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chvnnie · 2 years ago

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Hannie thoughts 🩷

He pursued you so sweetly and now you're expecting a sweet slow courtship. But now that he realizes just how into him you are, he takes full advantage. Rough in the bedroom confident Jisung. 😍 Y/n overwhelmed but secretly loves it.

“courtship” gave me royal vibes. soooOoOOOo

also idk why this is so long!!! im sorry!!! this concept got the best of me!!!

tell me you love royal aus without telling me 🫠

SMUT — MINORS DNI

The kingdom is lucky to have Jisung on their throne. Crowned as a mere teenager, nobody expected the Young King to thrive. What could he possibly know about ruling a kingdom? In three years time, they’ll lose all credibility, and he his head. Just watch; a boy cannot be King.

Within a year, all ill words spoken about the King were silenced. Charismatic, yet shy, he found his footing in royal life with ease. Leading council meetings, carefully listening and fairly judging every case brought to the court. Age is deceiving; the people haven’t had a leader of this quality in many, many years.

It wouldn’t be fair to say Jisung is just a good King. Even though ten years have passed since his coronation, he can still be found dressed in plain clothes without jewels or his crown, riding into town on his precious golden mare. She is cared for by his Hand, and best friend, as he walks the market.

Not a single stall is passed by him, even if the products are the same as the day before. Carefully, he will look over each and every item while making small talk.

“Alright this morning, Sir?”

“Is this a new recipe? The bread is sweeter than usual — it’s wonderful!”

“Oh my, your craft has improved greatly! I am impressed, keep at it!”

And then the King hands them exactly three gold coins even if he has no intention of buying anything. They’ll offer him something; a small item, or a piece of food, but he always denies it. A gift for them. Encouragement. Proof that he sees their skills and what they bring to the kingdom and is appreciative of it. It also reminds them that he truly cares about them as people. Without them, this city wouldn’t flourish the way it does.

Occasionally, he’ll buy something from the baker. He’s particularly fond of the blueberry poppy bread she makes. She’s a good woman; her husband fought hard and loyally for his father, and for that Jisung is eternally grateful for. Some weekends, he’ll visit her in her cottage. Have tea with her, listen to stories of her late beloved and all the great things he did in life.

She always gets five coins. But shush, don’t tell anybody.

At the end of the market is the only stall he’ll buy from everyday. Brown paper, pink twine, white daisies. The same thing, everyday. The florist always gives him a warm smile.

“How is she?”

And it brings a smile to The King’s face. The genuine care in their tones — because he genuinely cares.

“Well.” He digs in his coin purse, always pulling out too many coins. Just speaking about his love tinges his cheeks a dark pink. “As always.”

An exchange — coins, flowers. “When will you wed?”

“Shortly after my celebration day.” He denies the return of extra coins, as usual. “The autumn weather is her favorite.”

“Wish her well for me.”

“Of course.”

Jisung is a man of routine. Personal goodbyes to each and every merchant before he’s back on his horse. The sky is still pink when he’s back at the castle. The Hand takes his horse so the King can walk through the cool halls. Take the winding stairs up to the top level, where the royal family sleeps.

It used to just be him in this hall. Echoey, empty, reminding him of what price has to be paid for him to take the throne.

Not now, though. The room at the opposite end of the hall is now filled, well loved and used.

Taking a right from the staircase brings him to the door. Kindly dismissing the guard, the King knocks three times. A code; announcing himself without having to.

“Come in!”

The curtains are pushed open, fresh sunlight spilling in from the many windows. Yesterday’s daisies are in a crystal vase, sat on the table in the sitting area. Beautifully bloomed, the floral scent filling the golden room.

You’re by the biggest window, sat on the ledge. The glass is pushed open just slightly, letting the spring breeze cool your body. The dress you’re wearing is one of Jisung’s favorites; off the shoulder, a lavender color with little flowers stitched into the neckline with white thread.

The most beautiful soon-to-be Queen the land has ever seen.

“Good morning, petal.” The nickname rolls off his tongue. “Rest well?”

Closing the book, you nod. “And you, my dear?”

“All right.” Only a few steps away, he takes the bouquet out from behind his back and presents it to you. “For you. As always.”

Oh, the bright smile you give him. It’s like he’s falling in love with you all over again. Gracefully, you rise from your seat and take the fresh flowers, bringing to your nose to sniff.

“They’re lovely, Jisung. Thank you.”

Everyday, a peck to his cheek. Quick — you’re far too shy to linger. The King has a routine. So he turns his head just slightly, left side of his face presented to you. Ready to receive your gratitude.

The routine breaks. Swiftly, you walk past your fiancé, taking the flowers to the vase. Leaving him stunned.

Strange.

“I was wondering if today we might ride to the sea?” You don’t look to him as you speak — actually, it looks like you’re trying to hide behind the white flowers. “I’ve been a tad homesick.”

The steps he takes are cautious. “Of course.” Hesitance is laced in his tone. This isn’t your ordinary behavior. “What’s on your mind, darling?”

It’s like you’ve seen a ghost, blood running from your face and eyes widen. But in a snap, the expression is gone. “Oh, nothing. I want to write about the sea, you know how my brother loves it.”

Carefully, Jisung takes a seat on your velvet sofa. “Ah, yes. How is Seungmin?”

“His letters say he is well. The ocean is treating him nicely, though I wish he wouldn’t have chosen that path.”

Son and daughter of a prestigious family. One to be Queen, the other a runaway pirate.

“There’s always room for him in our kingdom. He would do well with us.”

You swallow dryly. What is happening? “The gracious and merciful Young King, what would this world be without you?”

Jisung can’t take this anymore. What has gotten into his beloved? Where is your head at? Grabbing your wrist, he pulls you away from the vase. Making you stand in front of him.

“Speak your worries.”

“I have none, Your Grace—“

“Though merciful, you know I hate to be made a fool.” His eyes narrow, but expression stays soft. “Love, let me help.”

You can’t meet his gaze, staring at the slit in your dress as you speak. “I’m afraid my thoughts are…doubtful.”

“Of?”

Finally, your eyes meet.

“Oh.”

What good is a crown? What good is a throne? What good is this kingdom if you are not by his side? Emotions tear at him, making his lip tremble despite his best efforts.

“Not of that kind.” You quickly reassure, catching the hurt on his face. “You are my love, Jisung. I would never want a life without you.”

“Good, good.” He won’t deny his worry. That isn’t fair to you. “Then what is it?”

Jisung thinks you’re precious. You still get so shy around him, even after years together. Especially when you want to express your feelings or ask for something.

Reassuringly, he rubs his thumb over the top of your hand, still caught in his. “You don’t have to—“

“I don’t want to wait any longer.”

The way you said it, so firm and confident. As if you’ve been pondering this, an opinion you’ve held for a while and are now sure of. The King is taken aback briefly, trying to figure out what your words mean.

“For the wedding?” It’s all he can come up with, but even he doesn’t sound too sure in it. “I’m sure we could plan it for the upcoming solstice, my love, if that’s what you desire.”

You shake your head quickly, and he can tell you’re starting to second guess saying it. “No, no. I want to wed in autumn. I don’t want to wait for you.”

What ever could you mean? Wait for him? Why, he’s right here. Touching you, speaking to you. Are you feeling ill? Those words make no—

Oh.

Oh, how he made himself the fool.

Suddenly, he’s in dire need of wine. Mouth dry, tongue heavy. Though he’s had many, many dreams of you in such a way, never would he push it on you. You felt as if your body was sacred, and he respected that. The King wants nothing but for you to feel comfortable and safe around him. If you were waiting for him, he would be waiting for you as well.

Sometimes the dresses you wear do drive him mad. Form fitting and hugging your curves, or with a lower neckline that he can see down at the right angle. Those have made it hard, and only starved him more. Like dangling bread in front of the hungry.

“Are you certain?” Jisung finally speaks, tone dropping several octaves.

You nod, softly wrapping your other hand around the one he has grasped. It’s so delicate, how you drop to your knees in front of him. Starry eyes blinking at him.

“More than, my King.” You bring the hands to your lips, soft kisses across his knuckles. “My patience is dry. I no longer want to wait for your love.”

“Rise.”

“What?”

“Your King gave you a command.” His demeanor changes like a switch, the feral need he’s drowned for so long rising to the surface. “Rise. No Queen of mine will ever kneel, even for me.”

Your eyes never leave his, standing up fully in front of him. He follows, using your hand as a guide up and into your body. A hand on the left side of your neck, fingers creeping into your perfectly combed hair. It’s used to bring your lips to his, properly kissing you.

Many kisses have been shared between you, but none like this. It’s intense, every pent up and buried feeling finding new life with the movement of your lips. It’s more addictive than the blueberry poppy bread from the baker, tongues desperate for the taste to linger. For the feelings to stay.

Loving you is a greater honor than the crown, the King is sure of it.

He curses your corset, making you giggle when he spins you gracefully to get a better look at it. The tugs on it are rough, eager to get the fabric off your body. Heavens, Jisung knows he loves this dress but does it have to be so dreadful to remove?

It’s too much. Your desires tangle with his own, sparking brighter than the jewels on the crown. Than the gold of coins. The energy it deepens the King’s decent — the hole you’re tumbling into doesn’t have a bottom.

Your nails rip his shirt, accidentally tangling the strings of his pants in your rush. There’s no grace in the first moments. Ready to see each other’s bodies, to touch, to taste. To be one.

The King tries his best to be gentle with you. To give you the sweetest kisses, careful touches. He’s heard stories, knows that it can be too much. The last thing he wants is for you to not find pleasure in this.

But, it can only last for so long. The breaking comes with he accidentally takes your breath away — truly, he didn’t mean to place his hand there. Apologies are ready to fumble out when he sees it.

The look you give him. Shocked, a little frightened. But excited.

Jisung never considered his ego very large, but he’s open to self reflection.

“Oh, petal, is this what you like?” He squeezes your throat, tips of his fingers digging into your soft skin. Though you nod, there’s no real need for an answer. He can feel it in the clench around his cock, the legs hooked around his waist pulling him closer. With a dry laugh, he picks up the pace of his hips. Fucking you hard enough the bed is becoming unstable. “I have to admit my surprise. The shy, gentle Queen likes to be fucked like a common whore.”

As soon as the words leave, he feels a tinge of regret. What harsh words to say to someone he loves—

Do his eyes deceive him? You’re whimpering, nodding your head. Unable to speak from the lack of air, but in full agreement.

Heavens. The King is done for.

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have you at the brothel.” Control is lost, the wooden frame starting to crack under the King’s intense movements. “Let the people have a taste of the King’s favorite cunt.”

“N-no.” You seem to speak. “Only y-you—“

“Aw, don’t be selfish, petal.” He pinches your cheek, finding joy in the tears painting your face. “You know I am a generous ruler.”

Jisung enjoys riling you up like this. Enjoys the tears, the cries, the way you’re twitching and squirming underneath him. Not to escape. No, from the force of something world shattering.

“Are you going to cum?” He teases you. “From those awful threats?”

You cannot help yourself, nodding quickly. Little, soft begs falling from your lips.

Maybe Jisung is power hungry. Maybe the crown has gone to his head. Maybe that’s why he laughs, stopping to leave you right on the edge. You’re so distraught, wide eyed and frantically begging for him to finish.

“Oh, but petal. I never said I would be generous to you.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #han jisung smut #han smut #jisung smut #chvnnie thots

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cielwritings · 7 months ago

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If it's okay could you do something with yandere! Ciel and yandere! Sebastian x timid reader who develops stockholm syndrome? 👀 There would be no escaping them theyre too powerful rip.

! Yandere!Sebaciel x Reader !

say less :p

tw: mental abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, neglect

Ciel and Sebastian were both partners before you came around, but when you did, something clicked inside the two of them. They didn’t need to verbally express it. All it needed was a mutual look in the eye to know what each other wanted.

Ciel being a yandere is troubling, but both? You’re in for a ride.

They’re two different yanderes. Sebastian likes to tend to you, keeping you as safe as possible. Ciel likes to mark you, to make you his territory.

Sometimes Ciel will go over the top. Of course he won’t do things you explicitly tell him no to. Though if he can, he’ll bruise you, bite you, or write on you with permanent marker.

Sebastian treats you like you’re his master/mistress, except, times 10.

..This scares you. A lot. You can’t go anywhere with the feeling of Sebastian lurking over your shoulder. Ciel’s presence is threatening, you have to walk on eggshells with him.

And at the end of the day, you couldn’t bring yourself to entertain them. It just lead you to be punished.

Sebastian’s punishments are emotional anguish. He’s the most caring, so you’re drawn to him more than Ciel. Admittedly, you don’t mind the way he tends to you. It’s the way he does it. So when he randomly stops tending to you snd gets Ciel to do it, you panic.

This continues until you beg for him to keep going. Even then, he won’t continue if you don’t say you’re sorry.

Ciel’s can be physical and mental, albeit not straight up punching you, he will make you constantly feel uncomfortable. Being a bit too close, wearing textures you find unpleasant, and wearing clothes colored to make your eyes sore.

One of Ciel’s punishments, he had you on your knees in front of him. He was slowly stroking your cheek, breathing softly through his mouth. He was close enough that you felt the heat on you, and it made you quite uncomfortable.. especially with how close his thumbs were to your eyes.

The moment you began to fall in love, was the moment you broke. It was the same night Sebastian found you trying to escape the manor.

“Whatever do you think you’re doing?” he states, tray to his hip. “My, my..”

He ordered you to sit on the couch, being guarded by Baldroy. He told Ciel what had happened, and they both agreed on a punishment.

