#as i tested when cleaning it of all the soil

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 10]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to protect his new family from not only Hell's Kitchen but from the world.

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Words: 4.2k

banner thanks to the wonderful @theradioactivespidergwen

When Minnie was six months old, you used to sleep on the couch so you wouldn't wake her up trying to get ready for bed. It would hurt your back - your couch was not very comfortable to sleep on - but you would sacrifice your comfort so she could sleep. No one in their right mind would wake a sleeping baby - even one that was always happy to go down for a nap. 

As your mind begins to stir, you become aware of the familiar ache in your lower back and the unfamiliar one pulsing around your eyes. Your hand slowly snakes up from where you had curled it against your chest and press your fingers along the bridge of your nose and up to the curve of your eyebrow, testing to see if the throbbing was sinus related. Nothing is triggered but your memories of the night before creep into your consciousness. 

Minnie with her tantrum and Matt with his amazing senses. 

You groan into the cushion as it all falls into place. Your eyes hurt from crying, not your sinuses, and you must have fallen asleep on the couch after your breakdown. 

Shame and embarrassment course through you. You hate crying and you hate that someone witnessed it. You can't imagine what he must think of you now - losing it like that. You should have been able to handle the news far better than you had and you're going to promptly apologize the next time you talk to him. You had acted so selfishly when it was clear he had control over the situation. 

But you don't have time to sit and wallow in your wretchedness - your daughter needs you to get up and be a capable adult, so you will your aching body to sit up. 

Your phone is sitting on the table in front of you, so you grab it to check the time. It's half past seven and your daughter has probably been awake for at least an hour. More shame courses through you - you always try to wake up before her so you can take care of her. You can only guess what state she is in. 

Your head spins as you stand, but you try to ignore it in favor of heading towards the bedroom. You prepare yourself to find a soiled bed - you didn't bother to change her into her night clothes and a pull-up and she is still mastering waking up when she needs to pee at night. 

The door is partially open and as you near it, you hear her tiny voice talking nonsense as she plays with something. You take a deep breath and push into the room, ready to face the start of your day.

Your mind short-circuits at what you encounter.

Both beds are clean and made, far tidier than you usually make them, and Minnie is sat on the floor with Scooby and some of her other stuffed animals, having what looks to be a tea party. To your absolute confusion, she is already dressed, and her hair has been put into pigtails with mismatched bows. You know for a fact she can't reach where you keep her hair supplies - you put them on a high shelf after she got into them to play salon before and managed to get her hair tangled so badly you had to cut things out. 

It doesn't even take her half a second to notice you and her little face breaks into the biggest smile, “Mommy!”

Still very much confused, you step forward to join the tea party circle and kneel down to be level with her. “Hi, sweetie,” you greet, trying your best to not alarm her. “Did you get dressed all by yourself?”

“Not-uh! Mister Matt helped! We watched lots of videos about hair and he made me pretty!”

You frown at that, “Mister Matt helped?” Had he stayed the night after you fell asleep? If so, where is he now? Your apartment isn't that big, and the bathroom door is open. Had he left before you woke up? You don’t like the idea of him leaving Minnie unsupervised.

Your daughter nods as she turns back to her toys, pretending to pour you a cup of tea and handing it over. You automatically pretend to take a sip.

“He helped make me pretty,” she confirms after putting her tea pot down, “now he's getting foods. Bagels!”

You turn the statement over in your mind - there is a bagel shop around the corner Minnie loves and if Matt is right about her also having enhanced abilities, maybe, just maybe, he didn't leave her unwatched. 

You bite your lip, then dare to push.

“Mouse, do you think you can tell me where Mister Matt is right now? Can you hear him?”

She doesn't acknowledge you right away, fussing with another piece of her tea set. You wait, allowing her to process what is being asked of her and watch as she slowly starts to move her head in minute movements, like she's tracking something. It's terrifying and fascinating to see a look of concentration come over her face and after about thirty seconds, she breaks into another big smile.

“He's talking to a frog!” 

“A frog..?” You ask, wondering if Matt was wrong about Minnie having heightened senses and she's playing pretend again.

“Yeah, he says…he says.. He's telling froggy he can't go to work. He's gonna stay with us!”

It clicks instantly. Matt isn't talking to a frog. He's talking to his business partner, Foggy Nelson, and as far as you know, Matt hasn't mentioned him or Karen yet by name to Minnie. 

“Can you tell where he is?” You ask again, being sure to be gentle with your question. 

“Outside,” is her response, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. “Froggies can't come inside. Do you want sugar?” She holds up her toy spoon and you offer her your tea cup.

“Yes, please.” 

She pretends to scoop sugar and you watch her in amazement. You are of course going to have to confirm that Matt was talking to Foggy, but it is so hard to believe your little one can hear that. You can't hear what is going on in your own living room, let alone outside your apartment. You cannot imagine how loud everything must be, how much input Mouse must be getting - but she doesn't seem bothered by it at all right now. 

She seems to be completely over her tantrum from yesterday and you want to ask her about it, but you aren't sure how or if she has the ability to express it. You know there are days you get overwhelmed and upset and you can't think of another way to explain it other than “too much”. You can't expect a three year old to articulate it better than you can. 

She's got a sweet little smile and part of you fears if you bring up her previous upset, it will spiral right back into a meltdown. So, you watch instead - watch as she goes back to playing make pretend with her toys, seemingly unbothered. You sip at your tea, making up a list of questions for Matt when he returns from his errand. 

Minnie plays for about five minutes before she perks up, beaming up at you, ���Mister Matt asks if you can open the door, please thank you."

Her statement throws you for a moment and you aren't sure how much you like the idea of her being able to tell you all these things. It scares you - her knowing things you don't and not knowing what she does know. 

Maybe it is one of the things you and Matt can talk about - then talk about it with your sweet Mouse. You are going to have to get used to it, either way.

You push yourself into standing and motion for Minnie to come along. She scrambles up and runs out of the room, delighted laughter following her.

You are still in your clothes from the night before and you wish you had taken a moment to check your hair or even brush your teeth. You try to tell yourself it is fine, but your anxiety just argues back, and you feel like a complete slob by the time you get to the front door.

Your stomach and heart both do a funny clench at the sight of Matt, who is still sporting his borrowed shirt. You don't know if you want to fall into his arms or throw up or go hide under your covers so you can pretend all of this is a dream. Instead, you step aside so he can come inside and silently beg your mind to stop collapsing in on itself. 

“Breakfast delivery,” Matt says as a greeting, his entire face lighting up with a smile. He's holding a bag from the shop around the corner in one hand and a drink carrier with two large drinks along with a small one in his other.

You can feel your face starting to heat up and force your eyes down to the ground, mumbling, “you didn't need to do that.” 

He shrugs as he toes off his shoes, “I wanted to, and someone,” his voice turns teasing as he directs his next comments to Minnie, “wouldn't stop talking about bagels.”

Your daughter erupts into giggles, then turns and runs back towards the kitchen. Matt gives a pleased laugh, and your stomach flips again. He follows Minnie, and after you relock the door, you join them. 

They are sitting at the dining table, Mouse watching with a big smile as bagels are laid out on the table. Matt narrates for both of you, “Three egg bagels with plain cream cheese, two large coffees, and one kid’s hot chocolate. Now, is that the right order or was someone taking advantage?”

Minnie giggles more and that relaxes your shoulders. “No, that's right. Thank you, you really didn't -” You cut yourself off as you realize the table is clear of any mess from the night before. There are no plates on the table or in the sink, there's no lasagna stains on the floor, there's no leftovers sitting out. Your eyes drift to Matt. 

He must have cleaned after you had fallen asleep. Guilt courses through you - he shouldn't have to be dealing with your messes, especially in your own living space. You are going to need to not only apologize but return the favor somehow. You aren't sure how you'll do that - no one has ever done this much for you before, and Matt has done so so much in such a short time. 

You're dragged from your thoughts as a coffee is placed in front of you. 

“It's just black, I didn't know how you took it,” the kind, handsome lawyer says, and your heartbeat is so loud in your ears. It beats harder when you remember that not only can he hear your body and mind freaking out, but so can your daughter. 

Your instinct tells you to panic at the idea of someone knowing that much about you. You always try to stay calm on the outside while having a meltdown, but that doesn't matter with him. He'll know you're a mess. You can't hide it. 

You hear Matt ask Minnie something about her tea party and watch as she skips away from the table, but it's like your mind doesn't process it. You feel completely frozen because you don't know how to act - you don't know how to hide yourself from the man in front of you. You don't know how to hide yourself away from your daughter. 

How can you protect her from yourself? Your own body?

Suddenly, Matt is in front of you, cupping your cheeks with his large, warm hands and whispering your name. He's practically right on top of you, gently rubbing his thumbs over your skin, “Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. Everything is okay. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

“What?” You ask, so confused about what is going on. You don't understand why he's saying it's okay. 

“A deep breath, sweetheart. Can you take a deep breath?”

Your mind will not wrap the reason for the instruction, but you do as you are told. You inhale through your nose and that earns you a soft smile. He continues to pet you, gently instructing you to exhale after a moment and you obey. 

“Again?” He prompts and you nod. You feel shaky as you try to focus on breathing. You've always hated these exercises - they've never worked for you and have only served to frustrate you, and now you are just trying to make sure you are doing it right. How embarrassing would it be to fuck up breathing in front of Matt? 

“That's it,” he says so calmly, “Just breathe. I know it's a lot. I know. One step at a time. Let's have some breakfast, okay? Let's sit and have coffee and we can all talk. How's that sound?”

It sounds good, it sounds like the right thing to do, but your throat is clenching and not wanting to produce words, so you nod instead. 

You close your eyes to try to center yourself and somehow calm down. Matt lingers, keeping a hold of you until you hear Minnie coming back to the kitchen. It seems like he waits until the last possible moment before pulling away. 

Seeing your daughter looking so happy helps to reset your mind. She's fetched Scooby and Pig and runs up to the table to put them in their chair. You smile at the sight.

She really does seem like she's perfectly fine and maybe Matt is right and everything is okay. For now, at least. 

You force yourself into action, moving to set one of the bagels in front of Mouse, setting it on a napkin. You're going to need to transfer the hot chocolate into a mug or Mouse will spill on herself.

“Thank you, Mommy!”

She practically dives into her bagel, picking it up and taking a big bite and getting cream cheese on her cheeks. She is completely engrossed with her food.

“Thank Mister Matt, he got us breakfast,” you advise before going to get a napkin. While you are in the kitchen, you grab your creamer from the fridge.

“Thank you, Mister Matt!” she chimes before barreling on. “Mommy, did you know Mister Matt can braid hairs!”

Guilt courses through you and you remind yourself you need to thank Matt for everything he has done for you. But you tell yourself to not think of it right now - you are terrified of Minnie sensing your panic and that somehow shuts your mind down and you go into parent mode. 

“No, I didn't. Did you ask him to braid your hair?” You ask as you move in to wipe her face. She obediently tilts her face towards you and closes her eyes as you clean away the cream cheese. In the corner of your eye you see Matt sip from his coffee, a smile forming in his lips.

“She wanted puffs,” he advises, “I learned a lot of new hair terminology today. Minnie is a very good teacher.” 

Your daughter preens at the praise before taking another bite of her bagel. More cream cheese gets on her face. You decide to wait until she's done eating before tidying her up again. It will be pointless otherwise.

Instead, you start to fix your coffee, removing the lid to add creamer. You eye your daughter as you do, letting yourself finally take in her appearance. 

“You're a good stylist,” you tell Matt, and it is true. Her pigtails look even and as smooth as can be expected for a toddler. You don't see any tangles and if Minnie is happy, you have no grievances with the outcome - only guilt that Matt was the one who dealt with it. 

“I have some experience,” he hums, before taking another sip of his coffee. Then he directs his smile to his daughter, “my best friend used to have long hair. He has little nieces and they used to do his hair at Christmas, and I got roped into helping. I'm told I do a pretty good French braid.”

Mouse giggles before gasping and pointing at you, “do Mommy's hair!”

Embarrassment floods you - you don't think anyone has done your hair since you were Minnie’s age, and your current hair is a gross greasy mess and you don't want anyone touching it. 

Matt hums as he tilts his head towards you, “I think Mommy is better at doing her hair than I would be. But maybe next time?”

“Maybe next time,” you agree, hoping that will be enough to deter your daughter from this path. 

Luckily, she quickly parrots, “Next time!”

You offer her a smile and take a much needed drink of your coffee. It not only warms you but helps to ground you back into reality. 

You remind yourself nothing has actually changed - you are just more aware of the world. To Minnie, this is the same as any other day and you need to get yourself back on track. 

Which means you need to confirm some things with Matt. 

You set your coffee down, then pick up Minnie’s hot chocolate and bring it to the kitchen to transfer into one of her kid-friendly tumblers. You clear your throat, then dare to try, “Minnie said you'd be spending the day with us?”

“You told the froggy!” Mouse happily adds.

Matt looks confused for a few seconds before it must click, “Foggy, sweetheart, not Froggy. Foggy is my best friend - the one who had long hair.”

“Froggy!” Is the defiant response and you know better than to argue. Once something is named, the name sticks. But of course, Matt doesn't know this and you decide to let him learn.

“Foggy,” he tries. “Like a cloud. Not a frog.”

“Froggy!” 

“Fog. Foggy. No ‘r’.”

“Frog. Froggy! Froggy! Froggy!” Minnie bounces in her seat, starting to giggle. You return to the table, securing the lid to the sippy tumbler before placing it down.

“Ribbit ribbit,” you add and that gets you a delighted burst of laughter.

“Ribbit ribbit!”

Matt practically pouts but seems to realize he isn't going to win this. “But yes, I… told Foggy I wanted to spend the day with you. When I was in the phone, outside.” His dramatic sad face turns into something soft as he tilts his head towards Minnie, “Did you tell your Mommy you heard me?”

“I, uh, asked if she could,” you say, feeling silly for admitting it. But you know this is the path you need to take to start understanding what enhanced senses mean.

“I can hear everything,” your little one proudly says, and you've heard her say it before - but now you know she isn't just playing pretend.

“Yes, you can,” is Matt's soft reply. Unlike your underlying panic, his voice seems to carry a fondness about the whole situation. He is the one with the experience and you want to trust him with the lead on this, but it's still absolutely terrifying. 

But you know you need to set the ball up, so you gently push, “Did you know Mister Matt can also hear…everything?” You know it's not everything, at least by what Matt said, but you aren't going to get technical with a toddler. “Mommy can't, though. Mommy’s hearing isn't as good as yours and Mister Matt's.”

Mouse looks between the two of you, pursing her lips up as she thinks, then she reaches out and pats your arm comfortingly, “I'll tell you what I hears, Mommy.”

Your heart soars with so much love and you turn your hand so you can take hers and give it a gentle squeeze, “Thank you, baby.” 

“I can hears a bark-bark dog and a woofy dog,” she starts, “and there's a puppy going ‘yip-yip-yip!’”

Matt laughs a little and your focus is ripped away from Minnie and over to him. He absolutely beams at you, looking proud as can be. You wonder what this like for him - having someone else who can hear what he can.

“There's a doggy day care about two blocks north,” he informs, and it is so hard to wrap your mind around the fact your daughter can hear that far. “Clients are starting to arrive, and they are lively.”

There's a flash of brown and Minnie is waving Scooby at Matt, “Bark bark bark!”

