#LETS START ROASTING THE CHESTNUTS

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊꙳ ͙͛ ❆*̩̩͙‧͙ HAPPY FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS!!! ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

[oldsoul007]

kiss me

nicholas chavez x reader

summary: is it a coincidence that nicholas and y/n keep running into each other during the busiest time of the year

a/n: I know it’s unrealistic, just let me live

Nicholas and I’s first encounter in New York during Christmas was anything but a meet-cute.

The city was buzzing with festive energy, lights twinkling everywhere, and crowds bustling about. I was juggling a bunch of shopping bags and a hot chocolate, trying to navigate through the sea of people at Rockefeller Center. Suddenly, I collided with a guy carrying a huge Christmas tree.

My hot chocolate went flying, splashing all over his coat, and my bags scattered across the pavement. His tree toppled over, almost hitting a group of carolers. We both stood there, stunned and embarrassed. I quickly started picking up my bags, apologizing profusely. "I'm so sorry!" I said, glancing at the mess and his stained coat.

He bent down to help, saying, "No, it's my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going." Our hands brushed as we reached for the same bag, and we both laughed awkwardly. Despite the chaos, there was this brief, inexplicable connection. We exchanged a few more apologies and a sheepish smile before parting ways, thinking it was just a random, albeit memorable, mishap in the vast city.

Little did I know, this was just the beginning of a series of serendipitous encounters that would bring us together again and again.

The very next day, I found themselves wandering through a bustling holiday market in New York City. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of roasted chestnuts and hot cocoa. The market was alive with twinkling lights and the sounds of cheerful chatter.

As I browsed a booth filled with handmade ornaments, I felt a familiar presence beside me. Taking a double look. Turning, I was surprised to see Nicholas standing there, examining a snow globe.

"Hey, fancy seeing you here," I said joking with a smile, her breath visible in the cold air.

Nicholas looked up, equally surprised. "Y/n! What are the odds? It's funny, considering how big New York is."

We both laughed, the coincidence of bumping into each other two days in a row in such a big city not lost on us. "I guess fate has a funny way of bringing people together," I joked, my eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Yeah, or maybe New York isn't as big as we think," Nicholas replied, giving me a playful nudge. We continued to explore the market together, the unexpected encounter adding a touch of magic to our day.

The rink was a magical scene, twinkling with fairy lights and filled with couples gliding gracefully on the ice. Nicholas, who was still a bit clumsy on skates, stumbled right into y/n, who was gracefully skating by. They both tumbled onto the ice in a heap of giggles and apologies.

As we sat on the cold ice, catching our breath and trying to regain our composure, Nicholas joked, "Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Maybe the universe is trying to tell us something." My cheeks flushed from the cold and laughter, I replied, "You know, you might be right. How many times can you run into the same person in New York during Christmas? Well I might think you’re stalking me!”

We decided to take a break from skating and warm up with a cup of hot cocoa from a nearby vendor. Sitting at a small table, surrounded by the festive ambiance of the rink, we started talking and found ourselves lost in conversation. We shared stories of their holiday plans, our favorite Christmas traditions, and laughed over the series of mishaps that had brought us together.

By the end of the night, Nicholas looked at me and said with a smile, "So, what do you say we stop leaving it to chance and actually plan to meet up?" I grinned back, "i don’t know…."

Despite the festive lights and cheerful atmosphere, y/ seemed hesitant whenever Nicholas brought up the idea of spending more time together.

"We've bumped into each other so many times lately. It's like the universe is trying to tell us something."

I smiled but remained cautious. "I don't know, Nicholas. It's just... things are really busy right now."

Nicholas nodded, understanding my reluctance. "I get it. But how about this? Let's make a deal. I'll take you to the best hidden spots in New York, places only locals know about, and in return, you give me one evening to show you the magic of Christmas in the city."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued but still unsure. "And what if I don't have a good time?"

Nicholas grinned, confident but kind. "I appreciate the bluntness, but then I'll owe you a favor of your choice. No strings attached. But I promise you, you won't regret it."

After a moment of contemplation, my curiosity got the better of her. "Alright, Nicholas. You've got yourself a deal."

Nicholas's face lit up with excitement. "Great! I can't wait to show you a side of New York you've never seen before."

We exchanged numbers, feeling a warm sense of excitement and curiosity about what the future might hold.

Nicholas couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to do something special to show y/n how much he cared. So, one night, he picked up his phone and called her at 1am.

"Y/n, it's Nicholas. I know it's late, but I have a surprise for you. Can you meet me at Grand Central Station at 2am?"

Me, still groggy from sleep, hesitated for a moment but then agreed, my curiosity piqued. “Promise to not murder me though.”

When I arrived at the station, it was eerily quiet and completely empty. Nicholas was waiting for ‘e with a warm smile. "I wanted to show you something magical," he said, leading me inside.

We walked through the grand hall, and I looked up to see the constellations painted on the ceiling, glowing softly in the dim light. The vast space, usually bustling with people, was serene and peaceful.

"This is incredible, Nicholas," I whispered, taking in the beauty of the moment.

Nicholas nodded, his eyes twinkling. "I thought you might like it. Sometimes, the best moments happen when you least expect them."

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. "Thank you for this. It's perfect."

We stood there together, under the stars, savoring the quiet magic of the night.

After our magical experience at Grand Central Station, Nicholas wasn't ready for the night to end. He turned to me with a mischievous grin. "How about we go somewhere else? I have another place in mind."

My curiosity was piqued. "Alright, lead the way."

I nodded eagerly, my curiosity piqued once again. We hopped into a cab, and Nicholas directed the driver to the American Museum of Natural History. Arriving at the museum, Nicholas led me to a side entrance where a friend of his worked as a night guard. With a wink and a nod, we were let inside.

The museum was eerily quiet and dimly lit, with the exhibits casting long shadows across the floor. Nicholas guided me through the halls, showing me the massive dinosaur skeletons and the serene dioramas of wildlife.

"This place is incredible at night," I whispered, my voice echoing softly.

We wandered through the exhibits, eventually finding ourselves in the planetarium. Nicholas led me to the center, where we lay down on the floor, looking up at the simulated night sky. The stars and planets above us created a mesmerizing view.

As we lay there, the peacefulness of the museum and the beauty of the stars above began to lull them into a state of relaxation. Nicholas turned to me and smiled. "I'm glad we came here."

I smiled back, feeling a deep sense of contentment. "Me too."

Slowly, we both drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the wonders of the museum and the tranquility of the night. It was a perfect end to our spontaneous adventure.

A few hours later, we were gently woken up by the night guard. "Hey, you two. It's almost morning. You should probably head out before the day staff arrives," he said with a chuckle.

I stretched and looked at Nicholas with a sleepy smile. "That was amazing. It felt like a first date, but even better."

Nicholas grinned. "Yeah, it was pretty incredible. But this wasn't our first date. How about I pick you up at 7 tonight, and we have an official one?"

My eyes lit up. "I'd love that."

We thanked the guard and made our way out of the museum, both excited for what the day would bring.

Nicholas picked me up at seven sharp, ready for our official date. We started with a cozy dinner at a charming little bistro, where we shared stories and laughed over delicious food. The chemistry between us was undeniable, and the evening flowed effortlessly.

After dinner, we wandered through the city, stopping by a street fair where we played games and won silly prizes for each other. The night was filled with fun and laughter, and as we walked hand in hand, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

As we strolled through the park, the Christmas lights twinkled like stars, creating a cozy and magical atmosphere. Nicholas looked at me, his heart full. "These lights are amazing. They remind me of how magical the holiday season can be."

I smiled warmly. "Yeah, there's something special about this time of year. It makes everything feel a bit more magical."

Nicholas chuckled. "It's funny how we didn't know each other before, but it feels like we've known each other forever. I'm really glad we met."

I nodded, my eyes reflecting the lights. "Me too. Sometimes the best connections happen unexpectedly."

Nicholas gently squeezed my hand. "Absolutely. Tonight has been incredible, and I can't wait to see where this goes."

We continued our walk, sharing stories and dreams, feeling a deeper connection with each step. The night was filled with warmth, laughter, and the promise of new beginnings.

Finally, we found a quiet spot in a nearby park, where the city lights twinkled around us. Nicholas turned to me, his eyes full of warmth. "I had an amazing time tonight."

I smiled, feeling a flutter in my heart. "Me too. It was perfect."

Nicholas leaned in slowly, and our lips met in a gentle, lingering kiss. It was the perfect end to a magical night, leaving us both looking wanting more.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Eris x reader: Autumn Frost

A/N: Love autumn and winter but cannot deal with the cold

Also, I know it’s late, but here it is (I’m so sorry this took a while)

Warnings: mostly fluff, but some suggestiveness towards the end…

Word Count: 1,620

You’re out of your clothes and leaping beneath the covers before he’s stepped foot in the room.

The vibrant oranges and burning reds are always stunning, so rich and lively, but your fingertips have long since gone numb, along with your toes. The sheets are crisp, but cool, not yet warmed by bodies. Shivers run along your skin, as if skating across a frozen lake. Teeth chatter in the silence, and sharp, caramel eyes flick over to your heavily-duveted form—bundled up tight beneath the cotton sheets.

Before you can protest, Eris has strode to your side, hand sliding beneath the covers to locate your own. His brows narrow when he feels the iciness of your skin, almost frozen stiff. None of the softness he so frequently seeks to be found. “You’re freezing,” he mutters, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Half of you wants to pull away, but you’re too preoccupied with the heat that’s seeping from his skin into your own, warming your blood. “I’m fine,” you reassure, teeth chattering a little, lips slightly numb. His brow narrows further, “you’re clearly not fine. You’re shaking.” You manage a small smile, tightening your hands on his, pulling him closer, rolling onto your side as you curl into him. “I like it,” you murmur, “it’s part of Autumn—the chill. And it makes the heat so much better; more rewarding.”

He sighs, free hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, pulling you up the to heat of his body, tucking you into the crook of his shoulder. “So strange, aren’t you?” He mumbles the question under his breath, hot lips brushing your temple. You press deeper into his warmth, bathing in the heat of that inner flame. “Rude.”

A chuckle drags from his chest, like the crackle and pop of firewood from a bonfire. “I’m right though, aren’t I?” You tip your head up to glare at him, but he presses his lips to your forehead, instantly softening you. Leaning into the quiet kiss, you squeeze his hand, revelling in the all-encompassing sense of him. So wonderful. So perfect.

You whine when he releases you, forcing you to burrow back beneath the thick duvet, curling into the small patch of warmth you’ve managed to accumulate. Eris sighs, stroking your hair before standing, moving to change out of his own clothes—more than happy to spend the evening tucked beneath the covers. Especially if it means you’ll be greedily putting your hands all over him. He knows you don’t do well with the cold, even if it’s nothing compared to the harsh blades of winter ice.

When he’s changed, he pulls back the covers. You squeal as the outside air rushes in, nipping at your skin, making it pebble with goosebumps. “Eris,” you whine, scrambling deeper into the small warmth, cowering from the cool air. “Eris hurry up. It’s freezing,” you moan, muscles tensing as you attempt to wrap the duvet tighter around your body. He snorts, “I knew it was worse than you were letting on. I told you to wear your gloves, remember? Next time tell me when you start to get cold. I’ll warm you up.”

You huff begrudgingly, rolling onto your side, facing away from him—even though you know he’s right. He laughs softly at your antics, then the mattress dips, and strong arms are wrapping over your hips, pressing beneath your waist as you’re dragged back into his chest. As soon as his skin touches yours, the fight seeps from you. Instead you roll back over, tucking yourself close, hands greedily groping at his sturdy muscle, revelling in his scent. Slightly smoky, with the crispness of autumn frost, the slight tang of roasted chestnuts twining with the sweetness of apples cooked in brown sugar.

“Come closer,” you mumble, lips brushing against his collar bones, nosing at his throat. The soft breath of his chuckle tickles your pointed ear, “I’m as close as I can get. Are you still cold?” You nod, just a small dip of your head. Instantly the bed warms, heat radiating from his skin, heating you until you no longer feel the need to cling so tight to him.

Eris senses the way your muscles melt, how your fingertips have softened and your breaths are deeper. Less tense, no longer so quick or shallow. He wraps you tighter, enjoying your scent, allowing you to sink into his bones.

You tuck deeper into him, enjoying the feel of having him all to yourself. With nothing else to worry about. No gossiping handmaids, no peeping servants, no overbearing courtiers. Just you and him.

“Eri?” You mumble, lips warm and soft against his skin, a faint tickle coming from your breath as it skates across him. He hums in response, and you feel it rattle through your bones, biting back a soft purr. Stay on track. “What shall we do tomorrow?” You ask drowsily, fighting to stay awake with the all-around comfort he innately provides. “What do you want to do?” He replies softly, eyes shut, content to bask in the moment.

Your brow furrows, and you manage to sleepily glare at him. “We’re here because you’re overworking yourself,” you mumble. “You needed a break, so it’s your choice. What do you want to do?”

Hands grip your waist, sliding a little lower, “you.” He pinches your ass, making you squeak, then poke him in the ribs. You press your cold toes to his calves, and he hisses. “I thought you said I was here to relax,” he fires at you, pushing you across the mattress then tugging the duvet back to his body.

“Eris!” You snap, scrambling back across the bed, burrowing into the heat, desperate to escape the cold. “Eris, that was cruel,” you snipe, pushing him onto his back, letting you crawl on top of him. “Attacking me in my own bed is cruel,” he counters, helping you straddle his hips. “Twice, I might add.”

“You should have taken my question a bit more seriously,” you grunt, lying flat across his chest, the soft swell of your breasts pressing against him delightfully.

His hand slides to the nape of your neck, threading through your hair, guiding you to look up at him. “Do you think I was joking, lovely vixen?” Heat flushes your cheeks at the pet name—it doesn’t come out unless he wants to make things messy. “No…” you mumble. He’s spent long enough showing how much he desires you, that you don’t doubt him.