You were in an old room the household rarely ever touched. It was completely cleared out, perhaps originally going to be used for storage or a guest room. They sat you in there. There was nothing to do.

You sat in there for who knows how long. None of them told you an exact timeframe. Though, Ciel said it was between a few days and two weeks.

The only way you survived was being given water and plain food. White bread with unsalted, dehydrating crackers. The way they gave it to you? They waited until you were passed out from exhaustion to put it in the room. Even the plate and utensils were bland.

They wanted you to have as little stimuli as possible.

Ciel was delivering your food one day, but you weren’t completely passed out. You were spread out on the floor, eyes just barely open, facing the door. He placed the food and drink down, then sighed through his nose. Even waking you up with noises was something they couldn’t have.

You noticed that there were extra portions this time, something out of character for Ciel. He probably missed you.

Just barely, you croaked out a ‘thank you’ and a ‘you’re kind’.

Even in this situation.. you thought he was kind?

Ciel called off the punishment and had you in his arms those same ten minutes. Somehow, that was the weirdest part of all of this. Being neglected stimuli for potentially weeks and then suddenly feeling warmth and comfort…

It took you a while to get back to your old self. You were still nervous around them, but you noticed more about them. Whenever Sebastian looked at you, his eyes would momentarily light up with love.

Whenever you looked at Ciel, his jaw would unclench, and his shoulders would relax. Something about knowing these facts comforted you. They had their guard down around you, so why shouldn’t yours be?

Sebastian was the first you kissed. He was bathing you, asking for permission to touch your chest or groin. You gave him a kiss mid question, right on the cheek.

“You don’t have to ask to touch when you bathe me..” you mumble. “If you don’t get spots, they’ll be dirty and infected..”

He was in shock, though softly chuckled at your words and nodded. “You’re very right.”

Ciel was more forceful. Not in a mean way, but when he heard you kiss Sebastian, he grabbed your cheeks and kissed your lips.

“That bastard better have not taken your first kiss. Did he?” “…N-No..” “Good. You’re mine. Stay in this room with me until I excuse you.”

You sat on his lap the whole time.

#black butler #kuroshitsuji #ciel phantomhive #! sfw #! tw: physical abuse #! tw: neglect #! tw: mental abuse #! tw: emotional abuse #sebastian michaelis #sebaciel x reader #sebastian x reader #ciel x reader #sebaciel

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dullgecko · 2 months ago

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Do you think the Bad Kids ever argue over pizza toppings?

Here's my take:

I know Fabian would probably want kippers on his.

Fig likes hers extra spicy with pineapple (she is the arch devil of rebellion)

Riz would be very methodical, trying to get the best pizza for the best price

Kristen and Adaine probably never had pizza before meeting the Bad Kids so experimented. Kristen now goes for a protein rich pizza and Adaine likes the more fancy pizzas with pesto or white sauce instead of tomato

Gorgug is ok with most toppings, but prefers plain cheese

They dont have kippers at the pizza place but they do have anchovies which are close enough. All of the bad kids say Fabians pizza smells awful so he usually gets an entire pizza for himself so it doesnt contaminate everyone elses. (Riz is mostly just playing along with the group joke, will share Fabians pizza if they're hanging out alone)

Riz gets the meatlovers, the one thats always on special and usually comes with a side of garlic bread and a drink. Can easily devour three WITH all the sides in one go if he's in the mood to eat. If he's not super hungry he'll split a large pizza with Kristen. Sometimes they'll get extra toppings like mushrooms or olives to make it feel like they're getting a vegetable in their diet.

Figs pizza choices are as bad as Fabians, she will get it as spicy as possible to the point that only herself and Riz can eat it (Riz only because he straight up cant taste capsacian so he doesnt get the spicy sensation). Riz will still pick the pineapple off and flick them onto Figs slices though. Something about fruit on pizza doesnt seem right to him. While she isn't able to order it from the pizza place she HAS made homemade dessert pizza before. An unholy mix of chocolate, cookie crumbs and marshmallows.... that was actually pretty good. Tasted like a smore.

Adaines are very fancy, but also very expensive. She doesnt eat very large meals though so a single one of her pizzas can be reheated as leftovers for at least 3 meals (she heats them up in the frypan so the bottoms stay crispy).

Gorgug is also Riz's pizza buddy, if Kristen feels like getting something different he'll share whatever Riz is having when the goblins not super hungry. Loves his cheeze pizza but will also get the vegetarian pizza with as many vegetables as they can fit.

#fantasy high #riz gukgak #bad kids #fabian seacaster #fig faeth #gorgug thistlespring #adaine abernant #kristen applebees

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halfmoth-halfman · 1 year ago

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the willow maid

Pairing: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x F!Reader Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: implied smut, blood, death, loss, bittersweet ending Prompt: Fairytale!AU & “It was the biggest mistake I ever made.” & the song, the willow maid by erutan Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: here it is!!! the final fic for @glitterypirateduck’s GazFest 2023!! i hope you guys had as much fun with gazfest as i did!!! and thank you to the amazing glitterypirateduck for putting it all together!!!!! 💜

The tavern is nestled on the far edge of town, a barely held-together building run by an even more decrepit barkeep. Half resting on the edge of the forest, half consumed by the rich greenery, vines and roots split through the walls and upend the cracking cobblestones around it. The windows are covered in a layer of dust, door hanging on by a single bolt, entrance covered in years of muddy boot prints. Every imperfection is only amplified under the light of the early morning sun.

They’re given bread while they wait, circled around the lopsided table pressed up against the clean window, and MacTavish is the only one brave enough to try it. It’s good, if a bit off in a way he can’t fully describe; it’s sweet and light, but there’s a bitterness lurking on his tongue when he swallows.

The ale arrives and, with it, their long-awaited companion.

He’s quiet, Simon notices. There are only two other people in this tavern, a shifty-eyed child with no shoes and fidgeting hands and a cloaked figure lying with their head on the bar, but Simon hadn’t seen their newfound friend approach. It sets him on edge, more than usual.

(It had been MacTavish who found him, bursting into the inn they'd been staying at with a wide grin and a piece of torn parchment.

“Got a lead on the flower,” he’d said, handing Price the scrap to let him examine the hastily drawn map. “Met a man who claimed t’ have seen th’ bloom himself. Said to meet him there in three days’ time, jus’ after sunrise.”

Price had been skeptical, but it’d been weeks since their last lead dried up, and their gold was beginning to run low.. Desperate times, and all that.)

MacTavish told them everything he knew about his mysterious contact, but they hadn’t expected him to be so young.

Barely a year older than MacTavish, the man sits across from them with a polite smile and his hands clasped on the table where everyone can see them.

Everything about him is dark. His skin, his hair, his eyes. Even his cloak is a deep plum material, unpatterned and plain.

There’s nothing particularly special about him at first glance, but they know something’s not quite right about this man.

He’s too…clean, too put together. There’s no mud on his boots, no signs of hardship or travel, and his clothes are too purposefully plain despite the high quality of the stitching. His movements are too practiced, too elegant, as he takes a slice of bread and fills his cup with manners befitting someone of a far higher station. There’s not a mark or scratch on him, save for the single scratch across is left cheek.

This man is not what he seems.

“Your friend tells me you’re looking for the Willow’s Wail,” the man speaks, polished, measured, curious.

The three straighten at the mention of the flower.

It was supposed to be a myth, an old wives tale to tell your children when you put them to sleep. A story about a powerful Fae and a cunning boy who outfoxed her, obtaining a single seed from her garden as a reward.

But the boy, in his excitement at besting the Fair Fae, didn’t notice he’d dropped the seed just before leaving the fae realm. When the boy finally realized and returned to retrieve it, it was too late. The seed had fallen on the wrong side of the barrier between his world and theirs and he was forced to watch it grow until it bloomed a beautiful, glowing white.

The boy had one night to admire its beauty before its petals began to fall and the flower wilted. The wind carried the drifting petals, spreading them far and wide to bloom across the mortal realm. The boy was lucky enough to catch one, and it was said that the magic from that single petal granted the boy his heart's desire.

There were countless names for it.

Moondrop. Angel’s Kiss. Ghostheart. Star Rose.

It changed over the centuries, varying region by region, along with the story, but the details stayed the same.

A glowing, white flower that blooms for one night with enough potent magic in a single petal to keep you safe and sated for the rest of your life.

So many had claimed to have seen it, to have picked an entire bloom and reveled in its sweet scent. How many of the rich and mighty claimed to have one hidden in their vaults? How many urchins kept themselves going with the hope of one day finding a bloom, and pulling themselves from poverty?

How many rumors had their own merry little group chased, claiming to know where to find a moondrop or angel’s kiss or ghostheart?

Though, Simon’s never heard someone refer to it as the Willow’s Wail before.

“You know where to find one, I take it?” Price asks. The man nods through a mouthful of bread, taking a sip of the spiced honey ale before he answers.

“Not just where to find it,” he hums, picking at the crust of his bread. “I know how to grow one.”

That’s new.

There have been plenty who claimed to have found a petal. Even some who’ve said they’ve made their own deal with the Fae from the story.

But there’s never been someone who claimed to have a seed before.

The man says it so casually, Simon is almost inclined to believe him.

“S’pose ye’ll be wantin’ a trade for it?” MacTavish chuckles, already bracing himself for what will either be an absurd amount of coin or a request for a near-impossible task.

“Of sorts,” the man shrugs.

Simon does not like this, and one glance at Price tells him that the older man feels the same.

Price folds his arms across his chest, metal bracers clinking against his chest piece. “What’s your price?”

“A story,” the man simply says.

“You want us to tell you a story?” Even through the shrouded mask, the disbelief is clear in Simon’s voice.

This has to be a trick. The man is clearly a swindler, wasting their time to get a free meal.

“Quite the opposite,” the man laughs. “I’d like to tell you a story. One about how I came across this flower, and, if you manage to make it to the end, I’ll tell you how to grow the flower for yourselves.”

The trio shares a look of wary skepticism, knowing they all share the same thought. Something isn’t right here. It can’t be this simple, this easy. Not when they’ve spent months exhausting every resource, every contact–from officials in the high courts to the lowest of street urchins–available only to come up empty-handed.

This man is bold, brazen, and a liar. On that, they can all agree.

But there’s something about the way he’s so casually confident in his words. Something simmers just beneath the surface with this man. Something strange. Something…sad.

He may not be telling the truth about the flower, but they’re sure he has some information that could be valuable to them.

Price looks to the other two, brows raised in question. Simon and MacTavish each give him a single, reaffirming nod.

“Alright,” Price sighs, leaning back in his crooked chair. “Tell us your story, Mr…”

There’s an awkward pause when Price realizes MacTavish never gave him this man’s name, made only more awkward when MacTavish’s eyes widen as he realizes he doesn’t know the name, either.

The man takes it in stride, a soft chuckle as he tells them, “Garrick. Kyle Garrick.”

An old name. A rich name. A name written in royal histories about the first kings.

The name of a family that’s been dead for over a century.

There’s a hum around the table, a low buzz that sinks deep into their bones and weighs down their limbs.

Kyle sets his plate aside, staring them down with a toothy grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. Something flashes across his face, a brief flicker of silver barely caught in the sunlight. There are no words spoken, but they all know–

They are trapped here.

“We’ll start with something familiar, then,” Kyle hums, sharp eyes sliding over to MacTavish. The look of someone who’s obtained a victory.

“Once upon a time…”

…There were no kings or queens to rule over the land.

No kingdoms, or even cities.

There was simply the Village and the Forest.

It was a simple exchange, a simple harmony between the two. The Forest would provide food, lumber, livestock, and protection so that the village could thrive, and the villagers would take only what they needed. No more, no less.

The villagers did not ask where these things came from. They did not demand to know the name of their benevolent caretaker. They said their thanks, made their offerings, created festivals to celebrate their Forest.

They were grateful.

Until the night of the full moon, when a young man, drunk from a week of celebrating the harvest, wandered into the trees. It had been a dare, a test of bravery from the woman whose hand he sought.

“Name your price, and I swear to you, I’ll provide it!” the man had foolishly declared, loud enough for all of his friends to hear.

The woman had no intention of marrying him, desperate to be rid of his affections as she preferred another, richer man. She smirked at him, nose high in the air as she told him, “I’ll take your hand and name, but three things you must bring me. First, a ring made from the brightest star in the sky. Second, a dress sewn from the silk of the sea spider queen that resides in the lake–”

Already an impossible task, a joke made of the proposal and the man.

But the woman was not finished, her grin cruel as she spoke her final request, “And last, a cloak made from the hide of the rarest creature to dwell in the Forest.”

Where there had been laughter, silence now loomed.

To go into the Forest…

It had never been done, an unspoken rule passed down through generations. They were only meant to take, to thank, to leave. Never to enter.

But the man would not be deterred, a dangerous mix of love and liquid courage coursing through his veins.

He turned on his heels, picked up his bow, and marched straight into the Forest.

It didn’t take long for the noises of the village to fade behind him, and the world to grow dark. The trees were too thick for the moonlight to reach, plunging him into unfamiliar darkness.

But the man would not be discouraged. He pressed forward, walking until his legs shook and the drink wore off, determined to find his rare creature.

And a rare creature he did find.

After hours in the black of the Forest, the man heard a voice. A sweet song, drifting through the leaves to reach down into his very soul. He felt light, the pain in his muscles fading as it lured him deeper and deeper and deeper.

–Into the very heart of the Forest.

A weeping willow larger than any tree he’d ever seen resting in a ring of red toadstools. So large was it, it broke the canopy of the Forest, its weeping white blooms glowing in the pale moonlight. Soft petals and catkins drifted in the gentle breeze, littering the pale blue grass beneath his feet.

