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sapphic-luthor · 2 years

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not SMA but i've also made it a goal this year to eat more vegetables! lately my partner and i have been on a red cabbage kick (the color is so great in salad!) and i was wondering if you have any recipes using that? (also just curious about your approach to vegetable recipes in general!)

ok i accidentally forgot to answer this for like two weeks but here are 5 veg focused meals / sides that i am a big big fan of and that aren't particularly difficult to make, or at least don't have to be:

VEGETABLLLELEESSSS

pls note that these are not meant to be like, culinarily groundbreaking things they're meant to just be easy and good and not terribly long to make so feel free to go as offroad as you want here. you can change any of these to your hearts desire

Garlic Lemon Broccoli

You'll Need: broccoli, garlic, lemons, olive oil, salt & pepper, parmesan

Cut a washed head of broccoli into florets. Chop 2/3 (or 4 or 5 or 9) cloves of garlic into big thin slices. Throw both on a baking sheet and cover with a good bit of olive oil, salt, and pepper. Roast the whole thing at General Roasting Temperature (i just put everything at ~200c tbh) for like 20 minutes or so, or until the edges start getting a little brown but nothing's burning. While it's roasting, juice a lemon into a big bowl. Then throw the roasted broccoli into the bowl and toss it around loads, add a little bit of the roasting olive oil if necessary, and throw in some parmesan. It's fucking brilliant just trust me here.

Notes: You can take this recipe and just stick it wherever tbh. Like you can make a broccoli lemon garlic pasta [i recommend gnocchi], a broccoli lemon garlic flatbread, like just put this everywhere it's so fucking good

Garlic Parmesan Courgette/Zucchini

You'll need: Courgette, salt, pepper, olive oil, garlic, parmesan

Are you noticing a trend yet? This is an elite way to prepare most vegetables tbh. Chop a courgette up however your heart desires (i like little circles) and throw it in a pan on medium-ish heat with some olive oil and some garlic. It'll take a bit to cook but it'll soften up a bunch and get smaller (and release a lot of water, so don't freak out if it suddenly looks super oily-- it's mostly water). Salt & pepper it, and then throw parmesan on at the very end so it just barely melts, and that's one of my all time fav sides.

Notes: Feel free to add lemon if you want lol

Veg Heavy Noodle Soup

You'll need: This one is the most flexible. You can make a nice basic broth out of like basically anything, but one of my favs includes the following stuff. Some kind of firm-ish vegetable like a courgette or carrot (preferably both), ramen/udon/etc noodles, green onions, chicken/veg stock, soy sauce, garlic, ginger, olive oil, sesame oil, salt & pepper, sriracha or fav hot sauce, kimchi, bean sprouts.

I would never go so far as to call this ramen because i hold ramen in high esteem and this is just a culturally defunct frankenstein of a thing BUT basically what we're going for here is a nice rich flavourful broth, noodles, and some veg. My go-to easy broth is basically just garlic, ginger, maybe onion, and a chili pepper sweated in some olive and sesame oil, then add in [desired amount] of chicken stock, and soy sauce/sriracha/pepper to taste. Then i'll shave thin strips of courgette and carrot, chop up some green onion, cook the noodles, and throw them in the broth. Top that with your vegetables and kimchi and you're pretty much golden! You can also add sliced meat of your choice to this if you want to bulk it up a little, but it's not always necessary.

Note: The broth can be really simple. Like if you're not mad for really strong flavours you can just make it with chicken stock and add some soy sauce and sesame, or just soy sauce, or just garlic, or whatever you prefer. The broth is the main star for me personally bc I like to drink it but if you're more focused on the noodles and the veg in it then feel free to make it as easy as you want!

Basic Roasted Veg

You'll need: Whatever vegetables you like best. I like: potatoes, white/yellow onions, red pepper, courgette, carrot, olive oil, various spices

This one might seem like kind of a stupid 'duh' moment but listen. It's easy, it's quick, it's good. Chop everything in big pieces (for example you want your onion in like quarters, then just pull the layers apart with your hands) and throw them all in a bowl. Put a healthy bit of olive oil over them, then hit them with whatever spices you have / are in the mood for. Anyway roast that all for like ~25-30 minutes or until everything is soft (potatoes often cook last) and go to town.

Note Re spices: If you're feeling more italian: oregano, basil, parsley, garlic powder, thyme, rosemary (or just one of those 'italian seasoning' blends). If you're feeling more mexican-ish: chili powder, cumin, thyme, oregano, cayenne. You can do whatever you want here. If you don't feel like you have a really intuitive understanding of spices that work together just google "how to make x spice blend" and use the stuff they combine in those recipes. You could even just do salt and pepper if you felt so inclined

Roasted Tomato Soup

You'll need: Tomatoes (probably about 6 medium-large ones for ~2 servings), white/yellow onion, a head of garlic, olive oil, salt & pepper, sour cream. You may also want: red peppers, a chili pepper, and fresh basil.

Okay throw all your veg on a baking tray and cover in olive oil and salt and pepper. I recommend maybe quartering the onion and halving the tomatoes. For the garlic, slice the top off the entire garlic head, cover it in oil, wrap it in foil, and throw it on the tray too. Roast the whole lot for about 20-30 minutes or so, then stick all of it in a blender (squeeze all of the garlic out of the head) and blend it until it's smooth. Taste it and see if it needs more salt and pepper (nearly always does) and throw in some fresh basil leaves if you've got em, and then that's... basically it. It's best served with a grilled cheese (kraft singles and white bread or die) and a dollop of sour cream on top imo. Or with goldfish!!

Note: Here's a walkthrough for the garlic part if you've not done it before. Def let it cool down before you squeeze it out afterward though because every single time i make this i burn the everloving fuck out of my fingers lol

Also: big salads. Salads are so underrated. Next time you make a salad, try to add literally as many ingredients as you can. Like every vegetable, topping, etc you can think of. More is always better with salad and my god a good, rounded, heavy salad is a fuckin glory

#HOPE ONE OR MORE OF THESE SUITS UR FANCY #SORRY FOR BEING SO LATE #lso i'm not well versed in the world of red cabbage tbh but i do think it looks gorgeous in a salad #answered #anonymous #food

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amerrierworld · 4 years

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Such a Messy Affair

this is not a request it’s just me getting this idea out of my head bc I literally can’t stop thinking about Lady D and I can’t get any other work done unless I finish it so here ya go, surprise fic!

Summary: Letting Alcina drink your blood is... messy to say the least

Characters: Alcina Dimitrescu x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,896

Warnings: vampire sssssssssmuttttttt, bath sex, biting, blood drinking, blood kink (you know how it is), possessive!Alcina but she is a softie. PSA: don’t do this in real life I beg you

Offering your own blood for your monstrous lover instead of her cutting through the servants like butter seemed an easy solution at first. You figured, with her pristine and noble behaviour, it’d be a quick and simple activity to do every couple days or weeks. She’d let you recover, eat some food, and maybe spend some time ravishing you while you rested on the bed. That sounded nice.

And sometimes it was like that. Sometimes it was a couple of drops, and she was fine. Sometimes you could still stand afterwards, and there was only a dull throb in your neck for a few hours.

But you hadn’t realized what your offer really meant. You hadn’t exactly seen how Alcina would feed on anyone else, and thus you weren’t prepared for one of the first times where she really, desperately, needed to feed.

It was late one night, and though Alcina barely ever slept, she would always come see you and spend time with you even if it meant she wouldn’t stay to slumber by your side. She had been out and about with her daughters, and when she got back she spent more time in the wine cellar than usual.

You were waiting up for her patiently, but your mortal body didn’t like that, and you had almost drifted off to sleep when the door slammed open. Alcina looked pale, nearly sweaty, and downright feral as she stared at you from the doorway. You knew immediately that she was hungry.

You had barely offered her to drink your blood when she had stumbled into the bedroom, golden eyes flashing red, and you were pushed back onto the mattress, her whole body covering yours in a flash.

You squeaked in surprise as she tugged the collar of your shirt down, smoothing your skin with a trembling hand before pressing her fangs into the tender flesh without hesitation. Before, she’d stab you just a little, leaving a surface level cut, and then suck the wound. This time, she pushed even deeper, mouth growling and moaning against your skin. Your head swam as you felt her draining you.

Then she pulled away, suddenly, and the deep puncture wounds kept oozing blood. Usually, she’d spend her sweet time licking up the last few red streaks, but something told you she wasn’t interested in that tonight.

She yanked the shirt even further down, ripping the fabric, and then her teeth sank into your upper arm, taking you by surprise. A sharp ‘oh!’ escaped you, and Alcina grunted in approval at the sound. Your fingers twitched as they started to feel tingly and she managed to compose herself enough to pull away before your arm dried up and fell off entirely.

She straddled your legs as she sat up, chin smeared with blood and resembling her daughters more than usual. You knew she didn’t place all of her weight on you, because otherwise you would definitely die by being crushed. Instead, you felt her presence on you, a comforting heaviness that made your heart and mind woozy.

Alcina tugged off her gloves with her snarling teeth, and grabbed your waist, shuffling down to your middle and biting right through the fabric of your shirt just above your hip.

Her hands gripped your thighs, keeping them still, reminiscent of how she’d pin you down when she fucked you with her tongue, and you couldn’t help but squirm as something warm that wasn’t blood flooded your core.

Warm blood kept trickling down your neck and soaking the fine silken sheets underneath, but you were both too far gone to notice it. She didn’t drink as much from this wound as the other two, sucking lightly and laving her tongue over your heated skin, and now you really were turned on.

Your hand grabbed at her curled and styled hair, pushing through the dark locks to hold her head as you whined. You would have lifted your head to look at her, to see those hungry eyes stare at you, but you thought a movement that simple would still definitely make you pass out at this point.

You whined in protest as she pulled away, releasing your body, shuffling off of your legs. You heard her heavy breathing, saw her tall shadow in the dim firelight, and knew that in a few moments, the well-mannered, sultry-voiced matriarch would come back to you.

You were sticky down below, nearly embarrassingly so. You weren’t wearing pants, and your underwear was soaked, though now it seemed it wasn’t just the arousal that was staining it.

You raised a hand to your neck, tracing the sensitive and abused skin and pulling away to find streaks of blood along your fingers.

“Oh.. my..” you heard Alcina breathe, “I believe I have turned you into a bit of a massacre, dear one.”

You chuckled weakly, head spinning from blood loss and arousal, and you wished you had the strength to get up and fuck Alcina yourself, but your consciousness was slipping.

“I have to clean you up,” your lover began, hovering over you once more, tender hands reaching to hold you.

You shook your head, “n-no.. don’t have the strength..”

Alcina hesitated, but saw your eyes glossing over, and relented.

“At least let me stop the bleeding,” she murmured. You nodded, and barely registered her pressing fabric or bandages of some kind to all three wounds.

“Oh, I’ve really pushed you this time, didn’t I, sweet girl?” Alcina muttered apologetically as you laid there, limp and nearly asleep. You managed a near-drunken smile and raised your hands to beckon her closer, to hold you.

“Hmm.. don’t mind,” you replied. Her body dipped onto the mattress, tutting at the blood stains, and quickly removed her expensive dress so that you came in contact with glorious, soft and pale skin as she cuddled you. “Sleep?”

“Sleep,” Alcina agreed, and you drifted off.

When you woke up, the world was a little clearer again, and you felt refreshed. You still felt somewhat empty, and weak, but not as bad as before. You were still in the bed, and still covered in dried up blood, but the sheets were changed and you were lying on a large towel to catch any other drips.

“I was going to clean you up while you were sleeping, but I feared I’d hurt you,” Alcina said softly. You saw her sitting at the vanity, in a white silken bathrobe, brushing through her hair.

You sat up slowly, peeling the bandages off of you. The holes had closed up, and there seemed to be no infection, much to your relief.

“I must apologize, I don’t know what came over me,” Alcina said, watching as you inspected the wounds, “I just... I needed...”

“It’s alright,” you said, meeting her eyes with a sweet smile, “you haven’t eaten in a while, and you seemed to be so drained that.. well, I can’t expect you to not be.. ravenous once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Alcina sighed, tapping her fingers on her desk as a servant came in with a platter of food. She helped you sit up and placed it over your lap.

“Eat, my pet,” Alcina said once you were alone again, “you need your strength.”

“You’re not still hungry, are you?” you asked as you dug into the bread and meats you had in front of you.

“No, no,” she waved her hand in dismissal. Then, after a pause, “at least not for your blood, sweetling.”

You nearly choked on your food at the dark tone her voice had suddenly taken on. She stood up and sauntered over to the bed, her robe loosening enough so you could see more of her ample cleavage, but still left you craving more.

She sat down next to you, inspected your body, and her nostrils flared as she looked over the dried blood staining your skin. You kept nibbling on some bread, knowing you face must be flushed.

“You reacted... differently, than how you normally do when I drink from you,” she murmured, her low voice making you tremble. She had impeccable smell, and you knew she would have been able to sense your arousal when she had pinned you down and feasted on you.

You blushed, but managed to say, “you were very... insistent. Like how you are when we’re in bed, and I guess my body just...” you lifted a shoulder and shrugged to finish your sentence.

Alcina tilted her head in thought, and a wide, gorgeous grin took over her face, making you tremble underneath her gaze.

“I’ve had a bath drawn,” she said, switching the topic suddenly. “Let me clean you up? Please?”

You nodded before you even realized it, and she tugged you away from your meal, lifting you in her arms before heading into the bathroom.

She let you undress yourself, slipped off her robe and stepped into the bath, a loud, pleasured groan escaping her as the hot water surrounded her. You blushed, and hurried after her.

Getting into the bath was a workout in itself. You had to hoist yourself up and climb over the edge quite unceremoniously. Alcina caught you before you submerged into the water and let you climb into her lap.

Her finely manicured nails scratched along your scalp, helping ease the tension and making you sigh contently, leaning forward and letting your head drop on the tops of her breasts. A deep chuckle from her vibrated through you, and some of the water around you rippled with the motion.

One of the puncture wounds on your neck had opened up again, oozing a little blood. You only noticed because Alcina had pounced on it with her wicked tongue before you could react.

“I can always smell you so clearly when you’re in the bath with me,” she grunted, “every part of you. Your blood, sweat.. and arousal.”

You whined as her hands wrapped around you tightly, her mouth pressed against your neck. Your back arched, head tipping back, and you grabbed at her hair, now wet and silky from the water.

The blood was already washing off of you from the water alone, but Alcina kept her promise and grabbed some soap and a washcloth, rubbing along your body. Your eyes fluttered, your hips bucked, and you felt like drowning in her touch.

The blood was gone quickly, and the wounds didn’t threaten to drain you dry anymore, but Alcina kept washing your body with a gentle touch. She lowered her head to your neck again, this time pressing soft kisses until you trembled.

Determined not to let her have her way entirely, you yanked sharply at the dark tresses in her hair. You knew how sensitive she was along her scalp, and how much she enjoyed it when you pulled. Her head shot up in surprise and a strained gasp escaped her mouth.

You took the opportunity and lunged forward to kiss her on her lips, slipping your tongue inside with a vengeance.

A hand slid between your wet bodies and cupped your sex without hesitation, and you squealed, your legs locking at the sudden pressure.

Alcina began gently rubbing along your slit, the palm of her hand pressing into your clit, and you held onto her for dear life, gasping raggedly.

“Tell me how it made you feel, dear,” she hissed, “when I feasted on you, when I needed you.”

You squirmed, arched your back, bit your lip and whined as her fingers pressed a little harder, threatening to slip inside but not quite.

“I-I felt..” you began, gasping as her long tongue stroked up your neck to behind your ear.

“I felt.. like I was floating,” you tried again, “like I was swimming in.. in air, and- and you were the only thing grounding me.”

“Oh?” there was a teasing and light-hearted tone in Alcina’s voice, but her grip tightened and you knew she was enjoying this.

“W-with your hands..” you sighed, pleasure clouding your mind, “so strong and holding me down, so I wouldn’t float up all the way to space.. keeping m-me where I- where I belong. In our bed, in.. in your arms.”

Alcina snarled with lust, and pushed inside your cunt with three unforgiving fingers. You cried out, nearly screamed, as she began thrusting relentlessly. The water was already brimming the edge of the tub, and now it was spilling onto the bathroom floor with loud sloshes. You could barely hold on as you clung to Alcina’s neck, letting her one hand fuck you and the other grab your waist as she bounced you in her hold, because you couldn’t find purchase for you feet to move yourself.

She fucked you until you nearly blacked out, the rough pace and your still-sluggish brain making you limp in her grip. All you could do was whine and plead, kissing her neck, her jaw, anywhere you could reach.

With a sharp jab and a curl of her fingertips you came, unabashedly, all over her hand. You couldn’t smell your arousal over the flowery bath oils, but you knew she could, and her breathing was ragged in your ear as she slowly stroked your inner walls, feeling you clench around her.