Hell, if the tables were reversed…

“But that’s something you can have whenever you want,” you mumble, eyes flickering about as he watches you hungrily. “So pick something else—something you don’t normally get the opportunity to do, at least.”

A neatly groomed brow arches, “you’d like me to get creative, then?” You flush, staring at him, heart beating heavily in your chest. Sure he can feel it. “Eris…” you murmur, lowly, feeling the beginnings of something hot and liquid coalescing in the pit of your belly.

“You’ve always been so sensitive to temperature, haven’t you?” He drawls, fingertips dancing teasingly down the notches of your spine. Teeth bite lightly into your lower lip, “whatever you’re thinking, stop it. Now.” You don’t really want him to, though. He’s already got you wrapped around his finger. You’ll probably do whatever he ends up asking you to.

Eris’ lips quirk, and your sex heats in response. A tingle tracing back up your spine as his hand moves lower, settling over your ass, gripping, groping and squeezing. “Eris…” It’s supposed to be a hiss, but comes out more like a whimper. “Want to know what we’ll be doing tomorrow, lovely vixen?” He purrs, fingers slipping between your thighs. You remain quiet, and he knows he’s won.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to open the windows in the kitchen, and you’re going to lie on the table,” he murmurs, stroking the intimate skin of your upper legs. “You’re going to take all your clothes off, so you’re extra sensitive to the cold, and you’re going to stay completely still as I warm you up on my own.”

You’re not sure you’ll be able to cool down, embers igniting in the pit of your belly, want thrumming between your thighs.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it nice for you,” he hums, retracting his hand, bringing it back up and you nearly whimper. “Give you a nice, hot meal. Light some candles. Run a bath for you after…” Caramel eyes gleam, “maybe the candles will come in use, during.” Warmth flushes your cheeks as you find yourself anticipating tomorrow's dawn.

“You’re unfair, Eris,” you mumble onto his chest, knowing he’s not going to give you anymore stimulation until tomorrow. Even if you beg for it. “Unfair?” He echoes, a lilt to his voice, “you wanted me to do something I don’t usually get the opportunity to.”

“I meant choose something like bake a pie together…read together…go on a walk…something more mundane.”

“Fine, let’s bake a pie, go for a walk, then eat it when we get back over a book,” he responds, stroking your hair affectionately.

“No,” you say hurriedly, “we can do what you wanted. That’s why we’re here, after all. I won’t get in your way.”

He laughs again, squeezing your sides, calling a smile to your lips. Setting kisses across his skin, gentle whispers of affection.

How lucky he is to have this time with you.

To have this secretive space, where it’s just you two together, and he can shut out the rest of the world.

Only for a short while, but it’s worth it.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

[balkanradfem]

Come to a chestnut roasting adventure with me!

I found all these chestnuts this morning, and realized it would be a good day to go and roast them. My only condition for this is that it didn't rain in the last few days, so I would be able to find dry wood for the fire. Here's the preparation:

I carved in little x's on the chestnuts, if you don't do this, they explode in the fire, I've tried it out! I gathered all my resources: an old pan, some newspapers, matches, some easily flammable sticks, and the chestnuts. I packed it in my backpack and added a bottle of water, which is also important!

Now we can start the adventure, here's where we're going:

We have arrived! Now let's see how our designated fire spot looks like:

It is, in fact, filled with mud. From here on, we are doing chores. The first chore is to find some rocks, and position them so they can hold the fire up, because the fire should not be lit on mud. There's plenty rocks around the river so this wasn't a lot of work!

The next chore is to find fuel for the fire. There's little branches, sticks, pieces of bark and wooden debris everywhere, so this is a matter of foraging. We are going around picking up little sticks and wooden logs!

It's almost like a little cleanup, the place looks nicer afterwards. Now, these need to be broken into smaller pieces, and sorted into categories of 'tiny branches, medium sticks, and big pieces of wood'. There we go:

It is a satisfying task, and a good way to figure out which pieces are truly dry; dry wood will snap easily, if it's bendy and refusing to break, then it's not the best idea to put it in a fire, it's going to cause a lot of smoke and refuse to catch on fire quickly.

Now we can build a fire!

I don't know what the professional way for this is, but I've been lighting fires since I was a kid so I got this. I want the fire to be as far away from mud as possible, and for it to draw oxygen from underneath, so I will first add a few of the biggest sticks, and light the fire on top of them. This will make sure the fire has air! Then I'm scrunching up some newspapers, and adding the driest little sticks on top of them. I'm not trying to make this part airy, I'm trying to surround the newspapers with pieces of wood completely, so the heat cannot escape! The more heat there is trapped under the wood, the easier it will all light up. Heat escaping out would be a waste.

It's all ready, I'm grabbing the matches and lighting the newspapers:

I took a video of how fast this fire started, and it was almost scary, I had to keep backing away to not get burned. This is 10 seconds after I lit the newspapers:

The fire is immediately successful, so much so that I added everything I found on it, and then had to go get more pieces of wood! The fire for roasting chestnuts needs to achieve a certain amount of heat before we can start; we need glowing embers. I let it burn for 15 minutes, and at that point it is so hot I can't even get near anymore, and I could see embers. Now the fire is to be rearranged so it can accommodate the pan!

I moved the wood around so the glowing embers were exposed and put the pan right on top of them; it's being held by other sturdy pieces of wood that are not going to fall apart easily.

While they were roasting, I took some time to make a little origami box out of newspapers, to put the chestnuts in when they're done. After about 20 minutes of roasting they were finished!

I tried one and they're perfect! And at this point if you remember to look up, there's a beautiful sunset going on in the river:

I went on to make a second batch, to share and have some for dinner later. By the time they were done, the sun set completely. Our roasting adventure went successful! Chestnuts were roasted, good times were had, sunsets were enjoyed. I made sure to put the fire out with water before leaving. My fingers still smell like fire!

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of One Direction fics with a fake/pretend relationship during Christmas holidays as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

— Louis/Harry —

🎄 Mistletoe's For Two by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel

(E, 90k, enemies to lovers) After an encounter in a coffee shop with the rudest man he's ever met, Louis hopes the city is just big enough that he'll never bump into him again. When he spots that man at a bar the following evening, a plan begins to form. 

🎄 Let Our Hearts Collide by @crinkle-eyed-boo

(M, 76k, While You Were Sleeping au) When Harry, a lonely transit worker, saves the life of the handsome commuter he's been secretly pining for, an innocent mistake results in Liam Payne's family believing that Harry is engaged to their son.

🎄 Chestnuts Roasting... And All That by elsi_bee / @elsi-bee

(M, 46k, roommates) It’s not a big deal to just tell his new colleagues that he has a boyfriend, right? Until he has to make this imaginary boyfriend magically appear at the office holiday party.

🎄 I Keep Looking For Magic by @lululawrence

(NR, 36k, strangers to lovers) Harry loves Christmas, but this year is special. After ten years of boyfriends all failing to ever meet Harry's family, Harry has a fiance to introduce and things are looking like they will be perfect. Until they break up.

🎄 Harry, Did You Know (that your baby boy, is married to his best friend?) by tempolarriefics / @tempolarriefix

(E, 35k, marriage pact) 10 years ago, Louis and Zayn made a pact that if they weren't married by 30, they'd marry each other. So they do, as best mates do.

🎄 Find You Home by @kingsofeverything

(E, 35k, roommates) When Louis lies to his family and says he’ll bring his new boyfriend home for Christmas, his best friend and roommate Harry agrees to play the part. It’s that, or be left alone over the holidays.

🎄 From the Start by @allwaswell16

(E, 32k, viral video) Louis has no idea that one act of kindness will cause his life to spiral out of control. But that's what happens when his new friend fake proposes to him and a video of it goes viral.

🎄 Lovin' you is a gift by @softfonds

(E, 25k, Pretty Woman au) With his 28th birthday approaching, Louis was looking forward to celebrating in New York City with an all-expenses paid trip. He just didn't expect to spend it with an escort when he suddenly finds himself single a few days before it.

🎄 under the rain or under the snow by MquietMiNd

(E, 20k, exes) Christmas AU where they broke up a month ago but Harry shows up at Louis’ childhood home for the holidays. 

🎄 Wrapped in Red by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(T, 15k, strangers to lovers) Louis backs himself into a corner and has two days to find a date to bring to the Horan Family's big annual Christmas party to both appease his mother, and show up an ex-boyfriend.

🎄 The Christmas Lift by @homosociallyyours

(G, 13k, neighbors) Louis lies about having a boyfriend to avoid being set up on a blind date by an overzealous co-worker, but now he's in desperate need of a fake boyfriend for his office holiday party. 

🎄 the fake zarry au (series) by zita17 / @louisandtheaquarian

(M, 13k, famous/not famous) A fake dating with a twist famous/not-famous enemies to friends to secret lovers where Larry and Ziam fall in love behind the scenes while Zarry bicker in public.

🎄 Not Another Lonely Christmas by @haztobegood

(E, 8k, set up) the one where the friend Niall sets up as Harry's fake boyfriend turns out to be Gemma's best friend Louis

🎄 A Story For the Ages by @fallinglikethis

(NR, 7k, strangers to lovers) After seven months of pretending to have a boyfriend in order to keep his mum from meddling in his love li fe again, he should have realized he’d have to actually introduce her to someone eventually.

🎄 A Boyfriend for Christmas by Chelsea Frew / @chelsea-frew

(G, 5k, strangers to lovers) Louis' co-worker, Gemma, asks Louis to be her date for Christmas dinner. 

🎄 Christmas Pretenders by @larryatendoftheday

(T, 4k, baker Harry) When Niall convinced Louis to come home with him for the holidays as his fake boyfriend, he never expected he'd run into the loveliest man he'd ever seen.

— Rare Pairs —

🎄 'Cause I Could Be The One by justyrae

(M, 14k, Louis/Nick Grimshaw) "Just remember," Louis says, gently touching Nick's wrist before he can open the front door. "You're proper in love with me, no matter how much of a dick I can be."

🎄 Snowflakes & Mistletoe by Justonebreathx

(E, 5k, Zayn/Liam) Liam is in desperate need of a fake boyfriend for his company's Christmas dinner, so he puts an ad on Craigslist thinking that’s the only way he can find one. 

[sweetbutpsychobutsweet]

Like We Used To Be

Chapter 4

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: Thorin attempts to extend an olive branch to you, but the arrival of some new allies might put a further strain on your already complicated relationship,

Warnings: canon typical violence, jealous!Thorin, angst, no use of y/n

author's note: I'm truly blown away by the amount of support I've already received on the last few chapters. I hope you're ready for tomorrow when I post the 5th installment because things are about to SERIOUSLY heat up🥵

Word count: 1740

“Where did you two go to if I may ask?” Thorin demands of you as soon as he is freed from his burlap sack.

“To look ahead,” Gandalf replies at the same time you say: “none of your business.”

The two men start discussing the possibility of a cave nearby but you have already stalked off to re-gather your things. It would probably be safe to assume the group will no longer wish to stay in this spot. You’re shoving blankets and food back into your bag when you hear someone approaching from behind. 

Not just someone. You already know it’s him before he even speaks your name, but you refuse to turn around and look at him. 

“Are you alright?” he asks gently.

“Me?” you turn around with a laugh. “I’m perfectly fine, you’re the one who was almost eaten by mountain trolls.”

“We had it handled,” he grumbles.

“Right,” you drawl with one eyebrow raised, “that’s why half of you were in burlap sacks while the rest were roasting over the fire like chestnuts. Is there a reason you followed me over here, or were you just hoping to worsen my already sour mood?”

He chuckles and looks down at his feet, “I can’t recall the last time I saw you in a good mood.”

“I can,” you whisper. Judging by the look on his face you can tell there is no need to elaborate for him that back before everything went wrong between the two of you, simply seeing him walk into the room would be enough to put a smile on your face.

He looks up at you with those piercing blue eyes and you force yourself to avert your gaze, knowing if you let yourself look too long you’ll be done for.

“About what I said earlier,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back as he takes a cautious step closer to you. “I’d like to apologize. Of course, you are as much a dwarf as the rest of us. Erebor is your home as well as mine”

You look up at him again in surprise. An apology from Thorin is a rare thing indeed. Could what Gandalf said be true? Does he respect you?

He takes another step closer to you and you can practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. If he sees the blush creeping into your cheeks he makes no mention of it.

“I regret that every interaction we have had on this journey has been so…”

“Hostile?” you offer breathlessly and he chuckles lowly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” he admits, “I do hope, that by the time we reach Erebor, we can find a way to become… friends. Like we used to be.” his fingers gently brush up against yours, slowly starting to interlace them together, one by one. 

“Like we used to be,” you repeat back in a whisper. 

Like we used to be before you left me behind a bitter voice in your head reminds you. And all at once your ill feelings towards him come rushing back in. 

You yank your fingers out of his grip and step away from him.

“Things have changed a great deal since then, Thorin,” you remind him. “We’re not children anymore, we’re not the same people we used to be. I think it's time we both accept that and move on.”

His jaw clenches like he has something to say, but he just nods at you and interlaces his hands behind his back as if to resist reaching for yours again. 

“Very well, if that is how you truly feel we will speak no more of it.” he clears his throat anxiously. “We believe we’ve found a troll cave nearby, the others are waiting to investigate.”

He turns on his heel without another word and takes off in that direction. 

You follow a ways behind him, wondering to yourself all the while: what would have happened if you had said yes?

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You are being hunted!” Gandalf cries as Thorin’s sword drips with the blood of the slain Warg at his feet.

With all of your ponies now long gone, and an orc pack suddenly on your tail, the company has no choice but to try and outrun them.

