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esther-dot · 11 months ago

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Jonsa Reunion

Safe and Sound 1k (I just have to highlight that this was posted in 2014)

Sansa escapes Baelish and finds her way to Castle Black.

Kiss of Undeath ficlet by @haraways

Sansa brings Jon back with a kiss.

Without You I Am Nothing 1k by @asbestosmouth

Castle Black is monochrome, but Sansa blazes like the fires of Rh'llor. Jon cannot help but burn.

Gifsets: Jonsa Hug by @joanna-lannister, Jonsa Hug by @c-sand, The Girl in Grey, Jonsa Hug 1, 2 by @kitnjon

Art: Jonsa Hug, Jonsa Hug by @vierverdeen, Jonsa Hug by @themarmic

Jon Comes Back Wrong

grave-dirt 3k by @charmtion

The edge of the world. The yawning dark. In his chest, a strange sluggish beat.

back in the pulse 2k WIP by @chispas-and-broken-bindings

(Who are you?) A dead man. A monster. The mistake of many and one. (And what have you lost?) Everything. (And what have you found?) You. (And what will you do with me?) Protect you. Always.

Made of Echos and Ice 1k by @thewolvescalledmehome

Ever since coming down from the Eyrie, Sansa has had the same dream. A wolf with white paws pacing in the snow. When she learns of the betrayal at the Wall, Sansa decides to do something about her dream.

i fall to pieces (when i'm with you) 70k by usuallysunny

"Go North. Only North. Jon is Lord Commander at the Castle Black. He'll help you." He'd had good intentions, this broken shadow of a man who used to be Theon, and he couldn't have known. Sansa finds a Lord Commander at Castle Black. He has steel-grey eyes, her father's eyes, and a dark beard framing a strong jaw, and he looks and sounds and moves like Jon... But he's not Jon.

Always Her ficlet by @temporal-tempest

Jon Snow came back darker, unreachable until her hand touched his face. This is what happens when you threaten that which has become the only warmth in a dark heart.

At Castle Black

My eyes were wide open 10k by @eruherdiriel

She hesitates, then reaches for his free hand, his other still tangled in Ghost’s fur. Their palms meet, hers warm against his chilly one, and the relief that rushes through him at her touch almost makes him close his eyes and forget the throbbing pain. “Do you remember what happened?” All he recalls are knives in the dark and cold, bitter cold. * It is in dreams that Jon begins to remember who he is.

Kisses Remembered, Kisses Forgotten 2k by QueenOfSloths

She remembers the kiss that he took. The only thing she doesn’t remember is him taking it. There are times when she is almost certain that she gave it willingly.

'cause i know that it's delicate 4k by @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

Set during "Book of the Stranger," immediately after Sansa arrives at the Wall. He goes to build the fire back up, and for a few minutes he stays silent, kneeling at the hearth, not looking at her. Finally he clears his throat. “I know,” he begins, “it’s not exactly what you’re used to — ” “You’d be surprised what I’m used to.”

make your fingers soft and light 10k by @ladyalice101

Jon goes quiet again, and his hand retracts, but just as quickly he is touching her again, oil on his fingers. He works methodically, moving from one wound to the next, one scar to another, from the base of her back to the top of her spine. It’s so gentle, so caring, and the longer it goes on the more Sansa relaxes, the safer she feels. Her eyes dip close under his rhythmic ministrations, and her mind goes blank, and she starts to feel the familiar lull of sleep edge around her mind. “This is supposed to make the scars fade?” Jon asks as he finishes up, his warm hands leaving her back, making her feel cold and startling her from her reverie. “Yes.” She isn’t sure she imagines the tightness in his voice when he speaks again. “If you are to do this every night, then I will gladly assist you.” // Jon rubs a soothing balm into Sansa's scars every night. But that's it. Nothing more. Definitely not. He's just there to help her do what she can't do herself.

as the night came down in a Nordic sky ficlet by @miazeklos

During her first night in Castle Black, Sansa reunites with the true North, and Jon welcomes her home.

Cold Nights at Castle Black ficlet by @estherruth-jonsatrash

They were grown now, childhood behind them. Yet they had been sharing a bed more like children, with the cold at Castle Black leaving them in need of warmth. At least at first.

How I wish you would take me for granted ficlet by @trollslanda

Sometimes her hands would shake- Solely in private, when she broke her quiet surface to gasp for air. Around others she still had a mental block, passively guarding her, bringing out the Stark iron. It made her keep her back straight and eyes steady, put up a solid front. Sometimes it felt like she was rusting from the inside and her brittle bones would never be whole again. --- Set shortly after Sansa has arrived at Castle Black, when she's still learning to feel safe. As it turns out, Jon is really good at that kind of thing.

Remedy ficlet by @wildflower-daydreamer

The night Jon and Sansa reunite at Castle Black.

To break and to mend ficlet @dreams-for-spring

In those moments nothing else matters and they forget what they have lost; in those moments they are more than the sum of their broken parts.

In the quiet of the night 4k by dreams-for-spring

It becomes a habit; each night she unlatches her chamber door, and each night Jon enters just as bashfully as before. Some nights he brings terrible sour wine, and others bitter ale for them to share as they sit around the hearth speaking of everything that has happened–everything except what has passed between him and his black brothers. She knows that is a topic he is not ready to share. Still, she does not find sleep when he leaves, but at least for those brief hours she is not alone, and something small inside of her begins to burn brighter with each night that passes. She tries to ignore the voice that tells her it is hope; hope is a dangerous thing for people like them.

Tous Deux On est Repartis dans le Tourbillon de la Vie 1k by @melimelo-ao3

He couldn’t even begin to picture what she had endured, what she had lived through. Yet, hearing her pleading in the night, he would give anything to know, to be able to understand her, to soothe her. He had only ever wanted to soothe her.

Gifsets: Where Will We Go by c-sand, Brienne Reacts to Jonsa, New Dress by @jonstarks How Could We Know, Sansa Tries Ale, Where Will We Go, Sansa Making Jon's Cloak, I Made This for You by kitnjon

Traveling the North

Five Times They Touch 1k by @justchunkit

She doesn’t touch him for days. Weeks. They travel from keep to stronghold, living in close quarters as they’d never done even as children. She is so close, but an icy veneer has covered the exhausted girl he’d started to know, and they can hardly exchange a good morning without it evolving into an argument.

Some Love Stories Need a Little Help 2k @graceverse

Or how Tormund effectively makes Jon share a tent with Sansa

Unnatural 2k by @amymel86

Once he is close enough, she leaps at him, arms wrapping him up and his nose buried in her copper hair. The shuddering exhale he expels is the most amount of sound he’s made in days but all he can hear is Sansa’s sniffling and the way their two hearts talk to one another in beats of the same song.

Gifsets: Arguing, Eye Contact, Jon Reacting to Sansa by jonstarks Side by Side by @baelerion

Pre Battle of the Bastards

we may only have this night 2k by wearycities

She summoned an image of Jon in her mind. When he saw her, at Castle Black. His eyes, his face. His hands letting go of the railing, like it had burned him. She could not stop thinking about his hands. She had turned the memory over and over in her mind on countless sleepless nights, wondering what it meant. After her argument with Jon the night before the Battle of the Bastards, Sansa returned to his tent.

The Madness of Dead and Broken Things 1k by @estherruth-jonsatrash

The first time, Jon tells himself it’s the last time. Jon gives into his feelings for Sansa the night before the Battle of the Bastards, telling himself he'll die the next day. He isn't prepared for the after of survival.

the night before the fight ficlet by @sailorshadzter

jon & sansa spend a night together before the battle of the bastards. pre parental reveal hookup, read at your own risk. nsfw.

Before the Storm 1k

Snowflakes fell from the grey sky, covering the ground in white even more than it already was. Grey and white, Sansa thought to herself. The Stark colors.

A gaze across a field 1, 2 ficlets by fedonciadale

Sansa's thoughts as she contemplates the possible outcome of the battle.

Gifsets: Arguing, You Don't Have to Be Here, I'll protect You I Promise by jonstarks, Pre and During BotB by baelerion, Jon Pummeling Ramsay by kitnjon, Jon Pummeling Ramsay by c-sand

Post Battle of the Bastards

Bloodstains and Stitches Chapter 1 and 2 by @trollslanda

Two scenes set after Battle of the Bastards: 1. In the courtyard, Jons pov. Post-battle calmdown and fluff I guess but also there's dead bodies and stuff. I dunno. 2. Sansa cleaning his wounds and stitching him up, her pov. A pretty sweet scene where they get a moment to breathe.

A Little Friction ficlet by @justchunkit

“You don’t know anything about me.” “Because you won’t tell me anything!” After the Battle of the Bastards, Jon and Sansa try to get to know each other.

Of Justice and Ghosts 1k by @lurikko

He knows his sister is watching him carefully like they are the only two humans left in the world, as they in a way are, and that makes his every remaining piece crumble.

Ghosts that We Knew 7k @the-prophet-lemonade

In the wake of the Battle of the Bastards, and the proclamation of the North's fealty to the Starks once more, Jon and Sansa see the ghosts of their family all-around. Sometimes, it becomes difficult to separate the past from the present when so many that they love are dead. A series of vignettes based around "nostalgia", and Jon & Sansa compared to Ned & Catelyn and the rest of their family.

they say that we’re out of control and some say we’re sinners 14k

Doesn’t have enough time to reminisce on the past because she’s turned around, and he’s seen her face, and it’s her. Can’t be anyone but her even underneath all that smudged dirt on her pale cheeks. Would know the red of her hair anywhere, he thinks. Doesn’t linger on the why, and instead descends down the steps and towards her. She’s turned her body so she’s facing him now, her eyes tracking his every move, his doing the same. They’re so in sync it’s terrifying, really.

