#incessantly needling

[flight-to-mars]

Glynis Johns and Terry-Thomas in The Vault of Horror (1973)

[floweroflaurelin]

Huevember day 8: Beneath Grayslate

Quick one for today! The Tide and Bone cast reveal got me so hype I just had to whip something up for Needle and Thread, too ✨

[multch]

Thoughts.

Art the clown x reader [18+]

CW: actually smut \ afab masterbation

Your boss admires your dedication to staying back late to finish off repairing most nights. What he doesn't know is affiliation with the ‘Miles County Killer’.

Who knew sewing pays in a good view…

You whipped back as the bloody black and white suit whacked you in the face. If art was anything- it certainly wasn't subtle. The smell was revolting but what did you expect? Daisies? Of course he’d smell like a dead animal, he’s a murderer for Christ's sake! Still, you would've appreciated it if he at least let you set down the jacket you had to repair first- or had the decency to cover up a little instead of walking around the studio with everything out on display.

Tonight marks the 3rd year since you had first encountered this killer clown. You worked at a humble costume shop- Often very late to scramble enough of a paycheck to pay rent, utilities, whatever, ect.

On the strange night you two met, he had walked in- completely skipping past you- and searched for some sewing supplies. He went so far as to have even checked out the staff room you had accidentally left unlocked. Regardless, he eventually waddled up to your counter and dinged the bell on your desk several times. He had waved his hands around like a maniac trying to make sense until you realised he was gesturing towards the sewing needle in your hand. If he wasn’t so charming, maybe you would’ve called the police on him right then and there.

Maybe you should’ve...

Since then, you always patched up his ripped and tattered clown costume and he would repay you by helping out around the shop when you worked late. Repairing shelves, moving boxes and pestering you incessantly while doing so. 

It was a shock when you had first discovered his more malicious side. The ”Miles county killer” plastered on every television screen for miles. You couldn’t tell what had scared you more; Art’s heinous acts or the simple fact that he seemed to spare you.

But why?

The question haunted you. Your moral compass never seemed too correct however you understood the evil that seemed to possess him was devilish. What you couldn’t understand was what a being so sinful could've thought about a seamstress that made him show not only mercy, but companionship…

Honk! Honk!

Art could’ve killed you with how well he’d scare you. They didn’t call him the ‘Terrifier’ for nothing you thought. You were just minding your business- lost in thought- until Art practically made you jump out of your skin from his infuriating infatuation with his stupid little hand horn.

He had crept right up behind you and placed himself close enough to feel the cold air escape his lungs. You didn’t know how you didn’t notice but his horn was practically touching your ear. The sound it let out was more than enough to make your eyes widen. It had startled you so much you fell backwards on your stool. Luckily for you though, Art was there to catch you.

His skin was smooth and frigid. His hands having responded by grasping your waist with his rough hands- You were accidentally pressed right up against his naked chest. 

His touch felt electric. The contrast between your human heat and his icy exposure was a feeling like no other. He helped you back up onto your seat but by then it was too late. Fuck.

Seeing him naked was one thing but feeling his bare touch was another. Your minor interest in him had easily turned into obsession over the course of the last few years. A mysterious stranger showing up out of the blue. Saturated in blood. Torn up and often mutilated.  How couldn't you be intrigued?

It felt like there was no one else in the world he treated like you.

You felt special.

Protected, even.

You tried your best to resume your repair but by the time you reached the hole by the gusset of his suit, you had lost it.

*

Maybe excusing yourself to “go to the bathroom” might’ve been a bit overkill but there was no way you wouldn’t melt in the heat that you felt just simply looking at him. His playful taunts. The way he bats his eyelashes at you. Even his disgusting black smile!

These ‘normal’ acts of his felt misconstrued into one big flirty mess. 