Your lungs burn and your legs ache as you keep pushing further and further through the clearing. Putting all of the strength you have into making it to the one rock formation large enough to conceal you all from your pursuers. 

“Where are you leading us?” Thorin asks Gandalf suspiciously. He refuses to answer, shooting a look in your direction that gives you a feeling that wherever it is, Thorin is not going to be happy about it. 

Wherever it is has to be better than here you think to yourself, as one of the orc scouts and his Warg hop atop your hiding spot, inches away from discovering you all concealed below. 

Before he can find you, Kili steps out far enough to shoot the Orc off, sending him tumbling to the grass by your feet. 

The small victory is short-lived however because now the rest of the pack knows where you are.

You’re all forced to run again in vain. Only to find yourselves surrounded on all sides, with Gandalf nowhere to be seen.

“He’s abandoned us!” someone shouts.

“Hold your ground!” Thorin commands from somewhere behind you.

Despite the ache in your arms you hold your twin blades up high, prepared to put up a fight until the very end.

“This way you fools!” calls Gandalf from behind another rock.

You follow the rest to find the wizard at the entrance to a steep rocky slope into a hidden cave below. You don’t fight Thorin as he offers you a hand to make your way down to join the others, tumbling down shortly after you.

The sounds of the orc pack still pursuing you come from outside but are quickly silenced by the unexpected blaring of a horn and the whistling of arrows. 

A slain orc falls down into your cave with one such arrow lodged in his flesh.

Thorin pulls it out and you both already know its origin before he grumbles: “Elves”

The mental map in your head now tells you exactly where you are, and without a second thought you take off running down the narrow pathway, the rest of the dwarves calling after you in protest.

You stop in awe at the familiar scenery before you.

“The valley of Imladris,” Gandalf announces, “in the common tongue it’s known by another name.” 

“Rivendell,” you and Bilbo both whisper in unison

“Here lies the last homely house east of the sea,” Gandalf says affectionately.

“This was your plan all along,” Thorin accuses him, “ to seek refuge with our enemy.”

You look over at him and scoff, “Would you rather take your chances with the orcs?”

“You have no enemies here Thorin Oakenshield,” Gandalf assures him. “The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself.”

“In that case, Rivendell is about to become a very hostile environment,” you mumble to yourself but Thorin elects to ignore you.

“You think the elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us!” he protests,

“Of course, they will!” agrees Gandalf, “but we have questions that need to be answered. If we are to be successful this will need to be handled with tact and respect. And no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to the two of us.” Gandalf declares, nodding in your direction.

“The nicer you are the sooner we get to leave,” you translate for Thorin with a condescending pat on the shoulder before taking off down the path towards Rivendell.

“Mithrandir!” Lindir greets Gandalf as he descends the elegant staircase before the two begin conversing in Elvish. 

“Stay sharp,” Thorin warns the others. And you roll your eyes at the tension your kin are so clearly maintaining while in a beautiful place such as this.

“I must speak with Lord Elrond,” Gandalf says switching back to the common tongue.

“My Lord Elrond is not here,” Lindir replies apologetically.

“Not here? Where is he?” Gandalf questions in alarm.

But it is short-lived with yet another blaring of a now familiar horn.

“Close ranks!” Thorin shouts in alarm as an elven group on horseback approaches. 

“Lord Elrond!” Gandalf greets the elf as he dismounts his horse before responding to the wizard in elvish.

“Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders, something or someone has drawn them near.”

“That would be us,” you offer from behind him with a smile.

Elrond turns sharply at the sound of your voice, his face lighting up in excitement as he calls your name.

“My darling! It's been too long since you’ve graced these halls!” you laugh as he pulls you into a warm embrace. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to make the journey sooner, but I have so much to share with you!”

“I imagine you do!” he replies, “why don’t you start by telling me what a lovely creature such as yourself is doing traveling with a group of brutes such as this?”

You turn to look back at Thorin, who has a fierce scowl on his face as he stares directly at the place on your arm where Elrond’s hand still rests.

“Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain!” the elven lord greets him.

“I do not believe we have met,” he replies curtly.

“You have your grandfather’s bearing,” Elrond responds, paying no attention to Thorin’s hostile tone. “I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain.”

“Indeed?” Thorin curls his fists at his side, “he made no mention of you.”

“Thorin! Be nice,” you warn him.

Lord elrond takes another step closer to him and starts to speak in the elvish tongue.

“What is he saying?” Gloin shouts in alarm, “Does he offer us insult?”

“No master Gloin,” Gandalf assured him, “he is offering you food.”

The dwarves take a moment to discuss amongst themselves, but you already know what their answer will be.

“Ah well,” Gloin says, “in that case lead on.”

Lord Elrond politely offers his arm to you, and you make a point of glaring back at Thorin before accepting it as the elf lord leads you up the stairs.

Next Chapter

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@mrsdurin @thetaekwondofeline

[delphi-shield]

a lover's guide to defusing time bombs // leon s. kennedy

Leon x afab!Reader Smut wc: 5,661 mdni - 18+

i'm having technical difficulties help why is this fic such a problem child. bout to give up and send it to the dumpster. shout out to tumblr support for fixing this yay my stupid smut is in the tags now. loosely proofread and edited. merry christmas xoxo

summary: Leon doesn’t love crowds. He hates them, actually, but he’s braving the annual Christmas parade for you. Ever vigilant, he scans for threats, ensures the giant clydesdales aren’t secretly agents of chaos, narrows his eyes to be absolutely positive that Santa isn’t concealing a weapon. You have got to find a way to make him relax.

content: afab!reader, mindless fluff, leon’s pov, vague depiction of an anxiety attack, discussions of leon’s mental health, established relationship, secular celebration of christmas, chestnuts roasting on an open fire (literally), leon’s dissociating through a lot of this, fingering (reader receiving), piv (reader receiving), doggy, a singular spank (reader receiving), use of toys (reader receiving), creampie, switchy leon & reader. the smut starts about halfway through if that’s what you’re here for.

Life with Leon can be divided up neatly into ‘Can't’ and ‘Won’t’.

He had crawled home to you at five in the afternoon, fresh off an assignment in Manhattan. He can’t tell you the details, all wrapped up in red tape, and he won’t let you get acquainted with the new ghosts that will haunt the darkened corners of your apartment. You're dozing so soundly in the living room. Prettiest thing he’s ever come home to, curled up under a blanket, colorful lights of the Christmas tree warming your skin. His hands are cold and battered when they brush against your forehead, smirch your warm skin with the grime that never washes off his skin.

He’s torn between waking you and letting you rest. He needs the rest himself, and it would be so easy to pick up your sleeping form and lay you back down against his chest, to drift off into a nap in the glow of the Christmas tree.

But he won’t break a promise to you, not if he doesn’t have to. He promised to take you to see the Christmas parade - and for once, he’s actually back in time to make good on his word.

Leon checks his watch. Back in time, but not by much. The parade starts in an hour. He rouses you, a strong hand gentle on your shoulder. It’s almost meditative, watching the way you wake. The way you take your time, curling into yourself like a cat before you finally unfurl, the slow blink of your eyes struggling to focus. You’re here. You’re safe. You don’t jolt awake the way that he does. You don’t jerk at his touch. You’re safe from the monsters that stalk him. For once, he’s kept something safe.

Leon came back from Spain a little different, but he can’t- and won’t - tell you jack about shit, as usual. He’s not sure if he’s changed for the better or the worse. There’s moments where the light is back in his eye, where all his jagged edges seem to soften. It’s the first time he’s ever come back from a ‘business trip’, as he likes to call them, and been able to say he’d done something good. Something worthwhile, beyond the nebulous concept of his servitude - something tangible. A life saved, not a country served.

The light’s dim today, but it shines when your eyes lock onto him. You light up, every ounce of weariness fleeing your body at the sight of him. You rocket forward. Your arms are tight and warm around his neck, and he rocks backward at the force of your affection. A laugh passes his lips, pressed into the top of your head along with a kiss.

“I could get used to that greeting,” he says when you part. Not all the way, of course. Your hand rests on his wrist, desperate for the contact. Like you think he might float away if you don’t keep him grounded.

“You better not,” you warn him, the seriousness in your tone as convincing as it is menacing - not at all.

He urges you to get up and get ready. You’re going to miss the parade. Probably missed most of the craft fair already, but he’s privately glad that you hadn’t gone without him. An ache opens up in his chest to think of you going alone.

“We don't have to go,” you assure him. It must be the fifth time you’ve tried to give him an out. You’re hopping on one foot, trying to stuff your feet into your warm boots, but he still recognizes the guilt in your eyes. He’s felt it many times himself, and he’s tired of seeing that part of himself reflected in your eyes. He won't make you feel like you’re stealing time away from him ever again.

“I promised.” He adjusts your scarf for you once you’ve stopped hopping. There was nothing wrong with the way you had it done. It’s just another excuse to touch you. He needs those. He needs reasons, real or invented. Touch has never been easy for him the way it has been for you.

Ushering you into the car is easy. You don’t put up any real resistance, other than babbling about how you don’t mind driving, honest, because he must be so tired. What he feels goes so far past tired that it wraps back around into restlessness, but he won’t tell you that. It seems like the sort of thing that would make you worry more, not less. Besides - he wants to watch you from the corner of his eye while he drives. He wants to see your head sway gently to the Christmas carols on the radio. He wants you to point out overdecorated houses and coo over Christmas decorations.

Leon needed this. He missed it, the peaceful quiet between the two of you. It doesn’t last terribly long. When you see how awful the parking situation is downtown, you burst into complaints. He doesn’t mind those either, the ghost of a smile glued to his lips while he drives circles around every parking lot in a four block radius.

He has to parallel park - something that makes you so nervous that you grip his arm while he wedges into the parking spot. Sure, he turns a three-point turn into something closer to a 36-point turn, but the important part is, he didn’t hit anyone. Besides - he kinda likes it when you cling to him like that.

He likes it more than the way you’re watching him, that’s for sure. You look like you’re waiting for him to fall apart. In fact, he’s not sure you’re even trying to hide your worry this time, got your heart bleeding on your sleeve for everyone to see. You take his hand clumsily, your movements big and ungainly in your mittens, and guide him through downtown.

It gets worse when you actually arrive at the parade route. The whole damn city must be out tonight. Families with gaggles of children, some sat on their father’s shoulders, carolers struggling to be heard over the noise of the crowd. Your hand squeezes his. He fights down his irritation. He knows it’s irrational. He doesn’t want to take it out on you.

It’s just a lot.

Leon likes to walk around with his head held high, pretending that he has no long-lasting quirks from his career. He can handle it. That’s the kind of man he is. He doesn't think less of you for how little you can carry in return. His shoulders are broad, he reminds you. He can carry what you can’t - hell, he feels useless when you don’t let him.

You can see it in the way his eyes never stop roving, the way his fingers curl near his hip – he knows you can. You’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for. Might wear your heart out for everyone to see, but you’re observant as all hell. He keeps a hand glued to the curve of your waist, keeps his head on a swivel for all threats, real and imagined.

He’s just being cautious, he tells himself. There’s nothing wrong with being aware of your surroundings. Especially not in a big crowd like this. His trained mind whirls. It throws him off-kilter. He’s not on the clock, but he’s acting like it. Big celebrations like this are perfect targets for terrorists looking to make a statement.

There’s a rolodex in his head filled to the brim with the kinds of intel that would make you never want to step outside again. He can’t tell you that - not just for the sake of national security, but for the sake of your peace of mind.

You say something - something about a vendor, your hand pointing across the street. His head moves first, humming acknowledgement he doesn’t mean, his eyes following slow to see what you’re looking at. No clue. You’re looking at him expectantly, arm tucked in the crook of his, so he just nods, agrees aimlessly.

Leon’s all wrapped up in his head, standing shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the crowd, staring down at himself from above. Float after float goes by - horses, a flock of sheep decked out in festive trimmings, shepherded by a gaggle of men and boys dressed in anachronist robes - and he’s pretty sure he saw an actual, honest-to-god reindeer, but the static spreading from his mind to his limbs turns everything around him into a nauseating blur.

“Hey.” You nudge him with an elbow, tucking your scarf below your chin. “C’mon.”

Your words seem so muffled. He’s starting to wonder if that action hero lifestyle is already catching up to him. He’s got to get his damned ears checked. You curl your hand around his bicep and urge him away from the crowd.

He’s too slow to think to protest. You had wanted to see the parade. He can’t take this away from you, not when you had been so excited. The guilt claws at his heart. He tugs your hand to pull you back toward the crowd, but you dig your heels in and give him this stern look that all but forces him to yield. You drag him down a quieter street, where vendors are packing their things up, the crowds having fled to watch the parade. 

If he could know your thoughts, he’d know you wished to press your thumb gently against the well of his eye and swipe away the darkness that hangs there, press a kiss to his bruised skin and watch his blush paint over the hurt. You press a hot chocolate into his hands instead. The warmth spreads through his gloves.

For a long moment, Leon just holds the drink in his hands. He rolls the paper cup back and forth, back and forth, walks with you as you pace the street. You pause to speak with a woman standing over an open grill.

The scent pulls him back to earth. He lifts the cup of hot chocolate to his face and inhales deeply. Sweet and chocolatey, Leon knows it’s probably Swiss Miss bought in bulk for the sole purpose of being handed out to parade-goers. He takes a sip, lets the cheap, watered down hot chocolate warm him. The noise of the parade is far away now, not just in his mind but in reality. The bells and the carols, the clop of hooves on cobblestone, it stays muted, but it doesn’t threaten to overwhelm him anymore.

His hand squeezes yours. You don’t stop speaking with the woman, but your eyes cut towards him, and your smile bright - a beacon that says welcome back.

For the first time, he realizes how cold his hands are. He slips the hand not holding the hot chocolate into the pocket of your jacket. He knows you’ve got a handwarmer in there. Lo and behold, he’s right. Your pocket may as well be heated.