“Is Scooby a barky dog?” He asks, leaning forward towards her and putting his elbows on the table. “Not a woofy dog?”

“Bark bark!” Is the response before Mouse makes him growl. You finally allow yourself to sit and watch the sweet interaction. Everything still feels like it's too much and swirling inside you, but seeing Matt and Minnie bond is soothing - even if it's over something you can't understand yet.

“What about Pig? Does he go bark-bark or woofy?” 

His question gets Minnie to gasp as if she's scandalized. “Pig isn't a doggy!”

“Oh, he isn't?” Matt teases, “I can't see him. What is he?”

“He's a piggy!” She snatches up Pig and clutches him to her chest beside Scooby. You hope she doesn't have cream cheese on her fingers because cleaning her toys is always an adventure. She hates when they have to get washed and now, you guess, you understand why. They probably smell different after being washed or the texture is off. It's something you'll have to explore later.

“What type of noises do piggies make?”

“Oink-oink-oink!”

“Oh, that makes sense,” he hums, then hunches forward more and lowers his voice, like he's talking in secret, “And what sounds do little girls named Minnie make?”

You finally get to take a bite of your bagel as you watch her contemplate the question. Her face screws up in thought before lighting up when she decides her answer.

“Ooogie-boogie-boo!” 

Matt throws his head back with laughter, which makes Minnie dissolve into happy giggles. The sheer joy between the two of them pulls a smile out of you and the heaviness in your chest starts to lighten more. 

“Ooogie-boogie-boo?” You question and your daughter giggles more. 

“Ooogie-boogie-boo! Like Scooby!”

You don't understand what that means but you just let the positivity continue. 

“What about Mommy? What sounds do I make?” You ask, curious what her response will be.

“Bumbum-bumbum.” They aren't words, but you instantly get it is supposed to be your heartbeat. You feel yourself start to flush. Matt had told you that Minnie listens to your heart to ground herself, so of course that is what she associates you with. But hearing it from her mouth and getting that confirmation still rocks you. 

“It's a good sound, isn't it?” Matt asks Minnie and you can imagine how red you are turning. You try to hide behind your coffee.

“The bestest,” Minnie agrees before adding, “After Scooby Song. Scooby Dooby Do! Where are you!”

“We've got some work to do now,” you half mumble, half sing with her.

“I've never heard the Scooby song,” the man beside you says and that triggers Mouse into action. She slides off her chair, and still clutching her toys, hurries across the room to the television. She knows how to bring up what she wants, so it only takes a few seconds before there is an episode starting to play on screen. 

She drops her toys and the remote before running back to Matt and tugging on his - technically yours - shirt. “You gotta listen!”

He barely gets to stand up before being pulled into the living room. He does not resist in the slightest to being directed to sit on the ground and you watch as Minnie begins to explain the intricate lore of her favorite show. To your wonder she describes each character by their voice first and you can tell Matt is completely enthralled by what he is being told. Scooby gets moved from laying on the floor to being shoved into Matt's lap so he can hold onto him. 

You realize without fanfare that you can barely hear the television. It is still on low volume from last time you had it on, and it dawns on you that you never really have it turned up too loud. Minnie can probably hear it just fine and doesn't need it blasting throughout the apartment. You never got to really watch television as a kid, and you wonder what the normal volume for watching things is supposed to be. 

You sip at your coffee, watching as Minnie plops herself next to Matt on the floor, going on excitedly about mysteries and different sounds. Both of them are smiling and laughing like they don't have a care in the world. 

This is what you want your life to be like, you decide. 

You want your family to be full of love and joy and you have fought so hard to get to this point. You've climbed your way out of a cold and distant household to make your own little corner in the world and right now you need to enjoy it instead of letting your mind be taken over by darkness and despair.

So, you set your coffee down and move to join your daughter and her father in front of the television, asking in a teasing voice, “So who is the blonde man again?”

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare @mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @hunnybelha @

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets 

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

@

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @ astridstark13

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️SEVEN

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN ELEVEN

He's not a patient man, but he's trying his best, giving her some well-deserved cuddles after testing her limits a little too roughly. But in the end, he can't help himself. She's too perfect, perfect enough to take her once again.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Aftercare! Fingering. Vaginal sex. Oral sex. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 5.1k

SIX 🟥 SEVEN 🟥 EIGHT

He may have overdone it a little.

The girl is this pliant thing in his arms as he carries her into the bathroom, covered in spit and cum and tears, limbs too weak to support herself, too far gone to protest anymore, eyes hooded and unfocused.

He hasn't planned to treat her like that. Well, he has wanted to fuck her ass, that's been on his mind since the last time he's been in there, but the throat fucking afterwards happened on a whim. She's looked so fucked out, so defeated and willing, so pretty, he just wanted to see what she was capable of. He may have overdone it. But once he's felt the tight grip of her throat, he's been a goner.

And she'll live. No harm done. He's treated women way worse before. She'll adjust. She has to. She'll understand that eventually.

He carefully sits her down on the vanity and grabs a wash cloth, pours water on it and starts to wipe at her soiled face. It's a strange, intimate thing to clean her like this, he usually expects his whores to clean themselves or stay dirty for all he cares. But she's different. And not a whore, she's something else he cannot name yet. Innocent, pure, even after everything he's done to her. She needs to be clean.

She's barely present when he moves the cloth over her cheek, just sits there, motionless, blinks from time to time, but there's no other movement. Maybe she's in shock. Surprised and disturbed by his treatment. Overwhelmed by what he expects of her. Lost in her own mind. Poor thing.

Once her face is clean, no more traces of spit or cum or tears, he leans down and presses his lips to her cheek, then scoops her up in his arms again and walks to the living room. Her breaths are soft, barely there against his collarbone as he presses her to his chest. He sits down, positions her on his lap, holds her tightly. She winces when her butt is moved over his hard thigh, but keeps quiet right after, letting him settle her against him.

He exhales loudly, moves her hair. It's hard for him to just sit with her, let her come down from whatever is keeping her holed up in her head, let her come to terms with her new environment, her new life, her new role. He's not a patient man, but he knows that she needs it. The memory of asking her if she wanted this is clear in his mind, the innocent excitement in her eyes, how she said yes, having absolutely no idea what to expect, what he's capable of. It's almost as cute as her admission that she's had a crush on him.

Oh the poor, poor thing, letting silly little feelings cloud her better judgment.

For him, however, that has been the last puzzle piece falling into place. It's been an idea in the back of his head, for a while, and it had never worked out. But since she's stepped into his life, this sweet innocent girl, inexperienced, submissive, blinded by a childish infatuation, ready to be molded into something he wants her to be, he's known it'll work this time. She is perfect for this. Perfect to submit to him and him alone. And she'll learn to love it too, he's sure.

Right now she probably hates him, and he can't blame her. He's been a little unpredictable today. Asking her to cockwarm him (which has been quite the challenge for him too, an exercise in restraint, but no matter how he's felt about it, she's done a good job considering it has been her first time to do so), to rewarding her in a way she hasn't expected (having filled all her holes by now, he really can't decide which is his favorite, but luckily he doesn't have to decide, he can have them all, she is all his, to use and fill, use and fill, over and over again...), to testing her limits (and his, she sure has a way of bringing out the most primal urges in him, he's always had a high sex drive, but filling her up multiple times in a row is quite new to him). It's been an eventful morning.

He shifts slightly beneath her, coaxing a little hum out of her. His hand rubs along her back, soothingly, warm and heavy, and he feels her breathing deeper against him. But she's not asleep yet, no matter how worn out she may feel. His other hand finds her chin, gently pushing it up until he can see her hooded eyes, still a little unfocused, but when she meets his gaze, there's something else burning within them. Something like defiance, he can tell, and it brings a smirk to his lips.

He moves his finger over her jaw, carefully massaging it, and to his surprise the tension in her face lifts a little. She even bites her swollen lip. “Feels good, hm?” he whispers, applying light pressure to her strained jaw. “You've been such a good girl, holding my cock for so long,” he adds, looking at her with warm eyes. “Your little mouth felt so nice, you know that?”

His thumb moves along her bottom lip, gently nudges against it, slips higher, and maybe it's an instinct, maybe it's need, but she parts her lips and allows him to push it into her mouth. He's gentle, just presses it lightly onto her tongue, feels the wet warmth and soft texture. She watches him from under her lashes, while he pumps his thumb slowly in and out, still massaging her jaw with his fingers.

“Relax, it's okay.”

She does, closes her lips around his digit, even hollows her cheeks and sucks on it a little as she breathes deeper through her nose. He tilts his head down, nuzzles her cheek, then pulls his thumb out and presses his lips to hers. Leaning back, he smiles at her.

“Show me your little tongue,” he says, a whispered command, and she complies, blushing heavily as she hesitantly sticks her tongue out, pointed at first, then flat, and he smirks, leans in to close his lips around it, sucks on it, licks it softly. She winces slightly, but then her eyes flutter shut, and she lets out a soft mewl, her tongue moving against his, meeting his motions.

The kiss is soft but messy, his hand closes around her jaw, holds her in place, as he tastes the inside of her mouth, meets her tongue, feels her lips. She's squirming on his lap, her small hands moving against his chest, fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt. She's slowly coming out of her shell. He shifts her on his thigh, makes her straddle him, and she lets him, his hands moving down her back to cup her rear, hold her, move her against him, kiss her deeper.

When they're both breathless, she's clinging to him, arms around his shoulders, forehead resting against his throat, her chest heaving. He rubs his hands along her sides, into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hip, until they slip under the skirt of her dress and find her warm ass cheeks, fingers dipping between them. She lets out a little whimper, but he kisses the top of her head, shushing her.

“I don't want to hurt you, you know that, right?” he whispers when she leans her cheek on his shoulder and looks up at him, lips a little bit more swollen than before, cheeks flushed, eyes wandering over his face. “But,” he continues, kneading her rear softly, “you make me so goddamn crazy, it's really hard to hold myself back...”

She blinks at him, chewing on her lip. He moves his hands back up until he cups her face, pulling her closer to him, his eyes boring into hers. His fingers dig into her hair, a little hoarse gasp escapes her. Leaning down, he brushes his nose against hers.

“And you said you wanted this,” he says gravelly. “You wanted me to do these things to you... remember?”

She leans against his hands, tries to move back. He lets her, fingers gliding down her neck, resting on her shoulders as he watches her closely. Her lips move, but no sound comes out. Her tongue darts out, wets her lips, she takes a deep breath, her hand closing around her throat. “N-not... like... that,” she manages to croak out, her voice still raw, a breathy, hoarse whisper.

“No?” he replies, raising his eyebrows. “Did you expect me to make love to you under the covers, in the dark? Boring vanilla sex, in and out and done?” He laughs darkly, shakes his head. “Sweetheart, that's not what I do, and I thought you knew that...”

She furrows her eyebrows, a little pout to her full lips. “Aw, baby girl,” he coos, cupping her face. “Look at you. So fucking cute!” He kisses her small nose, smirking as he leans back and sees her averting her eyes, cheeks even redder than before.

“Be honest,” he then starts, and she yelps breathlessly when his hands quickly move down to grab her waist to shift her on his thighs, putting her sideways again, one hand on her lower back, the other heavy on her legs, spanning over both of her thighs as he holds her. “If I'd tell you how much I want to fuck you, right here on this couch, pressed into the cushions, or bent over the side or the back, your cute little cunt on display or your ass in the air, would you not imagine it too? Would you not be completely soaked by the thought alone?”

He watches her closely as he speaks, his hand slowly prying her legs apart, and when he's done, his fingers slip between her thighs, right against the thin fabric of her thong. A smile grows on his lips as he tilts his head.

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” he whispers, nuzzling his nose against her cheek as she turns her head away in embarrassment. “You're wet, baby, wet for all the vile things I wanna do to you...” She grabs his wrist, but he keeps his hand between her legs, pushing her damp panties between her folds, rubbing up and down. “Wet for me...” She squirms against him, quiet whimpers falling from her lips. “Don't fight it, it's okay. I want you to be wet for me, all the time, it tells me you're enjoying this...”

She hides her face in the crook of his neck, mewling quietly. He holds her side, pulling her against him as he nudges her legs further apart and slips his finger under her thong, dipping into her slick. Shushing her, he rocks her gently on his lap before he slips his fingertip into her dripping pussy, humming in approval at how well she takes him.

“Does it still hurt?” he whispers softly.

She mumbles something against his neck.

“Speak up.”

“N-no,” she mutters a little louder. “F-feels... g-good...”

“Yeah?” he says with a smirk, pumping his finger deeper, massaging her squishy flesh. “Feels good, huh?”

She nods against him, her stomach fluttering, thighs twitching slightly. He continues to rub her insides, slowly adds another finger, keeps the slow and steady pace. Her breaths are warm against his skin, rapid little huffs mixed with cute little cooing sounds. He bites his lip, forces himself not to move faster, not to plunge his fingers deeper, not to add another one or another.

Ugh. To have his whole hand in her tight little cunt, feeling every single clench against his fingertips, his knuckles, her entrance clamping around his wrist, pushing deep into her wet warmth, stretching her, hearing her whines and cries, seeing her tears... His cock twitches angrily against his pants. Fuck.

He leans his head back against the couch, stares at the ceiling, keeps fingering her slow and easy, two fingers, not more, in and out, gentle, soft, carefully. What has she done to him?

Her moans are quiet in his ear, barely there, but they make him move his fingers a little faster, a little deeper, her wetness squelching around them. He can feel the plug pressing against her soft walls from the other side, and she must feel it too with how she twitches against him. His own breaths are rougher, his heart pounding in his chest, his blood pumping into his cock. He turns his hand, adjusts the angle, keeps pumping, fingertips rubbing against her clenching muscles, and when she twitches a little more, he smirks, curling his fingers, pressing hard against her g-spot.

Her wail is hoarse, but louder than he's expected. Her hands grab at him, she squirms on his lap, gasping, whimpering, legs kicking, shoulders shaking. He watches her, head arching back, neck exposed, lips parted, mouth opening wider, eyes rolling back. He can feel her cunt clamping down on his fingers. His other hand grips her waist, holds her in place, as he curls his fingers into a claw and pushes in and out fast, always bullying that special spot, his thumb pushing against her clit with every deep plunge.

“Come for me, darling,” he whispers gravelly.

She cries out, struggling against him, hips bucking into his hand, and when she comes, she presses her thighs together hard, squeezing his hand, body curving and convulsing in sheer ecstasy. He stills his fingers, feels her muscles contracting around them, her wetness coating his skin, seeping out of her, she may even have squirted, but she's clamped her legs together before he could have seen it. Pity. He'll have to try to see that again, another time.

She's breathing heavily, collapsing against him, forehead pressed to his collarbone, hands clawed into his shirt, a little bundle of twitching limbs. “Good girl,” he coos, kissing the top of her head. She hums in response, mumbling something else he can't quite understand. “What was that, baby?”

She inhales sharply, moving her head, chin leaning against his clavicle as she looks up at him, red spots blooming on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she croaks hoarsely, a shy smile on her trembling lips.

He stares down at her, unable to resist smiling back. His cock twitches. He slowly pulls his fingers free from her clenching cunt, nudging her legs. She opens them reluctantly, blushing harder when she turns her head to look down. His hand is completely drenched, just like his pants, her wetness seeping through the fabric onto his thighs. “You made quite the mess, huh?” he says with a smirk.

