life without you in it. Gojo pulls him out of action for awhile, but tells him that when they track down the curse, that Nanami will be the first to know (Gojo fully intends to go with him, whether Nanami wants him to or not). He doesn’t visit your grave every day, it’s too painful, but he does go at least 2-3 times a week. He cooks your favorite food, drinks your favorite wine, even though he’s always found it to be way too sweet. Your plants are always watered, hell he even buys plant food and does research just to make sure they stay alive - he just needs to keep some part of you alive with him.

Suguru Geto:

He becomes ruthless. His followers have never felt his wrath like this before, and honestly, it makes some of them want to leave. Geto will laugh if they try, because there’s no fucking way they’re leaving alive. Ever since Riko’s death, he’s felt so empty, full of despair. His confidence as a cult leader has always been a well crafted farce, a facade that he fronted expertly. But then you came along and brought him joy again. You taught him how to be soft again, to smile again, to laugh again. Geto loved you, wholly and completely, which is why he always kept you so close to him, always keeping an eye on you. Figures, the one time he brings you someplace with him, the one time he lets you go off by yourself for a few minutes, tragedy strikes, and he can’t save you. Watching the life leave your eyes right before his own, as he cradled your head to his chest, it’s a sight that he’ll never forget, no matter how badly he wishes that he could. That curse is the most vile one he’s ever had the displeasure of ingesting. Geto knows though, that very moment solidified it for him.. love is the cruelest curse of them all. And it’s one that can never truly be exorcized.

Toji Fushiguro:

Numb at first, honestly. The home you shared had never felt so empty before. He hates it. He wants to leave, never see this place again, but part of him won’t let him do that. Not yet, anyways. Ever since the death of his first wife, Toji had been lost to the darkness, he went back to his old ways with a vengeance, until you came around. You, with your vibrant personality and sweet smiles. You taught him how to love again. That there’s still light in this dark world, and you led him back to that light. It’s because of you that he was able to reconnect with Megumi, to actually have a family again. Toji loved you, he changed his ways for you, got a job that didn’t involve killing for you. He would’ve done absolutely anything for you. But now you’re gone, and he feels lost again. Megumi doesn’t let him go back to his old ways. He’s old enough to actually talk to his dad this time, and he does. Toji can’t bring himself to hurt his son again, not now. Sure, he does take up a couple “side jobs” here and there again, but he still tries to do right, for the most part. Megumi actually makes a deal with him - Toji might not be able to actually exorcise curses, but Megumi can. Together, they track the curse down, and avenge your death. It doesn’t offer much comfort, but having closure is better than not. At least it’s something.

Yuji Itadori:

When he finds out, it quite literally feels like the air has been stolen from his lungs. It hurts worse than having his heart ripped out (trust him, he knows). Doesn’t openly cry in public, save for a few tears. He’s in too much shock. When he’s alone in his dorm though? That’s when it hits him. He screams, yells incoherent curses, sobbing the entire time. His wall now has a couple new holes, but honestly, that wasn’t enough. He goes outside and ends up beating the shit out of a tree until his knuckles are all bloodied and broken. Megumi and Nobara find him like that, brought to his knees in front of that same tree and just sobbing into his bloody hands. After the initial outburst, he just goes numb. He doesn’t leave his dorm much unless he has to, Megumi or Nobara bring him food because he’s stopped getting it himself, they always sit with him while he eats just so they know he does eat. Even Sukuna can’t get a rise of him, it’s almost like Yuji doesn’t hear him at all, until he gets too tired and just replies “shut up,” or some halfhearted plea to be quiet, but his voice is quiet and entirely void of life. Now, Yuji’s no stranger to death. His parents died, his grandfather died right in front of him, but you dying hurt him in a way that he can never describe. To say he loved you didn’t even scratch the surface of it, Yuji adored you. He definitely goes in your dorm and grabs your clothes, including the hoodie you stole from him on your very first date. He kept it all long after they cleared out your dorm, just so he could have something that smelled like you to help him sleep at night.

Megumi Fushiguro:

Completely shuts down. Won’t even talk to anybody other than extremely basic responses. Inumaki says more than a devastated Megumi does. He has it bad, poor guy totally neglects himself, too lost in his own head to remember to practice proper hygiene every day. He can’t sleep, has no appetite to speak of, hell he barely drinks water until someone forces him to. Which they always do, someone checks up on him at least once a day, though Yuji and Nobara are a near constant presence. Surprising to no one, he gets extremely reckless on missions. He’s lost yet another person that he loves, what’s the point in being careful? He’s pulled from action for a while, Nanami suggests he go to counseling, but Megumi can’t see the point in it. It won’t bring you back. It’s not like with his sister, there’s no hope for you to wake up ever again. To be honest, Megumi gets very bitter. He’s angry. At the world for taking you away too soon, at the higher ups for sending you on a mission you weren’t equipped for, despite Gojo’s telling them that. Hell, Megumi is angry with you for dying. He tells you that much when he visits your grave, the first time that he went he was yelling at you for leaving him, he was cursing the entire world. That was the first time he actually cried over it. He broke down at your grave, Gojo found him sobbing in front of it, and did his best to actually support Megumi, to comfort him a bit, because Gojo does understand how it feels to lose someone you love too soon. Megumi doesn’t think he’s ever going to recover from this.

Toge Inumaki:

He just.. breaks. Shatters, really, like glass. He’s angry, pissed off, actually, because he knew something like this would happen. He fucking knew it, the second that they sent you on a mission alone. Hell, he pleaded with Gojo to let him go with you, but it was out of his hands. Inumaki had almost snuck off with you, almost fucking did it, higher ups be damned.. but he didn’t. He talked himself out of it, saying that he was acting crazy. You’re strong, you’d be fine.. so when he found out that you weren’t? He blamed himself for not going with you. Yuta is really the only person he wants to be around, because he knows that Yuta understands the pain he’s going through right now. Except you didn’t get to come back as a curse. Honestly, he knows he shouldn’t wish this, but he kinda wishes that you did come back as one. He just wants to be with you again. He wants to hear your laughter, to see your smile, feel your arms around him one last fucking time.. it’s not fair. On one of your first dates, you got matching bracelets with little riceball charms, and Toge never ever takes his off. When your matching one was returned to him, he took it to your grave and placed it there. It’s yours. At least this way, you’re still kind of connected, right? Even with his medicine, he couldn’t speak for a couple of days after he first visited your grave. No amount of begging you to “wake up” changed a thing, but he damn sure fucking tried..

Yuta Okkotsu: (god, can I even do this to him?)

Shuts himself away, locks the door and doesn’t like anyone in. He doesn’t leave to eat, but his friends always leave something outside of the door for him, texting him to let him know it’s there. He hardly actually eats any of it, but he pretends for their sake. No one questions why he’s been going through more garbage bags lately. He spirals, badly. Losing the second person he’s ever loved, after losing the first to an early death as well? It kills him. Why does everybody that he loves die? Is he cursed to have that be his fate? The isolation doesn’t help, he knows it makes it worse, but he can’t bring himself to stop it. Honestly, he briefly considers joining you, but he knows that Rika wouldn’t let him. His isolation only lasts so long before Gojo intervenes, forcing him out to socialize, even if Yuta is miserable the whole time. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t help distract him a bit. As much as he misses you, Yuta is glad that you didn’t come back as a curse. He finds some solace knowing that your soul gets to rest, rather than live in a way that he knows you’d hate. He hasn’t been sleeping much, and it shows when he falls asleep at your grave sight, his tears pooling below him. You come to him in the dream he has, and it both breaks and helps mend his poor heart when you tell him that you’re still watching over him. Yuta laughs a little when you start scolding him for how poorly he’s been treating himself, but he promises you that he’ll start doing better. And he does. He tries, for you.

#hehe this made me cry!!!#jjk angst #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #suguru geto x reader #nanami kento x reader #yuji itadori x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #inumaki toge x reader #yuta okkatsu x reader

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briitcedes · 2 years

Text

only one bed - jude bellingham.

word count: 1.6k

summary: the age old “there’s only one bed and we sleep as far away as possible from each other but wake up cuddling” trope.

masterlist

The day had been a rare calm one out on a private beach you’d found somewhere along the coast of Spain while looking for a vacation spot with your friends, the sun had shined all day without cloud in sight, and the lack of wind combined with the hot weather had made it impossible to stay out of the water for long. Even though the day had been one of the most relaxed ones you had had the fortune of enjoying in a while, a whole day in the ocean would take its toll on anyone, hence why you were now basically dragging your feet back to your shared villa to turn in for the night.

You had your shoes in your hands, feeling the now cold sand make contact with your bare feet, your hair salty and your eyes red from the water. Some of your friends were walking in front of you, all absolutely exhausted, causing them to stumble and trip over everything. Some others were walking behind you, whispering to each other and giggling under their breath, with Jude walking right beside you. You were both walking while sharing a peaceful moment of comfortable silence after a day full of annoying each other, though it seemed keeping quiet was a hard thing for him to do when he was deliriously tired, given that he’d tried to spark a conversation every five steps you took.

You had left everything in the villa neatly placed before you left this morning, already imagining how tiring it would be to tidy everything up when you got back, as you could barely keep your eyes open. However, it seemed like the universe had other plans, because as soon as you all arrived in one piece to the gorgeous house you had rented for your holiday, and after various failed attempts at opening the door, one of your friends collapsed on the couch, which probably wouldn’t have been a problem if you hadn’t accidentally rented a villa with a missing bed, causing the couch to be your designated room for the entire vacation. You tried nudging them and waking them up, but it was a lost cost given the fact that they had instantly passed out, and you weren’t strong enough to move their dead weight.

Jude chuckled as soon as he saw you standing next to the couch looking like a kicked puppy. “Don’t look so sad.” He chuckled. “You can come sleep in our room.” he offered.

It was a fair offer, given that he shared a room with your friend currently sleeping on the couch, and their bed would be free. However, after a week of sleeping in the same spot, you dreaded having to get used to sleeping on a different surface, not to mention in the same room as Jude. You really didn’t have enough energy to argue with him right now, though, and instead you just settled for giving a smile that you hoped conveyed everything you would say to him in that moment if you weren’t so exhausted. Judging by the way he flashed you one of his own in return, you guessed it probably did.

“Thanks.” You whispered as he opened the door to the relatively big room. No one close to you was asleep yet, and you had no reason to be lowering your voice, but something in the atmosphere and his closeness to you as he held the door open caused your voice to come out in a hushed tone.

As soon as you stepped into his room and heard him shut the door behind you, you wanted to start crying out of frustration. Or exhaustion — probably both, you weren’t sure. Bottom line is that you wanted to start crying. Your friend’s bed in which you were supposed to crash, was a mess. The suitcase was open in top of the bed and their clothes were everywhere but inside of it, the bed sheet on top of it looked like it hadn’t been changed since you’d arrived, there was a leftover plate of food on the floor next to the bed and you were sure you could see a pair of shoes peeking out from under the sheets.