Five Kisses 1k by @ben-barnes-is-my-husband

The five kisses that Jon and Sansa have shared.

Undisclosed Desires 4k Nina36

“Why did you stop?” She asked. I was ashamed. He was yours. I was terrified that you saw who I am. He was yours to kill. It was what you needed.

bet you didn't know that i was dangerous 4k by @ladyalice101

“I mean that your brother took a woman to bed, and when he had his way with her, he said your name into her ear over and over again.” // In which Littlefinger tests for Jon's weaknesses, and discovers a secret.

Soiled 5k by @orangeflavoryawp

"'Talk to me, Sansa,' he pleads, voice wavering, and she shuts her eyes to the sound. Like a gale. Like a mountain coming down. This is how it empties from her. 'What do you want me to say?"' she bites out, voice quaking." - Jon and Sansa. The start of their descent.

Dark in Bloom 8k by orangeflavoryawp

"His gravity wavers, the axis of his world tilted to the measure of her lips." - Jon and Sansa. The stain of desire bleeds slowly between them.

Hallowed 5k by orangeflavoryawp

“’Tell me,’ he growls, more demand than he’s ever given her – crown or not – and the feeling is heady in its fervency. Sansa stares him down, mouth a harsh frown. She doesn’t resist his hold, doesn’t ease into it either. ‘He says your affections for me aren’t… brotherly.’” - Jon and Sansa. An encounter with Lord Baelish brings the truth of their desires to light.

but still you stumble, feet give way, outside the world seems a violent place 3k by @parkersedith

When she looks at him, she cannot see anyone other than Jon, especially with him wearing a simple breeches and tunic, divested of all ornaments, even Longclaw. She can only see Jon, not her bastard half-brother, not the King in the North, not the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, not a wildling, but only Jon, the Jon who took Winterfell back with her, the Jon who fought their battle, the Jon who has been there, at her side, ever since she found him again. or; instead of roaming winterfell when she cannot sleep, sansa goes to jon, and to jon's bed. it's not quite as illicit as it sounds, and gives them a chance to finally, truly, talk

In the quiet of the night 4k by @dreams-for-spring

love is more than telling me you want it 2k

When he smiles at her, she feels warmth flooding back into her bones. She’d almost forgotten what it feels like, she’s been cold for so long. Sansa and Jon learn to be something other than ships passing in the night.

Gifsets: Jon Looking at Sansa by jonstarks, Sansa Looking at Jon by baelerion, Forehead Kiss by joanna-lannister, Winter Is Here by kitnjon, Forehead Kiss by c-sand

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALES - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - next week -> ANNE OF GREEN GABLES

#jonsa #jonsa fic #s6 aus #missing scenes #show verse #apologies to all the beautiful gifsets and art I couldn't include this time #i forgot there was a limit on links!#dot fic list

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average-mako-enjoyer · 7 months ago

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Things you can gift Commander Shepard:

Bottle of rare whiskey (Kaidan)

Model ship kit (Tali)

A new gun (Garrus)

Antidepressants (Chakwas)

Armor polish (Ashley)

Giant inedible cake (Grunt)

Encyclopedia of Notable Human Beings (Liara)

"Glad You Didn't Die This Year (Yet)" Greeting Card (Joker+EDI)

Military grade beard balm/black eyeshadow (Miranda)

Silk boxer briefs (Kasumi)

Yoga mat (Samara)

Space Hamster Training Set signed "For Your Child" (Wrex)

#mass effect #commander shepard #happy birthday shepard #I need this as a comic 😭#mshep #femshep #my stuff #my memes

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ilovedagain · 2 months ago

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A story of Damian coming to terms with the world he grew up in, told in verse

He fights a girl who, in another life, might have been his friend. Their blades sing when they parry in tandem. The runt of the family is still an heir, so they fight for the title. If he were kinder, he would not strike her. Would not look into flinty eyes and smite her fire into the ground harder. Would hold her hand and throw away titles, rather than battle for heir apparent.

As it is, and as it should be, a kind prince Damian was not.

Lazarus waters used to enchant his young gaze. He looked and saw life restored and health dealt in spades. Second chances in pools of jade. He would stand, frozen in awe, forgetting to close his jaw, green reflections playing on the walls. His grandfather would catch his expression and smile, a fond hand mussing his hair. A lucky child who had it all.

There was a day, a moment, that Damian will never forget. Mother found him at dawn, roused him awake, and shushed his protests. She crouched before him in the dark, waited for his eyes to adjust, and held them when she said, "Listen closely, my love, and remember what I'm about to tell you."

He was wide awake. His heart pounded, sweat pooling at his temples with the amount of focus he took to imprint Mother's words to memory.

"There may come a time when you lose hope in the world. There are horrible things and terrible people that will make you believe all the world has to offer is rotten. But for every bad thing in this world, there exists good out there to balance it. Always remember it, my love, yes? Say it with me: for every bad deed in the world..."

"For-for every bad deed in the world..." his little voice repeated in the darkness.

"...there is good too" Mother finished.

"...there is good too."

"Say it again."

"For every bad deed in the world," Damian said, "there is good too."

"Yes, my love."

Mother wrapped him in her arms, his face buried in her shoulder in wild hair that smelled like flowers.

It was that day, that noon, that Damian began to understand why Mother had said what she had said. That was the day his training truly began.

"Fight to the death." Grandfather's voice echoed and filled the dungeon. His green eyes, calm as they were, said this wasn't a matter of discussion.

Damian's opponent was a white man with an overgrown beard and no legs. His arms, thin as blades and with sores like eyes, fell from their chains when Grandfather set him free and handed him a scabbard. His shockingly blue eyes did not look at Damian.

There was a certain glory to battle, no matter how bloody and brutal, that was a balm on taking a soul. Damian had known that glory before. But fighting this man was no fight at all. No battle, no glory. Only the simple

and irreversible act

of killing a man.

Damian vomited beside the man’s corpse. Grandfather, that one time, did not disapprove and clasped Damian’s shoulder with his ringed fingers.

"Well done, my grandson."

Blood had long since left Damian's head. He sat on his bed with numb legs and tingling fingertips. A drop of vomit was on his shoe. He hadn't cried, and yet his nose was clogged. Air weighed tons as it settled in his lungs. Black spots danced and danced, and a steady beat hammered inside his head.

"For every bad deed in the world," he said through a thick throat, "there is good too." He didn't understand it, but he said it anyway.

"For every bad deed in the world, there is good too."

The sun rises and he rides at dawn. Across empires, with a metal spine. His horse runs and never tires. Sparks fly at the beat of her hooves. He delves deep into tunnels and catacombs. Down, down, near the earth's core. Heat presses at his bones. Into the crucible, he goes. Trials are how swords are forged.

He pulls his sword from the sheath at his spine, and takes it to families and hordes. Cuts a path through bodies bigger than his own, until he wears more blood than clothes. His spine is heated, shaped, and hammered. Down, down, through the fire he goes.

The last opponent is the runt of the family. A small creature too young to fight, too soon to know battle at all. He strikes the ground with his torch, sparks fly at them both.

"Fight! Fight for all you're worth!"

The creature is the last of its kind. It makes a mournful sound and kisses blood off his nose.

He sinks to his knees like a heated sword through water.

The trial is done and he rides home. The sun sets on his soul.

The anatomy of him is why he lies down in the dunes at night and watches the stars to remember—to remember and think of the good things in the world.

"For every bad deed in the world," he tells the night sky and curls his fingers in the sand, "there is good too."

There are mothers who protect their children the best they can, and hugs that smell like Taif roses. There are fathers who stretch the limits of their bodies to protect their home cities, and fabrics that stop bullets. There are cousins who have fire in their spirits even when they are unfavored, and blades that sing when they meet. There are animals in caves who kiss the little fingers of a boy who did unspeakable things, and stars that are magnificent. And there is a day that will come when Damian won't have to look to find the good in the world.

"For every bad deed in the world, there is good too," he whispers.

Tears fall from the corners of his eyes, down his ears, into the sand.

"For every bad deed in the world, there is good too."

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xappetites · 11 months ago

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loving John MacTavish is a primarily sensory experience

sure, you don’t have to have him around to feel your chest blissfully full of him, ballooning with affection at the mere sight of his clothes in your closet. but what sticks the most in your mind is the way he feels, his rough hands on your skin, between your breasts, cupping your cheek

his voice when your name is the first thing on his lips waking up, his accent when he gets excited and the rumble low in his throat that precedes every kiss

you love the iron band of his arm around your waist, the prickle of his stubble on your neck, his laughter shaking his whole body and yours with it. even when he’s on the opposite corner of this fucked up, beautiful world, Johnny lives in your space in such a physical way that you don’t ever think to imagine a day when he won’t.

he’s Johnny, he’s here, always

so when there’s a gruff man on the other side of the line —and he sounds exhausted, like he’s run for miles, for years—, and he tells you that it’s about John, because he’s listed you as his next of kin, it chills your bones, sucks the air out of the room

this is the storm you were convinced you could weather, that you promised wouldn’t shake you, so you get in the car and you drive for hours to London because you can’t bear the thought of sitting on your ass on a train doing nothing

and you crash through the reception at the hospital in a daze, mumbling out the name of the man you love, launching into the familiar spiel of ‘m-a-c’ not ‘m-c’ before you get approached by an impressive beard and the man attached.