Another scent stands out to him. His eyes focus on the dying embers still glowing faintly in the belly of the grill. An earthy, nutty smell drifts up to him. You’ve got something in your hands, he realizes - round little balls, their dark brown shells split and cracked, light golden interior peeking through.

You wave, say goodbye to the vendor, and tug him down the street - in the vague direction of the car, he realizes. Another stab of guilt. You’d wanted to see this parade so badly. He knows why you’re leaving.

“Try it,” you chirp, cheeks darkened by the cold air. You tip your hand towards his, drop one of the little nuts you're carrying into his hand. You smile so brightly, like you don’t realize that he’s ruined this for you. “It should be cool enough now.”

“What is it?” He asks, rolling it in his palm.

“A roasted chestnut. S’really good!” He looks over at you, fighting the urge to laugh. You’re already chewing the damn thing. He watches you slip the shell off of another chestnut.

“What are you, five? Close your mouth when you eat.” He bumps your shoulder with his, no heat behind his words.

He slips the shell off the chestnut, the way he had watched you do moments before. He pops it into his mouth and makes a noise of surprise. He’d expected it to be hard and crunchy, but it’s soft - buttery, almost. Sweet, in the same way as a sweet potato. He holds his hand out for another, and you drop it into his palm, chuckling triumphantly to yourself.

The walk back to his car is near silent, trading chestnuts and jabs back and forth. The restlessness that had filled his limbs earlier has melted into a sleepy, dull-edged tiredness that wears at his bones. He opens your door for you, guides you inside with a hand at the small of your back.

He wants to apologize. It’s all Leon can think about while he’s trying to get out of this goddamn parking spot. It takes him long enough. He’s crafting a script in his head. He knows exactly what he has to say.

But when you’re finally back on the road, he’s speechless. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, laden with the sweetness of the chestnuts and oily against his teeth. He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips again, the road melting away as he guides you home by muscle memory alone.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

God, you’re an angel, breaking the silence like that. He glances over at you, the pounding of his heart quieting in his ears at the sight of your smile, your eyes soft and your hair messed. Your hat lays in your lap, your mittens peeled off and tossed to god-knows-where for him to find later on.

Leon nods. He feels like kicking himself. How the hell did he ever pull you? 

After a too-long silence, he says, “No problem. Sorry. For, uh –”

For making us leave. For ruining this. For not having my shit together.

You’re too nice to think any of those things about him. He knows that. That doesn’t mean Leon doesn’t think it about himself.

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun. Besides, I kinda wanted to spend time with you, anyway. Just you.”

He looks to you at a stoplight, tries to gauge if there’s any irritation hidden under your expression. You settle your hand on his knee. You smile blithely out the window, your eyes catching his in the reflection, crinkling at the corners when you smile wider. His heart pounds again - not panic, but a warm, comfortable squeeze.

He can’t believe he’s this lucky.

“We could watch a Christmas movie,” he offers. A small balm for the hurt he feels he’s caused.

You hum. Indifferent. You turn your head back to him as the light turns green, your hand sliding up to his thigh and squeezing. It sends a thrill through his gut, his breath catching. He wasn’t away that long, but it felt like forever without your touch.

“I was kinda thinking we could just hang out,” you say, your voice deceptively innocent. “I missed you.”

The car behind him honks. He wrests his thoughts out of the gutter, forces himself to actually drive. Your hand stays on his thigh, drifts even higher, your little laugh flushing all the blood out of his head.

“That’s, uh – yeah. Fantastic.”

The drive home is a blur. He tries to make conversation, honest to God, he does, but you’re so damn distracting. You know it, too. He can see that sadistic little twinkle in your eye. He’s lucky you’ve got enough mercy in you not to tease him while he drives. You’ve already got him wrapped around your finger, you have to know that by now.

Leon practically jumps out of the car. He should be embarrassed by the way you have him hopping around like some horny virgin. You slip out of the car with much more grace and press yourself to his side. His arm wraps around your waist, finds a way to tug you even closer while he fumbles with his keys.

The door is barely open, and you’re on him. He doesn't even have time to strip his jacket off before you press yourself against him. You urge his back against the door, shutting it with a thud. Your hands roam all over him, shucking his jacket off and letting it pool on the floor. Your lips press to his, trading the taste of hot chocolate and chestnuts. You move to his neck. His gasps are barely restrained. His pulse races under your touch. His head rocks back, smacks against the door and he groans. You chuckle, take his hand and pull him further into the apartment.

The backs of your knees hit the couch and he takes the invitation to tip you over the edge, his body covering yours without a moment of hesitation. Your lips are back on his skin, tongue laving a hot path wherever you can reach. Greedy. He shudders against the hands that grip his sides. 

"Not too tired?" You ask between kisses. Your teeth nip at the thin skin of his neck and his breath damn near stops. He should tell you to quit. It's not professional. He's gonna show up to his next briefing covered in hickeys and then everyone will know how good Kennedy is getting it at home. He's not sure he minds. He thinks he wants everyone to know just how fucking good he's got it.

"No way," he says, his voice lighter than he meant. He wanted to sound gravely, masculine - instead he sounds like he's about to cum his pants. Goddamn, the things you do to him.

"How do you want it?"

Oh, so it's up to him now? He wishes you'd take the choice from him. You press your hips up against him and, fuck, he wishes you'd take everything from him.

You pull back, your lips leaving his skin, and the chill settles over him again, the distance between you too much for him to handle. His hands grip your hips, slide under you and tug you into him so you can feel the way his cock fills out his jeans. It's hot and tight and goddammit, he wants to be in you - in a better kind of hot and tight rather than this denim prison that's fucking killing him.

You press your hand to his shoulder, force the distance. You level him with a look, like a school teacher discipling a naughty student. (Hot. Gonna have to keep that one in mind, if he ever works the nerve up to ask you to try some roleplay. He’ll bet you could really wreak havoc with a ruler, rap it across his knuckles -- better yet, his ass, let the sting spike over his skin. Make him indignant or obedient - he won't know what sort of mood he's in until he's there.)

You're waiting for an answer. That much is clear. No more love bites until he speaks up. You're a dead weight in his arms and he knows how to make you come to life again.

He sits back on his thighs, hands turning you. "Face in the cushions."

"You got the energy for that?"

You don't even mean to be a brat, he’s sure. It's not an honest challenge. You just sound genuinely surprised. He nods. He's got all the energy for the world if it means being with you.

That gets you moving at least. You squirm under him, limbs awkward and trapped between his thighs. He peels you out of your jeans and rolls his eyes when he sees you've got a second pair of pants underneath.

"It was cold out!" You protest, raising your hips to help him get the layers off.

"It's not that cold out. You got long johns on under these, too?"

"Keep this up and you won't find out."

That shuts him up.

His stomach lurches, arousal hot and tight from the way you're swinging your hips at him. He fumbles with his belt, unwraps himself and tosses the packaging off to the side, where it lands under the tree with the rest of the presents. His fingers tease along your slit, nudging the wet patch you've left along your panties. He wants to bury his nose in you, surround himself with your scent and your taste, shake his head and burrow as deep as he can get.

But when his fingers curl under the elastic of your waistband, you click your tongue. He stills, frozen by your directive.

"Can you ask nicely?"

He wants to scoff. Impatience and irritation are bubbling in his gut, but your demand makes his cock twitch and he could have sworn he felt his fucking balls draw up.

"Please." He drones, fingers tugging at your panties.

"You can do better than that."

"I could just leave you here."

He's not going to do that. You both know that’s an empty threat. Leon grips the fullness of your ass, squeezes it under his palm. His hand draws back quick, a sharp smack filling the room. He hears you muffle your squeal into the cushions. He sees your fingers clench, sees you drag the nearest pillow closer, hugging it to your chest. So easy.

"Ask." That's not a request. It's a demand. You're doing your best to sound tough, your face buried in the pillow, ass still wagging at him like a bitch in heat. He hums, weighs his options.

"Can I fuck your pussy?" He presses his chest to your back, lets you feel the weight of him. You've told him so many times how you like that- you like the feeling of him surrounding you. You like being trapped under his weight, the way he pins you down. His cock strains against your clothed pussy. He wraps an arm around your waist, skims his hand up your chest, in the valley between your tits. His thumb strokes over a peaked nipple, plucks it to a point, and pinches. "Please. I'll make you cum first."

If the way your back arches is any indication, that may just have been the selling point.

"Gonna cum inside?"

"We'll see."

That must be your final straw. He's pushed you too far. You turn your head, cheek cushioned cutely against the couch.

"You cum inside or not at all." Your voice is firm, dark. He wishes he hadn't been so adamant on pressing against you, because he knows you felt the way his cock kicked. He sees your lips twist into a smirk.

Leon's in no mood to wipe it off your face. His baby wanted him to stuff that pretty pussy, who was he to argue? Give him five minutes to recharge, he'll paint your back, too. Maybe your chest.

His lips press to the back of your shoulder. The fingers pinching your nipple relent. He strokes your breasts reverently instead.

"Okay," he agrees, breathless. "Inside."

Your eyes linger on him, watching to see how serious he is. He does his best to look honest. His fingers smooth over his harsh touches, the devotion pouring from his fingertips. You grab his wrist, bring his hand to your mouth and wet his fingers for him, drink it down.

He leans back just enough to squirm his hand underneath the soaked fabric of your panties, slick fingers parting your folds again and again, pressing deeper each pass.

The way you sigh makes his gut tighten and squirm. He dips his fingers in you, the first sliding in so smooth that he adds the second after the first pump. His mouth lathers the nape of your neck with kisses, his breath hot and terse against your skin. Try as you might to seem unaffected, he sees the way that your skin pricks. 

Leon sets a steady pace, works you up to three fingers. Gotta get you ready for him – though the way you moan and rock, you clearly needed this more than you let on.

"Vibrator's in the drawer." He knows a command when he hears one. Doesn't have to be told twice. His superiors always liked that about him, and you appreciate it too. He commits the way your voice quivers to memory, banks that one for his nights away. He leans back, opening the drawer of the side table. He doesn't even question it until it's on and humming in his hand.

"The side table, huh..?"

Leon’s voice wobbles with laughter. That's not where this little guy usually lived. His fingers resume their pace, pumping into you steadily. He presses the head of the vibrator just above your clit, watches the way that you squirm. He can't take much more of this, not when he sees your pretty, kiss swollen lips part and hears you moan like that.

“Got lonely without you,” you admit. Your voice drives him insane, heat pulsing through him with every pump of his heart. Got that airy, whiny quality to it, your thighs quivering like you aren't sure whether to squirm away or chase after all the sensation.

He crooks his fingers inside you, feels you squeeze him and pulse. His cock aches. You bury your face into the pillows to smother the way you moan his name. He needs another hand. He needs fist his hand in your hair and drag you up so he can hear you cry his name over and over.

Not now. Later. Focus, Leon. Your pussy's got him high, lost in the pull of your body. He keeps the vibrator firm to your body, doesn't let you run from the way he’s making you feel. Your back bows, chest pressing to the couch, and he chases you down, lips smattering you neck with sloppy kisses, nipping at your skin, encouraging you with sighed praises – “There you go, baby, just like that, let go, I got you, just let go, cum for me –” and the pride he feels when you shake under him, squeeze his fingers to hard he’s surprised he still has circulation, has him panting.

Goddamn. You’re dripping down his arm, pussy squelching so obscenely around his fingers. He lifts the vibrator away from your clit to give you a break, turns it down just enough to keep you wound up. Doesn’t want it to hurt - not this time.

"I have to be inside you," he groans. You whine, legs spreading wider. Your knee slips off the couch, and rather than put it back up, you brace your foot against the floor to stay spread for him.

"Yeah," you breathe out. Poor baby. That's all you can manage, isn't it?

He shoves his boxers down mid-thigh, fingers drawing out of you. He sits back and lifts his hand to his face, makes a show of licking your mess from his wrist and fingers. That little whine you let out drives him fucking crazy. His fingers curl, sticky with remnants of your juices and his spit, against your hip, leave a tacky wet splotch against your skin. He draws the head of his cock through the wetness of your pussy, slow and torturous. The glide is effortless. He hasn’t prayed in years, but thank god for your cunt.

His hips nudge, head teasing your messy hole, and – Jesus Christ – he just meant to tease you, but your pussy pulls him in, warm and wet around the tip of his cock.

He pulls out, his body and his brain screaming at him – traitor – for pulling away from you. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Blow his load then and there? Hell no. You’d never let him live it down.

You whine again, needy and insistent. The noise is  muffled and frustrated in the press of the pillow. He needs more hands. Wants to pull your hair, force your head up from that pillow so he can hear you properly - but he's got to keep hold of your hips. He presses the vibrator back to your clit, and it’s got you squirming away from him. Leon was trying to buy himself some time to calm down, but this isn’t helping. He’s got to be inside of you right now, or he’s going to explode - and he promised he’d do that inside of you.

He positions himself at your entrance again, almost frantic. The first rock of his hips is clumsy, has him sliding up through the cleft of your ass. He tries again, slides through your folds again, the weeping head of his cock nudging at your clit. The vibrations ripple through his cock, and the whimper he lets out is humiliating. He swears under his breath. He doesn't have the control to pretend that was on purpose. 

His hand drags from your hip to guide himself into you in a series of quick, jerky thrusts. Leon sighs, stairstepping, relief flooding his veins, when your walls finally take him. His pace evens out into something slow and steady. It's a struggle to remember to keep the vibrator where you like it, the way his brain is so fogged with the way you squeeze him. He leans back, hand on the globe of your ass, spreading you apart to watch the way you take him. So wet and messy, sloppy noises driving him crazy. This is the kind of shit that keeps him up at night, that has him fucking his fist and cumming on his stomach in some remote corner of the world, painfully far from you.