Despite your efforts, you were clearly just too horny to stop. Every time you think about him in this moment, you couldn’t help but remember how he’s outside right now in nothing but a mask and his flimsy little top hat. In times like this, you couldn’t help but shake your fist in the air at Art’s infamous refusal to wear anything under his suit.

(You tried to convince him once by buying him a pair of boxers, but in retaliation he had ripped out the crotch and walked out- giving you the full view of his “pencil”)

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation talking but deciding to work one out sounded great right now.

You lent up against the red tile wall of the staff bathroom. It was cold. Perfect.

Slowly fondling yourself, your hands snake around your skin. One climbing up your stomach to slip under your bra. The other sneaking down the waistband of your shorts.

God, he made you so wet from just one touch. You slid in one finger first- wincing back at your contraction around so little. It made you only more hungry for what your eyes had feasted on so often yet you had never been given the chance to taste it yourself.

Seeing it made you understand why this clown always went commando because he really was hiding away a whole balloon animal. It was BIG.

Imagining it made your mouth feel empty..

You slip in another 2 fingers. Thrusting into yourself enough to make you press hard against the wall behind you. You were so cold but inside was a warmth you wanted him to feel so badly.

Your eyes squeezed down hard. You wanted to see him. His face. His body, as he thrusted into you.

You wanted him to trap you beneath his form with his inhuman strength.

To be scared he'd rip you in half if you ran away was a major turn on for you -the idea of becoming less than a victim of his by becoming a slave for his enjoyment.

Imagining it made your pussy throb, feeling empty despite your aggressive movement…

You tried to muffle your moans but the more you indulged in your fantasy, the more you struggled to show some self restraint.

A fourth finger, then a fifth.

Pounding harder and faster into your core, you thought back to all the toys you brought reimagining them as his girth. 

Art was more than a friend to you. You ached for him nightly. You felt him in your core. You've dreamt of his touch and woken up in a hot, sticky sweat because of him.

You wanted to be honest with him but only Hell knows what he'd do to you if he didn't feel the same.

The possibilities made you salivate. Being his victim would be an indulgent death for sure..

You feel yourself very quickly feeling your release build as an air of tension fills the room. It's sickly sweet.

Rubbing your pretty little pussy until it's puffy and squirting when he's in the room outside was your tipping point.

You let out one final wince before your knees give out- causing you to crouch down on the frozen tile floor. 

You can't help but imagine it's him holding you after a scene of absolute passion.

*

It's only been 10 minutes since you had excused yourself but once you had made your way back out, Art was nowhere to be seen.

You're embarrassed to say the least but you decide to push forward with your plans for tonight. 

You turn around to close the bathroom door behind you only to find a familiar face greeting you instead.

There stood Art the clown, leaning up against the wall with a shit eating grin- All while still being fully naked.

Oh god no…

[gavisuntiedboot]

Centimeters

Gavi x physiotherapist! Reader

A/N: no one asked for this but lord have mercy the photos from today had me heavy breathing

“Gavi, remember to behave yourself.”

“But I haven’t even-“

Ansu put a finger to his lips, eradicating whatever the end of that sentence was going to be.

“We’re about to go in for medical exams and the doctor is your girlfriend. Now I know you’re still pumped full of all your raging teenage hormones-“

“Ansu!”

“-but please, hermano. There cameras literally everywhere. So I’m begging you: behave.”

Gavi crossed his arms over his bare chest, pouting slightly at being scolded in front of the other boys. It was no secret that he was madly in love with his physiotherapist/girlfriend, but it never deterred the boys from teasing him incessantly. His injury over the last year had made things tough. She was at training more than he was, coming home with stories about practice drills and player banter that made his chest pang. He shook the thoughts from his head as he was called in to have his measurements taken.

Gavi shuffled into the room, white socks gliding against the floor. He fiddled with the bandage on his arm from the blood draw. He wished for a second that he could be childish, pull he is girl away from all her responsibilities and have a hand to hold while someone stabbed him with a needle. But he knew that now, close to graduating from her program and becoming lead physio, his girl was running the entire operation. So he was happy to just stand there, wide eyed and slack jawed watching his perfect girlfriend concentrate on something flashed across a computer screen.