An embarrassed whimper escapes her. “M'sorry,” she mumbles, burying her face back against his shoulder as she squirms on his leg.

“It's okay, you know what to do, right?” he replies, holding his wet hand up to inspect it, spreading his fingers, watching the thick strands of her cum connecting them.

His other hand moves up her back until he grips her nape, pulling her back so she looks at him. When she does, he brings his wet fingers to her lips, feeling his stomach tightening even more when she gingerly puts her small hands around his wrist and leans in, tongue extended, before she licks along his fingertip, then slowly sucks his digits into her mouth.

A groan escapes him. She looks up at him as she sucks on his fingers, his jaw clenching at the sight. The face of an angel, full lips strained around his knuckles, an innocent blush on her hollowing cheeks, but there's a fire in her eyes, a temptress, something that might ruin him completely. He breathes loudly through his nose. “You're so fucking beautiful,” he mutters through gritted teeth, a low thrum in the air, mirroring the throbbing of his cock.

Her tongue flicks around his fingers, slips between them, before she leans back and releases them with a wet popping sound, licking her lips before a shy smile grazes them. His hand, coated in her saliva, slips into her hair, grabs her face and pulls her up at the same time as he leans in, capturing her mouth for a searing kiss full of fervor. He's desperate to taste her, still fighting the urge to throw her onto her back or stomach and rail her with abandon.

Instead he plunges his tongue into her mouth, a little surprised just how hungry and passionate she responds to his motions. She wants this. She might fight the sensations, fight him, cry and whine and wail, but she's wet for him. She fucking wants this too. And the restraint is slipping...

One hand on her face, the other on her nape, he tilts her backwards, lips still connected, until she's lying beneath him. She's not even squirming when he adjusts on top of her, braced on his elbows, knee pressing between her legs, hovering over her, breathing harder through his nose. Her hands grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

He's ready to devour her, his kiss nothing short of animalistic, rough, urgent. She mewls into his mouth, meets his tongue, his lips, his whole frame above her with a need that radiates warm and wet against his knee pressing hard into her sex.

“I know you're sore,” he groans against her, hands digging into her hair, hot breaths mingling. “But I gotta fuck you... right now...”

She looks at him, breathing hard, a glint of panic in her big eyes. He doesn't care. Kissing her cheek, he leans back, moves her legs around his waist as he kneels between them. Her dress is pushed up, balled between his fists as he takes deep, steadying breaths, staring down at her small shaking body in front of him, holding back, trying to, but then he just can't.

With gritted teeth and a loud grunt, he rips the dress from bottom to top, she yelps hoarsely, the fabric tears, until it's torn in half, and he wrestles it out from under her and throws it across the room. The sight of her small tits quivering, her chest heaving, nipples already erect, makes him growl.

His hands roam up her torso, so big on her small body, close around those soft mounds, knead them, rub them, while she mewls quietly, a mixture of shock and anticipation on her pretty face. He keeps groping her with one hand, while the other slips lower and pushes her thong aside; not to rip it as well is almost impossible, but somehow he manages it.

His head is fuzzy, throbbing with a desire that makes him almost blind. He opens his belt and his pants, pushes everything down with a shaking hand before he grabs his angrily throbbing erection and puts it straight against her entrance.

Her whimper causes him to look up, her panicked expression squeezes his heart – and his cock. He leans closer, hand moving from her breasts to her face, caressing it gently. “Shh, it'll be okay,” he rasps. “Be a good girl for me, yeah?”

She shivers, inhaling sharply, but when she nods, he smiles at her, kisses her quivering lips and leans back abruptly, his hand slipping down to her dripping cunt, palm rubbing over her folds before he grips his cock and lathers it in her wetness.

The tension in his stomach is painful. Without prolonging it any further, he prods his tip into her slick, nudges it into her inch by hard inch, ignoring her quiet wails. His grunt is loud and low when he slips in fully, savoring the way she grips him so perfectly.

His hands are on her waist, his eyes on her flushed face, contorted in fear and discomfort. He rolls his hips a few times, slow and steady, but his restraint is non-existent at that point. With a groan and a squeak from her, he lies down on top of her, braced on his forearms, body pinning her down, hands finding her face before he showers it with kisses.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he growls against her. “So tight and warm...”

She lets out an unsteady breath, almost a little whine, but then her hands snake around his waist and grip the fabric of his shirt. He holds her gaze, wide watering eyes staring up at him, as he starts to move his hips, every slow downwards motion pushing her deeper into the cushions of the couch, and the more he moves, the faster he gets, until he's bouncing them steadily up and down.

Each deep plunge makes her gasp and moan, or so he thinks, her voice is still just that croaking sound in the back of her throat that tumbles over her parted lips. He's clearly overdone it. As much as he likes to fuck her throat, deep and hard, he has to be more careful in the future. Hearing her soft noises is something he doesn't want to miss.

He leans down and puts his mouth to hers, a messy kiss while he pounds into her tight heat, her walls clenching around him, squeezing his cock, wet squelches mixing with the squeak of the couch and her soundless little puffs of air. His own sounds are low groans, almost primal growls, predatory noises building inside him as he keeps ramming his hard cock into her soft pussy.

Her fingers claw at his shirt, fingernails digging deeper, her legs twitch, bouncing against his sides with every thrust, the heels of her feet hammering against his lower back. “Wrap your legs around me,” he grunts into her, giving her a moment of reprieve as he slows his motions. She does, crosses her feet, thighs pressed against his waist, holds onto him tightly, causing him to slip a little deeper. “Good... girl...” he huffs, watching her pupils dilate even further as she looks at him, this tiny thing beneath him, submitting to him so completely.

He leans back on his elbows, shoulders tight as he arches his back to move his pelvis against her, up and down, in and out, slowly picking up the pace again, his eyes on her every little twitch. Her face is flushed, mouth hanging open, eyes hooded and glistening, chest rising and falling fast, hair fanned out around her, exposing that delicious column of her neck – and the mark that's slowly fading on her skin. What has been a deep purple, has turned a brighter red mixed with edges of green and yellow, a slowly disappearing sign of his possession.

He can't have that.

So while he keeps snapping his hips against her, plunging deep and fast, he leans down to press his lips to her neck, kisses it, nibbles on it, sucks the blood to the surface, all along her pulse, rough pants against her skin as he marks her up all over again. He's quickly losing track of how many hickeys he's created, his vision starting to blur as his cock starts throbbing angrily inside her, his balls so tight it's almost painful.

To ease the tension, he moves his mouth to the soft flesh between her neck and her shoulder and sinks his teeth into it, biting down hard enough for her to squirm and cry out, her hands drumming on his back to make him stop. He does, licks up the blood that pools on the little indents of his teeth where he broke her skin. Sucking on it, it fills his mouth, turns him even more animalistic.

His thrusts are rapid now, his hips pistoning against her, cock plunging deep, definitely bruising her already battered cervix. She wails beneath him, hoarse little cries of pain, but her arms and legs are tight around him as she clings to him in an almost desperate fashion, and he can feel her hips trying to meet his fast movements. This spurs him on even more, and he shifts on his elbow, leans a little away, angles his pelvis, eyes on her face as he moves a hand between them, quickly finding her throbbing clit.

She gasps breathlessly, eyes widening, sweat clinging to her skin, hair stuck to her slick forehead. He stares at her, his own rapid breaths coming loud through his nose as he clenches his jaw, holding back as he focuses on her. “Come,” he orders. “Come for me...” he presses out through gritted teeth, rubbing her nub harder, rougher, while increasing the snaps of his hips, skin slapping against skin, her wetness squelching out loudly.

Her lips are quivering, breathless sounds slipping from them, a faint “Ah... ah... ah...” that echoes in his ears, and when he pinches her clit between his fingers, she manages a louder “Ahh!”, an almost scream that can't form in her hurting throat but still forces its way out of her. Her eyes roll back, shoulders pressing into the couch, spine curving into a beautiful arc, chest pushed upwards, hips bucking, legs tensing up, her fingernails like claws digging through his shirt into his back.

And her cunt clamps down on him hard, so hard it's his turn to groan louder. She comes with that delicious contortion of her body, a pliant little thing beneath him, convulsing uncontrollably, completely giving in to the pleasure that rushes through her. It's a sight that burns itself into the back of his mind.

He fucks her through her orgasm, panting heavily, hips slamming, cock being milked by the tight grip of her pussy, but before he can follow her over the edge, he leans back, grabs her waist, pushes himself to his knees, slips from her wet depths almost too easily. She's still caught in her release, slowly slumping back down into the cushions, limbs boneless, eyes closed, mouth open, unaware of him climbing over her until he's crouching over her chest, knees on either side of her shoulders.

“Open your mouth,” he grunts, barely able to speak with how hard his cock is throbbing in his tight fist. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused, quickly widening as she notices his new position. There's a deep furrow between her brows, fear in her glistening eyes, panic in the way her lips quiver. But she complies, slowly opens her mouth, tongue out flat, rapid little breaths through her nose as she stares up at him.

He doesn't wait long, can't wait any longer, as he pushes his hard cock into her mouth, holding it at the base, mindful not to push too deep (a restraint that surprises him despite the fuzzy state of his mind), his other hand closes around her throat, pushing her down as she starts to squirm, her hands clawing helplessly at his arms and knees, anywhere they can reach as he pumps his shaft hard and fast until he finally feels the sweet release.

He comes with a deep groan, head rolling back, his stomach tensing, balls twitching as he shoots his load onto her tongue and into her throat, and with how he holds her down, she can only take it, muffled whimpers ringing in his ears, turning into gurgles and panicked attempts to breathe. She's close to hyperventilating when he eventually pulls back, the last spurts of cum hitting her lips and cheeks, one shoots against her eyebrow and she flinches, squeezes her eyes shut, tears rolling down the sides of her face.

He leans back on his knees, cock slowly deflating in his hand as he moves his other hand from her throat to cover her mouth, holding it shut as he stares down at her. “Swallow,” he groans, panting above her like a wild animal.

Her eyelids flutter, her rapid breaths hitting his fingers, but eventually there's a quiet gulp, and another, her throat moving, jaw tensing, and when she stops, he takes his hand away and puts a finger to her bottom lip, prying her mouth open.

She presents her flat tongue to him, mouth wide and empty. A smile crawls onto his lips. “Good girl,” he whispers, wiping at her lips and her wet cheek. She looks at him then, breathing hard, face flushed, eyes burning with what he thought was defiance earlier. A little darkness behind the fear. He only smiles wider, moves his finger along her face and wipes up the glob of cum on her eyebrow before he holds it to her lips.

She may hate him again, or still, but she nevertheless follows the unspoken order and flicks her tongue around his fingertip, licking up his spend. He feeds her more until her face is more or less clean of him, and she takes every single drop. Then he shifts on her chest, hand flat on her cheek and leans down to give her an almost chaste kiss that seems to surprise her as she freezes before her hands close around his wrist, holding him there.

But he leans back, slips from her weak grip easily and climbs off her, putting his spent cock away while he watches her closely. Some would say she looks pathetic how she lies on the couch, a little beetle caught on its back, arms and legs splayed around her, hair messy, face wet, body covered in sweat and her own release, pussy glistening and still exposed, thong carelessly pushed aside. A used body. But for him it's an image he wants to see again and again.

His work. His marks on her. His claim inside her, swimming in her belly.

It would be an even better image if his cum would slowly drip from her clenching hole, but he can't do that until she's settled on birth control. That's the only restraint he's giving himself.

His eyes move down to the bejeweled base of the plug poking out of her ass. Something warm rushes through him. He sits down beside her, his hand running along her bare leg. She stiffens under his touch, dark eyes following his every move. His finger trails towards her wet cunt, but instead of touching it, he fixes her thong in front of it, rubbing softly over the fabric, gathering her wetness in it.

She flinches when he pokes at the plug – and yelps when he gives her inner thigh a playful slap. “Alright,” he says, inhaling deeply as he stands up, looking down at her. “Let's get cleaned up, hm?” Not waiting for any reply, he gathers her in his arms and carries her towards the bathroom.

Despite having just fed the beast within him, he can feel his cock twitching all over again as he thinks about what to do next to his pretty little plaything.

SIX 🟥 SEVEN 🟥 EIGHT

End notes: Can you even call this fluff in a story like this? Well, it was a little softer anyway, right? We all needed that after those last chapters...

Thanks for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

TAG LIST: @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE ◾SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN◾ELEVEN

[rachalixie]

a/n: tiny little minho fluff sprinkled with a bit of hurt/comfort idk what this is honestly

it’s when you just get home from your third time trying and failing to adopt a kitten from the animal shelter that you see it.

the plant you’ve been trying so hard to take care of is wilted beyond repair, brittle leaves either hanging on by a thread or fallen to the soil in the pot to decay. their sad appearance matches the feeling in your heart right now.

you drop to your knees by the pot, hands hovering over it trying to decide if you should help the limp stems stand back up again or water it or what even should you do right now?

“i think it’s dead,” minho pans from where he’s standing behind you, leaning over your body to peer at the sad excuse of a plant.

“i think you’re dead,” you bite back, gritting your teeth when it comes out wobbly from how tight your throat feels.

“that doesn’t even make sense,” he says, sounding a bit shocked when he kneels next to you and sees the beginning of tears brimming under your lashes. you try and hold them back, letting out a scoff, but one dribbles it’s way down your cheek anyways. “hey, baby it’s okay, we can get a new plant.”

“but i want this plant!” you almost wail, letting him gather you up in his arms as you let your control of your emotions go completely. you know you’re being a bit childish right now, crying over a cheap plant you bought from ikea, but it was a test. that you failed.

his eyes are a bit bewildered as he rubs a hand up and down your back, the other pressing your face into his chest, but he doesn’t say anything. he lets you get it out, let’s you tangle your hands into the back of his jacket that he’ll have to iron out later, let’s your saltwater tears dot his collar.

“it’s not the plant,” you mumble into his shirt once you’re all but wiped out, slumped half into him and half into the hardwood floor.

“i know,” his voice is soft even as it’s trickled with amusement, and you let out a huff of laughter. you can’t see his responding smile but you know it’s there. you know him.

“it’s just,” you start, leaning back and swiping the back of your hand across your face to clean it up. he holds your wrist back after a moment and resumes with his own hand, his sleeve covering his skin as he dabs at yours. “i can’t even keep a plant alive. how am i going to take care of a kitten?”

blunt realization crosses his face at your words, and he immediately shushes you.

“that’s completely different, and i know you know that. a plant can’t meow at you to tell you that it’s hungry, or scratch you when it’s upset. it can’t curl up on your lap when it wants attention.” you can see him almost lose himself in the metaphor before pulling himself back. complete cat boy. “and you’re not alone in this, okay? i’m going to be there the whole time. any gaps you leave, i’ll fill in for you. and you’ll fill in my gaps too, yeah?”

“yeah,” you can only respond, leaning forward again until your forehead thunks into his chest. “i was being ridiculous, wasn’t i?”

“maybe a little,” he teases, his hand resuming its precious trek up and down your spine. “but isn’t that better than not caring at all?”

[rascalthehamster]

HCs of Platonic!Yandere Legoharu with a gn!mole reader friend that starts out as one of Haru's only friends before Legoshi came along and now both are friendship yanderes for mole platonic darling. Please and thank you.