And there, in the gold of its branches laid her.

Skin textured like bark, clothed in a dress of draping pale petals, hair so long it wound high into the branches, the Willow Maid sang into the warm, night air.

Entranced by her voice, her beauty, her presence, the man abandoned his bow. His proposal forgotten, he stepped forward eager to hear more of the maiden’s song.

Unable to keep his arms from her ethereal form, he unwittingly stepped over the threshold of toadstools. A gust of wind carried the last of her song, as she turned in her branches to stare down at him.

A piercing gaze, ever-shifting through the colors of the rarest gems. She watched him, staring into him, around him, through him.

Cautious. Curious.

So overcome by her beauty was he, the man spoke without thought, “Fair Willow Maid, I would seek forgiveness for interrupting your lovely song.”

A dangerous thing, to be indebted to her, but the man did not care.

“Then my forgiveness is granted,” she said, voice echoing in the drifting of leaves and waves of the grass. “But it is not forgiveness which brought you to my willow bed. You seek the hand of a woman. A love to be bought and born of my demise.”

“A hide,” he corrected, flinching under her accusation. “Of the rarest creature to dwell in this Forest.”

“What is rarer than the Forest’s own master?”

The man could not answer, stunned by this revelation.

Master of the forest, of beasts, and of men. And he had sought to kill her for a love unrequited.

“You will return to the object of your desires, a failure. My hide is mine own, and I will not allow it to be taken by a love-sickened hunter.”

Foolish and guilty the man may have been, but he was also clever, and a solution quickly came to his mind.

He could not return with the hide, but that did not mean he had to return empty-handed.

“Come with me, dear maiden,” he called into the branches. “Come from thy willow bed, and meet those who would worship at your feet.”

There was no anger in her, no offense at the thought she would be so vain as to want of worship, but instead peace.

Calm.

Serenity.

A gentle, pitying smile, her voice soft as the moonlight, “I cannot leave this place, daring hunter. Instead, I may present you with a parting gift.”

The winds shifted, drooping branches caressed his face.

The man blinked and found himself at the Forest’s edge, staring out at the sun rising over his village with his bow in hand. Around his neck hung a locket of pure gold, a glowing white willow carved into the center.

“I give you this gift,” her voice drifted into his ears, faint and distant. “Proof that you have been blessed by my forest. You may return if you’d like, but I warn you. Don’t ask me to follow where you lead.”

Kyle pauses to take a drink, his attention elsewhere long enough for their limbs to loosen slightly.

“Tha’s quite the tale ye have,” MacTavish says once he regains control of his mouth.

“So, the flowers are Fae magic,” Price hums. “Guess the stories were right about that.”

“More than you’d think,” Kyle sighs, a bitter chuckle as he sets down his cup.

“Forests are all cut down and contained now,” Simon says, cold, calculating eyes kept on Kyle.

“Aye, and th’ Fae Folk are all but gone,” MacTavish adds. There’s a grimace on Kyle’s face, a flinch that he covers by pretending to rub at his eyes.

“The flowers must be left over from the willows, then?” Price deduces, his head tilted towards their storyteller. Kyle shrugs, with a noncommittal nod that sets off alarms in Simon’s head.

“Where did you hear this story?” the masked mask asks. “We’ve heard all of the tales, the bedtime stories, the songs. Yet, I don’t think we’ve ever heard of a Willow Maid.”

“Very few have,” Kyle says simply. “For good reason.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you?” Simon scoffs. “A man we hardly know, telling a story no one else has heard of, about a flower that might not even exist.” He looks to Price, the request clear in his eyes.

This is a waste of time. We should leave.

“The deal wasn’t for you to believe me.” Kyle’s voice is sharp, a dangerous edge laced across the tight smile on his face. “The deal was for you to listen.”

The word hisses from his mouth, and Simon feels his muscles tighten painfully. MacTavish groans next to him, and Simon knows he and Price are feeling the same. A weight holds them down, keeps them in their chairs, unable to move or look at anything other than Kyle.

Kyle simply smiles.

“If I may continue?”

…The village had hailed him a hero.

To have gone into the Forest, and emerged with its blessing? There was no higher achievement, no feat more accomplished.

They showered him in gifts, in favors, in endless wealth.

The woman whose hand he sought all but threw herself into his arms, so proud to accept his proposal now.

Yet, he denied it all. He did not want gold nor gems nor silks. He did not care if he had the biggest house, the fattest livestock, the fullest larder.

His heart’s true desire rested in the heart of the Forest, nestled safely in her tree.

He visited the Willow Maid often, disappearing into the Forest trees for weeks at a time. Others tried to follow him, tried to gain the Forest’s favor just as he had. All but him were spurned, led into the depth of the trees only to be twisted and turned and led back to where they had started.

The woman he once sought grew so green with jealousy, she marched into the Forest promising to find what had stolen his affections with a sharp knife and bundle of matchsticks. She never returned, and the Forest refused to provide until the man visited again to apologize on the village’s behalf.

They stopped following him after that.

The man was not bothered, content to be left alone with his Willow Maid. He enjoyed his time, resting in the shade of her tree, listening to her sing or telling her tales from his childhood. He spoke with her, laughed with her, learned about her and her Forest and her creatures.

Years passed, and his visits grew. He had befriended her, treasured her, loved her.

And she loved him in return.

The village was alight with rumor and speculation when the man walked into the Forest, dressed in his finest with a bundle of fresh sunflowers in hand.

Unwavering faith. Admiration. Sincerity.

To love until the end.

A proposal with the highest affections.

He stood beneath her willow and wrapped the flowers in the moonlit branches. They carried the fresh blooms to his love, his declaration loud for all of the Forest to hear–

“You’ve captured my heart, my sweet Willow Maid. With your Forest’s blessing, I would be honored to be your groom.”

She smelled the sunflowers, cradling them in her arms like the most precious of gifts. She released them to the branches, watching them drift high into the willow, out of her sight and out of his.

The wind whispered across his cheek, blossoms shrouding the maiden before she appeared before him at the base of the tree. He took her into his arms, holding her close against him. Everything about her was perfect, the velvet soft petals of her gown, the radiating warmth of her skin, the smell of ambrosia in her hair.

There would be no other for him, in this life and every life.

His heart was completely hers, just as hers was his.

“My dear, darling hunter,” she spoke, her hands a soft caress on his cheeks. “I can wed you never. Not near, nor far, nor soon.”

A heart-shattering rejection that would have ruined him for love eternally had she not looked so mournful. So regretful.

“Why?” he begged. “What is it that keeps you from me?”

A hand on his heart, the other on her tree he feels the pulse–the life–thrum through her fingertips. “I told you, I cannot leave this place.”

He grasped her hand in his, his voice a sweet murmur as he gave her his solution. “Then don’t.”

A long-awaited kiss, and an even longer-awaited night possessed by the feel, the touch, the love of one another. A promise of dedication, of ever-lasting love. Whispers sewn into the infinite roots of her willow.

They rested against her tree after, pressed against one another as she traced along his chest, a glowing willow forever marked over his heart.

“The Forest is not your home, my lovely hunter, and I would not be so cruel as to bind you to it. You may come and go as you please. I will always be here, awaiting your visits, but you cannot ask me to follow where you lead.”

A plea unheard, falling deaf on sleeping ears.

The barkeep comes to refill the ale, and the pressure releases as Kyle thanks him with a smile.

“This is startin’ to sound…personal,” MacTavish jokes, and Price is thankful for the man’s sharp eyes and unrestrained tongue.

Kyle murmurs something they don’t catch, lips quirking up at the corners.

“Perhaps it is,” he shrugs. There’s something playful in his tone. Mischievous. As if he's proud of their keen attentions.

“Laying with the Fae’s an awfully bold thing to do, but promising yourself to one?” Price lets out a low whistle.

“Foolish, more like,” MacTavish chuckles.

It wasn’t unheard of. There were stories of humans being whisked away in the night to live a life of comfort and luxury among their Fae lovers. They were mostly fairytales, told to satisfy young children and hopeless romantics, as most of those who’d grown already knew of the dangers of the Fae.

They knew the true nature of the Fae, and that a mortal’s comfort often went hand in hand with servitude. Wealth and luxury were rewards for proper entertainment and could be stripped away at a moment’s notice. The Fae were as cruel as they were kind, and their promises were not to be taken lightly.

“Maybe a little of both,” Kyle hums. “Love makes fools of even the best of us.”

“I’ll drink t’ tha’!” MacTavish laughs, and the pressure in his limbs loosens enough to allow him to toast his cup against Kyle’s.

“So,” Simon speaks up, flexing his hands as a test of mobility. When he’s given range, he leans back his chair, one hand resting around his cup. “What happened next?”

There’s something mournful in Kyle’s smile. A pained regret they very easily recognize.

They’ve all known that sting of loss.

“What happened next…”

…It was the tree.

The willow–her willow–kept her bound to the Forest, away from her love. She had tried everything in her power to make it see reason, to let her wander from its ring of toadstools.

She made offerings, formed new creatures to take her stead, begged at its roots.

It denied her every time.

The man tried to stay with her, but I–he could not thrive in the moonlight alone. He could not live off of Forest’s magic as she could. He had to return to the village.

They were resigned to spend their years as often apart as with each other. Not a moment together was wasted. Their joinings were beautiful–soft and tender and full of love–and their partings were miserable. They mourned in their time away, grief-stricken and sick with yearning for their other half.

Five years of this unending misery, and the man had had enough.

He stormed through the forest, a fury of determination. The trees parted for him, in fear of the sharpness of his eyes and of the axe in his hands.

He was going to take his faerie—his wife—and free her from her prison. They were going to be happy together, raise their children together, live their lives together as they were meant to.

He did not waste time when he reached the clearing, did not give her warning before his first swing.

The roots sprung forth, ripping through the earth to lash at the hunter, striking across his face to draw blood from his cheek.

Still, he did not stop.

Neither did the tree.

The Willow Maid dove from its branches, shielding her hunter’s body with her own, taking the strike in his place.

The willow halted its assault, axe planted firmly in its trunk.

She stumbled to her feet, the split across her back dripping into the pale grass, staining its blades a shimmering gold. She stepped a sure foot forward, crushing the toadstools beneath her bare feet, and took the axe in hand.

The echoes of her wailing melted into the cracking of the wood.

The cry of her willow as it fell would haunt the forest for a millennium.

She collapsed into sobs, but it was not for her willow that she cried. She cradled the bloodied body of her poor, dear hunter close to her chest. Hair falling around them, its long tendrils soaked by the sweet smelling blood-sap oozing from her tree.

She wept.

For him, for her, for their freedom and love.

She wept.

Her willow personified.

She waited until he was strong enough to stand, to face her, to hold her. A kiss over the cold corpse of her once caretaker.

He led her back through the forest, hand clasped tightly around hers, ready to bring her home. His home, her home, their home.

When they came to the forest edge, she gasped at the sight of the village. The burning orange sunset streaked across the fields, the speckle of lights from their windows against the darkening land, the sound of cheer and laughter and freedom.

Her smile was bright enough to rival the stars, eager to start her new life with her love eternal.

Two steps past the forest edge.

That was as far as she got.

Two steps beyond the threshold and her knees buckled beneath her. Her hunter held onto her, lowering her into the warm grass. Her body seized in his arms, barkskin peeling and flaking into thin wood chips. Cheeks sinking in, hair thinning into long blades of grass, petal clothes wilting against her body.

She pawed at his face, eyes wild with fear and confusion. Her whimpers and wordless pleas broke his heart, begging every god he could think of to fix his sweet Willow Maid.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She was supposed to be safe. They were supposed to be happy. Together.

He felt her fade, her body melting in his arms, and a shrieking lament tore from his throat as he lost his one and only love, left with only her dim golden blood sliding through his fingers.

The sun set, the moon taking its place high in the sky.

The wind whispered across his skin, a fresh sting against the cut on his cheek, carrying with it the voice of her fallen willow.

“You’ve stolen from me that which is most precious. Don’t you know that pain you sow is pain you reap?”

The Forest murmurs, trees rustled in the growing moonlight. Shimmering silver growing and growing from the dense woods, until it was almost blinding.

“You have taken but you have not given in return, and so I make this trade instead. I will take from you what you took from me.”

The golden blood began to glow on his hands, glow on the ground, glow in the moonlight, light rising and rising and rising. It skimmed petal-soft across his hands, slinking into the grass where the dirt drank and digested it.

There was shouting from the village as the lights crescendoed into one final, blinding beam then faded entirely. Everything was left in muted, dull tones as if the color was stripped from the world, the Forest silent and still for the first time since its conception.

He knew that the Forest would provide for them no longer.

All that remained was a beautiful, glowing flower. A moon-white blossom, a cruel reminder of what he had done.

The earth rumbled beneath his feet, one last biting sentence from the willow.

“You can not take from the Forest what was never meant to leave.”

Kyle finishes his tale with a sigh of longing.

“It was the biggest mistake I ever made,” he says, eyes cast down at the table.

“A cruel lesson,” Price laments, eyes full of sympathy for the young man.

“And one repaid in blood,” Kyle sighs grimly. He takes a deep swig, setting his cup aside as the pressure lifts entirely from the group across from him.

“The flower wilted by morning, taken from me forever, and I…did not respond kindly. I took up arms against the Forest’s creatures, hunted them to near extinction, and cut down every tree in sight. The magic was gone, but my people rejoiced. They named me Garrick, Spear King.”

The table goes still.