John —Price, this one—, is a balm. steady and sparse, he leads you with very little fanfare to the bed of a Johnny that’s half gauze, wrapped up like a mummy from those old films he likes. only one visible, bright blue eye that softens at your less than stellar appearance by the doorway

“don’t kill me, right darling? i’ve had enough of that for the week”

you stand there, quite silent, because it aches. as if he's carving open your chest to set your heart back where it belongs, where he last left it

"no, come on, sweet girl," Johnny pleads with you, reaching across what seems like the distance between life and death, so close, "don't cry, doctor says there wont be permanent damage to the eye, i'll be able to see your beautiful face just fine—"

he's right, you realize, you're crying. and then you're pretty much falling forward, moving into him until you bump into his open hands, kissing wherever you can reach so you can taste the salt of his skin, laughing and sobbing all the same when he chants your name in a voice that's worse for wear but still his, still alive

he's here, your Johnny, like always

#m: cod #r: fluff #john soap mactavish x reader #personal #quick little hurt/comfort thing #not canon compliant

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quoththemaiden · 11 months ago

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Hey @mrghostrat, I haven't been able to stop thinking about your middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man problems all day, so have a ficlet inspired by your struggles at properly posing an Aziraphale-and-Crowley-hover-hand selfie.

[Ficlet below cut]

"C'mon, you're acting like you've never been someone's beard before." Crowley's grin was saucy as he tried to angle the camera to get both him and Aziraphale in frame, while Aziraphale tried his best not to overthink every single statement or movement Crowley was making. Both of them were failing rather impressively at it.

"I very much have, thank you. Although this is the first time I've done it for a man."

"Ohh?" Crowley was still half-distracted by trying to work out a good pose and whether it'd be better to abandon the bench for it. Aziraphale's stiff-backed posture certainly wasn't helping matters. He considered sassing back that the "man" bit was totally optional, but he suspected that making Aziraphale feel like he'd committed a faux pas would make him close off even more, and he counted himself lucky he had a better grip on his tongue than his typing. "I sense a story there."

"Not much of one, I'm afraid. I don't think her parents liked me very much, but it went well enough for its purpose."

"You did it in front of the parents? Then this should be easy-breezy. It's just for randos." Crowley swiped to a different camera setting to see if adding background blurring would help. It did. Kind of.

"Yes, well, none of that involved immortalizing it with a camera."

Crowley drew back suddenly. "Hey. I didn't— If you aren't comfortable— Look, I said from the start this was a batty idea and I stick by that so you can call it off anytime. Okay?"

Aziraphale's face flickered through five different emotions that Crowley wasn't enough of a visual artist to be able to name before settling into a reassuring smile. "Crowley" — and the name was said like a balm — "I told you that I slept on this decision. I assure you that I thought through the consequences." All of that was even technically true. He'd said he'd sleep on it, and he had thought through the consequences, even though the latter was before he'd initiated the call to Crowley and the former was hours after he'd already made his choice.

"Yeah, but if this is gonna cost you something—"

"I assure you that it's something I am glad to be able to do for a friend."

Crowley nodded slowly, trying to take Aziraphale at his word. "I, er... Well. Sorry for making your first photo with a guy be for a totally fake date?"

Aziraphale smiled a little more warmly and purposefully opened his posture, extending an arm in invitation for Crowley to lean in towards him. "I can't say I'll mind having a little memento of the time my dear friend and I visited the park."

"Ngk..." Crowley gave in and accepted his invitation, sidling closer to him and trying to paste his confident smile back on. It was surprisingly hard when he was blanketed by Aziraphale's understated generosity like this. "Yeah. Me neither, angel."

The camera flash flickered, and a few moments later, Aziraphale's phone was the first recipient of their new photo.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #bnf au #fanfiction of fanfiction #my writing #yes that's a protective wing allusion #i'm a sucker for it what can i say

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kittyofalltrades · 2 years ago

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For the MERRY FICMAS! Could I request, Nathan Bateman + SMUT + secret santa? (Only if you want to/have time! ♥️)

Kyoko's Secret Santa

Accidental secret Santa with Nathan. (Yes I know Kyoko doesn't have a voice in the movie but we needed it this one time.)

Word: 1954

Beta: @welcometostayingawake (THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!)

Warnings: Dildo, Nathan's ass, Oral (f rec), Pet name (honey), if i missed something let me know

“You’re always so tense. When was the last time you got laid? Maybe some dick would make you less high strung,” Nathan taunted with a smirk.

“I don’t know when was the last time you fucked a woman? A real woman? Bet you couldn’t even last long enough to satisfy anybody but your fembots,” you countered with a dark smile.

“I can show you better than I can tell you, honey,” he challenged closing the distance between you two. When his breath was a hair breath away he stopped, waiting for your next move.

“I’ve got toys that would fuck me better than you,” you countered.

“Liar. You didn’t pack any, otherwise you wouldn’t be so stressed out. I can help.”

“Go relieve some stress with your hand, Bateman.”

Christmas morning found you in an oversized festive sweater, sitting next to the tree set up in the living room with Nathan. The stack of presents was bigger than it was when you’d snuck his gift under the tree. You almost felt bad about the measly gift you’d gotten him while you eyed the stack. He was one of the richest men in the world, You hadn’t needed to get him anything at all. You dug out your gift to hand him, wrapped in garish orange wrapping paper, bright amongst the other tastefully wrapped gifts.

Nathan took the parcel with a grimace at making you reach to take it back. “If you don’t want it, give it back.”

Nathan clutched the small parcel to his chest for a second in faux shock before tearing into the paper. He revealed an unmarked black metal tin, giving it a quick shake before opening it. Inside was a complete beard care kit: beard balm, shampoo, conditioner, several beard combs in various sizes, a brush and scissors. He gave you a raised eyebrow before opening the beard balm and giving it a quick sniff. “Vanilla? Really, honey?”

“I still have the receipt for that, I can have Kyoko ship it back,” you threatened, highly unamused at his reaction.

“It’s thoughtful. I, however, don’t know which of these is yours or how you got enough money to pay for more things.”

“What do you think they pay me, Bateman? I could barely afford that,” you grumbled while he leaned forward to rummage under the tree. You watched his ass as the material of his sweat pants tightened while he manipulated the gifts. God, he had the perfect ass.

“For somebody that can’t afford a lot, there sure are a lot of boxes from you.”

You snatched a box from him, sure enough it was addressed to him from you. You tossed the box back at him and started to rip into the pile of boxes still under the tree. You began by separating everything that was addressed to you with a frown.

“How much did you buy?” you quested while you waved a box threateningly at him.

“Not all of that, that's for damn sure,” Nathan countered while he started digging into the boxes you’d thrown in his direction. “Open them.”

WIthout questioning him further, you started ripping off wrapping paper. After opening a few of them, you looked at your new collection of lingerie and heels that matched every piece.

Nathan peeked into one of the boxes sitting by your side and pulled out a lacy top and heels that matched with a smirk. “Planning a fashion show, honey?”

You snatched the items away and shoved them back into the box they came from with a grimace, he’d bought all of this for you? What did he expect from it? You opened the last box and nestled into the velvet lining was–

“A dildo, Bateman, really? The lingerie and heels were bad enough but a dildo?” you growled brandishing the box containing the dildo at him.

“I didn’t order half of what is sitting in front of you,” Nathan protested. “Let me see it?”

You chucked the box at him and retreated to the sofa, leaving the mountain of gifts that surrounded you. You expected a lot of things but a dildo was nowhere near the list, even if the thought of it buried inside you sent pleasure down your spine. Nathan’s chuckle had you giving him a sharp look. You didn’t know what you expected but it wasn’t for him to laugh.

“This is mine. Well, a replica of my cock,” he said while he turned it over in his fingers. “I wonder how you could have gotten this.”

“A replica of your cock?” you asked dumbly. Your mind went blank as ideas of how to make use of the formerly offensive item flashed through your thoughts. Nathan grinned as he watched your eyes glaze over with desire, and he wondered again when the last time you’d gotten laid was.

“You gonna let me use it on you, honey?” he asked softly, making your eyes snap to his face and away from the box in his hand.

He crawled through the remaining paper stopping near enough to touch you. He dragged kisses up your legs, the drag of his beard a tantalizing hint at what it could do in other places. Acting on instincts alone, you spread your legs giving him access, wanting more of his bearded kisses on your body.

Nathan chuckled at the action while he settled between your thighs. He splayed his fingers across your thighs, massaging your flesh and pulling small moans from you. He knew what you needed, his cock, but for now he’d settle for giving you a taste of what he had to offer. He worked his hands higher, massaging your thighs as he went, hiking your sweater to your hips and expecting shorts but finding none.

He gave you a wicked grin. “Did you come to open Christmas presents in just your panties? How naughty. What were you expecting?”

“Just what you’re gonna give me,” you whispered back breathlessly as his fingers trailed along your panty covered core.

Nathan grinned as he slipped your panties off, quickly tucking them into his pocket for later. He had a few ideas of what he could use them for but right now he wanted to focus on making you feel less tense.

You didn’t get a warning before he pulled your hips to the edge of the sofa and dove into your slick folds. His tongue worked at your clit, dragging low wanton moans deep from your chest while you struggled for something to hold on to. Dipping his tongue low, he roamed across your slit before returning to your clit with a harsh suck.