Platonic!Yandere LegoHaru

Being a member of the garden club was natural for a mole like you. Digging came natural, and you loved the smell of dirt. There was only one other person, a dwarf rabbit, whose reputation far preceded her.

You knew about the rumors, you also knew how rumors can change. How a spark can create a forest fire. What really surprised you was her attitude. She was always cheery, almost ambivalent towards the rumors that followed her around. The whispers that she obviously catches with her large ears. Yet, she was nice to you.

She knew you knew about the rumors yet she still treated you fairly. People have come to the roof to make a joke about joining the Garden Club. Her reaction made that clear when you first came with your slip filled out.

“What is it that you want? Here to mock me? Well at least you’re doing it to my face and not behind a corner. Well go ahead, spit it out!”

You were taken aback by her aggression, but still persisted to join her club. She saw that you were serious, and not just trying to yank the carpet from under her.

She wanted to test your will, see just how far she could push you. She made you move around many bags of dirt, just to have to move them again, repot all of the flowers, and clean the clubhouse completely, dusting and sweeping every nook and cranny.

When you did all of that, the sun was beginning to go down and she was still shocked at you not giving up. If it was a prank you wouldn’t have done anything, and if you were just trying to join a club so you could put it on your college resume you would’ve given up by now. She must’ve read you wrong.

She doesn’t apologize upfront to you about misreading the situation, but she did say she wanted to see you the next day. So it seems it’s official, you’re apart of the gardening club.

When you make it to the roof the next day there’s another person there. Someone much larger, and scarier. The grey wolf stares at you silently, sniffing the air softly. You walk past him, ignoring your body screaming at you to run away.

“Excuse me.” He said in a soft tone, keeping his hands behind his back and shrinking his body. “Uhm…” he lifted his hand to scratch his face, the long claws fingering his snout. “Do you know where Haru is? The little dwarf rabbit.” He moved his hand to accentuate just how small Haru was, she barely made it up to his knee.

“I don’t know. Yesterday was my first day so she could be doing something.” You picked up a bag of dirt and began moving it to some plants that looked like it could use some soil.

“Oh, okay.” He said, his voice disheveled and his tail tucked under him.

You felt bad for him. So you offered that he could help you while he waited, which he agreed to do. Canines were always eager to please. He quickly went to work, grabbing triple the amount of bags you could carry and just looked at you as if he wasn’t even strained, his tail happily wagging. “Where do you want these?”

After a few hours of him helping out, cleaning the gutters that towered over you and Haru, grabbing the hose that was put on the top shelf even though you specifically put it on the bottom shelf yesterday, Haru eventually appeared.

She saw you working with Legoshi and started to get excited. She didn’t want to show it so she pretended to get onto Legoshi for messing something up, grinning at you when his back was turned. You just giggled in response.

You began working on some flower beds that weren’t given attention yet when you saw Legoshi and Haru talking to each other. The wolf was knelt down to meet her eyes. When he caught your eyes, Haru also turned and she waved first, Legoshi just stuck out his hand. They were so different yet they were so close you thought.

When you finished up the plant beds Haru appeared behind you and asked if you wanted to go to dinner with her. Well, it went more like “Hey, me and Legoshi are going to head to dinner.” And she grabbed your arm, dragging you away from the plants.

The fresh dirt still on your paws as you were dragged along. You appreciated the invite though. Even if it came with weird stares from carnivores and herbivores alike.

The next thing you knew, Haru was following you all around campus, along with Legoshi who followed Haru all around campus. Haru would study with you, would eat all meals with you. When you woke up she would be right outside your dorm waiting for you. Legoshi also wanted this but was less extreme.

If anybody tried anything with you she would instantly stand up for you, however she had scary boyfriend privileges so the opportunity to prove that she could defend you never showed up. She made you know that she would if you needed it!

LegoHaru as yandere’s would be pretty good in my opinion. As long as you don’t mind a very clingy bunny and wolf I think all will be well.

[itsabouttimex2]

Hi what are your thoughts on yandere older Brother MK ? Love to hear your thoughts , theories, hcs/fics please 💗

Stormy Weather

Yandere Older Brother MK

(So I’m working on some blog improvement stuff- if anyone has a moment to do so, I’d appreciate if you took a moment to fill this questionnaire out! No pressure, of course- and I hope you enjoy the headcanons!)

History is often said to repeat, and those words have never been proven truer to MK when he sees you wandering up to the bright sign of Pigsy’s store. He wouldn’t usually be too concerned by a child’s fascination with such a bright and colorful light, but in the middle of a freezing rainstorm, wearing so little clothing? You’re absolutely filthy, covered in wet leaves and mud, a sorry sight made all the sorrier by your scraped legs and forearms.

MK races outside to meet you, only to stop dead in his tracks when you cower away at his hasty approach. He steps takes a step away and kneels down, leveling himself to your eyes. The delivery boy spends a few minutes coaxing you towards him with soft words, promising you safety and warmth if you come inside with him. Eventually, you accept the hand he offers to you, unsteadily allowing yourself to be lifted up and brought into the store.

MK freezes for a moment, struggling to sort through the list of what he needs to do for you, what tasks to prioritize. You’re gaunt to the point that your ribs push against skin, so you need food. You’re freezing and soaked from the rain, so you need a change of clothes. And you’re caked head to toe with what looks like half a forest floor, foliage and soil crusted all across your body.

A bath first, he manages to decide.

It wouldn’t do to have you sitting miserably in a puddle of filth as you ate, and changing your clothes is moot without cleaning you.

MK hauls you up to his apartment, trying his hardest not to jostle your frail body- and though he manages to avoid any outright collisions or trips, he stumbles quite a few times with the awkwardness of carrying you. But eventually, the shower is in sight and you’re sat gently on the tiles, left to trace your finger through the shallow grooves. Your newfound hero scrounges around for everything he needs, coming back to you with an armful of shower supplies. Without hesitation, he spills them unceremoniously onto the ground and starts the water.

Although you flinch away from the sudden and somewhat loud spray crashing down towards you, MK places a hand your back and rubs it to calm you down, testing the warmth of the water. Once the shower heats up, he gently nudges you forward.

You stare up in wide-eyed awe at the torrent of warmth, sitting neatly on the shower floor as the metal faucet drenches you. Biting back a chuckle, MK watches the gears spin in your head- you’re clearly having trouble making sense of the showerhead, of all the perforations through the shiny steel, of the lever that changes the spray settings. Have you never had a shower before?

Oh.

This must be your first one, MK thinks to himself, slowly reaching forward to peel away your filthy clothing. He has no clue how old you are, but you’re definitely at the age where you should know about showers and baths- or at least be used to them by now.

With a slight grimace, MK tosses your old clothes right into the trash. No point in trying to salvage them, not when the fabric is soiled through with grime and tattered to a net-like state. He’ll give you something from his own closet later to make up for it.

In spite of being hyperactive and somewhat flighty, the delivery boy does a surprisingly good job of washing you up. It takes nearly an hour to scrub away all traces of mud, and he spends nearly as much time afterwards brushing out your hair, plucking out enough twigs and leaves to build a garden.

By the end of it, you’re somewhat presentable, wrapped in an old Monkey King pajama set that MK never got around to getting rid of. The colors are worn and the fabric is abraded to softness, but the sleepwear is cozy and warming regardless. In particular, you fiddle with the stuffed tail sewn to the back of the pants, admiring the still-soft plushness between your hands.

You’ve quickly grown accustomed to the feel of MK’s hands, warm and quick, built with a touch of muscle. They’re the gentlest thing in the world right now, scooping you into a cradled form and carrying you back down to the cozy noodle joint. He almost sits you down on one of the cushioned stools, but something in his mind starts screaming to keep you close.

Cooking noodles with a child in one arm proves a little too hard, so MK shifts you around to his back and allows you to rest there, your arms wrapped carefully around his neck. You’re holding tightly enough that you do slightly impede the movement of his arms, but all the end up finely chopped and prepared anyways.

He leaves out several of the usual ingredients to make the dish more palatable, reducing the amount of veggies and spice the noodles would usually have. It’s nothing new to him, helping Pigsy make adjustments for custom-ordered meals. Instead of savory veggies, he makes you dumplings with cheese filling, hoping you’d find them easy to eat and keep down.

MK takes a seat before placing you on his lap, ready with a few napkins to wipe up any spills.

Between the two plates, you reach for the dumplings first, drawn by the enticing smell of freshly cooked savory bread and sweet cheese. He chuckles when you stuff the first one down your mouth, watching a little bit of cheese drip from between your closed lips as the dough bursts and coats your mouth with gooey cheddar. MK lifts the napkin to clean your face before pulling the noodle bowl towards you- and then laughs when you stuff a hand right in to grab a fistful.

Thankfully, MK had the foresight to drain the broth after cooking the noodles, allowing them to cool quicker. It also prevents you from spilling hot liquid across yourself, which he’s very glad for now that you’re wrist deep in noodle, eating right from your own clenched hand.

A warmth bubbles up deep inside his chest, blossoming out through his skin in ripples- the feeling of doing good for the sake of good. Just seeing you stuff down the noodles and dumplings is enough to bring a smile to MK’s face.

Enough to wash that addictive heat down his spine and through his veins.

Maybe he shouldn’t take to the police station just yet. And it might sound heinous; if you look at it from the angle of keeping a child from their parents, but- you were starving! You were freezing! You were running around in tattered clothes! You don’t know the first thing about stranger danger!

Whoever it was that was taking care of you was clearly not doing a great job!

So maybe, just maybe… it’s okay to keep you? MK certainly thinks so. He’s not too wrong with the points he raises, that you’re a victim of something, whatever it is. Neglect, starvation, abandonment, name it. You need to be saved, he quickly decides.

And what does a hero do best, if not save people?

[noturlondonboy]

Werewolf. Were… Wednesday?

Part 2

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Enid Sinclair

Werewolf Wednesday AU

A/N: here’s some more :)

She wasn't allowed to visit the infirmary until lunch, so Enid was out of her seat and running through the hallways as soon as the bell rang. Making a stop at the cafeteria to grab a steak for herself and a stray pomegranate for Wednesday was the only time she was willing to spare.

Wednesday was sitting up in a cot while a nurse fiddled with the IV bag attached to her arm, but the golden mixture had been scrubbed clean from her skin and the soiled uniform had been replaced with just her underthings- a black tank top and leggings.

She immediately snapped her head over to Enid when she heard the door open, and the werewolf closed it behind her before setting the food down and flinging herself at her roommate. "Wednesday oh my gods I'm so sorry I thought I was getting better at not dropping things but I-"

Wednesday shushed her with a finger against her lips, but she made no move to wiggle from the embrace. Enid sniffed and let go a moment later, rubbing her eyes quickly. "Sorry, sorry. I was just so worried. Are you okay? You're okay, right?"

Wednesday watched her closely, head tilted almost curiously. It was adorable. "Yes, Enid, I'm fine. They got me cleaned up and took some tests, and Mr. Fatoshti gave me an anti-effect agent to take in case the potion had time to seep into my pores."

Enid pulled a chair over to the cot and sat, offering Wednesday the pomegranate. "Do you know what would happen if it did?"

"I'm assuming some twisted version of shapeshifting, as was the desired effect of the potion in the first place." She took the fruit with a nod and started peeling it meticulously, popping a handful of seeds into her mouth. Enid made a gagging motion when she swallowed them whole, instead of spitting the seeds out once she had eaten the meat of the fruit. Wednesday gave her a smirk, but said nothing.

Enid sighed and ignored the steak she had grabbed, laying her cheek down against the cot while Wednesday ate. Her fingers and lips were stained a bloody red (probably why it was her favorite) and once the fruit was gone she tossed the empty shell into a trash bin. "You need to eat your steak, Enid. Lunch is almost over and you get anxious when you're hungry," she stated, sucking her fingers clean of pomegranate juice.

Enid followed the motion, blushing and snapping her gaze back down to the bedsheets when Wednesday stopped, her tongue still out against the pad of her thumb and obsidian eyes narrowed at her.

She decided to keep her eyes down and toy with the bedsheet. "Not hungry," she mumbled.

Wednesday's hand was suddenly under her chin, cold fingers lifting her head to face the girl. Dark eyes stared into her with a heat Enid couldn't interpret. "Enid. Be a good puppy; eat your food."

And all she really could do was comply with an order like that from Wednesday Addams.

----

The first real problem that Enid noticed was a few days later during the weekend, when Wednesday was walking back to their table at the Weathervane with two coffee orders in hand. The girl had seemed especially irritable today, and only the promise of caffeine had gotten her out of the safety of their dorm with Enid.

The blonde took her cup from Wednesday's outstretched hand with a grateful hum, immediately downing a fourth of it even as it was scalding hot. Her roommate watched amicably, an eyebrow raised.

"That loose tongue of yours is going to melt right out of your mouth if you keep that up." Enid only shrugged and continued to sip at it. "I would pay money to see that," Wednesday continued, her head cocking for a moment before she brought her mug to her lips and took a careful swallow. She sighed almost happily, leaning back in her chair and continuing to drink. "As bitter as Death herself. Perfect."

Enid's amused retort was cut off by a shadow on the table in front of them. She looked up, a bit startled, to see a lightly tattooed girl about a year older than her with cropped curls and an easy smile.

"Hey, I'm Stella, I just started working here at the Weathervane. Wanted to stop by and make sure everything was to your satisfaction," she greeted with an accent, hands in her pockets.

Enid beamed. "Oh! Everything's perfect, thank you! I'm Enid. Nice to meet you!"

Stella laughed at her enthusiasm, shaking Enid's offered hand. "I also just wanted to say hello and ask if you were free tonight?" She winked softly, hands clasped behind her back.

Enid stopped, her brain taking a moment. "Oh! Like- like a-"

"Like a date? Yes Enid," Stella grinned.

The blonde felt a rush of heat over her cheeks as she clasped her hands around her cup. A boot suddenly kicked her in the shin -hard- before she could respond, and Enid yelped, leaning down to rub at the tender skin.

"She's busy. We have a study date," a dark voice hissed, and Enid glanced back up to see Wednesday towering over Stella, even with a height difference of five inches. The barista looked slightly alarmed, backing up a step as Wednesday advanced. An aggressive pheromone hit Enid's nose, and she shook her head, convinced she was just smelling things.

"Woah, mate, no need to get bloodthirsty, a girl can speak for herself-"

"She's. Taken." Wednesday seemed to loom menacingly with an almost inhuman growl in the back of her throat, and Stella nodded hurriedly with stammered acceptance as she bolted back to the front counter.

Enid scowled in bewilderment and opened her mouth to chastise her roommate, but Wednesday had a steel grip on her wrist and was tugging her out of the door without a moment's notice.

"We're leaving," she ground out, footsteps thudding loudly. Enid barely had time to grab her coffee.

But her eyes darted over something curious before she was completely pulled from the establishment. A crack that definitely wasn't there before was spiked through Wednesday's half full coffee mug, and a twin set of jagged scratches were etched into the table on either side of it.

Were those... claw marks?

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Do you remember my skincare mini series? Do you remember how Rain and Lus were kind of mean to Mountain? I felt kind of bad about that.

the day is long enough to turn you into stone

(contains: Gentle sex near the end, 2k words of mountain getting rubbed down and loved on, trans!rain topping, the glory of a naked cumulus, cockwarming and handfeeding. Written in one go so if something's wrong, no it's not. Unless it's really bad. Will throw it on ao3 whenever.)