They’ve heard of the Great Spear King. There’s not a soul alive who hasn’t. The story of how he founded the kingdoms, brought the world to rule under one benevolent ruler, was taught to every child, passed on through every generation.

There were holidays named for him. Parades in his honor.

Respects paid to his burial chambers every year.

Kyle watches the realization wash over them, the skepticism, the caution. He stands from the table, a small gesture out the window.

“The ruins of my village lie a tenday’s walk in that direction. Just beyond the flooded river, in a deep valley. There are remnants, sometimes, when the moon is brightest. You may not get everything you wished for, but there is power in that soil.”

“And that’s what the others found? Is it truly soil that they keep hidden in their vaults? Is it dirt that they credit their wealth and power to?” Simon scoffs.

“If it is, it’s not from the Fae,” Kyle shrugs. “There’s nothing left of their magic in this world. I made sure of it.”

“Then, why tell us?” MacTavish questions. The once-king shrugs again, adjusting the fastening of his cloak.

“Curiosity? Boredom? Or perhaps, I just wanted someone to know the truth, and you lot seemed trustworthy enough.”

It should be a compliment, the highest honor given from the man who founded their nation, but it feels…sad.

“I wish you luck, travelers. It is a rare day indeed that I find myself so open to sharing secrets.”

Kyle doesn’t wait for them to say their goodbyes, or say anything really. He gives them a curt nod, and turns to head up the stairs to the tavern’s second floor.

They wait until nightfall to leave, making their way down the path under the shroud of darkness.

Kyle watches from the window of his room, sitting tucked in the windowsill. His cloak abandoned on the uneven bed, he smooths his thumb over the well-worn metal of the locket around his neck. The tree’s glow is dim, barely noticeable unless he cups his hands around it, but it’s there.

He waits until the trio fades from his vision, shifting against the rotting wood to sit up straight. The moonlight casts its shine down through the foggy panes, but it’s enough light to satisfy him.

Pressing his fingers into the sides of locket, he holds it under the light as it opens with a soft click.

Petals burst from the seams, throwing the locket open to release a beautiful, bountiful white bloom. The flower soaks up the moonlight, waves of golden light pulsing over its velvet petals.

For one moment, he is that young man again, no longer carrying the burden of loss in his eyes, or the torment of a man who has been granted the curse of eternal life.

He presses a tender kiss to the flower. “I’ve missed you, my love.”

The flower glows just a bit brighter.

#gazfest #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz #mw fics #moth writes #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: loss #private

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ressjeon · 2 years ago

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storge: painting | myg

summary: you're busy preparing something for your one-two arguably little ones without thinking they'll do the same to you

rating: pg | word count: 0.8k

genre/au: slice of life, domestic!au, family!au

content: dad yoongles 🥺 and cute stuff (what is happening to me)

a/n: happy 30th birthday to the loml yoongi! finally posting a dilf drabble for him and posted on time. i suddenly wrote this out of nowhere after seeing some clips from the RUN episode last year because he's just a husband material oml i couldn't help it >.<

The smile hasn’t left your lips when you hear the bickering at a distance.

You’re currently approaching the door right at the corner, carrying a tray of snacks and a pitcher to where the source of the noise is from. You knock as soon as you reach the door but they couldn’t seem to hear it because when you opened the door, your daughter and husband are still arguing in front of a canvas on the floor.

More like your baby girl complaining while Yoongi is purposefully being stubborn to tease her.

"daddy, come on, it's pretty easy" your toddler huffs as she tugs on Yoongi's rolled-up sleeve. Your husband’s wearing a yellow suede shirt, paired with a white one underneath that made you mildly concerned about getting dirty until he reassured you that he’d be careful. He’s wearing a long dark green canvas apron but even if it gets messy later on, he’d never mind so long as it makes his little girl happy.

Your daughter’s little eyebrows are still scrunched together as she stares at her father's canvas. She seems to want him to paint a similar picture as hers, with bright colours closely depicting a flower garden. Your heart melts at what you’re seeing, Yoongi watching your daughter fondly while she tries to teach him how to paint like her.

The art supplies scattered around the covered floor that they're both on just add how beautiful what you’re looking at is. And now you know what to paint on your canvas.

You have to carefully mind your steps until you reach the table so you can place the snack tray you’re carrying.

It’s the weekend and you’re both thankfully off from work, allowing you and Yoongi to have a bonding time with your daughter. Every week, you let her pick on what activity you’re all doing as a family and this time its painting.

"he's too lazy, mommy!" your daughter accuses, finger pointing at her father while holding a mini paint brush with her other hand. She’s pertaining to the plain hues of colour that Yoongi has been painting so far and it made you giggle. You approach his sitting form to see his progress so far.

"not bad yoongs" you stare at his canvas of greys and blues with a teasing lilt in your tone making Yoongi pout.

"can you see my ruthless brush strokes? my plan was to only paint whatever comes to mind" he complains, lips puckering at your comment and it makes you laugh even more.

"okay, break time for now" you called, unloading the snacks and a pitcher of pineapple juice. Your daughter immediately drops her brush and excitedly approaches you, having you remind her to be careful not to step on anything.

You handed her a glass of juice and a small slice of pajeon.

"thank you mommy"

“ask daddy to get his share”

She hesitates a bit before calling for her Dad in which Yoongi replies with “i’m almost done baby”.

He's getting lost in what he's doing again, similar to when he's working that you often have to remind him to get breaks.

“the hotteok’s gonna get cold Yoongi'' you playfully scold him, aware that he usually prefers to eat it quickly while it’s hot.

This got his attention and he eventually stands up, following his daughter to where you’re currently sitting. He grabs a bite and takes one fish-shaped bread after, humming when he tastes the red bean inside it. Of course, you have to make two flavours since he prefers that flavour while your daughter loves the custard cream filling like you do.

You help your daughter sit in her chair and move towards Yoongi next, bringing up his left arm to take off the hair tie from his wrist. He raises a brow at you, munching another piece of hotteok.

“you’ve been moving your bangs a lot earlier, don’t want any paint on them” you smile, gathering his hair and pulling it back before securing it with the hair tie you’re holding. Yoongi's hair has been very luscious since he started growing it, and you've been doing your best to keep the scissors away.

However, you’re starting to regret doing so and your husband seems to notice it. Yoongi knows how you love his man bun, that little quirk of his lips stayed the entire time until he finished his glass of juice.

He stands up to grab his apron to finish his own canvas, ignoring your flustered reaction.

“mommy, come” your daughter breaks your reverie when her tiny hands reach for yours, dragging you to the empty canvas on her left side.

They've both gone quiet and are now focusing on their own canvases so you decide to do the same. You sat down and stare blankly at the canvas, forgetting what you wanted to paint when suddenly you feel strong arms caging you from behind.

Only then do you notice the paint streaks on your daughter's face, who's grinning widely while holding her small wood palette in her hand, fingers coated with paint as they reach out to your cheeks.

“your turn” Yoongi whispers beside you with his gummy smile, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before applying his paint-coated fingers to your other cheek.

In the end, you never get to paint anything on your canvas.

divider by: @cafekitsune 💕

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possessionisamyth · 1 year ago

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can’t read even 1/4 of the het ships in this tag because people put all the women into such tradwife roles it makes me want to vomit, so here are my headcanons when it comes to cooking abilities

Jill Valentine- Military rationing because it’s less time consuming. She cooks once and makes enough food to eat on for two weeks. She will eat that soup/beans&rice/chili for every other meal until she runs out. All her recipes are “throw everything in a pot and let it simmer overnight” style. Anything that has her sauteing, baking, or frying will get burned since she gets distracted doing other more important stuff.

Rebecca Chambers- Does not cook. Can not cook. Has not figured out how to cook. Take-out Queen. She can find a good restaurant or cafe in any area and this skill was honed on purpose. Hates long wait times for food though, so if she can she’ll send someone else to get her food/drinks.

Claire Redfield- Cooking level is tolerable as in she can follow easy recipes when there’s a video to watch, but may get an ingredient or measurement wrong and wonder why the dish tastes off. Anything more complicated than meatloaf or country fried steak is her nemesis.

Ada Wong- Fucking hates cooking. Can cook something decent with the littlest variety of ingredients, but hates it so much. She hates the mess during prep time, the mess during cooking, and the clean up afterwards. Hires a personal chef where she can or goes out to eat. (Before anyone disagrees saying she doesn’t trust strangers this much, consider she has a lot of money from her jobs and most people do not actually know who the fuck she is.)

Sherry Birkin- Substitution Queen. Loves to cook, and loves to experiment with food even more. If she starts cooking and finds she’s missing an ingredient, she’ll look at other recipes to see if she can replace it with something else. Will finish eating her food experiments or new recipe attempts even if they’re a little bland while constructing ideas on how to make it better next time.

Ashley Graham- Cooks college student food even into adulthood. Lactose intolerant but ignores it. Her mom couldn’t cook, and no longer having a personal chef left her in the wild to figure things out. She will put together any strange combination of food for the taste and calories. She mixes cereals together. She mixes plain yogurt into her ramen. She will lovingly add a slice of cheese on top of the most white looking piece of baked chicken before adding hot sauce and sandwiching it between 9-grain wheat bread for the sake of getting some kind of fiber in her body.

Ingrid Hunnigan- The planner. She can follow almost any recipe without too much difficulty, and always makes sure she has all the ingredients before she starts. She cannot improv or substitute ingredients to save her life.

Sheva Alomar- Teaches herself how to cook a new recipe or better a current recipe when she has the time. Has 5 go-to recipes she’s mastered which everyone loves, but no consistent recipe book. Will default to military rationing where she’ll make a big pot of something and eat on it for a few days until she gets bored of it and goes out to eat. Forgets about ingredients she purchased and only used a little of, and they go bad making her feel guilty.

Helena Harper- Frozen meals or box meals where she adds a “secret ingredient” into whatever she cooks. The secret ingredient is always cayenne pepper or bouillon powder.

Mia Winters- Can cook only the most white american food possible, but thankfully is not afraid of spices or spicy food. Hamburgers, steak, casseroles, tuna salad, and so on, she can manage pretty well. Any “foreign” food is lost on her. The first time Ethan brought home an avocado with plans to make guacamole, he caught her using a potato peeler on it.

Let me know if you’d like a similar list with the men of RE.

#resident evil #re #headcanons #might make that list of the men anyway #jill vallentine #rebecca chambers #claire redfield #ada wong #sherry birkin #sheva alomar #ingrid hunnigan #ashley graham #helena harper #mia winters

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mongpht · 1 year ago

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Rollo Flamme - Student Council President Uniform SSR [translate]

PART 1

Noble Bell College - Bell Tower Interior

Rollo: Hmm… it's a bit cool. And sunrise time is getting later and later every day. Hmmm… It's a good time of year. I can spend less time in the classroom listening to silly stories from mindless students. Time to do what I have to do today before everyone wakes up… Besides, I wouldn't want those annoying creeps to find me.

Noble Bell College - Bell Tower Upstairs

Gargoyles: jumping.

Rollo: Yeah, shut up, you two! You bloody gargoyles! It's not nice to jump around like that. Why don't you two behave yourselves?

Gargoyles: * calms down *

Rollo: Yeah, I'll do you on my next day off. I can't bear to abandon what I've started. If you understand, leave already. I have important work to do… Finally. They're really annoying, aren't they? The mere fact that they live through magic is terrifying, and the noise… If I hadn't been watching the bell tower, I wouldn't have noticed those blocks of stone… Isn't that right, Salvation Bell. Hmm… You're very handsome today. How nice it would be if everyone were like you. It rings when it should ring and is silent when it should be silent. Nothing is ever so right and certain.

Rollo: …Оh. The sun will be up soon. Gotta get everything cleaned up before the ringers come. Let me hear your beautiful sound tonight. Oh, Salvation Bell!

PART 2

Noble Bell College - Courtyard

Rollo: You won't hear any nasty mages here. Let's take a break….

???: Headman, it's you!

Rollo: Huh?

Vice President: We've been looking for you, Rollo-kaicho*. I can't believe you had lunch here.

Rollo: You--

Vice President: Rollo-caicho, you eat bread for lunch. I didn't know that because I didn't see him in the dining hall.

Rollo: Yes, that's right. Two croissants and 16 grapes. And a cup of coffee with milk. Exactly that much, no more and no less. It's a fixed lunch every day, 365 days a year.

Vice President: What, every day? The same thing every day?

Rollo: If you choose to, you won't be driven by unnecessary desires. It's refreshing and very satisfying. I recommend it to you as well.

Vice President: I can't do that. I'd get bored too quickly.

Rollo: … I'm sorry you don't understand. What's more, you want something from me.

Vice President: Oh, yes. The teacher was just looking for Rollo-kaicho. He wants to know as soon as possible if the book report you recently submitted can be put in the newspaper.

Rollo: A newspaper?… If I take the morning paper, I take the morning edition of the Brilliant Country News.

Vice President: Yeah. It's amazing to be in such a big newspaper! That's what Rollo-caicho is all about. They told me again in class today that kaicho was the only one who passed his Potions test with a perfect grade.

Rollo: Hmm. Not a big deal.

Vice President: You're the very modesty! The other day you even made a hard-to-grow aquatic magic plant bloom. The teacher was very impressed. I have great respect for you. There is no other magician in this academy who knows as much as Rollo-kaicho knows!

Rollo: I see. mumbles Ironic, isn't it?

Vice President: Is something wrong?

Rollo: Don't worry about it. In fact, thank you for talking to me. And for your concern.

Vice President: Don't mention it! But while you're here, may I join you for lunch?