“Ffffffuck,” you moaned loudly.

“Wait ‘til you take my cock, honey. Gonna stretch your pretty, little cunt perfectly,” Nathan vowed, lips against your clit. He leaned away from you reaching for the dildo still nestled in the velvet casing.

He pulled the toy out of the box and held it up for you to see before running the tip along your slick folds. The tip caught against your clit, pulling another moan from your lips and making you clench around nothing. You canted your hips upward chasing the feeling.

“My poor, needy girl. Tell me what you want, honey,” Nathan cooed as he worked the dildo slowly into your sopping pussy.

You whined softly at the stretch and fullness of the silicone length in you. It filled you better than your fingers ever could, or even some of the cocks that you’d taken. Your fists tightened on the sofa again when he brought his lips to your inner thigh, the scratch of his beard and the press of his lips overloading your senses as he pushed further into you.

“Tell me, honey, or I’ll stop,” Nathan said before giving your thigh a small nip, pulling you back to reality from the haze of lust you were falling into.

“More…please,” you pleaded with heavy lidded eyes.

If he stopped fucking you, you were convinced you would shatter into a million pieces. When he started at a faster pace, a debauched whine fell past your lips. You massaged your breast while he fucked you with the dildo, tugging at your nipples through the fabric. The harsh brush of wool over your nipples added another layer of pleasure, making your skin burn with need.

Nathan watched you come apart around the dildo with a smirk; he knew you needed his cock and here you were, taking it. Rolling your hips toward it, seeking your release while his name fell from your lips. God, he wanted to fuck you so badly right here on his couch until you were dripping with his cum. Nathan leaned forward and blew a hot breath against your clit making you shiver and your eyes fly open to look at him.

You watched through half lidded eyes as he attached his lips to your clit again, your hands flew to the back of Nathan’s head to hold him in place while you rolled your hips against his face.

“‘M gonna cum,” you slurred.

Nathan growled at the words, the vibrations it sent through your clit had you cumming in a gush of liquid over Nathan’s face, wetting his beard. He pulled the dildo from you, cleaning you with his tongue while your legs trembled around his head. You whimpered when he kept licking at your cunt, pushing you almost to over stimulation but you didn’t stop him. He was so good with his tongue you wanted everything he would give you. Once he deemed you clean enough, he leaned away from you to give you a smile while his beard glistened with your slick.

You leaned back against the sofa while your breathing settled while Nathan trailed soft kisses to your knees. If that’s what he could do with a dildo and his tongue, you couldn’t even begin to think of what he could do with his cock. The thoughts sent a small shiver through you that had Nathan looking up to meet your eyes with a devilish smile.

“I see the items I purchased were put to good use,” Kyoko said from behind you, making you whip around to look at her.

“You purchased?” Nathan asked from the floor.

“I lacked the supplies here to recreate a replica of your penis, so I sent it to an outside lab to be made to my exact specifications,” Kyoko confirmed. “The lingerie, shoes and erection sustainment pills came from me as well, based on conversations you’ve had.”

“Why?” you asked in shock. It did make you feel a little better to know that Nathan hadn’t purchased you a mountain of shoes and lingerie. But coming from Kyoko? It was even more confusing.

“I have heard of the secret Santa tradition and thought I might fill the role.”

“Why a replica of Nathan’s penis though? How did you even get that?” you questioned.

“He has detailed full body scans stored on my hard drive. I deduced correctly that you needed to engage in intercourse due to physical attraction cues. Your pupil dilation, increase in body temperature, and rise in heart rate during your encounters, all lead to signs of arousal.”

“I told you you needed to get laid,” Nathan took you with a cheeky smile.

“Shut up, Bateman.”

“Your heart rate is rising as we speak,” “Your heart rate is rising as we speak,” Kyoko intoned before leaving as silently as she came. She was too observant for her own good. You gave Nathan a small smile. Observant and correct.

“Oh, something is rising alright,” Nathan stated with a smirk.

God, you hated him, but in the spirit of Christmas you’d be generous and maybe let him fuck you.

#nathan bateman #ex machina #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman smut #ex machina smut #ficmas

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atinylittlepain · 9 months ago

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Part One

climbing expeditionist!steve harrington x f!oc

series masterlist

Past, present, and future dance and daunt in the shadows of Mount Everest. He just wants to get home. She just wants him home.

chapter warnings | 18+ angst, pregnancy, commentary on eco-tourism, steve is a little depresso at 17,000 feet

word count | 3.4K

a/n | this fic is pure self-indulgence, as a climber who thought they'd one day summit everest, and then realized it's been ruined by eco-tourism! anyways, parts of this fic closely follow the 1996 everest climbing disaster, with many key changes. thanks for reading, there's a fun little treat at the end too.

..............................................................

March 1996 - Colorado

“You’re gonna be late if you stick around any longer.”

“Don’t worry about that, honey. I’ll run if I have to, just give me a few more minutes with you.” He doesn’t get nervous, she knows, not about these things. He gets charming, all slanted smiles and soft touches, sneaking kisses as he rocks in the soles of his boots, plane ticket tucked between index and middle finger.

But she gets nervous. Even when they do these things together, let alone now with her staying behind and sending him off. Like watching her heart slip from her ribcage and tiptoe out onto a highwire with no net. With no net. So she gets nervous, and she tries to hide it from him, though she can feel her smile starting to slip the longer she stands here in the airport, throngs of people passing by in cloistered chaos.

“Did Robin make it out there alright?”

“Yeah, got a fax from her this morning, she’s already at basecamp getting stuff set up with the local guides. Hey, you’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“Jo.”

“Steve.” Her arms crossed over her chest, and his hands curling over her forearms, leaning in, and in, and in, until his forehead is pressed against hers and she can no longer see the arrivals board, the people rushing by with suitcases and backpacks. Just him, and his smile that is everything, long hair like a curtain around them. She takes two deep breaths, smelling him, the badger balm he rubs into his hands and good clean soap from the shower he took that morning. And she wills herself to hold onto that scent, to tuck it somewhere safe in her mind, and this too, the soft warble of his voice when he asks her can I get one more kiss, please? Never saying no to that, a sweet simple one, followed by another with a little more want, little more ache behind it. He’ll have a beard the next time she sees him, she knows, but for now there’s just the slightest scratch of stubble when she presses her lips against his.

“Please don’t worry too much about me.” And that makes her laugh, though it tightens and changes into something bordering on a sob, a high, clipped sound, shake of her head, her forehead still against his, and she has to, she has to take the step back, create that space, has to let go for now. He doesn’t abide by that, hands curling around her biceps, come back, come back, one more minute. He’s wearing his wedding ring on a chain around his neck, too many close calls losing it in the snow, in pulling off a mitten, in the chaos of what he does, what they do. She hooks her finger through it and pulls, a young part of her wishing that’d be enough magic to make him stay.

“I don’t care what time it is there or here, you call me when you get to Kathmandu, and to Lukla, and to base, okay?”

“Of course I will, and you have the fax number. Gonna send me the scans?” His hand coming to rest over the slight swell of her stomach, still new, the small, hard curve of it, but there, but there. She feels like she might be sick, though she’s not sure why, not sure if it’s the pregnancy, or something else.

“Yeah, baby, I’ll send them over. But seriously, you better go.” They both sigh, both say love to each other, quiet and close, and then it’s catch and release, him walking toward security, beautiful boy, beautiful world of a person in his corduroy pants rolled at the ankles and a new fleece that she stitched a stupidly sweet heart into the tag of, a little thread of luck, and his pack that he prides himself on keeping so light. She snuck a few extra clif bars into one of the side pockets, a different kind of nesting, preparing for a departure instead of an arrival. He looks over his shoulder at her one more time, wire rimmed glasses glinting, one more smile, and then he’s gone in the push and pull of the crowd.

She knows the trip he’s about to take well, after all, she has done it five times herself. This will be his sixth. He’ll spend a night and a day in Kathmandu, gathering up the group of people who have enough money to pay him to be their guide. Eddie will be there too, his usual self, aviators and absurdly underdressed, and if there’s a woman in this season’s group, she'll swoon and yes, recognize him from the cover of Outside Magazine, climbing’s resident bad boy, according to the journalist that wrote the piece. They’ll be brilliant together, Steve and Eddie, capable, holding court over a shared dinner before their flight to Lukla the next morning, the group listening in quiet reverence as Steve talks about the death zone, and Eddie’s favorite line, when we hit 26 thou, we will literally be dying, so remember how much you paid to be here.

He calls her that night, a day ahead now, catches her mid-afternoon and tells her that he has a good feeling about this group. No bullshitters, no brass either as far as I can tell. Brass, the big talkers, usually Americans that have decided this trip, this thing, is their self-given right. Brass, usually the first to turn around. She tells him that the crib was delivered, and he asks her if she’ll wait to put it together, he’d like to help when he gets back. Of course, she says, of course she’ll wait for him.

A week and a half goes by before she hears from him again. She doesn’t know whether to be pissed or utterly paralyzed with fear. Robin faxes her, tells her he’s bringing the group to base, and that he asked her to tell her he’s sorry he didn’t call. And later, when the phone rings in the middle of the night, the petty part of her briefly considers letting it go to voicemail. She picks up and the first thing he offers her is an apology.

“I couldn’t find a fucking phone where we were staying.”

