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loggiepj · 4 months ago

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illicit affairs

part 2 | part 3

YOU'D be a fool trying to convince yourself that Wanda was just some old hag sleeping on your bed that night. But god, she had never looked so peaceful and gorgeous than that very moment, as she was ten years ago. You didn't even know it was possible for someone to look so beautiful, it looked like a crime. As if the gods above blessed only those who were cruel. And cursed those who worshipped them.

Her creamy white legs were exposed from the blanket wrapped around her body. Her tiny soft snores filled the room as she buried herself deep into the pillows. It would take days before her scent would be gone from your sanctuary.

It tore you apart to look at her and feel these forbidden emotions, mad at yourself for feeling this way towards the old woman. You should hate her. You should have kicked her out for what she did.

You decided to go to the kitchen and make something for breakfast instead, preoccupying yourself from worrying too much, that the one nightmare you had always have had come true.

Even your hands were shaking as you beat down the eggs into a bowl, it was a miracle you had managed to cook food. The bacon almost ended up burnt when you jumped from her sudden presence in the kitchen.

"You're awake," you said, ignoring Wanda's gaze on you, her eyes glistening with a recognizable look. You knew that look. She used to look at you that way when you were wearing nothing but her white button down shirt as you made her a quick midnight snack whenever the twins weren't around. But that was ten years ago.

You don't feel anything for the woman anymore, right?

"I made us breakfast," you said before she opened her mouth to speak, stopping her. "You should eat first before you leave."

Wanda took small steps towards the dining table, looking at the food you made her. You wondered if she was touched, remembering how Wanda preferred scrambled eggs more than sunny side ups. But you convinced yourself you didn't do it for her. Because that would make you a martyr.

"This is good," Wanda softly said as you two began to eat in silence. You forced a small smile her way and went back eating.

"I haven't had breakfast like this for ages," she admitted, chuckling. "The boys mostly want cereals for breakfast, I ended up liking them, especially those colorful sweet ones, the . . . I forgot what they were called."

"Froot Loops?"

The skin around her eyes crinkled when she smiled. "Yes, Froot Loops. I swear I'd end up having diabetes one day."

You nodded, chugging down what remained of your coffee as you avoided the woman's gaze.

"What are your plans today? It's a Saturday," the brunette added. "The twins are planning to shop around Chinatown before the classes start. You might even have ideas where to-"

"I can't," you answered, "sorry, I am meeting someone today."

"Oh," she went on, a teasing smirk on her face, "a girlfriend?"

Your fork made a noise as you let it fall down your plate. "What do you want, Miss Maximoff?"

Wanda's smile immediately vanished as she stopped eating. "I . . . I'm sorry if I said something wrong. I didn't mean to pry if you have someone special-"

"No, I mean, what do you want? Why are you here? What were you thinking looking for me, for you to end up inside a sketchy bar?"

Wanda bit back a sob as she looked at you, her hand slipping to hold yours across the table. You tensed and abruptly took it away, ended up with her curling hers into a fist.

"I am so sorry, Y/n," she began, "I'm so sorry for what I did all those years ago, for what I said to you, for being so cruel. I . . . I have to live everyday regretting everything I have said to you. You didn't deserve those things. You were nothing but good to me, and I took you for granted. I . . . I just . . . miss you. I miss you, Y/n. There isn't a day in my life since you left that I haven't thought of you."

You scoffed, standing up as you began cleaning the dishes.

You heard the scraping of her chair against the floor as she stood. "I looked for you. After your graduation, I looked for you. I wanted to take back everything I said. I didn't mean those things. If I could only turn back time, I'd go back to that very day and I should've kissed you and chose you-"

"But you can't," you butted in as you turned to glance at the hysteric woman before you, "turn back the time, I mean."

Wanda was panting softly as her teary eyes stared right at you. She shook her head as she said, "No, I can't."

"That's unfortunate, then," you said back coldly.

Wanda swallowed, still frozen on her spot, and before she'd burst into more tears in your apartment, you went towards the doorway, grabbed your coat and keys. "I'm just gonna grab some coffee. Your clothes are freshly laundered in the bathroom if you want to freshen up before leaving. Please don't forget to lock the door when you leave."

"Y/n—" But you haven't heard the end of it as you closed the door.

Luckily, Wanda wasn't there when you went back home two hours after. But once you had ensured the whole apartment was empty, you broke down and cried.

TIME and absence would surely heal a wound. A couple of months had passed since that dreary encounter and you swore there were a few days when you had completely forgotten about Wanda. That was until you received a call late Friday night when you had only just arrived in your apartment.

It was a nurse from a nearby private hospital, saying that Tommy got into an accident. Before you argued why you were in his contacts in the first place, you drove to the hospital to visit.

Apparently, Tommy got into a fight in one of the fraternity parties he and his friends attended. With broken nose, cut lip and fractured arm, Tommy almost looked unrecognizable.

"Sorry, Y/n," Tommy said when he saw you enter the emergency room, "I didn't know who else to call. And I don't want to worry Mom-"

"It's okay, Tommy. Are you okay? What happened?"

And as you listened to Tommy and the nurse who attended to him, your breathing quickened, your hand hovering over the phone in your jean's pocket. Hesitant to call his mother, even if you knew you had to. Seeing the brunette was the last thing you wanted to do. But this was her son. Your feelings should come last.

Instead of calling the woman, you ended up sending her a short text message, to which she replied instantly, saying that she was already on her way.

You were getting a cup of coffee from a vending machine outside the hospital when Wanda arrived, hearing her voice inside the emergency room.

You decided to sit on the bench by the waiting area, thinking whether you should leave them or stay. You must have fallen asleep on your seat for a few minutes when you felt someone sit beside you.

"Thank you for being there for him," Wanda said.

"How's Tommy?"

"He's under some meds right now for the pain, but the doctor says he's going to be fine."

"That's good," you said.

"There's no available private room at the moment, so he has no choice but to stay in a ward with other patients," she went on, massaging her head. "Doctor said he'll likely be discharged tomorrow or the day after that."

"If you want, you can sleep in my apartment, take a bath or such, while waiting for him to get discharged," you offered. And you had no idea where such sympathy came from.

There was even a short moment where her eyes were at your mouth before she looked back at you.

"I don't want to impose—"

"Wanda, it's fine," you insisted. "For Tommy."

She nodded. "Thank you."

YOU VISITED Tommy in the ward first before leaving, while waiting for Wanda to finish filling up the papers in the hospital's admission room.

"You going to be fine alone?"

"I can manage," he replied, chuckling, showing off his cast.

"Will your father visit?"

The smile on his face disappeared, his fingers playing on the tape around his wrist. "Dad does not visit us often anymore. And I hardly believe he cared for us anyway, now that he has another family of his own."

That was news to you.

"I always tell Mom to find someone so she wouldn't end up alone," he went on, his eyes at the window where you two could see Wanda busy writing. "But she never remarried after Dad, maybe it was because she never trusts men like Dad anymore. But it's been years, you know. I know she's too scared to admit it, but I know she's lonely at home now that me and Billy are in college."

Your eyes were on Wanda as she talked to the Doctor. "I'm sure she'll find someone in the right time."

He laughed softly, making you look at him. "Come to think of it, they got divorced years ago, months after we didn't see you at the house anymore. There was one time Billy thought you were the other woman Dad has been cheating with. But I know you're not that bad of a person."

You stiffened. "You mean, they'd been divorced that long?"

Tommy hummed. "Yes, ten years ago, I guess. We eventually found out who the other woman was. Good thing we didn't curse you by mistake."

You forced to laugh at his joke, but your mind was running in deep circles wondering if the divorce really had something to do with you.

"COME on, don't be shy," your friend Steve invited Wanda, who looked as shocked as you were. "Any friend of Y/n is a friend of ours."

Somehow, when Wanda was returning the clothes you lent to her that time Tommy was hospitalized, there you were in your apartment with your friends, who held a surprised farewell party for Bucky, who was leaving for London the next day. As if Wanda knew perfect timing.

Kate hadn't left your side, even sitting between you just to eradicate any weirdness. The group's conversation went from talking about everyone's jobs, making Wanda let out her plans she was starting a flower shop business in New York and that she had just bought a spot particularly two blocks from the university. You tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, and convinced yourself she was only doing that to be closer to her boys. But you knew better.

Even Kate faked a laugh as she held another toast for the woman. "What about a special someone, Miss Maximoff? I heard you were divorced. Anyone you're meeting at the moment?"

Wanda's eyes met yours for a second before you looked away and drank whatever was left from your bottle of beer.

"No," she answered, chuckling. "I think I'm too old for that stuff anyway."

Bucky chortled. "No way you're old, Miss. If you want, I can set you up with people I know from work. I might even be successful on setting you up than Y/n here, whom I've failed a number of times."

"Why?" Wanda asked curiously.

Kate tried to stop Bucky. "Bucky, just give it a rest—"

"Oh, Y/n here has unknown high standards," Bucky enthusiastically added. "Believe me when dozens had gone down on their knees and Y/n has respectfully refused any advances."

"Shut up," you said, laughing, although you could tell Wanda's eyes never left yours all night long.

WHEN the party ended, all of the attendees slowly started to leave the apartment until there was only you and Wanda. Wanda helped you clean up the place, starting with throwing the empty boxes of pizza and bottles of beers into the trash bag.

"Y/n." Wanda broke the silence. Chappell Roan's casual was playing through the speakers.

"Mm?"

"Is it true?"

You stopped putting the dishes into the dishwasher to look at her. "Is what true?"

There was a small pause before she went on. "Have I ruined you for anyone else?"

You straighten your posture, frustrated as you glared back at her. "How dare you?"

"Then tell me," she challenged, approaching you with a sly smile on her face. "It's an easy question answerable by yes or no. Tell me."

"You infuriate me!"

"That's not a no—"

"You're nothing but a pathetic old slut who craves attention from someone who doesn't want her anymore!"

"Admit it then!" She leaned forward, closer to your face, her nostrils flaring. "Say it to my face that you don't feel anything for me anymore and I'll leave you alone for good! Tell me—"

You pushed your mouth against hers, effectively stopping Wanda from talking. She gasped upon the impact, with her back hitting the wall behind her from the force. And she welcomed you with as much aggression, her hands cupping your face to hold you.

With your arms on each side of her head, you pressed your bodies together, molding against each other. Her tongue played with yours, tasting what had been missed, wondering if each one of you were still as desperate as you were ten years ago.

"Y/N!" she moaned loudly a couple of minutes later as you pulled her hair, while roughly pistoning your strap into her from behind.

You had never thought you'd be able to do it. But there you were in your own bedroom with the woman you both loathed and loved so much on all fours before you. And it was driving you insane.

Mind filled with rage and lust, you tried to forget that this woman before you was the cause of your downfall. You tried to forget she hurt you, broke your heart to pieces as if you were nothing. Basking in the moment, you harshly grabbed the skin of her hips, nails digging, as you repeatedly and relentlessly pushed into her warm dripping entrance.

The tip of your strap hit your clit at the right angle, making you roll your eyes to the back of your head. And when you heard Wanda's whimpers before you, your hand slipped through her back then held her shoulder as you fastened the pace.

The brunette screamed as her body convulsed in waves, shuddering as she came. If it weren't for you holding her upright, she would've fallen straight face down on the sheets.

But her cumming didn't stop you from chasing your relief. The sweet nectar from her release dripping down both your thighs only made the action slippery and noisy.

"Y/n. . . ," Wanda moaned, her hand attempting to hold you back but you slapped her hand away before leaning forward as you held both of her hands behind her back. This rendered Wanda's face flat against the pillow before her, muffling her moans.

"Is this what you want, huh?" you demanded, eyes almost in tears seeing Wanda and pretending you weren't just loving every moment that was happening right now. "Is this what you want from me?"

"Yes!" she screamed, gasping when you spanked one of her butt cheeks. "Yes! Y/n! You're all I want! You're all I've ever wanted!"

And that snapped something inside you. The coil in your stomach exploded, making you press your front into her back as you lay on top of her.