He tosses the vibrator aside, the way it skips and jitters against the floor lost to him in the chorus of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass. Leon feels what little hold he has over himself slipping from his grasp. He can't control the way that his hips rut against you, the push of his cock against the velvet walls of your cunt. He could lose himself in you, spend all his days buried to the hilt in you, balls slapping, teeth wearing at your shoulder, burning memories of this moment into your skin.

His breath comes quick and hard, his forehead buried in the crook of your neck, his moans a litany of your name. He wants you, needs you, can't stop the way his pace has quickened to a frantic beat. His teeth find your earlobe, tugging insistently just to hear your moans sharpen into a keen.

You tighten and pulse around him, a gush of fluid slicking his cock, and he's not certain that he's still on this earth. Your voice breaks on his name and his vision blurs. His fingers find your clit in the haze of pleasure that clouds his mind. It’s a clumsy replacement for the vibrator, but they're his, warm, rough pads that press against you, send your head spinnin. Leon doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. He wants you panting, breathless, boneless, wants you limp in the cushions below him while he pounds into you gooey cunt.

It doesn't take him long. You're whimpering and soft below him, trying fruitlessly to match his thrusts, your fingers clenching and unclenching against the pillow. He's lost in the haze of your body, and his orgasm almost takes him by surprise. He slows to a grind, rolling his hips deep into you again and again, the head of his cock pressing deep, his load spurting against your walls. His moan is broken, high-pitched - a whimper that will burn into your memory, your name sweet on his tongue.

Leon collapses against your back, his chest heaving. He tries to keep his weight off of you, but his limbs are too heavy. His hands slip down your sides, grasp your hips, and turn you, press your back to the couch.

"Good boy," you murmur. He huffs a laugh, kisses that teasing smile on your lips. You pat his shoulder limply.

Good, he thinks, still catching his breath. Got you all fucked out.

His hands slip back up your sides, craddling your ribs. His thumbs trace gentle arches across the curve of your ribs, his head nestled in the valley between your breasts. Your hand returns to his hair, much softer, petting him gently.

It feels like home. He's made it back. He won't leave, not for a while. He's not sure that he can. His eyes slip shut, the warm glow of the Christmas tree lights and the warm pull of your body lulling him into security. Dully, he remembers grab the vibrator from the floor and click it off. The silence that floods the apartment blankets over the both of you.

He doesn’t want to break the serenity of this moment. Your hair pet his hair, nearly lull him to sleep then and there. All his grand plans of round two, of making a mess of you, are slipping through his fingers in the warm glow of your apartment.

“You wanna open your presents now?” You ask him, voice heavy. Another swell of pride. It sounds like he’s worn you out. Maybe he could go for another round.

“It’s not Christmas yet.”

“I know,” you whine, “but I’m too excited.”

“I haven’t even wrapped yours yet.”

“Don’t care. Just open yours.”

He feels you squirm under him, trying to shuffle off of the couch. No doubt you want to fetch his gifts, force him to open them. Leon presses his full weight down onto you, pinning you under him.

“Nope.”

Your protests fall on deaf ears. He’s won’t give in, not this time. He already messed up the parade, he’s not messing up the gifts. He wiggles his fingers against your ribs, trying to silence your bargaining by making you squirm.

Your laugh fills the apartment. Leon smiles against your skin. That’s the sound that makes this place home.

[irenadel]

And if the devil... 2/10

Making a banner for this finally for the grand finale coming soon. Excuse to rb. Credit for the Aemond screencap goes to the wonderful Liv @barbieaemond Smut at last, you have been warned Aemond Targaryen x Maid!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

“It won’t always be like this, ya know?”

It is very late at night, and you are only shelling chestnuts because your eyes cannot darn clothes under an oil lamp, no matter how good quality it used to be when it was new. Angus does this often, hang around, lugging his big, awkward arms, thinking he is being subtle and moody about it. A little romantic. Deep thoughts and smart plans. But more often, he ends up looking like a very large, very sullen wardrobe. It would have been endearing if it didn’t make housework so bloody hard all the time. You hand him the other bag and he sits down to work with you. Shells for the chickens to peck at, one bag as a dinner treat, the other for your cousins Bree and Delma to roast and sell. Leftovers from a castle kitchen were often generous.

“I’ll be done with the apprenticeship in no time,” he says, voice still cracking a bit when he’s nervous. You scoff, perhaps unkindly, because he has just started the damn thing, and the gods know if you’ll be able to finish paying for it, but he continues on bravely. “I’ll be bringing in good coin and Delma and Bree will marry and you’ll find a fat, old man who’ll keel over and leave you his shop, and you won’t ever have to work for royal cunts again.”

You cuff him over the head once, and he is more surprised by the meanness of your glare than the blow. You are surprised too, try to soften it by sneaking him a shelled chestnut and cleaning his neck for him. He’s gotten sloppy about washing it since he stopped living at home.

“They’re not so bad,” you say after some time in silence. Angus fidgets but keeps shelling, always a bit uncomfortable when you withdraw to think.

“Is the princess pretty?”

You stop for a moment. You can’t really see him in the dim light of the sputtering lamp, your cousin, near grown now, the pimples still doting his chin. You wish it would go both ways and that he didn’t have to see you either.

You try not to think about the prince and princess when you’re at home. They do not belong here, in the smelly yard, with the scraggly chickens rummaging among the trash and your mud-caked feet. The girl you are around them has no place here either. She’s too wild and headstrong to be kind to Angus when he offers you a cage like he’s offering you a gift.

You try not to think of knives and sapphires and hair so soft and heavy it’s like bolts of white satin.

“They’re all pretty,” you answer disdainfully.

Angus smiles a little meanly, satisfied in your eye-roll and apparent exasperation with royalty. He does not see the fondness come to your face or the way it softness the edges of your mouth and the cast of your eyes.

“You know how to fight.”

He’d cornered you outside the laundry, after dumping Helaena’s morning ewer of water and hauling down half the princess’s laundry. Your eyes were infuriatingly fixed back on the floor. Your head exasperatingly lowered back into submission. He was almost amused to discover your courtesies were just as bad as the first time he’d seen them.

“My prince.”

And Aemond Targaryen did not let himself mistake the dismissal for an honorific as you tried to slither past him, ignoring the question that had not been asked. It was your stubborn push against his body, thrilling and oddly satisfying, stopping immediately after you’d heard the whistle of his Valyrian steel dagger, just a few seconds before he buried it in a beam of aged wood right beside your ear.

A few seconds but not before.

He regarded you with a cock-sure tilt to his head. Stranger and stranger you were, perfectly still now with a handful of prince shoved against your front, trapped against the wall, with Helaena’s porcelain ewer laying in pieces at your feet, and your chest heaving like it had that day at the fountain. Aemond was only vaguely aware of his own stirring arousal until you’d looked up to glare at him with eyes red as fresh blood.

“But you don’t fight well,” he’d said to you and laughed at your indignant flush when you’d been unable to help yourself and faced him at last. “You should be quicker than that. You let things go by you that you don’t have to. A punch.”

He’d given himself the luxury of touching the fading bruise on your cheekbone, both sick and delighted at your shiver of fear, the squirming of your trapped body.

“A dagger.”

He’d wrenched the lovely, deadly thing out of the wooden beam and used the hilt to tilt your oddly pointed chin back towards him. Long hooked nose. The deep set shadow of your eyes. He was missing something in your features, some clue that was there, barely eluding him, distracted as he was by how pink your albino lips were this close up.

He’d offered the hilt of the dagger to your slack, sweat-slicked hand.

“Go on. Try it. You’re quick but I’m quicker. Give me your best shot.”

Aemond had never had much of an idea of how one went about bending serving wenches over furniture, the way his brother would endlessly brag about. Had preferred it that way. Had done his best to forget those few unsettling visits to the Street of Silk besides Aegon. But now he wondered. He wondered too if there was something as rotten and festering inside of him as whatever hid within his brother, because he liked this better. Your racing heart. Your shuddering breath. The impossible to follow train of emotions darting across your face as your hand closed around the offered dagger.

Would you strike?

Would you be too scared?

Unable to?

“You can’t see,” Aemond had whispered the secret he’d guessed against your ear, savoring the broken sound you let out. “At least not well. Here, let me help you, my heart is right here.”

And he’d known he’d made the right choice in you because when he’d placed your pale hand against his equally pale chest, leather doublet opened for a truer strike, your stubby kitten nails had buried into his skin and his prick, half-forgotten in the heat of the moment had twinged in sympathy with your sudden, grimly determined look.

Do it, Aemond Targaryen had thought wildly, do it, do it, do it.

And you did. Dagger clattering to the floor, your knee coming up between his legs and he was on the ground laughing through the pain as you tried to make yourself scarce. Brave enough to knee a prince in the groin, still too scared to stay to face the aftermath. But you did turn around before disappearing into the kitchens. You spat into the ground, glared at him and mouthed something, no doubt a vile insult, something Aemond remembered long afterwards, sometimes in a fury, sometimes in warm satisfaction. Ifak, you had called him between clenched teeth, with a click at the back of your throat that no Westerosi girl could have ever produced and that defiant toss of your hair, like an unbroken wild horse. Walker, in a strange tongue from across the sea, that Aemond had encountered once in an old dusty book and would now eagerly seek out again.

“I’m not a whore for you and your ifak chiftik brother to pass around.”

Aemond had laughed again, rejoicing in the pain. He laughed because he hoped you had kneed Aegon too, thrown a chamber pot his way for good measure. Because you would know better soon. He would teach you better. You would know the difference between a snake and a dragon.

After, he dreamt about you often.

Alone at night. When Ser Criston told him about piety and decorum and the way he would be expected to treat the ladies at court. When his mother spoke of his duty to his future lady wife. Always to him, never to Aegon who could bloody use it. He hated each admonition as much as he treasured it. Knew his mother harped on him only because he would listen, unlike his brother. He would strife for it, the perfection she longed for in any of her children, if only to please her, even though he saw the way the court looked at him. Girls afraid. Women pityingly. Too strange and disquieting if he ever removed the eyepatch. Too intimidating when he kept it on. Always he knew it was better to be fearsome than fearful.

His brother and nephews had taught him that lesson well and he was loath to part with it, even for you.

Still, he dreamt of you instead of simpering ladies. He dreamt of you and shuddered at the visceral memory you conjured, of that first time in the Street of Silk, when Aemond had thought fear long gone from his life only to have his brother bring it back. Strange sounds and smells and hands on him and the faintly nauseous pleasure of the first time a woman had touched his cock, he too young and unready to know what to do or say, she too used to obeying Prince Aegon’s orders to do anything other than her job.

He dreamt of you in those silken sheets, the proud toss of your coarse yellow hair, the odd cast of your red eyes, between his legs, telling him to relax, layback and enjoy himself.

My prince, you would call him as you took him in your mouth the way Aegon’s prostitute had and he swore in his bed, far away from the incense and the oils of that moment, taking himself in hand, thinking of your clenched teeth and angry words. As he fucked his fist in a hurry, angrily chasing the memory of your hissed insult, he would think of every time he had encountered you near Helaena’s room, eyes no longer lowered, feet firmly planted on the stone floor to face him. 

You, too ready to fight him if he moved towards you. He, too ready to rip the bonnet off your head to wrap the heavy length of your braid around his hand. You, too ready to let him pull you into an embrace you knew to be sheer madness.

Because it wasn’t idle curiosity anymore.

It wasn’t simple lust that made Prince Aemond near double over from the strength of his arousal every time he saw a bruise on your blotchy sun-burnt face or an angry red mark around your pale wrist. It was more than desire he felt the first time he saw your split lip and cornered you against a wall again, brushing with his thumb the scab that just hours ago had been seeping blood, breathing too heavily, manhood too hard to think. And this time you had been caught by surprise by his tenderness, unable to summon outrage and false pride to throw him off you or even the common sense to acquiesce to whatever a prince of the realm could demand of you.

No. Prince Aemond’s hunger had awakened in you demands of your own.

You had taken his thumb into your mouth and  bitten down so hard you heard him hiss a breath in and felt him fall into your arms. He had kissed you, his royal Valyrian blood still fresh on your lips, and your tongue had sought his out, even as his hands, one still bleeding, had wrapped around your hips, yanked them towards him, your legs off the floor and around his waist. You hadn’t known what it would be like to fuck a man you wanted so much but Aemond seemed willing to learn with you, ruffling desperately through your thin petticoat and your smallclothes until his cloth-trapped erection had finally rubbed against your heat. Wet, gloriously, smolderingly wet. And he had seen you grimace like you were in pain, a graceless, hungry sound escaping your throat, and he had known Aegon had fucking robbed him. Because this was the way it was supposed to be, and not whatever poor mummery had befallen him in that brothel.

Your mouth sloppily trying to devour his, your arms around his neck, holding on while he pushed his hips into yours, better, sweeter, harder than he had ever fucked any of Aegon’s painted girls. It was impossible, as he let your mouth go and panted against your ear, a deep hungry growl that he had not known he had learnt from Vhagar escaping him, it was impossible to reach for anything more. He wanted inside you, inside the wet, hot promise of your clothed cunt, but would not suffer a second away from you and knew, without a shadow of doubt, that he had been right to refuse, because he felt your hips meet his, you grinding against his throbbing prick, head thrown back against the stone wall and heard, in your desperately muffled cry, heard the first of your peaks. And he had not known anything else after that, except the savage joy of the hunt. Of pushing you against the wall and grinding into your core hard and fast and brutal, chasing after your pleasure, panting harshly, teeth-grittingly determined to fight his own throbbing desire, until you bit your lip to keep from crying out your next peak. Again and again, his hips driving madly into yours as he promised you anything, everything if you would just come for him one more time. He came on your third, because you snaked one trembling hand between your bodies, shoved it inside his laces and wrapped it around him, tight and merciless, looking at him straight in the eye, patch askew, sapphire glinting in the low candlelight, yanking on his prick, once, twice until he was coming all over your hand, legs near failing him as you both toppled unto the cold stone floor, a tangle of limbs and clothes.