Jude chuckled from his side of the room.

“Guess you don’t want to be sleeping in there.” He said, his features contouring into a grimace while looking at you over his shirtless shoulder as he changed into comfortable clothes to sleep in.

“It beats the floor.” You shrugged, and it was true. You knew for a fact none of you had bothered cleaning the floors during your stay, and you were scared you were gonna fall through it and end up in the middle of the ocean. An irrational thought, of course, but one that your anxiety considered very possible anyway given that you weren’t used to staying in houses so close to the ocean.

“I mean, we can always share the bed.” Jude suggested, and you shook your head, you thought you were already being too much of a bother, and you didn’t think your body could handle a whole night of sleeping next to him. “Oh, come on. It’s not that big of a deal, we've both shared beds with most of thrm before.” he insisted, walking closer to you until he was crouching down to look into your eyes that were trying to focus on anything but his brown ones.

“Are you sure?” You asked, finally looking up at him and being shocked by how good his eyes looked under the moonlight. He nodded with a smile and when you gave in, you could’ve sworn you saw him try to hide a smile while standing up and holding his hand out to you.

Once you had gotten dressed into your pajamas and said your goodnights, you climbed into bed on the opposite side of him, while you both made a point of sleeping as far away from each other as possible, to the point where you were almost falling off the bed. You didn’t care though, you were exhausted and just wanted to sleep, so that’s exactly what you did.

When you woke up the next morning, the first thing you noticed was how heavy your chest felt. You got worried for a moment, your brain starting to think that somehow you had fallen through the floor and you were drowning, before you glanced down and saw Jude’s head resting right under your chin and on top of your chest, both of his arms safely wrapped around your body as his soft breaths made contact with your skin, causing goosebumps to make their way through your body and your heartbeat to speed up. You ignored the butterflies having him laying against you caused in your stomach, and instead admired the sight in front of you.

You stared at his face and admired every single feature in it; his long eyelashes resting on his cheeks, his soft lips slightly parted as he breathed through them, and his curved nose upon which you were delicately tracing your index finger up and down. His nose subconsciously scrunched up at the contact and you let out a soft laugh at how cute he looked, moving your right hand from his nose and placing it on his hair instead, starting to twirl his curls in your fingers while you kept your other hand on his face and caressed his cheek, feeling your heart melt at the sight of his relaxed features.

Soon enough, however, you noticed how the right side of you body started to go numb from being under him and having him pressed to your side for such a long time. As much as you hated to disrupt the peaceful state he was in and your own private selfish view of his face, you shook him awake. He let out a groan and nuzzled closer to you, if that was even possible, and you felt your heart flip inside you at the movement.

“Sorry for the bother, mister, but my whole body is going numb. You aren’t exactly light, you know?” You teased.

In one swift motion, Jude turned you both around, still keeping his arms wrapped around you but this time you were the one whose head was placed on his chest. Your heart was already beating at an inhuman pace when he started to trace patterns across your arm with his thumb and you felt your body tense up once you started thinking about how he was conscious now and definitely aware of what he was doing. Jude must have felt this because he spoke with a sigh afterwards.

“I always imagined our first morning waking up together would involve less clothing, but this is still pretty good.” He said and you slapped his chest, feeling your cheeks burning up. “Just relax, please?” he asked, looking down at you. “I can’t sleep when your thoughts are so loud.” He concluded, moving to place a kiss on the crown of your head before laying back down.

You smiled softly and nuzzled closer to him, inhaling his scent resting your head above his shirt. You returned his kiss by placing one of your own against his chest where his shirt opened up and allowed a little bit of skin to poke through, relaxing against him once again once you felt his quiet laugh come from above you in the form of a huff of air.

Feeling his thumb still drawing patterns in your arms, you decided a few more hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt, and he would still be there when you woke up.

#AAAAAA FIRST FOOTIE FIC #pls be nice lol #jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham fan fic #jude bellingham fluff #football masterlist #football imagine #football fan fic #football one shot #football fic

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hypnoneghoul · 2 months

Text

Sundown: Chapter 1

WC: 2,6k

Relationship: Pre-relationship SwissAlps

Tags: Transfeminine Mountain, AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, First Meeting, Fluff, Protectiveness, Discussion About Being Transgender, Transphobia (warning for that if someone's sensitive to it), not from swiss tho he's supportive!!!

Swiss has been travelling for a while. He finally gets to a place he can rest in and meets an unique individual. He's immediately enamored.

Notes: comm for @jazz-bazz, first part of our au! ty bex <3

Read chapter 1 under the cut or on AO3.

He’s been sweating his ass off for three days before something resembling civilization has finally come along. He’s half dead, his chick is half dead, and all he wants is to get a pint of cold beer and a damn bed.

The town—barely big enough to be called such—is obviously sparsely populated. Swiss doubts it’s even inhabited at first, but the closer he gets the more signs of life he’s noticing and the hope in him grows. He leans down to pat his chick’s neck and sighs at the puff of dust coming off of her.

“Soon, girlie. I’m gonna give ya a good brush, you deserve it.” The mare nickers and the pair continue their slow walk toward the town. It doesn’t take that long for them to make their way into the shadow casted by the town’s buildings. It smells like cow’s shit, but the people obviously have more water and food than they really need, which means there is a chance Swiss and his horse will get some. If not given freely, he’ll take it, but he is tired and he hopes their visit in that place will go smoothly.

Swiss doesn’t see any heads peeking out of doors or windows to look at him, neither threateningly nor curiously, as he looks around searching for any sign that would indicate where he can find a bar. He really needs a beer.

His knees crack when he jumps down from his mare. The ground is dry and a cloud of dust arises as his boots touch it. He finds something that could be a spot for travelers’ horses and as he leaves his chick there he hopes nobody will shoot her off if he was mistaken. It’s a solid roof over a spot covered in a thick layer of straw, with buckets full of fresh looking water hanging off of wooden beams and cubes of hay under them. Inviting enough.

Swiss pulled the reins over the mare’s neck and pulled the bit out of her mouth before tying her to one of the beams by the water. He hopes she won't be too picky. “Drink, girlie, I’ll be back soon.”

He pats her on the ass on his way and walks away, heading into the adjoining building. The batwing doors’ hinges squeal loudly as Swiss walks into what indeed is a saloon. It’s nearly empty, only two men are sitting in a corner and talking quietly over drinks. Swiss scans the space and even though it’s empty, it seems nice. The men from the corner don’t acknowledge his presence, but he doesn’t crave attention this time, so it is fine by him. It’s a bit colder there than outside and he already feels some relief.

Swiss goes straight to the bar and just as he’s sitting down on one of the squeaky stools the barmaid walks out from behind a dark brown curtain hanging between the shelves. A gorgeous, tall wo…man? They are a very pretty man, if that's the case. He shrugs, though, it’s none of his business.

They are wearing a long, light green dress—a little old fashioned in style, but it’s a good piece. Little dirty-white apron covers the dress from their waist down to where their knees are under the skirt. The dress doesn’t have sleeves, only straps digging into their shoulders and going down to create a laced neckline that makes their tits look very compelling. Their hair is long and wavy, a beautiful shade of dark amber flowing down their back and over their shoulders.

Their eyes, though…oh, their eyes are what makes Swiss’ belly swoop and his mouth go even drier than it already was. Big—adorned by thick and long lashes—and in the color of the healthiest, most fresh, summer grass ever. Swiss haven’t seen grass as green in years.

“Anything to drink for you?” They ask, picking up a rag to wipe the bar. More to busy themself than because it’s dirty. If anything it’s dusted over from unuse.

“Well, ain’t ya a pretty thing?” Swiss winks, his head tilted to the side. He knows he most definitely looks like a creep, but he can’t stop staring.

“Oh, me? Uhm–thank you?” they stutter as blush creeps up their cheeks, coloring them a light rosy pink. Gorgeous. “What…what about that drink?”

“Get me a pint of some good ole beer, sweetheart. Pretty please.”

“Mhm,” they nod, obviously flustered, and turn to disappear behind the curtain again. Swiss sighs—he really is exhausted—as he rests his chin on his fist, his other hand scratching at his stubble. Well, more like a beard, he didn’t have much time or opportunities to take care of it, so it’s a bit unkept now.

Soon enough the bar…person returns with Swiss’ beer and hands it to him with a light smile. “There you go.”

“Thank you kindly,” he mutters, nodding, before pressing his lips against the chilly mug and tipping it back. He moans at the refreshing feeling washing over him the moment beer pours into his mouth.

“Is it that good?” the person chuckles, leaning against the wall with their hands crossed over their chest. Their beautiful, full chest and it’s–Swiss shakes his head. He ain’t seen no tits in ages but he isn’t an animal, damnit.

“Nah,” he snorts before taking another gulp. “It’s piss, but I’ve been dry as a desert, sweetheart.”

The person curls their lips into a little amused smile and turns, grabbing the rag and starting to wipe the bar again. Swiss tries to not be obvious in his staring—looking from under the rim of his hat. The stranger is so captivating, he can’t tear his eyes away.

“Listen, I don’t mean any disrespect, sweetheart, but I’ve gotta ask–” Swiss starts after clearing his throat, but gets cut off. The other probably expected it to go that way.

“You’re the nicest person I’ve encountered in a long time,” they say with a smirk and Swiss bows his head, grinning. “Phrase your question as nicely and there’s a chance I won’t take out the revolver from under the bar and shoot your hat off.”

“Damn, sweetheart.” He recoils dramatically, raising his arms defensively. “You’re too pretty for me to offend, don’t ya worry.”

“So?”

“Are you a boy or a girl?” The question lands, but no offense shows on the person’s face. Swiss continues. “Cause if you’re a boy, then you’re the prettiest one I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot—and if you’re a girl, then…well, then you’re the prettiest one of those.”

“I’m a woman, kind sir,” she laughs, fully this time, and the melodic sound of it goest through Swiss’ ears right to his heart, “you haven’t proven yourself worthy of permission to call me a girl. Yet.”

“Understood. I'd love to try and prove my worth.” He winks and lifts the mug nodding, as if in a toast. “You’re a gorgeous woman, ma’am.”

“Thank you. I do understand the confusion, though, even my own body didn’t get the memo.” She sighs, fidgeting with her hands and worrying her lip between her teeth. Swiss gets a sudden urge to gently pull it free, lest she breaks the skin and paints her mouth with blood, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, they’ve just met. Swiss doesn’t know what possessed him.

“Huh, that’s so…” He mumbles, staring holes into the already rugged wood of the countertop. With the corner of his eye he sees the barmaid pull up a chair on the other side of the bar and sit on it, right before him.

“Unnatural?” she finishes for him, but her guess of his thoughts couldn’t be falser.

“No, I wanted to say it makes you unique. It’s amazing,” Swiss says—confident—looking up at her again. She is so much closer now and so many more details of her beauty are visible to the man, and if she’d let him he’d count all the golden freckles adorning her face a hundred times over.