“I didn’t know what was happening, Steve, I can’t– you promised me.” The sentence fizzles out, she feels small saying it. What did he promise her? What can be promised in an environment, in a place that stands upon uncertainty? But still, he promised her a few things before he left, promised communication, promised coming home, and promised never doing it again, shutting down the outfit, no more of this. And she’s not sure he knew what it meant to make those promises, ones that can be so easily broken.

“It’s not gonna happen again, Josie, I promise. We made it to base, by the way, all good, all safe.” As if on cue, she hears Robin first, hey, Jo! Followed by Eddie’s not the same without you, Joey! Tinny voices made small by all the distance, and she realizes that while part of her misses the place, the process of it all, it’s the people she aches for, good people, good friends, a little crazy, but in the same way she is, and the same way Steve is. But he doesn’t seem too interested in sharing her with them, and she can’t blame him when every minute of this phone call costs twenty-five dollars.

“I’m glad you made it, how does it look this year?”

“Crowded, I swear there’s more outfits every year. It’s gonna be a cluster summiting with all these bodies.”

“Hmm, you’re always good at getting the jump though.”

“I try. How– how are you feeling? Doctor next Friday, right?”

“My Friday, your Saturday, yeah. We’re doing alright, they’ve been kicking actually.”

“Really?” Pure wonder crackling over the phone, his voice lifting and breathless, making tight heat curl up in her throat, behind her eyes. Of course, she wishes he were here, and of course, she thinks of the stories every year of wives leaving their husbands because they won’t stop chasing mountains.

When she told her friends, her family, that he was still heading out to lead another group, they had looked horrified at the idea. But she also knows it’s a particular situation they’re in. Unplanned, unexpected, but decidedly wanted, by the time they found out she was pregnant, payments had already been made, plane tickets booked, nonrefundable. Clients that know how to throw all of their weight around, very important people with very important wallets giving him their very important money to take them on this very important trip. And so they had to decide some things. Decided that two months out of nine wasn’t all that bad, that five successes couldn’t have just been luck, and that a sixth couldn’t be asking too much more. Thinking these things is different than feeling them, she is now realizing, listening to his voice get caught in static and wind as he tells her how much he loves her and that he’ll talk to her again soon, get some sleep, honey, I love you.

Yes, different to think about it, plan for it, than to feel it. The bedroom is dark, perfectly silent, perfectly still. She begins to cry with the catch of the phone in the receiver.

…

March, 1990 - base camp

“Who’s that?”

“Who?”

“That chick with Art’s group.”

“Don’t point, Steven, we’re all friends here. And that’s Jo Taylor, I met her at the airport, real nice, real cool. Also, requisite reminder that fucking at altitude is contraindicated.”

“Thanks, Rob, yeah, thank you for that reminder.” Robin’s already off as he grumbles, already introducing herself to other strangers weaving in between brightly colored tents and packs. It’s not lost on him that she and Jo are the only two women at base camp, and he’s having a hard time not staring at this woman he’s never met before. Close-cropped hair and flickering hands, sharp, and she seems to have no trouble holding court with her crew, checking over gear, tanks of oxygen, things he should be doing right now, though he’s still stuck staring at her.

Up here, it’s somehow both bitingly cold and quick to heat with the sun bouncing and bending over the snow, prayer flags pulled taut on lines in the thin air. Everyone has stripped down to base layers, faces whipped raw by the wind, Eddie walking around in a bright orange pair of Patagonia baggies and little else, steaming thermos in hand. And this girl, woman, person, Jo, in a Talking Heads t-shirt and an unzipped shell and leggings, and even with her reflective sunglasses on he can tell the exact moment when she catches him staring at her, her head tilting to the side, slight pull of her brow. He’s walking toward her, crunching over rocks and snow before he can think too hard about how she doesn’t really look interested in making friends with him.

“Hey, I don’t think we’ve met.” He gives her his name with a hand extended, and she takes it, if not a bit stiff, skeptical, offering him her name in return with her hip popped to the side. He watches his own nervous smile in the reflection of her sunglasses.

“You’re here with Art’s team, right?”

“I am, yeah. And you’re here with Robin?”

“And Ed, he’s, well, you’ve probably met him.”

“Oh yeah, we all know Munson. No oxygen on Mont Blanc is pretty impressive, or maybe stupid.”

“I’d say both.” Her smile glints in the sun, a little stunner of a thing and he knows he’d like to see it again.

“Both is probably accurate. I knew who you were too, by the way, you didn’t have to introduce yourself like that.”

“You did?”

“Of course, men’s speed record for El Cap. That’s just impressive if you ask me.”

“Men’s? As opposed to–”

“Women’s.”

“I didn’t know there was a women’s speed record for El Cap.” Her smile slants and she pushes her sunglasses up into her hair, eyes crinkling and squinting in the wind and the sun.

“There is, I hold it.”

“Oh, oh, I didn’t– you– I didn’t mean to–” Foot in his mouth and it might as well be down his throat with the way he’s stumbling over his words. She grins, gives his shoulder a squeeze and a shake.

“You’re fine, man, really, just teasing you a little. Is this your first time on Everest?”

“Yeah, you?” He’s not even standing that close to her, but he still notices a freckle somewhere between the round of her cheek and her eye, watches it jump with her smile. She nods, a glance over his shoulder to what awaits them in these next few weeks. A slog, a perfectly graceless suffering. A climb, a brilliant, beautiful thing.

“I’ll see you out on the Icefall, Harrington. It’s nice to meet you.”

…

March 1996 - base camp

“That reporter packed out a fucking espresso maker, can you believe this shit? It’s like goddamn Disney world up here.” Eddie says it just loud enough to garner him a few turned heads as he slumps down in his chair next to Steve, making quick work out of a mug full of instant ramen.

“I wouldn’t worry about her, Art will get her sorted out before they make it to camp two. I’m just worried there’s gonna be a jam up there. You ever think you’d see the day there’s a line to summit? Because right now, it’s looking like that’s exactly what we’re gonna have on our hands.”

“Any thoughts on how to avoid that?” He hums, pinching off another bite of his clif bar and working his jaw around it, looking out on what seems to be a veritable sea of tents. At least fifteen outfits this year, and all the ragtag debris they entail, lost-looking group members that probably have no business being up here, already hacking into the elbows of their expensive-looking jackets, camping chairs getting knocked over in the wind, boots tucked outside of tents, the sound and smells of human intervention in an otherwise silent landscape.

“I do, Rob’s not gonna like it though.”

“What am I not gonna like?” A hand on his shoulder, and then a face leaning upside-down over his, almost alien in her round, mirrored sunglasses.

“Do you know if the other outfits are planning for May tenth?”

“Yeah, as far as I know, same as us. Why?” Easy, all of them easy together, Robin sits down between their chairs, carabiner hooked full of keys jangling at her belt loop. She takes a bite of Eddie’s ramen when he offers her the fork and Eddie grins over the top of her head at Steve, cheshire bright in his thermal and leggings, and suddenly, he thinks, they’re sixteen again, driving cross country to go climb in Yellowstone with a few months worth of part-time job savings split between them.

“Stevie here wants to be first in line on the Everest Express.”

“It’s not about being first, it’s about not wanting people stuck up there longer than they need to be. If we could just get a couple days–”

“No.”

“Rob–”

“No, Steve. Everybody wants May tenth for a reason. The weather is looking good–”

“The weather is unpredictable and you know it.”

“And, these people need those days to get ready. You start shaving off days and that’s less time they’ll have been at altitude for the last push. This is just the way it is this year, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, and it’s getting worse every year. I really think we’re getting out at the right time, you know, picked the right year to have our last season.” Robin huffs, unfolding her legs and standing back up, shading them from the sun for a moment as she brushes off her cargo pants and runs a hand back through her hair.

“Look, I’ll take another pass at the weather. Maybe, and that’s a big maybe, we could swing May eighth. But I make no promises.” And then she’s off, wielding her walkie-talkie like a scepter, already rearranging plans in her mind as she ducks back into their comms tent.

He knows he’s frustrating her, bitching about everything, scowling about everything. Eddie had said as much during the first night at base, why are you being such a downer? We’re on a fucking mountain, at least sell it to the customers, man. And he’s right, they’re on a fucking mountain, and it’s beautiful, and it’s brutal, and it’s all the things he’s loved since he started backpacking as a kid. And there are good moments, there are, moments of looking out onto the landscape, the steep tumbling snow and gray slate crags, witchery in the dance and daunt of ice, the near painfully blue sky that can turn dark and mean in a breath. Moments of true awe, and still, still, he knows that he shouldn’t be here, not really.

Last year, there was a man in their outfit from Texas, brass. Steve can’t remember his name now, but what he can remember is what he admitted to the night before they headed out from base. Everyone had laughed except for Jo and the one other woman who was in their group, when the man confessed that he had forgotten to tell his wife he’d be gone for two months in the spring. And it had been Jo who had plainly asked him if he had any kids, her chin jutted, arms crossed over her chest, her usual all-smiles-all-jokes-but-all-business-lead-guide facade slipping away into something steely, something cold and unamused. Yes, the man had said, two, a boy and a girl. He doesn’t remember much more of that conversation, just that Jo excused herself early from dinner, and when he returned to their tent a little while later, she was already asleep with her back turned to him.

“You alright?”

“I don’t know, Ed. I’ll be good to lead though, that’s not a problem.”

“I didn’t ask if you’ll be good to lead, I asked if you’re alright.” Something tight turns in his chest, he keeps his eyes down on his hands, folding and unfolding the empty clif bar wrapper.