You could barely catch your breath before her mouth was on yours, hard and sloppy, and you knew she needed release as soon as possible. But it was a bit difficult with the current position you were in. Going down on her would surely end in drowning and your arms were not long enough to reach under the water between her legs.

“Alcina..” you whispered, making her golden eyes focus on you intently. You snuggled a little closer, kissed her chest and practically climbed up her body to meet her gaze.

“Will you... will you touch yourself for me?” you asked, voice timid. Alcina stared into your eyes a moment, and you pressed on, “I wanna see you come undone. Like this. A-and I can’t.. you know.. reach.”

That made her smile a bit, and you brimmed with glee at the sight. Slowly, ever so slowly, her hand dipped underneath the water. First her fingertips would rub against her clit, you knew. They’d tease against the hood and her lips until she was riled up.

You wouldn’t be able to see through the bubbles and water down below, so you kept your gaze on her face. Watched the small lines that formed between her brows as they furrowed in concentration. Her eyelashes fluttering as she pressed a little harder, her lips parting a bit more as she breathed a little deeper.

You bit your own lip, and felt your cunt pulse at the sight. You knew then, when she was hot and squirming, she would ease the hood back and press directly against the sensitive bundle of nerves, making short, quick motions with her fingers until her hips began rocking.

You had seen it all, had delved between her legs with abandon, had used your hands until they ached, and your jaw until you felt numb. But this.. seeing her come undone, seeing it in her eyes and face.. It made you burst with love and lust.

“That’s it..” you urged as the water began sloshing again, and she began working the whole of her arm, “you look so beautiful, Alcina.”

She groaned deeply, head tipping back, revealing a creamy neck that begged to be sucked. If this was how she felt when seeing your throat, you could understand why she had barely any control when feeding from you.

“I’m yours,” you whispered as you leaned forward, kissing her chin and going down her neck, “only yours. I wanna watch you come, so badly, mistress.”

“Fuck.”

You smiled, looked up at her, and kept going, “to know that I make you feel like this.. I really am the luckiest human in the world, hm?”

“O-oh, little one,” she whined, bucking her hips, nearly throwing you out of the bath. You wondered how many fingers she had inside herself.

“Will you come for me?” you asked, sweetly, “will you come for your pet?”

“I just wanna make you feel good,” you purred, losing yourself in your train of thought as you pressed your face in her neck, “I just wanna be of service to you, my lady. Wanna please you.”

With a loud cry that was a borderline roar, Alcina’s arm tensed, fingers rubbing vigorously, and her hips raised out of the water and locked. You were raised out of the water too, and held on for dear life as tremors overtook her body.

You leaned forward and kissed her as she gasped and thrashed about. One of her hands grabbed the back of yoru head and pushed you as close to her as possible.

“Love you,” you mumbled as she fell back in the water again, her arm going limp, “love you more than anything.”

Her chuckle made your head spin, and her hands trailed up and down your back, like they did when washing you. She was still breathing heavily, but the lust and hunger in her was finally sated.

“You’re perfect, sweetling,” she whispered, raising your hands to her mouth and kissing along your palm. You instantly cupped her face and swiped your thumb along her cheekbone.

“The perfect little pet,” she sighed.

A/N: i saw a head canon somewhere that Alcina has a loyalty kink? Yeah I agree :) let me know if you like it~

#alcina dimitrescu #alcina #Lady Dimitrescu #tall vampire lady #hopping on the bandwagon #i am not ashamed #lesbian #wlw #fanfiction #resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #re #resident evil fanfic #fanfic #merry writes #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x you

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reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

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hi i saw that your requests are open for the night for that list and i feel like 15&35 with spencer might be all i need to survive

anyways i’m on anon bc i’m scared you’ll hate this request but just know your writing is my favorite i would read your grocery lists at this point

excuse me i love this request please do not disparage yourself ever again <3 that’s the loveliest thing anybody has ever said to me and i will now think of you and this compliment whenever i write a grocery list

Ship: GN! (wears a bra, no mention of gender other than this) Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical case things, pining, mild thievery.

Word count: 2.4k

Prompts: #15 - "You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.”

#35 - “Well fuck, didn’t expect to be announcing my undying love for you this early in the morning.”

A/N: This got so ungodly long I’m so sorry I don’t even know if I can call this a blurb at this point it’s a full fic but I loved this idea so much and it ran away from me.

PLEASE let me know what you think because I bashed this out in the span of an hour and I’m not sure if I love or hate it.

Rossi’s spitballing theories behind you. Your head lolls on the desk, feeling far too heavy to attempt lifting up at this time of night. The case was hard, you were sleeping in shifts, and somehow you, Rossi, and Reid had drawn the short straw. Your eyes are blearing a little too much to make out the exact time on the clock, it’s on the opposite side of the room and your eyes burn when you squint to look at the time; you’re fairly certain you’re somewhere on the wrong side of 3am.

23 hours awake.

Sighing, you push yourself up, looking around and only now noting that Spencer isn’t in the room. He must have made his exit while you were flicking through the files making notes, it was often easier to do that with your headphones in.

Thankfully, you'd set up shop in a conference room at the hotel, given the local PD was tiny and barely equipped to handle its own officers.

“What about the meat packing district?” Rossi muses.

It’s a rhetorical question but one you actually have an answer to, “I don’t think so. The busiest part of the city is between the meat packing district and where he’s dumping the bodies. Cops do random stop-and-searches sometimes, I don’t know if he’d risk it.”

“He could drive around.”

You frown, thinking, “He’d be crossing state lines. Hey, wait,” You stand up from your chair, walking to the board and starting drawing circles that illustrate your point, “Spencer thought there must be a pattern, right? But it died off here and we didn’t know about any more victims. If we expanded the search to outside of state lines it might connect here, here, and here,” You circle each here with a point, tapping the pen against the board triumphantly.

Rossi smiles, “Good thinking kid. I’ll call Garcia.”

Exhausted from your breakthrough, you flop back down into the chair. The clothes you’ve been wearing are icky, uncomfortable with sweat and flying and you’re strongly regretting your choice in underwear now too.

You hear the door swing open, looking up to see Spencer entering the room. Holding your go-bag. The one you’d left on the jet this morning. The jet that was a two hour drive from your current location.

“Where did you? When did you?” Your incoherency is related to both your tiredness, and his thoughtfulness.

He smiles, “It took some calling around but I found a cab driver willing to go and pick it up. It just got here.”

“Spencer I-,” You start, scrambling to your feet to accept the bag he’s offering to you, “Thank you. That’s so sweet of you. How much was the cab?”

“Don’t worry about it,” He says, handing it to you and heading over to the board, “What are these?”

Rossi - who was watching the exchange with some amusement - starts explaining the eureka moment you’d had. Spencer nods along, turning to smile at you when Rossi credits the thought to you. It’s something he does a lot, Rossi’s noticed. Not in a condescending way, Spencer knows more than anyone just how capable you are at your job. It’s as if he needs to channel his love for you somewhere, and chooses pride. It’s the easiest one to explain, after all, because who isn’t happy for their colleague making breakthroughs?

That’s how Spencer justifies it anyhow.

You leave the room, heading to the bathroom to change. You’re incredibly grateful to slip out of your dirty clothes and the bra that’s cutting into you, so much so that you decide to pop on a t-shirt under your blazer. The sports bra and t-shirt combo revitalises you more than you thought possible for this hour.

Digging through, you find an item that you didn’t pack. A pair of brown fluffy slippers. Attached to them, a note, ‘I thought the heels on your boots looked uncomfortable, and I didn’t want your feet to hurt. - Spencer.

He signed the note. Something about that, alongside the gift itself, sends a flush of warmth through you.

He gave you his slippers

So?

Is that something friends do?

Wracking your brain, you try to think up if he’d do this for anyone else. Hotch? The thought makes you laugh. Emily? Maybe, actually. If she didn’t make it so hard for others to take care of her. Penelope? Almost definitely.

Your heart sinks a little, and you distract yourself by fumbling to get your work boots off and the slippers on.

It doesn’t matter it isn’t romantic, it matters that he did it.

It matters to every other person you date

He sets an impossibly high bar

Thankfully, the late hour means that there aren’t many local PD still hanging around to see your interesting choice of shoe. You slip through to the conference room, where Spencer and Rossi are huddled over the phone talking to Garcia.

Spencer does a double-take. He knew the gift he’d given you, but he hadn’t expected to see you...wearing them? You look beautiful: hair mussed from fiddling with it, an old college t-shirt under your blazer, brown fluffy slippers on your feet. The mix of professional and homely attire does something to him that he can’t quite explain, and he has to clear his throat before making his next point to Garcia.

Did he just blush?

You try not to stare at him, try not to see if that’s a tinge of red creeping up under his turtleneck.

It is.

“Thanks Garcia,” Rossi clips, hanging up the phone, “I’m going to go and find some coffee. You two,” He points, looking knowingly between you, “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

No sooner has Rossi left the room, you both try speaking at once.

“You look-” He starts.

“Thank you so-” You start.

You both tinge with warmth.

“You go first,” He says, gnawing at his plump lower lip, finger turning oer the pen in his hand.

You laugh, a little breathless, “Well fuck, I wasn’t expecting to be announcing my undying love for you this early in the morning.”

His eyebrows quirk, is that...hope?

No. Wishful thinking

It’s probably confusion, and you’re a little embarassed, so you quickly clarify, “I mean Spencer Reid this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m endebted to you forever, really.”

A look washes over him: disappointment? You can’t trust your eyes to see the clock, so you feel you can’t entrust them to analyse his micro-expressions right now either. Especially when you’re biased by personal desire.

“It’s no problem,” He says, voice cracking a little, “You look...” He trails off.

“Unprofessional?” You suggest, teasing.

He shakes his head, swallowing, “You look really nice.”

It’s your turn to swallow. You drop your gaze to the pen, feeling too flustered to continue looking your colleague in the eyes at this moment in time, “Thank you. Where did you get slippers at this time of night?”

He shifts, one hand settling over the wrist of the other and fingers nervously rubbing over the back of his hand, “They were uhm. They were mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” It comes out pitchy, a squeak, “I’m sorry, that’s probably weird I just thought-”

“No, Spence,” You say, looking up at him and giving him a genuine smile, “No, it’s really sweet. I’m really lucky to have you.”

He gives his signature tiny tight-lipped smile, the one he gives when he’s feeling awkward or suppressing something he wants to say but can’t.

Please let it be the latter.

You relinquish him of the obligation of responding, instead standing to join him at the board, “You think you’ve got enough to make a geographical profile out of this?”

He nods, tapping the board with his pen, “Your idea about crossing interstate lines was really smart.”

“I have my moments.”

He wants to tell you that everything you have is a moment. You want to step closer, to cup his face in your hands, to press a kiss to the lips that you swear are pouting, begging to be kissed. You don’t.

Namely, because Rossi chooses this moment to re-enter the room, clutching three cups of coffee, “A little help here?”

From the way you spring apart, despite not even being that close, he wishes he’d taken a little longer. Damn kids and their inability to express their feelings for one another.

***

It’s 4:30am when the alarm on your phone goes off. With the work of the four of you - Garcia sporadically included when she had genius updates - you’ve managed to uncover a pattern that arches across states. You’d called Hotch, who’d commended the good work and advised that you should head to bed at 4:30. The others would get up then, and start to head out to the different potential crime scenes. Local PD was already on it.

You’d been told under no uncertain terms that you were to rest until at least 10am. Unless there was a call from Hotch. You prayed there wouldn’t be.

Rossi’s off the minute the alarm rings, bustling out the door with a “See you later kids.”

You wait behind while Spencer packs his things into his satchel. Or rather, unpacks his things from his satchel, frantically tearing it apart.

“What are you looking for?” You ask.

“My key card,” He murmurs, “I swear it was in my wallet.”

“You were rooming with Morgan, right? Want me to call him?”

“Yes please,” He says, continuing to unearth the contents of his bag onto the desk, with an increasing degree of agitation every second that goes by.

You dial Morgan’s number, and he answers after two rings, “Hey kid.”

You put the phone on loudspeaker.

“Hey. I’m with Spencer, we’re about to head up to our rooms for the night, are you still here? He can’t find his keycard.”

He lets out a breath of air through his teeth, “Sorry, I’m already on my way to one of the crime scenes. Local PD found a body over the state line. Nobody’s at the hotel but you guys and Rossi.”

Spencer outwardly sighs.

“No problem, we’ll figure something out.”

“Alright, good work kid, get some rest.”

The phone line clicks. Spencer’s brow is pinched with frustration, and your heart breaks for him. You’ve all been awake well over 24 hours, and he looks exhausted. He’s more eyebag than man at this point.

“Do you want me to go to the front desk?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “Reception doesn’t open until 6am. I’ll just wait here until then.”

He starts packing the belongings back into his bag, a resigned look on his face. And you have an idea.

“Actually,” You say, pulling the keycard out of your pocket and sliding it across the table to him, “You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.”

He picks the card up, squinting in confusion.

“Me and Rossi both got put in single rooms. I mean, it might not be the most comfortable thing in the world, both of us in a single bed, but it’s better than nothing right?”

He opens his mouth to object, and you shake your head.

“Spence you look like you’re about to drop unconscious on the floor and I don’t want to be responsible for yet another injureid.”

You’re so tired that the pun seems hilarious to you, and it does elicit a small laugh from him.

“Come on, it’s either share a bed with me, share a bed with Rossi, or try to sleep in one of these chairs. And I’ll be honest, I’d be kind of offended if you’d rather either of the other two options.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” He says, obviously warming up to the offer but not wanting to push his luck. You can hear the hesitancy in his voice.

“You can. But you won’t,” You tell him, settling your go-bag on your shoulder, “And might I remind you that all this time you’re spending objecting are minutes we could be spending sleeping.”

That seems to win him over. He tucks everything back into his bag, zipping it up, “After you.”

“You have the keycard,” You smile, “After you.”

***

The bed is a single bed. It prompts another round of ‘No really, I can sleep on the floor’ from Spencer, your enquiries about if it’s too much for his germaphobia or issues with touching, and his blushy embarassed reassurance that he doesn’t mind if it’s you.

He doesn’t mind if it’s you.

Not as if you’ll spend the next year mulling over those words or anything.

When you get out of the bathroom from changing, Spencer is tucked up in bed. Well, you say tucked up, but he’s practically lay right on the edge. How he’s actually physically still being supported by the mattress at this point must be his physics magic.

“I thought I said I didn’t want you getting injured,” You say, crossing the room to him.

He opens his eyes, “I didn’t want to-”

“It’s okay Spence,” You tell him, huddling down into bed.

There’s about enough room for you both to fit in, with an inch between you, so you pull gently at his arms, urging him closer.

“There’s enough room for us both without you going flying in the night,” You tell him.

He nods, obviously still a little nervous. It’s odd, lying face to face with him, illuminated only by lamplight. He looks soft. He always does, but there’s something intimate about this. You can feel his breath fan across your cheek, can feel how heat radiates off his arms.

“Do you want me to turn the lamp off?” He asks.

It’s not your staring that implores him to ask, because he’s been staring at you too. The both of you, trapped in a perfect bubble of a moment. Lamplight a spotlight, highlighting all the features of the person you love most.

“Sure,” You whisper, breath catching in your throat.

He flicks it off, settling back down.

His breath brushes against your face when he asks, “Do you want me to turn around?”

“Do you want to?”

He hesitates for a moment, voice even softer when he answers, “No.”

It’s dark. You can hardly make out his outline. Yet somehow, you both just know. Shifting, infitismally closer. Breaching the tiniest gap between you somehow feels like crossing the Grand Canyon. Your heart thumps in your chest, and you can feel it in your fingers, the fingers that trace cautiously along his jaw.

His mouth finally, finally, slotting against yours in the most gentle of kisses. A blink and you’d miss it.

And yet, in the same blink, your life changes forever.

When Rossi makes a speech at your wedding, he admits to being the thief of the missing keycard, and intentional orchestrator of the greatest love story he’s ever known. His words.

---

Permanent tagslist: @reidingmelodies @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician @calm-and-doctor @ssa-m-187 @seasonfivereid @averyhotchner @muffin-cup @purplewaterbottles082 @spencerreid9 @drspencerreidd @reidsnose

(message/reply to this to be added or removed!!)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #reid x reader #imagine spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #imagine criminal minds #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fluff #can't believe queue've done this

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hilarychuff · 2 years

Text

jonsa wip

i jot down a lot of fic ideas that i may likely never get around to doing anything with bc my writing motivation can be low and my laziness can be high and i’m usually pretty stingy with sharing those ideas for various reasons but sometimes i feel sad for the orphans sitting in my drafts that may never see the light of day

so anyway here is one of those orphans bc even if i ever actually get around to doing more with it i don’t have any ideas beyond just this one shot or maybe one more part from sansa’s perspective but i don’t want it to be a story, just a moment

so here is part of that moment!!! under the cut with no additional research or checking that anything was correct beyond what i could remember in my brain so it could have stuff legit wrong lmao

He can feel the pull of his body, the phantom of the rise and fall of his chest somewhere far away, the faint thrum of his pulse, a tickle in his throat as someone spoons broth between his lips. It’s waiting for him, waiting for him to come back. He hadn’t felt it before. The Red Woman, he’s sure, has done some sort of magic. Something heinous. Something the Old Gods would surely scorn. He had refused before to give up his father’s gods — and they are the only thing that he has now. Still, even if that weren’t the case, he thinks he would prefer to stay a direwolf.