Rollo: … Absolutely not. We're almost done eating. Let's go straight to the teacher. Excuse me, I'll leave you to it. We'll have lunch next time.

Vice President: I see. Then I'll join you another time!

Noble Bell College - Lecture Hall

Rollo: … It's carefree. So carefree… I don't know what I'm thinking. Oh, that's not even the point. Let's go to the staff room.

PART 3

City of Flowers

Rollo: Good afternoon… Yes, that's right. I need my usual set of forms and envelopes. Yes, one plain white one… Hmmm, I agree with you.Even if some would call it anachronistic*, letters are a good thing. It's not as convenient as emails or phone calls, but the time spent means less careless remarks. What, are there cheaper ones from other manufacturers similar to this kit…? No, let's go with the usual. Changing your writing style in the middle of writing won't help. Everything has to be consistent… Yes, indeed. Thanks for everything. See you later… Good salesman. As a citizen of a town that loves a righteous judge. As a college student, I have to learn from you… This town is easy to live in. The people are nice and the scenery is wonderful. But these beautiful flowers are also held in place by magical power … Flowers …. Magic … Hmm…mmm…mmm…Hahaha…..

Goat: Bleh.

Rollo: Hmm. Is that a goat? What's wrong with you? Are you hungry? Unfortunately, I don't have anything you can eat right now. If you want to be fed, go to the others…..

Goat: Bleh.

Rollo: What? You're after my envelopes? How disgusting… Don't touch it. Don't eat my stuff. Besides, eating paper can make you sick to your stomach. I'm not saying it's bad. Give up the idea… Hey, stop it!

Goat: Bleh.

Rollo: You little goat. If you don't want to let go, here's an idea…! Ha. No, there are people here… If this creature wasn't valued in the city, I'd give him a good shove like that. You're just lucky.

Goat: Bleh.

Rollo: Don't chew on my clothes! The City of Flowers is beautiful, but except that such unhygienic behaviour is unacceptable...

Noble Bell College - Student Board Room

Rollo: "As you can see, I'm doing well, just like before. Take care of yourself." I wonder if I'm being too polite. Well, that's good. That's enough to let my parents know I'm living here without any problems. These people are fans of worry… Since then… very… … …

Rollo: … …Right. I'll see if I can add a few more additions to the letter. I won't be able to sleep well tonight anyway. I'll work on it to the best of my ability. There's plenty of time.

kaicho: forefather/elder anachronism: an erroneous, intentional, or conditional attribution of events, phenomena, objects, or persons to another time, epoch relative to the actual chronology.

#twisted wonderland #rollo flamme #twistedwonderland #twst #twisted

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pedroschka · 2 years ago

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not my type

Joseph Quinn x reader

words: 1.9k fluff

Summary: one sided feelings can destroy friendships, so you and Joe make it very clear that you both are not each other's type, pinky promise clear

A/n: @ghostinthebackofyourhead grab your favorite bread and (hopefully) enjoy because I'm your secret Santa!! thanks to @quinnyfairy for organising this <3

Mid laugh, brown eyes crinkling and his head thrown back, that's the blurry image of your best friend in front of you for the last two minutes.

"Joe as much I love to see your little potato head but your screen is frozen."

" ugh, shit! The bloody wifi connection at my parents' is the worst. Wait a second!" his voice on the other end is a bit muffled as he seems to be moving around, trying to fix it.

It was one day after Christmas and you and Joe are trying to have your own little celebration via video call while you both are at your family's and didn't want to wait till you eventually see each other in person again, unpredictable with Joe's busy schedule nowadays anyway. So you both had sent each other's presents via post and now wanted to unpack them together.

So now you sit on your bed in your old bedroom, presents scattered around you and your tablet in front of you with the frozen image of your laughing friend.

" OK, what about now?" Joe's face finally in time again and him waving at the camera

" yes, now get started I already tried peaking but you really are serious about your sticky tape"

" and see how it came in handy" his cocky little smile makes you roll your eyes while grabbing the first present on your left which already has a bit of wrapping paper ripped out, but sticky tape all around it preventing you from making out what it could be.

At the end, you both sit in a colorful mass out of wrapping paper, presents sorted in a little pile beside you, and now updating each other on the newest family tea.

" no! I swear my aunt was full-on gushing about how Eddie looked like her ex-boyfriend's when she was a teen and started showing pictures of you as Eddie all around the dining table, it was soo uncomfortable!" you comically shuddered and Joe's snickering like a little kid at your theatrics.

As comfortable and at ease you were now around him was the complete opposite when you first met each other a year ago.

You sat on your friend's couch, phone in hand, and playing some stupid game, that only seems to come to use in social situations out of ultimate boredom, but trying to look very busy for the people around you. Questioning why your friend even thought it was a good idea to invite you to one of her parties, celebrating whatever with a bunch of her actor friends, when you were the epitome of socially awkward and just overall really bad at meeting new people.

You tried, you really tried to be a part of some conversations, standing in a group full of, on first sight, cliché book extroverts, all of them with interesting lives and using big words talking about different plays, with you just standing there and fake laughing at their jokes you didn't understand and attempting to stop comparing yourself with them. Which didn't work so after a few exhausting hours in which you've been ignored or got an awkward "was nice meeting you" after you ranted too much about a topic you finally could understand you gave up. Your social battery drained and you loathing in self-pity.

Loud cheers and greetings make you look up from your phone, great even more people. The new guest is a very ordinary-looking guy, plain light washed baggy jeans hanging low on his hips, a plain white shirt, sneakers. Not bad on the eye with tousled brown curls as well as brown eyes but not really your type.

Still he held an aura around him that forced you to keep your attention on him, apparently the people around him felt the same effect as they were hanging on every word that was coming out of his mouth. Or is he... Famous around here?! And you are just the only one who has absolutely no idea who he is?

But you're already admiring him for a different reason, Looking so awkward but at the same time so charmingly charismatic and being able to find the right words and topic for each person. You couldn't help to be slightly jealous.

Forced to look down again as he looked across the room and dangerously close in your direction you continued your game, only looking up again as you felt the couch dip as someone sat themselves beside you, and you hastily tried to turn your phone away to not get caught.

"well, that looks fun" shit.

Unknown ordinary looking /maybe famous guy is smiling at you and nodding at your phone

"uggh, kinda" and your brain is letting you down again.

But he doesn't seem bothered by your brain-dead state and tried again to engage you in a conversation, ending up with him having your phone and you, hanging half over his shoulder, explaining to him how to play the game.

"oh, I'm Joe by the way!"

You met Joe a few times after that again and eventually exchanged numbers which resulted in a weird and chaotic friendship. With his ability to make you feel so comfortable around him and just being yourself, he has to endure your ranting over the most ridiculous topics or oversharing the most private things, but it doesn't seem to bother him, on the contrary, he seems to even encourage your weirdness and just adapt to it.

Because of this connection between you both, you lost count of how many times people thought you both were dating or how many times your friends and family tried to play matchmaker, so a pinky promise between you and joe was made that you both are on the same page, that you are not each other's type, both of you already familiar with how one-sided feelings can destroy a friendship, so better making sure at the beginning right?

It was now new years eve and like you planned with Joe in your last call you both were gonna drive over to a friend's house who's throwing a party to celebrate it together, in person this time.

Joe's gonna be at your place to pick you up in nearly 20 minutes and you're still sitting in front of your wardrobe in only your bathrobe and still wet hair, nibbling nervously on your fingernails and looking over all your clothes, eyes wide with panic debating what you should wear to look presentable for him.

Which is absolutely ridiculous because Joe has already seen you in your absolute worst states, coming over to you with pimple cream all over your face, greasy hair, and sloppy oversized shirts with holes and stains you couldn't even explain.

But you haven't seen each other for nearly a month now, well except for the few video calls but that's just different, and now you are a nervous mess, suddenly worried about your appearance and you hate it.

The buzzing of your doorbell makes you jump slightly, spraying the last bit of hairspray on your head and turning the music off, which you needed to hype yourself up, and speedwalking to the door, taking a deep breath before opening it.

Joe's standing in front of you in black slacks and a slightly striped white shirt, the last button undone and a necklace peeking out of it, and you feel your heartbeat throbbing in your ears.

With a happy call of your name, he went straight into a hug and you suddenly felt distracted by the smell of his perfume, still the same one you smelt a thousand times but different regardless, Like his arms around you, squeezing you firmly into him, it's like your sensory perception is on high alert and suddenly everything feels more intense.

The car ride to the party is awkward to say at least, your nerves preventing you from coming up with anything other than occasionally humming or nodding as an answer, and after a few more tries from Joe he gave up, thinking maybe you're just nervous again because of all the people that are gonna be there and needed a few more minutes for yourself, so the car becomes silent and you hate it because that was your least concern right now, you felt like a bad friend, not seeing each other for a month and you can't even talk to him because this bloody nervous feeling just won't go away. So you both just stare at the road in front of you.

It's loud and full and lights flickering everywhere and you're so overwhelmed and tense that the weird feeling is forgotten for a moment and you're clinging to Joe, following him around like a lost puppy. Him ordering drinks for you both and chatting with people, trying to include you, taking you with him for smoke breaks, the only time when you both are separated is when one of you has to go to the toilet.

A few minutes before midnight a group of people had gathered on the balcony, with them you and Joe, shouting the countdown to the new year and watching fireworks exploding and illuminating the night sky.

" happy new year!" you screamed in each other's faces and laughed as you tackle each other in a big hug. People around you doing the same or walking around and giving the traditional New Year kiss.

Observing this you both looked at each other and shrugged while giggling, both slightly tipsy, and pecked each other on the lips. Physical contact wasn't unfamiliar to you, both being touchy when around people you feel comfortable enough, small kisses when saying goodbye, or cuddling together on your small sofa when watching some movies weren't new either. What was new was the feeling you felt as your lips met his.

As you separated you looked into each other's eyes, you always thought that his eyes were beautiful, even told him so, but you never felt such strong emotions when looking into them, unable to hold eye contact your gaze trailed to his lips, so full and soft looking and you never felt such a strong urge either to be near them. Subconscious you both lean in again and your lips met again but this time for a real kiss.

Warm flooded your body and you can't think of anything else other than the feeling of his lips against yours. His hands found the back of your neck to bring you even closer and you copied him, trailing your fingers through his curls, both of you starving for each other's presence and hungry for more, captivated and lost in your own little world.

Until a person stumbles into you and you remember again where you are.

Both of you catching your breath as you separated again, waking up from the trance-like state, emotional chaos whirling up in you again because you just made out with your best friend, with which you made a silly pinky promise and made very clear to not be each other's type to save this friendship but now you experienced the best kiss you ever had and when you look at his face now he is so beautiful and you can't help to want to kiss those lips again but you were also so overwhelmed because what the fuck does this all mean now.

Luckily Joe answers your questions as he leans in again for a third kiss, shorter but still as breathtaking.

" I know we promised to be not each other's type but do you wanna go on a date with me?" he asked against your lips and you both giggled as you nodded 'yes' before going into another kiss.

(reblogs and comments are very appreciated additional to your likes)

#secret santa project #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn #joe quinn fanfic #fanfiction #joseph quinn fluff

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saliosis · 1 year ago

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your subway order total is $19.21

(extra notes below)

ok, so here's the deal with the slight design change! (i swear, it's cool)

i wanted to make chuck latino because i joked about it once (w/ fred stoller being on handy manny saying "my amigos 😆" and then saying his colors look like the flag of colombia 💀) but it stuck for some reason. to me, it works PERFECTLY.... if becky can be an alien who is

"ambiguously brown"

then why can't a sandwich person like chuck also be brown, yknow 🔥⁉️

(help i keep accidentally latinoifying wg characters--)

chuck? nah. he is now, officially

chuck el sandwichero perverso 🥪🇨🇴‼️🔥

(as they call him in the spanish dub aka chica supersabia)

for starters, i wanted to experiment with changing the type of bread he's based on. i can assume chuck is based on the classic sandwich made up of white bread (...💀) so i wanted to change it up for latino chuck.... yknow... yknow.... yknow.... 🕴️

i'm also just not a fan of plain white bread 🤕 LMFKAJDKSN

i had a couple of options to chose from so i can upgrade his sandwichness™ 💭 but i decided to settle onnnnnnn..........................

funky multigrain bread!! my favorite 🥄🥄‼️ anytime i make a sandwich, i usually reach for this bread... (and when i say "anytime" i mean the times i'm extra and watch a chuck episode while eating a sandwich 💀💀)

i like the idea of chuck having seeds and grains on his face... think of it like moles, freckles, or even acne scars if you will 🤷‍♂️ brent straight-up has seeds on him that represent freckles so why not, right⁉️ we can get creative here w/ it!!

plus- he's so much more bread-like this way

above is a fast doodle, but it is what i ended up sticking with for my design. if you see in the final drawing, i did shift around with some of his costume colors to make it work with the bread type-colors!!

i imagine brent being a variation of bread that looks similar to chuck. that way chuck can be multigrain bread and brent can be another type.

parent who is multigrain bread + parent who is another type of bread = two siblings, each being one of two options of bread because of genes™ (wow. sandwich person science 😍😍🥪🧬 /s)

my two options for brent's bread type? because i will probably never draw that man? either molasses bread (left) or even dark rye (right)?? but i lean towards dark rye brent because that idea seems so scrumptious to me

ngl i have never been too sure what type of bread brent is based on......

the wiki doesn't really help me decide. he has freckles that seem to be like seeds, so that means he's a type of bread that has seeds. but also, not that many seeds.... which is likely an animation thing since animating all those damn seeds must be hard. but idk? but his skin tone is very slightly darker than chuck so that makes me think he isn't white bread based™ (help what am i talking about)

if any bread experts™ out there have some guesses, let me know so we can talk about that more. for some reason, this is really fascinating.

anyways.... latino brent can be real too 🤷‍♂️

um...............

brent 😍🥪🇨🇴🔥‼️

(because i swear to god they just call him brent in the spanish dub instead of his long ass name)

but yeah 👍 that's my little hc-chuck related ramble. i may not talk about him, but i really fuckin love chuck 😭

............ .. . . . ... . .... . .. . ...... . .. ...... ....... .. .. .. .....typing this out has made me realize how much thought, effort, and research i have done all because of a joke i made. a joke i made about a cartoon character from a kids show where we haven't gotten new content in years. and that it's likely that i'm the only person thinking so deeply about a family of sandwiches--

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saps0nap · 2 years ago

Text

a wined dinner - sapnap

warnings: smut, alcohol consumption(wine), male blowjob, fem being eaten out, fingering, unprotected sex, spanking and swearing. minors DNI, please.

this is a small piggyback off a headcanon i wrote just a little ago, but the idea’s been floating around through other works too. this is it’s official post.