“Yes, no, I knew it was gonna be hard, but this is fucking– something else.” Eddie leans forward, elbows on his knees, brow furrowed, and he’s nodding, and it’s a look of concern. Steve hates it, never the one needing concern, never the one to be concerned about. The leader, right, level-headed, right, no need for concern.

“You talk to Jo today?”

“Last night, she asked if you packed out sticks of butter again this year.”

“Pfft, of course, a little American comfort at seventeen thousand feet goes a long way. How is she?”

“Doing alright, I think. Had the twenty-week scan on Friday.” He can’t help but smile thinking about it, and Eddie mirrors him, grin spreading and brows raising, oh yeah?

“She found out if it’s a boy or a girl, but she said she’s not gonna tell me until I get home.”

“Well, how about that for a little motivation, huh? I have to admit though, I miss her this year, not the same without her.” Eddie’s smile softens, slighter, sadder, a hand on Steve’s shoulder, and he feels his own face slacken, the ache returning.

“No, it’s not.” Not letting him fall for long, Eddie gracelessly shrugs his chair closer, arm hooking around Steve’s shoulders, cheek to cheek as he starts pointing out their clients.

“But, think of it this way–” He points to one man, him, another, him, one more, and him.

“Add those three up and you got yourself a nice little college fund.” At the very least, it feels good to laugh, resting his temple on Eddie’s shoulder, letting the sun be the sun, and the moment be the moment.

“Can’t argue with that.”

“We’re gonna climb that fucking thing on the eighth, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, I think we are.”

“I’m with you all the way, man.” He holds his hand out for Steve, and it’s a relief, he finds, to clasp his hand, to hold onto something. And Eddie’s one last send? His smile turning young and slanted, a little wild. Steve nods. One last send.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington au #steve harrington imagine #honey baby love you be home soon

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nerdieforpedro · 10 months ago

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Canta para mi (You sing for me)

Nuestras Canciones (Our Songs)

Santiago Garcia x Amalia (plus size OFC)

Main Masterlist / Santiago Garcia Masterlist

Fic is teens and up. My entire blog is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 593

Summary: A night like many Amalia shares with her husband Santiago. They intertwine with each other. Her voice explains her love for him.

Warnings: None - just domestic fluff

Notes: I promised it would get sweeter, it is with a tinge of melancholy. ☺️

Though she couldn't play an instrument, Amalia used her voice. Daily. It changed depending on whoever she spoke to and what the subject matter was.

Soft. Stern. Curious. Kind. Jovial, sullen, compassionate, alluring, indifferent.

“So many things you do with it all day. Forget all that! Come! Let’s sing!” Santiago had told her, wrapping his hands around his wife’s ample hips in the living room and leading her to dance to one of her favorites Stevie Wonder “As.” She laughed and called him ‘loco’ to which he replied “You love it querida!” And nuzzled his bushy beard into the nape of her neck, causing her to giggle. The pair floated around the room laughing and singing to a playlist Santi had set up for her on tough days. The speaker would blast the music throughout the house.

When their dances would end or they’d just get tired enough, they’d sit on the couch and cuddle into one another. Sometimes Santiago would remain the big spoon and other times Amalia’s legs would be spread so Pope could lay his back against his wife's soft belly and breasts. She’d mingle her fingers in his curls as another hand made small circles over his chest. They would remain connected like this for a few hours. If one of them drifted off to sleep, it was the other’s responsibility to wake them and get them to bed.

On one such night, Amalia’s hand was strumming her husband’s chest as she played with his salt and pepper curls. Their color had changed but not their silken texture. “I thought of something for you Santi. Escucha por favor (Listen please).” Pope remained silent as he heard his wife's voice ring out into the room.

My strong anchor when I feel adrift

Kind words when I arrive

Beaming laughter teasing me

Even when I was scared of myself

You held onto me

Never let me go

Forever etched in memory

The day you said you’d never leave

You’ve wiped so many of my tears

I hope I’ve been a balm to your aches

Brought clarity to your muddled waters

Mi esposo Mi corázon Mi vida (My husband, my heart, my everything)

Te amo Santiago (I love you Santiago)

He had closed his eyes while he listened to her voice. It was clear she had worked on it and it wasn’t a spur of the moment song. That made it all the more special. His wife had written a song for him, something only his like she was. Santiago hadn’t realized that his beard was a little wet from his tears. He only knew when he removed his glasses to rub his eyes. Amalia placed both her hands on her husband’s chest and kissed his forehead, his bountiful curls tickling her chin. “Let go Santiago. It’s just you and me. I’m here with you. You’re safe, you’re home.” Quiet sobs of Amalia’s husband now filled the room where there had been music. She let him continue until he fell asleep, remaining with him until the sun rose the next morning.

“One night of uncomfortable sleep is plenty to give him for what he’s given me.” Amalia told herself when she woke in the morning. Pope’s eyes were puffy but had a subtle glow to them. He was already awake and handed her coffee prepared as she liked it.

“Even after all these years you still surprise me cariño. You’ll sing to me another night won’t you?” Amalia nodded and took her first sip of the day. Bold. Rich. Sweet. Creamy. Warm.

Previous: Verse One

Next: Verse Three

Santi's Peaches 🍑: @for-a-longlongtime @legendary-pink-dot @maggiemayhemnj @morallyinept @megamindsecretlair @pedritapascal @rhoorl @dameron-grant-spector @pamasaur @sin-djarin @i-own-loki @soft-persephone @soft-girl-musings @readingiskeepingmegoing @saturn-rings-writes @yorksgirl @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @musings-of-a-rose

#fanfiction #oscar isaac #oscar issac characters #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #Santiago gracia x plus size OFC #Neustras Canciónes #Our songs

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frozenprocedural · 11 months ago

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TDOE Day... something

I'm double-posting today, since I'm behind. This set in the CAAAL universe. Pure, smutty fun.

Alarik belongs to @patricia-von-arundel. Set to the painting "The Kiss" by Gustav Klimt.

RATED 'E' UNDER THE CUT!!!!

Slow Mornings

Rating: E

He comes awake slowly, reluctant to leave the clutches of sleep, and more importantly, the warmth of his wife. He"d much rather remain in bed, pull her a bit closer and-

Wait.

He can.

Alarik grins, opening his eyes to take in Elsa. She's facing him, her face soft and relaxed in sleep, mouth parted slightly. A strand of hair near her mouth flutters with each breath, and he reaches over to move it away. His knuckles brush her cheek as he does, and Elsa's face scrunches up. She breathes in sharply, eyes blinking open, before focusing on him.

"Do you have to go?"

Her voice is thick and muzzy with sleep, a petulant note tinting the words. Her hand finds his and pulls it back around her, grumbling when he chuckles.

"No," he whispers, letting his breath fan across her scalp. "Not today, darling."

Her eyes fly open, and she smiles, wide and happy, before wiggling closer to him, humming in contentment.

"Not today." She echoes. "You're done with your project, and I get you aaaalllll to myself this morning."

He kisses the top of her head, his hand sliding down to cradle the small swell in her middle. "That you do."

Elsa sighs in contentment, bringing her hand up to cup his jaw, her thumb stroking the days-old stubble there.

"You need a shave."

"I'll have you know that's the beginning of a magnificent beard."

Elsa giggles and shakes her head. He could no more grow a beard than she could, and she prefers him to be smooth-shaven. He grins and rubs his cheek against her neck, eliciting a startled squeak. Further nuzzling produces more squeaking, and soon he's chasing her around with his chin and jaw, while she tries to evade him, both of them laughing uproariously.

Eventually Elsa dives under the covers, pulling them tight around her in protection. He responds by poking at her figure to make her squirm and giggle until she finally throws the sheets off.

"You win!" She gasps, swatting at his hand now that she can see it. Alarik ceases his tickling.

"Mmmm. What's my prize?"

Elsa considers it for a moment, then slides back up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Then her lips are on his, warm and soft, the tip of her tongue probing at his lips until he parts them. Then it's running along the edge of his teeth and playing with his own tongue until he can't hold back a moan. When they pull apart, foreheads resting together, Elsa smiles.

"How was that for a prize?"

Alarik kisses the tip of her nose. "It was very nice. But I wouldn't say no to a few more…"

They kiss again, a little harder this time, a bit more desperate. Elsa's fingers play with the soft hairs at the base of his neck, her nails scratching lightly. He runs his hand up and down her spine, delighting in the shiver it produces.

Alarik realizes how much he missed this- the unhurried pace, the chance to explore one another's bodies. The slow warmth spreading inside him is a welcome balm to the exhaustion and stress he'd been experiencing for the past few months, and he wants to make sure to enjoy it as long as possible.

But he needs her clothes out of the way.

Elsa has the same idea, for she pulls away, pressing one last kiss on his lips as she finds the buttons of his worn flannel pajamas, working each one loose. He watches, knowing just how much she enjoys doing this, only moving to pull free of the flannel when she finishes. Elsa runs her fingers through the curls on his chest, giving them a gentle tug every so often. Alarik shudders when her fingers brush his nipples, and he can't hold back any longer.

His hand seeks and finds the hem of her nightshirt- an old shirt of his- and starts to tug it up. Elsa helps on the right side where he cannot grip, and soon she's bare before him. He takes in a sharp breath, astounded as always by her remarkable beauty. The changes of pregnancy have only made her even more striking in his eyes.