Mountain’s been on the move long before dawn, boots on the ground with just enough coffee in his system to convince his aching eyes to open and his tired mind to pay attention. It's the last day in a long stretch of many working ones bedding the gardens and orchards down for what promises to be a proper winter season. Coming in late to the harvest season meant he missed the majority of the fun work; picking and canning and jamming and drying. All that was left was the grunt work, of mending fences and chopping wood, testing and feeding the soil to ensure a good healthy ground to plant the saved seeds in next year. Tools needed to be repaired, sheds and barns and coops needed to be cleaned out and inspected. Feedstores checked and then checked again for the constant threat of pests, but that's helped by the mousers, creeping silently along until a hand was held out and they approached with a purr that rivaled any ghouls.

At some point his brain comes online again. The autopilot shutting off when there's no more work to be done. Of course, there's always more work to be done, but as Mountain sits stop a boulder and slowly chews his way through the sandwich someone had handed to him hours and hours and hours ago, he can't think of anything else he’d like to do more than go to sleep for the rest of the year.

(Divider by @forlorn-crows)

Not like this though. He wouldn't sleep well if he was filthy, caked in the day’s worth of sweat and grime and he honestly can't remember the last time he showered but he thinks the garden hose should suffice as he passes it on his way in. His clothes are tossed in a pail to be retrieved at some other point in time for laundry and he relishes the cold burst of water that hits his skin, tracking down through the dirt that might as well be engrained underneath.A cleaning rag from one pocket is taken to scrub what he seems the worst of it off with help of a shrunken and discolored ball of tallow and lye soap taken from another pocket. He reasons that he'll probably dry before he gets to his room and that the sight of a nude ghoul won't surprise anyone at this point. The rules were a bit laxer around this time of year, since novitiates weren't traditionally moved in until the longest and darkest night.

But there's a wrench thrown into his plans, as soon as he opens the door to his room. The motion sends a flurry of rose petals scattering across the floorboards, just a few in a trail that leads to his bathroom door, cracked open to waft out the scent of something decidedly not of his own toiletry collection. There's just enough candlelight in the tiny room for him to see he won't be spending the night alone.

“I'm not cleaning this up.” Is the only thing he can think to say as Rain opens the door wider. He's shockingly clothed but in such a way to suggest he won't be staying so for very long. Loose, flowing fabric, draped easily and easy to pull off. Mountain tries to be interested, really he does, but it's just that he's so damn tired and the bed is right there. His bones ache. His head aches. Rain is very pretty but Mountain is very, very exhausted.

“Don't worry about it.” Rain says dismissively. He beckons with an elegant arm outstretched and like the work-dog he feels he really is, Mountain obeys with a hanging head. “Oh, stop moping. We're doing something different tonight.”

“Not moping.” He says, sounding childish and petulant but the attitude disappears as soon as he sees the tub. His battered old claw foot has been utterly transformed, scrubbed clean and shining in the low light. The water, tepid on the best of days, has been heated so that fragrant steam rises in lazy whirls as Rain leads him to it. He can pick out lavender and chamomile right away, but it's not his own mixture. It's something from the water ghoul’s expensive and luxurious collection, something that came in an elegantly wrought alabaster jar that Rain pours from as Mountain gathers enough braincells to realize the bath is, in fact, for him.

“Go on.” Rain says. “I can't add everything else until you do.”

Words fail him, especially as he tests the water with his fingers and finds it delightfully hot. Slipping his whole body underneath it brings out deep and guttural noise from his chest, near sexual as it envelops him. His eyes are heavy and refuse to remain open.

“Mmrhn?” Is the best he can manage as a lid is twirled open and the gentle hiss of dry herbs hit the water.

“Pain relief mixture.” Rain murmurs, continuing to sprinkle. “Your own.”

A special blend of three salts, eleven herbs, and four oils. He knows them all by name but his brain dips offline again as Rain comes to perch on the lip of the tub by his shoulders. Mountain cracks his eye open in a Herculean effort and is rewarded with the glimpse of a small silver bowl dipping into the water and, most importantly, the sight of Rain’s clothing folded neatly on the counter by the sink.

He's just a Ghoul, after all.

“Close your eyes.” Rain gently admonishes and Mountain does. The water is poured over his hair and face, Rain giving extra attention to his beard to make sure no part of Mountain is left untouched and dry. Cool cream is smeared on the bare skin of his face with a dampened towel wrapped carefully around his head so he can still breath while whatever Rain out on his works it's magic. Something else is combed patiently through his tangled hair and left to soak in as Rain scratches tenderly at his scalp.

He drifts off; into a hazy dreamscape of grey and gardens that never need tending. His feet float above the ground so his body never aches with the weight of carrying itself around all day and somewhere in the mist, he knows someone waits. Just as he's about to find them and take them in his arms, they call out gently a name not his own and he's too tired to startle, but manages an impressive snort as Cumulus chuckles.

“How's he doing?” She whispers and Mountain hopes she's just as naked as he and Rain are.

“He’d fall asleep right here if we let him.” Rain replies. “Did you find the rose lotion? The one in a square bottle?”

“I thought we weren't doing that rose lotion.” Cumulus answers, setting what sounds like a basket down on the countertop. “Remember? It was too waxy and not moisturizing enough.”

“Oh.” Rain says, starting to unwrap the towel from Mountain’s face. His vision is blurred and he can't make out much- just the figure of his beautiful Lus gleaming mother naked in the candlelight as she unpacks her basket, setting each item down with reverence after a thorough inspection. “Right. Look, in my defense, we came up with this idea when we were smoking.”

“Nuh-uh.” Cumulus counters, a smile in her voice so rich he can hear the dimples. “You forgot everything we agreed on as soon as we saw Mountain strip down and hose off.”

“Okay.” Rain says amicably. “And? Like you're any better.”

“Surprised you haven't dove in there with him yet.”

Mountain makes a noise that informs everyone present he would very much enjoy Rain diving in to join him. But that would leave Lus out and he wants his Lus as well, it's not fair to leave her in the candlelight, lovely as she looks in it.

“He agrees with me.”

“He's agreeing with me.”

They're being so nice to him for once. He thinks the bickering has taken a different turn but it's not like there are any real stakes at play here. Rain’s washing his hair now, soaping out the mask he applied earlier and rinsing the suds out as Cumulus sits on his other side and presses something to his mouth. He opens as he's bid and lets her handfeed him some impossibly delicious, crispy bite of food. Savory and meaty in a flaky shell. His own recipe that he can recognize even as the last of his brain drips out of his skull in the heat of the water and the two beside him. His mouth is wiped when he finishes, cool water out to his lips and he drinks. The next course of fruit and cheese begins as Rain fusses with conditioner, snips at his scraggly beard with a little pair of shears and even cleans and files his nails, brushing on yet another oil to the keratin.

“I could watch you pamper our man all day.” Cumulus teases, holding out a cube of cheese on a stick. Rain takes it gracefully, giving her extended and pointed eye contact as he draws back. Mountain wheezes and the noise brings their attention back on him again.

“Your turn.” Rain says.

He's helped out of the water, gone tepid by now and for once his body doesn't complain about the work of moving joints and muscles and his bones don't feel like they’ve been filled with lead. Cumulus dries him with her power, keeping him warm thermals harnessed to keep him from shivering. His skin, dry from the heat and the harshness of his own soap, is coated in a shea butter lotion and he's led from the bathroom to his bed with a fire crackling in the grate.

“Lay down.” She says, and he obeys. On his back at first but she flips him with ease onto his stomach and really, he's got no complaints there. She's easy to underestimate, always seen with a box of sweets and tucked up with a book but only a fool forgets she's a menace from the pit. Being spoiled up top just suits her better and she's got years of experience to draw on as she straddles his back. Hands that once ripped jawbone from skull press tenderly into his muscles and he forgets everything again as she works him, fingers dancing like she's playing her piano. Her body is a comforting weight atop him, easing any lingering anxiety he might have had about things being left undone or not good enough. It's no use to worry without energy to act on it. If things go wrong, he’ll be rested and restored enough to deal with them. Even his tail is lovingly played with, tugged on and rubbed until it settles.

At some point, she slips off and lays next to him with a little plate of chocolates. Rain’s on him now, pouring more oil in a straight line down his back, humming as he dots more here and there. Mountain grumbles until he's fed a candied pecan from Lus’ lips and the kiss distracts him enough so that he doesn't notice Rain shuffling back to sit on his knees as he idly plays in the spills of oil, finger painting that takes his hands lower and lower.

With one hand on each cheek, Rain pulls him apart. Warm oil splatters directly on his hole and he jolts with a whimper that Lus smothers with her chest. Rain dips two fingers inside, easily finding the spot that has his legs shaking in moments. He didn't have the energy for sex, he thought, but what they wanted was vastly different than what he expected. Rain’s fingers steadily pump in and out of his body for ages as he and Lus kiss, the water leaving his own lip prints in the film slowly absorbing into Mountain’s skin.

“You hard, baby?” Lus asks him between breaths and Mountain is embarrassed at the way he whispers out no, chasing the taste of her but she just smiles patiently at him.

“Don't need to be, honey. We’ll take care of you.”

When he's finally deemed ready, he's pushed onto his side, Rain tight to his back while Lus throws a luscious thigh over his hip, going for his neck. He feels the press of Rain's breasts against his shoulder blades, his own hips rocking for purchase until his tentacle eases out of Rain's body and wriggling home into Mountain's. It curls up inside him, heavy and deep and pressed right where he needs it. His cock is gripped in a soft, manicured hand, not to rub and tease but just to hold and comfort. He doesn't know which way to turn to kiss them and their laughter is gentle.

“Just let us take care of you.” Whispers one.

“It's the least we could do in return.” Murmurs the other.

His sleep, after an orgasm milked from his still soft cock, is deep and dreamless. It's a long time before all three of them wake up.

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ tags ; afab + gn!reader (they are wearing a dress and lace panties however), unprotected sex / no prep (it's not rought), semi public sex, 18+ | ✮ wc ; 1.4k (?) idek

✮ a/n ; happy late birthday barou. this is crazy horny my bad fr.

Barou is an uptight person.

He doesn't think of himself that way, fucking obviously. But he's been told multiple times throughout his life that that's how he seems. From his teammates to his little sisters to every single media outlet desperately hoping he has more interesting gossip than a change in the babywipe brands he uses.

But Barou is a straight-forward, straight-laced sort of man. He tries to not come home late, keeps all of his promises, and always makes sure he reverses his car when he parks. He doesn't believe in the pull-out method. He always makes sure any physical intimacy he has with anyone comes after they've both been tested.

He's got a life on the line and there's nothing wrong with being careful. Barou is stiff sure, but he's respectful and tidy and takes care of everything because that's how he was raised.

Barou is so terribly uptight. It is, by all means, completely out of character for him to fucking you in the stall of a high-end restaurant bathroom.

Despite himself, and his best interests, and his general good character - he has your cheek pressed into the stall of the bathroom door and two hands on your hips. The tip of his cock is resting against the curve of your ass, pretty lace set underneath the skirt of your dress. You're in the bathroom of somewhere so upscale with your pussy soaking wet.

And Barou is hard out of his fucking mind. It's been like this all-day. From the minute his morning started, you've done nothing but spoil him. A spotless house (cleaned in the way he like), plenty of food, a planned visit to his parents house and a quiet birthday dinner to end the night. All packaged neatly in the warmth of your smile, an eagerness to show off your affection.

He doesn't care to know if you were meaning to seduce him but you did. He spent most of the day half-stiff, sneaking touches in the car and keeping himself at bay with lingering glances.

The gift at the dinner table did it. A thoughtful gift, a leather wallet - practical but not expensive. That set him off, ruined the rest of his remaining patience. He's not verbal enough to confess his undying love to you.

He can, however, please you. He's good at that, and this way - both of you come out of it feeling better. He's uptight but he's tipped the wait staff enough to make sure everyone keeps quiet about being in the bathroom.

And he's strict about the certain policies he enforces.

But you look good with that dress on, the soft curves of your neckline and the slight shake in your thighs when you bend over. Damp, dark material soiled over your pussy - all trembling even though he hasn't done more than kiss and grope you.

It's unusual how much he wants to fuck you. It's a little unbelievable how badly he wants it. He rubs the tip against you, lets it dig between the thin lace - feels how soft and sticky you are without him even touching you. He leans forward a little, picks you up your hips and pulls you in such a way you're grinding on it without actually moving.

He forgets he's this much stronger than you. You yield easily enough, an open-mouth moan leaving your lips. Barou feels a spike of heat run through him, sharp as blood rushes towards his cock so quick he's lightheaded.

"Ridiculous," He rasps, almost exasperated at how deep he's thinking about fucking you "What do you get out of being so good to me?"

"Don't want a-anything," He nudges the tip into your clit just to make you stumble "I just want you to have a good time. Did you?"

Of course he did. How could he not? He doesn't reply, tugging the lace of your panties to one side with a laugh that might sound harsh if you aren't listening close enough.

"I had a good time baby. It was fucking great actual," He says, and it's well-intended. His throat is so thick it almost feels sore. He doesn't remember the last time he was this desperate to fuck you - if he's ever felt this antagonized by your kindness. A good, sweet lover you are.

Gentle reprieve for the ever uptight, ever high-strung Barou. A man of action, of course he wants to fuck you about it. The skin to skin makes his grip on your thighs tighten, he can feel his nails digging into the flesh. The indentations must ache but you don't complain. He'll kiss it better later. Eventually.

Silky and dripping , such a perfect place to drill his cock into. Like it was made for him to be in. Carve a spot for himself out of you with the heavy steel of his shaft. You're so fucking perfect for him. His perfect, sweet angel.

You deserve to be fucked with this much effort at least. Barou wants to stretch you, so he does. He pushes the tip in slowly, reaches his hands out of your tits and squeezes hard. He licks up the side of your neck, kissing your jaw.

"Relax," He offers, as tender as he can be right now "Unless you wanna be sore on the way home."

How ironic he's telling you to relax. If he doesn't pour every ounce of his concentration into stilling - he'd fuck himself into without thinking twice. Fill you the brim, brush your womb and stay there until it remembers who he is. He wants it so bad it almost makes him sick, but he's being stingy enough skipping on more foreplay.

A man of good character doesn't fuck his lover in a shitty bathroom stall. But maybe Barou is learning to relax, because all he can think about is how the acoustics in this tight space do you no favors. He can hears just how soaked you are, can hear every short pant of need - ragged from desire in the walls. How it cumulates in the air until it's too hard to breathe.

You do relax, and Barou rocks his hips slow. You cry out. He laughs, just a little. The adrenaline never stops being addicting.

"Ya like that? Like how that fucking feels? How my," Deeper, another inch pushed into the heat of you "How my cock feels all the way in here?" He presses his palm into the place underneath your tummy.

"Ungh, uh-huh, yes."

He drops his head on your back and shudders. He's going to lose his fucking mind if he isn't more careful. Deeper and harder and faster, you move in tandem until he bottoms out. Barou can feel your ass and hips on his waist and how much they're fucking trembling. He hasn't even fucked you yet, hasn't moved an inch and you're shaking.

It's so cute he could cum right away. How adorable. You're so bubbly and bright and don't think twice about talking back to him when he's being fussy - but you can't keep it together long enough to hold yourself up over his cock. He doesn't know if he could love you anymore.