“Oh…” she whispers. Swiss doesn’t count her freckles, but he does follow the path of a blush crawling up her cheeks. “Well, uhm, I don’t know. It doesn’t feel amazing most of the time.”

“That must be tough,” he replies, wondering. “Is it like…like you don’t feel right in your body? Like it’s not yours?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” she has no idea why she’s suddenly spilling her innermost thoughts to a stranger she has met not even half an hour prior. There is something about him, though, that makes her feel safe and maybe carries a chance of finally being understood. Even if just a bit. “And sometimes I just feel…wrong all around.”

Swiss hums in acknowledgement and leans down to his mug, swallowing down a few gulps. Once his mouth is unoccupied again, he asks, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“It’s Mountain,” the barmaid says, “but I prefer just Mounty.”

Swiss snorts at that, but immediately regrets it upon seeing Mounty’s brows furrow in confusion and her eyes fill with a tiny bit of hurt. “Sorry, sweetheart, I ain’t laughing at you! My horse’s name is Monty, that’s why!”

“Oh. Oh, okay,” she relaxes and chuckles, too, a bit embarrassed by her immediate defensiveness. “Yeah, that is funny.”

“Nice to meet you, Mounty.”

“Won’t you give me your name?” the barmaid’s eyelashes flutter and Swiss wouldn’t be able to refuse or lie to her even if he wanted to.

“Swiss, sweetheart,” he says, lifting up the mug again. “My name’s Swiss.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Swiss,” Mounty replies, her face lighting up with a soft smile, and if Swiss was standing it would make his knees buckle. Still, his insides warm up and twist and he’s never felt like that; so stupid and…vulnerable.

Swiss feels himself blush and he quickly hides behind his mug.

“Would you–” Mounty is about to ask him something, but a squeak of the doors and heavy steps interrupt her.

“Afternoon!” a stranger calls out, walking into the saloon as if it was his own ground. Swiss looks up at the barmaid and sees her tense up—her lips turn into a thin line and her brows furrow. She knows the man and she isn't fond of him in the slightest.

Swiss doesn’t like that look on her.

“Afternoon, sir,” Mounty mutters, standing up. The man doesn’t reply, just walks over and sits down by the bar next to Swiss. He is alert after Mounty’s reaction, one of his hands close to his gun.

“Get me some whiskey, girl,” the stranger grumbles, spitting the last word out like it burns his tongue, like an insult. Swiss realizes it is supposed to be one and the knot inside him tightens, this time with something resembling anger. How can someone treat such a gorgeous, brilliant and kind creature without utmost respect?

“Hey, she ain’t your girl,” Swiss hisses as Mounty disappears to get the man’s drink. He won’t sit there and pretend he is okay with what is happening right next to him. “Bark orders at your wife like that. If you even have one, it don’t seem like you’ve got a lot to offer.”

“Why do you care?” the stranger scoffs, “he’s a freak.”

One second Swiss is sitting relaxed, sipping on his beer, and then in the next he’s up with his back straight, looming over the other man and staring down at him with fire in his eyes.

“I suggest you either apologize to her when she gets back,” he growls, reaching behind himself, to his revolver, “or get out now so neither of us have to see your ugly face any more. Or else…”

“Or else what!? Ya one of them, too, hm?” the man—clearly an idiot—snarls, craning his neck to look up at Swiss, pretending to be brave. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you had no balls on you.”

“Oh, I’ve got enough balls, asshole,” Swiss laughs and that seems to hit. He pulls his revolver out from behind his belt, twists it on his finger and watches the other man hesitate about his next words. “You wanna lose yours?”

The man scoffs as if there wasn’t fear in his eyes. He’s a coward and he storms out accordingly, because it’s unlikely he knows better than to actually challenge Swiss. He doubts he knows who he was.

Just as the man disappears outside, Mounty returns with a glass of whiskey intended for him. There’s no smile on her face and her rather neutral expression turns to confusion as she sees only Swiss by the bar. “Where did he go?”

“Oh, he realized he left something at home.” Swiss shrugs, returning to his stool.

“And what would that be?”

“Respect for women,” he says with a smirk and Mounty returns it, knowing and thankful. She sits again and looks at the glass in her hand before pressing it against her lips and cringing as she tips it back to drink. “Not a fan?”

“Not at all,” she coughs and Swiss chuckles. She is adorable. “All I drink is tea.”

“Tea is good,” he says and looks into his mug—there was still some beer left. He lifts it again and silence falls for a moment.

“You really are nice to talk to,” Mounty speaks after a while. “I get called a freak and other names all the time, usually the moment I come into someone’s view. It’s nice to be treated normally, have my feelings acknowledged…and be protected. You know?”

“I can only imagine.” Swiss smiles at her fondly. It must be hard living like that. Trying to live right by yourself and offending others by simply existing, just because they are too thick-skulled. If he could, he'd sit on that creaky chair every damn day and chase off every single man who'd as much as look at Mounty wrong.

It’s quiet again, Swiss finishing up his beer and Mounty drinking her whiskey—frowning at every single sip. They have just met, but the silence is comfortable. It feels like not only did they know each other for ages, but that they have a…special connection, of a kind.

Swiss snorts at his own thoughts. He’s stupid for them, for thinking this is anything more than…than what, exactly?

“A’ight, sweetheart,” he sighs after a moment, breaking the dead silence. “I should get going, find somewhere to sleep.”

“We’ve got beds,” Mounty perks up, immediately shying away as she realizes she might’ve been a bit too enthusiastic, “if you want…”

“I’d love a bed, but I don’t have much money,” the man shrugs. He’d rip anyone off without any remorse, but not her. He’s never gotten a soft spot for someone as fast as he did for her. “And I’d rather get a place for my horse than myself.”

“And if it’d all be on the house?”

“What, like me so much already you don’t want me to leave?” Swiss laughs, winking.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Mounty scoffs, but her own wink says something else. “You’re clearly exhausted, who would I be if I let you go back on the road without a proper rest?”

“Will you at least accept my help in here and in the stables as a payment?”

“I can consider it,” she mumbles, smiling softly as she stares at Swiss through her lashes.

“Alright, then. I’ll stay, sweetheart.”

#hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps #hypnone's commissions #swissalps' sundown

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sorceresssundries · 5 days

Text

The Stars of Simril

Pairing: Gale x Tav (gn)

Summary: Gale and Tav sit together on the night of Simril, stargazing and storytelling. SFW.

Find it on AO3

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: This was all @alpydk's beautiful idea!! All I did was try and breathe a little life into it. I hope you like it.

'Simril was chiefly celebrated after dark, when the stars were visible across the sky. Celebrants located stars associated with their own births, or with their ancestors. Those without a lucky star could purchase star maps from merchants to help divine which belonged to them, based on when and where they were born. Cloudy weather was considered especially favorable on Simril, as finding one's star on an overcast sky was viewed as a blessing from Tymora. Simril was celebrated outside, with people trying to stay awake the entire night gathered around bonfires with plenty of music, food, and warm drinks.'

Gale Dekarios sat atop an old, abandoned rooftop underneath an obscured night sky and thought of his mother. Back home in Waterdeep, the city would be alive with laughter and music, the streets would be filled with the chiming joy of children energised by the thrill of the nightlong festival of Simril. They would eat sweets, dance to music and no doubt be fast asleep in the arms of relieved parents before dawn broke. But, for a little while, bedtime was a burden for tomorrow and tonight was for finding stars and receiving blessings.

Ever since Gale was a boy, he and his mother had their own cherished tradition. The stakes were simple but high - the first to spot a Dekarios star would earn a silver shard, to be cast into the harbour waters with a wish. Gale's mother had always assured him that wishes made under the family's lucky star on the night of Simril were destined to come true. Gale would win every year, and it was only now he was alone, he realised it was because she always let him. It pained Gale to think that, year after year, he had wished for new magic, power, or knowledge. All he wished for now was the warm familiarity of home.

From down here, the vast expanse of space appeared serene and tranquil. It was almost impossible to believe it held a symphony of life echoing through the planes. Perhaps, he pondered, there existed another soul on a distant world, beneath another clouded sky, gazing upward and thinking of their mother. He hoped so. It made him feel a little less alone.

“Care for some company?” Gale turned to see Tav at the top of the ladder, clutching a bottle of wine and two glasses. He should have known they would find his hiding spot. He supposed taking a blanket up to an abandoned rooftop in the wilderness wasn’t exactly subtle. He was glad Tav found him.

“Only if it’s yours” he said with a smile, and turned his face back towards the sky.

“You’ve picked a poor night for stargazing” Tav placed themselves on the blanket next to him, and their familiar, comforting woodsy scent wrapped round him and reminded him of the giant bonfires which would send smoke up to the star-speckled Waterdhavian sky.

“Ah, that is where you are wrong.” He looked at Tav with a glint of magic in the warmth of his eyes. “A cloudy sky is a good omen on the night of Simril. If you manage to find your star when the sky is overcast, you are granted a blessing from Tymora. The lady of luck herself.”

“Your star?” Tav laughed but was not surprised. If anyone was to have ownership of a star, it would be Gale.

“Every resident of Waterdeep has a star associated with them. Chosen based on birth and ancestry. Mine is up there, somewhere.” His voice sounded wistful, and Tav knew he was aching for his home. They didn’t say anything, just joined him in his silence and waited for him to continue.

“Some years, the sky was so clear and stars so bright you could practically breathe them in. As a child, I would spend the whole evening with moon-filled eyes and lungs full of stardust. I would stay up all night and watch my star, thinking it belonged to me.” Tav thought they saw a shimmer in his eyes, but it was quickly blinked away. “How odd, to think of the naiveties we grow out of; to think there was a whole person fighting through sleep to hang his small childlike hopes on a star that was never his.”

Tav let the moment sit, and considered their own past. “I wish I had a star” they whispered with soft longing.

“Well then, come on!" Gale rose to his feet, extending a hand to lift Tav up beside him. With a graceful sweep of his hand and a whispered incantation, he commanded the sky to transform, shedding its veil to reveal a pristine expanse of stars shimmering above them. Though they remained on their rooftop, it felt as though the heavens had opened up just to grant them a few hours of unobstructed wonder. Gale's voice was a soft murmur as he turned to Tav, excitement flashing in his eyes. "Let's find you a star."

“Isn’t this cheating?” Tav laughed “I thought part of the custom was to find your lucky star in spite of the clouds?’

“Let’s make our own luck shall we?”

Positioned behind Tav, Gale gently placed a hand on their waist, the warmth of his touch grounding them as they both gazed up at the celestial display. With his free hand, he began to trace a path among the twinkling lights, pointing out constellations that clustered together like families. He explained the stories behind them with the bright, clear confidence of someone who knew them by heart. He painted the night sky with the vibrant hues of mythology and wonder.