"Wanda," you moaned into her neck, your hips stuttering as you came. She held your face behind her as your body shook.

"I got you, Y/n," she cooed softly as you panted, still trembling above her. "I got you."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I truly appreciate your continued support in reading my stories. You can help me create more stories by supporting my writing thru this link. Thank you so much ❤🥰

#wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda angst #elizabeth olsen #angst

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bowieandqueen11 · 11 months ago

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We Need A New Lock / Sanji Imagine

Request: could you write a sanji x reader fic of them alone in reader's room? they always end up getting interrupted by someone just as they get close to kissing, and its torture for sanji because they just cant find a moment alone with each other, so he finally finds a way to be with her late one night where he can kiss her senseless uninterrupted. thank you!

First I just wanted to say, thank you so much everyone for your support as I recovered from my operation! I'm so happy to be here and writing again!

Okay but this is both super sweet and hilarious, I hope you don't mind I spread this out over the deck a bit, and changed it around a little bit for more fun ;)

Warning: slightly spicy, so 18+ please!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @islandofohara.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Try One: Nami

At try one, Sanji was four seconds away from ripping his hair out.

Poor, Sanji: the sweet cook had spent all of dinner service with his hands clenched tightly in his fringe, fistfuls of hair nearly tugged out and scattered among the Matcha Tiramisu he had spent a lonely, and tired morning dragging himself away from your warm embrace to make specially for you. Toiling, rolling, dusting cream and cocoa that he had spent the last handful of his berries trading for from the speciality trader in the markets of the Canopi Islands; he had squinted underneath the honey melt of the sun as it fell from its crest over the horizon as he whisked and whizzed and splattered dessert up to his elbows in his desperation to make sure the sweet treat would be ready before Luffy caught the scent of it.

Finding it too tempting not to toy with the cook, you tried to stifle your smirk as you nonchalantly placed a fist under your chin and feigned interest in whatever Nami was animatedly trying to chew over with you. Flitting your irises over until you made direct eye contact, you dragged the flat edge of your tongue up the back of the spoon, making sure to wet the edge of your thumb along the way.

At any other time, Sanji may have been beside himself with embarrassment. It wasn't the first time a member of the crew had teased him... or snarled at him... or chided him for his obvious endearment, but the sound of Nami's voice was drowned out by the pulsing rush of blood that flooded through your boyfriend's ears. His full concentration was centred solely on the way your teeth scraped over your fork: the content hum as you licked over your fingers like a serpent and nearly sent Sanji clambering onto the floor to beg for the ecstasy of your sin.

You had tried not to chortle, you really had: hiding your face behind the ledger Nami was leaning over the table to shove into your face, her accusing pointer finger jabbing at a new entry she had triple underlined in her familiarly baleful black strokes. She hadn't even noticed that Sanji was nearly crumpled on the floor, bowl lying abandoned by the sink as his love-struck eyes struggled to stay within his skull.

'3000 berries?! Seriously?', she shot a growingly outraged frown in your direction, clattering her fork onto the table so she could use her free hand to point accusingly towards a recovering Sanji, whose fingernails were almost shedding wood shards off the cabinet drawer as he tried to pull himself back up to a presentable looking stand. 'You let curly brows over there spend three thousand of our berries on a pair of new pyjamas for you?'

You shrugged hesitantly, crossing your legs under the table. Your skirt began to rise up, bunching towards your hip as you crossed your ankles. You shot a lingering glance out of the corner of your eye towards Sanji, hoping with all your might that he'd be too bashful to meet your eye. Instead, as Nami cried out in outrage, Sanji's gleeful eyes locked onto yours, and the poor man was forced to grab the wooden edge of his spoon out of the sink and bite into it with his teeth to stop himself from squealing right there and then in the kitchen.

Nami incredulously trailed her eyes between the two of you, a long-simmering jaded scowl tempering over her face. Finally noticing how Sanji was loosening his shirt collar and using a freshly washed baking tray to fan the heat rolling in volcanic waves off his body.

The cat burglar pushed her tongue against her cheek and inhaled sharply as she turned her attention back to you. 'How is that even possible?! Luffy's meat budget for the month costs less than that!'

'They're special, my dear Nami!', Sanji finally managed to pipe in, his voice sounding strangled as he plopped the tray back down next to his damp tea towel. He turned towards the two of you with a pained smile plastered on his sickly looking face.

'They're made of Agar-Agar flakes, and of course, only the finest dehydrated avocados in all of the East Blue for the finest gem in all of the seas.' Sanji cocked his head and winked at you mischievously. 'It was worth every berry for my delectable little sweet pea.'

Nami made a gagging noise into her orange juice, but Sanji just bit his bottom lip and came sauntering over to stand by your side.

Sanji's breath drew in sharply as you absentmindedly began to brush your pointer finger up and up: first tickling over the arm that came winding around your shoulder, before leaning back to trace the edge of his jaw line, your eyes drawn away from Nami's waving hands to gawk up at the unbuttoned gap between his shirt where his Adam's apple lay tautly.

Nami was about to throw her muffin at your head when she suddenly started, bolting straight upright. Leaning forward on her elbows, she squinted her eyes suspiciously at the way you were nearly falling off the dining table's bench to lean back and caress your boyfriend's face.

'Hold on... what do you mean Agar Agar? How can they be made of food...'

'Well', you snorted, trying to hide your face by pulling one of Sanji's heavy arms up and draping his heavy bicep in front of your crinkling eyes. 'They are edible-'.

'Melt in the mouth, in fact', Sanji chimed in audaciously, bending his spine over so he could press a few butterfly kisses over the top of your scalp.

Nami nearly shoved the table straight into your stomach in her desperation to clamber up and escape the two of you. 'Nope. Nope! Absolutely not. The two of you get out of here now, before I start pitching water over your heads.'

Try Two: Usopp

At try two, Sanji was three seconds away from kicking the door of its hinges in annoyance.

It had taken nearly all night for the two of you to get even these few seconds of isolation together, and yet Sanji still felt so woefully unprepared. His fingers stumbled as he clumsily tried his best to ignore how his pounding heart was almost playing leap-frog with his ribs; the tautening of his abdomen as he tried to pull his under-shirt over his head left exultant lacerations against his muscles. He had to work up the courage to turn and kiss you now, or he was going to keel over and pass out on the floor from his heart's anguish: brought to his knees by the one thing he could never escape: his soul’s serendipity.

Thankfully, you did the hard part for him.

He flushed at the sound of your feet pattering off your bed to echo through the shimmering walls towards him; he throat bobbed at the feel of your hand delicately winding round to finger at the Windsor knot choking his neck. He nearly cried out when you pressed your body flush against his back.

'My buttercup, if you keep pulling at that tie like that you'll have conked out before I've even got you to the bed.'

You could feel the desperation radiate off Sanji as he tilted his head back to try and watch you. Despite how tired he seemed, his dipping eyelashes roved almost hungrily over every aspect of you he could see, his hand coming up to slide over yours until you were bowered and anchored together in the storm.

'Well my honeyed heart', he almost made your breath hitch as he walked the two of you backwards, stopping only once the heavy weight of your bed swung against your knee pit. 'I suppose I'll just have to bring the bed to us.'

With a grunt that sounded suspiciously close to a puppy's whine, Sanji snapped you up within his arms and lifts you up to sit on the chained platform. Once you had regained your balance, you beckoned your pointer finger towards Sanji, and he nearly tripped over his own feet as he came stumbling towards you, dragged forwards as if yanked by an invisible leash tied around his ankles.

'God, I missed you today', your boyfriend muttered, grabbing onto your shirt and nearly crawling into your skin like a man possessed. As your head hit the linen lining of the swing, the man did his best not to collapse his full weight onto you when he came crushing down on top of your abdomen: the only thing holding him up being the point of his elbows that pin your arms in place, and the jut of his knees as they 'accidentally' fall between yours and slide them further... and further open. 'If Luffy has me make cook up one more medium-rare steak for him I'm going to throw myself headfirst into the ocean.'

You snorted, burrowing your nose into the soft mound of flesh underneath his earlobe. He shivered when you teasingly pursed your lips and blew against the shell, before latching on with your teeth and nipping at the squishy skin. 'If you do, don't worry. I'll make sure to fish you out with a frog net.'

'Frog net? Frog net!' Sanji slowly lowered his body to rest his forehead against the curve of skin just above your breasts, trying to stifle his smile. 'Oh, my wounded heart! I hope you're only saying that because you're going to give me a kiss.'

'Actually, it's because you're so slimy', you teased, poking your finger into his hip. His groan echoed into your bone as he pulled your waist tighter against him.

The starved man exhaled, his arms tightening around your waist; he was hiding himself away in your safety, trying to burrow himself underneath your skin like an ensnared goldcrest flying fruitlessly, dangerously, with harrowing hope for the propitious freedom wrought only by the sun.

Sanji made an incomprehensible gargle that sounded something vaguely along the lines of: 'Eye wansh kisch ewe so mphly.'

'What was that, buttercup?'

'I want to kiss you so badly', Sanji whimpered, his warm tears soaking through to your shoulders.

He was so soft. God always so soft, and as he lay before you now, you could almost imagine how sweet he must have been before his father cruelly tried to stifle it with cruel mockery and torturous punishments. So soft, so calm, so comforting, as he peered up at you with those wonderous eyes; his attention was always drawn back to you: so trusting, no matter what you said or did. Always. Just looking at you with this almost timeless intensity. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, to want to spend his whole life caught in the light of the most translunary being he’s ever met.

You stroked your palm through the tangling strands of hair by the nape of his neck, letting your voice fall to a whisper in order not to startle Sanji any further. 'Well, you are my sweet prince after all. You can kiss me whenever you want.'

The cook's reply was muffled by a swift knock against the doorframe.

'Hey, is everything okay? I'm hearing some weird noises coming from in here... are you guys in trouble? I know those Marines on Karushi Island were pretty annoyed when Y/n tossed them backwards over their butts-'

His perturbed question was met only by a deafening groan, followed by the pillow Sanji picked up and flung hitting the porthole window with a crashing PLASH.

Usopp flinched back, instinctively reaching towards his belt to run his fingers over the solid oak of his slingshot. 'Okay, be brave. Be brave, Captain Usopp. Your friends may be in danger! They may-'. Usopp's words quickly died on his tongue when he cautiously tip-toed open the door to the boy's quarters. In fact, his tongue nearly rolled out of his jaw as his lips slackened, blubbering like a pufferfish at the sight of Sanji almost draped across you. A half-naked Sanji.

He clapped his hands over his eyes, and nearly tossed himself over the edge of the ship with how rapidly his legs were wheeling themselves backwards. 'I'm so sorry you guys! I didn't know you were- well you were, you know- boinking in ther-.'

SLAM.

The swift silence that settled over the room should have been reassuring. Should have been. If only it hadn't been followed by the confused wails from the sharpshooter as he lolled out flat against the floor: the tip of his bandana scraping underneath the toe of Sanji's shoe where it was splayed out over the edge of the bed.

Sanji just sighed like a weary father, taking one hand off your cheek to slap it over his eyes with a curt shake.

'You snuggle up here and stay warm, sweetheart. I'll go get Chopper.'

Try Three: Luffy

At try three, Sanji was busy spending his spare two seconds trying to work up the nerve to just... leap across the room to where you were standing and kiss you silly.

'Okay', Sanji folded himself against the door and started counting distractedly on his fingers. 'I've given the Captain three plates of meat, so that should distract him for a little while: I've also hidden cookies along the deck, and stuffed a few mint infused lamb shanks in the Crow's Nest. Hopefully he'll go and bother moss head for a bit instead of annoying-'

A ringing crash made the two of you wince as your poor bedroom door got another battering; this time, the handle nearly cleft a hole clean in the wall as Luffy's leg came barging sandal first into the room.

He couldn't sleep... so your Captain had the fortuitous idea of seeking out the next best thing: hugs from you.

'Y/n, there you are! I ran out of meat, I need you to rub my tummy so I can nap! I tried asking Zoro, but he kicked me off the Crow's Nest!'