You found yourself, like on most nights recently, craving a nap and your comfortable bed you shared with your now husband, Nick.

You’ve been married almost 2 years, but you never let the opportunity fall flat to call him by his new nickname that you love.

You love using it in public, saying: “Oh, no that’s not for me, my husband ordered it.” with a smile, and you see from across you he turns a bright red.

But you sometimes loved it more, realizing the effect is more packed when you say, “Oh my god… we have to stop, my… my husband will be home any minute—” as you grip onto your dress that is pulled up to bunch at your waist while he thrusts into you against the dresser.

“He already is.” he would whisper against your ear before his hands would wrap around to your hips, letting his palms gently rest on your stomach to feel himself inside you.

The thought rushes you back to life, the tingling feeling throbbing at your core as you find yourself taking the exit off the highway and turning down your street a few minutes later.

You were horny, it was so obvious. You just hoped Nick wasn’t working by the time you came in, because you had no idea if getting yourself off upstairs in your shared bed would be enough.

It had been multiple times before, especially if you left the bedroom door open and let your raspiest moans out for him to hear all the way downstairs.

Or even better when you did it on the couch, letting the dildo slip in and out of your wet folds while he was working in the room just over from you.

It always typically worked out either way. You had at least one amazing orgasm alone, knowing the next would be from Sapnap and how he would say, “The hell is wrong with you, you know I can hear you right? Out here, moaning like your fucking The Rock or something. I’m right here. All you need.” as he’d take your legs and pin them up above you and drilled into your soaked pussy.

You did it on purpose.

But now, you were unsure if even your vibrator would fill your need.

You sighed as you grabbed your work bags from the backseat, trudging them up the walkway and slipping your key in the lock.

And it isn’t until you start to walk down the hall into the kitchen when… you notice the smell.

It wasn’t anything familiar, and that oddly made the hair on your neck raise a bit.

Who the fuck is here? You thought. Because it couldn’t be Nick. Poor thing couldn’t cook if his life depended on it. He had once tried to cook a grilled cheese and used just one stick of string cheese and two plain pieces of bread.

And this smell… well, it smelled good. Something you had never smelt before, odd, but so good.

It made your mouth fill with saliva, it was that good. And it was then that you carefully and quietly set your bags down before you slipped your shoes off and took a few more steps down toward the kitchen.

You heard it then too, the music.

Seriously, what the fuck was going on?

It was your favorite, Jazz.

You only ever listened to it when you were in a good mood, and considering what was going on right now, this definitely wouldn’t be your first choice.

But you warily carried on, and peeked your head around the corner only to see Nick in your apron with his back turned to you.

Dancing at the stove and swaying his hips a little.

He was dancing, in your apron.

He was cooking?!

You fully stepped into the room now, keeping your arrival hidden and just watched him.

It was kind of hot actually, seeing him in that paired with a white T-shirt that hugged at his arms and black sweat shorts—which perfectly showed off his perfect round butt by the way—, standing at the stove and humming the familiar chords of the jazz song to himself.

You saw him stop and pause, leaning over to his left to read off of something. A fucking cook book.

Who the hell was this man?

Nick added something that looked like chicken broth maybe? or a bouillon or something? You weren’t sure.

After all, you too weren’t all that familiar with cooking. It’s just that one of you had to know how to keep each other alive.

God, that sandwich.

It was so bad, and the cheese didn’t even melt all the way. But you smiled anyway and told him it was ‘different’ than any other grilled cheese you’d had before.

He was smiling so big and he was leaning over the counter at you like a child watching their parent look at a school project, wishing for approval and praise.

But now, he didn’t look like that anymore when he finally turned and saw you standing there.

He let out a yelp and staggered back a little, spilling a bit of the mystery liquid on himself.

“Oh! I didn’t even hear you come in. Hi.” he was beaming when he set the cup down, wiped his hands on your apron and hugged you like he hadn’t seen you in a week.

“I missed you. I’m glad you’re home.” Nick said, turning his face in toward your neck and leaving a kiss there before pulling apart from you.

“I… missed you too. What, are you doing?” you asked, looking away from him and pointing toward the mess that was your kitchen counters.

He looked a little embarrassed now, his hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing at the spot there, like he always did.

It was your favorite spot on him now that your thinking of it. Where you always rest your hand on the tiny mole that’s perfectly tucked just below the collar of tops.

You always find yourself reaching for it at the oddest of times, like it’s a comfort to you.

You hand always reaches there, your fingers brushing under the surface until you find it. And then you start to scratch.

Your nail always tries to remove it, and when you do Sapnap shrugs away from you. Sometimes more harshly than others.

“Stop that.” he says in a hushed tone.

Sometimes, when he can’t move far away enough to get out of your grasp, he swats a hand at your arm to snap you out of it.

And it always makes you stifle a laugh.

“I um… I decided, since we’ve both been working so much the past few weeks, and haven’t really had a lot of time to hang out so… Dinner!” and he held his hands out at his sides to emphasize his sentence.

Oh, dear.

“It smells… wonderful? You’re following a recipe?” you ask before your eyes drift up to his unruly pile of hair on top of his head, that for once wasn’t being smothered in a cap.

You loved the way his hair looked outside of the hat he always wore, and usually because it was early in the morning and messy as hell, right out of the shower where the soft curls fell in front of his face, or the feel of it in your hands while his head is in between your legs and you cum all over his mouth.

It also helped that it automatically made him 100 times hotter with it wild, which wasn’t as often as you’d like.

“Yeah. I’ve been looking online. I wanted to surprise you.” he says with a sly smile, and just as you feel his arms snake around your waist, he’s drawing your hips in flush to meet his.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, and you honestly want to say no.

Because you would much rather him fill you up than any other meal right now.

“Starving.” you stay instead, and you feel his lips on yours before a smile breaks across his and he murmurs “Good.”

After he finally releases you, you find your way to the fridge and draw yourself a small, appetizer sized glass of red wine and plant yourself on the counter ready to watch your new-found chef cook.

You turn to face his back now, seeing as he’s reaching for a spice in the cupboard to his right, which causes his white shirt to hike up and reveal his waist. What a slutty thing.

You watch as he stirs what in fact isn’t broth, but condensed milk into a casserole pan, then adds rice, chicken, and parsley on top before covering it with foil and sticking it in the oven.

You quickly come to the conclusion that you have never been hornier than you are right now, and following that, you have never wanted to have Nick’s —your husbands— cock shoved down your throat more after seeing him in such a surprisingly natural light.

You hadn’t realized until now how sweet the sentiment was— that he knew you guys didn’t get to spend as much time as you used to (which was true since you had to work longer shifts and he was doing practically the same) and he wanted to spend time with you… enough to learn how to cook a nice meal.

It touched your heart, knowing how much he cared, and how much he looks forward to you coming home, coming back to him.

You do too, seeing him is like an electric charge, and you can never ever get enough of him. It’s kind of gross, how much you love each other.

Which is why when he is finally done, with the dish in the oven, and his hands freshly washed, he lets his hands linger slowly up your thighs, looking you in the eye the entire time.

And it feels like forever. You feel his hands burning through you, melting away your skin. It feels exhilarating, not knowing his next move, never knowing his next move.

But a part of you does know, because it feels like you go on auto pilot the second his hands graze up your hips and find their way to your cheeks. Nick kisses you like your the sun, like he’s just a star in your orbit.

He reels you into him, his right hand —like always— scraping gently at the back of your neck and letting his fingers tangle the hair there and letting the rest raise beyond your silent resistance.

You know his patterns, but yet every single time, you always forget them until they’re right about to happen. And you love every second of it.

Nick breathes, and it’s like he’s taking all of the air out of your lungs. You let him. On every exhale, he takes it from you with his inhale, and nearly pass back and forth the same air until your hands rest on his shoulders and curl around his neck to connect your lips again.

He moans.

He fucking moans. Not even like a half groan type of moan. He fully made the O shape with his mouth and everything. And oh my god, now you know this is the horniest you’ve ever been. Sure you’ve heard him be vocal before, but you have never out-right heard him moan like that. And it sends a pulse right down to the very core of you.

“Oh my god,” you murmur against his lips, letting the gloss pass again before taking one of yours and pulling it between your teeth.

“I want to give you head. Jesus, let me.” You say it without realization, as if he would say no.

But right now, you honestly felt like maybe he should, because he is always allowing you pleasure, and you kind of wish he wouldn’t this one time.

“Please.” And you fully rest your forehead on his, still entirely out of breath from all that he took from you.

He doesn’t say a word, he just slowly lets his hands fall away from your neck, making every nerve that rests on your skin catch on fire with his fingertips alone.

He backs up against the opposing countertop, his hands finding the lip of it and letting them sink into it, almost gripping even.

You slide off the island, and almost like a magnet your skirt-covered-knees meet the hardwood floor with a soft thud.

You inch closer, and tug at his shorts like your starving and this, this dick, is the only thing that will fill your needs.

His boxers slide down to his ankles as well, causing his cock to fall as it pleases and ready for your mouth.

You wet a hand, and gently pump him, rubbing so painfully slow that he fucking whimpers.

“Y/n,” Nicks hands come up to feel around for your hair, as if he’s looking for you in the dark, as if he’s trying to ground himself with the feel of you.

You let his hands gently tangle in your hair until he starts to massage your scalp and force your head to tip back on its own accord, letting his dick pop out from the suction of your lips.

You find his eyes and let them bore into yours, seeing him dip closer and plant a sloppier kiss on your lips. His tongue begs for entrance, but you simply pick up your pace now holding his balls with your other hand.

This causes a low groan to slip from his lips into your mouth, and a sudden smile reaches your face with amusement.

“Mmm,” he mumbles against you, tugging a fistful of your hair at the root.

You connect your lips again, then break away only to take his full cock in your mouth.

Not just once, three times.

Sapnap’s head reels back, and he lets out an ungodly groan of approval and pleasure, making your pussy throb with anticipation.

“Fuck,” he says, and grips your hair until your lips touch the low end of his stomach and his dick is pressing the back of your throat.

You gag and pull you head back, only to let the bead of spit drip down his veins and take him again.

Moaning against his length, you take a tentative hand from his balls and let it run down to the front of your clit.

Your begging for a release, and you want it now.

“Shit—” Nicks breath hitches as you bob your head up and down, your tongue grazing the tip of his dick just right with every quick pump.

You fumble with your skirt until you finally hike it up enough to feel the wetness that has completely soaked the entire front of your panties.

Your fingers moved the fabric to the side frantically, and when you found the sweet spot of your clit, you rubbed in sync with the wet sounds of your hand meeting base of your husband’s cock.

“Fuck, Y/n…” it was almost a plea, the way it cracked and broke off before his breathing became more erratic then stopped completely.

“Oh… Oh, fuck!” and he hunched forward, his eyes snapping shut before you had a change to place your lips around him and his cum landed all over your face.

You pumped quicker and quicker, letting his cum fuel your rapid motions until his groaning fell apart and his legs stopped straining.

You didn’t come.

It didn’t stop you from trying though, because you switched hands now and let your legs spread as far as they could within reason and held your skirt to your hips, rubbing back and forth with quick succession.

It was right, the sweet spot, and you felt yourself almost, almost reach your peak… if you just stayed right there and didn’t fall short.

But of course you did, because Nick’s hands were placed firm on your cheeks and he kissed you with all the love he had ever grown, throwing it down your spine and letting it rest there. Unable to find a way out. Yet.

“Let me,” he rasped, and you felt his voice shake inside you with a hot thrill.

“Please.” his voice was softer now, almost like a pout, and you couldn’t even stop yourself as you nodded, kissing him harder and moaning right into his mouth.

He stood you up now.

You let him.

You couldn’t fucking help yourself from sliding your hands up into his hair and giving it an unforgiving tug, jerking his face away from yours only to see a smirk plastered hard on his lips and the small slits of his doe-eyes.

Fuck.

A throaty sound came from him, and it filled you with a rage you didn’t know you had.

One that could only be tamed with his lips on your clit, like it was the key to solve all your wet problems.

Sapnap knew what to do, obviously— or he knew what he wanted to do, and knew his reward would be your heaven— and hoisted you up onto the countertop with a small shriek passing through your lips before he pushed you flat against the granite and took you as his.

Nicks fingers dipped into his mouth, coating them fully with the spit they didn’t need, and slowly pulled them out between his full pink lips.

You bit yours to stop your orgasm from jumping the gun.

He made a little moaning sound, just to tick you off, knowing how much you wanted to take him right here, knowing how fucking impatient you always were.