He spoke of Belnimbra's Belt, a constellation of five stars named for the legend of the first human female to have been turned into a swanmay. He recounted how she was relentlessly pursued by Lathander, God of the rising Dawn.

His hand swept across the Galleon Nebula, and his arm tightened around Tav’s waist as he spoke with soft reverie about how it is two million miles long and resembles a celestial ship forever destined to row itself across the sea of night.

He told of the tragedy of Cassima, a maiden who was accused of evil witchcraft and burned at the stake. Selûne took pity on her, and transformed Cassima into a phoenix to rise in glory and join her in the heavens. Her star still flames bright in defiance of those who condemned her.

After he finished, he ran his hand along Tav’s bare arm and lifted their hand with his own to point out unmentioned stars.

“Pick one, and it’s yours” His voice was a delicate promise. “In hundreds of years time, lovestruck fools will tell your heroic story under a cloudy, Simril sky to enchant their beloved, and the other stars will flicker with envy.”

Tav blushed and nudged him playfully. “I’m no hero, wizard. Just a lost soul”. The sky, which to Gale was a memorised book of well-loved stories in a familiar language, was to Tav nothing more than a blank canvas of light and mirrors, blinking their own loneliness back at them. Tav knew as little of the stars as they did their own past.

“I don’t know anything about my birth or my ancestors, or even the stars. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Well, then it’s lucky you’re with an astronomical expert.” He pointed their entwined hands at a small, clear light a little way apart from the larger groups. The slightly brighter of two stars so close they almost looked like they were touching.

“What about that one?” Gale was holding Tav so tightly now it could not be described as anything other than an embrace. Tav could feel the steady rise-and-fall of his chest against their back, and the rhythm of it calmed their dancing heart.

“I like that one, what’s it called?”

“Not all of them have a name yet, that one is unclaimed. A clean slate. All yours.” his thumb stroked Tav’s wrist as he brought their arm back down, and he wrapped himself around them fully. “Of course, you will have to be ok with sharing a little bit of the night sky” Tav thought they felt a soft kiss against their hair. “I picked the one right next to mine.”

Tav didn’t say anything, but Gale felt a warm tear fall against the skin of his arm. They stayed there for a while, stargazing, until the dull ache of tiredness started to crack through Gale’s illusion. Soon it would be the end of Simril, and the start of a new day.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your lucky blessing” said Tav as they descended the ladder.

“That’s ok.” He offered with the warmth Tav’s company had re-ignited in him. “Who needs lady luck, when I have you looking out for me?”

“Speaking of which!...” Tav said with excitement. “I found a whole collection of enchanted rings buried in the village, so you should be set for a while..”

The two of them walked together back to camp, laughing and chatting with the ease of two people falling in love - their hands occasionally brushing against each other, mirroring two almost-touching stars which had just appeared, faint and winking, in the sky above them.

Back in Waterdeep, A tired Morena Dekarios stood at Deepwater harbour, looking up at the distant light of her son’s star. Not as bright as it had been, nor as bright as it would be. But still there, nonetheless - defiant and hopeful. She cast a silver shard into the moonlit water and wished that, somewhere, her son was safe and cared for.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav

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imagines--galore · 10 months

Text

||Homecoming||

Summary: The brothers finally come home.

Pairing: Edward Elric x Reader

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. Family.

A/N: @infj08pellizzari This is for you! Hope you enjoy it!!!

You liked to believe you were born under an unlucky star. It had to be that and no other explanation.

Granny Pinako had told you the story. Of how your mother had stumbled to the Rockbell’s door, in labor and with no one else with her. Being doctors as well as the kind people that they were, Yuriy and Sarah Rockbell had rushed to help her. That labor had been long and hard, but in the end they were able to deliver you safe and sound.

However, the same could not be said about your mother.

She died due to complications during birth and was buried in a nearby cemetery. You still visited her from time to time and left flowers there, wandering what kind of woman she had been.

Seeing as you had no one to claim you, and with the Ishvalan War ravaging the country, the Rockbells didn’t want you to get lost in the system by the government. So, they decided to adopt you and raise you alongside their biological daughter Winry, who was only a year older then you were.

You were treated and loved the same as Winry, who was excited about the prospect of a baby sister. You grew up healthy and strong, and from an early age showed an interest in your adopted parent’s profession.

While Winry was the automail lover in the family, you were fascinated by the human body and how you could help to fix it. Under your parents tutelage, you showed great promise in becoming a doctor, or even a surgeon if you wanted.

Life was happy and carefree. Full of love, laughter, friends and family.

But a dark cloud was looming over the horizon. And it would cast a shadow over you that would effect you your entire life.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of your best friends, Edward and Alphonse’s father leaving them.

Within the same year, they lost their mother to the plague. You were devastated for both boys, whom you had known since you were able to walk. It hurt to see them so sad. You and Winry made a pact to look after them as best as you could.

But the tragedy did not stop there.

You were eight years old and Winry was nine when the news came about your parents demise.

How they had been killed in cold blood while helping a few Ishvalan citizens who were injured. Winry had hugged you and cried and cried, then again you were no better. You were lucky enough to have Granny with you, but that still didn’t help ease the pain that you had been orphaned a second time in your life.

It had to be some cruel trick no?

The both of you copped in different ways.

Winry threw herself into perfecting her automail craft and becoming a brilliant automail engineer for miles around. You on the other hand, took to studying your parents books for long long hours. Devouring every text in their small library, before ordering for more book via mail.

This was your way of being close to them, of keeping their memories alive. At times you could almost feel them standing behind you guiding your hands as you tended to a sick or injured individual who came to your home. It didn’t take long for you and Winry to gain a reputation. Granny was extremely proud saying that your parents legacies of helping people would live on in both of you.

And when Edward and Alphonse returned from their alchemy training, the little hole in your heart began to mend. The four of you, plus Granny and later Den your dog, were like a family. You would all eat together and play together.

Though you were the third oldest of your group, with Alphonse being the youngest by a few months, that didn’t stop you from stepping up and taking charge when the situation asked for it.

You would be there to take care of Winry when she would work through the nights to create an automail. Ready with food and water or whatever else she needed. She was your sister, your best friend and the both of you loved each other like anything. For Alphonse you always helped him wherever you could. Given his kind nature, you were always ready to defend him should he get into a fight at school. On more then once occasion you had returned from school from a fight after having punched a bully who was making fun of Alphonse. He was your little brother and you protected him fiercely.

And as for Edward?

The both of you shared the same protective streak when it came to your siblings. So it was no surprise that the both of you bonded over that. But it was more then that at times. You tried your best to be strong for Winry. She had always been kind and sensitive and allowed her emotions to rule her, just as Alphonse did. There was a certain innocence about her that needed to be protected. And you stood as a wall in front of your sister to protect her from it. You tended to hide your real feelings most of the time.

But when you were with Edward? Even at nine years old, you would share everything with him. From the smallest of thought that occurred to you during the day, to your most recent book of surgery. Edward was the same with you. He would share his own findings about alchemy and everything that was on his mind. It was no surprise that the both of you were best friends.

You told each other everything.

————————–

So when he and Alphonse performed human transmutation to try and bring their mother back, you were shocked to say the least.

But that part came later.

The part that shocked you the most was finding a suit of armor standing at your door and carrying a bloodied Edward.

An Edward who was missing an arm and leg.

You spent the entire night with Granny, tending to Edward and making sure his wounds did not get infected and were closed properly. Not to mention he had lost so much blood that he had to be monitored.

Once he was stable, Alphonse had told you what had happened. What they had tried to do.

And all you could do, was stare at the near comatose state of your best friend and wander where had you failed him?

Where had you failed as a best friend to have not picked up on something so important.

————————–

The question stayed with you for a long time. Years almost.

In those years, Edward began to use automail for his missing arm and leg. He also became a State Alchemist. And though you were proud of his accomplishment, and of his new mission of gaining back his and Al’s body, the question continued to haunt you.

Where there had been closeness, there was now always a gap between the both of you since that fateful day.

It was only ever picked up on when the both of you were in one another’s company. And since the brothers traveled so much no one really picked up on it. Or so you thought.

————————–

After the whole fiasco up North, you and Winry had to be smuggled away to be kept safe. It wasn’t easy, wandering around the countryside to keep out of the hands of the enemy. Enemy you still had no idea about since the brothers refused to tell both you and Winry much.

All you knew was that they were extremely dangerous. And if either Winry or you fell into their hands, they would use you both to draw out the two brothers.

One of them, Kimblee, had already held you hostage, to try and get Edward to cooperate. Luckily you had been saved, but the haunting look in Edward’s eyes, the utter fear in his features lingered in your mind day and night.

You had been passing by Resembool when the urge to return home had risen within you. So, you had done the smart thing. You had left your sister with a note before sneaking out into the night and made your way towards home.

Of course you hadn’t been expecting Edward to be there. Along with some new people. But you didn’t care about them. Edward was your main concern.

And considering the last you had heard of him had been rumors about him falling to his death you had all but tackled him in a hug that had him nearly turning blue. One of the Edward’s friends, Ling or Greed or was it Greedling?, had called you Edward’s girlfriend, and how he never stopped talking about you.

The accidental confession had you blushing slightly, though it was nothing compared to the amount of blood that rushed to Edward’s face. You were almost afraid he would faint, or punch the man in the face. But he did neither.

Instead he took your hand and led you out of the house to get a little privacy.

Once the both of you were at a safe distance to avoid being overheard he finally turned to you.

And he did not look happy.

“What’re you doing here without any guards, Y/n? You know how dangerous it is for you to be alone. And where’s Winry?” You sighed, knowing this was going to be a long conversation. “Winry is fine, she’s with the guards. They’ll probably get here in a day or so and well.....” You suddenly felt a little unsure of your decision to come here. “I came back early because I-I missed home.” You finally admitted, raising your head to glance in the direction of the house from where you had just come from.

Though there were hardly any lights on, the house still looked open and welcoming. Because it was home.

Tears stung your eyes and you tried your best to wipe them away not wanting Edward to see but he did anyway. A feeling of guilt bubbled in his chest as he watched you. “I’m sorry. I know its because of me that you, Winry and Granny had to leave and go into hiding.” He said, to which you quickly shook your head. “No, Ed! Its not your fault. Its whoever is looking to hurt you through us. Its their fault.” You proclaimed passionately. Though that simmered down rather quickly as you turned your gaze towards the heavens to look at the stars that twinkled down at the both of you.

“Sometimes, I just wish that things could go back to what they were.” You admitted. “You. Me. Winry. Alphonse. Granny. My parents. Your mother. Life was so simple back then. None of us knew just how much we would appreciate it.” You sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself. “If I could go back I would do it in a heartbeat. You were so happy. We were all so happy.” Even with Edward standing right behind you, you couldn’t help but feel.....alone.