It's his turn to touch her now, his hand trailing across her collarbone and down, sliding through the valley between her breasts and coming to rest on the swell of her stomach. He spreads out his fingers, spanning as much of it as he can. He can't help himself- ever since she'd begun to show two months ago, he loved feeling the physical evidence of the baby growing inside her.

A soft groan made him look up to see Elsa wincing, one hand going to her back.

"Spasm," she grunts by way of explanation.

"Here, roll over."

Elsa does as he instructed, and Alarik presses his hand against her back, massaging the knot he feels until it loosens and Elsa sighs in relief. As she relaxes, Alarik trails his hand to her front, pulling himself so she's lying pressed against him once more, and he can resume tracing patterns on her skin. Their new position has placed him within easy reach of her ear, and Alarik wastes no time in taking advantage of that.

Elsa whimpers when his lips meet the special spot behind her ear, a sound he relishes. He uses his tongue to trace the outer curve, then suckles the skin there, making her arch against him. Meanwhile, he cups a breast in his hand, circling the areola with his thumb and occasionally giving the nipple a flick. He repeats this with the other breast, then pinches the nipple, enjoying Elsa's breathy sigh.

As he plays with her breast, Alarik continues to attend to the spot behind her ear, then continuing down her neck to her collarbone. He spends some time sucking at her pulse point, feeling it speed up with his ministrations. Elsa tilts her head to give him better access, while one of her hands cups the stump of his wrist, stroking the skin there. She's soft and pliable, and he can tell she's still a bit drowsy, so he keeps his pace slow and steady, letting her pleasure build gradually.

Eventually he traces his hand down, tracing it back and forth as he does, enjoying the shivers that follow. Elsa was sensitive before she got pregnant, but now it's increased so much more. He keeps going lower, pausing to circle his thumb at her hip bone. Elsa knows what he's doing, and presses against him in a silent request, one he cannot deny her.

A slow slide to the patch of curls between her legs, and his fingers seek, then find, the wet warmth there. He draws one through her folds, from bottom to top, ending by swirling around her nub. She moans, her fingers tightening around his stump, and he shifts that too, bringing it to her breasts, rubbing them the best he can.

He lingers at her bud, tracing lazy patterns, keeping his touch light. He dips his middle finger into her center, not quite enough, he knows, but he wants to draw this out. They'd had their share of hard and fast during his project. He wants their time to last.

Elsa stretches languidly against him, lifting and resting her stump on his leg to give him better access. He adds a second finger, seeking the rough patch that will give her further pleasure. When he finds it and starts to rub, Elsa gives a soft cry, her fingers tightening around his stump, pulling him in closer.

"That's it, just enjoy it." He nuzzles her neck, giving the skin a gentle nip. "I've missed you. I've missed you so much, darling."

"Me too…" Her voice is soft and drowsy, but there's a husky tinge to it. She rocks against his hand, but he keeps his pace slow and even. Still, he can tell she's close. Her walls are twitching, and she's trembling, panting, until it has her.

She arches, taut as a bow, her fingers digging into his stump. His name leaves her in an ecstatic cry as her walls pulse around his fingers, trying to draw them in further. Alarik doesn't stop his movements- he increases them instead to coax a second orgasm onto the heels of the first. Only when she gasps and pulls at his hand does he relent, carefully pulling free, although even that is enough to make her whimper.

"Sorry." He whispers.

Elsa shakes her head, her body slowly relaxing. She releases his stump and rolls over to face him once more, her face flushed but satisfied.

"I'm alright, just sensitive. Give me a second."

"Of course."

He brushes some stray hairs from her face, then smooths her hair down her back, watching her breathing slow. Eventually she reaches up to cup his jaw, fingers brushing over the stubble, and pulls herself up to press her lips to his. It's a slow kiss, as they spend more time exploring one another's mouths, tongues playing together.

Elsa's hands start wandering over his body, playing with his chest hair, then following it down his torso until she comes to rest at the waistband of his boxers. They pull apart, and Elsa smirks at him before running a finger over the telltale bulge in the fabric. Alarik tenses and sucks in a sharp breath.

Elsa hooks her fingers onto the waistband and pulls the boxes down, freeing his erection. She takes it in her hand, tracing the veins and weeping tip, while he grunts and grabs a fistful of the sheets.

"Elsa… I'm not going to last too long if you keep doing that… unless you want to do it that way…"

She shakes her head, lifting her leg to rest on his and drawing him against her folds. "No. I want you. Inside."

He groans at her words, his knuckles going white as she guides him inside. He has to draw deep breaths as he slides in- she's so wet, and warm, and tight, and it's a delicious agony with each inch he goes. To distract himself, he finds her lips again, kissing her with fervor. She isn't doing much better, he can tell. Her body trembles, and she moans against his lips, pressing against him as he finally buries himself fully within her.

They stay like that for a minute or so, parting so that they can pant and steady themselves. Once Alarik feels he has better control of his need, he gives an experimental rock of his hips, both of them sighing happily at the movement.

"Okay?"

Elsa responds by sliding a hand down to his butt, giving it a firm squeeze and causing his hips to buck.

"More, please."

"Of course."

He pulls back, just the tip inside her, then presses himself in fully with one motion. His hand seeks and finds her nub once more, and within moments he has a steady rhythm going.

"Oh… Alarik…" Elsa's fingers dig into his backside- they're sure to leave marks, but the pain only serves to drive his pleasure even further. He kisses her jaw, her neck, anywhere he can reach. She buries her head in his neck, nipping his skin, making him hiss.

Unlike before, there is nothing slow in their lovemaking. They chase their release, pressing into one another, trembling and groaning…

Elsa's head falls back as she cries out his name, body tense and walls pulsing. He tumbles after her, pressing his hips as close to her as he can, pumping hot spurts deep within her until he has nothing left to give.

They collapse against one another, clutching and panting until they are able to relax. Alarik pushes Elsa's sweat-soaked hair free of her forehead, and she does the same for his curls. He shifts to give her some room to cool off, sliding free of her while doing so. Elsa makes a small noise of complaint at the loss, and he rubs her hip until she smiles.

"I'd almost forgotten how good it is to go slow," Alarik murmurs, using his knuckles to caress her skin.

"I missed that. We both needed it." Elsa cuddles against him, and he wraps his arm around her, sighing in contentment.

They'll have to get up soon enough to clean up. But for now they can savor this moment.

They can take their time.

#elsarik #alarik #elsa #tdoe 2023 #caaaal #costs an arm and a leg AU #twelve days of elsarik 2023

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chasejlondon · 4 months ago

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sister-pianist-chan · 5 months ago

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Here's my bit for the Joker Out Pride project:

(Again with my monk!AU) It's still June 3rd here in the US. Prompt: First Kiss

Brother Nace had joined the monastery about three years ago, and was set to make his final vows that would commit him to monastic life. He joined because he felt at peace, but also because his parents and his Baba had this dream for him to devote himself to religious work.

Brother Nace had always been a "good boy." His parents and Baba were proud of him for keeping his purity while his friends were getting experienced out of wedlock.

Sadly, Brother Nace had never fallen in love. He didn't know what that was, and as he got older, it never really crossed his mind. However... That was about to change.

As Brother Nace was in the monastery's library reading a book about eschatology in Catholicism, he saw two beautiful brothers walking by. He may have seen the brothers, but he did not notice them. One of the brothers was tall and thin, had long black hair tied up in a bun, a goatee, warm brown eyes, and a soft voice. Judging from his accent, he knew that he was also Slovenian. The other brother was short, had black hair in a bowl cut, wore eyeliner around his beautiful blue-grey eyes, a thin mustache and a beard, plus, he had a strong Finnish accent when he spoke and mixed English and Finnish when he spoke to the taller brother.

As they passed by Brother Nace, their eyes met. They smiled at him and he smiled back. They walked along, but about a minute or two later, they decided to join him.

"Hello, I saw the book you were reading, and it looks interesting. Mind if we join?" The taller brother said.

"Please, go ahead and have a seat, brothers." Brother Nace said.

"By the way, I'm Brother Jan, and this is Brother Jere. We just transferred to this monastery." He said.

"Nice to meet you, Brother Jan and Brother Jere. I'm Brother Nace. Welcome to St. Francis. " He said.

Another Monk joined. It was his friend Brother Bojan, but he pulled the short brother away

"Excuse me brothers, but Brother Jerč and I will be back!" Brother Bojan said with a mischievous glint in his eye, this leaving Brother Jan and Brother Nace alone. Brother Jere got up and giggled like a school girl and he walked away with Brother Bojan.

Awww man, it looks like Brother Bojan got the cute blue-eyed monk's attention and caught his interest. Darn.

"Brother Nace, are you from Slovenia?"

"Ja." Brother Nace answered. The conversation quickly switched from English to Slovenian. Brother Nace felt a bit homesick, so it was a balm to his spirit to listen to someone speaking his language. The two brothers spoke all day, and even joined each other for their duties around the monastery and compline. Since that day, they had grown closer and became inseparable. One evening, Brother Nace couldn't get the dark haired monk off of his mind. He brushed off the idea of being in love. "Nah. I just enjoy Brother Jan's company. He helps me in my walk with God." Brother Nace thought.

The next morning after an early morning vigil, Brother Nace went to the garden. He suddenly heard the sound of a guitar playing a very beautiful tune. (It's the intro to ASTP 😉) He turned around, and it was Brother Jan. He serenaded him. Brother Nace felt his heart beat fast. What the fuck even is this feeling?

"Brother Jan! That's a beautiful tune!" Brother Nace said.