Before you could even open your mouth to protest, Luffy's stretchy arms have latched onto the edges of the door and he's flung himself into the room like a Hawaiian clad cannonball. Sadly, one that had been directly configured to launch into you: headfirst, nonetheless.

'Damn it Luffy - nO!'

A look of pure terror widened your eyes as you were skidded butt-first across the floor by a mop of curly black hair and a Cheshire grinning face. A crushing weight piled onto the side of your face, and despite how much Sanji curses and tries to detach Luffy's arm from your waist, your Captain's smushed face doesn't even lift an inch off your cheek.

'Oh, Sanji! You're here too! Even better!'

Then koala mode is activated, and Luffy's legs and arms come wrapping around you... and poor Sanji's like a cocoon. The helpless cook goes flying through the air like a contorted puppet blasted out of a wonky cannon.

Oblivious as always, your Captain settled down between the two of you for his pre-sleep nap, effectively trapping pining you and a love-struck Sanji a foot away from each other. Within a blink of an eye Luffy's head lolled onto your shoulder, and you frowned as you tried to shuffle away from the thin lines of drool that dripped out of his snoring mouth. As if he could sense you moving, Luffy's arms tightened like a vice around your waist, winding another few extra times around for good measure.

After a few minutes of wriggling, some muted swearing, and a lot of shoving the toe of his boot into the side of an unaware Luffy's shin, Sanji finally managed to wrangle his hand to snake around the rubber man's bellybutton so he could link his pinkie finger with yours.

Trying your best not to to block your nostril, you shuffled your cheek to the side until you could meet your boyfriend's sorrowful eye.

Despite your circumstance, all you did was smile.

God- that smile: bright enough to alight the dusk. As piercing and ruinous as pure golden sunlight. As devastating as the fresh warmth of a salt wind borne onto the stifling heat of a forgotten crag. And it makes everything in his life up to this moment worth something. Worth it all.

All the tortures in the world would be worth it to just link pinkies with you.

Try Four: Zoro

At try four, Sanji was one second away from hoisting his crewmates over his shoulder and flinging them overboard one by one.

There was something incredibly unsexy about banging your head against a pair of Zoro's sweaty hand weights, but as Sanji pounded you to the ground, neither of you seemed to be able to muster the nerve to care.

'Sanji', you moaned almost lewdly, tugging his back and silently willing him down to cage your body against the coarse, sweaty mat. 'More. Please. More.'

His cheeks burned an almost violent carmine, but he refused to break contact; only for one sole second did his skin leave yours, when he couldn't contain the gut-wrenching want within himself anymore and dared to brush the plush top of his lip against the side of your nose.

'I- I want-'

You pressed your cheeks firmly against his, willing Sanji to believe every sweet word that you couldn't stop from gushing out of your mouth.

You stopped, panting for breath. 'Tell me sweetie - tell me what you want. Let me hear you say it.'

His body squeezed around yours, the so usually syrupy sweet cook clenching his fingers into the meat of your spine like a savage animal shaken loose from its wrought iron chains: like an unbottled tempest with nowhere left to rage except over the bearing flames.

'Please! Please - hngg, I can't, I can't. I need you. I can't hold myself back any longer.' His words sounded so painful it sent a jolt of worry through your heart.

And yet when he pressed his nose flatly against your own, so forcefully crushing his own skin against your own it nearly left you gasping for breath, there was still such a sweetness in it. Despite it all, despite how strenuously Sanji was trying to hold back that final band of constraint from snapping, his first and foremost priority would always be your wellbeing.

'I'm sorry- I'm sorry my chérie, but I need to feel you more than I need air.'

The gasping, open mouth kiss he gave you was only repeated: crashing down again and again against your own, tongue slashing with ravenous hunger over your bottom lip and clumsily leaving wet stripes of warm saliva against your cheek as Sanji devoured you. The meek, almost pitiful whimpers as he ducked his head into the curve of your shoulder blade as he grinded himself against you, effectively trapping you between the ground and the clench of his quivering thighs marked the interludes of his feast. His lips trembled as he sighed blissfully, holding the tide back as his free hand sweetly ran its knuckles up the side of your leg, stopping only when his thumb was pressed closely enough to your inseam that he could run miniature circles underneath the growing wetness of your pants.

At the sound of your shaking moan, his front teeth dug in so tightly to his bottom lip that he drew blood.

It scared you. You wanted him to do it again.

'Sanji, I said more.'

The claw of his hand as he swiped at your shirt, not caring that he almost sent a tower of Zoro's sweaty old shirts flying in his own desperation to tug yours off was his only reply. The almost achingly gentle restrain as he placed his right hand against your hip and tried to hold you in place: tried to warn you that if he started, he wasn't sure if all his pent-up yearning would allow him to stop. The sweat nearly dripped across his furrowed eyes, caking the wispy strands of his fringe against his bucking forehead as he willed himself to calm down. His eyes stung, but despite your desperate clawing up towards his shoulders, he forced his breathing to settle.

But by all the seas... as he peeked one eyelid open and saw the line of tantalising skin grow wider down your rising breast, all semblance of self-restraint fled from the near drooling cook's brain.

The feel of Sanji's lips dragging down your neck to nip at your pulse point was interrupted by the sound of a quiet c-r-a-c-k.

You peeked your head, too far gone to swim fully out of your daze. With your arms still wrapped firmly around the wide expanse of Sanji's contracting back, you jutted your chin into the constellation line of freckles by his left shoulder blade. 'Did you hear something?'

'Just the sound of this', he smiled, smoothing his hand off your hip and sliding it underneath your buttocks. He gave you a firm squeeze that left your mouth dropping open in a shocked pant as he lifted you further up against his abdomen and pressed your breasts firmly against his pecs: he was effectively cupping you up against him like a clingy, very drenched, koala bear.

This time though, the sound of something splintering was far too egregious to ignore.

The force of the door handle slamming into the wall of the Crow's Nest nearly made the whole ship shake in revulsion; the cool air against your skin was nearly too much to bear, but the raging heat that sparked out from the looming shadow enveloping the door was enough to make your whole body break out in goose bumps.

'Can you two stop making out around the ship for two seconds.'

Sanji growled, whipping his head round to sulk at the ship's swordsman.

'Can you mind your own business for even one, Marimo?'

The former bounty hunter ostentatiously held a finger up by slowly raising it into air, and it took you a second to realise he’s pointedly showing Sanji his middle finger.

'Zoro, did you- did you just break the lock?'

'What's your problem? I left my gym towel in here.'

#one piece #one piece imagine #sanji #sanji imagine #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji imagine #vinsmoke sanji x reader #opla #opla imagine #zoro #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #luffy #nami #usopp

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portraitofalinkonfyre · 5 months ago

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Beating Heart

Pairing: Fierce Deity x Reader

Warning(s): None!

Notes: I was listening to "Beating Heart" by Ellie Goulding and "Breathe" by Michelle Branch on repeat while writing this. Feel free to consider this in the same universe as 'Knightmare In Toronto'.

Masterlist

The Fierce Deity's hair was long–almost too long than what you'd originally expected–and not nearly the unkept mess you thought it would be. The night was still young when he removed his long grey cap, stark strands flowing down his shoulders like a cooly-molten waterfall. The whole situation felt strangely intimate as you ran a hand through your own hair.

It is said hair holds memories, so what truths did his hold? Were they of battle? Of pain? Of love?

"You look surprised," the deity rumbled. His pupil less gaze offered a sort of gentle curiosity that you had become startlingly familiar with after the deer fiasco. "Why?"

"I thought your hair would be shorter," you answered honestly. "Not that there's anything bad about longer hair--"

"It is atypical," Fierce finished, eyeing you steadily from across the island, laden with ingredients. Baking had always been a comfort when sleep would not take you, though this was the first time you weren't alone with your thoughts in the silent kitchen, save for the grating scrapes as you mixed the dough with a fork. "I am in no need of coddling."

"I wasn't trying to," you dumped the chocolate chips in with more force than necessary. "Is long hair common where you come from?"

"It is neither common nor uncommon," the Fierce Deity's expression grew contemplative. "What of your world?"

"It's..." you hesitated before remember that he likely couldn't care less. "more common for men to have longer hair than it used to be, but most cut it."

"I see," your arm ached from all the mixing, but it was welcome. "Does it bother you?"

Your brow's furrowed. "That men cut their hair?" he nodded and you felt distinctly disappointed that he believed you cared of something so trivial. "Why would it? If I'm allowed to have my hair long, why shouldn't everyone else?"

The Fierce Deity inclined his head, gaze dropping to the bowl on the counter. You opened your mouth to ask if he liked chocolate, but the oven beeped shrilly and you rushed to scoop the cookies into the pan. As soon as the first batch was in, you yawned and slumped against the refrigerator. "I never did ask why you decided to come down, if you're in a sharing mood."

It was an honest question. He "slept" with the other boys in the guest room, yet somehow always knew when you scurried down to the kitchen to cook away the dark. You had nearly screamed the first time he walked in to inquire on whether the woods outside were your property (then disappeared for a worrying amount of time when you informed that yes, you owned more than fifty feet of fenced yard) but with habit brought comfort, and now it was hardly an inconvenience when he appeared behind you to... watch the cooking process? Daydream of war? You doubted you would ever figure out what was going on in that head of his, which was only mildly infuriating when he seemed to anticipate your every reaction.

"I do not know," was his honest answer to your honest question. "I am merely curious."

"...Of?"

Silence fell as the deity's eyes burned gentle, curious holes in you. You pushed yourself up and loaded the next tray with dough; it wouldn't do you any good to push this budding... whatever it was. Seconds later, the oven dinged in completion, and you laid the piping hot tray on the stove to cool. A delicious scent drifted forth from your creations, and it was surprising that nine more men weren't banging down the hallway for some. Though the cookies were still hot, you scooped up one with a spatula and offered it to him with a grin. "Want one?"

The Fierce Deity, forsaker of worlds and morals alike, took the offering with more delicacy than you thought him capable of, as if he was cradling a precious being rather than a misshapen blob of dough and chocolate. You took a cookie for yourself and began tucking in. Fierce, however, was motionless, staring intently at his hands.

"I do not understand you," he said, and you were inclined to say the same.

"You don't have to," you said through a mouthful of cookie. "You know what I don't understand? Why everything has to be understood."

"Knowledge is life," intoned the deity, though his tone held an air of hesitation. The cookie must have weighed a thousand pounds from how his hands seemed to tremble. "Without understanding, how are we to live?"

"You can live without understanding," you shot back. "I'm sure I'll never understand how you all ended up here, and don't you dare tell me this–" you gestured around you, expression firm and tone biting. "–isn't living."

The deity was silent, and your relief was more palpable than the chocolate on your tongue. You had no idea how or why you kept having these world-shattering conversations with Fierce, but it was a welcome break from the monotony of your life. Which is why you sighed, pinched your temples, and allowed your eyes to meet. "Listen, you don't have to have everything figured out, yanno? That's what Google is for."

It was a testament to the Fierce Deity's patience that you had made it this far with him, but maybe he didn't mind as much as your brain screamed he did. With bated breath, you watched him draw himself to full height, expression neutral. "Why do you defend ignorance?"

You snorted and helped yourself to another cookie. The others could kiss your ass. "I'm not defending it, I'm just saying that some knowledge is just as good as all knowledge. Aren't there things you wish you didn't know?"

"Every day," admitted the Fierce Deity, softening some. "I am a deity, I am born to discover."

"Then go discover," you shot him a small smile through a bite of cookie. "What are you waiting for?"

"I..." it was as if a switch had been flipped, and his expression grew despondent. For someone with no pupils, his eyes sure were expressive. "I do not know."

"Do you want to?"

"Excuse me?" He asked, unfounded and unbelieving.

"Do you want to discover?"

A beat passed.

"Yes."

Maybe it was the fact that it was two in the morning, or perhaps you were simply sick of surprises in life, but you grinned and gestured to the uneaten cookie in his large, battle-scarred hands. "Then I'd hope you find my baking worth discovering."