But just as you leveled your hands on the counter to sit up, his two wet fingers found your folds and disappeared within them, coming back out just seconds later fully drenched.

He drew in a breath, letting it fall off then returning; quicker this time.

You let out a moany-breath of pleasure, feeling the perfect place he was starting to hit.

“Mmm,” you exhaled, curling your palms against the cold, flat surface.

Nick knew what to do next, what he always loved doing, and attached his lips to your clit, just barely grazing it with his teeth to make your hips buck and send a jolt of electricity threw you.

He introduced his tongue now, slowly making loose circles around the sensitive nub before engulfing it entirely.

His fingers continue to pump almost through you with his pace, and it caused you to stop breathing and let your mouth hang open as he mouth fucked you against your $4,000 countertops.

Your nails attacked your thighs, scratching them red as to ground yourself while your husband destroyed you.

“Oh, fuck.” you moaned, now finally getting the voice back inside your body and clawing away at yourself.

You didn’t even care. All you knew was that he was fucking you senseless with his tongue and you were unraveling before him just like always.

“Jesus, oh— Mmm, just… like, that.” you were a fucking mess, a breathy, hot, squirmy mess.

Sapnap knew that of course, which was why he was coming close to actually coming while his tongue swiped his wife’s clit vigorously.

He smiled against it momentarily, catching his breath and repositioning before he finally finished the job.

“My, god Nick. Fuck me. Just fucking fuck me.” you finally drew out. Your hands roamed for his hair again and took a fistful with no room for remorse and yanked it against your clit, suffocating him.

This only made you come faster, your begs being silenced with his quick pumping and even quicker tongue movements.

You let out a roaring moan before stopping short completely, and falling over the edge of your first climax all over Sapnap’s face.

He enjoyed this of course, and he didn’t stop as he felt the hot liquid pump out of you and onto his fingers.

He didn’t stop.

And you had to pull his face away for not only him, but for you to breath again.

This didn’t seem to faze him at all, because just a few moments later his hands came up to yours and removed them from his hair gently.

“I love the way you feel around me,” he murmured before gripping onto your hips and drawing you close to him.

Sapnap spun you around slowly, then with his cum-coated hand, he drew it around your neck and into your mouth, letting you taste yourself.

His other, which was working against you, lifted the blouse you wore from its tucked position in your skirt and over your head.

He eventually did the same with your bra, i clipping it from the back with one hand, then layed you back down on the granite.

It was an icy feeling against your perked up nipples, but it only made you burn hotter.

There was a moment of stalling.

Then a hand came in contact with your right ass cheek, followed by a low quiet grumble.

He did it again, and that time, you felt it run through you.

You begged for more with a moan that melted the air around you and caused Nick to pull them apart and run a hand between before slapping it once again.

You fished for a landing spot, and finding it on the lip of the counter where your hands held on tightly, stifling another moan.

“Fuck,” you whimpered.

This left you with one last punch, both of Sapnap’s hands coming in contact with your ass and leaving you stunned.

He soon fulfilled your wish when he bent down to meet your entrance and slid into you once more, now fuller and deeper.

Your mouth flung open against your non-existent will and he gripped onto your raw and red ass before drilling into you again.

“My… fuck,” he fumbled, and his firey hands snaked their way across your back and onto the front of your stomach, lifting you up to stand with him.

They traveled to meet your nipples, where they were pinched and pulled until another wave of breathy moans erupted out of you.

“Oh my god,” he said.

The sound of your ass hitting his dick was one of your favorites, besides the one he was about to make when you forced him to take two steps back and let him rest on the opposing granite countertop to take over.

“Oh.” was all he could make out before your hands found a still surface to help you better bounce on his cock.

Sapnap groaned in submission, letting the feeling of your pussy rub against the tip of his dick and make it pulse with a clear purpose.

He was gonna cum.

“I’m gonna cum,” he said verbatim and gripped your hips for a second time, taking control and pounding into your dripping pussy like it was his god damn job.

Your throat opened up and now, your walls clench around him causing you to pull your hands up and find the back of his neck.

You came around his filling dick the same time you left him fill you.

His groans echoed around the room, and caused you to become still fully aware of what just took place.

You opened your eyes and had to blink back the sudden water that formed in them from seeing the bright kitchen.

Sapnap breathed against the side of your face before kissing it once, then twice, and slowly pulling out of you and turning you around to plant one final kiss on your lips.

“You wreck me,” you say softly, and your not even sure he heard you at first.

Until he says “I know.”

#sapnap #sap0nap #karl jacobs #mcyt #mcyt smut #idk

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crowza · 2 years ago

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Hermitcraft cooking tier-list

as compiled by @mawofthemagnetar and I with further explanations below the line

Great Food, Totally Safe

This cook will make sure your food is safe and tasty no matter your species! Pretty self-explanatory.

VintageBeef - All butchers are great cooks ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Renthedog - Great at grilling, even if he generally prefers meat on the rare side. His steak tartar is to die for.

Impulse - While his area of interest is more centered around candy, he can make you a decent dinner.

EvilXisuma - He learned how to cook out of spite. Major stress-baker vibes.

Iskall, PearlescentMoon, GeminiTay, Welsknight - These guys are all functional adults. They can cook.

Great Food, but Watch Out

This cook will make you a wonderfully tasting dish. However, it might not be harmless. Eat at your own risk.

ZombieCleo - Your meal will be meticulously prepared with skill, love, and heart (often literally). Its a shame the only people fully capable of appreciating her hard work are fellow members of the undead.

JoeHills - The food will be either great or a biohazard. Its anyone's guess which one it'll be this time. That's the Joe Hills Difference.

CubFan and GTWS - While the food will be excellent, the Vex have odd rules surrounding food. Make sure you have a lawyer present.

StressMonster - She may be a great baker, however those skills do not necessarily transfer. Compliment her pastry, steer clear of her casserole.

Mediocre in all contexts

Not good, nor hazardous. The plain white toast bread of cooks.

TFC, xBCrafted, Etho - Bachelor pad people with bachelor diets. Can make a store-bought mac-n-cheese.

Xisuma, FalseSymmetry, Hypnotizd - They just eat MRE's. Can cook an egg if need be.

The food will be Bad

Self-explanatory. You will not leave the table feeling good about yourself.

MumboJumbo - The man is incapable of handling the pressure of cooking for another person. The end product is not worth the emotional toll.

Grian - Under not circumstance should this man be given access to an oven.

Zedaph - His food is not contaminated thanks to his proper PPE usage. That is the highest compliment anyone could give.

That is a Biohazard, Do Not Eat

Just don't.

Keralis - oh you know, (read EHK series for context)

DocM77 - Despite being Ren's grilling buddy, he will put redstone on the food and forget to tell you about that. Do not eat.

TangoTek - Believes that blaze powder is an appropriate spice to use. Do not eat.

Bdubs - This man will eat things out of the garbage. Unless you can guarantee the ingredient's freshness - Do not eat.

iJevin - He isn't fully in on what is appropriate to feed humans. Preparing and cooking food seems like a waste of time. Absorbing it whole is much more efficient. Do not eat.

#hermitcraft #also obligatory those are headcanons #i am open to further discussion

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fluffle-writes · 4 months ago

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For weirdcore au

How do some of the mouthless experience taste? Do the hungering flames have preferences? Like flammability versus how clean it burns (oils and grease can burn easy but not cleanly, not all wood burns the same either with some leaving fine ash versus lumps of char or even residue from sap and oils). Or maybe it's based on the contents? Magic or mineral or just plain ol texture? Or maybe they do taste the chicken in the smoke and ash and they eat up some crispy tenders just like us?

What if plant types? Do they have a preference? Or even Idia? Does he have favorite memories to consume?

Sorry if there's a lot of questions 😅 i just really like this

Don't apologise for asking questions! Answering them is TONS of fun! It gives me an opportunity to dig into lil nooks and crannies of my mind palace to find good answers about how their weird lil world works! :D

Weirdcore AU Masterlist Here!

The way that these guys experience taste...

I feel like the plant guys would likely have something going on that's based on how butterflies or octopuses have taste buds on their feet/tentacles, where the plant guys have taste buds on the roots that they consume their food with! These taste buds are incredibly strong, so it's common for beings who eat this way to be picky about their food. (For example, Cater vehemently dislikes sweets, and Trey can't stand mustard!)

Ones who eat with fire can only taste foods that last long enough in the fire - so things like cotton candy would burn away too quickly to be tasted. But ice cream resists burning for a while, so the taste lingers! Things like onions may also be caramelised by the heat, which makes the flavour more complex and appealing to the person eating it. Wood and oil can be a staple food for younger or weaker beings with this feature, as it can help them maintain more energy and keep their flame strong and in good health!

Any residue from the burnt food is swallowed and further digested - it's like how cows have more than one stomach to properly digest the grass that they eat. Beings like Malleus will have a digestive system specifically designed for digesting ashes and burnt remains of the food they consume. For larger chunks of ashes, they may either regurgitate pellets like barn owls owls do with indigestible parts of their food, or they could simply swallow those chunks whole like snakes, crushing them in their throat as they do so.

Idia's sense of taste, when he uses his tech to eat, is more artificial (for normal food consumption, at least.) Like if he eats a banana or a strawberry, the flavour will be more artificial. This is why he may prefer more artificial foods when he eats with his mouth - it's what he's used to tasting.

Memories are somewhat different though. The memories of an unthinking animal is somewhat plain, like eating plain white bread or a rice-only diet - it's filling and a good part of a diet, but memories of more intelligent prey gives him other forms of energy that are vital to his health. I'm not sure what memories would be his favourite... Possibly memories from childhood, of untethered joy. Those ones are particularly sweet.

Sad memories are more bitter, while memories of love have fruity or floral flavours, and memories of victory often taste meaty - like a good steak. But like I said, Idia prefers the sweeter memories (his favourite food is sweets so I'm pretty sure our guy has a sweet tooth lol)

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst weirdcore au #twst idia #twisted wonderland idia

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princesssarisa · 8 months ago

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The next series of tales in Heidi Ann Heiner's Cinderella Tales from Around the World are tales of the Love Like Salt variety.

This is a subtype of Donkeyskin, but in place of a father wanting to marry his daughter, it opens with a different scenario. A king (or just a rich man, but usually a king) asks his three daughters how much they love him. The elder two daughters describe their love in terms that please him, but the youngest says that she loves him as much as she loves salt. (Or that she loves him as meat, bread, or food loves salt.) Because salt is common and cheap, or because it tastes bitter alone, the king takes this as an insult and banishes his daughter. (Or worse, he orders a servant to kill her in the forest, but the servant lets her go, a la Snow White.) From this point on, the story usually becomes like Donkeyskin or All-Kinds-of-Fur: the princess finds lowly work at another palace, somehow acquires beautiful gowns, attends festivities, and wins the prince's love. (Or sometimes, he simply finds her in the forest and marries her right away.) When they marry in the end, she invites her father to the wedding, usually without revealing her identity, and she has the food cooked without any salt. When the king tastes the bland food, he realizes the preciousness of salt, and that his daughter was telling him how dearly she loved him. Then the princess reveals herself and joyfully reunites with her father.

Needless to say, Shakespeare lovers will recognize this scenario. While King Lear was allegedly based on true events in ancient British history, the fact that it contains a common fairy tale archetype seems to imply that the story as we know it is more legend than fact.

I don't personally like this type of Cinderella story as much as other subtypes (or King Lear as much as other Shakespeare plays), for a very personal reason: my autism and self-diagnosed ADHD, which cause Rejection-Sensitive Dysphoria. Seeing the princess rejected because of a misunderstanding by the father she loves more than anything is heartbreaking to me, because all my life, I've been irrationally afraid that my loved ones might reject me if I mistakenly say or do something they think is wrong. I tend to feel as if the king is too easily forgiven, because while my head says it just shows the princess's immense love and grace, my heart feels as if it means "He deserves her forgiveness, any parent could have made that same mistake (including yours)." But I suppose the solution is to look at the story from the king's point of view. The king arguably shows Rejection-Sensitive Dysphoria: he only rejects his daughter because he feels rejected by her and his heart is broken. Arguably, when he banishes her, he's behaving like an AuDHD child howling and raging at his mother because she said "When you act like this, I don't want to be near you" and he heard it as "I don't love you anymore." When his daughter helps him to see her love and forgives him, I should see it as a reminder that my rejection fears have no real foundation, just like the king's sense of rejection by his daughter was wrong, and that my loved ones will forgive me for my mistakes too.

Besides, a case can be made that the princess is also in the wrong, for describing her love in such plain and "untender" terms that her father couldn't understand. @queenlucythevaliant has posted eloquently on this subject and has even written an interesting retelling of the story with this interpretation. It applies even more to Shakespeare's Cordelia, with her seemingly cold and clinical talk of love as a duty, than it does to the fairy tale princess, who at least means to convey that she loves her father more than anything, and just words it badly. Arguably, all Lear really wants at the beginning play is to hear warm, tender words of love from his daughters, and Cordelia chooses to be morally right rather than kind.

By the way, I don't know if this is true, but I've read the suggestion that the Love Like Salt tale might have originated as an attempt to bowdlerize Donkeyskin, replacing the king's efforts to marry his daughter with a different way of demanding too much love. So when people talk about possible incest subtext between King Lear and his daughters, especially Cordelia, they might have a point whether Shakespeare intended it or not. The folklore the story grew from may have been born from still older folklore where the king did have incestuous love for his daughter.