That is, until he sees the girl. She’s stumbling through the woods, gasping, snapping twigs and crashing through snow. She is running — or, more precisely, she is being chased. She has no sooner fought her way into view than he can make out the sounds of horses, of dogs, of men somewhere beyond her. He is not sure who growls first, him or Ghost, is only sure that suddenly both of them are on high alert, their chest humming with a low rumble at first and then a snarl ripping through them loud enough that Sansa freezes, falls, stays low to the ground, letting her cloak and the snow shield her as her gaze sweeps through the trees until her eyes finally meet his.

At first, she only blinks. And then, slowly, as though she’s worried about startling him, she gets to her feet. And she doesn’t run again. Instead, she steps closer, eyes never leaving his, and she takes careful steps until she’s close enough to stand eye to eye with him, nose to nose. He’s as tall as she is. Taller. Her hair is a muddy brown, caked in true mud and speckled with leaves. Her cloak is dirty, torn, stained, and he can smell the blood, dried and otherwise, that wells in the scratches on her cheeks, her arms, marks left behind by the branches she’d

“Ghost,” she says, breathless. She’s not shaking anymore, her hand steady as she reaches up to just barely brush her fingers against his snout. “Jon’s wolf. What are you — Did he send you?”

He had known her as soon as he saw her, but the sound of his name brings everything crashing back, the weight of the world. When he had last lain in his bed, recovering from a battle, recovering from fleeing the Free Folk and facing down Ygritte’s arrows, he had to himself, I should have stayed in that cave. He had daydreamed that he might have made a life down there, might have made the wildling girl his wife in his own way, given her children and raised them just as Grendel had. He had let himself slip away from himself, imagine what it might have been not to feel the very fight for existence making his every step heavy, his every move a calculated risk. He had been tired of making calculations.

When he had first slipped into Ghost, he had thought he was finally free of all that. Betrayed by his men, yes. Betrayed by some he thought were his friends, yes. But free of it all the same. It was a simpler escape than the cave, even. He had Ghost with him, and he had snow underfoot and sun overhead, and he had enough game to chase and fresh meat to fill his belly. When he’d first felt the call of his body, he could think of not a single good reason to go back. The Red Woman would not have acted if she did not have designs for him, and he could think of few he would want to serve less.

Let the Black Brothers fight their own war. Let the Wall fall. Let the Others take him, if that was what was meant to happen. At least he would spend the last of his days running and feasting and feeling the snow beneath his paws. His family was gone, after all. His father dead, his brothers dead, his sisters lost to their enemies or the elements. Or at least so he’d thought, and yet hearing his name — hearing his name from her mouth —

If he could, if his body were here now, he would slip right back into it. Instead, he paws closer, presses his wet nose to hers, feels her fingers gently tangle in the fur on his chest. He is not alone. He is not alone, and neither is she, not anymore, and there is nothing that could make him let her out of his sight except for the sound of the men in the woods. One of them blows a horn, a dog howls, and Sansa startles so hard that she nearly falls over, kept on her feet only by how her hand suddenly seizes his fur, but he does not help her keep her balance when he uses his snout to shove her behind him, that same growl building right back up in his chest.

She hesitates again, her hand finding his haunch, and then one of the dogs breaks through the trees, and then her hand is gone and she’s running. He lets her go. He will make quick work of the hound, of this whole hunting party if he must. He will find her again, now that he knows she’s here in these woods. It is not a question of if, only of when. He will become a predator to those who would make his family prey.

#jonsa #my writing

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lesbobiwan · 3 years

Text

bounty (boba fett x reader)

rating: explicit

pairing: boba fett x female reader

summary: you come to boba to make one of your fantasies a reality. he has a few conditions first.

warnings: predator/prey kink, pretending to be a bounty, probably unsafe sex bc yall fuck in a forest but we dont need to talk about it, light choking, name calling, everything is safe sane and consensual, breeding kink

You’re breathing too loud in the quiet of the forest. You know that your pants echo through the woods and that you’re being too careless as you run, but you couldn’t care less.

The only thought going through your mind is to run. You know there’s a small village up ahead. If you can just break through the edge of the forest, you can find somewhere to lay low. Maybe a shopping center?

A twig snaps behind you.

You curse, still too loud for the peace and quiet of the forest. He’s toying with you now.

The great Boba Fett would never be stupid as to step on a twig. He’s close, and he wants you to know it. Was he ever far, or was he just letting you tire yourself out in a futile attempt to get away from him?

And tire yourself out you have. Your thighs ache and your lungs burn. You’ve never ran this much before in your life. Adrenaline pumps through your body, but you’ve always been a realist at heart.

You can’t last much longer.

Another snapping of foliage.

You can hear his footsteps now. Fear, despite your best efforts, shoots down your spine.

Stars, why are you doing this? All you wanted was to get fucked, maybe put into binders and act like he had a puck on you.

Oh, right.

“If you want to get fucked like a bounty,” Boba had told you just before he sent you running, “You’re going to run like a bounty. Now go.”

“You done running, girl?” His voice booms through the trees, sounding entirely unaffected as though he wasn’t running through the forest after you. “Or am I going to have to mess up your pretty face to bring you in?”

Arousal simmers low in your gut. Stars, he’s really getting into this thing, isn’t he?

“Fuck you!” You spit over your shoulder, picking up the pace in hopes to drag out the chase a little longer.

You’re not ashamed to admit that the idea of being hunted has you soaking through your panties.

Boba chuckles, sounding much too close for comfort, “Don’t give me any ideas.”

Shit.

A gloved hand closes around your bicep and jerks your body to a stop.

A yelp escapes you before you can stop it.

A second hand clasps over your mouth.

“Don’t scream,” he whispers in your ear, voice distorted through the helmet, “If I let you go, will you cooperate?”

“Fuck you!” Your voice is muffled from the meat of his palm. “Let me go!”

His amused demeanor vanishes. Boba wedges foot behind the backs of your knees and sends you sprawling to the ground with a shove.

It’s not rough, but it’s definitely enough to have you dazed. You barely have time to blink before he’s on you again.

He flips you onto your stomach with a show of strength that has you fighting back a moan and straddles the backs of your thighs to keep you in place.

“What the fuck are you —”

“Quiet,” Boba hisses, strong hands grabbing you by the wrists to pull them together at the small of your back. The binders that snap around your wrists are cold, but not the reason for the goosebumps that spread across your skin.

You hope he doesn’t realize the way you rub your thighs together.

“You’ve got a smart mouth,” Boba pants into your ear. His cock is hard against your ass. “’S that what got you in this situation, huh?”

You almost scoff. He knows that its your mouth that got you in this situation.

“You mouth off to the wrong person and get a bounty put on you?” He continues, subtly grinding his erection into your ass.

You can’t help it. A moan escapes you and you push back against him.

“Oh,” Boba sounds amused, damn him, “Is that what you do? Fuck the sorry son of a bitch that tries to take you in?” He presses his hips harder against you.

“Please!” You gasp, trying to cant your hips back to feel more of him, “I’ll do anything!”

He laughs cruelly and pulls you to your feet quick enough to have your vision swimming. “Anything?” He mocks, pulling your back tight against his chest as his free hand creeps up to wrap around your neck.

Another moan rips from your throat. “Yes! Anything!” You roll your hips back against the cock pressing into the small of your back, “Anything! Please, just let me go,”

Boba hums. His thumb strokes across your carotid artery as he contemplates your offer.

It’s quiet in the forest besides your ragged breathing. You’d almost think he’s forgotten about you if it wasn’t for the subtle grind of his hips against you.

It’s stifling. It’s degrading and objectifying but so fucking hot.

“Boba,” You try again, but he cuts you off with a quick jerk of your body.

He hauls you over a fallen tree like you way nothing. You’re completely folded over the tree, your ass being propped up in the air while your chest and shoulders dangle.

Your moan is so loud that the nearest birds fly away.

A heavy hand smacks against your right asscheek.

“Fuck!” You gasp, your hips jerking — whether to escape the spank or to search for a new one, you don’t know.

“Is that how you’ve lasted this long?” He demands, landing another spank on your left cheek. “You promise to fuck whoever it is that catches you in exchange for your freedom?”

He presses his weight against you and all hopes of escaping, if you even wanted to anymore, vanish without a trace.

“You gonna take my cock, girl?” His hands drift to the waistband of your pants before he yanks them and your panties down hard enough to pop some of the seams. “You gonna be my good little whore?”

“Yes!” You sob, writhing against the tree that props your hips up. Your feet can’t find purchase against the soil, slipping and sliding no matter how you try to shift your position. “I will!”

“You will what?” Boba presses, tracing his leather covered fingers over your cunt. “Stars, you’re soaking, girl,” he murmurs, spreading your juices across his fingertips.

“I’ll be your good whore,” You repeat, cheeks flushing a red to match the accents on his armor.

His pleased hum sends another flood of wetness to your core. One of his hands reach around to pinch your clit between two finger while the other goes to unbuckle his pants.

You gasp and jerk against his fingers. “Please!” You gasp, trying your best to push into his hand.

The bark of the tree rubs uncomfortable against the exposed skin of your hips, but the pain fizzles into pleasure with each passing second. Your head begins to pound with the blood that rushes to it. The rough texture is a grounding presence that fights against the way Boba’s very existence threatens to send you flying high into atmosphere.

“Please, what?” Boba asks, smacking his freed cock against your cunt with a wet pop, “Please fuck you so you can go free? So you can vanish and I lose out on a paycheck?”

Stars, you think you might combust. Every fiber of your being is alight. If he doesn’t fuck you, you think you’re gonna wither up and die.

“No! No, I won’t! I’ll stay!” You can’t even register the words leaving your mouth. Nothing matters except getting his cock in you. “I’ll stay. I’ll — I’ll be yours!”

The tip of his cock, thick and heavy, presses against your hole. “You’ll be mine?” He repeats, slowly inching his cock into you.

No matter how many times he presses into you, you’re always worried he won’t fit. He’s just so thick. The stretch is devastating and enough to force a high whine from your lips.

He forces his cock into your cunt fully with a harsh thrust that forces the breath from your lungs.

Immediately, he sets a punishing pace, one hand holding the binders that keep your wrists together at the small of your back while the other gathers your hair up to force your head up.

“You’ll be mine?” Boba repeats, letting go of your binders to land three quick slaps against your ass. “Answer me!”

“Yes!” You cry out, tears gathering in your eyes against the onslaught on your cunt. “Yes, I’ll be yours!”

His leather gloves rub quick circles around your clit, “Mine? Mine to keep tied up and ready for my cock at all times?” He pounds into you even harder than before, if that’s even possible. “Mine to fuck and fill full of my cum?”

Oh fuck.

You clench around him at his words.

His modulated groan echoes through the forest. “You like that, girl? You like the idea of me keeping you filled the brim with my cum, huh? You want to be fucked and bred?” He punctuates his words with hard and shattering thrusts.

You can’t bring yourself to answer, too caught up in the way that he stretches you to say anything. Fuck, you’re so close.

“Are you gonna cum?” He whispers, bending to press his chest into your back.

The angle forces your upper body down even more, and all you can do it take it.

“Yes! Yes! Please let me come,” The tears are falling down your face in earnest now.

Boba’s hand, the one not rubbing devastating circles on your clit, wraps around your throat and squeezes just enough to make you see stars, “Cum.”

Your orgasm wracks your body like a bomb. Your thighs tremble with the force of how hard you cum, and every one of his thrusts is accompanied but a wet sound that would embarrass you if you were able to think in that moment.

Boba groans as you tighten around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” He slows the pace of his thrusts down, now grinding into your cunt and pressing his cock into that spot that makes you a drooling mess. “You want my cum? You want me to fill you up?”

His gravelly voice, still modulated by the helmet — and, fuck, it should not turn you on as much as it does to know that he kept on that helmet to fuck you —, sends more shivers down your spine.

“Yes! Please, fill me up! Fill me up, keep me, I’myoursI’myours,” You’re babbling now. The words spill from your lips like the slick that spills down your thighs.

“Fuck,” Boba hisses, grinding his hips once, twice, three more times before he stills and his cum floods your cunt.

You gasp and moan as your walls flutter around him, milking his cock for all it’s worth.

Your world is reduced down to feeling of Boba’s weight, a grounding presence against the aftershocks of pleasure that threaten to overwhelm you, and his hands that stroke down your back.

“Good girl,” He whispers, voice no longer filtered by the helmet. When did he take that off? “You did so good, little one,”

The binders fall off your wrists with a soft click.

Boba eases your bottoms back up around your hips and pulls your body off the tree.

“C’mon, lets get back to the ship so we can clean you up,” He presses a soft kiss, a drastic juxtaposition from the harsh way he treated you just minutes before, to your temple and resigns himself to supporting half of your weight when it’s evident that your legs are too weak to walk.

You press your body closer to him, relishing in the slight ache that comes from between your legs. “Y’know, you could always try acting if being a crime lord on Tatooine doesn’t work out,” You murmur against his shoulder.

Boba huffs. “You’re not funny.”

“Yes, I am,” You deny, hiding your smile in his pauldron.

You walk in silence, save for the way he’ll occasionally whisper a soft praise in your ear, until you finally remember something.

“Hey,” You slap a hand against his chest plate, “I know this was my idea, but I didn’t expect you to make me run.”

Boba’s laugh echoes through the forest and makes your body shake. “Exercise never hurt anyone, mesh’la,”

You scoff. “Yeah, sure. You look at the bruises on my hips in the morning and tell me that exercise doesn’t hurt.” You’re just complaining now, just finding ways to poke fun at him now that you’ve begun to climb down from the high peak of pleasure.

Boba’s hand around your waist drifts to dig into the raw skin on your hipbone, “I didn’t hear you complaining any,” He whispers into your ear, voice low and daring.

Goosebumps break out across your body.

Maybe your body will be ready for round two when you get back to the ship.

#boba fett x reader #baby's first smut #yeah this one got me #i want this so bad but i fucking hate running #i would only run for one man and that is boba #happy sunday #lee’s writing

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cultgambles · 3 years

Text

Nearly a Blip in Time

I love historical sukuna so here i am. Also i am lowkey so confused at his story. Like i know he was a sorcerer at one point in history but like when did he get all his arms?? BC according to the wiki he was killed and then became a cursed spirit and then his fingers were waxy (lol weird choice of word) ?? anyway, in this, hes not a people hes a monster.

He’s also OOC. first time writing for JJK, but i wanted something soft hehe. Reader bites the dust

Wc: 3033

Masterlist | Requests? open

“[Y/N], you can’t be serious. No way a person of your . . . stature . . . could research in depth about something as big as Ryomen Sukuna. In fact, I’d wager that you wouldn’t even get within 5 feet of his temple,” the local teacher scoffs, disbelief plain as day on his face.

“You wager? What if I do get within 5 feet, then? Will you take me in as your student?” You cross your arms, staring him down. “Do you accept the challenge? I mean, you said it to begin with.”

The scholar throws up a hand, blowing you off. “Fine, whatever. You have half a year to write an in-depth dissection of the demon lord Ryomen Sukuna, and you will report your findings back to me at this very hour once your time is up. I expect perfection.”

“And if I win?” You ask, writing down every word he has said.

“You won’t die.”

“And?” You shoot him an unamused glare.

“And I will take you in as a student. God curse your father for teaching you to read and write.”

“He knew it would be beneficial for me. Now, sign here so you don’t try to cheat your way out of this,” you thrust the wood block and paper attached towards him. The scholar grumbles, almost breaking the ink brush in the process of writing his signature.

You carefully tuck the contract under your arm and scurry off, not before telling him you’d be back.

His laughter echoes around you.

At home, your father was amazed and horrified to learn of this deal, but he knew nothing could stop you. You gave him one last hug for the time being and gathered what little belongings you had in a knapsack.

“Don’t worry, father, I’ll be back before you know it.” His warmth lingers on your person, seeping into your bones. You’ll miss this.

Sukuna’s temple isn’t far from your village, in fact, he was revered as a protector of some sorts. Perhaps one quick to anger and that changed on the dime. It was a couple miles up the mountain where the snow thinned in winter and where the flowers bloomed in the spring. You’ve been to it only a handful of times before, once with your father, and several with the other village ladies. A yearly tradition, you suppose.