"Gonna move." He tells, and you nod. Barou starts shallow so you can adjust, but when there's no longer any resistance - he doesn't hesitate in giving it all to you. Every inch of his cock, over and over with an unruly amount of want.

Barou fucks into you hard enough to set motion. It's noisy. The sound of skin hitting skin, of your pussy being stretched over and over - his belt clacking from where it's tucked underneath his cock to give him room. Over all of that is the sound of your voice echoing, soft little whimpers that turn into full-blown cries as he fucks you deeper and deeper - knocking himself into your g-spot so much it's cruel.

He can feel your insides spasm around him before you have a chance to warn him. Tremors in short waves until your hand shoots up to the door - grabbing for something that's not there.

"Shoei," You warn, pitchy and desperate and hot "I'm g-gonna,"

"Cum on my fucking cock," He spits. He needs it more than you do "I'll let you make a mess this time."

Barou watches you fold beneath him. Your form collapses forward and he has to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you up. Your walls tighten and convulse around, milking him for all he's worth. He pushes himself to the hilt before following after you, cumming deep inside with a short groan as he presses a kiss t your shoulder.

"Happy Birthday, Shoei." You mumble, turning your head to look at him with your face all messy. He chuckles.

"Yeah, happy birthday to me."

[lolahauri]

˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : Stardew Valley DILF's x Reader:;

Just some short hc's on what it'd be like sneaking around with the married men in town ;D (also i'm half asleep while writing and posting this so forgive me if it's bad lol)

-> F/M, HC's, Implied (Legal) Age Gap, Cheating, Size Difference, Vaginal Sex, Blow Jobs, Vaginal Fingering, Pregnancy Mentions <- (MDNI)

・❥・Demetrius

It's honestly not too hard to sneak around with him.

Him and Robin aren't as close as most married couples, they're used to having their own projects and hardly seeing each other during the workday.

They honestly never even check in with each other while they're both working indoors.

But you won't complain, that just makes it easier for him to bend you over the counters in his lab and fuck you till your legs are jelly.

Of course, that's only while Maru is at the clinic. Other times, he simply visits your farm, pretending to run soil and water tests.

It's so easy to fuck around with him, it almost feels to good to be true.

The sex between you is quick, but incredibly satisfying. Being the quick learner he is, he's learned exactly what to do to make you cum fast and hard.

Very skilled with his fingers and mouth, it almost feels better than his cock.

Sucks your clit and fingers you at the same time.

Loves to fuck you from behind and wrap both of his arms around you. 🤭

He's def super tall, with strong arms and hands.

If he's fucking you in the lab and you're starting to get too loud, he'll clamp one of his hands over your mouth and tell you "quiet down." or he won't let you cum.

He'd insist on always using condoms, even if you're both clean.

Can't risk any accidents.

But damn if he doesn't want to just say fuck it and stuff your cunt with his cum.

Riskiest place he's willing to pound you? The kitchen. It's a rarity, but when he knows everyone is gone, he'll sneak you in and let you ride him at the dining table.

・❥・Kent

Arguably the hardest to fuck around with. He's a true introvert with zero friends in town, of course it could raise suspicion why he wants to leave so often suddenly.

But he has is figured out, he just tells Jodi he's gotten into fishing to keep him busy.

And Jodi doesn't question it one bit, that's a pretty common hobby for a middle-aged family man to have. She's just happy he has something to do now... :)

Plus every other trip or two, he actually does come back with some nice, fresh fish that definitely weren't gifted to him by his little side piece.

Since you can't see each other quite as often as he'd like, he makes sure to really savor the time you do have.

But not in a romantic way, no not at all.

He's very rough and dominating in bed, almost animalistic.

I just know he'd be so big and strong. He would completely use it to his advantage too. (not that you mind!)

I don't give a fuck how tall you are or how much you weigh, he WILL toss you around with ease, baby.

Loves to pin you down and flip you over into any position he wants.

He'll have you cumming so hard you're seeing stars.

Also is obsessed with fucking your throat.

Never uses condoms (unless you ask), he gets off to the thought of getting you pregnant.

Even if you're on birth control, or can't get pregnant, he likes to pretend he's breeding that perfect pussy.

He wants to claim your pretty young body as his own by putting his baby in it. 🤭

Riskiest place he'll fuck you? Outside his house. Only at night of course, but he'll absolutely meet you by the side of the house and pound you against the wall.

・❥・Lewis

The easiest to cheat with, and it's not even close.

The only time he messes around with Marnie is late at night, so that leaves you the whole morning, afternoon, and evening to visit him as you please.

Cause unless he's collecting business taxes or at the saloon, he has nothing else going on, and no one to interrupt him.

He would be a skilled but somewhat selfish lover.

Prefers receiving pleasure, but that doesn't mean he's bad at giving.

Lowkey a munch sometimes.

I think he'd also be very gentle and vanilla most of the time.

Missionary in his bed, no clothes on at all, light music, some wine.

He's a bit old fashioned you could say. 🤷‍♀️

Riskiest place he'll please you though? The bathrooms at the saloon. Yeah it's really public, but that's the thrill of it! Fucking you while his other secret girlfriend is just a couple meters away? He won't deny he loves the rush it gives him.

In general, literally no one would suspect you're fucking him, so any risks you happen to take are very unlikely to backfire.

・❥・Pierre

Could compete with Kent on who's hardest to sneak around with.

He spends all day everyday at the front counter of the only grocery store in town. How could you two possibly make that work?

For you, he'll find a way.

After some time, he'd start getting cocky and dangerously risky about it too.

Fucking your throat while you're under the counter, playing with your pussy in the isles while no ones shopping, sneaking you in at night to fuck you against the front door.

He would use condoms at first, obv he can't risk an "oops" baby with you.

But like i said, he'd get cocky, ditching the condoms all together and relying on either the pull-out method or birth control.

You can't deny how thrilling it is though. Getting your pussy fucked and filled while his family is sleeping just on the other side of the hall? Absolute adrenaline high.

He'd also be a strict "quickies only" kinda guy.

You'd almost always have to wear a skirt or dress to your secret meetings. Giving him easy access to that tight cunt.

He'll make you cum, but there will be no love-making or intimacy of any kind.

You strictly use each other to relieve stress and have some fun.

So, where's the riskiest place he'd use you? If he knows Caroline and Abigail are out, he'll bend you over his bed and take you from behind.

[therabbitthatpostthings]

Learning Czech for my Arcane fics. Russian for the YOI fics. Spanish for the Voltron fics and French just cause. Call me Mr. Worldwide. In all seriousness, half the languages I’m learning are just because I’m tired of looking for shows with subtitles.

Hurt/Comfort, slight ooc, thinly veiled venting session

(Masterpost)

✒︎⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆𖡼𖤣⋆ 𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊⋆✩₊˚

“Um, Councilman Talis?” Her meek voice echoed off the laboratory walls. It was a stormy afternoon. The crackling lighting illuminated the walls. The room was grand, dark and quiet. The door creaked behind as she approached the work bench. “C-Councilman…”

“He’s gone.” A voice cut through. She turned over to find the other scientist hunched over his desk.

“Oh, I was actually looking for you Mr.Viktor..sir…”

He did not look up. “Yes, what is it?”

“Um, Assistant (L/N) is still in the greenhouse. I’m heading home and I was hoping you could check on them at some point.”

That caught his attention. You had today off, that’s what you told him at least. Viktor sat up, bones cracking into place as he stretched. “Yes, thank you. I will go to them before I leave today.”

She sighed in relief, “Thank you so much! It’s been a stressful week for us all.”

“Did something happen at the hearing?” He asked before she could leave the room.

Worry built up in her silence. Concern in her voice she asked, “Were you not informed?”

✒︎⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆𖡼𖤣⋆ 𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊⋆✩₊˚

It’s such a shitty day for rain. You spent the last five hours cleaning the greenhouse, taking notes on fungal growth and angrily writing sticky notes for your morning shift colleagues. Notes you didn’t have to write since you would most likely be back here to do more work anyway but, maybe the thought of you not coming in would evoke some sort of productive reaction.

Some called it unnecessary. But they weren't botanists. They didn’t work at Piltover Academy. They weren’t on the cornerstone of something revolutionary.

You were. Well, you were.

It was a bitter feeling to wash down but you did nonetheless. You pushed aside the negative thoughts when you heard footsteps coming towards you.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Viktor said.

You spared him a glance before going back to your sticky notes. “Funny, I was gonna say the same thing.”

He took a few steps, towering over your crouching body. He eyed the myriad of colorful notes lining each individual planter and pot. “Why didn’t you tell me you came in?”

“Did it matter? I thought I’d be done by now but of course! No one does their job but me around here.” Your dismissive tone didn’t do much to sway him. He still stood behind you, watching you work. “Who told you I was here?”

“That’s not important-”

“It was Reecee wasn’t it.” You groaned.

“It doesn’t matter who told me. You’re here and you're upset.” He stated.

You scoffed, “I am not.”

“(Y/N).”

Of course you couldn’t hide your destestion from one of Piltover’s Finest, much less your boyfriend.

“Tell me what happened.” He urged.

“Didn’t Reecee tell you?”

“She said you had a meeting.”

“A meeting?” You said with a disparaging smile. “I had the meeting today.”

Viktor was well aware of “the meeting”. You had spoken about it at length ever since you were students. This was your Hextech. Your years of studying and research to get this meeting. Yet here you were, hunched over little sprouts on a cold rainy day.

You had a pained smile as you turned to face Viktor. “They didn’t even care. Years. Years of testing soil in the Undercity to clean the air, and they didn’t. Even. Care.”

Your voice was shaking. Your smile was dropping. Tears built up in your eyes. You could hear the committee’s voice clear as day.

“It’s just not viable.”

“We don’t have a large enough…overview of the Undercity’s layout.”

“The experiment could damage the already established ecosystem.”

Like they gave a shit about the ecosystem. Like they gave a shit about the Undercity!

“I was so desperate that I even said you and Jayce would back me up! It didn’t matter. They didn’t care! You know who did get a meeting with the higher council?! Ian-fucking-Rottmeiser!” You launched the notepad against the greenhouse wall, the looser notes flying up in the air. Truthfully, Rottmeiser wasn’t undeserving. In fact he worked hard on his proposal to integrate more plant life into Piltover. But that was just it. Piltover. He wants to help Piltover. They all want to help Piltover. It’s always Piltover.

“So now I’m here, doing my job. Cause that’s all I’m good for I guess! Just another Lab Assistant.”

Viktor pulled you into his arms. Your hand bunched around his sweater as the tear overtook you.

“It’s okay miláčku,” Viktor’s soothing hand rubbed your back.

“I don’t understand…I worked so hard…why not me…” You cried. From the moment you were born you were unlucky. Anyone born in the Undercity was unlucky. Your father was unlucky and drank contaminated water. The rest of you survived until your mother died on the Bridge of Progress. That just left you, on the other side of the bridge, separated from your remaining family in Piltover. And you studied everyday. You made it into the Academy, you climbed the ranks. Not a day went by without you working towards your goal. To improve lives, to save people! You spent week after week with your siblings, collecting samples in the Undercity. Risking your lives, sneaking in and out of Piltover, all to this meeting. And they didn’t care.

“How am I supposed to face them again?! I failed Viktor! I’m a failure!”

Still Viktor held onto you. Painful wails left you until your throat was raw. You unclench your fist as you relax against him. Shoulders slouching in defeat and Viktor’s warm hand never leaving you.

You sighed with a tired rasp in your voice. “I just wanted to do something right. To know it was worth all I had lost. I should’ve stayed in the Undercity.”

“Miláčku, look at me.” Viktor’s soft hands cupped your face. He gently lifted your head, his thumb wiping stray tears away. “You are exactly where you need to be right now. You are not a waste.”

“I failed Viktor..”

“No you didn’t. You did what you set out to do. You won, they lost. And when Hextech helps advance organic life and biodiversity, they will all be looking up to you.” His reassuring smile helped ease the pain. No one in Piltover could truly understand you like Viktor did. No one in Piltover lived through what you did except for Viktor. From the day you two met you promised you would rise above whatever was thought of you.

“You would do that for me?” You cooed softly.

He pressed a soft kiss against your temple, “I can’t trust any other botanist but you.”

Viktor stayed close by as you closed up for the day. You begrudgingly agreed to taking the next two days off (which your boss suggested anyway). Mostly because that meant you got to keep Viktor with you for two days as well. A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky on your departure down the wet streets of Piltover. After a crowded tram ride you both huddled inside of your apartment. You both melt into the soft couch cushions. Viktor’s head on your shoulder, his hand intertwined in yours, soft kisses pressed into your neck with sweet words in his native tongue. You felt your worries slip away as you nodded off. Viktor took notice and shifted your body to rest against his chest.

“Goodnight, my love.”

[homeofhousechickens]

Hii, I saw your Marek's disease post, my cousin has a hen that has this kind of eye but she's ok, she eats, moves and everything, do you maybe know if this type can also evolve and become the most dangerous types like the paralysis? I'll be glad if you can answer and hope you have a great day

There are 5 different "forms" of Mareks and different "strains" of the virus that are more lethal or infectious then others. It's possible for a bird to present with multiple symptoms and forms when they have the disease.

Nerve form- Birds with this form have tumors infiltrate into their peripheral nerves. This causes symptoms like wry neck and sometimes a head tilt. It can also cause a chicken to have a slow crop and have trouble emptying. 20% of birds with this form die

Transient paralysis form - Causes brain edema and ataxia. The bird can have partial paralysis of the neck and legs. Usually, you will see these birds trying to use their wings to get around while falling over a bunch. 30% of birds with this form will die.

Ocular form- The virus replicates in the eye, causing tumors and vision loss. This causes the shape and color of the eye to change. 25% of birds with this form will die.

Skin form- The virus replicates in the skin causing tumor growth and enlarged feather follicles. Usually the location for these is around the head, legs, and vent. The bird will be lumpy and might have wonky feather growth but that's usually it. This form has the lowest mortality rate.

Visceral form- Tumors develop all throughout the body and onto the internal organs. The symptoms will present differently depending on what organs and systems are affected. 60-80% of birds with this form will die.

For chickens with Ocular Mareks they are usually older birds that have a bit of an immunity to the virus which is why their body is able to kind of suppress it but unfortunately the chicken can still have tumor development elsewhere in her body especially if her immune system gets compromised by a different illness like coccidosis or fowl pox.

If your girl has the Ocular form you must assume the rest of your flock has it and it's possible for it to present as the other forms. Mareks can stay dormant in a host for a long time then pop out when the birds immune system is weakened.

For anyone reading this and getting worried..

YOU CAN TEST FOR MAREKS! A lot of people don't know you can test living birds for the disease but it can also be diagnosed via necropsy. Your vet can help you with the testing but you can also do the testing yourself using something like VetDNA.com.

To avoid Mareks you can get your birds vaccinated and only purchase from NPIP certified flocks. The vaccine won't stop the spread of the disease but it can prevent birds from showing symptoms. If you have a mareks positive flock it's important to keep them on your property and dont sell them or show them as they can infect other birds.

Good biosecurity practices are a must and the best way to prevent an outbreak is running a closed flock. No adult or baby birds are added everything is hatched and raised on the property is the ideal. Of course accidents can still happen like if you have a close neighbor with an infected flock. Mareks spreads through the dander so it's important that infected birds don't share air space with non infected birds.