So alone.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear or feel when Edward moved towards you. His arms came up to wrap around your torso, trapping your arms in the process. A startled gasp fell from your lips. You felt him lean his forehead against the back of your head. There was a momentary pause, where your brain seemed to wander when he had gotten so tall. But that was completely lost in the haze of feelings that took over your very soul as you shifted your own arms to wrap around his, squeezing them closer as you drew comfort from his embrace.

“I promise life will be happy again Y/n.” He whispered softly, his breath tickling the back of your neck. “We will all be happy.”

Despite the crushing weight of despair that had threatened you a few moments ago, in Edward’s arms, you felt at peace.

————————–

Since that night under the stars, you had begun to harbor a warmth within you. A warmth that only seemed to grow each time you thought about Edward. He had to leave soon afterwards, but not before promising, once more, to come back safe and sound.

It had been months since you had seen him or Alphonse, or even heard from them. Normally it would alarm you, but you had faith in your boys. Winry certainly did.

On the plus side the both of you had shifted back to Resembool. Granny too. But with protection. The two guards were still around to make sure no stranger came along, but it proved to be a little difficult since your home served as your base of operations as an automail workshop and a makeshift hospital.

You had gotten rather good at treating people. And were even thinking of giving the exam that would have you earning the license you needed to become a professional doctor.

Which was exactly what you were doing that day. You had gone out early to post your application, and would probably hear back from them in a week or so. During your walk back, you marveled the countryside as it bloomed in the spring. The wind played with your hair and you could hear Den barking in the distance, probably playing.

A smile pulled at your lips as home came into view. There were three figures outside, something you could make out form the distance. One of them was Winry and the other two?

As you drew closer, as your vision cleared, your eyes widened. Where you had been walking you slowly began to hasten your steps. One after the other. Until you were running.

Running

Running.

Before crashing straight into the arms of both Edward and Alphonse Elric.

You were sobbing tears of joy as you held the brothers close, as you kissed the top of Alphonse’s head and held his face in your hands to look at him closely. “Its you! Its really you! Oh! Alphonse! You’re back little brother!” You wiped at your tears before hugging him once more. Alphonse returned the hug just as fiercely as it was given.

“Hey he’s not the only one who got his body back!”

So maybe Ed was feeling a little left out.

You turned from Alphonse to look at Ed flexing his very human hand. With one arm around Alphonse, you reached out with your other to grasp Edward’s human hand and smiled at him. So full of hope and joy that Edward returned the smile with a tender one of his own. And as he intertwined your fingers together, Winry moved to throw her other arm around Alphonse and smiled through her own tears as they all simply sat there and basked in one another’s presence.

————————–

The house was quiet. Everyone had gone to bed. You stood in the doorway of Alphonse’s room, your gaze gentle as you watched the younger boy sleep. He was truly there. Well and truly there and your heart felt as if it would burst with happiness.

“Couldn’t sleep?” A voice from behind made you look up at Edward and give a small shrug. He too came to stand beside you. Your gaze flitted to his newly restored hand and you couldn’t help yourself as you reached out to hold it again. “I feel like I’m dreaming. That any moment I’ll wake up.” You admitted, not looking away from where your hand held his.

His grip around your palm tightened, but only slightly. “You and me both.” Edward admitted with a soft laugh. “But if this is a dream.” He turned to look at you the same time you did. Your eyes met, and you felt that warmth within you surge to a roaring flame.

“I don’t want to wake up.”

#edward elric x reader #edward x reader #edward x y/n #edward elric x y/n #edward elric #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist

215 notes · View notes

mimising · 4 months

Text

Summer full of wonders I Carlos Sainz

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Carlos Sainz x (she)reader

Hi. I'm back with part 2. Hope you all have a wonderful time reading it.

---

Sweetness with pining for each other.

---

Part 1 ---

Few days have passed by. As it turned out Carlos did have an extra room for her to stay at. First night she couldn’t fall asleep because of the fear of being tricked and raped or robbed or god knows what. So she was glad to see a note on the kitchen counter saying he went for a run and she could freshen up before he saw her.

She noticed how Carlos had a strict workout and food plan. On days he didn’t have plans they would cook together. Some hispanic songs playing in the background.

Every morning they went for a swim in the pool. Slowly she has started to understand the movements and with little practice she’ll ace it in no time. They had made plans to go swim in the sea again some day soon. But this day must be soon because in 3 days she will go away. Back to cold weather and slippery pedestrian paths.

“Hey, how was your run?” She was just finishing with breakfast. “Great as usual,” answered in an out of breath voice. “The food is almost ready.” Carlos nodded. He was staring. Actually his eyes were stuck on her every movement. He had started to daydream about morning when he could put his hands on her hips from behind and push her against the kitchen counter.

She waved her hand. “Carlos?” He shook his head. “Yeah, right. I’ll be right back.” He walked away. The cold shower had been the solution for days now. If only she would stay with him a bit longer.

“You take care of your health quite a lot. Don’t your joints start hurting with this much workout?” She was curious. And since they didn’t have much time left she had mentally said ‘fuck it’. Carlos sniggers at her comment. “How old do you think I am?” She blushed. ‘The worst thing you can ever do is to guess someone's age wrong by a mile.’ “Eeeh.. in your mid 20s?” To that answer Carlos shook his head. “Close but not really. Also, why should my joints hurt in my mid twenties?” She couldn’t look him in the eyes. “..I don’t know. You just seem to workout A lot.”

Carlos had almost finished with his breakfast. “Today we shall go to the beach. You still have a promise to fulfill.” She just nodded and stood up to put dishes away.

Walking down to the beach was peaceful. Streets were full of people and ice cream sellers. “After the swim it’s ice cream on me,” she babbled. Carlos would love it but the season was near and in a week he would also have to leave this little village to start testing the car. No extra calories were allowed. Although he wouldn’t mind watching her eat ice cream. If only he knew what to do. ‘Should I tell her about my true self? What if she changes like all of them?’

The young woman had noticed Carlos spacing out. He seemed to do it a lot more than before. “Carlos, do you have a driver's license?” “ A what now?” “You know, licensed to drive a car?” Carlos smirked. “Yes. Want to go for a ride?” he winked. She nodded. “I would like to see some countryside before I have to leave. Do you think you could squeeze it between your training plan?” Carlos was actually over the moon. He could show her his skills and maybe figure out how to see her again after her leaving. “Yes.”

Unknowingly they had arrived at the beach. The weather was perfect. It was sunny, the sea was calm and no clouds in sight. Only a lot of people were sunbathing.

This time they walked together into the water. She was a little hesitant but Carlos took her hand into his. Water got to their knees, then hips and a little further it was already to her breast and only to his middle. “Cariño, are you ready?” She let go of his hand and jumped fully in. Carlos right behind her.

She laughed “ I can swim! I can experience the sea like never before!” She shouted at the top of her lungs. Carlos laughed as well. “Yes, cariño. Yes you can. So proud of you.” She turned around, swam to him and hugged him as tight as humanly possible. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Carlos was little taken back but hugged her right back.

She looked him in the eyes. ‘If only I could kiss him.’ Carlos kissed her on the forehead. “Let's swim some more. The waves will be back soon.” She let go of him. Her mind was on something else. So was Carlos’s.

While Carlos was in the gym, she was packing for a picnic. She was working up the courage to ask him out. Or find out if he was in any way interested to see her again.

She did her make-up a little fancier than on an average day. Carlos had a hard time choosing an outfit and had to ask some help from a friend. Finally they were both ready. Carlos had been sitting on the couch when she walked in. His heart stopped a beat. ‘oh madre ayúdame!’ “I’m ready to go” Her smile reached her big joyful eyes. Carlos coughed. “Yes! Let’s go.”

She saw his car for the first time. She didn’t even know he had one, neither the less a sports car. “I think I have misjudged you.” Carlos started the car. “And why is that?” She looked around the car. “I mean, if you have a sports car then you must know how to drive. The question is how good of a driver you are.” Carlos said nothing but winked.

In the main streets he obeyed the speed limit but right after the ‘end of village’ sign he stepped on a gas. “Oh my god! Carlos! Slow down!” She held tight to her seatbelt. “You are going to kill us!” Carlos looked at her. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doi-” She interfered “Eyes on the ROAD, for christ sake!” Carlos’s smile widened. She on the other hand was barely holding it together. ‘Oh god. I’m too young to die. I still have a movie kiss to experience!’ Like this wasn’t enough, Carlos added some more speed. “Carlos I swear to god if you won’t slow down I’ll never share a car ride with you again!” she cried. He laughed but eventually slowed down. “OK-OK. I’ll drive like a grandma.”

She was still out of breath and tried to calm her heart by closing her eyes. Carlos would steal looks to see how she’s doing. He got his adrenaline up which helped to make a decision. A decision he would soon fulfill.

There was a beautiful field full of wildflowers. “I think this is a perfect place to stop.”

He parked the car. When turning off the engine he looked at her. She had her eyes on the field. He would stare at her all the time if it weren’t creepy.

Carlos was carrying a picnic basket while she was walking around and occasionally stopping to take pictures. They decided to lay out the picnic just beside a big old tree. Carlos was laying out the planket when he heard a camera click. He looked at her. “What? It would’ve been a shame to not take a picture.”

They sat beside each other. Food scattered in front of them. She had taken the wine classes but Carlos filled them with orange juice. “Cheers!” After a little sip, she took out her film camera again. “Why take pictures on a film if we have digital cameras?” asked Carlos. She turned dramatically around and looked him in the eye. “Because! Imagine, you have to think out every detail for the picture to come out. And you won’t know how it came out til you develop it.” Carlos nodded. “Mind if I take a picture of you then?” She handed him the camera. “Sure.”

Carlos stood up, stepped a few steps back and pointed the camera to their little picnic with her in the center. “Smile!” he said. Her smile was genuine. When Carlos sat back down she sighed, “if only I could take a picture of us together on a picture.”

“So you're telling me you are almost 30?! You don’t seem to be even a day past 24. How is it that you are almost a fossil without looking like it?” “Fossil? I’m not THAT old. Besides, 30 is not the end of human life. It’s just the beginning.” She nodded, “Sure, Fossil.” Carlos attacked her with tickles. “Stop it you muppet! I’m not a fossil!” She had tears in her eyes. “Hahaha, Carlos! Stooop. I can’t take it anymore.” But he shook his head. “Not til you stop calling me that.” She tried to beat it but had to give up. “OK-OK! I won’t call you Fossil again… Dinosaur.” Just as Carlos had stopped, he attacked her again.

The sun was much lower than it had been on their arrival. A slight gust of wind had come. Flowers danced while butterflies tried to land on them. “Would you go out with me?”

#carlos sainz x you #formula one x reader #carlos sainz x reader

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jessysapphireblue · 8 months

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He is your WHAT?! Luffy x Oc

Nicknames include Lu and Je but nothing else. A female magician you can use with your name, since nothing else is mentioned. ALSO! A dragon comes in as her familiar with the name Soma. Also post wano

The Land of Wano was now two days behind you and everyone was quite happy with some calm and relaxing days. You kept your boyfriend busy with large bubbles, similar to the ones at Sabaody, Usopp and Chopper joining in.