The temple is always well kept, the torii gates painted a pristine red, the surrounding area swept and neat, no dust to be seen near the wells or on the floor. Some, like the scholar you had made a wager with, merely believed he was a spirit, a demon of imagination. Others, like you and your mother, really believed in his existence. Before it becomes too late, you decide to scope out the area and set up camp a ways away from the temple so as to not disturb him. You briefly wonder if he was here or away at some other village. Would he be wreaking havoc? or be somewhat kind and spare the folks living there? You decide to set up your small camp under the camouflage and protection of the trees, maybe fifty feet from the river. You’d be much happier to stay at home, but the paths could become treacherous for a young thing like you at night. Maybe a little bit of the great outdoors is what you needed, anyway.

Almost a week passes before you ever have the hint of seeing the demon in the flesh. It’s on one of the days where you bring a small offering. Not much since you can’t exactly go home and cook a nice meal every time, but usually a flower crown or other type of decor.

When you do see him, however, time slows to a crawl. You swear your legs feel like jelly as he glances down at you. Sharp-featured and arrogant, beautiful, all man. He stands tall, towering above you. He has to stoop to reach the depths of the temple from the doorway.

“Well, well,” he croons, “what do we have here?” His four eyes are the color of what flows through each being and his canines sharp as knives. Truly, he’s beautiful, sculpted muscles rippling under inky black tattoos, blazing red eyes.

You bow deeply and straighten your shoulders, gaze still downcast to be respectful. “I just wanted to make this offering to you. I know it’s not much, but I hope you will find it useful.” You raise the small gift above your head, feeling his gaze roll over your body, sharp nails lightly scraping against your skin, grasping the wreath.

“Peculiar,” he says. His thumb and forefinger tilt your head up and you struggle to avert your eyes. “What’s your purpose here, little human?”

“I made a bet with the town scholar. I’ve to write about you and return with my findings so I can become a real student there.”

“A student, eh?”

“Please! I’m fascinated by you,” you plead, feeling his grip on your chin tighten.

“I’m intrigued, if only slightly,” he muses, releasing you harshly enough you’re forced to regain your balance.

You soon learn his ego is massive, that’s probably the only reason he spared you. He’d just love something written about him, wouldn’t he? Ever the gracious god, he lets you stay in one of the temple rooms. You had offered to take one the furthest from his own so he could have plenty of space, but he put you up right across from his instead.

Something about you being near to always capture his persona. Whatever.

Life at the temple is never truly boring. there’s always something going on; whether someone bringing gifts, like an unlucky human sacrifice, or some warriors barging in thinking they could actually harm the demon.

Sukuna likes you watching him tear apart these people limb from limb the best. The first couple times you couldn’t stand it, but it soon became a natural occurrence. Sure, you felt bad for those folks, but they never came truly prepared.

“What’re you writing now, pet?” he asks you one day. You glance up at him. He’s wringing the blood out of one of his sleeves, the blood drip drip dripping to the floor in red rain.

“I’ve noticed you like toying with your prey. If you’re in a good mood, you’ll let them think you have the upper hand,” you tell him.

“And if I’m in a bad mood?”

“Slice them in half!” He nods. His black nails gleam in the sunlight and you watch a pair of arms reach up behind his head as a cushion as the other balances to sit next to you.

“I really like how the trees change color in the autumn,” he says nonchalantly.

“Because they’re the color of blood?” you offer. You draw a small leaf on your paper’s corner.

“Maybe. Their lives are so short, unlike mine. Not that I’ve been a curse for too terribly long.”

You bite your tongue. Is it lonely? bounces around in your head.

“What will I do when my little scholar leaves too?” You flush and stammer that you still have a couple months. Sukuna pauses in thought, then, a sinister smirk gracing his lips.

The more you get to know him, the more you realize that he’s much more bored with life. Killing random people stated his boredom and gave him something to do, it wasn’t until later that he learned to revel in it. The more you got to know him, the more you didn’t want to leave.

He taught you, too. Weird things, usually, but still, useful things. He wasn’t all that good a teacher, but he was patient and expected you to figure shit out on your own. Sometimes he took you down to the market and showed you how to best barter.

And to steal.

Other times, he would sit and watch you cook silently. He always says your cooking wasn’t crap, so you just take it as a compliment.

Six months have passed since you first climbed the mountain. Sukuna finds you in your room packing what little belongings you have.

“That time already?” he muses, leaning against the door. You hum in acknowledgement. “What if they don’t even accept me?”

“Then you’ll return, of course.”

“That’s a nice thought.”

Of course, little did you know, but to Sukuna, that was a command.

He didn’t just watch your figure walk away, no, he followed silently behind, taking in the way you’d stop to study a particularly interesting tree or follow the clouds.

Your village is still the same. Same rickety well, same sunken houses, same sort of dreariness when you left.

You make your way towards the school house, it’s kind of near the back of the village, backed up to the lush forest. “I’ve done it!” you call, standing tall. “Not only have I been within 5 feet of his temple, I’ve been inside. I’ve had actual conversations with the demon Ryomen Sukuna.” You fish out your copious amount of notes and dissertation, shoving it in front of you.

“I’m surprised,” is all the teacher says, “give it here.” You hand him the documents, and he flips through the pages.

“So?”

“So what? For all I know, this could all be made up.”

“What? It’s not! How would I make up his favorite fruit or the way he likes his meat cooked? Papaya and rare, by the way,” you cross your arms.

“Then you should have brought him down with you.”

“You called?” his deep, rumbling voice cuts through the silence.

“S-Sukuna? What are you doing here?”

“I told you, pet, you’d return to me.”

“Sukuna-sama!” the scholar bows. “This is all a misunderstanding, their findings were great! Very convincing!”

“Give them to me.”

“Yes, sir!” he wails, pressing the papers to the other’s chest.

“You didn’t think he would actually keep that bet, did you?” Sukuna asks you.

“Well, I was hopeful!”

“Aw sweet,” he mocks you lightly. “You don’t need to be surrounded by such inferiors. Come now.” It seemed just a snap and somehow the scholar’s head was lobbed off.

You nod dumbly, barely processing what exactly just transpired. Did he kill him? For you? Surely there must be something in it for him.

But the way he holds out one of his four hands for you to grasp sets a fire in your heart. It’s small, no grassland bonfire, but a smolder that you know will become a steady heat.

His hand is rough and calloused while yours only has a few bumps from holding your ink brush so tightly and for so long. Sukuna leads you back to the temple, guiding you back into the room you stayed before.

“Why,” you ask him softly.

He shrugs. “You’re amusing to me. I like the silly words you use.”

“So you like my company?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he chuckles, running a hand over your head.

“Hey! You’re gonna mess up my hair!” you giggle.

“Don’t worry, next time it will be because your head will be atop my bed.” Shameless. Truly shameless. “Just keep writing about me.”

Somewhere in between you returning to the temple and now is when you find yourself tangled in his sheets. Two of his arms wrap securely around your waist and hip, another caressing your cheek. If you’re being completely honest, it seemed as if he adored you. He never coddles you per say, but anything you’d mention off hand, he would remember. An object you wanted, or even that you wanted to take a bath later that day. Sometimes he would even brush out your tangles for you.

You’re surprised by the normality of it all, how he’s gentle with you, unlike others who dare to cross his path.

Waking up together is a part of your daily routine. (Every morning, he gives you a quick kiss on the forehead.) (You trace the patterns of his tattoos lazily.) You’d ask him about you and him sometimes, and he always responds that he’ll always keep his little one happy, that you belong to him. Sometimes, in the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s actually being truthful or he’s just passing the time. Maybe the truth is a little bit of both, but you’re happy anyway.

He likes holding you, the two of you sitting by the river in the flowerbeds, watching nature for hours at a time.

Other times, he lets down his walls in the four corners of the temple. Every time he comes home smelling of blood and decay, you drag him to the bathroom and run a hot bath. Your nimble fingers glide through his hair, stopping to pull out leaves and scrub away dirt from his skin. More often than not, he would pull you in with him, your laugh ringing in his ears like bells.

But happiness must come to an end.

Apparently.

It’s a weekday when it happens.

Sorcerers.

They come in doves, feet stomping like drums.

“I guess they’re tired of me wreaking havoc, hmm?” he muses.

“There’s a lot more than usual, are you sure you’ll be alright?” you whisper softly, cupping his cheek.

He holds your hand there, leaning in and closing his eyes. “Who do you think I am? Of course I’ll be fine. You will be too.”

“Okay,” you watch him leave, a familiar aura of danger seeping in like a thick fog.

But it’s not okay.

Someone finds you and they drag you out of the temple by the hair. You’re thrown to the ground harshly.

“What, a little harlot? That demon won’t bother saving you, don’t even look at him. You’re nothing to him,” the sorcerer tells you, pressing a steel toed boot to your throat. You’re gasping for a breath, any.

“Obviously you think I’m worth something since you’re dealing with me,” you struggle to voice.

His nostrils flare, eyes wide. “See you in hell,” he snarls. You’re feeling everything and nothing at once. Surely the wound in your chest as you bleed, but you can’t seem to think of anything good or bad. You’re clutching your wound, sputtering. As if sensing you, miraculously, Sukuna turns in your direction as his fist rips through someone’s chest. Faintly, you hear a roar of anger, and then the screams around you are deafening.

The dozens of sorcerers that tried to defeat Ryomen Sukuna lay at bizzare angles, each in their own pool of blood.

It’s this horrible humorless laugh, his open mouth desperate and hungry like he wants to devour the world in punishment for taking the one true thing he held dear to him. The last piece holding his humanity together. He doesn’t know how you even got out of the temple, that’s definitely not where he left you. You’re staring blankly ahead, but he notices your hand gripping the pendant he gifted you.

Sukuna sighs, kneeling next to you, holding you close to his chest. He doesn’t know what you would have preferred: whether to be buried or cremated, and there’s no point now. Ultimately, Sukuna places you in a bed of flowers. He makes his way back to the temple, stepping around the bodies that litter the floor. Maybe he can threaten some laymen to come clean up the mess.

When he returns to the main room, the first thing he notices is the shelf with all the books you loved. Papers strewn everywhere, pages bent.

Your findings about him on the top shelf are gone.

That’s not something he realizes until much, much, much later when he’s ambushed after terrorizing another village. It’s been years without you, and yet he still feels anger of how you were taken from him. He promised he would protect you, at least, in the sanctum of his own mind, never voicing it to you. And yet, he’s failed.

Your coping mechanisms suck, you’d probably say if you saw him now. But I’ll write it down anyway, and we can cross it out later, if you want.

Like your death, he’s not even sure how the sorcerers managed to defeat him.

His twenty fingers cut up, separated through time and distance. Dormant, for now.

—PRESENT TIME—

“Oi, brat, ask that blindfold asshole what those are.”

“Ask what are what?” his host, Yuuji Itadori quips.

“Over there, on display. The books.”

Yuuji hates to admit it, but he’s curious too. How important are they to be kept here, and in a glass case, no less? Anyway, he hardly ever gets to see cursed objects in the flesh.

“Gojo-sensei! What are those!?” he shouts.

“They’re books, don’t you know what a book is?”

“Okay, yeah, but what’s their use? Like, why are they here?” Yuuji pulls at his hair.

“Hmm, they’re written by a [Y/N]. Long ago, not much information about the author, but the writing is phenomenal. And all about that little curse inside of you,” Gojo smirks, running a finger down Yuuji’s forehead and bopping him on the nose.

“About Sukuna?”

“Pretty mundane stuff, if you ask me. I’ve been told the sorcerers that defeated Sukuna used those texts. Not sure how ‘he hates when food offerings have tomatoes’ was useful, but apparently it was,” he shrugs, looking at his watch. “Ah, would you look at the time, I’ve gotta go! Pressing matters with a special-grade. And the candy shop I want to go to closes in 30!”

“Later, sensei,” Yuuji waves. “You don’t like tomatoes?”--silence-- “What, no response? You’re suddenly shy now?”

Sukuna hears him, and ignores him as per usual.

So, my little scholar’s books were stolen, huh? Here, all this time?

#sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gender neutral reader #sukuna x y/n #reader insert

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crowsnotvultures · 3 years

Text

here it is, favorite SoC+CK quotes pt. 2! (pt 1)

(This one’s way too long too and I’m not even done with them)

an obvious winner: “He was going to break my legs,” she said, her chin held high, the barest quaver in her voice. “Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When I couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?” Dirtyhands would not. The boy who could get them through this, get their money, keep them alive, would do her the courtesy of putting her out of her misery, then cut his losses and move on. “I would come for you,” he said, and when he saw the wary look she shot him, he said it again. “I would come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”

“Kuwei turned to Jesper. “You should visit me in Ravka. We could learn to use our powers together.” “How about I push you in the canal and we see if you know how to swim?” Wylan said with a very passable imitation of Kaz’s glare.

“I don't like this," said Matthias. Jesper had smiled his reckless gunslinger’s grin. "To be fair, Matthias, you don't like much.”

“I don’t hold a grudge. I cradle it. I coddle it. I feed it fine cuts of meat and send it to the best schools. I nurture my grudges, Rollins.” emo kaz my beloved

“You’re better than waffles, Matthias Helvar.” A small smile curled the Fjerdan's lips. “Let’s not say things we don’t mean, my love.”

“Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or wants to kill us?""So?" said Kaz. "Well, usually it's just half the city.”

“Meeting you was a disaster.”

“They get to know each other intimately.” Matthias’ jaw dropped. “In the cave?”

She would fight for him, but she could not heal him. She would not waste her life trying.

They all looked at Matthias. “This is where you tell us how awful we are,” she whispered. He shrugged. “They all seem like practical choices.”

“Sugar,” said Kaz. Jesper nudged the sugar bowl down the table to him. Kaz rolled his eyes. “Not for my coffee, you podge.”

There was blood everywhere. Jellen Radmakker had fallen to the stage and was bellowing, “I’ve been shot!" He had not been shot.

Wylan shrugged. “Maybe. Not all poisons have an antidote.” Jesper snorted. “That’s why we call him Wylan Van Sunshine.” i feel like we collectively forget the origin of that nickname this boy is brutal sometimes

He sometimes suspected they could forgo all of Kaz's planning and simply let Jesper and Nina flirt the entirety of Ketterdam into submission.

“Yes,” said Wylan, glancing briefly over his shoulder, his cheeks now red as cherries. “I’d like to make a down payment.”

She’d tricked him. The decent, honest, pious Wraith had outsmarted him. He turned to look back at the long expanse of roof he was going to have to traverse to get back to the boat. “Curse you and all your Saints,” he said to no one at all, then realized he was smiling.

Inej frowned. “I thought you and Nina chose four outbreak sites on the Staves.” Kaz straightened his cuffs. “I also had her stop at the Menagerie.” She smiled then, her eyes red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again.

“Please, tell me more about Fjerdan girls.” “They speak quietly. They don’t engage in flirtations with every single man they meet.”“I flirt with the women too.”

“I think you’d flirt with a date palm if it would pay you any attention.” “If I flirted with a plant, you can bet it would stand up and take notice. Are you jealous?” “All the time.”

“You’re stupid about a lot of things, Wylan, but you are not stupid. And if I ever hear you call yourself a moron again, I’m going to tell Matthias you tried to kiss Nina. With tongue.” Wylan wiped his nose on his sleeve. “He’ll never believe it.” “Then I’ll tell Nina you tried to kiss Matthias. With tongue.”

“Pick up the pace,” Kaz said, eyeing his watch. “If I spill a single drop of this, it will burn straight through the floor onto my father’s dinner guests.” “Take your time.”

Matthias was dreaming again. Dreaming of her.

“My mother is Ketterdam. She birthed me in the harbor. And my father is profit. I honor him daily.” shakespeare kid kaz rights

Jesper Llewellyn Fahey

He swept the red cloak around Inej's shoulders in a rain of petals and blossoms as she continued to strap on her knives. She looked almost as startled as the flower seller. "What?" he asked as he tossed her a Mister Crimson mask that matched his own. "Those were my mother's favorite flower." "Good to know Van Eck didn't cure you of sentiment." "Nice to be back, Kaz." "Good to have you back, Wraith.”

“We’re nothing alike,” Wylan said indignantly. “He’s not even that good at science! Half his notebooks are full of doodles. Mostly of you. And those aren’t good either.”

Two of the deadliest people the Barrel had to offer and they could barely touch each other without both of them keeling over. But they’d tried. He’d tried. Maybe they could try again.

“Don’t worry, Da. People point guns at each other all the time in Ketterdam. It’s basically a handshake.” “Is that true?” his father asked as the scholar grudgingly moved aside and they shoved the heavy desk in front of the door. “Absolutely,” said Wylan. “Certainly not,” said the scholar.

"Nina," he said, pressing her hand to his heart. "I am already home.”