If your birds do have Mareks and you want a flock that isn't infected the best thing to do is either cull your current flock, or wait for them to pass naturally. There are certain cleaners like Rescue and Kennelsol that kill the Mareks virus so you would want to clean all old feeders and waterer with it (or get new ones) and I have seen people say to burn down the old coop as it can be tricky removing the dust from the crevices. Mareks can live in the soil for a long long time but like other viruses you can still work towards sanitizing and decomtaminating the soil.

You can still hatch eggs from Mareks infected birds as the disease doesn't transfer vertically.

Hopefully this is the information you were looking for

[the-possum-writes]

Gardening and a Glass of Orange Juice

❥Character: Finn Mertens

❥Wordcount: 1388

❥Tags: SFW, Chubby!reader, gender neutral, mutual pinning, fluff, one shot, just two dorks chatting a bit.

❥Synopsis: A small little visit from a certain adventurer brings up a few memories from the past as the two of you share a glass of fresh orange juice.

❥A/N: I thought I received a request for Finn/chubby reader and came up with this in one go but turns out it included Fern- whoops! I'll be sharing this one shot as its own thing while I write something with the two of them and finish my 2024 master list. (I'm testing out a new format, bare with me)

❥Taglist: @foxpearlwilder

It's the beginning of summer and what better way to prepare than to tend your garden with seasonal goods, your spring batch of flowers are lovely of course but the thought of eating home-grown watermelon while taking in the view of sunflowers and marigolds had you working the moment June came up in your calendar.

That's how you've spent the whole morning toiling away at the soil until it was smooth enough to plant seeds, even if it meant sinking easily into the dirt due to your weight but there's not much to complain about the smell of fresh dirt or at least until you hear ringing coming from the bell by the main entrance to your home. Oh! A visitor. You leave behind your tools and dust your hands on the side of your clothes before checking through the peephole only to reveal blue eyes and a bright smile, if there's anything else besides gardening that has you equally excited it's this adventurer. "Look who decided to pop around, got tired of adventuring yet Finn?" You open the door to greet him with a smile that could match his, only difference is that you still have all your teeth.

"Only if you got bored of babysitting plants and whatnot." He snapped right back knowinly, already awaiting the answer.

"Heck nah," you wave a hand, it's then that you noticed the gator biting into the side of his robot arm. "By the looks of it, neither have you. What's with the gator?"

Finn looks down at the animal completely unfazed as if a fly just landed on his shoulder. "Oh just a little science experiment that escaped PB's shack, I was on my way to bring it back til I saw something that reminded me of you." It's then that Finn pulls out a ceramic pot from his backpack with his good arm, handing it over as your playful smile tones down into a content one. You give the bowl a closer view, admiring it's matte purple color that would look wonderful with a couple of cosmos, it's a little chipped off around the edges but it's a little imperfection that reminds you of the person who gave it to you. 

"I love it, thanks Finn." You try to give him one of your classic bear hugs in return but it only made the gator growl at you, breaking into laughter between the two of you. "How about I fetch you a glass of orange juice instead?"

Finn nods and follows you into the kitchen noticing there's different potted plants in here than the last time he visited you, he sits on a dining chair to the best of his abilities with a live animal chowing down on him but it's nothing more than an afterthought when he takes in the sight of you at the kitchen counter. How you move around comfortable in your own skin despite how much dirt was on you considering your favorite hobby, with the weather being as hot as it is today he takes note that you're dressed appropriately that allows good movement and sheds you from the sun, now, Finn is far from knowing anything about fashion nor does he pay mine to what others wear but he particularly likes how your current loose fitting outfit sways everytime you go back and forth looking for a clean cup, it reminds him of tree canopies swaying in the wind. He also takes note of the skin on your arms and your face, sprinkled with telltale signs of work under the sun due to dried patches of skin peeling off, he wonders if you've been using enough sunscreen but then again he isn't one to talk with how spotted his own arms became. Anyone can chalk it down to being hipocrit but in reality he cares about you more than he does about himself- I mean, he's got an entire gator on his arm.

"Here ya go, sorry for the mess I forgot to do dishes yesterday."  You apologize, holding two glasses for both of you.

"Thanks."

But in that small instant Finn also admired your hands, they're heftier than his but also just as hardworking with years of experience using gardening tools and littered with small faded cuts due to handling flowers with thorns.

You caught him staring but you tried to not make note of it. "So, going back to Princess Bubblegum huh? How's she holding up? Last time I heard she got overthrown by that old coot King of Ooo."

"She's been doing alright, she moved in her uncle's shack and started growing stuff like you do."

"Huh, never knew she'd had it in her to work on stuff outside of castles and laboratories..." You raise your eyebrows. "You know, princesses with their luscious hair and dainty princess hands."

Finn notes there's something mixed in this conversation, jealousy perhaps?

"Well, I've lost a few arm wrestling matches against Muscle Princess."

You snort a bit at that. "Alright maybe not all of them. But you've always been popular with them, heck I remember back in the day you were head over heels and couldn't take three steps out of your house without a princess calling for help even though we had plans." 

Ah, so that's what it is. Resentment.

"Oh yeah... I mean I still help anyone who needs it, but atleast I know how to handle my time than when I was a kid." Finn tries to laugh it off but he still feels the regret creeping in, so he plays it off nonchalantly by taking a long sip from his juice even though it was eating him on the inside.

"True..." You look away with your own cup in hand. "Has there been any huge differences between that kid and now?" You asked him, wanting to hear his perspective.

"A few, but the first one that comes to mind is that I make room for important things and people."

You take a moment to let that sink in, turning your attention to the matte flower pot he brought you. It's now that you feel silly for bringing up the past when it only exists in memories, your line of thought was interrupted when you broke into a chuckle as you hear the gator growl once more. "Well, there will be time to hang out once you don't have an alligator chomping on your arm." You down the last gulp of your juice and turn around to look for something in your drawers while Finn finishes his own glass. Once he's done he leaves the cup on the kitchen table while you hand him a few bags of seeds. "Here, it's a good season to grow cucumbers and I happen to have a few extra lying around, they should be easy to maintain if PB doesn't have that much experience with produce yet. And tell her I said hi." 

Finn accepts the seeds and pockets them.

"I could come back and help you out placing the sticks and strings around them."

"Oh don't worry about that, I've grown used to placing trellis on my own... But it wouldn't hurt to have an extra hand. That is, if the gator doesn't bite it off first."

This time Finn is the one chuckling but considering the state of his robotic arm and the dents left by the gator, his laughter is more so on the nervous side as the animal has been chomping on it for a while now.

"I'll hurry up then." 

You company the young man to your door but not without bidding him goodbye in a funny way, holding your laughter during the way out. "Alrighty then, see you later alligator." You wave, almost cracking down at the sight of his expression before returning the favor.

"See you in a while crocodile." Finn waves back.

By the time you close the door you break down in a hysterical laughter until your sides hurt, it's then that you're left in a better mood than earlier as you make your way to the kitchen and prepare extra orange juice for your visitor because unlike other times when the call of action was too strong for him to ignore, you get the feeling he'll come straight back to you this time.

[reds-writings]

okay so you begging for more old rust prompts has timed really well with my need for old rust fics and the last two you wrote (and also joni mitchell’s music being put back on spotify, thank god) but i was wondering if you could potentially write something along the lines of prompt #8 on the fluff pt 2 prompt list (sharing a kiss while cleaning a wound — potentially after the beer fail lol) but yeah the lyrics from the chorus of case of you really just made me think of our reader and old rust despite it all:

Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine You taste so bitter and so sweet Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling And I would still be on my feet Oh, I would still be on my feet

i love joni mitchell oh my goodnes. you are a genius anon!!

 By the following morning, it turned out Rust did indeed manage to agitate his stitches with his late-night tumble. The line of your brow was set hard in concentration as you prodded at the gash with as much gingerly precision as you could conjure. He tried his damnedest not to flinch given you’d already fallen into enough of a tizzy over the whole ordeal and didn’t need your nerves driven up the wall any further. He loathed the feeling of being any sort of burden towards you but after the stern talking to you laid out on him he had no choice but to sit without another self-deprecating word. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day I swear it.” You huffed out a breath as you wiped away any remnants of dried blood clean from his skin. 

He tried not to bristle visibly at the remark, reminding himself that you didn’t really mean it in the literal sense. Though, with his severe lack of desire for taking care of himself and your incessant need to make sure he didn’t succeed in giving up once and for all there had been plenty of close calls over the years where his brashness could’ve taken you out for good. Another factoid in the sea of many that he tortured himself with time and time again.

The dulcet tones of Joni Mitchell came from the older-than-dirt record player you hadn’t had the heart to ever get rid of after all this time as you carried out your worry-warting on the Texan. You remember you used to joke about the lyrics of Case of You eerily pertaining to Rust’s presence in your life way back then. He didn’t think himself anything close to holy but that was beside the point. No matter where he went off to, a piece of his soul had undoubtedly been melded with yours to the point of no possible undoing. There was no scrubbing him clean from the recesses of your mind or the deep-set cracks of your weary heart. 

God knows you tried with all you had when everything went to shit. 

You’d have to throw the sheets in the laundry once you were done but it was more than likely a lost cause with the array of staining from his soiled bandages that had taken residence throughout the night. You could run out in a bit to get some new ones in town. That or you’d have to test if he could finally make it up the stairs to your room without being too winded. 

Satisfied with your work, you stood to your full height and finished wrapping up a clean set of bandages around his torso. Not much had changed about him physically, maybe he was a little softer around the edges but that did nothing to smother the fire his presence lit in you without fail. Marty could whinge on and on about how Rust looked now but he was just as tragically beautiful to you as he’d always been. Your eyes met and you couldn’t help but melt a little. He was here. He was okay. You just had to keep reminding yourself. 

Bringing up a hand to tuck some hair behind his ear you leaned in to press your lips to his. First, shortly then with the second press, you deepened it a bit more. A large palm came to grip loosely at the back of your neck in reciprocation and you could’ve seeped through the floor then and there. Your kisses transferred to stamp themselves beneath his eye, then his cheekbone, making their way up to his hairline so you could embrace him for a moment longer. 

With a shuddering exhale, his body released any remaining tension it had as he let himself bask in the warmth of your affection. You leaned back to look at him once more,

“I gotta hop to town real quick. Getcha some new sheets and a couple of other things. Think you can steer from bein' accident-prone for an hour or two?” 

Rust tsked and shook his head slightly, “Can’t say.”

“Does that mean you wanna try makin’ it to the truck today? Would probably do you good to get some air and actual sunshine. Pallid don’t suit you none-” You dodged his incoming pinch. His predictable knee-jerk response to your playful ribbing was as old as time. It never truly annoyed him as much as he played it up. He'd selfishly rather have you this way and happy than keeping yourself at a distance forever.

“I’d be inclined to try should you be quiet.” He half-snarked and you scoffed in mock offense. 

“I’m a delight. Ask anyone-"

“Mhm.” 

“You’re being quite rude to the woman nursing you back to health and that I can’t abide. Lest you wanna try gettin’ dressed on your own without topplin' over.” You started to take some steps away, an empty threat of leaving him in his place.

No other snipe followed, just an outstretched hand after a stubborn moment or two. You snickered as you helped him off the kitchen counter and to his room so that you could set out for the day’s endeavors. 

[swifty-fox]

so would anyone care for a Kfak-Compliant Brady one shot?

Telling Major John Egan to jump is the first and last time Johnny Brady gives an order to a superior officer. It’s automatic, not-thought out. A knee-jerk reflex; if I don’t make sure this man gets off my ship he’s not leaving. 

He can’t go without him. The idea of facing Buck Cleven in a prison camp or in the afterlife however many hours, days, years from now and telling him he let his man die is unfeasible. It’s not how the rules work. Buck and Bucky make it, that’s the big rule. So if he breaks the little rules, ordering Major Egan to jump, taking him up in his fort even though he’s not supposed to be here, then he rationalizes it that way. 

It’s quiet up in the sky, the sound of burning screeching metal snatched away in seconds by momentum and gravity. He’s alone for the first time in years, and it’s a disconcerting panicked feeling as he floats helpless in blue, blue heavens. When he hits the ground, rolling his ankle and gouging a furrow in thick peat mud and without his Major, he realizes just because he made John Egan jump doesn’t mean he’s saved his life. It’s automatic, standing and testing his ankle on the strange moss-covered ground that pitched and wobbled like the deck of a ship with every shift of his weight. Sinks his teeth into his wrist until blood bubbles to muffle his cry when his ankle barely accepts his weight. Bundles his parachute and stuffs it in the mud so the white color doesn’t give him away and rips his insignias from his uniform.

It’s the best he can do.

It’s not more than two hours before he’s captured, gun to the back of his head and harsh German voices telling him to kneel. Mud that’s also blood coating his face and burning with a rage so hard he shakes. It could be the cold, sunk down to his bones with damp and unfamiliarity. Soil that wasn’t his by birthright, you don’t belong here soldier boy. This isn’t your gravedirt. It could be cold and grief and fear, but he chooses to name it as rage and grits his teeth as he limps on his bum ankles and tells the interrogator his name rank and number and recites his mother's recipe for soda bread when anything else tries to come up. 

Has Major Egan or Major Cleven come through? Did you pick up a man named Bernard Demarco?

They threaten to kill him. He’s reliably sure it’s a bluff, because there’s rules to all of this. They try to woo him and he knows that’s a bluff because you don’t make soldiers with kindness. He has his rules, he has his orders. He says nothing and wishes they would hit him so he could hit back. Wishes they would turn the blood he tastes on his teeth real so it feels less like terror.

They don’t. Everyone follows routine.

A RAF pilot binds his ankle on the train ride to the rest of his war, it rains and he cups his hands through the slats of the train to wash his face clean of peat-mud. Chill settles over them all at night, damp and horrible and he doesn’t sleep a wink, too aware of being surrounded by men who didn’t belong to him until David Solomon and Crank’s heads pop up from down the other end of the cart and the three of them fall together in a hushed pile of who made it who did they see who went down. Did you see John Egan? Did you see Bucky I got him out but I lost him in the clouds.

He wonders if maybe God snatched Bucky right from his parachute harness. 

He gives Solly his crucifix, feels mildly sick when it’s pulled from his slack fingers and almost snatches it back until Crank takes in the look on his face and presses his rosary into Brady’s empty palm.

“Here. It’s my sister’s anyway, she’d rather it be on the neck of someone who uses it.”

“Thank you,” it’s unfamiliar against his chest, warm from Crank’s body heat and a different shape. But it’s got fifty-nine beads like all the rest and he counts them one by one with frozen fingers and recites the five decades in his head until he falls asleep on Crank’s shoulder. 

He’s never been a good sleeper, even before he started dropping bombs. Now and then he rouses enough that he feels the phantom of his grandmother's fingers in his hair, gnarled from years of hard work and soft in their caress, brushing filthy strands off his forehead. It’s her spare crucifix around Solly’s neck. He thinks she would forgive him. He thinks she would find it a noble decision.

[broncoburro]

MEUR TYPES: A PRIMER

Meur (or magic) is a natural force in Vestur. Since the invention of the Andimeur Synthesizer (a device that converts it into a form usable by man), Vestur’s aristocracy has continually found new uses for it. From homes heated by red meur to nutritionally dense food aided by green meur, the Tri-Kingdom has gained the distinction of most scientifically advanced country in the known world.