You’d wiped your hand gods know where and let him rest his forehead against your racing heart, until his own would stop hammering madly in his ears. It was the way you looked at him after that destroyed him, that trapped him forever in the ribcage that held your own wildly beating heart. Because you looked at him like it pained you. You brushed his white hair out of his face the way you did Helaena’s, tenderly, kindly, the way you had never touched him before. You thumbed the edge of the scar on his cheekbone, and let the words escape your mouth: “You’re beautiful.”

And when you said it like this, like you were fighting a losing battle, like it hurt coming out, then Aemond could believe it.

[katyawriteswhump]

Omega Found, Omega Lost pt 2

Title: Omega found, Omega lost; Chapter: 2/5; WC: 2031; Rating: M, getting on for E; Tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, foreplay. For whumptober 2024, day 6 prompts: not realizing they're injured, unhealthy coping mechanisms, "It's not my blood."

Chapter 1 on tumblr Chapter 1 on AO3

Chapter 2: "It's not my blood"

Steve nestled deeper into Eddie’s chest, beneath the soft, fake-fur collar of Eddie’s jacket. His hands burrowed up under Eddie’s coat, clawing Eddie’s t-shirt. He wanted to drown in Eddie’s musk, which was thick as roasting chestnuts and tangy as cola-bottle gummies… 

…and sure as heck more addictive. Steve was hooked, inhaling Eddie deep into his lungs. The pain in his leg subsided to a dull throb, subdued further by a floaty liquidy feeling, and by the gentle vibrations in his own chest.

Yup, he was purring.

His purrs fell into rhythm with the steady thud, thud of Eddie’s heart. His every Omega instinct wanted to burrow even closer. He curled his right knee into Eddie’s lap. Heck, he wasn’t even that cold anymore. Wind lashed the cheek he hadn’t gotten plastered to Eddie, which made Eddie’s heat even more delicious.

Then Eddie started to pry himself away. Steve’s purrs disintegrated into a needy whimper.

“Listen to me, Sweetheart.” Eddie cupped Steve’s face in his hands. “I need to take a peek at that ankle. Hold tight.”

Steve blinked at him. Nodded. Up close, Eddie stunned him—Jesus, those lips!—and the instant he moved away, Steve shuddered violently. He glanced at his own hands, clasped in his lap. They were scratched and bloody, and he couldn’t quite remember why. 

Eddie’s scent, his closeness, had fogged Steve’s head right up. He gawked at his foot, beside which Eddie now squatted. At the dark stain in the snow around.

Too much.

“It’s not my blood,” he mumbled.

Eddie squeezed his shoulder, “Whatever, Babe,” then returned his attention to rolling up Steve’s trouser leg.  He threw back his hood and pulled a bandana off his head. He folded it into a strip to use as a bandage: “Gonna murder whoever left this trap.”

Steve trembled, supporting himself shakily on his elbows, while Eddie bound up his ankle. Okay. So maybe he was hurt, because the pressure of the binding forced little cries from him, which he tried to muffle. Snatches of what’d happened filtered into his brain fog, and the distance between he and Eddie reignited the pain further.

Steve started to sniffle again. 

Also, to feel ashamed about it.

It wasn’t like he’d been raised to be an Omega. His mom had always assumed he’d be a Beta, like his dad, and pushed him hard in sports and shit—into being a Jock. All in the faint hope he’d turn out Alpha, like her, after all.

What a fucking disappointment he was. Ugh, and now Eddie could see how pathetic he was too.

A cold knuckle against his cheek startled him. Eddie said, “Hey, did you seriously come romping out without gloves?”

“Uh… no… I… Look, I’m not a total moron.” Sure about that, Harrington? “They’re around here somewhere.”

As Steve floundered, Eddie spotted the soggy mittens in the snow. He wrung them out then slid them back onto Steve’s hands, speaking soft and low:

“What the heck were you doing, playing solo out here?”

Steve groped for the answer. “I was searching for Henderson. Turned out he was safe and I… okay, yeah, I was being a total moron.”

Eddie seemed scarily cross for a moment, brows knitting, then he shrugged:

“Listen up, there’s an empty cabin nearby. We can shelter there, till this storm quits partying. Sound good?”

Steve nodded, and let Eddie manhandle him to his feet. 

“Okay, Sweetness?”

“Yeah, fine. M’fine.” I am now you’re here, Alpha. “Stop fussing, dude.” Never let me go!

Steve’s every sense reeled giddily. He leaned heavily on Eddie, and they started off through the snowy forest. Steve slipped and stumbled, and his fear and doubt seeped back, underpinned by spikes of fiery pain from his ankle.

He’d been attracted to Eddie since before he presented as Omega. Nevertheless, there were reasons his parents disapproved. By the time Eddie half-dragged, half-carried Steve up the steps of a dark shack, Steve’s skin crawled with gooseflesh, and not just because of the cold. Should he try to run? His brain fog had cleared, but he’d no way gotten the strength. He felt wobbly, frighteningly helpless.

And completely dependent on an Alpha he probably shouldn’t trust. Who had no pack loyalty. Who might belong in a Video Nasty for all he goddamn knew.

Eddie guided him through the gloom to a low wooden bunk, and sat him down on its threadbare mattress. Then he bolted the door and went to kindle an old-fashioned wood-burning stove with his lighter.

It blew out a couple of times. Eddie snapped, “C’mon, you son-of-a-bitch,” and Steve bit his lip to the point of pain.

Rogue Alpha. Unmated Omega. Dingy cabin where nobody can hear you scream. Like Hopper said, You do the math.

He could fuck you raw, knot you, fill you with pups and leave you dying of rejection sickness… and that’s a better case scenario. I mean, how did he even find you? Was he out there hunting for random lost Omegas?

The latter seemed unlikely somehow, and… Oh Jesus, now they were out of the weather, Eddie’s scent bowled him over afresh. How could something that smelled so right be wrong?

Because he’s basically using it as a date rape drug?

Steve lay down flat on the bunk, arms crossed on his chest, not knowing what to think. 

“Let there be light,” said Eddie, as a soft, lambent yellow washed across the room. Eddie returned, perching close and stroking Steve’s dripping hair from his eyes.

“Okay, Babe. We need to get you out of those wet clothes. Get us both out of them, I guess.”

Steve opened his mouth. Shut it again, noticing how hard his teeth chattered. Oh, and how Eddie’s fingertips trailed delicious tinglings across his brow. His own fingers curled, forming needy, smarting fists, and his fears scuttled back into their dark corners. Those vibrations in his chest started up again, vying with his shivers, and his voice hitched on a needy squeak:

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Let’s get naked, Alpha!

...

So there Eddie was. 

In a tumbledown cabin that barely kept the weather out, in charge of a cute Omega, who was cold and hurt. And squirming to get naked.

It wasn’t how he’d envisaged this evening would turn out, but hey, he’d blast through. Which was easier when he focussed on the physical aspects of looking after Steve. Rather than torrents of decidedly un-Alpha self-doubt.

Steve was currently trying to get his own sweater off over his head. He’d gotten one arm caught, whacked the other against the wooden wall, and was now trapped with the garment over his face. 

“Chill, Babe. I got this. Skin a bunny, huh?”

He peeled the shirt off. Now he had a shirtless Steve, staring up at him with huge, befuddled, scared eyes:

“Skin a bunny?” said Steve. “Like, what the fuck?”

“It’s something my old granny used to say.” To be fair, he could see that Granny’s old-school saying howled of predator and prey. Then again, she’d been an old-school kinda Alpha. “Don’t fret. I, uh, don’t eat bunnies?”

“Not a freakin’ bunny,” mumbled Steve, fumbling apart his own fly. Eddie draped a scratchy blanket around Steve’s shoulders from the front. He helped him peel his sodden jeans off, careful not to unsettle the bandage.

He then used the blanket to dab Steve dry and, yeah, it slipped a couple of times. Eddie would’ve enjoyed the display more—damn, he’d kill to sweep his tongue down that trail of soft hair beneath Steve’s navel.

He couldn’t. He mustn’t.

Steve bruised easily—his wrist was already mottled purple-red from where he’d bashed it against the wall. His hands were bruised and cut where he’d pried the trap from his leg, and Eddie half-wished Steve had waited. Then Eddie would have taken the hit on his already guitar-callused hands.

That guilt only brought him home to yet another alarming question.

How he’d found Steve in the first place.

Because he’d smelled him, when Steve had been at least a mile away from the trailer. That kinda link reeked of soulmates. Eddie knew it, and there was no way he was ready for that.

And why had his gut told him to bring Steve here, rather than to a hospital?

Yeah, they’d have had to travel further through the storm, and Omegas were delicate. Steve certainly seemed to be. But this place had no food, only a couple of crappy blankets. The stove was low on dry fuel, and he’d yet to locate a tap for clean water. And while Steve’s injury didn’t seem too bad, what if blood poisoning set in?

Great protector you’re turning out to be, Munson.

Worst of all, Steve was now doused in Eddie’s scent. The whiff of woodsmoke from the crackling fire did nothing to conceal any of it. While Eddie could still sense the Omega’s blood and fear, Steve also exuded pheromones that set Eddie’s body raging.

As he stripped, with his back to Steve, he was already nursing a semi. He left on his boxers, even though they were slightly damp. He forced himself to think of sucky things—those hideous mould spores Gareth bred on his socks!—as he lay down on the bunk. Spooning himself behind Steve, he pulled a dry blanket up over them and draped an arm over the Omega.

Who emitted a small noise that resembled a chirrup: “Eddie, I feel drunk… Why do I feel drunk?”

“Blood loss makes your head all fuzzy. Maybe I should check—“

“It was only a scratch.”

“No, Hon—"

“I can’t be hurt, Eddie. I’m fiiiiiine. Honestly, never better.”

Jesus, Munson. Why is the truth so difficult? SAY IT! “Yeah, that’s probably something to do with my scent.”

The scent I doused you in.

Heck, too late to hit reverse gear? He got back to snorting the forbidden fruit, nuzzling behind Steve’s ear, dangerously close to that mating gland. Aaaand, now he was salivating.

He pulled back, his arm still over Steve but with his face to the cobwebbed ceiling. “Look, I’m not a doctor. I’m not an expert on any of this. Just try and rest, Babe.”

“Okay, Alpha,” whispered Steve.

He resumed gently purring.

Which was literally crack cocaine to Eddie. He re-buried his nose in Steve’s damp hair, and littered soft kisses up and down Steve’s nape. He cuddled and warmed Steve, running his hands over Steve’s body, going with the flow. Jiving with it, because beneath his touch, Steve’s body seemed to melt, go pliant. Steve sighed and purred ever louder.

Eddie’s nuzzlings evolved into licking.

He could taste his own scent, mingled with Steve’s sweetness, and…

Okay. Whoops. Ouch?

He’d gotten a full-on erection nestled against Steve’s ass, which felt plump, round and totally lush. Hold on… hadn’t he left Steve’s underwear on him, like his own? Because Steve’s butt was butt-naked now. Where the heck did his panties go?

Oh SHIT.

Steve’s purrs grew fierce. His hips jerked back and his ass-cheeks clenched in a sudden spasm, almost as if trying to capture Eddie’s cock. To suck it from behind Eddie’s thin shield of fabric and inside of him.

Deafening sirens wailed in Eddie’s brain:

You deflower a high-class Omega, protected by strong pack leaders? They’ll gnaw your limbs off then carve your heart out with a spoon.

Plus, he suspected life would be far from peachy for Steve.

With an effort that wrenched through him, Eddie shimmied his hips aside. His erection now slapped Steve’s thigh, rather than that mega-inviting cleft.

Steve mewled like a lost kitten. “Alpha! Need! Neeeeed!”

“No, Baby. We can’t. You’re hurt. You’re not thinking straight.” His palm stroked soothing circles on Steve’s chest, which shook with uneven breaths. Steve’s down was thick, but so, so soft. Eddie’s dick dripped and ached. And Steve started to cry again, fidgeting and rocking himself so he could scrub his butt against Eddie’s steel boner.

“Pleeeeease,” Steve whined suddenly. “Eddie! Fuck me, fill me. I need you so bad.”

His anguish hurt Eddie’s heart, but… Jesus, Munson. Restraint! You deal Es and Wizz without doing them. You can’t… DO… him.

...

Chapter 3 can be found here on tumblr

tags: @wheneverfeasible @mugloversonly @ellietheasexylibrarian

@strawberryyyenthusiast @stripey82

If anybody else fancies reading more chapters, which will be posted at intervals throughout the month, I would be happy to tag :)

My endless outpourings of Steve whump can be found on AO3 here :)

[boozybellybabe]

15 & 25 please. 15 is the most important.

15: Favorite movie

Mamma Mia, what is this so important haha

25: My idea of a perfect date

On a fall evening walk through the park holding hands stepping on crunchy leaves, with a cup of hot coffee, while we smell the roasted chestnuts. We go to a library and browse the books, then get home, I cook dinner and we watch a movie cuddling on the sofa.

Either that or you make down a full glass of vodka before going out in plain daylight, pack a flask and take me to a bar, making me drink everytime you order it. You order one beer for each, make me chug one and then start drinking yours, while still sipping from my flask. Then, you make me go and order something despite already slurring my words, then come back staggering to our table. You take me out to dance having to hold me tight so I won't trip over my feet. When I ask to sit, you punish me by drinkin whatever's left of my flask. Then you let me marinate long enough that I'm practically passed out on the table. You wake me up and make me walk to the best of my impaired abilities towards a taxi to take us both home. There you feed me beer and ask me questions that I can no longer answer. We take it to the bedroom and you take care of me whatever way you want.

depends on the mood yo know?

[storiesfromgaza]

Do you see this charming young lad?