I have been very patient with all of this, Jesper, but I am at my limit. I want you down here before I count ten or I will tan your hide so you don’t sit for two weeks.” Colm’s head vanished back down the stairs. The silence stretched. Then Nina giggled. “You are in so much trouble.”

"That berth belongs to you too. It will always be there when―if you want to come back." bc we all know he’s not only talking about the berth

Wait,” he said. The burn of his voice was rougher than usual. “Is my tie straight?” Inej laughed, her hood falling back from her hair. “That’s the laugh,” he murmured.

Had she really thought the world didn't change? She was a fool. The world was made of miracles, unexpected earthquakes, storms that came from nowhere and might reshape a continent. The boy beside her. The future before her. Anything was possible.

#six of crows #crooked kingdom #mine #shadow and bone

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vennilavee · 4 years

Text

pink matter

pairing: levi x reader- grad school/boxer au (set in 2:58 AM//bare knuckles universe) summary: it’s levi’s birthday and you’re his present. word count: 4052 warnings: smoking (shisha), smut in the form of: oral (f receiving), fingering, grinding, oc is lowkey a pillow princess, oc cries (bc levi’s stroke game is too good), edging, spitting (dont @ me). 18+ !!!! a/n: ummm what can i say other than...happy birthday to my mans. and yes i listened to pink matter by frank ocean on repeat while writing this

Levi and birthdays were a tricky thing- he stubbornly refused to do anything over the top every year that you’d known him. His birthday celebrations have almost always been something that his friends have planned, or for the past few years, they’ve been celebrations that you have planned. His birthday fell during winter break, but this year neither of you were heading home. He was staying on campus for his internship and you were staying on campus to apply for jobs and give Levi company.

Besides, your family’s home wasn’t far from campus anyway.

He had had a boxing match earlier in the week, and had come out relatively unscathed with a few still healing bruises and welts over his knuckles. Despite your many attempts to dissuade him from underground boxing, none of them worked. He was good at it, great even, and he made more money underground boxing than he could ever hope to make at his internship. Besides, he had promised you that he was almost ready to quit.

You refused to let him splurge on you the way you knew he wanted to. If he was going to hurt himself to save up money for his mother, then every penny of his boxing money would go towards that.

Levi could splurge on you later, as you often reminded him when it was late at night and he would voice to you how you deserve more. You scoffed at him, telling him that he knew you better than that. Besides, his kisses, his touch, his time was worth more than anything. Him coming back to you unscathed was worth more than a pretty piece of jewelry.

That didn’t stop him from getting you a beautiful gold necklace for your birthday. He needed to get you at least one thing for you to show off. You had protested immediately- you were both struggling for money, to make ends meet as graduate students. But he had silenced you- “Let me treat you just this once.”

And you couldn’t argue with that.

So today, you choose to keep Levi’s birthday lowkey, just how he prefers it. Just you and him. He’s spending most of the day at his internship, and then will be meeting Erwin and Hange for a quick drink. And then he’ll be having dinner with you.

He had asked you several times if you had wanted to join him for drinks, but you waved him off. Telling him to spend time with his friends, and that you’d go to his apartment once he came back.

Levi had kissed you goodbye in the morning, letting you linger over his chapped lips for a few minutes longer.

You’re satisfied in letting him leave in the morning, as you had woken him up early with a birthday blowjob. The rest can wait until after he comes home.

You had given instructions to Erwin and Hange to keep Levi with them for as long as they could. After all, you had to finish baking the mini lemon tarts you wanted to make for Levi, make dinner, and get ready.

You were going to wear your baby pink satin-y dress. The one with thin straps. The one that Levi loved on you.

Anticipation floods through you as minutes tick by. You were multitasking- rolling dough, chopping meat, green chilis and vegetables up for the jiaozi and noodles that you wanted to make for dinner while checking the oven. Levi had given you his mother’s recipe for jiaozi, and you were eager to try it out.

Hopefully it came out as good as his mom’s.

You'd told Levi you’d be heading back to your own place to tidy up and fix up your resume, but really you had just snuck back into his apartment to start cooking with the spare key he had given you.

His kitchen smells wonderful and spicy mixed with sweet. A thin layer of sweat pools over your brow as you make sure that the broth is just right and the tarts aren’t too overdone. You’d even bought wine and whiskey- the wine mainly for you, and the whiskey for him.

Once the dough has rested for long enough, you add soy sauce, rice wine, salt and pepper to the meat and mix it. Then, you cut the dough into thin slices and add the meat filling to it. Before wetting the dough and folding the edges, you pull the tarts out of the oven.

Maybe you had prepared the tarts too early. Oh well, that’s okay.

You cook the jiaozi and pan-fry them, satisfied at the golden brown, crispy texture of them.

You make several servings of spicy Szechuan chili garlic noodles, to save as leftovers for tomorrow. You love noodles, and chili garlic noodles are one of Levi’s favorites.

Perfect. You still have around forty minutes left to get ready. If you move quickly, that’s all you’d need.

The small dining table in Levi’s extended kitchen is set with two plates, a glass of whiskey for Levi and a glass of red wine for you. You had strung more pink fairy lights around his living room and kitchen, giving the walls a faint, romantic glow.

Not that Levi knows what’s awaiting him. He’s not even expecting you in his apartment, but when he fumbles with the keys and sees the pink glow washing over his walls he knows you’ve been by.

But then he sees you sitting on the couch in his favorite baby pink dress with your legs crossed and a soft smile. You swirl your glass of wine at him expectantly, before setting it on the coffee table and greeting him at the door.

“Hey,” You murmur, smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt with your hands, “Welcome home.”

Levi can’t take his eyes off of the red of your lips. He plants his hands over your hips, drawing you in closer to him. He traces over the curve of your jaw, eyeing the necklace sitting nice and pretty at the base of your throat. Levi dips his head to kiss your clavicle easily.

“Hey,” Levi drawls, “You all pretty for me?”

“No,” You roll your eyes, “‘M all pretty for me. You’re just an added bonus.”

“Even on my birthday?”

“Shut up,” You laugh, swatting his shoulder, “Go wash up. I made you something.”

Levi palms and smacks your ass generously, swallowing your soft sigh with his lips before ducking out to wash his hands. You watch him walk away from you, enjoying the way his dress shirt clings to his narrow waist and his broad shoulders. You ring your own hands in slight nervousness, hoping that he enjoys the food you prepared for him.

You know he will. But still, you like compliments and you’re not above admitting that.

You refill your wine glass, nearly jumping when Levi wraps his arms around your waist. His hands are warm against your belly, sending a bolt of desire through your spine.

“Started drinkin’ without me?” He murmurs, voice low in your ear.

“No,” You shake your head, “I had a glass as I was cooking. That doesn’t count.”

Levi’s hand slips up the slit of your dress, squeezing your thighs and trailing up your leg. “You made us dinner?”

“And dessert,” You mumble with a nod, turning in his arms and gesturing to the dinner table. Levi’s eyes soften when he sees the set up of the dinner table- two neatly prepared plates with steaming food. How had he not smelled it when he walked in?

Probably because he was too taken with the scent of your perfume.

“It’s not much,” You mumble shyly, “But-”

Levi cuts your words off with a searing kiss, pulling you into his chest and cradling your neck. “It’s everything, angel,” Levi says, pressing his forehead to yours, “You’re everything.”

Your painted lips split into a bashful smile, and you push his hair out of his eyes to press a kiss to his forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.”

Levi kisses you again in gratitude, soft and chaste. His hands are rough over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. He takes your hand and seats you in his lap in one swift movement, shifting you until you fit within the crevices of his chest.

You reach over for your plate and glass of wine, waiting for him to take the first bite of jiaozi. His eyes widen in appreciation, a soft hum coming from his chest.

“Tastes so good,” Levi murmurs, pressing a kiss to the back of your shoulder.

“Really?” You perk up, turning to look at him, “It was my first time, I wasn’t sure if I got them quite right-”

“Really,” Levi says, “Thank you for this.”

“Just wanted to do somethin’ nice for you,” You shrug, unable to stop the smile from spreading, “You deserve it, baby.”

Levi hooks his chin over your shoulder, patting your thigh to wordlessly tell you to eat with him. After a few bites, you admit-

“You’re right, I did do a good job,” You giggle, the noise almost high pitched with the addition of wine. Levi tugs your hand into his, admiring the soft lilac color of your nails as he takes a generous sip of his whiskey.

“You did,” Levi trails off flatly, nosing at your neck. You both finish your plates quietly with gratuitous sips of wine and whiskey in between respectively. The soft material of your dress is always within Levi’s touch- he loves this dress on you because it only just ghosts over the nearly hidden lines and curves of your body.

He thinks it makes you look ethereal.

By the time you finish your plates off, you’re feeling the effects of wine curling in your limbs. Making you a little more affectionate than normal, not wanting to let go of Levi’s hand. Always touching him, somehow.

Levi puts your plates away and washes them quickly as you box up the food for leftovers for tomorrow. “Hey, guess what,” You murmur, “I packed the bowl for us-”

You gesture to the living room, where your pink and purple hookah sits tall and pretty next to the coffee table. Your hookah has been your trusty friend for the last few years, and you had even introduced Levi to it. Your hookah has now made a home in Levi’s apartment as well. Even though you had taught him how to use it, he had slowly become the one to pack the shisha into the bowl whenever you both wanted to smoke and clean the water out.

You claimed that the shisha would stain your nails. He had rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. You were such a princess, but you were his princess.

“Oh wow, is it a special occasion?” He says dryly, with the arch of his eyebrow.

“It’s just some guy’s birthday,” You reply without missing a beat, earning yourself a squeeze of your ass. You sit next to him on the couch, legs tucked under you and give him the hookah pipe to take the first pull.

He blows the soft tuft of smoke above your head before taking a deeper pull. A larger cloud of smoke floats out of his mouth. You’re mesmerized by the shape of his lips and the way he holds the clear plastic pink pipe in between his long fingers.

Levi wordlessly hands you the pipe after a few pulls. You lean against his shoulder and thread your fingers through his as you take a few generous pulls. Smoking from your hookah has become something of a stress relief for both of you- sometimes you ended your nights with a nice pack and just sat with each other. It was a good way to wind down after long days and long nights.

It was a habit you knew you might be growing too old for, but you’ll deal with that later.

You start to feel a little lightheaded, a little tipsy and give Levi the pipe back. “Did you have a good day today?” You ask softly, cradling his cheek with your hand.

He hums, “Wish they were paying me more at the internship. But I’m here now.”

You understand his unspoken words- I’m happy to be here now.

“We’ll be okay soon, Levi,” You promise, “We’ll be outta here soon, baby.”

But for tonight, he only wants to think about you. Levi only wants to think about you, you in this pretty dress, you all pretty in his arms. So he puts the pipe on the table and drops the coal from the bowl, ignoring your noise of protest. Levi pulls you into his lap hastily, hands tight over your hips and wandering down to your ass.

“You should suck my cock,” Levi says bluntly, “It’s my birthday, after all.”

He’s only joking- really, he likes seeing the way you pout and protest at him. Like the princess that you are. “Levi,” You whine, “I did this morning, and I can’t get on my knees in this dress…”

“You’re right,” Levi muses, fingers tracing your sides, “This dress is too nice for you to ruin.”

“It’s your favorite dress,” You say. You’re proud of yourself and Levi finds it endearing. Levi draws you even closer and lays you over the couch with your back flat. He clasps the hem of the tight skirt of your dress and hikes it up to your waist and allows his fingers to graze the softness of your inner thighs.

Fingers instantly thread through his dark, silky hair, tugging at his scalp. He groans into your skin, eyes fluttering at the feeling. Levi draws himself up over your body, slipping the thin, pink straps of your dress off of your shoulders and dropping kisses along the column of your neck. You tilt your neck to the side in your hazy stupor, giving him an eyeful of your glowing skin.

You’re so pretty.

Levi kisses the spot behind your ear, the spot that never fails to make you sigh his name airily. He’s intoxicated by you, the sweet smell of your perfume mixed with his cologne clinging to your skin and wrapping you both in a pink bubble. Levi cradles your face with his hand, drawing your eyes towards him.

You leave him a little breathless- far more breathless than after a difficult boxing match. None of that has anything on the way you blink at him with hearts dotted in your eyes, or the way your lips are swollen from his kisses. And especially not the way you trace the hard planes of his chest with gentle calls of his name.

His eyes are blazing, adoration stamped in his grey irises. Levi ducks his head for a sharp kiss, drawing a loud whimper out of you when he puts a little pressure over your neck. He squeezes a little harder when you whine impatiently and lock your legs around his narrow waist.

His angel in pink is just full of surprises.

Levi could kiss you for hours, the soft, wet feel of your red lips against his is something he wants to drown in. He’s certain your red lipstick stains his skin, but he pays it no mind. He knows you’ll get a kick out of it, but right now, you’re only focused on peeling him out of his shirt. You toss his dress shirt on the other side of the couch, where it lands on the armchair unassumingly.

Levi hisses when your lips brush over freshly healed bruises on his chest, but he doesn’t mind the slight sting. Levi firmly pushes you back towards the couch, an excited gasp ripping from your throat.

You like it when he shows off his strength for you. Specifically, when he manhandles you a little bit.

“Be good,” Levi murmurs raspily, taking your curious hands in his, “You gonna be my good girl? It’s my birthday…”

You nod instantly, eager to please, “Y-yes. ‘M your good girl…”

“Then keep your hands to yourself, angel,” Levi says and you pout at him. But you listen, struggling not to touch him.

Levi pushes the top of your dress down and unclasps your lacy black bra in quick succession, your tits spilling out easily. Your entire body pulses when his lips plaster over your chest, his lips sucking and tongue soothing as he slides down your body.

He looks up at you from in between your legs, pleased when your eyes are hooded. You’re doing your best to listen to him, to not touch him. Just because he said so and you want to be good for him. Levi hooks his hands around your hips, pulling you flush against his face.

You buck your hips towards him and hope he doesn’t notice. He does, but says nothing, only pushing the skirt of your dress higher up on your waist. Leaving your legs bare and your clothed pussy in front of him for him to devour. Levi dots your thighs in kisses before his head disappears in between your legs and rubs his thumb over your clothed clit. He presses a kiss there and you shudder, wanting to run your hands through his hair.

But you keep your hands to yourself.

Levi hums when he finally peels your panties off and puts them in the pocket of his pants, not wanting them to get dirty. You choke at the action, feeling your face heat up. Levi spreads your legs apart, hiking them over his shoulders and licks your core teasingly. His tongue is so wet and warm that you can’t help but buck your hips for more with a whine. You tighten your thighs around his head as he gathers your wetness with his thumb and circles your clit in the same motion.

You grip the sofa cushions in an attempt to ground yourself. Your thighs tremble at the first swipe of his tongue over your folds and when he continues to circle your clit. Levi sucks your clit and pushes a finger into your dripping pussy, and you let out a strangled sort of noise. He pumps you a few strokes, your walls already clenching around his finger.

And then he just stops. You whine in annoyance, your brow furrowed and your lips pursed together in a pout. He only smirks at you wickedly, adding another finger into you and holding still. You try to fuck yourself on his fingers, but he won’t have that.

“Thought you were gonna be my good girl,” Levi murmurs, palm flat against your hip.

“Mmm-please, baby,” You mumble, eyes beginning to fill with unshed tears, “I love you, please touch me-”

“Alright, angel,” Levi acquiesces easily. He only wants to please you, wants to maybe see you cry on his cock, come apart with his hand wrapped around your pretty throat. “You know I love you.”

Your eyes light up at that, pout dissolving into a soft smile. Levi kisses your thigh once more and dips his head in between your legs. You move your foot so it’s flat against Levi’s back for more leverage, letting out a loud moan when his tongue presses into your pussy. You rock your hips into his face, nearly choking at the sight of his dark hair in between your legs.

You don’t even realize how lewdly you’re calling his name, as he grinds his tongue into you as if you’re the sweetest honey he’s ever had.

Which you are. Because you’re his angel. You do well with being obedient, not allowing your hands to graze any part of him. So he looks up from in between your legs, your wetness dribbling down his chin and gives you a look that makes your pussy flutter.

“Good girl,” Levi murmurs and ducks his head down once more. The soft praise shoots straight down your spine and Levi tastes it. He threads his fingers through yours and you gasp at his touch, squeezing greedily.

“You feel so good, Levi,” You babble, “Love you, I love you so much-”

You cut yourself off with a wretched moan when Levi presses his tongue flat against your pussy and strokes you with two long fingers in you. Levi knows when you’re close, when your thighs begin to tremble and when you start babbling to him as you are now.

He pumps you slowly, alternating between slow and fast as you gush for him on his tongue. Levi groans in between your legs, the sound reverberating through you and he eagerly laps up another wave of wetness.

“Look at you, angel,” Levi murmurs, pulling his tongue away to play with your clit as he presses kisses on your inner thighs.