And the Fierce Deity did just that. You would forever remember the way his expression froze with the first bite he took; the cookie was gone before you managed to squeeze out another word, and it was just fine with you.

Wordlessly, you scraped another morsel from the pan and offered it forth. There was no hesitation from Fierce the second time around, and your hard work disappeared in two large bites.

It felt good to be right, you realized, but it felt even better to help.

"Better than deer, right?" You joked, already knowing the answer.

The deity nodded, looking just short of licking his fingers. You wouldn't have judged him either way. "You have skill," he said, and you almost fell over at the fact that an actual god had given you a direct compliment. "I have use for this skill."

You... had an idea of where this was going, so you shrugged and grabbed your cookbook, the pages stained from years of use and even more of love. "I was thinking... brownies next," you mused slowly, flipping to the correct page, the corners dotted with old batter, then turned your gaze to Fierce. "How about it?"

Though his face was no less stiff–an old habit, you presumed–you were quick to catch the upwards quirk of his pursed lips. With steps that seemed to shake the floor, he drew closer, practically caging you against the counter, expression going contemplative before shifting into something you could only describe as calculated mirth.

"I would like nothing more," the deity intoned softly, gaze fixed to yours. Though the air was thick with tension, you had never felt safer. It was strange, and it was expected; you had always known he wasn't the monster his looks portrayed him to be.

So, with a racing heart and flushed cheeks, you reached up to boop the tip of his nose. The deity blinked, and you could have laughed how quickly his face changed to one of surprise, never mind the fact that you were probably playing with fire at this point. "I'll teach you, but you're on high shelf duty!"

It was perfectly fair, he was over six and a half feet. With a chuckle, you ducked away to get more flour, throwing a cheeky grin over your shoulder at the starstruck deity. "Would you be a dear and grab some cacao powder?" He had seen you get it before, so you didn't bother telling him where it was.

It was almost funny how he seemed to scramble to get when you requested, but you held yourself back for fear of bruising his ego.

Sure, your kitchen looked like a terrible replica of the show Nailed It by the time dawn rolled around, and you discovered exactly why Fierce was a god of war, not gentle grip on bags of flour, but you had a feeling the journey would, and had already been, worth it.

I consumed an entire batch of chocolate chip cookies and wrote this, so please be gentle!

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #fierce deity x reader #loz fanfic #loz #fierce deity #fierce dadity

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

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Pleeeeeease write a childhood friends to lovers for Soap and a civvy!reader??? Maybe add a dash of domestic fluff? 💕 I love your writing more than anything 😫

—From Ten To Twenty & Beyond

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [You've known him ever since the incident on the playground, and now you can't help but imagine that same boy as you watch him make supper with flour in his hair.] ❞

You stifle your laugh on your hand, leaning back into the dining room chair as the Scot ahead of you swears up a storm.

“Hell’s fuckin’ bells!” He snaps, waving a hand over his mohawk as the spray of flour wafts on the airways. Your body makes a play to move forward to help—to salvage a new recipe that Johnny was trying to make for you. You could leave the cooking to him…but baking? No, no you think not.

Before you can stand fully, a wagging finger is leveled in front of your face, and a clicking tongue as a kiss is pressed into your forehead.

“Not a chance, Dearie. You get that perfect arse back into the chair.”

You laugh brightly at the hands on the side of your arms that place you back down like a doll. “Johnny, come on, let me help.”

Blue eyes narrow in hidden stubbornness.

“No way—I said I’d make you something, so that’s what I’m doin'. You sit there and watch,” he smirks. “I know how hard it is to not jump my bones, Little Lady, but I swear tonight I’m all yours—”

You smack the back of your hand into his pec, just above the slack form of the white apron you’d gotten him as a joke.

“Alright, you can leave now,” your voice meets his ears as he smirks, leaning down to press his lips on top of yours as you grumble. It wasn’t hard to return the kiss, an easy peck before he left back to the counter with flour still stuck into his dark strands.

You watch after as you hear his deep chuckles, rubbing at his scalp before sighing as he looks at the dough in one of his mother’s bowls. It had been more than a decade since you’d met him—that fateful day on the playground where he had run headlong into you by the swing set. A crash of skulls and a babbling of childish cries.

His hand had shown up right in front of yours moments later, pulling you up and wiping off your scraped palms even when he was still swaying on his feet. Those blue eyes.

Now, years later—a little cottage house in the middle of nowhere. A bright living room and a crackling fireplace. A kitchen filled with laughter and flour pooling to the floor.

It was the memories that lived in the wood and the stone; in the skin you two wore. And tonight, this was a celebration of more than ten years—a hope to more than twenty, thirty; as many as this world would give you. To beyond life and death, and everything in between.

You smile brightly, eyes a bit glassy as you see Johnny turn around with a fork in his hands.

“Now, if I were to ask how to properly—” he halts at the look in your eyes, concern snapping over his once smirking face. “...Dearie?”

You shake your head, grinning before you wave a hand. “I’m alright.”

Johnny puts down all of his things and begins walking over, but you beat him to it. You meet him halfway there and dig your arms around his waist, head pushing itself into his neck. Beneath his skin, he grunts and does the same—large hands hesitantly slipping around your shoulders as his biceps keep you anchored.

“What’s this about, then,” he asks, eyes looking down at you as your form squeezes him tightly. “Not that I’m complaining, see.”

You kiss his pulse, feeling his skin go a bit heated as he chuckles; eyes soft.

“Just let me hold you,” you peek, only to find him already watching you. Those same eyes close to yours. Foreheads connect and you giggle. “Flour and all.”

“Hm,” Johnny hums, breathing you down. “...Don’t need much convincing.”

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ivysangel · 11 months ago

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Honey clings to your fingers, viscous and sticky, stringing every time it touches itself. Lines of liquid gold run down the curves of your hand, streams of goopy liquid pooling in your palm and flowing down your wrist in a few collective lines. You plunge your thumb back into the honey pot, the thick substance clinging to your skin instantly, and you bring your hand back up again, the honey only stagnant for a second before it starts its descent down your arm.

A large hand, strong and veiny, grabs your wrist. An unrelenting grip bringing your hand forth to him. He presses your thumb to his lips, smearing the sweet substance to and fro, to the corners of his mouth and back, leaving translucent liquid behind when he catches your thumb between his teeth, grazing the appendage and scraping it clean. A guttural groan sounds in the back of his throat, and you know that means he likes it.

"'s good, huh?" you watch the way his eyes flutter as he lets the rest dissolve in his mouth, ecstasy written all over his features. An emotion he only exhibits when he's eating good food or fucking you. "Yeah, really good." His voice is hoarse as if the honey absorbed all moisture from his larynx and left him in need of a glass of water, ironic given its effectiveness in soothing sore throats. "Thirsty?" you hand him a cup filled with cucumber water, a palate cleanser. "Real sweet," he says before tipping his head back and downing the drink. "But I liked it. What's next?"

Your eyes peruse the board of half-eaten sweets and treats in front of you, searching for one that was untouched. The beech wood board, previously a nice light beige, is stained a multitude of colors. Splotches of deep reds and purple form puddles where you had put the berries, frosting is streaked across the entirety of the board from the multiple unfinished slices of cake, chocolate chips and sprinkles from cookies lay scattered on both the countertop and floor, spoons and forks that were only partially licked clean can still be found near their designated desserts. Cubes of angel food cake half-dipped in chocolate and tooth-rottingly sweet marshmallow squares sit on napkins, drying out more and more by the second while long-forgotten brownies soak up various fruity jellies and jams, having been discarded with no regard for keeping flavor profiles separate.

It was a nightmare to look at, an even bigger one to clean up, and if anyone else had been the cause of this mess, you wouldn't have even begun to entertain the idea of letting it get this bad, let alone cleaning it up. But it wasn't anyone else, wasn't just some random stranger; it was Jason, and to you, spending weeks curating the perfect Valentine's gift to satiate his sweet tooth was a testament to your love for him. Who cares if you have to break out the good cleaning supplies.

"Hmm," you do one last once over, nothing catching your eye that hadn't already been touched, "I don't think so." unintentionally, you start to clean up, collecting dirty forks and spoons for the dishwasher, stacking empty bowls on top of each other to toss in the sink. "What a shame," he mumbles, appearing beside you seemingly out of thin air and taking the utensils from your hands before setting them down haphazardly right where they started. You look at him with confusion, silently inquiring about his undoing of your work, and you open your mouth to verbally ask but are stopped by the wolfish grin adorning his face and the way he begins to lift the hem of your shirt up. "d'ya think we got anythin' else," he asks, moving in closer, eyes locked on you like a predator with prey. "I'm still hungry."

#happy valentines day from me to u #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x gn!reader #jason todd smut #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x gn!reader #red hood smut #red hood imagine #jason todd lover

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manias-wordcount · 7 months ago

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that jinx x reader was soooo cute!! u write her so well i’d love to see one where Jinx tries surprising reader with like breakfast in bed or something idk for a birthday or anniversary or whatever but she like accidentally burns it or drops it cue her feeling super sad but then u just get a sweet moment where reader is like “it’s ok it’s not ur fault ur not a jinx” and yall cook something together to make up for it

A Little Morning Mishap (Jinx x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗲𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗼!!!

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

Part of you knew this was coming. Right from the very beginning.

The day started too peacefully. The day was calm, and the mood was good. That’s a rarity for the two of you. That’s a rarity for her. Not that you mind the good days. You cherish them even. But you know with her past and her life now, good days are few and far between. So you were wary of a good start. You were wary of just how happy she seemed doing something she doesn’t ever try to do.

Cook.

Not because you’re worried about her. Not because you’re worried about what she could do to you. Not because you’re worried about what she’s capable of. But because you worry for her. She’s yours as much as you are hers after all.

So call it your intuition. Your special little quirk when it came to her. You just knew. You just knew it was coming. But you still flinched when you heard the crashing of plates and silverware coming from down the hall. And by the time you heard your partner suck in a stuttered breath and sink to her knees in defeat, you had already pulled on your slippers and grabbed the closest thing to a thick pair of gloves, and shoved them in your robe pocket.

Pushing open the door to your shared bedroom, you make a beeline to her. The sight before you is exactly what you expected it to be- no surprises often are a good thing. It doesn’t make your heart ache any less than it does now. Not one bit.

A tray turned upside down. A shattered glass- maybe two- that was at one point filled with juice. Broken pieces of ceramic plates and bowls and a mash of colors that was at one point breakfast for two. Dark brown pieces of toast by her knees. Scrambled eggs lumped together in disheveled piles. Small pieces of fruit dotted here and there. Some next to a fork. Some next to a knife. Some rolling, rolling, rolling along the ground. Staining the floor. Sitting in the dirt. To be thrown out. Uneatened. Cried over. Maybe even screamed over if you don’t play these next couple of moments very, very carefully. Nonetheless, it’s fate. A fate you predicted.

But a fate you wished you were wrong about. A fate you wished you knew nothing about.

“These were the ones that didn’t burn,”

That’s all she utters as you slowly approach her and crouch down in front of her. Her voice is barely above a whisper and just about as strong as a string. Her head hangs low, her shoulders sag, and her body looks seconds from going limp. She looks so small like this. So defeated. So sad. The big t-shirt she wears drowns out her frame. There’s a corner of it getting wet from the juice. A couple of strands of her blue hair, all wavy and pretty from being recently freed from its typical braid receive the same treatment. But she doesn’t make a move to get it out of the way. And you don’t either.

Instead, you get down on your knees in front of her. In the clearest spot you can find. You put the thick pair of winter socks that you grabbed earlier instead of gloves on your hands. And you start to push away broken pieces of glass and ceramic and food from immediately in front of her. Creating a path between the two of you do.

She doesn’t say anything while this happens. She never even looks up or tries to meet your eyes. And neither do you. Your apartment is silent except for the scrape of materials and food being pushed across the floor. And the occasional sniffle from your girlfriend, of course. But you don’t stop until it’s all out of the way. You don’t stop until you can finally and safely reach her.

And the second you do, you’re reaching for her. Just like she’s reaching for you.