He holds a microphone in his hand while an angelic smile graces his face.

His name is Awni, "Awni Adel Eldous," a twelve years old boy.

Children at this age are often mischievous, aren't they?

Yes, but Awni was different.

Despite his deep passion for photography and editing, he was diligent in learning, dedicated to it.

Awni was one of the top students in his school, securing the third position in his seventh-grade class with a remarkable 97.78% average.

Despite his profound passion for photography and editing, his teachers dubbed him as the outstanding and creative student. He received numerous certificates, including winning the Friends of Libraries competition, achieving fourth place in the Fruit of Reading competition, and being selected to represent his school in the Addressing addiction through the internet competition.

Due to his excellence, and his passion for computers, his teachers chose him to explain to his friends the computer ports under the supervision of his teacher as part of the young teacher's strategy.

Doesn't all of this indicate that he has a brilliant future ahead of him? Awni, alongside all of this, had a deep affection for computers and video editing, aspiring to become a YouTuber.

On the second of May in 2020, he decided to create a YouTube channel and posted his first video over a year later, marking the start of his dream.

Awni used to contact famous YouTubers on Instagram, praising, supporting them and interacting with their stories. They were somewhat his role models in this field, and he aspired to succeed like them in this field.

“Nothing is impossible; keep going, legend.”

“My brother, there's nothing quite like the winter in Palestine, in Gaza. Legendary weather, sahlab (warm Middle Eastern sweetened milk drink) with charcoal nearby, it's a fantastical experience. and roasted chestnuts on the charcoal. I hope you come to Palestine. All the love”

“Aouni's comment on a story showcasing a page from the Holy Quran shared by one of the YouTubers he deeply admires: 'Your voice is incredibly lovely, I swear, I hope you keep sharing it with us through the Quran.”

And a year later from this date, specifically on the 18th of August 2022 he posted an introductory video in which he revealed his face and celebrated reaching one thousand subscribers. He expressed his gratitude to his followers, and this achievement was monumental for him. It served as a reason for joy for him, he felt his soul soaring in the sky with joy. but despite this, his enthusiasm and ambition continued to soar. He dreamt of his channel reaching one hundred thousand subscribers, half a million, one million and, eventually, ten million.

It is a colossal dream, Isn't it? But, don't we all have the right to dream, even if our dreams are as vast as the expanse of the sky?

Yet, he didn't know that on the very same day he achieved his first dream, the 18th but in October this year, the occupation would bomb his house in the Zaitouna (olive) neighborhood of Gaza City. Killing him, along with his family, and that his body would be covered in dust, laid to rest with his dreams...

On the same day his soul had soared in the heavens due to happiness a year before, his home was struck by bombardment, leading to his soul departing to the heavens, for eternity.

Awni departed, leaving his channel looming on the horizon, lifeless and soulless, mirroring his body's fate, as the spirit of its creator succumbed to this harsh world that refused to let him live in peace.

Today, eight days after his departure from our world, Awni's YouTube channel has reached 489K subscribers. But where is Awni?

[hp-yuletide-bliss]

Fest Dailies Prompts

Once bitten and twice shy | ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham

In the frosty air | ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ by Bobby Helms

When we finally kiss goodnight | ‘Let it snow’ by Frank Sinatra

There’s just one thing I need | ‘All I want for Christmas is you’ by Mariah Carey

Partridge in a pear tree | ‘12 days of Christmas’

The road is so long | ‘Happy Xmas (The war is over) by John Lennon

Have a cup of cheer | ‘Holly Jolly Christmas’ by Michael Bublé

I’m gonna find that girl | ‘Snow is falling’ by Shakin Stevens

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire | ‘The Christmas Song’ by King Cole Trio

Dreaming of white Christmas | ‘White Christmas’ by Bing Crosby

Don’t make me fall in love again | ‘Santa Tell Me’ by Ariana Grande

Stars are shining on us | ‘You Make It Feel Like Christmas’ by Gwen Stefani

Tales of glories of Christmases | “It’s The Most Wonderful Time of the Year’ by Andy Williams

You’re my kind of present | ‘My kind of present’ by Meghan Trainor

Blue memories start calling | ‘Blue Christmas’ by Elvis Presley

We’re happy tonight | ‘Winter Wonderland’ by Darlene Love

You’re coming home | ‘One More Sleep’ by Leona Lewis

Singin' how I always loved you | ‘Christmas Lights’ by Amy Shark

With a broomstick in his hand | ‘Frosty the Snowman’ by Perry Como

Holding me tight | ‘Underneath the tree’ by Kelly Clarkson

Where the love light gleams | ‘I’ll be home for Christmas’ by Camila Cabello

I've grown a little leaner, grown a little colder | ‘We need a little Christmas’ by Pentatonix

Let your heart be light | “Have yourself a merry little Christmas’ by Frank Sinatra

Green ribbon in my hair | ‘Cheer’ by Bishop Briggs

It’s Christmas time | ‘Shake up Christmas’ by Train 

✨✨✨✨✨✨

You'll find the fest rules here and the Ao3 Collection here.

[balkanradfem]

Finding Ginko

So, a while ago I was researching what trees are planted in the parks, in the city I live in, so I would recognize them more easily; I found out they were planted 200 years ago, and it's mostly wild chestnuts, lindens, and maple-leaf sycamores. I also found out that somewhere in the city parks, there is one Ginko tree. This immediately thrilled me, because I knew about the Ginko tree from anime, there was a few episodes of Detective Conan specifically about this tree. So I knew it was originally asian, I knew it had beautiful, fan-shaped leaves, and I was a weeb deeply in my heart still, so I decied that one day, I would find this Ginko, and enjoy the japanese anime tree (the tree originated in China).

Yesterday, I watched a video on medicinal properties of Ginko, and I found out that the leaves have healing properties for brain, memory, and ears. These are the 3 things I consistently have problems with, so I generated a plan; I would find the Ginko, get the leaves, make infusion, drink it every day, get my head fixed. I continued watching the video, and it was revealed that not only it had these healing properties, but also female trees could grow nuts that originally would smell very bad (they referenced dog poop smell) but if you cleaned them properly, and dried them, you could roast them and they'd be delicious, addictive even. So now my brain has generated a new plan: Find Ginko, wait until the seeds fall, propagate it, grow my own, have it growing in my food forest, have the medicinal properties + delicious nut forever. I am going to get my hands on that tree.

So I went out the same day, on my bike, to scout the parks for the elusive Ginko tree! It took me 5 minutes to spot it. It wasn't where the article suggested it would be, but in the random walkway, and it was a majestic, beautiful tree. However, the people responsible for prunining the park's trees, have messed it all up for me. All the lower branches were pruned so heavily, that the lowest branch was still several meters out of my reach. I couldn't get a single leaf. I couldn't climb on the nearby fence as it was spiked. The city was not gonna let me get my ginko leaves.

I despaired for a second, then figured, maybe there's a second ginko tree. This one did not look 200 years old, it looked younger. And the article suggested it was in a place by the river, where trees were at first planted in a botanical garden, and at first every tree had a plaque; I knew where this place was. I said bye to the tall, unreachable ginko, and went on my merry way to seek another.

This time it took me longer. I checked every tree I couldn't immediately recognize up close. In my journey, I inspected one inconspicious tree that was growing next to a restaurant, that I never before paid attention to, and discovered it was a mulberry! Absolutely delighted, I started picking fruit and putting it directly in my mouth; it was delicious. Insane that I didn't know about this fruit tree! A group of girls saw me eating from the tree, and they also went to inspect it; they were delighted, and commented on how long it has been the last time they tried a mulberry. Mulberries are an ancient slavic fruit, my great-grandmother had one in her backyard and I used to climb it and eat from it all day. But a lot of them got cut down because it doesn't have commercial purposes, it doesn't store well, you have to eat it as soon as you grab it from the tree.

Happy with my discovery, I would go on, and not spot any tree with ginko leaves, but I found this plaque!

This is the original ginko tree, the one planted 200 years ago. It was so tall and unnacessible, I couldn't even see the shape of leaves up there, the branches were pruned to 7 meters up. It was almost funny how badly my plan was going; I found two ginko trees, and a mulberry, and yet I had nothing to bring home with me. But then I thought, wait, this ginko was here for 200 years, it could have managed to plant itself somewhere, and it's such a valuable and exotic tree, I'm sure they would allow another one to grow. So I sniffed around and searched the area, and finally. I found another, very young ginko tree. So young they couldn't trim the branches 7 meters up, as it was only 5 meters tall. And I was able to get some leaves!

(That is the tall, unreachable ginko tree in the first picture)

Pleased with myself, I went home and made tea. The tea is almost completely transparent, with only a slight yellow tint, and it tastes very mildly sweet; the only thing I could compare it to is the pleasant taste of tree bark. But I like it, I can drink this every day now I know where to find it. Isn't it cool someone planted this tree 200 years ago and I read about it, found it, and was able to make tea from it? Thank you people who planted the Ginko!

[nanaminsonyfans]

╚»★«╝ Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire ╚»★«╝

a/n; the lack of cyberpunk x reader fics is appalling. anyways gay kerry eurodyne for christmas ur welcome. also this is post after giving up johnny specifically the sun ending. sorry of its shitty, i rarely write as a male reader and i hope i did okay! requests are open!!!

pairing: male!reader x kerry eurodyne (cyberpunk)

warnings; anal, male oral receiving, slight exhibition?, cursing, spoilers for end of cyberpunk.

—

The Kerry Eurodyne was making a Christmas album with US Cracks, him being main vocals and the girls being background vocals. You were there as Kerry's loving boyfriend and supporter but also because you had nothing else to do. Being the famous V merc has run its course and after everything with Johnny and Arasaka....you just wanted to be you, Y/n L/n. Of course you still talked to some old friends, Claire being one of them. Truth be told....You missed Johnny. A piece of you was gone.

"Y/n? Babe? You there?" Kerry's voice brought you back. The girls were gone leaving the two of you there. "You having one of those episodes again?" He asks softly, obviously worried. "Oh, no i'm fine. Was just thinking is all. The music was pretty soothing." You joke and stood up. "Was it? Didn't want to put you to sleep." "You didn't. Just started to remind me of stuff." Kerry nods and cupped your cheek. "This past year has been hard for you. I understand." You nod and leaned against his touch. His hands were always so warm.

"I gotta finish some vocals. Go get a drink." He hums softly. You nod, leaving and came back. Kerry was singing, however his vocals sounded almost angelic as he sang The Christmas Song. "Jack nipping at your nose~" He looked at you. He looked at you with those fucking icy blue eyes that just sucked you in every single time. You know what he wants. How'd he get so horny so easily? Sentimental one second...

You stared at him, watching his movement. He swayed his hips as he practically made out with the mic. You felt your jeans tightened as you wanted him until you couldnt take anymore and went in. "You're such a little shit sometimes...." You growl slightly in his ear, griping his hips as you pulled him against your growing bulge. "Yeah...?" Kerry hums, adding more pressure against you. You let out a guttural moan in his ear as he started to grind against you.

"You keep doing that and im going to cum in these fuckin' pants." "We can't have that." He hums and gets down on his knees. "Not when i have a perfectly good face." "Oh youre fucking bad Ker..." You groan as he undid your pants, your cock springing free seconds before he wrapped his mouth around you. His tongue was so soft and warm...and fuck the way he sucked you off was like his life depended in it. He was so eager to please and it was working.

Kerry's eyes were half lidded and staring up at you as if he was trying to be innocent. His hand took over whatever he couldn't reach. Drool slipped down his chin as he continued to suck. "Oh fuck ker...." You thrusted slightly in his mouth causing him to gag but he didnt want you to stop. You continued to face fuck him until you felt yourself getting close.

"Fuck..Fuck ker-" You pulled out and came on his face exactly as he wanted. "Mm...amazing as usual." He smirks and licked the cum up and cleaned himself up. "Now bend over." "Really? Here?" "Yes here its your fault." You tell him annoyed and Kerry did so, happily stripping down to give you a show. "Oh you fucking slut." You slapped his ass as he bent over on the couch in the studio.

You didnt even bother prepping and just thrusted in which earned a high pitched mewl from him. "Oh fuck- dont stop please." He begs and pushed his hips back to match the rhythm of your thrusts. His moans were so whiny it was pitiful, the sadistic side wanted to taunt him about it but another side of you loved his noises. Only you could bring these noises out if him, only you, only your cock.

You let out a few grunts as his ass milked you, and suddenly he let out a loud moan arching his back as you hit his prostate. He loved how the head of cock hit it just right. "Fill me up y/n please, please!" Kerry begs and he started to fist himself. "No one can say no to you." You smirk and started to rail him a few more times before you came together. "Fuuuck!" You groaned as you filled his ass making him whine at the feeling as he made a mess on the couch.

"You made a mess." You tease and kissed him which he happily returned. Out of the corner of you eye you noticed a blinking red light. "Did...did it record all of that?" You ask him and kerry took notice as well. "Yeah...maybe i should put it on the bonus track."

[tobiasdrake]

Ranma Reboot 01x06 - Kodachi, the Black Rose

We get Kodachi before Shampoo? Huh.

Man, I do not remember the order characters were introduced in. I know Shampoo's before Ukyo. Pretty sure the whole Chestnuts on a Roasting Fire arc is before Ukyo too.

(Is the Chestnut arc and the Hiryu Shoten Ha arc the same arc or different arcs? I can't remember. I'm pretty sure the Chestnut arc is about fucking up Happosai, but I thought the Hiryu Shoten Ha arc was also about fucking up Happosai.)

Anyways. Kodachi, the Black Rose! Out of all of Ranma's suitors, Kodachi is also present!

As a practitioner of a martial art centered around rhythmic gymnastics, Kodachi represents our first foray into one of the Ranma franchise's favorite recurring ideas: "Normal thing that exists but it's a martial art now".