Children in Vestur sometimes play a clapping game that goes as such:

“Green’s for the beans on my supper plate, Blue’s for the clean water enjoyed while I ate, Red warms my toes when there’s snow on the ground, Yellow’s how a Southern fellow steers his ship around, And if he crashes it upon the shore The Architect alone will decide his score: Black, White, Black, White, Black, White, Black If the man is slack, it’s the work of Black If he avoids the light-- Then thank goodness, it’s White!”

Like all good children’s songs, it ends in giggles about dying a horrible death. But it effectively teaches every child in the Tri-Kingdom about what each of the six meur types, or colors are, and their most common use cases.

Green meur affects the botanical world. While plants cannot be summoned into existence through green meur alone, it can be used to grow plants in conditions that shouldn’t be able to foster them. It may also alter their growth trajectory or physical properties. Almost none the of the plants grown in the Northern Kingdom could survive the nutrient-poor, hard soil without green meur. Specializing in green meur may sound tame or perhaps boring at first (and green meur users are stereotyped as such), but bring domesticated thorny vine seeds onto the battlefield and a competent green meur user will be sending barbed tendrils through an enemy’s torso in seconds.

Blue meur pertains to water. The ability to command water’s flow has several use cases in itself: powering water wheels, irrigation for agriculture, maintenance of sewerways. But this meur type takes on new complexities when you consider water’s other states. Ice can be easily weaponized, and some innovative meur scientists have been doing research into engines powered by steam. Even more mysterious, it seems water’s omnipresence on earth has lent blue meur some properties related to the flow of time. There’s more to blue meur than is currently understood.

Red meur is pure energy in the form of heat. When wielded by man, It’s most commonly seen as fire. Heat is useful for everything from keeping a forge running to warming air in houses. Red meur is (sadly) not a free energy buffet though, and has some major downsides: it’s inherently tiring and energy-intensive on the user. In addition, fine control is difficult. Red meur users have something of a reputation for being none too bright, but many of said users would rebuff this with “easy to use, difficult to master”.

Yellow meur affects air. It’s mainly used to influence wind direction and speed, leading to some of the fastest trade ships in the known world. As a result, yellow meur is an eclectic choice for anyone to specialize in besides Southerners. The current use cases are narrow... but this might be more due to lack of interest in the field than anything else. Who knows, perhaps some sort of yellow meur related discovery is around the corner....?

Green, blue, red, and yellow are the standard meur colors. Upwards of 95% of Vestur's nobility have their specialty in these four. There are two less common meur types though, and they have a lot of mythologizing around them, as well as being less understood.

White meur is usually described by laymen as “the healing one”. Say that to any white practitioner and watch him start pulling his hair out in frustration and screeching through gritted teeth, “its so much deeper than that!”. Those who use white meur must, in addition to finishing standard meur education at Vestur Royal Military Academy, score well on the White College Aptitude Test and be accepted to the College of Divine Healing, where they’ll learn about the human body, pathology, and advanced white meur for an additional two years. Only then can one be certified as a white practitioner. Without knowing what you’re putting back into place and why, it’s horrendously easy to do more harm than good when mending the human body.

All this said, white meur can’t do miracle work. Wound closure or bone refusing is one thing – regrowing a whole arm or bringing someone back from the dead is strictly in the realm of fantasy.

Black meur inflicts death, plain and simple. It is unilaterally outlawed. Its only practical use is in combat, but black meur is considered a dishonorable way to inflict suffering. Any of the standard colors can just as easily be used to kill. Only one nobleman in all of Vestur is registered as a black meur user, and the designation was given as a soft way to say, “you are disallowed from wielding meur of any color”. Though... he really is quite talented at it, as circumstance will soon reveal.

And those are the meur colors! Every noble child in Vestur goes to VRMA and gets educated on the principles of wielding each, but as a graduated nobleman in the service of your community, a person may only specialize in one.

Any given two blue meur users likely have their in very different applications: one might maintain a city’s sewerways, and another might work to provide potable water in an area where there is none. There is a lot of variation and opportunity within any given color.

(The little emblems for the meur types, as with all of Forever Gold's more graphic design-y work, were done by LSDolphin!)

[turtleduckscribbles]

Close to Home

“No matter where I go to offer aid, Link remains at my side…”

~A brief exploration of Zelda’s personal journey toward home, and how she finds it in Link.

Read on AO3 or continue below.

<< Chap 3 <<

~o~o~o~o~o~

PART TWO

Chapter 4: "A Clean Slate"

Zelda woke to silence.

At first, she didn’t recognize where she was. Time and space seemed indistinct and fuzzy, as if she were back in that century-long imprisoning cocoon. An immaterial void. There was something, though… Just outside her consciousness, something hazy floated out of reach. Something vaguely familiar. Something sad. For a while, she lay there, half awake and yearning, reaching out to it in her mind, only to have it slip through her fingers. But once she blinked away the sleep and saw the Sheikah Slate slide into focus on the bedside table, the previous night came rushing back.

Slowly, she sat up, wincing at the stiffness in her neck. How long had she been out? She looked around. The light seeping from the window by the foot of the bed was muted and gray, and the house was unlit. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a full night’s sleep; probably literal ages ago. With all the traveling she and Link had been doing lately, it had become routine for her to be up at the crack of dawn, mapping out their next destination. Between that and their vigorous hikes across the countryside, the added rest was admittedly appreciated.

She tugged at the silk sleeves of her nightgown. How dreadful she must have looked. Her hair was in a right state—a complete cucco’s nest by the looks of her tangled ends—and she hadn’t cleaned up since getting caught in yesterday’s downpour. The thought of having soiled Link’s bed sent shame curling through her, what with her grubby skin… but for now, there was nothing to be done for it. First, she’d clean up. Then she’d find a way to wash his sheets. Make it up to him.

Yes. She’d make this up to him.

With renewed conviction, Zelda tossed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Gingerly, she tested her weight, wobbling slightly, then gave a good stretch, savoring the pleasant pull in her muscles. She smoothed out her gown, and, with a resolved breath and eyes resolutely avoiding the wall, she descended the stairs, the cold floorboards squeaking beneath her bare feet.

Barring the gloomy fireplace, the downstairs was left untouched from the night before. The chairs were vacant and the kitchen was lifeless. Timidly, she peeked behind the railing at the bottom of the staircase. Except for the wooden crates tucked away in back, the storeroom too was empty. Not a bed nor blanket to be found. 

Disappointment crept into her chest. Shivering, Zelda wrapped her arms around her middle. She was about to head to the window when a flash of green caught her eye. Suddenly, before she could adequately prepare herself, Urbosa’s shield was staring her in the face.

Zelda gaped at it. Round and rimmed in vivid emerald, it hung there on the wall, the golden Gerudo emblem shining like a talisman in the gloom. Proud and radiant, just like its owner. She’d lost track of how many times she’d seen it over the course of her life, perched on its owner’s back. Daybreaker.

Had it always been here?

Baffled, Zelda cast her gaze round about, the measure of her folly beginning to sink in. Sure enough, she saw them: the Champions’ weapons, in all their burnished glory. Every single one, on the walls, in plain sight. She took an involuntary step toward them, as if drawn by a magnet. Along with Urbosa’s sword and shield was Daruk’s weighty two-hander… Mipha’s trident… Revali’s bow—

The door banged open, and Zelda jumped a foot in the air. Link came crashing inside, his dusty hair sticking up every which way, panting considerably more than what was usual for him. His Champion’s tunic was gone, replaced by a long-sleeved cream undershirt, smudged from whatever heavy labor he’d indulged in that morning. In his arms were two large baskets, stuffed with an assortment of edible provisions. His darting eyes found her instantly, intense and a little bit wild.

“Sorry,” he gasped. For a moment, he stood transfixed, until a jerk of his head had him shuffling toward the kitchen. The baskets hit the countertops, and Zelda watched with bemusement as he selected eggs and mushrooms from their insides. As he lit the cooking fire, the puzzle pieces began sliding into place in her mind, and she rushed forward.

“Link! Are you—? Did you run to the markets this morning?”

Link nodded as he cracked an egg into a bowl. Suddenly, he froze halfway into cracking the second, a startled expression crossing his face. He dropped the uncracked egg into the bowl and zipped past her to the storeroom where, just like the night before, he fetched some towels—but upon presenting them to her, he saw her look of bewilderment, and he flushed a sheepish shade of pink.

“Sorry,” he said again. “I heated some water out back, if you wanted to wash up. Or would you rather eat first?”

Zelda gawked at him. She took in the state of his rumpled clothes, his disheveled hair poking out of its tie, the sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. From all appearances, it seemed Link had been hard at work for hours, slogging away to ensure everything was in order. For her. He must have risen early, running errands left and right—all whilst she slept on. Guilt stabbed her like a hot poker.

“Oh, Link… you didn’t need to go to all this trouble for me. You’ve done enough. But if… well, if it’s alright, a wash does sound lovely… if it’s not a bother…”

Link shook his head fervently, setting the towels into her hands. Then, he paused, his eyes averted from her.

Zelda stared at him before glancing down. Her stomach dropped. She’d forgotten about her unkempt hair, the sheerness of her gown. She clutched the towels close, willing the heat in her face to recede. 

“Omelet okay, Princess?”

She quickly swallowed back her discomposure. “Oh, er… yes, please. That sounds wonderful.”

Link nodded, still not looking at her. He began to retreat, backing toward the kitchen, when Zelda interrupted.

“Thank you, Link. For everything.”

His eyes found her again. A small, sincere smile lit up his face, and Zelda returned it, relishing the warmth from its glow.

Outside, a chilly wind beat the weeds and knocked the boughs of the overhead branches together, but inside the back shed, the air was thick with a lulling heat. Zelda set her towels and fresh change of clothes by the washbasin, letting the humidity wash over her like a cleansing balm. A small hand mirror rested on a nearby shelf, and she picked it up, giving the splotchy glass a tentative glance.

It was only to be expected, frankly. Her reflection stared wanly back at her, all pale and bedraggled, a jarring blend of soft curves and sunken valleys. A squirmy feeling unraveled somewhere near her navel. What an eyesore…

Grimacing, she cast about for a rag, intent on sponging herself down, when a glaring detail had her pulling up short.

A giant tub was filled to the brim with piping hot water.

Zelda hesitated before stepping closer. She dipped her hand into the water, skimming the steamy surface. Her heart squeezed. When Link had mentioned heating water for her, she’d envisioned a bucket, a simple washbowl—not an entire bathtub. What time this must have taken him to fill…

Goddess bless him.

With a final check that the door was latched, she cracked open the ventilation window, shimmied out of her gown, and stepped into the tub.

Water sloshed over the edge as she lowered herself down. With a contented sigh, she sunk up to her shoulders, the warmth enfolding her. How long it had been since she’d had a proper bath. Since returning from the castle, her rinses had been just that: quick, hurried rinses. Nothing like this soothing, leisurely soak. Basking in the water, her head fell back to rest against the rim, inhaling the swirling eddies of heat.

For all the downsides that having a mortal body entailed, there was something to be said for moments such as these. The heat seeped all the way into her bones, allaying her body as much as it did her spirit. She’d tried a bath like this back in Kakariko—heaven knew she’d needed one terribly after where she’d been—but whether it was nerves or overstimulation, Zelda didn’t know, only that it was a rushed, discomforting experience. Now, however, was altogether much more pleasant. Her eyelids grew heavy, her mind wandering to recent events.

Already the shock of seeing her departed friends’ effects on the walls of Link’s home was waning, replaced instead by confusion over how she hadn’t noticed them on arrival. True, the previous night was a tiring, surreal blur… but the fact that Link would choose to exhibit such sentimental artifacts in his house, even with his lapse in memory, was a wonder to her.

She could ask him about it. She’d asked about his memory before, albeit unsuccessfully… Truthfully, the thought of asking him again made her shrink. With a pang, she recalled her first words to him upon their reunion, which had ultimately been fruitless: Do you really remember me? She readjusted in the water, watching a bubble bob on the surface.

Link lived by action, a language entirely its own. Given his laconic nature, she knew he took communication slower than most—and that was just fine with her. She could go slow with him. The last thing she wanted to do was to push him too hard, too fast; at least not so soon. Not after she’d just gotten him back. It would crush her to shift the status quo between them in the wrong direction—whatever that was. Whatever details he remembered about their past, they would come in time. She could wait.

It was strange. What she couldn’t wrap her mind around was that their positions were now the inverse of one another. Where once Link was an occupant of her home in the castle, employed in the services of Hyrule, now she was a guest in his. She thought of the selfless efforts he took that morning to fill a heated bath for her, of his incessant apologies over his tardiness, despite all he’d done to prepare her a nice breakfast…

How could she have ever resented him?

Shutting her eyes, Zelda slumped in the tub, the water rising to her ears. What kindness, what charity, her dear friend possessed. No matter his personal trials, no matter the horrors that plagued him, Link never failed to go out of his way to help another. It was his nature, an inextricable virtue woven into his soul. Truly, he was a man devoid of guile.

And even with his memory loss, he still chose Zelda every day.

With a prickle of affection, she thought back to that silly frog encounter a few days prior. Evidently, even after a span of endless years and wayward memories, Link did still remember her—remembered their shared history together. She knew he had, at least in part; ever since he’d woken from the Shrine of Resurrection, she had watched him tirelessly pursue the images she’d left for him on the Slate, had witnessed him break and reforge time and time again. All for her. But she couldn’t deny her fears. While she’d never lost faith in him, an irksome part of her mind clung fast to her worry that he was only going through the motions, that they would amicably part ways once their duties were fulfilled. That he had grown indifferent toward her. A terrifying thought. After they’d driven back the Calamity, that was when she had asked him point-blank, unable to bear it, desperate to quash these needling worries. Do you really remember me? But that was as far as she’d gotten, for no sooner had the words left her lips than she had fainted, collapsing onto him. All this time, she’d been left in suspense, dangling from the thread of this unanswered question—until the frog. Hearing her fears finally put to rest from his own mouth, in his own way… It was like nothing she’d ever known.

A euphoric smile broke out on Zelda’s face. Even if Link’s memory wasn’t fully restored, he was still the same devoted person she’d always known. He was still her Link. He was a defender. A protector. Her most ardent, fervent supporter. He was always, always, attentive to her needs.

Zelda eyed her bright long hair, fanned out around her like a fiery halo. How grateful, how beyond blessed she was, to still have him in her life. The whitewater course of their relationship had been rocky, but she was proud of the progress they’d made, of everything they’d held onto, even through the rapids of amnesia. She’d been relearning him over these past several weeks, noting the contrast between his past and present selves. Clearly, there were differences… but mostly he was the same. The same warrior, the same gifted chef. The same beautiful soul who had captivated her from the beginning.

Oh, had he captivated her.

From the way he tied back his golden hair, to the finesse of his fingers as he strung a bow… the muscle definition across his back…

A wave of steam seemed to rise from the bath in that instant, hitting Zelda square in the face. She sucked in a sharp breath and sat up, the water cascading in rivulets down her shoulders. Right. Time to wash up.

As she took the bar of soap and began the painstaking process of scouring herself down, she allowed her thoughts to drift to the future, making way for blind optimism. She was here; he was here. They were here together. And whatever next came their way, she trusted they’d see it through. Just as they always had. The both of them.

Together.

~o~o~o~o~o~

>> Chap 5 >>