Eventually, she felt a searing gaze burn holes into the dip of her back, and turned around to see her shirtless boyfriend biting his lip and smiling like an idiot. She suppressed her own grin, grabbing his file and her clipboard.

“Mr. Gavira - ready to be examined?”

There was a playfulness in her voice that, when mixed with her raised eyebrow and overwhelming stare, made Pablo blush.

“Of course, doctora. And please, take your time. Absolutely no need to rush.”

There was a light giggle bouncing around the room before she sat Pablo down, blood pressure cuff tight on his arm. Her fingers grazed his bicep, lingering longer than would be appropriate for any other player.

“Those scrubs look great on you, doctora.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t pick them out for me this morning, Pablo. Uncross your feet so that I can get a proper reading of your blood pressure.”

He spread his legs in the chair, shorts riding up his muscular thighs. He sat back in the chair, getting lost in watching his favorite person in the world fiddle with a blood pressure cuff.

“Any other players give you complements on the scrubs?”

“No Pablo - there is no one on this team suicidal enough to flirt with me or pay me a compliment while you’re here. Poor Lamine was scared to take off his shirt. He kept looking around expecting you to walk in.”

You tapped him on the arm, instructing him to stand for his height and weight measurement. He stood on the mark, and as she adjusted the piece above his head, he couldn’t help himself from wrapping an arm around her waist. He pulled her into himself, planting a quick kiss to her temple before she should pull away.

“Gavi!”

“What?”

“We’re at work!”

“Come on - no one is going to scold me. I’m poor Gavi with the bad knee.” He finished his sentence with a pout, big puppy dog eyes making him look younger than his already mere 19 years.

“Yes yes, poor little Gavi and his busted knee. I, however, am not an asset to club or country. Hansi will scold me in three languages if we get caught making out in here.

“Wait,” he turned his head swiftly, arms back around her waist. “Making out is an option?? Why didn’t you tell me.” His laughter disguised the sound of her lightly smacking his chest. She grabbed her clipboard again, and placed the metal piece gently on his head.

“173 cm. Tsk tsk Pablo - still as small as last year.”

He smiled at his girl, amusement painting his every feature.

“I don’t remember size ever being an issue for you, doctora. I’m still taller than you.”

“By like 10 cm. That’s not a lot.”

She took down his weight, and then grabbed the tape measure to start assessing specific areas of his body.

“Of course you would say 10 cm is not a lot. Since you’re used to 15 cm daily.” He earned another smack to the chest.

“Pablo!”

“Or maybe it’s 20? Maybe we should find out since you already have the measuring tape ready.” He suggested while his fingers played with the waistband of his shorts. She grabbed his wrist in fear, terrified of what Gavi was willing to do in a close room.

He laughed loudly, bringing both hands to cup his girl’s face. He felt the warmth of her cheeks on his palms, and her flustered state gave him a squeezing feeling in his chest. He brought his forehead to hers, waiting until she met his eyes.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to whip it out here in the medical room. No matter how much you may want it.”

She laughed gladly, fears subsiding and chest feeling lighter after Gavi’s light touch. She grabbed the measuring tape and began. She started with his neck, saying her measurements out loud before jotting them down on the form.

“Chest is 94 cm. Bigger than last year.”

Her fingers traced downwards, leaving heat on Gavi’s skin as they got to his hips.

“Hips are 81.5. Same as last year.”

Next, she traced across his collar bone and down his arm, tapping to silently tell him to flex his bicep.

“Biceps are- holy.”

“That’s not a number, preciosa.”

“Biceps are 43 cm. Ehem, bigger than last year. By a lot.”