In an instant, the two of you surge forward. And Jinx is just barely able to outweigh you in terms of strength as she manages to get to you first and throw her arms around you tightly. But you’re right there- right behind her as your arms cut across her torso and pull her impossibly closer to your body. She responds by burying her face into the crook of your neck, wetting it with tears as her nails dig into your pajamas. She shakes as she struggles to get words out. Intense feelings are bubbling inside of her.

You spend the next couple of minutes supplying her with soft encouraging words and forehead kisses. You tell her how much you adore her efforts. You tell her how you’re so thankful that you have her. That you have friends whose significant others wouldn’t even peel an orange for them. You tell her who cares if the food was burnt or on the floor. That you’re just thankful she isn’t hurt. That she has always and will always matter more to you than some sliced apple or cheesy eggs any chef in the world could make you.

And when all is said and done, the sniffles start to die down. Her grip starts to relax- at least a little. You know her well enough to know that she’s still not completely okay. There are still emotions stirring inside of her- making her sick with sadness and anger and tons of things you’ve never been able to explain despite all the days and nights you’ve spent by her side. But a few more forehead kisses are enough to coax her into standing up beside you. And a hand in hand is enough to lead her back into the kitchen with a promise that you’ll both deal with the mess on the floor later.

Because for now, you know the day can be salvaged. You think that as you both enter the kitchen- compete with the smoky smell of burnt food and unclean dishes out here and there. But you know that when she gives a timid, but determined nod in response to you asking if she would do the honor and be your assistant as you prepare one of her favorite dishes of yours for lunch.

The day can be salvaged. The world can be saved. Tears can be dried. Messes can be cleaned.

If you’re careful enough. If you’re caring enough. But it's her. It’s your Jinx. The girl you fell in love with. The woman you fall asleep with every night and wake up to every day. The person you want to be with for the rest of you. Of course, you’re going to be careful in this moment. Of course, you’re going to be caring in this moment. When have you not been? Because she’s yours as much as you are hers. And sure, that requires a little more than patience sometimes. But so does cooking.

And so does everything else in life.

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wzrd-wheezes · 7 months ago

Text

Coffee, Cake and a Gossip - James Potter x Reader

AN - this is entirely based off of a scenario where my boyfriend took me for coffee and cake so we could gossip.

warnings: mentions of alcohol briefly but that’s about it. james potter loving a gossip

Y/N pushed the scrambled eggs around with her fork as she spoke, her eyes trained on the fading pattern of the plate as the words tumbled out of her mouth.

“-And it’s just like, I don’t know, I don’t know how many more times I have to tell her before it gets through.” she huffed, setting her fork down with a clatter, “I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t want to hear me moaning about my friend drama again.”

James laughed, taking a slurp of coffee from his mug, “You’re not moaning, my love.” he smiled, “You’re just venting and, in the nicest way possible, I am loving the drama.”

Y/N chuckled, looking up for the first time in a good few minutes. James was sat, patient as ever, staring lovingly at her as she recounted the events from the previous night.

“Yeah, I know but it must be getting old now,” she smiled weakly, standing up. She crossed the kitchen to scrape her plate clean before setting it in the sink.

Light on his feet, James appeared behind her, his big arms wrapping around her shoulders, his chin resting on the top of her head. He pressed a kiss to her temple, one hand sliding down to rest on her waist. He pushed the fabric of her pyjama top upwards, forever a fiend for skin on skin contact.

“I have an idea.” he mumbled into her hair.

“Yeah?” Y/N hummed in response, sudsing up the sponge and beginning to wash the pots from that morning’s breakfast.

“How about we go and get ready, then we can drive to a cute little cafe somewhere and we can go for coffee, cake and a gossip.” he spun her around so that she was facing him, taking her soapy hands in his, “Then, you can tell me all about your friend drama because, to be honest, ever since you went out with them last night I’ve been dying to hear about what happened.”

“Really?” Y/N slipped her hands from his and wiped them dry on a tea towel that was tucked into a drawer, “You’re sure that you actually-”

“Baby. I cannot explain to you how much I would love to hear it. Besides, I’m a sucker for a little sweet treat.” He grinned, “Why don’t you go and get ready and I’ll finish cleaning up down here, yeah?”

James drove them to a café on the outskirts of their town. It was a quiet little place where sunlight streamed in through the windows and the walls were adorned with quirky paintings. Y/N went to find a table while James ordered. She found them a spot tucked away in the corner, two overstuffed armchairs and a small table between them.

Their coffee was served in mismatched mugs, steam rising from the surface as James set them down on the scrubbed wooden table. He disappeared for a moment and returned with two large slices of cake.

“I didn’t know which to get so I just got a slice of each and thought we could share.” he explained, hacking into a slice with his fork.

“Good thinking.” Y/N smiled, picking up the hot mug and clasping it in her hands.

“Okay. Coffee and sweet treats acquired… time to gossip.” he wiped the crumbs from his lips and turned to face her properly, giving her his full attention.

“So, obviously I haven’t seen the girls for a while, y’know, with us all working and whatnot,” Y/N began. She picked up a sugar cube from the bowl and dropped into into her coffee with a plop, “And I thought it would be nice for us all to go for a drink somewhere so I booked us in at this cute little wine bar in town.”

“Ooh, was it good? We should go there next date night.”

“It was so good! We get there and we all get our drinks and one of the girls says that Alice is running late and I’m like, ‘okay no worries’,” she stopped for a moment to take a bite of cake before continuing, “And you’ll never guess what…!”

“What?” James leaned forward in anticipation, his elbows resting on his knees.

“She turns up an hour late with Jackson.”

“She never!” James gasped, “But it was girls night!?”

“I know!” Y/N huffed. She swilled the coffee around in her mug before taking a swig.

“Wait.” James held a finger up, “Wasn’t Jackson the one that cheated on her?”

“Yes!”

“Wow.” James let out a bemused laugh, “No wonder you’re annoyed.”

“It’s just so frustrating.” Y/N sighed through a mouthful of spongecake, “No matter how many times we tell her he’s a piece of shit she won’t listen.”

“Well, not everyone can have boyfriends as lovely as yours.” James teased, slipping the last bite of cake onto her plate.

“Very true.”

“So, what did you say to her when Jackson turned up?”. he pressed, his eyes twinkling.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fluff #james potter fan fic #marauders

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 2 months ago

Text

The Hunger

Summary: During his time aboard the ship, rations slowly dwindle, and Ettore begins to feel that familiar call of violence | Word Count: 3k~ | Warnings: blood, gore, cannibalism(?), severe biting, murder, delusions, dubcon

A/N: Happy Halloween, here's my absolutely disgraceful offering for you 😂 I wanted to write something icky so bon appetite ig

Hunger makes a beast out of a man.

He knew the feeling well. The deep, primal surge of hunger in his gut. Had known it first, when he had been born, screaming and covered in blood and mucus. Had felt it every fucking day since he was old enough to reach the cupboards above the counter, rummaging through half-empty shelves and devouring a can of canned peaches that were four years out of date.

He can still taste them.

Even when he stabs his fork into his bowl, pulling out a glob of the tasteless mush. Dr Dibs lovingly branded them ‘nutrition packs’. It was food, yes, in the same way breathing recycled air was living. He swallowed it quickly, as if to bypass the taste entirely, but the acidity lingered on his tongue, and no matter how much he ate, he never felt full.

The dining area was silent but tense, as always. A few crew members sat scattered around the small room, picking at their own portions in dim, flickering light. No one spoke, barely even looked up. After months, years? Of the same routines, these were not people, just background noise.

He scraped the spoon across the bottom of the pack, pulling up the last bits, swallowing every fragment, his throat working hard to force it down. And still, nothing. No satisfaction, not even the illusion of it.

Across from him, a small man with wide eyes and a face pale as milk, was scraping his bowl slowly, methodically, taking tiny spoonfuls. Ettore’s gaze fell to the man’s bowl, then down to the faint smear of mush left in his own pack.

You’re starving, his mind whispered. Look at the others. They’re hoarding. Taking more than their share.

He closed his eyes, shaking off the thought, but the dull ache in his stomach throbbed and burned, relentless and needy.

The body adjusts. It always adjusts. Dibs had said once.

Something raw and restless tapped inside his mind. Relentless.

Perhaps it was the same hunger he had felt before. A dark urge to take, to control. Something weaker would do. The rules were written but not enforced, and it certainly wouldn’t take Dibs’ word to stop him from fucking who he wanted. He’d done it before. And he’d do it again a thousand times over.

Her cell was just a few doors down, set apart from the others. She was one of the few who didn’t recoil from him, who met his gaze without that wary flicker of fear in her eyes. She understood him, or perhaps she just didn’t care. Either way, she’d let him in before, and she would again.

“What do you want, Ettore?” Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but there was no resistance in it. She glanced over her shoulder before stepping aside, letting him in. “You know we’re not supposed to.”

And yet she lets me in, he smirks.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied her in the low light, the way she folded her arms over herself, wary but willing. Her eyes traced his face, maybe sensing something different in him tonight. He didn’t care. And she, as always, gave in to the pressure of his presence, letting him guide her back toward her bunk with quiet, easy compliance.

He let himself sink into it, feeling the softness of her skin, hoping that maybe this would fill the restless hollow clawing at his insides. He needed this, or at least he wanted to think he did. She breathed his name softly as he pressed his mouth to her shoulder, dragging his lips along the curve of her neck, his fingers digging into her hips with bruising intensity.

Perhaps the sight of her naked body under the blue light would be the balm to his tortured thoughts. He watched as her skin rippled and moulded under his palm, her breasts laid plump in his grip, her bare stomach, leading to that place between her thighs that he used to feel powerful.

She was always ready for him, even when he barged in like this. Fucking slut, he thought. She choked out a low moan, breathy and quiet when he slid into her, so easily it was like she yielded around him. Her insides were silky smooth, moulding to him like she was fucking made for him. But he never took his time to savour it. Ever. His hips slammed against hers, as if he wanted to come as soon as possible to not explore the possibility that he might actually like this. Like her.

But he didn’t want to come too soon. This hunger. It must be sated.

He kissed her neck, harder this time, his teeth grazing her skin, feeling the thin membrane give way under the pressure. She shifted under him, her fingers digging into his back, but she didn’t pull away. It only pushed him further, the taste of her skin. Salty, warm. Alive.

Without thinking, he bit down harder, pressing his teeth into her flesh, deeper until he felt her tense in pain and clench around his cock. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t stop him. The sensation of her skin breaking under his teeth sent a thrill through him, a dark satisfaction that made the hunger swell, feral and desperate, impossible to resist.

She shuddered, her breath ragged, and he could feel the way her pulse beat, quick and erratic, against his lips. He bit down again, harder this time, his teeth sinking in until he felt the soft give of muscle under her skin. She whimpered, her hands tensing against his shoulders, but she stayed still, letting him take what he wanted, even as his grip grew rougher. Surely this was no different to how they usually fucked. Right?

The hunger roared to life inside him, dark and consuming, urging him to go further, to take more. Each bite, each taste, only fed the fire burning in his core, and for the first time, he felt the hunger truly subside, consuming her in this brutal, primitive way. Her skin broke easily under his teeth, and he felt the rush of warmth on his tongue, a taste so sharp and vivid it made him shudder.

“Ettore,” she gasped, a tremor in her voice as she pushed weakly at his shoulders. “Stop.”

Her protests were soft, half-swallowed, and even as her hands pushed against him, it only fuelled the fierce, primal satisfaction that surged through him.

“Ettore, enough—” Her voice broke, louder this time, her body twisting beneath him, her hands pushing harder as fear crept into her gaze. “Stop. Please.”

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Her resistance was intoxicating.

Her hands clawed at his shoulders, her fingers slipping as she tried to push him off. He felt his balls tighten, his cock throb, and the blood pooling on his tongue.

“Ettore—stop!” Her voice broke, louder now, urgent. She braced her hands against him with all her strength and shoved, finally managing to wrench herself free, breaking his hold. The sudden force jolted him back, snapping him out of the consuming haze of hunger as she scrambled back on the bunk, her breathing fast and uneven.