Thus begins our foray into the weird and wild world of such things as martial arts ice skating and martial arts tea ceremony.

This town is absolutely fucking obsessed with coming up with new and esoteric ways for teenagers to beat the shit out of each other. It's frankly dystopian. XD

Akane is empathetic to the plight of her fellow athletes. She barely even understands what this is about but she is ready and willing to avenge the fallen honor of her classmates, who were unfairly ambushed outside of the ring in a completely unsportsmanlike--

...

I mean, they started that fight. The three of them jumped St. Alcoholism's ace 3v1 and injuring her. Ranma picked the wrong side in that fight.

But....

The Furinkan girls are already beat to shit when they ambush Kodachi, and Kodachi pulls this shit when Akane replaces them. She owns up to it during the fight.

This is actually the ambush they were talking about, when they said she ambushed them earlier. Ranma seemingly picked the wrong side of that fight but ended up vindicated for it.

This is why trying to intervene in a hostile situation already underway without context is hard. If the girls had managed to successfully dogpile on Kodachi's face, the right thing to do would have actually been to stand by and let them do it. But I think most people's instincts, if they saw three people kicking the shit out of a fourth and knew nothing about the situation, would be to jump in and stop it.

Ranma was counterintuitively making a good call when he hung back and let this play out. He didn't know enough to get involved in what was clearly a grudge between rival teams, and only stepped in once Kodachi had already won and was being unnecessarily violent to her vanquished adversaries. He didn't really pick any side, except the side of "You shouldn't keep hitting someone who's already down."

...

Oh, uh, I should probably explain that. I'm sure it was very funny for the three people who got it.

Kodachi's school, St. Hebereke, is named for the word へべれけ hebereke which means piss fucking drunk. Just. Absolutely goddamn wasted.

For the record, Furinkan, seems to be a composite of 不倫 furin which means adultery or impropriety and 感 kan, which is the impression or feeling or general vibe of a thing. Kodachi attends St. Shitfaced School for Girls while Ranma goes to Seems Like Adultery High School.

The official English name for St. Hebereke is St. Bacchus, naming it after the Greek deity whose domain is hedonism and wine. Staying on theme without literally calling it Piss-Drunk Girls' School. Meanwhile, Furinkan remains untranslated as Furinkan High School in official English sources.

Look, Ranma, if you're not going to tell Akane the truth she deserves to know, then you don't get to be offended when she's all cuddly with her new pet. What women do with their cuddliest of critters in the privacy of their rooms is no business of yours.

(But you really should tell her. Of course, now you're verging into "in too deep" territory where the fact that you haven't told her already will plunge you into the fires of outrage right alongside Ryoga. You and Ryoga are officially co-conspirators on this now, man. You should go think about that.)

I love how hard this is for Akane. Specifically, I like that the part she's struggling with in getting Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics down is the rhythmic gymnastics part. Akane can do martial arts but this is a whole different and equally complex field of athleticism.

Soun, also, should probably tell his daughter about this. But he is such a non-character that I'm half-convinced he's on sedatives most of the time.

Plus he might assume she already knows. This family is getting kinda used to random animals turning out to be Transformers: Perverts in Disguise.

(Shampoo is just around the corner!)

To my knowledge, they've never really explained why Ryoga is proficient in rhythmic gymnastics. His ability to teach Akane this skill comes right the fuck out of nowhere.

I have to just assume that Ryoga was on the rhythmic gymnastics team for the all-boys school he and Ranma went to. They're gender-segregated; men are considered to be less flexible and agile, and therefore society has decided that it would be unfair to make them compete against women. But Men's Rhythmic Gymnastics is a thing.

So, for where Ryoga picked up this skill... I guess he's just. It's a thing he does. And it makes him an interesting choice for Akane's teacher because. Like.

Ranma calls it out here. Akane is a masculine character. She is very boyish, something Ranma teases her about. She's an aggressive powerhouse who muscles through her problems. She's never gonna win a Traditional Femininity Contest against any of her rivals in the show. Well. Ukyo. But most of her rivals.

So having her learn this feminine sport from Ryoga, who is also an aggressively masculine character but has at some point learned how to come at it from that angle? There's something really interesting in that.

Incidentally, Akane's boyishness was a terrible miscalculation on Kodachi's part. Akane struggles with rhythmic gymnastics and is going to have a hard time out on the stage because of it.

But bare-knuckle brawling?

Yeah. You're in her thunderdome now, bitch. You'd better run.

NOT THAT WAY

New suitor unlocked. Goddammit, Ranma.

In Kodachi's defense, she does stand out from the crowd for one simple reason. Akane, Shampoo, and Ukyo all have marriage contracts with the guy. And Kuno... is an idiot who doesn't understand how Jusenkyo curses work even when the rest of the school kinda gets it.

Kodachi's the only one who. Like. Is just here because she met this guy and he seems neato. That's it. That's all there is to her dynamic with Ranma.

But in a way that kind of makes her more unhinged because. Like. She goes just as deep down the rabbit-hole of deranged obsession as Akane's other rivals but there isn't, like, a legally-binding life-path that Ranma is denying her by shunning her affections. She just thinks the guy's neat.

Kodachi isn't driven to extreme behavior by circumstances surrounding her and Ranma. She's just a weird freak. A full-blown sex pest ready and willing to force herself on the target of her affections.

Much like Kuno, Kodachi is a profound demonstration of the weird shit that wealth and privilege does to people's brains. Kodachi is entitled.

She's entitled to victory in her favorite sport, which is why she thinks it's okay to disable her competitors outside the ring so that she can hog the spotlight when the day comes.

And she's entitled to lovers. Your compliance isn't a factor. If she wants you, then the poison princess has spoken.

It's a world of NPCs and Kodachi is playing single-player.

So far, Akane has caught Ranma sneaking into her room at night to sexually assault her and making out with a girl that just attacked her in her bedroom on the roof of said bedroom that same night.

At least, so far as she understands those situations.

It's frankly incredible that she still wound up falling for what frankly, from her perspective, looks like an absolutely reprehensible clown show of a man.

And so begins the Kuno Double-Team. You can feel the gears turning in his head even before you know they're related. Though it's ironic that Kuno thinks Ranma won't just juggle Kodachi and Akane when... y'know... that's what Kuno wants to do with Akane and the Pig-Tailed Girl.

And his sister is so like him too.

Wagering Ranma as the prize of a martial arts contest without any input from him.

This isn't the exact same thing Kuno did to Akane, but it's in the same category of things.

(deep breath)

We'll... see how I feel about this after next episode. But.

I thought I remembered this, and was not looking forward to it. This is, as I recall, the beginning of the marginalization of Akane as a fighter. We've spent two chapters hyping up the confrontation between Akane and Kodachi, but a sudden freak accident means Ranma's going to fight Kodachi instead.

I recall the series having a lot of Ranma fighting Ranma's rivals and Ranma fighting Akane's rivals, but not a lot of Akane fighting Ranma or Akane's rivals. I might be remembering that wrong, though.

Maybe I'll feel differently after the next episode plays out. But this is the twist in the arc that I was dreading arriving at.

[revelisms]

please do not feel obligated at all if you’re not feeling it or don’t get to it but since you’re taking writing reqs I would adore more tamaharu from you🫶 I really loved bee’s wing! when I got into ouran and asked for tamaharu recs it was recommended to me multiple times right away haha

Aw! I continue to be flattered by the day that folks are still enjoying bee's wing 🥲 It was such a special fic for me when I wrote it, and even though it's been ages since I've written these two, I still love them to bits. Truly the top-tier bi4bi disaster couple.

That said—the fact that you've just given me an excuse to put Ouran on my dash in 2023? I am showering you with hearts. My inner child nostalgia is brimming right now.

I've been in a very holiday mood recently, so I hope you enjoy this little Christmas-themed drabble 🖤

No warnings / 1.2k words / Established relationship, goofiness, fluff

It starts softly—a low humming of voices and breaths that echoes off age-weathered stones: contralto, baritone, tenor, soprano: ebbing like a pianist's solo against a murmuration of gilded strings—and builds. It tethers Haruhi's attention before she can wrestle with it, a warm set of fingers still squeezed within her own. On the horizon, past the speckling snow, the glittering panes of a cathedral window gleams.

"Can we," she finds herself murmuring. At her side, Tamaki shifts, the ungodly red-green-blue of his patterned sweater blurred in her peripheral. "Can we go there?"

She knows when he's smiling, that faraway little crook that makes her stomach twist in knots; can see it, now, out of the corner of her eye, a haze of snowfall glistening through his fringe.

"You want to listen?" he whispers. 

Of course, he's delighted—and not doing much of a job hiding it. Dragging her out to this festival had been his own doing, after all.

He'd spent the evening prancing between their kitchenette and their living room, hellbent on convincing her to go with him, no matter how much she loathed tourist traps like these.

("Haruhi is so mean!" he'd wailed, shaking that ridiculous pamphlet from their university's event board in her face. "A true Scrooge! A cheerless fiend! Look at this, look—they have ice skating, and cookie decorating, and roasted chestnuts, and a parade, Haruhi, a full Christmas Parade—"

Into one of their couch pillows, she'd let out a dismal groan.

"And—and caroling," he'd blustered on, beaming ear-to-ear. "And a baking contest!"

"No."

"But mon chous! Mon petit nounours!"

"No."

He'd resorted to burying her full-bodiedly into the cushions, like some overgrown lapdog with no awareness of personal space. "You leave me no choice. We'll bake at home. A full extravaganza to our lonesome, since my dear Haruhi is clearly horrified to be seen with me in public—")

Needless to say: she had ended up, some hours later, in the ugliest sweater of her life, arm-in-arm with her boyfriend's giddy beanpole of a frame, trying fruitlessly to steer him away from plowing children off their feet in the ice rink.

The night had gone well enough, to be fair. Much of it, though, had come insufferably (reluctantly) at the heels of his own indulged whimsies.

At one point, she'd found him masquerading as a back-up Santa Claus after the hired performer had supposedly jumped ship for a bathroom break. It taken every willpower she had to keep her mouth shut when he'd beamed at her, plucking down his beard with a wink, as though she'd never be able to break through the disguise. It had sent the little boy standing beside him into a blubbering outrage, and himself into a panicked flurry of damage control.

Now, some hours later, the chill pinking their ears, they stand sipping their hot chocolates, hands tangled and watching the snow: a quiet, admittedly lovely moment, despite the crowds: the kind that never fails to make her look at his ridiculous clothes and windswept hair and the crinkle of unbridled joy in his eyes, and feel her heart melt, despite it all.

And the choirs are singing.

"I'm sure they have seats," he says to her, giving a light tug at their laced fingers. "Let's go see."

"But—the drinks—"

"Shh-sh-sh, a worry for another day," and he's already starting her off, his dress shoes slipping in the snow, determined nonetheless. His eyes glitter over his shoulder: a indigo prism of autumn skies, speckled with stars and moonlight. "My little bear wants to listen," he hushes, playfully stern, "we will listen."

Despite herself, a smile blooms.

The cathedral is more beautiful than she could have imagined. Grand iron-capped doors stand glossed with an evergreen so rich it shines nearly black. A pathway of tapered stone clicks beneath their shoes, resounding deeply into the cavern of a domed chapel, flanked with a wonder of gilded, candlelit-kissed glass. Nearest the dais, two choir groupings sing in tandem, tressed in robes of white. Their voices fill the air like some ancient holiness, like a folktale she'd forgotten: a mysticism that coalesces, beckons.

They're going to get scolded for not leaving tithes, for bringing liquids in here, for being visibly out of place, as she'd always felt in spaces like these—but Tamaki doesn't care. His thumb kneading gently at her knuckles, he shuffles them into a pew closer near the back, plunking down quietly amidst their cluster of other patrons.

His breath tickles her ear. "In Dulci Jubilo's one of my favorites," he whispers.

It's a gentle, powerful tune—wistful and reflective, in turns. The layers of the choir fill the hall in an cresting tide, striking a chord in Haruhi's heart that quivers.

She takes his hand between both of her own, holds it between her knees while they sit shoulder-to-shoulder. The song makes her think of the countryside in spring; like new life striving through desolation. A loneliness that feels like home, feels hurtful, feels hopeful, feels comforting. 

A loneliness that isn't so lonely, anymore.

Slowly, other movements come and go. In The Bleak Midwinter—a hymn that takes one by the hand and leads them to a pinnacle of beauty. Ave Verum Corpus—one of resolution, of rebirth, of redemption. Dormi Jesu—one that she turns to find Tamaki with the golden line of his brow gently furrowed, a lump in his throat, blinking a sheen from his eyes. 

Between her hands, his thumb fidgets. She squeezes it, carefully.

"My maman," he says quietly. "She liked this one."

Haruhi squeezes his hand tighter.

"I like it, too," she murmurs back.

For a moment, his closeness, the taste of green in his cologne, the calm that is him, in these rare enough moments, envelops her. Tears blinked free, he smiles down at her: a small lift of his lips, genuine and slightly crooked. And were they not in a church—were they anywhere at all, just the two of them to be found for miles—she may have kissed him, for long enough that she forgot anything but the hitch of his breath behind his teeth, the soft glitter of hair at his nape, the weight of his arms around her.

For now, the warmth of his palm will do.

The organ strikes up, again: a brighter shift. Tamaki leans down to nose into her temple.

"Can we make an orange garland, when we get home?" he says. His words pinch into a childish lilt. "With cinnamon sticks and cranberries?"

Haruhi fights the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she huffs out a breath, the start of a disobedient smile twitching at her mouth, and finds herself staring at the playful scrunch of his nose, close enough for her to count every freckle. 

"Fine," she sighs, poking her finger into the underside of his palm. "But just one."

Tamaki beams into a quiet giggle.

The old woman hunched in next pew finally cracks her back to shush them.