You left them to rest next to Zoro, who was napping against the railing. You head slightly bend behindto stretch yourself as you felt a presence under water, which quickly came near. "Zoro, you feel that?", you asked the swordsman who stood up. "Yes. And it's something big", he added as a big shake came over the sunny. "What was that?!", shouted Franky as Jinbe steadied the sunny.

Water rose directly by Zoro and you, making Chopper and Usopp scream, hugging each other. Sanji also came out to look what the commotion is about, as the ship went deadly silent.

"DRAGON!!!!", everybody screamed as a big dragon stood there, shining in prismatic colors as the sun Hit it, and in its mouth was a dead sea King. "SANJI! FOOD!!! DRAGON MEAT!", Luffy shouted exited and Zoro smirked evily. "Never had the chance for it", said Sanji as you stood in front of the dragon. "If anyone of you Hit Soma, I will never speak to you again", you said quite serious.

"...Soma?", all asked. "Why, yes. This is Soma. He's my...pet" "PET?!!! THIS THING?!", Usopp shouted. "He's bigger than Kaido", admitted Zoro. Soma dropped the Sea King into the water and lowered his snout to you, as you pet him.

"Yes, hello my Baby. All ok?", you smiled softly at him. "Baby?! This Monster is nowhere near a Baby!!!", screeched Nami. "He's only two, Nami...and he got us the Sea King as a gift" "SEA KIND MEAT!!!! SANJI!!!" "Yeah yeah..." "He looks so cute. And he's bigger than the ones at Punk Hazard", admitted Robin, who now, joined your side. "Oh, you can Touch him if you want. He's...dolcile", you chuckled and Robin indeed touched him. "YOHOHOHOHO!!! I never thought a dragon could be this tame" "SUPER DRAGON!!!", Franky posed as Chopper came forth. "...why is he calling you Mama?", the cute reindeer looked at you. "Ahahaha...ehm. I met Soma when he was just a couple of months old and we directly clicked"

"Has anyone seen Luffy?", asked Jinbe as "FLY! FLY SOMA FLY!!! INTO THE SKY!!!", Luffy was already on his back, laughing. "Je, join!!!", he beamed before stretching his arms all around you, Pulling you into the dragon. "Soma, a quick round", you said and he sproud his wings. The sunny looks so small compared to them and with one heavy flap, he zoomed high up, past the clouds, your boyfriend cheering. "And?!", you shouted. "Je, this is amazing! You also, Soma!!" A loud growl came from Soma, making your evey widen. "Lu, hold on tight!", you said and in the next second, your dragon dived down at full speed.

The only Sound you heard was your exiting boyfriend before Soma stopped directly over the water, showing the reflextion, his claws gliding over the water, as he came to an halt by the sunny. "Wohooo!!! Amazing!" "Lu, your hair!", you began to laugh loudly at his wild wind-blown hair.

Back on the Sunny, you moved your Finger as Soma shrinked, perfect to the size to lay comfy around your neck. "You can shrink him?", asked Jinbe. "Because he's my familiar", you hummed, scratching his shimmering scales. "Fa-wha?", Lu poked his snout. "Familiar. We made a...soul bond. When I die, so does he, when I'm hurt he also gets hurt, and so on. I can also understand him", you admitted. "So, what kind of dragon is he?", asked Sanji and came closer to inspect him. "A spectal dragon. When light shines on him, he's like a prism. When he gets older, his flame will get the same color, and if what I read is correct...let me say it like this! Onigashima be melting down", you laughed.

"Where were you?! You could've helped us so much!"whined Usopp. "I'd only call him if the Situation would be live-threaten, Usopp...beides...He would swoop in just like that" "And what does he eat?" Asked franky. "Meat, fish, berries...everything raw. But mostly big animals...like the sea Kings and Dinosaurs" "Oh god" "Ah, no worry Sanji! Soma gets his food alone" "Je, you are incredible!" Lu hugged you close, kissing you. "Soma, you too! We're gonna have so much fun together!!!"

"Oh, no doubt about that", you laughed and saw how Soma sat himself on your boyfriends' straw hat before they talked, walking away

A picture compared to the sunny and soma 😁

#luffy #luffy x oc #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #monkey d. luffy #one piece #straw hat luffy #straw hat pirates #anime and manga #dragon #pet dragon #strawhats #straw hat crew

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piratefishmama · 1 year

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Beware the Thorns | Part 2

(a NSFW multi-part ficlet)

Steve’s plane landed right on schedule at quarter-past seven, he was out of the airport by half-past. He didn’t have his own private jet, but he flew first class, so the process always ran a little smoother for him. Private jets, while cool, only drew unwanted attention to him and his private life.

He didn’t need random save the planet protesters and tree huggers trawling through his business to write stupid magazine articles and twitter posts calling him out for shit. He didn’t need to be under a magnifying glass for stupid reasons. Too much to hide.

He was home by just gone eight. A little late but not by much, bags in hand he felt the weight just… ease from his shoulders as he reached his door, music drifting from within, one of his old vinyl’s, old lounge singer type tracks, smooth.

He wondered if they’d been playing all evening, or if he’d switched them on just before eight.

He wondered if this was really what Eddie would be listening to if it weren’t for the fact that he knew one of his main clients were coming home. He swiped his key through the lock, a card key, Eddie had one too because hilariously enough… he trusted him.

Maybe it was the feelings, clouding his judgement, but he trusted Eddie with everything, his wallet, his home, his belongings, everything. The only thing Eddie didn’t know about him… was the entire scope of his job, but Eddie didn’t need to know about his job, Eddie didn’t even ask about his job, wasn’t his business, an he loved that about him.

He wasn’t curious, or if he was, he didn’t let it slip into his work life, he didn’t probe, perhaps that was why Steve felt so… comfortable with the man, why he’d allowed himself to dip his toes into the potential of having feelings for him before diving in headfirst into syrupy molasses forgetting that shit, syrup was really hard to swim through.

Eddie was safe, harmless, perfect, and he could cook.

The smells that greeted him as he opened the door were nothing short of mouth-watering, he’d been given food on the plane, but it wasn’t a five-star meal given it wasn’t exactly a long flight, long enough for snacks, not long enough for a hot meal.

His stomach rumbled in hunger at the promise of a good meal.

The receipt for the shopping he’d done was on the table, weighted down by a glass egg-shaped paper weight with a swirling helix pattern of yellow and blue, a dash of purple in the right light mixing within it.

He didn’t spend much by Steve’s standards but still managed to get what looked to be a full weeks’ worth of shopping done.

Eddie wasn’t “rich” outside of his job. Steve had long since figured that out with how easily he sought out bargains, deals, and offers in shops, he knew how to and WOULD save money where he could, he didn’t come from wealth, wasn’t brought up with it, but he seamlessly slid himself into it.

He placed his bag by the door, it was just dirty clothes, toiletries and a small, albeit expensive gift for Eddie.

Couldn’t go anywhere without buying him SOMETHING, he’d always see things in shop windows, pretty jewellery, clothes, cologne, even a box of extremely expensive chocolates at one point, they had a hint of cherry liqueur to them, Eddie’s favourite, the moans his beautiful brunette had made while popping one into his mouth, fuck he’d never been so hard so fast in his life.

It was EMBARRASSING how fast his boner had just sprung to life, Viagra who? Who needs little blue pills when you have Eddie Munson moaning around a bite sized piece of artisanal chocolate?

He’d dropped to his knees without hesitation and given Eddie something else to moan about.

“Is that you, baby?” Speak of his beautiful little devil, Steve leaned his head around the doorway which lead through into the large, galley kitchen, hair held in a soft, messy bun, ringlets of wispy curls framing his face, so very soft, as though he’d gotten out of the shower an hour or so ago and blow dried.

The sliver of pale, creamy skin atop collar bone showing beneath his shirt, the top three buttons undone leaving the collar to slide down onto his shoulder.

Fuck he was parched.

Eddie was wearing one of HIS shirts, Eddie always did say they felt nice against his skin and Steve wasn’t exactly about to deny him wearing his clothing. It was intimate… it added to the fantasy, the illusion that this was all real.

That Eddie truly was his, that he was his perfect little housewife waiting for him to come home after a long, mentally draining business trip, wearing his clothes… listening to his music, making his dinner… that was the dream life right there.

Honestly though any life with Eddie in it was pretty much the dream at that point.

“Yeah… it’s me, what’re you cooking?” He pulled his tie from his collar, loosening it bit by bit until he could just yank it off over his head, both tie and coat thrown onto the couch.

“Dinner” was his predictable answer, earning a snort of a laugh from Steve, so sassy, he loved it. Damn, he loved him, he loved the smile that always accompanied his sass, the twinkle of mischief in his huge Bambi eyes, how he always made it look so real.

“Alright smart ass” Eddie slipped back into the kitchen, prompting Steve to follow him, rounding the corner “what are you making Foooo—oh…” fuck parched, was there a word for thirstier than parched? If there was, he didn’t know it, couldn’t think of it either, because all the blood in his brain rushed south so very quickly.

Eddie wasn’t wearing anything below the belt, just the shirt, which on himself, was the perfect fit, tailored specifically to his stocky frame, but on Eddie, all lean muscle as he was, draped on his narrower shoulders, it was baggy, a bit loose, long, the line of the bottom hem hanging just below his ass but still showing the curve of his cheeks.

Long, creamy… strong legs, the natural curve of his waist invisible, but holy fuck Steve knew it was there, hiding it didn’t make him any less excited to see it, to run his hands over it, to hold his hips tight against him.

He’d let this man take him for all he had if it’d make him happy.

He smiled over his shoulder, a small, sly little grin that had Steve’s heart thud heavily against his ribcage, butterflies take flight in his stomach, he felt like a teenager with his first crush. This was what he wanted to come home too, this was ALWAYS what he wanted to come home to.

“Shit, baby… do you have any idea what you do to me?” Another smile was sent his way, wider with the flash of pearly whites and dimpled cheeks.

“You like?” He pressed a hand to his hip and smoothly slid the fabric up, inching it higher and higher until Steve felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. “Got you a present, sweetheart.” Sitting snug at the centre of his lower back, just above the cleft of his perfectly curved cheeks, was a flimsy, lacy piece of black fabric which thinned and disappeared between his cheeks.

Steve gulped audibly. He wasn’t just wearing the shirt.

He didn’t get more than a foot closer to the other man before a wooden spoon was pressed against the centre of his chest, the handle held firmly in Eddie’s hand, his beautiful chocolate irises alight with playful mischief. “Ah ah” he chirped, a wide grin set upon his lips “shower first, go, dinner will be ready by the time you get out.”

“Eddiiieeee” he was a grown-ass man who not five hours earlier had cleaned blood from his hands and sent ruined clothing coated in the evidence of his crimes to be incinerated and he was absolutely whining about being kept away from touching his little minx by the end of a spoon. “At least join me?”