They stared at each other in the dim light, her eyes wide with something between fear and disbelief. She reached up to touch the marks, her fingers coming away red, her lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his chest still heaving, the taste of her still lingering on his lips. He could feel the lingering pulse of his hunger, ebbing but not gone, and he realised with a sick, hollow certainty that he wouldn’t have stopped, couldn’t have stopped, if she hadn’t pushed him off.

“Get out.”

He wiped his mouth with his hand, pulling his sweats over his erection, still half-hard, denied his release. Lips pressed tightly together, he rose to the door, muttering under his breath.

“Bitch.”

As he stepped out into the dim corridor, the events of the night replayed in his mind. The hunger had eased, churned less in his stomach. From the fleeting intimacy, or from his morbid desire to feel her warm life essence on his tongue, coating his throat? He couldn’t be sure.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the doubt that clung to him. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. It was just a moment. Just a fleeting thrill.

But as he made his way to the common area the next morning, the atmosphere felt off. Tension crackled in the air like static electricity, palpable and unsettling. The rations were running low, and everyone was on edge, glancing at the dwindling supply with growing apprehension. They all knew it, the gnawing anxiety that settled in their stomachs like a stone.

Ettore sat alone at a table, pushing his cold, meagre breakfast around on his plate, his appetite evaporated.

And then it happened. A sharp scream echoed through the metal halls, cutting through the morning haze. Ettore’s heart raced as crew members sprang to their feet, faces paling. He felt a chill run down his spine, dread pooling in his stomach as he followed the crowd toward the source of the commotion.

Her body was sprawled across the metal floor. Lifeless and still. Not at all as he had known her the night before. Her neck was ripped open, fat and flesh splayed out for all to see, crimson pooling around her head, stark against the dull grey of the ship.

Ettore stepped closer, a part of him refusing to believe what he was seeing. The crowd around him whispered in hushed tones, but their words were drowned out by the roaring in his ears. No…

He could see the marks he had left on her neck, a stark contrast to the gaping wound that now marred her skin. The blood, so much blood, spilled out like a dark flower blooming across the metal floor. He felt sick, the world tilting on its axis. And yet a morbid curiosity prompted his eyes to linger.

The memory of their night together came flooding back, and he fought to recall the details. Did she really push me off?

Had it really been just a night of passion, or had he crossed a line he couldn’t remember?

Her body was swept away quickly. Dibs wanted to keep her death as quiet as possible. And yet whispers echoed in the halls. Driven perhaps by a desire to keep their minds off their rumbling stomach, growling with need.

As he lay awake that night, the darkness pressing down on him like a weight, he wondered if this was what madness felt like, a hunger he couldn’t satisfy, a shadowy doubt he couldn’t shake. And, somewhere in the void of his thoughts, an insidious question echoed, gnawing at him as hungrily as the emptiness in his stomach.

What if the hunger demanded more than food?

It was only one day, when rations were not served for breakfast. That people began to truly panic. People hoarded what they had. People stole others’ food. Fought for it.

But Ettore’s hunger had become a beast of its own. He tried to ignore it, tried to sleep it off, even rationed what little food he had left, but nothing seemed to touch the empty pit in his stomach.

He hated that his last resort for advice was Dibs. She was a doctor, yes, but at the same time she was an evil bitch, he thought. Not only had she once subjected the women to fertility experiments, until too many of them died, he suspected she was performing on others without telling them.

Could she have been slipping something into the water supply? Sedating them? It was possible.

He sighed, annoyed, as Dibs tightened the blood pressure monitor around his arm. "Something in particular bothering you?"

He rolled his eyes, "Dunno. Just feel out of it."

The machine growled to life, tightening around his arm. His eyes wandered over the many glass bottles of medicine that adorned her desk, documents alike. Morphine. Ketamine. Cortisol.

"Blood pressure is fine," she says dismissively, tugging the band off him, before turning back to her desk to pull some clear liquid into a syringe.

"I'll give you some sedative. Help you sleep."

He barely had time to protest before the needle was in his arm. The liquid cold as it entered his body. He hated that feeling. Right next to the feeling of powerlessness, feeling much like a doll Dibs was simply poking.

Days bled into each other, reality blurring at the edges as he drifted through the sterile corridors, his movements automatic, mechanical. The hunger grew sharper, more insistent, and with it, his thoughts began to fracture. It was as if his mind was breaking into pieces, each one lost in the vast, consuming darkness that filled his chest.

He’d catch flashes of things, brief, violent images that made his skin crawl, moments where he felt like a stranger in his own skin, his own mind a cage he couldn’t escape. Even sleep was no escape.

What had Dibs done to him.

He woke to find blood smeared across his hands, dried in crimson streaks along his forearms, staining the edges of his clothes. A sharp, metallic scent filled his nose, triggering a wave of nausea that clawed its way up his throat. Panic gripped him as he stumbled to his feet, breathing fast, frantically trying to wipe the blood away, as if erasing the evidence would erase whatever he’d done.

But it was no use. The blood was everywhere, staining his skin, his shirt, pooling in the creases of his hands like an accusation. His mind raced, trying to claw through the fragments of memory, but all he found were empty gaps, blank spaces where images should have been.

He’d killed them. Most of them, anyway.

Some, he remembered, had been quick, too quick, barely a struggle before he felt their pulse weaken beneath his grip. Others, he’d toyed with, feeling the thrill as they’d tried to escape, the flash of terror in their eyes when they realised what he was capable of. And with some, he’d torn into their flesh simply to feel the give, the soft, yielding texture between his teeth. He could almost taste them now, the salt of their blood, the way it seemed to dull the hunger… for a moment, at least.

The ship felt emptier, darker. And yet, in the silence, he could feel it, a faint rhythm, pulsing through the walls, in the floor, echoing in his ears like a heartbeat.

They’re still here, he thought, his senses sharpened, attuned to every slight vibration, every distant shuffle.

There were still some left, hiding somewhere in the ship, cowering in the corners he’d yet to search. He could almost smell their fear, a scent that made his stomach twist in anticipation, igniting the primal urge inside him.

He stepped out into the corridor, his fingers trailing along the walls, leaving smudges of blood streaked across the metal. The silence was thick, punctuated by the occasional flicker of a dying light overhead. Blood smeared at various points throughout the ship, evidence of his rampage, a streak on the wall here, a handprint there, a dark, sticky pool marking where one of them had tried to crawl away.

Then he turned a corner and stopped short, his gaze landing on a figure ahead. Dibs, standing there, her lab coat rumpled, smeared with her own traces of blood. She looked wild, frantic, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and desperation as she took in the sight of him.

“You,” he rasped, the hunger in his voice a guttural thing, raw and insatiable.

Dibs swallowed, and he could see her pulse racing beneath her skin. She raised her chin, forcing a calm she didn’t feel. “I… I can undo it, Ettore,” she said, her voice tight, wavering. “I can fix what’s been done to you.”

He stared at her half-lidded, the words barely registering, his vision tunnelling in on the way her pulse beat, fast and frantic, against the hollow of her throat. “Undo it?” he murmured, a twisted smile curling at his lips. The thought was laughable, absurd. Undo it? When he’d never felt more alive?

“The…the hunger. I heightened it. Amplified your instincts, your…your drive to survive. It was a mistake, I can still stop it, Ettore.” Her voice wavered, the words rushed as if she could force him to understand.

“I don’t want you to stop it.”

“Ettore, listen to me. This isn’t who you are,” she insisted, her tone strained, searching for a sliver of the man she thought she’d created. “You’re under a chemical influence, altered, manipulated to feel this way. You’re not in control–”

In a sudden, fluid motion, he surged forward, his hand closing around her throat, cutting her voice off mid-sentence. Her eyes widened, a flash of terror sparking in them, and for a moment, he watched the shock ripple over her face, the dawning horror of what was happening. Her fingers clawed at his hand, her grip weak, faltering as he tightened his hold.

Her body jerked in his grip, her breaths coming in desperate, shallow gasps as she tried to pull away, but he held her firm, feeling her pulse beat faster, thundering against his fingers.

“Control?” he murmured, a dark, mocking smile pulling at his lips. “I’ve never felt more in control.”

With a final, merciless twist of his hand, he silenced her, the life fading from her eyes as the last of her breaths slipped away, the crackle of her voice ringing low and primal. Her neck was snapped most unnaturally, blood gushing forth from the wound that cracked open like a peach, overripe.

The silence returned, cold and complete, settling over the corridor like a shroud. He released her, her body slumping lifelessly to the floor. The hunger, raw and consuming, coiled in his chest, easing but never fully sated.

A sharp, electric thrill buzzed through him, potent and addictive, his blood pounding hot and fierce beneath his skin. He savoured it, letting it pulse through him, letting himself feel it fully.

The hunger clawed at him still, restless and eager, and he felt a strange sense of clarity settle over him, sharper than anything he'd felt in weeks. It wasn’t about food. It wasn’t even about survival anymore.

It was about sport.

The hunger thrilled at the violence, at the way his pulse quickened with each ragged breath the victims fought for. This wasn’t just about survival. It was the power, the brutal thrill of watching them crumble under his hands.

He wanted to see the light fade from their eyes. The muscles relax into submission. As she had done.

There were still others hiding, he could feel it, like faint beacons, waiting to be found. Waiting to be hunted. He grinned, his mind sharp, focused. The hunger roared in approval, urging him forward, whispering that the game had only just begun. There was nowhere for them to go after all.

Hunger makes a beast out of a man.

...

@1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics @primonizzutto

@qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

#ettore imagine #ettore x reader #ettore #ettore smut #ettore high life #ettore x ofc #high life fanfiction #high life 2018 #high life movie #ettore fanfic #ettore fanfiction #ettore angst #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #ettore x female

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anonymous-dentist · 4 months ago

Text

Part Ten of the Catboy in the Village AU

Part One | Part Nine

The queen breaks the news to them at the breakfast table as soon as she's finished eating. She wipes her mouth daintily with a napkin, pushes her empty bowl away from her, snaps her fingers, and smiles as a guard pulls out a familiar-looking envelope from beneath his cloak and hands it to her.

Roier almost coughs up his eggs. His eyes go wide and his fork scrapes against his plate and he stops breathing and he suddenly breathes too hard while chewing and he doubles over and covers his mouth to keep himself from spitting his food up in shock.

Cellbit immediately drops his own silverware and raises a hand to rub Roier's back. Roier shrugs him off, getting himself under control pretty quickly, but Cellbit's hand remains on his back, and Roier lets it stay there.

Slowly, the queen opens the envelope; its seal has already been broken. She makes direct eye contact as she does so, her face perfectly flat.

That's Roier's handwriting on the envelope. And inside is the princess' notebook paper with a message written in Cellbit's messy scrawl. The message was coded, and the address was encrypted, so there shouldn't be anything to worry about.

...Right?

Unless-

The queen clears her throat, raises the letter so that she's looking at it, and reads: "'As someone experienced with the culinary nuances of human flesh, I have decided that it's absolute dogshit when cooked. I prefer to taste the blood, as it adds a bit of spice to what would otherwise be pretty bland.'"

Her nose wrinkles, her entire face screwing up in disgust. Good. Just as planned.

"'However'," she continues, "'I have discovered the value in different types of meats. Bear meat is still my favorite, but I have grown to like rabbit meat as of recent. Something about it reminds me of my childhood, I'm sure you know why. The taste of cooked rabbit paints a picture of warfare and bloodshed, and the nostalgia makes it taste even sweeter.

'Rabbit cooked in a mushroom sauce is better than you'd imagine, though I know that we both can't really do mushrooms anymore.

'Try it out and let me know how you like it. Was it good? Bad? I can adjust the recipe.'"

Lowering the letter, the queen folds it up and calmly places it on the table in front of her.

Cellbit glances at Roier out of the corner of his eye.

Roier just smiles, closed-mouthed, and gets himself another forkful of egg. The way he's holding his fork, though, and his knife is... dangerous. He's ready.