"Thank you. I just came up with it." Brother Jan said.

Brother Nace took removed his hood to show his face more.

"Wow! You are so talented. What was your inspiration?" He asked.

Brother Jan got closer.

"My inspiration? Well... It's right in front of me." Brother Jan said.

Brother Nace turned around and saw a rose bush.

"The rose bush? It is beautiful indeed.." Brother Nace said.

Brother Jan chuckled. He didn't know who was worse when it came to being oblivious. Brother Jere or Brother Nace. He placed his hands on Brother Nace's habit and pulled the hood over his head. He led the older monk closer to a tree. He cupped his face and kissed him gently as he wrapped his arms around Brother Nace's waist. Brother Nace accepted the kiss, but didn't know what to do. He wrapped his arms around Brother Jan and let him lead the dance between their tongues.

Brother Jan broke away to breathe. He looked at Brother Nace who's sweet brown eyes were glistening.

"The song is about you, Brother Nace. And... I think I'm in love with you. That's why I kissed you." Brother Jan said.

Brother Nace's heart felt like it was on cloud nine.

"I've never been kissed before, Brother Jan. So I'm sorry if I didn't kiss well." Brother Nace admitted.

"You did great for your first kiss." Brother Jan said.

"Hvala, Janči." Brother Nace said. He leaned close to Brother Jan and kissed him. As they pulled away, Brother Nace looked at Brother Jan in the eyes.

"Brother Jan... I love you. I'm sure of it."

#JO pride project #joker out #nace jordan #käärijä #jere pöyhönen #bojan cvjetićanin #カーリヤ #jan peteh #bojere #jance #monk au

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fuzzydreamin · 2 years ago

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OC Appearance

Thanks for the tag @bokatan No-pressure mutual tags: @cl4ssicist-sky @jcwdrawskinda @winterpaladin-ao3 @vnknowncrow @raid3r-r4bbit @theartofblossoming

Nora and Al under the cut

Nora

BODY

Long legs. Average legs. Short legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Slender arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Lean arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Ample stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Muscular frame. Beefy frame. Curvy frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Acrylic nails. Dirty nails. Small breast. Average breast. Big breast. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Small waist. Straight waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Average fingers. Short fingers. Narrow shoulders. Average shoulders. Broad shoulders.

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 140-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

Light. Tanned. Brown. Dark. Rosy. Neutral. Olive. Golden. Pallid. Blotchy. Albinism. Vitiligo. Birthmarks. Freckles. Moles. Wrinkles. Stretch marks. Scars. Burns. Acne. Smooth. Dry. Oily. Combination.

EYES

Small. Large. Average. Dark brown. Light brown. Hazel. Green. Blue. Grey. Violet. Gold. Other. Heterochromia. Doe-eyed. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Protruding. Narrow. Monolid. Almond. Round. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR

Thin. Thick. Fine. Average. Oily. Dry. Neutral. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Smooth. Straight. Wavy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Bob. Mullet. Mohawk. Half-shaved. Under cut. Buzz cut. Shaved. Bald. Hair extensions. Weave. Afro. Waves. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Braids. Twists. Faux locs. Jaw length. Shoulder length. Armpit length. Mid-back length. Waist length. Hip length. Past hip-length. Middle part. Side part. Blunt bangs. Curtain bangs. Wispy bangs. Short bangs. Side bangs. Dyed bangs. Ombre. Dyed. Grey. White. Platinum. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Strawberry blonde. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Caramel brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Black. Jet black. Clean shaven. Stubble. Sideburns. Moustache. Goatee. Beard. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows.

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS

Full sleeve. Half sleeve. Forearm tattoo. Wrist tattoo. Hand tattoo(s). Ankle tattoo. Calf tattoo. Thigh tattoo. Hip tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Rib tattoo(s). Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. Face tattoo(s). One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoos. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Prince Albert piercing. Industrial piercing. Helix piercing. Tragus piercing. Conch piercing. Earlobe piercings. Stretched out ears. Eyebrow piercing(s). Bridge piercing. Tongue piercing(s). Monroe piercing. Angel bites. Snake bites. Labret. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Light eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colourful eyeshadow. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Lip liner. Lip balm. Red lips. Pink lips. Neutral lips. Dark lips. Colourful lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Blush. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Dewy foundation. Concealer. BB cream/tinted moisturiser. Wears make-up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Rarely wears make-up.

SCENT

Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Fresh. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturiser. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain.

CLOTHES

Jeans. Tight pants. Cigarette pants. Cargo pants. Khaki pants. Harem pants. Sweatpants. Yoga pants. Leggings. Tights. Stockings. Overknee socks. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Ballerina skirt. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sundress. T-shirt/Sweater dress. Tight/Form-fitting dress. High slit dress/skirt. Cocktail dress. Gowns. Tuxedo. Suit. Tie. Waistcoat. Sweater vest. Sweater. Hoodie. Leather jacket. Denim jacket. Bomber jacket. Parka. Peacoat. Trench coat. Cardigans. Tunic. Turtleneck. Blouse. Button up shirt. Cuban shirt. Flannel shirt. Polo shirt. Camisole. Bustier. Tube top. Crop top. Tank top. Muscle T-shirt. T-shirt. Band T-shirt. Sports T-shirt. Basketball shorts. Pleated shorts. Jean shorts. Hotpants. Bodysuit. Jumpsuit. Overalls. Corset. Nightgowns. Robes. Lingerie. Bra. Sports bra. G-string. Thong. Panties. Briefs. Boxer briefs. Boxers. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Revealing clothing. Designer. High street. Thrift. Patterns. Florals. Polka dots. Stripes. Sequins. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Fur/Faux fur. Light colours. Pastels. Neon colours. Bright colours. Dark colours. White. Black. Heavy armour. Medium armour. Light armour.

SHOES

Bare feet. Slippers. Sandals. Gladiator shoes. Flats. Slip-ons. Loafers. Oxfords. Sneakers. High tops. Ankle boots. Hiking boots. Combat boots. Cowboy boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Wedges. Stilettos. Chunky. Kitten heels. Slingbacks. Pumps. High Heels. Stripper heels. ---

Alberta

BODY

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 140-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

EYES

HAIR

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS

COSMETICS

SCENT

CLOTHES

SHOES

#oc: nora sosu #oc: alberta jefferson #fuzzy.oc

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khazrablood · 2 years ago

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OC Appearance

I was tagged by @sparrowsingsstories and I'm finally posting this now since I only have my phone so editing + formatting is the worst on mobile.

Tagging @coyoats @pumpkinov @kharonion @space-kase @fuzzyizmit @just-another-wasteland-merc and anyone else, but no pressure to the ones tagged haha

I'll just do Anya since they're more fleshed out compared to their aunt Penny, mother, and uncle Yul.

Annetta "Anya" Kruk

BODY

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 140-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

EYES

HAIR

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS

COSMETICS

SCENT

CLOTHES

SHOES

#thanks for tagging me!#Anya #Fallout OC #OC #Fallout #Fallout 4

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wishing4nuclearwinter · 2 years ago

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OC Appearance

Thank you for the tag @bokatan ! No pressure tags: @ragedaisy @honkytonkangel @totally-not-deacon @kemendin @atomitron and anyone who wants to say I tagged them

I got a bit carried away and did this one for Sol, Cres, Varmint, AND Nadia. Everyone after Sol was put under the read more for obvious reasons~

Sol

BODY

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 140-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

EYES

HAIR

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS

COSMETICS

SCENT

CLOTHES

SHOES

Cres

BODY

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 140-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

EYES

HAIR

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS

COSMETICS

SCENT

CLOTHES

Jeans. Tight pants. Cigarette pants. Cargo pants. Khaki pants. Harem pants. Sweatpants. Yoga pants. Leggings. Tights. Stockings. Overknee socks. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Ballerina skirt. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sundress. T-shirt/Sweater dress. Tight/Form-fitting dress. High slit dress/skirt. Cocktail dress. Gowns. Tuxedo. Suit. Tie. Waistcoat. Sweater vest. Sweater. Hoodie. Leather jacket. Denim jacket. Bomber jacket. Parka. Peacoat. Trench coat. Cardigans. Tunic. Turtleneck. Blouse. Button up shirt. Cuban shirt. Flannel shirt. Polo shirt. Camisole. Bustier. Tube top. Crop top. Tank top. Muscle T-shirt. T-shirt. Band T-shirt. Sports T-shirt. Basketball shorts. Pleated shorts. Jean shorts. Hotpants. Bodysuit. Jumpsuit. Overalls. Corset. Nightgowns. Robes. Lingerie. Bra. Sports bra. G-string. Thong. Panties. Briefs. Boxer briefs. Boxers. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Revealing clothing. Designer. High street. Thrift. Patterns. Florals. Polka dots. Stripes. Sequins. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Fur/Faux fur. Light colours. Pastels. Neon colours. Bright colours. Earth tones. Dark colours. White. Black. Heavy armour. Medium armour. Light armour.

SHOES

Varmint

BODY

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 140-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

EYES

HAIR

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS

COSMETICS

SCENT

CLOTHES

SHOES

Nadia

BODY

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 140-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

EYES

HAIR

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS

COSMETICS

SCENT

CLOTHES

SHOES

#I’ll probably do more of these tbh. may or may not post them #at this point just doing it for fun bc lord knows i don’t expect anyone to read all of this long ass post #sol tag #cres tag #varmint tag #nadia tag

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