“Yours, ‘m yours,” You slur, “Please, baby, make me cum, I’m so close…”

And since you asked so nicely, the lilt of your voice coated with silky adoration for him and him only, he presses his tongue to your pussy once more. Your back arches instantly, thighs beginning to quiver when he sucks your clit and presses two fingers into you again.

“Levi, baby, please,” You beg with tears gathering in the corner of your eyes and dropping down your cheeks, “Love your mouth, love you so much. Wanna be with you always, wanna give you everything…”

God, he loves you so much. The way your eyes water when you’re close, the way you wrap around him perfectly like this. There’s nothing that can compare to your softness meshing with all of his rough edges.

“Cum, baby,” Levi murmurs hoarsely, scissoring his fingers inside of you. He shifts so that he’s over your frame, his fingers still inside of you and kisses you harshly. You taste yourself on his lips, moaning into his mouth. You don’t have the strength to pull away as your orgasm is within reach once more. You clench desperately around his fingers before he’s about to slide down your body again but you stop him.

“N-no,” You mumble, “Kiss me, want you to kiss me.” You yank him down to you, pushing your lips to his impatiently as you rock into his fingers. You look up at him with your lips parted and with heated cheeks, as he rubs your clit with his thumb.

“C’mon angel, cum for me,” Levi says, a soft demand. The headiness of his voice and his blown out eyes make your toes curl. With another few rubs of your clit with his thumb, stars explode behind your eyelids, your heart is about to beat right out of your chest and Levi holds you steady as you ride out your high.

Levi slides down your body to lap up your wetness and you close your legs instinctively from oversensitivity. Your thighs jump at his sudden touch over your clit and you try to shove him away but he pulls off of you himself, hovering above you and settling in your arms.

You give him a dazed, happy smile. Levi licks his lips, letting saliva gather on his tongue and presses his thumb to your chin.

“Open, angel,” He breathes. When you part your lips eagerly, red lipstick long smudged, he drops a ball of spit onto your waiting tongue and watches the bob of your throat as you swallow eagerly. Levi kisses you, coating your bottom lip with spit, just the way you like.

You grin at him, a little messy, a little in love. Levi’s cock jumps as he looks at you below him.

“You’re messy,” Levi says fondly, cradling your cheek.

“You like me messy,” You wink at him and wrap your legs around his waist to push him down to your chest. He rests his weight on top of you and you can feel the hard press of his cock against your thigh. You grind into him teasingly, lightly scratching at his undercut.

“I made dessert for you,” You say forlornly, “Made lemon tarts. With blackberries on top.”

“Lemme have you on top and then we’ll eat your tarts,” Levi says, earning himself a smack to the chest.

Levi carries you to his bedroom after that, and you don’t end up eating the lemon tarts until most of the city has fallen asleep and flurries begin to come down from the sky.

tags: @simpingmaize @captainchrisstan @alrightberries @bbygrgu @phen0l

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi x you #snk x reader #aot x reader

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mythiccheroacademia · 4 years

Text

Single-Parent!Headcanons

Characters: Kirishima Eijirou, Kaminari Denki, and Bakugo Katsuki

A/N: Inspired by y’all. Enjoy <3

Warnings: fluff overload? one tiny curse word

Kirishima Eijirou:

the day his son was born was both the worst and best day of his life

his wife died upon delivery and he almost fainted when he heard the news, bakugo caught him before he could hit the floor

it took him 24 hours before he could gather the courage to go to the nursery and see his baby. he thought he wouldn’t be able to stomach the reminder of losing the love of his life

but when he held the small boy, who instantly nuzzled into his father’s chest, sighing with relief, kirishima was hooked for life

he just continued to hold his son into his chest and cry until he couldn’t anymore

from that day on, he swore he’d be the best parent he could be for his wife and his child’s sake

bc kiri is such a youthful and loving person, taking care of his son was easy, fun, and rewarding

ofc there were hard days, but it was all worth it when his baby would wake up with an adorable laugh, smiling up at him like he was his entire world

they’re two peas in a pod

he and his son are just the cutest pair

he takes his son everywhere, strapping him on his chest with a baby carrier

you bet your ass he’s taken him on (a safe) patrol around the block

kirishima is the kind of dad that puts his kid in a laundry basket, sits them in front of the tv, and acts out rollercoaster sounds

he lives for that loud laugh of his son’s

blows raspberries into the kid’s stomach whenever he starts getting cranky

his son’s first word was “manly” and kirishima spent the entire day bothering the bakusquad about it

everyone has 12 different copies of the video—y’know...just in case

when he takes his first steps, kiri’s swinging him around the house and giving him so many kisses on his chubby cheeks

when he saw his son had one spiky tooth growing in, he almost drowned from the cuteness

the kid gets himself into a lot of trouble tho. he’s always crawling towards the edge of something and putting his hand in things that could totally cut it off. kiri has a heart attack at least once a week

calls him, “son” “bud” and “buddy”

I hc that even though he’s lively around his dad, his son is very shy with new people and in new environments so school is kind of tough for him

but kirishima is always understanding of his troubles and tries his best to let him know that as long as he’s his son, he’ll always be his biggest supporter

if that doesn’t work, they go buy their fav meats and have a random bbq (kirishima just looks like the bbq dad™️ lmao). that always seems to do the trick

when his son enrolls in U.A., he’s there with a banner, his fav meat, and a bunch of tears when he sends him off

his son wears their matching crocs only to cheer up his dad. nothing else

aka he lowkey likes them but you didn’t hear that from me!

kirishima always has the urge to ft his kid, like, every hour. but he won’t bc he knows he’s busy training to be a hero

but he does send him uplifting snapchat videos from time to time

his son still wonders how in the world his dad even knows about snapchat

he makes sure nobody knows about this

when his son calls him about his insecurities, comparing himself to his classmates, kirishima is right there to lift him up. he also dealed with those same issues and tells his son that even on his worst days, he’s strong for just facing the day and he needs to believe in himself before others can believe in him

the next day, the bakusquad is watching the tournament together

kirishima has manly tears in his eyes as his little boy places second place in the sports festival

bakugo is threatening to kill him if he ruins his shirt

Kaminari Denki:

denki becomes a dad from adopting a pair of four year old twins (one boy, one girl) that were left homeless and without parents after a villain attack

he kinda knew the parents from hero work and felt it was an obligation to at least make sure their children were okay

he wasn’t planning on necessarily adopting them. he was young and inexperienced with children. how could someone like him raise a kid when he could barely raise himself?

but after two visits to the orphanage and seeing how miserable they looked, he couldn’t leave the building without signing the papers

the transition was awkward. the twins were not only traumatized, but distrusting and scared. they didn’t really know kaminari and now he was suddenly their adoptive parent

kaminari tried everything from ice cream, to late night movie snacks, to hide n seek to get them to relax but it wouldn’t work

he almost gave up hope, and thought maybe it was a better idea to take them back to the orphanage. but that was before the night he woke up to them crawling into his bed, scared from the thunder storm that rumbled on outside

kaminari froze, scared that he’d frighten them away with any sudden movement, but he soon relaxed and hugged them close to his chest when they snuggled into his sides. he sleeps with a peaceful mind that night

although, he’s awoken to them bawling their eyes out over the nightmares they had. he panics but takes comfort in how they still grip to his shirt, face in his chest, seeking his comfort

therapy becomes a regular thing after that

kaminari finds more focus in his life

and as those helpful sessions go on, kaminari finds the twins beginning to open up more and more

they all sleep together now bc cuddle piles always scare the bad dreams away

the boy starts asking for kaminari to help him pick out his outfits

and the girl starts asking him about his quirk

it’s small things like that that lead up to things like this:

they’re in the midst of playing tickle monster when they scream with laughter, “stop! stop, daddy, you caught us!”

the twins stare at him in confusion (and slight worry) when he scoops them up and cries like he broke his leg or something

they got two huge scoops of ice cream that night so they don’t question it

dad jokes are a must

he wears typical dad outfits like hawaiian shirts, cargo shorts, and flip flops

he calls them his “little rockstars” and yes, it’s still embarrassing

kaminari is a playful dad who doesn’t really take things too seriously

his children are always laughing at his dumb jokes and are never afraid to talk to him about anything that crosses their minds

although, they won’t talk to him about love interests bc he likes to play match maker

the last time his daughter told him about some girl she was crushing on, she found out she left her a personally signed chargebolt poster for the girl in her name

kaminari called it a little boost in spirit

her brother found it funny

she was horrified

kaminari swears up and down he’s the cool dad. his kids think otherwise, but their friends LOVE how much of a jokester he is. and he lets them stay up at sleepovers

plus, he’s literally chargebolt

how could they not love him?

denki has a little trouble being serious when he needs to be, but he has good kids so it’s not that much of a problem

there was that one time his son tried to help him during a villain attack. even though kaminari ordered him to get to safety, he didn’t and ended up getting hurt

the twins had never seen their father so angry. it was kind of scary. however, in the next moment, he gathered them up in a big hug and made them swear not to scare him like that again

overall, kaminari is the sweet, fun loving, dad that everyone wishes they had

Bakugo Katsuki:

katsuki became a father the day he found a baby and a note at his doorstep

the note read: “surprise! you’re a dad. i gave you all the legal rights, but you can place her up for adoption if you want.”

least to say, bakugo was pissed

he was even more pissed at himself for getting someone so cold and unloving pregnant

however, he decides to put the baby up for adoption. he cant take care of a baby! he’s at the height of his career. he can basically taste the number one hero spot on his tongue

he’s dead set w the decision, but as he stands outside of the orphanage, he freezes. he just can’t move

bakugo looks down at his daughter as she opens her eyes for the first time. he sees an identical pair of red eyes that make his chest tight with a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time

he turns back around and heads back home. it’s easily the best decision he’s ever made in his life

ngl though, growing into the dad role for bakugo was tough

before the girl, he only ever had to think of himself. he was still used to doing everything on his own time and for his own benefit. so being forced to put 100% of his attention to a small helpless human being was not easy

katsuki admits that the first couple of years weren’t his proudest. he was still short tempered, angry with the world, and frustrated bc he felt like his life was ruined

one time, the frustration and sleep deprivation would hit him all at once and he’d just start going off at the baby to just “shut the hell up!” before breaking down and crying with her

it was a dark moment for him, and yet, even after that, his little girl still curled up in his arms to rest when the tears tired her out

it had been a while since he felt unconditional love like that, and so he decided to change for the baby’s sake

you cant tell me that little girl isn’t spoiled rotten

bakugo is a hardass, but he’s all bark no bite. no matter what, he just can’t resist his little girl’s puppy dog eyes

he’s a girl dad to the t

yes he played the princess that needed saving from the big bad dragon. what about it?

his daughter is a firecracker. she started sassing him as soon as she could gargle

he pretends he hates it but his daughter is lowkey funny asl

they go at it when they fight. bakugo’s learned to be a little more patient, but he still has a bit of a temper and it doesn’t mix well when his mini-me has the same explosive anger

is the kind of dad that says sorry by asking her what she wants for dinner

they totally talk mess about other heroes together. he ignores the fact that she admires deku as long as she keeps it to herself

emotional talks are...awkward, but he forces himself through it

she finds it embarrassing (yet oddly endearing) that he got kicked out of a PTA club meeting for threatening to light up some mom for saying the art program didn’t matter

his daughter absolutely won’t talk to him about potential love interests unless she wants them coming up missing

bakugo won’t admit to watching baby videos of his daughter when he sends her off to U.A. and no, he didn’t cry, he got dust in his eye

doesn’t bother her too much, but jumps for his phone when he hears her ringtone

kirishima says he getting soft, but that’s just his little princess

#I had wayyyyy to much fun doing this #all my uwus just BURST out of my heart #imma make my rounds with the other characters soon enough #just something little to warm myself up #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #bakugo katsuki #kaminari denki #kirishima eijirou #bnha parent!hcs #bnha single dad’s club tbh #domestic bnha #they cute or whatever #also adoption literally doesnt work like how I wrote it. like #at all #but yall knew that #okay im done #come get yall’s juice

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bjy-on-ao3 · 3 years

Note

(1/2) Heyy, thanks for your reply, and sorry it took me a while to put my request together but here it is: Reader is a shy naiad/nymph who often attends Dionysus' parties, one day he throws a party for Ares, perhaps post-victory celebration. Ares is still in war mode (when is he not lol) and his mood is affecting the other party-goers, so much so that it starts disrupting the party (fights breaking out and what not). Dio wants people to start having fun again so he coaxes reader into helping ares uhhhh 'destress', maybe makes her drink a little ambrosia/wine to loosen up(two birds one stone y'know, he gets reader out of their shell as well). Of course *Dio* joins in the 'festivities' too bc can't be letting ares have all the fun dkkd.

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

I’ve wanted to attempt this request for a while now, but I needed some study into certain parts of it I wasn’t familiar with. I hope y’all enjoy the fic nonetheless and my bits of inexperience in certain portions don’t show overmuch!

(Note: There is no Ares/Dionysus in this fic & this is featuring the characters from the Hades game, if that weren't clear already.)

Summary

During a post-war celebration, the God of War gets a bit out of control, making tempers run hot. With Ares’ bloodlust infecting the party and threatening to ruin it by becoming a brawl, Dionysus enlists Reader’s aid to help his brother wind down. Though he isn’t one to be left out of the fun either.

Tags/Warnings

Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal S*x, Biting, Blood, Creampie, Double Penetration, Drunk S*x, Hand Jobs, Nymph Reader, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Rough S*x, Shameless Smut, Slight Breathplay, Stomach Bulge, Threesome, Vaginal S*x, Voyeurism

Party Foul (Ares/F! Reader/Dionysus)

The sound of raised voices and angry snarls sent you fleeing from the area most folks had gathered to celebrate. Though it was a fete held by a local town in honor of some glorious conquest of war, the atmosphere had been light and jovial to start. However, it hadn’t been long until several of the Olympian gods deigned to grace the celebration with their presence, many with small groups of followers of their own. Mostly, the gods only added to the cheerful mood, the victorious soldiers feeling even more invigorated and honored by their presence. Yet the presence of one god stoked a fire in the blood of many present, whether soldier or laborer or homemaker. Already high on the chaos and strife from previous battles laid to rest, Ares, god of war, brought with him a mood that was electric and infectious. His revel in the bloodshed had boosted his mood, working him into something close to a frenzy. A frenzy that seeped out among the crowd, even after he had left the immediate area. It made them quibble and quarrel amongst one another, escalating until those unaffected began to cautiously distance themselves, lest they be caught up in an impromptu fistfight or worse. Arriving in tow with one of the attending gods, as was common among your fellow nymphs, you had been reluctant, but still secretly excited to enjoy the celebration. You were more than willing to enjoy the captivating atmosphere of good humor and greater cheer, even if you weren’t quite so unphased as your brethren. But as the mood of the hour had grown sour and bitter, voices raised, several men had started physical fights. You had quickly balked and ran. Your flight had taken you to one of the small surrounding buildings, breathing a deep sigh of relief once the angry voices and shouts faded to something far more faint. Stopping, listening for a time, you willed your stammering heart to slow, at least until the sound of sandals drew your attention. You cast a wary glance over your shoulder, ready to run again before recognizing the broad figure behind you. Turning to face the god whom you had accompanied to the party, you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to cut you off. “Ah, perfect timing!” Dionysus’ smooth voice boomed. “C’mere, babe, I could use a little help.” “I-What is it, my Lord?” you asked, thrown off by how laid back he sounded, despite the faint ruckus not far off. You hadn’t spoken to him too much personally, his attention often taken by those more willing to vie for it. “You’re having a good time, yeah? I mean, before all… that,” he trailed off with a lazy gesture of his hand, showing his distaste for the brutish behaviour that had stirred up. “Oh, yes! Before that, absolutely,” you answered, nodding. “Fantastic! What do you say to livening things up a little then?” You couldn’t hold back the furrow of your brow. “Ah, it seems like the city folk have taken it upon themselves to do just that already… Not that I mean to say no, my Lord!” you added quickly. Dionysus grimaced at the reminder of the ongoing brawl growing nearby. “That’s.. Not quite the mood I’m looking for. That’s why I need a little help to cool things down,” he continued, the sour look quickly swept away. “Follow me babe; I promise it’ll be a good time.” “Alright,” you agreed with another acknowledging nod, thinking you would rather be further away from the fighting anyhow. “Great, this way then,” Dionysus gestured once more, this time the gesture more welcoming, an insistence for you to follow him. You followed quietly, giving a few idle glances around the building as he led you through it, down a long hall and to a secluded room. It seemed to be some kind of lavishly decorated bedroom or lounge, littered with chaises and sturdy chairs. Several sconces peppered the wall, giving it a warm, golden glow and leaving nary a corner of the room cast into darkness. On several tables sat platters of breads and cheese, eggs, fruit, and even one of various meats, flanked with several chalices and vessels of what you assumed wine and other spirits. Dionysus stopped at the