“And risk dinner burning?” Not a hope in hell then, Eddie was PROUD when it came to his cooking, all his meals were perfect, delicious, filling, orgasmic level moan worthy in regard to taste, he was just… gifted at everything he did. Mainly because he tried so very hard to be, because that was his job. Free time was spent learning things he could use to impress his clients. Cooking was one of them. Part of the boyfriend package. “Off you go, shower” reluctantly, Steve turned toward the doorway to do as he was told. He didn’t want to upset his baby by not doing as he was told. Eddie always did enjoy being in control of everything outside of the bedroom, only when back hit sheets, did he happily give away that control, he liked giving it up then, and only then. “And no jerking it, if I hear one groan… no dessert.”

He was being punished; this was the gods getting back at him for making an example of that man.

This was his immediate karma, his beautiful escort threatening to revoke sex privileges if he jerked it in the shower. Damnit. Shoulders slumped, head hung low he trudged out of the kitchen, a pout on his lips that’d suit a teenager or a prepubescent child far more than a grown man.

This was fine, totally fine, he just had to FORGET that Eddie was in his kitchen in nothing but a lacy black thong and one of his more expensive shirts, cooking his dinner like some kind of sexy housewife.

Just had to completely wipe it from his mind, be zen.

“Good boy” he heard the teasing sing song call as he continued his trek to the bathroom, the pout deepened, he was a good boy to his man, he liked being a good boy, he liked being TOLD he was a good boy, didn’t make the sting any less painful knowing his beautiful lover wasn’t going to be joining him in the shower.

Fuck, he’d missed him, maybe he should have told him to start dinner after he got home, rather than let him have it ready for around his arrival, at least then he’d have gotten to pull him into the shower. As it stood though, he resigned himself to the shower for one, shedding his clothes and placing them neatly into the hamper.

Eddie had cleaned up, not a lot, but he knew Steve liked a clean home, so he cared enough to put things away when he saw them out of place.

A good little housewife.

“If only he cared a little less about burning dinner…” Steve murmured to himself as he switched the water on warm, steam rising almost immediately, taking only seconds to heat up. “S’not like we couldn’t order take out or something if it burned” okay no, he’d definitely say no to takeout.

Eddie didn’t DO takeout as far as Steve was aware, if you didn’t make it, you don’t eat it, whereas Steve had a whole drawer in his kitchen dedicated to take out menus. To Eddie it was an unnecessary spend, could get half a week’s shop with some takeout prices!

Eddie was good for him, yes… just forget about the thong, forget about the shirt barely covering his ass, focus on the soft, the wholesome parts of Eddie’s presence.

The warmth in his smile whenever he saw him, the teasing lit to his tone of voice as if he’d long since grown comfortable around him, familiar in the way long term lovers do, the way he moved around his kitchen as if it were his own space, his own kitchen.

He focused on that as he stepped under the spray, let the water wash away the stiff ache in his muscles from sitting in a plane for over an hour.

Eddie had left some of his cinnamon scented soaps in the shower the last time he was there, peering around the shower door, he was pleased to find Eddie’s toothbrush in the holder next to his own as well.

Just while Eddie was there, Steve smiled, he could pretend Eddie lived there too.

Part 4

#PirateWrites #BewareTheThornsFiclet #No Upside Down AU #Steddie #Escort!Eddie #Shady!Steve

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pherelesytsia · 2 years

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Overheard and Untold

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female/Pregnant/Reader

Summary: Spencer overhears when Y/N speaks to Hotch and confesses she is expecting a child with Spencer.

Warning: Pregnancy, fear, anxiety, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k

a/n:. Requests are open. PART 1/2Spencer Reid Masterlist

Laughter roared, and the day was waning. The clouds were travelling, and the smoke was rising. Life ruled in the gleaming eyes and alcohol, wine as sweet as honey together with whiskey painted the lips. The mood was exuberant and worries were forgotten for a moment, slipping into nothingness.

Y/N had not touched the food on the plates and the vegetables in the colourful bowls. It tasted good, was delicious, but she could no longer smell the odour she once liked much and grimaced nearly in disgust as the wind carried the scent in her direction. She sipped and emptied the glass full of water. The ice cubes remained at the bottom and slowly faded away in the rays of the sun.

The long dress covered her lovely body, making it impossible to spot the barely noticeable bulge she could hide from curious gazes. The sun shone down on her but Y/N avoided the drinks and the food she knew she wasn’t allowed to consume, had been reading books she had secretly bought, still unsure how to break the news to her boyfriend. Y/N was delighted, but every time her lips tried to form to the words of all words, the strength she had gathered in her heart disappeared, couldn't look Spencer in the eyes and tell him what needed to be said. They had never talked about the subject of having children before, to have a family and it had never been necessary to speak of it, it was a subject not spoken of at the dinner table nor on long drives through the streets of the crowded city.

Doubts were clouding her mind. An icy shiver danced down her spine. Y/N had imagined it differently. She wanted to live in a small house and be a married woman, yet she had found the right partner for life long ago, but Y/N did not know how Spencer would react to the news.

Suddenly she felt a pair of eyes resting on her, studying her features closely. Y/N gave JJ a weak smile. She wanted to place her hands on her stomach in a protective gesture, a habit she loved too much, but before Y/N could do so, she curled her fingers into the flowing material of the dress she was wearing. Confusion spread through JJ´s eyes. She didn't have to be a detective to notice that something was wrong with the young woman, who seemed exceptionally calm and deep in thoughts. JJ turned to her friend and took her gaze from the others gathered around the barbecue in the tranquil garden, laughing and chatting with each other and witnessed Spencer in a dark suit standing next to Hotch dressed in a pair of jeans and an old shirt.

"Is everything alright Y/N/N.", "Of course, what should be wrong with me?" Y/N answered, forcing a smile.

JJ strolled towards Y/N and left the richly set table behind. She knew her friend well and knew something was wrong with her, that something troubled her greatly and even a blind man would see at first glance that Y/N was unwell. The façade shielding her features was well built but her eyes betrayed her, let know she was deeply troubled.

"I've known you for more than seven years Y/N/N, you can talk to me. Is it about Spencer? I'm worried about you, you've been acting unusual the last few days, the last few weeks to be accurate." said JJ in a worried tone.

"I'm sorry you were worried about my wellbeing; I didn't mean to worry you JJ. I'm fine." Y/N laughed it off. "And Spencer is Spencer, he's not capable of hurting me. I probably need a few days off. That’s all, you don’t need to worry. It’s just too much, the stress, the last cases and the lack of sleep." added Y/N quickly and JJ nodded.

JJ halted next to Y/N, staring her straight in the eyes, trying to figure out what had happened, hoping she wasn't lying to her, but the answer she gave sounded plausible and reasonable.

"If something was going on, would you let me know?" she huffed.

Y/N turned, faced her friend and flashed a faint smile. Her gaze was clouded and fear was evident.

"Of course, I would tell you, but there's nothing I should tell you,” Y/N answered.

“Hotch has gone into the kitchen and you can ask him if you can get a day off, you work as much as Spencer and you deserve a day off more than any of us. You look really sickly and maybe you should ask for a week off instead of one day. Go to Hotch. I'm sure he'll understand." JJ said.

She gave Y/N´S shoulder a gentle squeeze. Y/N was about to protest but then nodded, knowing JJ was right and as Y/N imagined a day off she smiled peacefully, longing for a day when she could sit on the sofa and sleep or watch a movie with Spencer.

"Okay. You're right, I'll go and see him in a minute or should I rather go tomorrow?", "Do it now." she interjected and Y/N nodded.

No goodbyes escaped as Y/N turned her back on her friend, walking away, not noticing the questioning looks her boyfriend was giving her, paying no longer any attention to the conversation between Morgan and Rossi chatting about the food on the grill.

The cold tile floor made her shiver. Y/N leaned against the frame of the door and clasped her hands in front of her body, shielding the precious treasure which didn’t need protection. The air turned colder. Questioningly, the tall man turned around and immediately knew that Y/N had not come to talk about the nice weather.

"Is everything all right Y/N/N? Is there anything I can do for you?" Aaron asked, setting the jar he had filled with water down on the kitchen island.

Something incomprehensible came over her, didn't know how to start. Confidence left her body. Y/N let her eyes wander around the kitchen, speechless, seeing the expression in the man's eyes as he looked down at her kindly. To Hotch, Y/N was like a daughter and he felt his heart begin to ache and the worst thoughts try to overtake him as his thoughts travelled to the darkest corner of his mind.

Hotch took two steps and lowered his hands on her shoulders but he did not press her to his chest. Loving words assuring her that all was well again escaped him and when their eyes met the dams broke and the walls crumbled.

"What happened Y/N? You know you can tell me anything.", "I'm sorry, I don't know. It's." stuttered Y/N, unable to form a clear sentence.

Soothing tones Hotch uttered and gently his hands travelled down her spine, trying to understand what had happened to Y/N who was no longer his co-worker or employee but his daughter. His keen eyes travelled swiftly across her body but he could see no open wounds, no aching healed injuries gracing her skin. Suddenly tears clouded her vision.

"Y/N calm down, you can tell me everything. You are my child and if you have a problem, you can tell me, I will help you and I am convinced that all of us will help you, especially Spencer. We are your family." Hotch said.

"I can't," Y/N spoke.

His hands rested on her shoulders and again he repeated the words he had said dozens of times. Urgently he looked into her eyes, trying to find the answer but nothing else but sadness and fear encountered him on his long journey. Slowly the walls she had built around herself began to crumble, no longer able to keep them alive as more warm tears travelled down her face, leaving marks she could no longer cover.

"You have to promise me you won't tell anyone. I have told no one yet.", "Of course, I'll keep quiet," Hotch replied, gladdened she was speaking.

"Not even Spence, especially him. I have to tell him myself," Y/N whispered in a broken voice.

"I'm pregnant. I haven't told him yet." Y/N breathed boldly.

Suddenly she felt like an idiot.

"I know I should have told him a long time ago but I just can't, I don't know if he even wants kids. What if he doesn't love me. You can't imagine how many of my friends have to raise children without a partner. I don't know how he will react to it. We'd have to find a new flat and I know I wouldn't be concentrating on my work for the next few months, maybe years, but on our child and what if we are expecting twins?" she bubbled away, unable to stop, needing to get the words off her chest she had kept to herself over the days and weeks.

"I know I'm an idiot.", "How long have you and Reid been together?" Hotch interrupted Y/N.

A gentle smile graced his lips, but Y/N didn’t witness the happiness in his gaze.

"Almost five years," Y/N answered.

"How long do you live together?", "Over three years," Y/N whispered.

"Who took care of you when you were shot and on bedrest? Who washed you and took care of you?" Hotch huffed again, even though he knew the answer.