And then the queen smiles, leaning back in her seat with her hands clasped in her lap.

Cellbit picks up his fork and holds it just a bit too tightly. His knuckles go white.

Suddenly, the queen stands from her chair and picks up her bowl and chucks it clear across the table with a screamed, "What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

Cellbit yelps and falls to the side out of his chair, hand on his head to keep his hat on, the bowl whiffing past his face so close that bits of berries drag across his cheek and leave a mark behind.

He tries to get back up, but he's stopped by a guard rushing forward and putting a heavy armored foot on his back. He hisses and struggles and squirms, ears laying flat under his hat.

He fights twice as hard as he hears Roier shout. His head whips to the side just in time to watch Roier get manhandled out of his chair and forced to drop his makeshift weapons, his arms getting pinned behind his back by four entire armored guards.

"You attacked my daughter?" the queen demands.

On the floor, Cellbit can't see anything of her but her feet as she gets out of her chair and storms over to their side of the table.

Cellbit bares his teeth as she approaches. She does the same in return, ears twitching angrily.

"It was just a little blackmail," he taunts.

"She is a child!" she snaps.

"Yes, and?" Roier asks. "So what?"

Her gaze snaps towards him, and her face darkens.

"You," she spits.

A second guard has to run over and pin Cellbit as the queen storms towards Roier and slaps him across the face loud enough to echo throughout the room.

Roier just blinks and takes it. The side of his face is red and angry, and Cellbit feels red and angry.

"She cried because of you," the queen lowly says, body shaking in anger. "Did you really think that she would keep this from me?"

Roier shrugs. "I mean... yeah?"

Cellbit accidentally lets out a pained yowl as the second guard on him digs their armor into an older wound on his lower back, one that never really healed after prison.

For whatever reason, the queen turns her head to glare at the guard.

"What are you doing?" she huffs. "Don't hurt him."

Cellbit blinks up at her in disbelief. "You just threw a bowl at me!"

"And you have a thick skull. It wouldn't have hurt you."

At that, Cellbit starts struggling even harder. He used to be able to fight off an entire gang of men at once, what happened? How are two people holding him down like this?

"Kids lie," Roier loudly says, trying to bring the attention back to him, the idiot. "Kids suck!"

And it works. The queen turns back to him, face slowly reddening.

"Empanada is an angel," she says.

"She's a fucking stalker!" Cellbit argues, trying to bring the attention back to him. "And you're making her do it. So what does that make you?"

And it works. The queen turns back to him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"What?" she asks.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on. She's been following me for weeks. Basically since we got here! Because you're making her."

He scoffs, "Child labor, really? Even I don't make my kids help in the store."

"I do," Roier comments.

Cellbit nods. "He does. But I don't, and I'm the cannibal here, so..."

The queen just shakes her head. "No... what? First, you aren't, and, second, I haven't told her to do anything but stay away from you, and-"

"Okay, fuck you," he interrupts, "I am a cannibal. Didn't you read the letter?"

"Yes, and that's how I know you're lying. But listen, I haven't told Empanada to do anything to you!"

"Yeah," Roier agrees, "except follow us!"

"Invisible," Cellbit adds. "And her potions aren't even properly mixed! Do you know how dangerous that can be? She's going to wake up dead one of these days, and it's going to be all your fault."

The queen groans and puts her face in her hands. She breathes, shoulders rising and falling dramatic with every breath.

"I told her to stay away from the cauldron," she murmurs, so quiet that it's likely that nobody but Cellbit can hear her. "She's too short. She hates the smells. She can't reach. What the fuck?"

Sensing a weak moment, Cellbit smirks and says, "I knew you think I'm the wrong person."

Lowering her hands, the queen frowns and asks, "What?"

He shrugs. "Why else would you be hiding your daughter, a-k-a my niece, from me unless you think I'm the wrong guy. If I'm supposed to be her long-lost uncle, wouldn't you have introduced me to her immediately? Unless you don't trust me, because you think I'm not your brother, because I'm not your brother."

Roier 'OOOOOOOOOH!'s. As does one of the guards holding him, who gets shut up immediately by another guard.

The queen just stares. She stares for a long moment before sighing and saying, "My daughter asked me to keep you away from her. She said that she didn't want to get cooties."

Roier blinks. "What the fuck is a cooties?"

The queen waves her hand dismissively. "It's a girl thing, you wouldn't get it. But-"

Cellbit cuts her off with a shake of his head: "No, no. She told us that you told her to stay away from us. We aren't supposed to know that she exists. Because you wanted her to spy on me!"

"Why would I want her to do that?" The queen throws her arms into the air in frustration. "Why would I even spy on you? I did that before you even came here!"

"Aha!" Cellbit shouts, wiggling an arm free so he can point at her. "You did spy on me!"

"And you still are!" Roier accuses. "You stole our mail, what the fuck?"

The queen rolls her eyes. "Because you blackmailed my daughter? If you wanted to send a letter, you could have asked."

"Uh, and then what?" Cellbit sneers. "You follow it until it gets to the other person and you kidnap them, too?"

"Oh, I don't need to follow it to do that," the queen simply replies.

She smirks slightly, arms crossing as she leans back against the table.

"Who do you think taught you encryption in the first place?" she asks. "And your code sucked. The cannibalism was a good distraction, but it was too ridiculous. Searching your home weeks ago showed that your youngest child's favorite animal is the rabbit and your other child likes cows. Your children were growing mushrooms in a window garden. There were art supplies throughout the apartment. It was all obvious."

Cellbit's heart clenches.

The queen just smiles.

Her attention quickly moves away from him, though, as a messenger runs into the room out of breath.

"An update, your highness," the messenger wheezes. "The team has completed its search of Mr. Halo's home."

Roier freezes.

Cellbit stops breathing.

No.

"And?" the queen asks, frowning.

After a moment, the messenger answers:

"There are no signs of the children there. Evidence shows that they had never even arrived."

Roier's knees buckle beneath him. The guards holding him all shout and rush to keep him upright as he faints in their arms.

The queen raises a hand to her mouth in shock. She immediately turns to Cellbit, pale, but he doesn't see her. Not really.

He stares blankly into the space ahead of him as the queen drops to her knees by his side and talks. He doesn't hear a thing besides the beating of his own heart.

They had never even arrived.

#a.d.'s fics i suppose #a.d.'s fics i suppose.#catboy in the village au

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ms-demeanor · 1 year ago

Text

Huh. Realized I made a soup from leftovers that would make a pretty decent beginner soup.

Leftover Turkey Pot Pie Soup

The goal of this soup is to be (relatively) quick and easy to prepare and to make use out of leftover poultry. It relies pretty heavily on pre-made ingredients (though you can make those ingredients yourself if you want to)

Ingredients:

Pre-cooked turkey or chicken (one large turkey breast, two medium chicken breasts). You can use leftovers, a grocery store rotisserie chicken, or, optionally, uncooked frozen chicken breasts or thighs. The poultry should not be breaded and the skin should be removed; if you are using uncooked frozen poultry you may want to taste more carefully and make sure to season sufficiently.

64oz poultry or vegetable stock (I used the stock I made out of turkey carcasses and my stock bags of kitchen trimmings from the freezer, but store bought is fine) (if you do not want to or cannot use stock, you can also just use water but you will likely have to add more spices and I would recommend adding one extra carrot and one extra onion)

3tbsp Cooking oil (can be olive oil or canola oil or butter - use what you've got handy and what tastes good to you, you don't have to buy something special for this)

1 cup of frozen peas

2 large carrots coarsely chopped

2 large onions coarsely chopped

3 tbsp cooking starch (most people use corn starch, I use potato starch because of food allergies. Any neutrally flavored starch is fine, but do not use flour).

1/2 cup milk/half and half/cream (you can use a combination or just one of these, it depends on what's in your kitchen and what taste you prefer)

Poultry seasoning (pre-made mix; alternately you can add sage, rosemary, and marjoram to taste. I added poultry seasoning then added extra sage and rosemary)

Salt

Black pepper

Paprika

Garlic powder

3 Bay Leaves

1tsp dried Parsley

Tools:

4-6 quart stock pot with a close-fitting lid

Chef's knife (for chopping vegetables and poultry)

Cutting board

Large cooking spoon

Small bowl

Fork or small whisk

Before you cook:

Read the entire recipe and check that you have all the tools and ingredients listed in your kitchen and ready for use.

Prep your kitchen - make sure there's room in the trash can, that the sink is clear of dishes, and that there is a burner on the stove clear for your pot. Designate a space close to the stove as your working area and set your cutting board there so you can easily transfer from your cutting board to the pot.

Gather your ingredients - make sure that you've got all the tools and ingredients listed. If you want to, you can take the time to measure out everything at this stage and have it ready to go in the pot.

Prep your ingredients - wash and chop your carrots, peel and chop your onions. Remove the skin from your poultry (if frozen, set the poultry aside, you will do something slightly different) and chop into bite-sized pieces.

Cooking Instructions:

Turn the heat on your stove to medium and warm the oil up in the bottom of the pan. Once it is shimmering and flowing easily, add the chopped carrots and onions to the pan.

Add a small amount of each of your seasonings to the pot - no more than half a teaspoon of each at this stage - and stir them in with the vegetables.

Stirring continuously, heat the vegetables and spices until the onions are softened and translucent.

If you are using pre-cooked poultry, add it to the pot and stir it in with the vegetables and spices (if you are using raw frozen poultry, don't add it to the pot yet). Add in the frozen peas at this point.

Add your broth or stock to the pot and stir, using your spoon to scrape the bottom of the pot to make sure nothing is sticking to the bottom. Add the bay leaves to your pot. Increase the heat to high and watch the pot until it comes to a boil.

If you are using raw frozen poultry, NOW add the frozen meat (whole breasts or thighs still frozen) to the pot and bring to a boil. For raw frozen poultry ONLY keep the pot covered at a boil for thirty minutes, watching to make sure it doesn't boil over. Once the poultry has cooked for thirty minutes, use your spoon to remove the pieces from the pot and set them on your cutting board, then cut them into bite-sized pieces. Instructions are the same regardless of what meat you're using after this step.

Once the previous steps are finished, reduce the heat to a low simmer and cover the pot. Let simmer for half an hour.

Taste the soup and add spices and seasonings as needed. You will probably want to add more salt first, half a teaspoon at a time. Add in your salt then stir and simmer for five minutes before tasting again. Repeat as needed, adding spices in small amounts to adjust the flavor as you go.

Once the flavor is close to right, mix the milk and the starch in a small bowl, whisking thoroughly to ensure that there are no lumps. Gradually add the starch slurry to the soup a few tablespoons at a time. Stir between increments, checking for thickness. When the soup is at the desired thickness (should be quite thick, like what you would find inside of a pot pie) taste test the soup and adjust spices as needed.

Add parsley and do a final taste test, simmer for five minutes before serving.

If you want, you can let the soup cool and fill a pre-made pie crust with it (top and bottom crust, making sure to leave holes for venting) then bake in a 400 degree Fahrenheit oven for 40 minutes or until the crust is golden brown.

For the slurry, I like to use 2:1 liquid to starch when mixing an use half and half for the slurry but add a couple of tablespoons of heavy cream after the soup has started to thicken; this is totally optional and if you just go based on what's in the recipe you should be fine.

How to make homemade stock, if you want to:

as you cook over the course of several weeks, gather things like onion tops, the ends of tomatoes, wilty celery, and whatever other safe-to-eat but unpleasant vegetable trimmings you've got and add them to a 1-gallon freezer bag.

Keep the bag in the freezer and add stuff until the bag is full. Once it's full, or if you happen to have a chicken or turkey carcass and a mostly-full bag, add the frozen trimmings and any meat trimmings or carcasses you have to a large stock pot (at least a two gallon pot).

Add in a few cloves of garlic and a few bay leaves

Add in water until the vegetables and trimmings are completely covered.

Bring to a boil.

Reduce heat and let simmer for a minimum of two hours.

Turn off the heat and let cool

Spoon or strain out the solids - one way to do this is to pour from the pot into a collander and into another large pot. You can also use a slotted spoon or a strainer or ladle out the liquid from the stock pot, but you want to discard the solids and keep the liquids.