door, giving you a gentle push into the room while he waited before the doorway. “Wait here for a minute, babe, I’ll be right back,” he assured you with a grin. Uncertain exactly what it was Dionysus required of you - given who you were dealing with, you had ideas, of course, but one could never be completely sure - you did as you were told. You settled yourself on the edge of one chaise, eyeing one of the more impressive looking vessels on the tables. You decided against having a taste from it, deeming it better to just wait until Dionysus returned. After a few minutes that dragged on, the sound of footsteps drew near once more - this time more than just one set, the additional footsteps heavier than the first. Dionysus reappeared in the doorway, stepping into the room, followed by another man who could only be another god, judging by the broad breadth of his shoulders and chest and the fearsome, bloody red eyes that fell on you. You recognized him instantly - the god of chaos and war was hard to forget, after all - and most you knew gave him a wide berth. It wasn’t so much that he was unpredictable that concerned most people, rather that his fondness for war and violence was exceptionally predictable. You suppressed the urge to rise from your seat and make some hasty excuse to retreat, not fond of the wild-eyed excitement painted on the new god’s face that seemed barely held under control, or the nearly tangible aura around him that made your skin prickle. Despite being dressed in less warlike attire than the armor he often wore and was well known for, Ares was still large and imposing. The addition of several blades remaining strapped or tied here and there did little to dull that impression. You looked to Dionysus, seeking distraction from Ares’ entrance, wondering what business he had that involved you and also required Ares. “What was it you needed my help for again, Lord Dionysus?” you piped up as you watched him coax Ares into reposing on another chaise some distance away. Walking back to you, Dionysus eyed you for a second, and then his eyes flickered back to his brother, who seemed a bit more mild, though still impatient and worked up. “You saw the scuffle outside, yeah, babe?” he asked easily, seeming hardly put off by Ares’ frightening aura. You nodded silently, feeling as if he wasn’t quite done speaking. “Old Ares over there got a bit overexcited, and it’s really killing the mood,” Dionysus complained, tone dipping slightly in annoyance at the idea of a ruined mood, heaving a small sigh. “He could stand to… wind down, if you catch my meaning.” You weren’t dull, and catch his meaning you did quickly, looking to Ares. “Oh,” you said quietly, feeling more apprehension rise. Ares was appealing enough, you couldn’t deny that, but he was also nearly as frightful. “What do you say, babe? Think you can convince him to relax?” As carefree as Dionysus sounded, he still seemed aware of your worry, too. “If you’re feelin’ nervous, I’ve got a little something that might just help you out.” He reached for one of the more ornate vessels on the table before pouring some of the liquid into a goblet. The liquid was a rich, royal purple, some kind of wine that seemed to smoke faintly, though the scent that wafted from it was heady and sweet. “I promised it’d be a good time, right? Just drink this and trust me, babe.” Fickle though most gods were, from your experience Dionysus was trustworthy enough for his words to be reassuring. The wine in the cup would no doubt deal away with any lingering uncertainties as well. You considered the cup for a moment more, giving a second half-nod and reaching to take it from Dionysus’ hold. You drained it quickly, far quicker than you might have under normal circumstances. Now was not the time to sip and recline. You needed whatever aid that wine might offer. For several passing, heavy moments, your nerves remained. But a warm, gentle buzz crept up, drowning your concerns out until they were naught but an indistinct drone in the back of your head. A warmth starting in your

cheeks spread down your neck and chest, leaving you suddenly less stiff, less concerned by Ares’ menace. The prospect of helping him ‘relax’, as Dionysus had so casually suggested, became less frightening by the second. As if he could tell how quickly his special wine had taken effect - you guessed it was more likely he knew how potent it was - Dionysus grinned. He extended a hand to help you to your feet, and you took it without a second thought. In the past, you had heard alcohol referred to as ‘liquid courage’, though you imagined that was regarding mortal drink. You didn’t think any mortal wine could have so put you at ease quite so speedily as what you had just drank. Yet, despite the potency of the alcohol, you were easily able to remain steady on your feet, even without Dionysus’ help. “Well, go on, babe,” Dionysus urged you nonchalantly. “Don’t want this party to go downhill anymore, do we?” With a gentle shake of your head, you released Dionysus’ hand, and swept past him, towards Ares from where he watched with vague interest. The warmth and confidence granted to you spread further, growing strong, whisking away the last tatters of your nerves and leaving a need to please behind. You noted that even though Ares showed some interest, he seemed restless, as if he would much rather be out among the ruckus he had unintentionally - you assumed - incited. “I’ve been told you're in need of some relaxation, my Lord,” you said in a tone you hoped was alluring. Ares scrutinized you for a silent moment from his seat, sipping something from a goblet of his own. Though the scent that drifted from his was far more potent and acrid. “Is that so?” Ares’ speech was much more calm and composed than you had expected, a striking contrast to the roiling expression in his eyes. His sharp gaze flicked to Dionysus where you had left him. He had settled onto another of the many chaises, indulging in his own drink already and looking as if he wasn’t paying you any further mind. “Very well,” Cutting red eyes turned back to you, and a shiver of anxiety you had thought drowned in wine shot through you. But you pushed the feeling away, calling on the courage bestowed on you by that same drink. “But first, off with those,” Ares demanded, gesturing with a nod of his head to your clothing. Quick to obey, your fingers flashed to your belt, undoing it and tossing it aside. Your fingers shook a little, yet you didn’t feel as if fear or worry were the cause now. Next came your tunic, pulled over your head as gracefully as you could manage, left to join your belt. At last, only your breast band remained, and you doubted it was exempt from Ares’ command. So if came off, too, leaving you stark nude in front of him. Were it not for the potency of the draught Dionysus had given you, you were sure your stripping would have been a clumsy mess, but even with your trembling touch, it had felt easy. “Now, come here, then,” the tone of Ares’ voice hardly changed, remaining thunderous and even, as if you had little effect on him. You moved until you were within reach, and Ares closed the rest of the distance between you, grabbing you by the wrist and thigh and pulling you onto his lap. Even in your pleasant haze, the sudden, unsettled motion struck you, and you sat still for a few seconds, trying not to blink owlishly at him. A ghost of a grin curled Ares’ lips, and he waited expectantly. Large, hard hands lingered on your skin. They shifted, and you flinched reflexively, and Ares’ smile showed a slight flash of teeth, as if he was enjoying the tension, however brief. “Don’t keep the man waiting, babe,” drifted Dionysus’ voice from his chaise. Apparently, he was paying more attention it had initially appeared. Shaking yourself out of your surprised stupor, you licked your lips and tried to relax again. You bent forward, planting your hands firmly on the front of Ares’ tunic and crushing your lip to his. The taste of whatever sharp, potent liquid he had been drinking met you head on, mingling with something pleasantly earthy and overwhelming the

lingering sweetness from the wine Dionysus had plied you with. There was a soft clunk as he set down his drink somewhere nearby, and his reaction was swift, pushing roughly back into the kiss and nipping harshly at your lower lip. One hand tangled in your hair, his grip stinging, preventing you from retreating. The other wasn’t to be left idle, sweeping over your form, grabbing rough handfuls of your ass or thighs or chest as it wandered. A cruel, full bite to your lip made you hiss and gasp, opening the seal of your lips well wide enough for Ares to thrust his tongue between them. When it twined itself with yours, it was as fierce as his kiss, waging a battle rather than taking part in what was for many a sensual dance. The hand roaming your body shifted to the small of your back, pushing your hips down into his, ensuring you felt the fruits of your effort to entice him, already straining beneath his clothes, hard and hot even through them. Ares pulled away, allowing you to catch your breath and taste blood as it trickled from your savaged bottom lip. Your tongue slipped out once more, re-wetting your lips and gathering the stray beads of blood. Something like amusement had overtaken Ares’ wild-eyed gaze. “What an obedient little nymph you have brought, brother,” he said smoothly, clearly addressing Dionysus, though his attention remained fixed on you, taking a more thorough measure of your form spread across his lap. Something you couldn’t quite place flashed through the cutting red for an instant before he spoke again, and you couldn’t contain another shiver. “How much can such a fragile creature handle, I wonder,” he mused, the hand that had captured your head sliding down and lightly skimming over your neck briefly. Another shudder wracked you, less noticeable this time, and your breath caught in your chest. “Come now, nymph, let us see.” Quickly, Ares was on you again, leaning forward in his seat, pressing you more insistently into his lap before the same hand dug into your hair again, pulling and directing until you were bent back at his mercy. As before, Ares didn’t try to be soft or considerate, nipping at your lips again and wrestling your tongue into writhing submission. The warm, encouraging strength of the brew Dionysus had supplied made the lines between arousal and fear bubbling beneath the surface warp and twist, and you weren’t sure which was surging from the less than gentle treatment. Small moans and gasps previously smothered by Ares’ mouth and tongue broke free when he moved away again, licking his lips. He didn’t waste time, though, moving down your throat just as aggressively as he had kissed you. Sharp bites and soon-to-be bruises left a burning path across your jaw and throat. A deep, satisfied hum rolled through Ares when he was met with hisses and groans in response. Though his actions were careless and painful, there was pleasure in them, too, stoking a growing heat in you as if each touch of his lips and teeth and tongue infused you with the excited heat of bloodlust that filled the war god. You rolled your body toward his harsh attentions, bare core grinding against the eager hardness tucked beneath his clothes. A dark laugh tickled your skin, and you cracked your eyes open to spy an amused expression gracing Ares’ face. They snapped shut again to absorb the myriad mix of pain and pleasure as he assaulted your skin all over again. Somehow, his mouth on your skin felt so hot, even though you were sure your entire body was already aflame. So caught up in Ares’ attentions, you paid no mind to what had become of Dionysus. He lay eyeing the entire spectacle while he reclined languidly on his own chaise. Had you realized, it would have come as no surprise that the hedonistic god was fond of watching. And for a time, Dionysus was content to do just that - watch - his eyes glued to your reactions from his brother’s touch. But it wasn’t long before looking alone wasn’t enough, and his hand drifted to his lap, palming an erection of his own and stroking it through the fabric. Ares withdrew

again, allowing another short reprieve from his onslaught of mouth and hand. You followed him, moving your hands from his chest to his lap. A tiny part of you urged you to trace the outline of his erection beneath his clothes, to take your time. Yet another, far louder, more sensible part suggested that Ares wouldn’t likely take too kindly to a light and teasing touch. You abandoned the notion, ignoring the dull sting of the marks Ares had bit and sucked into your skin. You pushed his lappets away instead, and his cock stood free and stiff before you, almost as imposing as its owner. Rather than taking the time to admire him, you wrapped a hand around his thick cock, rewarded with a deep, primal sound. Ares’ head tilted back for a moment, basking in your hand slipping up and down his length. You squeezed a little harder as you stroked him, and Ares groaned; a husky, growling noise that went straight to your cunt. You didn’t hear the footsteps approaching closer and closer behind you, nor did you catch the motion sweeping toward you. You only realized Dionysus’ suddenly much closer present when Ares tipped his head forward and cast his eyes past you. A brief glimpse of annoyance flitted across his face, quickly erased as you continued to fondle his cock. “Inviting yourself to join in, brother?” Ares asked, and part of you was almost disappointed to hear how collected and smooth his tone sounded, as if you weren’t touching him at all, nor as if he had set upon you like a wild beast before that. Your pace slowed, but didn’t stop as you twisted as far as you could to look back over your shoulder. You found Dionysus standing in front of Ares’ chaise, his own excitement easily noticeable beneath his flowing tunic. “Can’t very well resist a show like this,” Dionysus excused shamelessly with a shrug. Something told you this was hardly the first time he had intruded on someone else’s carnal moments. Or perhaps his eternally relaxed attitude only gave off that sense. “You’ll just have to learn to share.” Your glance flicked from one to the other, expecting Ares to look more irritated at Dionysus’ casual decree, but he seemed to brush it off with a short, dismissive hum. His focus returned to you, deciding you more worthy of his time. He swiped your hand away from his cock, shifting you in his lap with both hands. You barely registered the sound of rustling of cloth behind you, completely distracted as Ares positioned you properly over him. He didn’t bother taking his time easing himself inside, jerking your hips down and bucking his upward. You stiffened immediately, biting your abused lip at the sudden stretching, aching sting as he filled you completely. You clawed at the fabric of the chaise, taking a deep, quivering breath. Fortunately, the wine and, somehow, Ares’ rough handling had left you limber and wet enough that the stretch of Ares’ cock wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Yet still, you couldn’t restrain a pained whimper and a shorter, gasping breath when he shifted, lifting you up and forcing you back down. “Aah, Lord Ares, it- I-I can’t--” Your words were cut short by a whine, and your eyes shot down, avoiding Ares’ cruel crimson ones, again attempting to relax, focusing on the pleasure beneath the pain. You swallowed hard, and your cunt constricted, despite the burning ache, at the sight of the bulge in your lower belly. You hadn’t missed Ares’ considerable endowment when you had been touching him beforehand, but the sight of him so noticeably buried in you was a little frightening, and somehow even more arousing. “What troubles you so, nymph?” you tore your gaze away from the lewd sight it was fixed on to meet Ares’ eyes when he spoke. The cut of his voice was derisive, almost cruel, and a leer adorned his lips. “Surely you can handle this,” he added. He lifted and lowered you again, harder, and his smirk grew just a little when you winced and a gasping ‘ah’ burst from your lips. Somehow it was no shock a god entangled in violence and war would enjoy some pain, even in play. Dionysus’ familiar voice

floated to you before you could answer, smooth as honey, and almost soothing. “Easy, babe, you’re doing great.” His words were an intimate whisper, and if Ares could hear, he didn’t care to acknowledge them, only spearing you on his cock all over again, settling into a slow, rough pace. “Gotta relax, let it all go,” Dionysus urged you, and the tickle of his breath sent a pleasant chill down your spine, making your cunt squeeze down on Ares’ length again. Dionysus’ hands splayed across the bare skin of your back, feeling almost cold on your overheated skin. He smoothed around your torso until a breast filled each large palm, his thumbs rubbing lightly over your nipples. The sensation was a welcome contrast to the sting of Ares’ brutal fucking. Though the pain didn’t seem as bad as it had been - whether you were becoming used to it, or the pleasure Dionysus added muted it, you weren’t sure. Ares’ hands, meanwhile, remained steadfast on your hips, content to hold them in a grip tight enough to surely bruise. Each new time you sank down on his dick, your breath escaped in a gasp or breathless groan. The sounds you made morphed into something steadily more erotic, breathier and wanton. Ares’ voice drifted out, too, though in rumbling grunt when he buried himself completely inside you. Coming down on his length again, another hardness met you, from your backside this time, your ass sliding against it as Ares continued to fuck you. A fleeting glance back told you was Dionysus, proudly nude having decided completely discarding his long tunic was the best course of action. Your lapse in attention earned you more punishment from Ares, though, and he took the chance to lean forward and bite down on your neck sharply. Your hands flexed again, digging into whatever it was they had settled on now - you weren’t concerned with what, be it cloth or flesh or anything else. Your head snapped around, meeting entertained, self-satisfied red. Dionysus’ erection drew back and one hand lifted away. After several more thrusts, something hard, but smaller and more pliant prodded at your ass. Coated in something tacky and slick, what you assumed was one of Dionysus’ fingers searched briefly before finding your asshole and rubbing against it in small, gentle circles. An extra hard thrust from Ares made you tense and whimper, though your body clenched around him again. Still near your throat, Ares’ mouth closed over your skin again, biting and sucking greedily. Dionysus’ finger abandoned the lazy circles, pressing lightly against your puckered hole, steadily forward, careful despite Ares’ jarring pace. When the digit finally slipped through the ring of muscle, you hissed, a new discomfort striking you for an instant, in combination with Ares’ harshness. But whatever coated Dionysus’ finger had made the penetration only uncomfortable for a brief moment, and when he eased his finger in and out, the discomfort shifted to the back of your mind, replaced by the increased sense of fullness. Alongside it, a bubbling tension was awakening in your core, spurred on by the treatment of both gods, boiling low and tightening further ever-so-slowly. A second thick finger joined the first, and you became more used to the newest intrusion, taking in the swell of sensations enveloping you. Dionysus’ pace shifted to match Ares’ in speed, but it remained careful and otherwise languid. The hand he had left on your tits though became notably rougher, though, from excitement, rather than pleasure in pain. Ares’ grip on your hips wavered, no longer needing to so forcefully direct you. The ministrations from both had worked you into a wild heat that encouraged you to rock and grind against him and back onto Dionysus’ fingers. You couldn’t decide which your body craved more. All you knew was you needed both. Any remaining tension had been completely sapped away, along with all coherency you had possessed. An unbidden whine broke free when Dionysus withdrew his fingers, turning halfway into a gasp and then a moan when Ares paired a hard thrust with an even harder