"Spencer. He washed me, cooked and even carried me around the flat. Doctors’ orders. I made fun of him for that, and I know he would take care of me if I would have to stay in bed. I know him, yet I fear his reaction." Y/N cried quietly.

"My dove, you are overthinking. You have found the answer to your questions, you have answered it by yourself. Spencer loves you; he is always by your side and would never leave you. He will be delighted and will read all pregnancy related books he will get." Hotch replied in a gentle tone.

Carefully, Hotch brushed away the tears before they could fall. Reassuring words escaped and the heavy burden disappeared from her heart and a faint smile graced her lips, already looking forward to the unknown future, praying Spencer would stay by her side as Hotch said.

"You should tell him today; he is not only the father of the child but also your boyfriend of more than seven years and we all know he loves you and would never leave you. You don't have to worry about it," he assured.

He witnessed the fear still rested in her gaze. Faintly, Y/N smiled. She shrugged her shoulders, unsure why she still hadn't found the strength to tell Spencer, her boyfriend, the man she trusted more than herself.

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archetypal-archivist · 7 months

Text

Notes for Outer Wilds World-Building

-head canon heavy, but grounded in reason I think-

Healthcare: Lots of treating symptoms but not a ton of fixing the thing that caused the initial problem as the Hearthian body is remarkably sturdy and when self-healing can't take care of it, it would take some advanced healthcare to fix it (ex. punctured lung, strong infection). And that's not always something the Hearthians have, as why would they put a ton of effort into advanced pharmaceuticals like penicillin and invasive internal surgeries when it's so rare that someone gets hurt to that point and doesn't immediately die from it in a matter of days? I picture most medicine is herbal in nature, plant-derived and highly concentrated if necessary, such as opioids/morphine for pain that can be taken by injection until you get home and can patch yourself up. Bandages and bed rest and going off of what's taught to you (with a dose of improvising) are key to Hearthian healthcare. For the Hearthians, it's less unwillingness to help in cases of disability and more not being sure how, as the tech to do so would need to be jury-rigged or made from scratch. How well this helps varies as some things like missing limbs and damaged hearing can be accounted for but things like malfunctioning kidneys can't. Ironically, diabetes would spell bad news for a Hearthian.

Food: They don't have birds on Timber Hearth or else we'd see a lot more primitive wings for flying, so that means the animal life differs from earth. Lots of bugs and amphibians and fish, but very few mammals if any as fur is weird to the Hearthians. Hearthians are likely omnivores, given their history, but no trapping of land animals beyond insects. I imagine mostly teams of gatherers picking food from known locations and being careful about how much they take, and maybe some "controlled burnings" to clear out unwanted brush and give room to grow for the plants they actually want. The burnings may be more of an accident but the effect is the same regardless. Berries, nuts (especially pine nuts), cattail tubers and pith, water reed shoots, edible wild greens, and bread made from the flour of ground up tubers/acorns/pine nuts is common. This is supplemented by fish, the fat of which (Google candle fish) and the gelatin formed by boiling their bones are also used in many things. Marshmallows are made the old way, from mallow roots and sugar cane. Snow covered in sap or molasses is a treat, made more common with the invention of rockets that let you grab snow and fly it back to the village before it melts. Chera (borrowed from the fandom) is a tough, fibrous fruit that is sort of bready and is used much like apples are as a thickener in bread and eaten as mash on its own. Pickling, smoking, and canning are very common in Hearthian culture and are key ways of preserving food for when certain key gathered plants are out of season. During the insect mating season when the flies are out in full force, people will smack the clouds of bugs with sap-covered sheets of metal, scrape the bugs off, and grill them up into patties like burgers. This time of year is all hands on deck and not everyone likes eating fly patties but as food, it's incredibly nutritious and ground up flies are sometimes added to food that is lacking. Cooking is communal for the bulk of it, with a town cook pot and storehouse being open to the public to pull from, but if you want to eat beyond standard hours or mass-produced fare, you're on your own and you best hope you know how to cook over a wood fire stove. Filling the communal food pot is often a job foisted on hatchlings and the elders supervise. Specialty foods like sap wine are a trade item or are saved for celebrations and traditions.

Travel: Hearthians don't have wheeled carts as getting things into their crater via wheeled cart would be difficult at best. Instead they'll drag chopped down trees where they need to go via sleds or float them on the rivers or lower them into the crater with elevators. Anything else they'll carry down personally. To get around the planet, Hearthians just walk and if it takes more than a day, they camp along the way. Now that ships are a thing however, travel has shrunk the world by a lot- not that it does the average Hearthian much good. The ships are dangerous, prone to causing fires if one tries to land on Timber Hearth proper as rockets plus grass equals bad. A skilled pilot can pick a decent landing spot that's damp or barren enough to not be a problem, but it's usually so far from where you want to go that it's better to walk anyway. Said average Hearthians also do not like dealing with g-forces or potential death. Those are the only reasons why it's not normal for astronauts to ferry average Hearthians around like a taxi service or to take materials from point A to point B across the planet. None of this matters on the Attlerock however, as there's nothing to catch fire there, so ships will haul stuff up there all the time at Esker and Hornfels' behest. Rocket fuel is made from flammable gases pumped up from underground by the mining equipment as waste. It used to be released into the atmosphere to keep the miners from suffocating or exploding (a problem, sometimes those spouts would catch alight) but Slate had the bright idea of storing it in tanks under pressure. They already had pressurized air for the miners at the deepest depths to breathe where air was hard to come by, why couldn't they bottle up the waste gases to dispose of more safely? Like burning it elsewhere?

Clothing: Fabric is made from the fibers of a linen-like plant called flush, names for the purplish hue at the base of the reed's stem. The weavers' house is filled with Hearthians whose job it is to separate the fibers out and spin them into thread. From there, the weaver in charge of the loom will dye the thread with plant-based dyes and use a flying loom to quickly weave bolts of fabric. It takes a LOT of thread to make fabric but thanks to the weavers' bugging Slate into making them into a machine running off water power, the thread-making time has been cut down significantly. However, the whole process still takes a while so most Hearthians only own a few pieces of clothing and they're expected to patch it, hand-me-down it, and wash it until it is literally in rags before they get more. Hatchlings get the worst of it, they get pretty much nothing but hand-me-down clothes as they outgrow things too fast for unique outfits for each of them. Scarves, hats, and handkerchiefs are an exception and are often the only piece of clothing a hatchling has that survives to adulthood, which makes them all the more precious. Dresses- which take more fabric- and anything patterned or multicolored is a sign of indulgence/finery or a very nice gift and is such relegated to fancy clothes for fine events. Shoes are made of fish leather or treated fabric strips wrapped around a wood sole and structure and then sewn in place.

Economy: Hearthians run on a trade economy, with every person expected to contribute in some way. You are always guaranteed food from the communal cook pot and shelter in either a house of your own or on someone else's couch/floor, but beyond that you get side-eyed if you ask for things too often without offering something in return. Fortunately, Hearthians have a strong oral tradition and a very relaxed (boring) lifestyle so most are happy to trade gossip and stories for basic amenities. Building houses, weaving fabric, gathering food, working in the mines, and watching the hatchlings and tasks like those are ones that are never required for people to do, you can walk off and take a break whenever. However, it's seen as poor taste to do that for more than a few days at a time without cause because if you aren't working, you're letting your fellow Hearthians down. If you can't do big work for health reasons or lack of skill, you're expected to pick up small work like knitting, patching things up, cooking at the communal food pot, etc. What most hatchlings end up doing is they either find a passion and just continue with it into a proper "job" that helps the village in some way, they get an apprenticeship, or they get picked up by an adult and pretty much conscripted in order to "keep them out of trouble." Fire watch and astronaut and jobs like it are jobs of high prestige and are very demanding in the body, and as such run as apprenticeships with Gossan and Tektite selecting who they want to teach from those that come up to them and ask to learn. Such jobs don't do much to physically help the village (beyond bringing back space relics but those aren't always useful to the village at large) but they do bring in a ton of interesting stories and those are prime currency for the Hearthians.

Life Cycle: Hearthians are hermaphrodites that breed like fish do- during certain times of year, Hearthians may feel the urge to slip down to the river and release sperm and eggs into the water. Couples can go together, but most don't make much of it, seeing them as temporary dalliances or choosing to put up with being a little hot and itchy for a few days, refusing to go, and then the season is done for them for the year. The sperm and eggs mingle in warm underground pools and incubate there until they get hard and heavy enough to be picked up by the current. Due to how the waters of Timber Hearth run, the eggs more or less end up being carried to the same place every year where Hearthians in charge of raising hatchlings go to pick them up. The eggs are candled to check for life, then swaddled and placed into cribs to hatch. Hatchlings are raised in batches together in the Hatchling House, with sick ones quarantined in a back room to keep the rest from getting ill (so things like measles don't wipe out a whole generation). Hatchlings are fed mash until their baby teeth fall out, then they are fed real food like fish with bones in it. They only are named when the caretaker is sure that they will survive their first month or three of life, then they are introduced to the village by that name. They are allowed to go outside for the first time once they can walk and talk a little bit, an occasion marked by giving them shoes. After that, a hatchling may leave the Hatchling House to live on their own once they have a place to stay lined up, work, and they either can drink sap wine (which hatchlings don't have the enzymes to digest) or meet a certain height. As Hearthians age, the ears droop more, the skin pales, and the body starts failing. Past a certain age a Hearthian just kinda stops healing, as if all their sturdiness is limited to their younger years, and if they survive past even that, then their mind begins to go. Deaths are grieved and the dead buried with song and music being played with a space being left in the song for the deceased to "play a solo" and the rest of the band picking up after as a reminder that life goes on. In a few rare cases, hatchlings can imprint on an adult and vice versa, which gives rise to more "standard" parent child bonds and frequently, apprenticeships.

Calendar: The Hearthian planet does have seasons, sort of, but mostly a "hot and dry" vs "cool and wet" divide. No snow, their winters are just slightly more rain than usual and their summers are slightly warmer and with a chance for thunderstorms. However, there are still holidays involved with the changing of the seasons, mostly tied to when food is more or less available and when the solstices are. The alignment of the planets is also celebrated but that's a more recent celebration that popped up and it intensified into a major holiday only when the observatory got built with its ability to lock down alignments to exact dates. Breeding season is an informal holiday, being a few days in Spring and Autumn where sap wine is plentiful and people are expected to take some time off from work to relax. Hearthian formal holidays involve getting everyone in the village to sing, dance, and play music together around a bonfire. Stories and sap wine flow thick and fast and the best storytellers and musicians are treated to the best food and treats. Musicians will sometimes "duel" for funsies to see who is better at improvising and technical skills, to the joy of the crowd. Informal celebrations, like when an astronaut launches for the first time or one comes home or a batch of hatchlings are given a name on their name day lead to similar events, just scaled down some with only non-busy people attending. However, Hearthians love a good party so many will make time for such gatherings if they can.

#outer wilds #world building #my writing

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