Skim excess or undesired fat off of the stock and discard.

Ladle or pour the stock into containers for storage. I like to use cleaned salsa jars and leave about 20% of the space in the jar free, then freeze the stock in jars so I can use it whenever I want to.

If you aren't freezing the stock, use it within two weeks.

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inquisimer · 1 month ago

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[EAT] Sender brings receiver food while they're focused on another task. for the platonic intimacy prompts?

thank you for the prompt!! treated myself to some tooth-rotting fluff with this one :3

Arlow de Riva/Lucanis | 799 words | send me a prompt request!

Her room smelled like garlic and paprika when she opened her eyes. Solas’ warnings and advice itched like a persistent rash under her skin, but she smiled as the familiar aroma permeated her senses. She rolled her neck and a gentle caress found her shoulders.

“There you are,” Lucanis murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her head. “Have a nice nap?”

Arlow grimaced. “I don’t know about nice. Informative, I suppose. Helpful, maybe.”

“Information is good. We can sort it out with the team later. But first—“ he tugged on her shoulder, pulling her up to the chaise. Her knees groaned with relief as they left the stone floor. She was never sure exactly how long her liaisons with Solas lasted in the real world—judging by the stiff ache of her muscles, this one had stretched beyond the scant minutes they’d spent trading barbs.

Long enough for Lucanis to make rice, in fact. He pressed a bowl into her hands and she leaned sideways against the back of the chaise, stretching her feet out into his lap and humming contentedly.

“You didn’t have to cook for me,” she said, breathing in the fragrant steam and smiling as she dug in. It smelled like home. If she closed her eyes, and ignored absolutely everything else, they might be enjoying this on a balcony overlooking Treviso’s market.

His thumb rubbed idle circles against her ankle. “On the contrary, after seeing the state of the kitchen when I arrived, it might be considered a crime if I left you to fend for yourself. But I did cook for everyone, technically. As I always do.”

“Is that so?” Arlow smirked as she chewed. “And is everyone partial to cayenne and parsley and a crispy crust on their rice?”

“I did not hear them complaining.”

“Oh, I’m sure Davrin was complaining. He handles spice worse than a Fereldan.”

Lucanis smirked. “If he was, I could not hear it across the courtyard.”

“Have you been here the whole… however long I was out?”

“Of course.”

Arlow scraped her fork against the bottom of her bowl, turning the rice over on itself. “You don’t have to do that either, you know.”

His fingers stilled against her skin. “Does it bother you?”

“No, of course not.” She frowned. “I just… don’t want you to feel obligated, if there’s something else you’d rather do, or something else you’d rather make, or—“

Lucanis chuckled, shaking his head, and Arlow huffed around another bite of rice. She just didn’t want to be a burden. But she didn’t want to say that she didn’t want him to take care of her (because she did), and she didn’t want to imply that he couldn’t make his own decisions (obviously he could). She just knew the kind of reciprocity the Crows taught, and wanted him to know that she did not expect him to care for her at the expense of himself.

“Mi vida, is it a hardship for you to watch my back in battle? To cradle my head and watch for nightmares?”

“No, but—“

“Then why would it be any different for me?” He slid his hand up her leg, held it palm up until she laid hers on it and he laced their fingers together. “I do not care for you because I feel I must. Loving you is not an obligation, amor, it is a privilege, and a pleasure.”

Her chest seized, as it always did when he spoke in poetry as if it were the most casual observation of the weather.

“Besides,” he said, taking a mouthful of rice for himself, “do you think I’d hear the end of it from Viago if I let you go on speaking with the elven god in your head without some sort of guard?”

Lucanis laughed at the face she made. “Ideally, he’ll never know about that.”

“You haven’t told him?”

“No.” She pointed her fork at him emphatically. “And you’re not going to either.”

“Oh, certainly not. When he inevitably finds out, I’ll be claiming ignorance.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Arlow grumbled catching the last grains of rice in her fork. With her belly full, she did feel better prepared, mentally, to handle whatever objections or off-the-cuff commentary her companions had about Solas’ latest suggestions. “Viago’s yet to see that as an acceptable excuse for me, so I’ll see you in the Fade anyhow.”

Lucanis tugged her empty bowl from her hands and set it aside with his own. He nudged her knees up to her chest so that he could settle closer to her on the chaise, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her snug under his chin. He brushed a kiss over her crown.

“If that’s where you are, I would be nowhere else.”

#my writing #oc: arlow de riva #rookanis #rook x lucanis #arlow x lucanis #da4 #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #lucanis dellamorte #veilguard spoilers #dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #they're SOMFT your honor #dragon age

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corroded-hellfire · 2 years ago

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I just gotta know in As You Wish, when reader and Eddie are finally together. Are Ryan and Luke were the type of kids that was like "I want a baby brother/sister!" or they didn't want another sibling or they were very neutral about it.

Ooooh boy @munson-blurbs and I had so much fun with this! Yeah, yeah, Eddie and reader are the main focus in AYW, but I think we can all admit that Ryan and Luke are the real stars. I hope you all enjoy this blurb about this little family!

Words: 1.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Boys, dinner!” you call down the hall. Making sure all the burners on the stove are turned off, you wipe your hands on a towel before bringing some of the food to the table.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d attribute the thunderous footsteps to a herd of wildebeests, rather than nine- and seven-year-old boys.

“Jesus, guys,” Eddie says, setting a bowl of green beans down on the table. “The whole apartment complex doesn’t need to hear you running around.”

“Sorry,” Ryan says sheepishly, while Luke just continues to jump up-and-down.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, “sit down before you get us evicted.”

Luke furrows his tiny eyebrows. “What’s ‘victed?”

“It means we get kicked out,” his older brother explains, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Live on the street and fend for ourselves, fighting off raccoons for food–”

“Ryan, enough,” Eddie warns, watching fear creep into his younger son’s face. “No one’s getting evicted.” Secretly, he’s warmed inside, knowing that his son has no idea what the word is. That means that he’s never come home to a red-stamped notice on the door, something Eddie was all-too familiar with as a child.

“Come on, you three,” you say, eyeing the Munson men. “Dinner is going to get cold.”

Eddie presses a kiss to the top of your head before he takes his seat next to you. “Looks good, baby.”

“Tastes good,” Luke says through a mouthful of mashed potatoes that he’s already shoved into his mouth.

Rolling your eyes, you swat him with your napkin before filling your own plate with food. Once everyone’s plates are full and the only sound in the small dining room is the sound of cutlery scraping against the dishes, Luke nudges Ryan underneath the table. Ryan pushes him back, thinking at first that his little brother is just trying to be annoying. But after Luke nudges him harder, Ryan looks at him and deciphers the way the seven-year-old is raising his eyebrows at him.

“Oh,” Ryan says before clearing his throat. Both you and Eddie look up at him as he straightens in his seat. “Luke and I have been talking.”

“That so?” Eddie asks, swallowing his bite of food.

“Yes,” Luke responds before looking to his older brother.

“We have a request,” Ryan says.

“And what’s that?” you ask. Mischief dances in your eyes as you glance over at your boyfriend, seeing the same curious and amused gleam in his eye. Eddie raises his glass to his lips and takes a sip to try and hide his smile.

“So, when two people love each other—” Ryan starts. Eddie arches an eyebrow, wondering where the hell his son is going with this before Luke cuts to the chase.

“We want a baby brother or sister!”

Eddie chokes on his water and you bite your tongue as you chew on your food. Coughing, Eddie sets his glass down, and you let your knife and fork fall to the table.

“I’m sorry, what?” you ask.

“We want you and daddy to have a baby together,” Luke repeats, as though there was an actual miscommunication the first time he made his request.

“Yeah, buddy, we got it,” Eddie mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s trying to process what’s happening while stifling a laugh. “That’s kind of a big ask, you guys. A baby is a huge responsibility.”

Both boys pout, their mouths resembling Eddie’s when he’s disappointed. It’s almost uncanny. “But we can help feed it, and change it, and take it for walks,” Luke whines.

“It’s not a dog,” Ryan chimes in with an exasperated huff, as if to say, do you believe this amateur? “But we will help out a lot. We can be like built-in babysitters.”

“Well,” Eddie manages after a few moments, “she’d be doing all the heavy lifting. Gotta get her seal of approval.” He nods in your direction, a shit-eating grin on his face. It’s quickly wiped away when you glare at him.

“I’m just waiting for me and your dad to get married,” you shrug, keeping your tone as casual as possible. “Once that happens, then we’ll have a baby.” You watch your boyfriend’s face blanch. Jackpot.

“Okay, so marry her already!” Luke shouts at his dad, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, Eddie,” you tease, “marry me already!” You reach over and squeeze his hand. “Look how sad and lonely my finger is without a ring.”

Eddie runs his free hand through his hair, glancing at the glass of water in front of him. “I need something stronger than this,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear him. He takes a large gulp of the water anyway before setting the glass down and turning suspicious eyes on his eldest son. “Before, what were you going to say? ‘When two people love each other’…they what?”

“They make a baby,” Ryan says simply. Eddie’s glad his hand is no longer around the glass, or it may have shattered in his grip. His large brown eyes become even bigger as he stares at the nine-year-old. You’re doing your best not to laugh at your boyfriend’s bewildered expression.

“Where the hell did you learn that?” Eddie asks.

“School,” Ryan admits with a shrug.

“Babies have to be made?” Luke asks, eyes bugging out of his head. Eddie looks like he’s about to have an embolism as he runs his hands over his face. God, his father hopes that all Luke’s imagining is babies being made in a factory somewhere that also makes Hot Wheels and his favorite breakfast cereal.

“Yeah. So, what happens is when the man—” Ryan starts.

“The point is,” Eddie shouts, both drowning out Ryan and drawing their attention back to him. “After we get married, then there can be a baby.”

“If you get married right now, we could get a baby tomorrow,” Luke muses, earning another irritating glance from Ryan.

“Babies take, like, nine months to grow,” Ryan says.

“But that’s forever!” Luke groans, resting his head against his chair, sitting back up with a confused look on his face. “Wait, how do you even make a baby?”

“Okay, that’s enough, thank you!” Eddie interrupts, face beet-red at the mention of baby-making. “Can you two please go play or do homework or frolic in a meadow? I don’t know, just get outta here.” He ruffles their hair lovingly as they race off to Ryan’s bedroom, already arguing over what Lego set to build.

“So,” you whisper, snaking your arms around his waist, “you need a drink to talk about marrying me?” You press a kiss to his lips and smile.

Eddie holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Nah,” he laughs. “I’d just like to ask without the kids badgering me. Not the romantic proposal I had in mind.”

Your eyebrows fly up in surprise. “You have a romantic proposal in mind?”

“What’s that, Luke?” Eddie calls out, trying to maneuver his way out of spoiling anything. “You need my help?”

“We didn’t say anything, Dad!” Ryan yells back.

Closing his eyes and taking a calming breath, Eddie hears you giggle at Ryan’s damning reply. “Wasn’t talking to you, Ryan. I definitely heard Luke calling me.”

Now, it's Luke who chimes up. “Daddy, I—”

“Need me, yes I know!” Eddie calls, making his voice louder than normal to drown out any protests the boys might make. He presses a kiss to your lips. “Gotta see what the knuckleheads need.”

“How do the three of you always manage to get out of clearing the table?” you murmur to yourself as you begin picking up finished plates.

Eddie heads down the hallway, but before he can get to the boys’ rooms, he turns into your shared bedroom and closes the door behind him. Locking it for extra precaution, he opens the closet and rummages around in the pockets of an old pair of jeans hanging in the back. His fingers land on the velvet box and he pulls it out. Stepping away from the closet and turning to face the light, he pops open the lid of the black velvet jewelry box. The shining silver engagement ring sits nestled in its pretty little pillow, the diamond catching the light coming in through the window and glinting around the room.

“Hmm, now that they’re on to me, maybe I need to find a better hiding spot.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #older!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #request #AYW #AYWS

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