bite on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You had little time to protest or miss any of the sensations before the hotter, harder touch of Dionysus’ cock returned, coated in the same thick, slick substance as his fingers. He aligned himself with your ass, as smooth and relaxed as before. “Better take a deep breath, babe,” Dionysus purred in your ear, both of his hands shifting to cut your rear. He pushed forward as you impaled yourself on Ares once more, his entrance mindful and slow; the opposite of his brother’s entirely. You drew a sharp breath, not from Dionysus’ warning, but simply from the way each inch added more and more to what you had already believed to be a fullness that threatened to split you wide. By the time Dionysus, too, was sheathed inside of you, the fullness bordered on overwhelming, and your breathing faltered again, your mind so completely scrambled. Your head fell back and your lips opened in an ‘oh’ of pleasure, dull pain, and a plethora of other intense, mixed feelings. You tried to rock into them both, to meet each thrust, though when their paces aligned, you could do little but writhe and moan, as if all sense had been wrung from you. Dionysus mouthed at your ear playfully, tongue curling across the shell. “Mm, you’re doing great, babe,” he praised in a husky whisper you almost didn’t catch, so caught up in everything. But catch them you did, and they sent another shudder coursing through you, your body squeezing both gods desperately and drawing more erotic sounds from them both. Another growling, low moan from Ares. A breathy, hedonistic groan from Dionysus. They only added to the mounting maelstrom of arousal and heat. Your heart quickened when one of Ares’ hands abandoned your hips and splayed around your throat loosely. His lips brushed your ear, and as he spoke, he squeezed, just enough to make your heart beat even faster and your breath come a bit more shallow. “Enjoying yourself, are you, nymph?” he growled cheekily. “I might have expected as much from one of my dear brother’s little harlots.” Had you been more sober, clear minded, Ares’ words, sounding nearly a slight, might have made you flush hot with humiliation. Instead, they worked only to heighten your desire, flowing into everything else. You had no mind left for embarrassment. All that remained were the mind-numbing sensations surrounding you and filling you. Ares’ voice dropped away, his pace picking up, his hips bucking harder into yours. Even Dionysus behind you thrust a little faster, harder, his own peaking arousal just as plain as Ares’. You weren’t immune to the welling up of pleasure, either, your belly churning and tight with a winding heat that was nigh unbearable. It grew and grew each time you were filled, and you wanted to scream instead of moan, cry instead of gasp. The thick intrusions, the wandering and groping and squeezing hands, and the greedy, hot tongues and teeth. It all came together in the perfect storm of mindless, primal passion. You came before either of them, giving into whatever wanton shout or cry wanted to escape, your muscles clenching frantically. When first the tense coil of heat burst, you were set awash with that heat, searing and intense, as if lightning struck. Your orgasm rose and fell, only to be dragged out by Ares’ and Dionysus’ unceasing pace, thrusting into your heat unrelentingly. The end of one orgasm blended into the beginning of another, and hot, overwhelmed tears brimmed in your eyes before breaking away. On either side of your face, each god lingered. Dionysus whispered more sultry words of praise and encouragement, placing sloppy kisses on your temple and cheek. Ares nipped your jaw and licked at the salty trail of your tears, as it was an exquisite taste that delighted him. Ares’ hips rolled into you harder than ever before, pace becoming wild and erratic. With a final sharp thrust, Ares’ release filled your cunt, hot and thick, accompanied by a savage bite to your neck that left the warm, sticky feeling of blood in its wake. When he pulled back, a bit of

blood smeared on his lips and teeth, he looked even more warlike and intimidating than to start. But something in his expression seemed sated, calm almost - or at least as calm as a god of such chaos could be. Dionysus, despite joining in later, took little longer to reach his own climax, and with a grinding thrust, he, too, coated your insides with his cum. A drawn-out, erotic moan followed in the wake of his orgasm, and he lay his head on your shoulder, his hair sticking to your overheated, sweat-slicked skin. After a moment of silence, Ares reclined back more comfortably, though didn’t bother to lift you off his length. Dionysus pulled away, withdrawing leisurely with a sound of contentment. Feeling exhausted and sore, you chanced collapsing against Ares’ chest, and to your surprise, the war god allowed it. You ignored the warm, wet feeling seeping down your thighs, too tired to truly care. “There. Don’t we all feel better now?” asked Dionysus cheerily, hardly sounded tired or winded at all. He paused to listen in silence, searching for the previous ruckus. “Certainly sounds a bit quieter out there now.” “Perhaps,” Ares drawled, and he didn’t sound very taxed either. It seemed you were the only one so tired. “I may yet have more use for your nymph before the night is done,” Ares decided, and you jumped reflexively when his fingers curled in your hair and massaged absently, in a gesture that could almost be confused for affectionate. Dionysus hummed acknowledgement. “Well, I’ll be back in a bit then. Try not to have too much more fun while I’m gone.” You heard rather than saw Dionysus redress and depart, too tired to bother looking. Your mind wandered to what other uses Ares might have for you, as he had stated. Did Dionysus have similar intentions in mind for the evening, too? Whatever the case, this wouldn’t be a night you would soon forget.

#ares #dionysus #hades game #ao3 #writing #fanfiction #nsft #n/s/f/w #fic friday #finally another fic upload #tw: alcohol #tw: blood

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saltwaterconfessions · 3 years

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chapter thoughts for the latest update!

y'all have no idea how hard i worked to make this chapter more than the peach and pomegranate scenes bc my brain really said. girls in love w each other eating fruit that's ALL.

i'm just a tad disappointed in this chapter because i realized as i was finishing up that gideon like. barely talks. it's very harrow-heavy. it'll definitely be balanced out by the next chapter, but i was still kicking myself about it lmfaooo.

like the last one, this chapter ALSO reveals parts of me that are vaguely embarrassing KDLJFAL;KDSJF can you tell I’m still infatuated with Tamora Pierce’s books. can you tell my love language is acts of service.

like i said in the end notes on ao3, i started this chapter in 2nd person and switched out of it. i still really like the draft, so i wanted to share it! here you go:

Gideon smiles at you before she sinks her teeth into a beautiful, sun-warm, ripe peach. You avert your eyes before you can watch juice spill down her hand. "I brought you one that wasn’t as juicy,” she says, a moment later, and opens a front pocket of her bag. “Hold on,” she murmurs, and she cuts it into neat slices. For you. You watch, almost in shock. She hands you the first one that separates. You tentatively try it as she focuses on cutting around the pit. It’s- not terrible. The fuzzy skin is a little bit of a shock. Even so, the meat is ripe enough to be not bitter, but not ripe enough to be overwhelmingly sweet. It’s more firm, too. You find yourself actually enjoying it. You look up from peeling the skin off with your nails to find her skinning the other slices with her knife. It's a delicate process, and probably would have been easier before she cut the peach apart. But- she noticed. “Thank you,” you say, the words tripping off your tongue before you mean to say them. You breathe in like you want to say more but you don't know how to start, and you wouldn't know how to stop either. Gideon reaches forward to cradle both of your hands in one of hers, juice sticking to your skin, and gently lets the slices of peach slide into your hands. For a moment, her hands cup yours. “Of course,” she says, her voice soft, her touch lingering as she moves away. You suddenly want more than anything to keep her hands on yours. Instead, you quietly eat your perfect fruit, together, in the sun. You don't really know what peace or contentment or happiness means to you personally. You haven't had much of any of that. But you turn your head to watch Gideon, the way she fills up the space next to you like it's always been hers, the way sunlight blesses her skin with a glow, the way you've been feeling lately, and you find yourself adding another entry to your mental dictionary. *** You squeeze one of the pomegranates she brought you. It gives just the tiniest bit, perfectly juicy inside, the skin a beautiful glossy texture. “Do you have enough firewood?” Gideon asks, leaning towards you with her hands in her pockets. You’ve stopped feeling so small with her golden eyes on yours. It still doesn’t make sense to you, but you think you’re starting to understand her again. “I mean, for now, yes,” you say, hesitant. “I need to get more.” She brightens. “I’ll chop some for you! I didn’t do enough practice today, I’ve still got a lot of energy.” You quickly decide to put the kettle over the fire and cut this pomegranate apart. “Eat some seeds once you wash your hands,” you murmur, still busy stripping the leaves from the [plant] stem. She looks over to the bowl of beautiful bright red seeds. “Oh,” she says, suddenly almost shy. “I was going to cut it open for you.” “Gideon,” you start, then stop. You’re not sure how to say this. She looks at you, yellow eyes bright in her handsome face, coat draped over her arm, boots already off, and somehow the picture of her so at peace in your home makes you want to scream. She tilts her head quizzically but doesn’t break the silence. “I beat you to it,” you end up saying, reverting to a childish conveyance instead of the sentimental sweetness you so wish you knew how to give her. She still smiles at you like you hung the stars in the sky. After putting her coat down, she comes over and washes her hands next to you. You glance up at her; she shifts to press a kiss to your dark hair. (Maybe she heard you, even through the silence.) You try not to freeze up at the affection, but you do. You hope she doesn't notice the crumpled leaves in your hands, their scent hitting your nose. She doesn't seem to react, just drying her hands and sitting down at your table. "So what are you working on," she asks, like nothing is different. She's got her chin propped in her hand and a palm full of pomegranate seeds. She watches you like there's nothing more interesting. "These herbs have dried and I'm taking the leaves off," you answer, calm and even, like her presence isn't something that makes your

traitorous heart run wild. You set the rosemary down. Turn on your heel. Let your impulses carry you across the room and into her lap. She's so warm and solid beneath you. An ache in your chest knits together. The autumn crisp air has settled into her hair, onto her skin, smelling clean and fresh. You lick into her mouth and she tastes bright and sharp and sweet.

#chapter thoughts #mine #i LOVE the peach scene in 2nd soo so much

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phrynewrites · 4 years

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oh hello there welcome aboard the taywhora clown bus!! could i request a little drabble pls? i will let u choose the au and trope but i would love to see the line “i think i would rather eat expired spam” bc it's hilarious and i can see either of them saying it 💖

Beep beep the bus just drove over the curb. Thank you for the request hun. I had so much fun writing these idiots who clearly don’t know shit about feelings. Enjoy!

AU: Roommates

Trope: Exes

Quote: “I think I would rather eat expired spam.”

A’whora pushes the pedal of her sewing machine back just a nudge and stretches out her legs. She rolls the last couple stitches back and forth, then cuts the threads unceremoniously, resigning herself to completing the project sometime in the early morning, after some food and some beauty sleep. It wasn’t as though she was going to sleep much tonight anyway.

She rolls her shoulders, easing the tightness gathering there and trailing down her lower back, pulling herself to her feet. As much as she loves the chair her and Tayce drunkenly rescued from the curb many months ago, hauled four flights up their cramped stairwell and shoved into A’whora’s office, the air light and crisp and giggling along with them; as much as she loved drinking Tesco chard, the bottle passed between them as she taught Tayce how to sew patches of scrap fabric into the chair to hold the bursting stuffing back, bandaging and sloppily kissing many a pricked finger, it still hurts after a while. It always does.

So Awhora throws back the last of her cuppa and heads down the hallway, stopping at the smoke detector flush against the wall, getting on her tip-toes, tapping a cotted finger against the button until it gives a firm beep. She doesn’t want the apartment to burn down, partially because she couldn’t bear to see a dress she’s already put twenty hours of work into to go up in flames, partially because she doesn’t want a reason for the lease to break early, partially because fire kills people.

“What’s with all the candles?” A’whora asks, slipping the cot off of her finger and into the bin. She asks, though she already knows. It’s not as though Tayce has changed much, and Tayce was always one to set a scene for date nights, so the candles and stemless wine glasses aren’t out of place. She doesn’t give Tayce the chance to answer, choosing to jab at her instead. “Lavender doesn’t cover the smell of burnt rubber, babes.”

Tayce rolls her eyes in return, still stirring frantically at the pot in front of her. “You’re not helpful, Whora,” she drawls, now jabbing at whatever's in that wretched pot with the back end of the wooden spoon, red sauce splattering across the stovetop, sticking in Tayce’s brow. “Fuck.”

Awhora rounds the counter, grabbing at Tayce’s arm. “Slow down, Hannibal,” she chases with a laugh, taking the spoon from Tayce to stop the violent prodding and stop herself from wiping the sauce out of her brow. “Back it up and tell me what we’re doing here.”

“What I think I’m doing here is massacring a piece of chicken until it’s cooked.” Tayce takes the spoon back, giving it a once over before tossing it into the already full sink.

“Well…” A’whora grabs a fork and bumps Tayce’s hip away from the stove. “For starters, turn the burner off.” She brushes the pasta and sauce away from the chicken, holds it up in front of her face, and gives it a good once over. “And surprise...it’s burnt.” She then sticks it in Tayce’s face, watching intently as her eyes cross in front of the blackened chicken.

If Tayce’s bemused sigh—as though she didn’t know food could be overcooked—doesn’t do her in, then her pursed, plump lips surely do, like she’s brainstorming ways to unburn the chicken, or better yet, ways to have A’whora fix it like she always did, well, still does.

“Just try it to be sure, yeah?”

A’whora wrinkles her nose, returning the chicken to the pot and poking at it like it might grow legs and get on up. “I think I’d rather eat Spam, bloody canned meat, than this.”

“At least this isn’t bloody, innit?”

A’whora gives a playful shove. “You’re stupid,” she says, though she know’s she’s endeared by how quick Tayce thinks she is, how she jokes even when she’s fucked up, how A’whora wished she could do the same. She dodges Tayce’s return shove to grab the bin, nearly spilling over, and drags it to the stove. “You put the chicken in raw, or you cooked it first?”

“You just put it in, let it cook with everything else, of course,” Tayce replies easily. “So we just take the chicken out and it’s a lovely Italian meal. I say I’m going vegetarian and she’s taken by my love of animals...”

“You got to bin the whole thing.” A’whora interrupts, making a move for the pot, but Tayce grabs her wrist.

“Just try some of the pasta. Maybe that’s done right.”

“It’s not. It’s gonna give me food poisoning, babe.” A’whora knows it’s a touch blunt for the woman she knows can barely heat beans from a can, but is clearly trying, and that adding “babe” does nothing to soften it. She’d like to blame the feeling of Tayce’s slender fingers wrapped around her wrist on her snappishness, but she knows that makes her melt beyond her control if anything.

Tayce scrapes the pot, muttering to the pasta “Suppose she thinks she’s a chef now. Right Gordon Ramsey but can’t make much more than a bowl of shreddies.”

A’whora should be offended, but it’s true. And it’s Tayce.

“I don’t know what to do, but I know what not to do, at least.” She clears her throat and tries again, releasing her wrist and holding out her hand for the fork. Tayce obliges. “You can’t put raw meat in cooked food. The chicken’s got germs and you’re overcooking the pasta and you’re boiling down the sauce to a paste.” She tries scraping a mushy noodle from the side of the pan. “That’s three reasons why I’d rather eat expired Spam, with my freshly manicured fingers, than try this, love.”

“Little old me got an upgrade to the fingers, huh.” After Tayce’s smirk falls into an indignant huff, she steals the fork back. “Lucky it’s not for you, dear.” She picks out the chicken and flicks it into the bin.

“I’m just saying, you’re not getting fucked after feeding her that.” A’whora grabs the paper towel roll and wipes down the counter as best she can, knowing it’s going to need a good scrub later. From the sauce, of course.

Setting the fork down, Tayce tilts her head toward A’whora. “That’s not really your problem anymore,” she says, and A’whora almost thinks she’s imagining the lilting, coy tone, though she’s sure she’s not imagining the lightheadedness that comes along with it.

She swallows. “Well, I still genuinely care about you and your pussy, so I suggest you toss that in the bin and grab some takeaway.” She makes her way to the living room, tugging on a pair of boots before grabbing her wallet and phone off the coffee table.

“And if you call in enough time, I might still be out to grab it for you.” A’whora grabs Tayce’s leather jacket off the hook—it’s the only one out here, and she’s not sure if she’s just too lazy to grab her own, or wants to send a message to whatever woman’s coming over—and shrugs it on, stuffing her hands in the pockets. “And if I’m still out, I might actually grab it for you.” She flashes a slick smile, nodding only once Tayce concedes and begins spooning the pasta into the bin.

“That’s a love,” A’whora taunts, waving her phone a bit. “Let me know about the takeaway.”

“Bitch,” Tayce mutters through a soft grin.

A’whora opens the door, and says, into the falling night, “yours,” before heading out and locking up behind her.

#for artificialortega #it's possible to convince me to write more of this after i finish up like 3 other wips #yes they're exes and yes they're roommates and no they're not emotionally available #might fuck around and post this to aq and ao3 too just a thought #taywhora #tayora #apparently it's got two tags #phryneff #drabbles #ask phryne #asks answered

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