@ariel-seagull-wings, @adarkrainbow, @themousefromfantasyland

#cinderella #love like salt #fairy tale #variations #cinderella tales from around the world #heidi ann heiner #king lear #william shakespeare #autism #adhd #tw: incest

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eggcompany · 7 months ago

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Kill a Dixon Part 2

“How about I make us some grilled cheese sandwiches and you can take a shower. I’ll set out some of my clothes you can have too. Feel free to use any of my soaps and stuff. Take your time, chill out.” Shane said as he got two cans of coke from his fridge. Daryl stood with his arms crossed over his chest nervously as he stood just inside the sheriff's apartment. He’d just pulled off his shoes when the officer had done the same.

It was tidy enough. There were sneakers shoved under a side table beside the couch, a jacket tossed over the back of the recliner and the trash was full. It looked like any other bachelor pad he’d seen. Beer cans in the trash, microwave meals, not a lot of counter top food. It didn’t seem… scary.

“Um… are you sure you want me to wear your clothes? These are still clean. The hospital gave me them so I can just wear these.” Daryl said once he nodded to the man who handed him a soda. He didn’t wanna be a burden. Maybe. He just felt like letting Shane help. He really wanted a grilled cheese though, he hadn’t had homemade warm food for a while. Even if it was just bread and cheese.

Shane smiled and looked down for a second before looking back up at the boy through his eyelashes.

“Daryl, I told you to go get a shower and I’ll lay out some clothes for you. Now, go wash up, take as long as you want to, and I’ll have some clothes set out and a grilled cheese hot in the pan.” Shane said in a way that was gentle but left no room for argument. He’d usually only ever use it on kids but it didn’t seem to offend the young man. Daryl just nodded and mumbled an ‘alright.’

“It’s right over there and I’ll put some clothes on the table there. You can just grab them and change in the bathroom.” Shane explained and pointed to one of the two doors in the entire apartment. There was a side table next to the door since the couch was on the same wall. Daryl nodded and walked into the bathroom.

It was a shitty apartment bathroom but it wasn’t bad. The bathtub was bigger than the small one Daryl had at home, and there was a detachable shower head. Daryl was happy about that. He could really wash what needed to be washed without contorting himself as much. He pulled his hoodie off and then the plain white cotton t-shirt. He untied the sweatpants the hospital had given him and looked around for a minute.

The walls were a light green and didn’t seem gross, there was a rack with towels on it and some extra shampoo and wash rags, and the toilet lid was up but it was clean. The sink was clean, a toothbrush sitting in a cup next to the faucet and a tube of toothpaste sat capless next to it. There was a bottle of mouthwash too and Daryl wondered if he might be able to use some of it. It would be nice to be able to burn away everything in his mouth. Hell he’d like to drink the whole thing but that didn’t seem to be the best thing to do.

He opened the door a crack and chewed the inside of his lip for a minute before speaking loudly.

“Officer Walsh?” He said and held his shirt in his hand close to his chest, covering his bruised muddled skin. Shane quickly moved to be able to see the bathroom door.

“Yes? Do you need something? You alright?” He said concerned. Daryl swallowed and nodded.

“Could I have some of your mouthwash?” He said and looked down at the floor. Shane took a breath of relief and nodded.

“Yeah, totally. Actually you know what, I’ve got an extra toothbrush under the sink. You can have that if you want to brush your teeth.” Shane said. He always had an extra toothbrush at his place. Daryl closed and locked the door again without a thank you. Shane almost found his lack of manners endearing.

Granted it was a pink one, Daryl was happy to have it. He brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth out. He then gurgled and swished with the mouthwash. He was about to spit it out but then thought of what had happened came rushing back to him. As tears prickled his eyes he swallowed the burning mint liquid.

He pulled off the sweatpants and his socks and took a moment to figure out the shower and wait for the water to turn warm.

He had to admit that the hot water felt nice. The water pressure felt so good too, like a massage. So much better than the shit shower at home. There were four bottles of soap sitting on the side of the bathtub and Daryl read them while enjoying the way the water felt pattering away at his shoulders. They seemed to kinda fancy. He popped open the bottle of body wash and sniffed it. It was sort of minty, sort of like an orange.

Daryl put a small amount in his hand and looked at it. Officer Walsh had said feel free to use it…

He put a bit more and started scrubbing at the layers of gross that coated his skin.

He never got this after. He never just got to be clean after.

Floods of relief and anger and sadness washed over him and he scrubbed harder at his own skin. Each press against the bruises hurt but he almost wanted it to. He scrubbed at his ears and his face and turned the water temperature up even more. Steam was rising all around him and the water turned his skin pink.

Sniffling he grabbed the shower head from where it was being held up and held it closer to himself, the heat burned him but made him feel clean. Really clean. He cried harder as he got more soap onto his hand and scrubbed at his legs and the insides of his thighs. The water was too hot on his sensitive skin. He cried harder and scrubbed harshly at his dick. He cried harder, sobs starting to wrack his body from both pure sadness and a bit from pain. He ended up dropping the shower head causing it to bang against the wall.

“Fuck!” He said and grabbed it back up.

Shane had heard the sobs. He understood that maybe Daryl just needed to let loose all those feelings and the shower was usually the best place to let those feelings fly. But when he heard a loud bang he ran to get to the door.

“Daryl? Daryl, are you okay? Did you drop something, are you alright?” He said loudly with his hand on the doorknob. He heard the shower turn off and some sniffling.

“I’m fine.” Daryl said and grabbed a towel and started drying his hair. Shane waited there for a moment before walking back to the kitchen, giving the boy some privacy to grab the tank top and sweatpants off the table by the door. Shane had also left a pair of socks and a sweatshirt from the sheriff office that he’d shrunk on accident.

“Alright. Clothes are right here. Come get you a sandwich when you’re done.” Shane said and went back to put the three grilled cheeses on a plate once he grabbed himself one.

Daryl peaked out after drying himself off. He grabbed the pile of clothes quickly and retreated his upper half back into the bathroom. His skin hurt. Everything hurt. His bones hurt. His heart hurt. His head hurt the worst. And he still felt gross like everything was still in him.

He picked up the sweatshirt first, it was nice, he thought as much as he rubbed the fabric between his fingers. It was thick, heavy cotton and smelled really good. He pulled it on then pulled on the sweatpants, having to roll the waistband a few times to make the fit. He wiped some steam from the mirror over the sink and looked at his face. He wiped some tears and snot from his face with his sleeve and sucked the snot up his nose and pulled the loose pants back up.

One step out of the door he decided the socks would be a good idea. He folded his clothes and set them beside him on the couch and left Officer Walsh’s clothes in the bathroom. He pulled the socks over his feet and stood up only to be sitting back down as the officer handed him a plate of food and another soda.

“Is everything good? Fits alright?” The officer asked around a mouthful of food as he sat down on the opposite side of the couch. Daryl looked at the food for a moment and picked up one of the hot sandwiches.

“Yeah, it’s good. This shirt is really nice. Thanks.” Daryl said as he shoved more and more of the cheesy bread into his mouth. He was already on the second one when Shane finished his.

“You want anything else? I can make you another.” Shane offered as he watched the boy shovel food down his throat. Daryl shook his head immediately and Shane just looked at him. His skin was still pink from the shower, the bruises on his throat and neck weren’t as dark as he thought they’d be, the way he held himself seemed to be similar to that of a feral cat. All claws and teeth until you feed it and give it some pets.

“Hey, can we talk now? I can take a peak at those ribs when we’re done, alright?” Shane said after a minute. Daryl drank some of his soda and kept the plate in his lap.

“Alright. What’d you wanna talk about?” Daryl said hoping he wasn’t really gonna have to talk about it. Shane raised his eyebrows and looked at him.

“You know what I want to talk about. What happened last night? Who put you there?” Shane asked in a gentle tone. This was just a kid. A kid who’d been through a lot.

“Got locked to a pipe.” Daryl said and stared off to some spot on the floor. Shane nodded.

“Yeah I know, I unlocked you from a pipe. Who locked you there?” Shane asked again in his most gentle tone. Daryl shifted around and looked at his feet.

“‘M not gonna tell ya if you’re gonna get ‘em in trouble.” Daryl mumbled out and side eyed the officer. Shane nodded and thought about it. Maybe it was an offender that they could finally book for good, maybe it was someone who they were looking for, and maybe if Shane knew them he’d go find them on a friday night and make them sorry.

It’s better to know and not tell Daryl if he knows them. Just to know who did this, to keep an eye out.

“I’m not on the clock. I won’t talk to anybody about whatever you say.” Shane said sincerely while staring right into those ocean blue eyes. Daryl looked over at him for a moment and nodded a small bit.

“Daddy does it. Since I got street legal. He puts stuff in my drinks or something, knocks me out. He just puts me somewhere, calls all his crackhead friends and dudes he drinks with, and usually they’ll buy him a round or give him an eight ball or something.” Daryl said quietly while staring off. He’d never told anyone. He’d never let himself.

Shane felt sick. And mad. And disgusted. Daryl's own father does this to him? How could a father ever do this to a child. All those domestic calls, all those CPS notes, all of that did nothing to stop him from doing this to his youngest child. To his baby boy.

“I’m usually asleep for most of it, which is nice I guess. I just wake up after a few hours and either someone comes and gets me or Daddy unlocks me in the mornin’. He always pats me on the back or buys breakfast after. Tells me I did a good job.” Daryl said and shrugged. It felt… Just saying it felt so freeing. Just telling someone felt like he was unlocking a part of himself.

“Daryl… Can’t you leave? Stay somewhere else, somewhere where your father can’t do this to you. Daryl this… everything that’s happened to you, why do you keep going back to him?” Shane asked after a long quiet moment.

“I dunno… Merle comes home when he’s not in jail, it’s a roof and beer, and there’s not really anyone else who wants me. Momma died and Merle’s always in trouble and the poor people housing folks won’t let me in cause of my record and daddy and Merle’s reputations. I- I don’t got no where else ‘cept home.” Daryl said and started crying again. The thought of being alone without a home and not being able to see Merle and being all alone in the world made him feel so small. So lost. He sniffled and pulled the ends of his sleeves over his hands and wiped his face.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I understand. Being so young and alone, it’s scary. I understand Daryl, I know.” Shane said caringly and moved to grasp him lightly on the shoulder. Daryl crumpled and let out a loud sob as tears and snot started flowing down his face. He looked over at Shane and the older man couldn’t even help himself. Couldn’t restrain himself.

Shane moved to kneel in front of the boy and pull him into a hug. A tight, warm, hug. The kind you give to someone you love, the kind that can hold all the broken pieces together.

Daryl hiccuped and sobbed out, his arms trapped between his own chest and Officer Walsh’s, his plate falling down his legs to the floor beside them.

Shane let out quiet sh, sh, sh as he kept steady pressure squeezing the boy, just enough to ground him without making all those bruises ache or disturbing his ribs. He felt each ragged intake of air and heard each cry. He just held the boy and tried to push his own emotions away. Anger, sadness, he had to push it all away.

Daryl just cried and cried and shoved his face into Officer Walsh’s shoulder. The older man was so nice, so warm, so solid. So, so solid. Like an anchor keeping Daryl from floating away and getting lost.

Soon he felt boneless. Aching, but boneless. He sniffled and just let himself be held. He felt gross and soggy and his ribs really fucking hurt but being held so close almost made up for it all. He started to breathe in time with Officer Walsh’s hands rubbed up and down his back in slow strokes in a slow rhythm.

Shane pulled back once Daryl had calmed down, just moving back to hold him by the shoulders and look into those red rimmed eyes.

“It’ll be alright. I’ll help you, alright. I’ll help you get away from him. I’ll help you get housing, a job, we’ll get you all set alright. You’ve got someone on your side now. You won’t have to go back. You won’t have to try alone.” Shane said and kept his gaze steady with Daryl’s thin blue eyes. There was so much there. So much behind them. He backed up his gaze to take in Daryl’s whole face. He was an awfully cute kid, someone who’d be easy to take advantage of. Fucking bastards.

“I gotta go back. I don’t got no jeans that fit. Plus I got a backpack and my bow and I don’t got anywhere to stay and I don’t wanna stay here. I don’t know you.” Daryl said and shook away Shane’s hands. He couldn’t just… he couldn’t stay there. Alone. With a man who seems strong and has a gun and has an in with the cops. It just wasn’t safe.

But Daryl really wishes he could though. He really wishes he could have another sandwich and another hug. He wishes he could get another shower. He really wishes he could just smother himself in the smell coming from the sweatshirt hanging off him. He feels safe. But he knows better than to trust a man he just met.

Shane swallowed and nodded, backing up to sit next to the boy. It was fair. Actually it was so much more reasonable than anything Shane would have come up with in the moment. But after a moment he came up with a few ideas.

“I’ve got a friend. He’s in the department too. He’s nice and compassionate and a really great guy. He lives in the suburbs, he’s got a great wife with a baby on the way. I could call him and ask if you might be able to sleep there. Then tomorrow we could go with you and you could go get your stuff.” Shane explained and thought about it. Rick and Lori were such good people. If Rick just sat down and talked to Daryl, got to know Daryl, Shane was sure he’d let the young man crash in the extra bedroom downstairs. Daryl just stared at him for a minute. He’s really offering to help. He’s bringing in other people. People who he knew Daryl would trust to sleep in the same house with.

“Really?” He said in disbelief. Shane smiled and gently patted the younger man's back.

“Yeah. We’ll do this together. Whichever way you’re comfortable with. Look, you can watch TV or look in the kitchen for something to eat. Do whatever you want, I’m gonna call my friend. His name’s Rick, by the way. Rick Grimes.” Shane said and handed the boy the TV remote.

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