The doctor tried to stabilize her slight tremble as she wrote down the measurements. She tried to calm herself, but something about Gavi’s new, fuller physique was making professionalism almost impossible. Gavi, the little shit, flexed his biceps again, pleased with the reaction he could evoke.

“Lift up your shorts, Gavi.”

“Don’t you mean pull down?”

“Are you okay, Pablo? You’re hornier than usual today. Do I need to get a spray bottle?”

“Surgeon called me today and cleared me for more vigorous activities. Want to help me follow the doctor’s orders?”

She got on her knees, wrapping the tape measure around his thigh.

“Thighs are 61 cm. Smaller than last year. You’ll need to work on that.”

“I had my ACL repaired.”

“Pshh excuses excuses.”

She finished her measurements, taking other important vitals and making sure to ask him all the medical clearance questions.

“What time are you finished today, Pablo?”

“2 pm. They don’t want us out for too long in the heat. How many guys are left?”

“About 6. I’ll probably be done before you, so I can go home and make lunch.”

He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her into him.

“No no, wait for me. We’ll leave together and go get food. You’ve had a hard day, let me treat you.”

“Every day is a hard day at work.”

He kept one arm around your shoulders as you walked him to the door.

“Then I’ll treat you every day. See you later, princesa.”

He hugged you into his side, and scampered off to the practice field. Neither Gavi nor his lady noticed the social media intern in the hall, who was quick to snap a picture of your embrace. The image of Gavi hugging his physiotherapist into his side and smiling from ear to ear set the internet into a flurry of comments.

New post from fcbarcelona: strong bonds between our players and medical staff 🫶

~~~

Hey do you think this is a cute dynamic? Wish you could read more about gavi x physiotherapist? Well you’re in luck! I have a ten part series of their love story in my master list!

Guys I love him so much. Anyways, like, comment, reblog, and check out the fundraiser in my pinned!! Love yall <3

[reiding-writing]

SANCTUARY — SPENCER REID!

Spencer has a rough night.

spencer reid x gn!reader | 1.7k | hurt/comfort | book fayre !!

WARNINGS | spencer’s drug addiction, withdrawal descriptions, needles, track marks

part one.

main masterlist. | event masterlist.

a/n — thank you for the love 🫶🫶 (i accidentally deleted the ask but i had it screenshotted thank god)

When you offered Spencer the spare room in your apartment so he wouldn’t have to be alone during the worst of his withdrawals, he was so grateful he cried.

Now though, he was beginning to wonder if it was really all that good of an idea.

Spencer couldn’t help it, really. The drug cravings he was dealing with were intense. He would try and try, but nothing was working— not gum, not candy, not freezing cold showers or sleeping 18 straight hours.

It didn’t help that the withdrawal symptoms were getting worse. He was exhausted, his stomach was in tangles, headaches pounding incessantly behind his eyes.

It was getting harder and harder to resist each passing minute. As he desperately looked around your apartment for something, anything, to get the drug-induced itch out of the back of his mind, he decided he couldn’t do this anymore.

Desperate, Spencer slowly made his way to your room. He knew that you would probably be asleep, but he didn’t care. He slowly pushed open your door and crept into your room, trying not to trip over anything in the shrouded darkness shielding you from a disturbance to your slumber.

He gingerly sat down next to your sleeping form, gently shaking your shoulder to rouse you, and after a few moments, you slowly began to stir, slowly blinking your eyes open and looking up at the shadowed figure by your side.

You take a sharp breath in through your nose as you wake, blinking the sleep harshly from your eyes. “Spencer? Are you okay?”

At the sound of your tired voice, Spencer tensed up slightly. Even in the low light of the room, he could see the sleep-filled haze in your eyes, and a little guilt tugged in the back of his mind. But the need for his drug was too strong to care about minor things like that.

“No,” He whispered back bluntly.

You clear the sleep from your throat as you edge yourself upright, dragging your knuckles over your eyelids. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes traced the tired way you wiped your eyes, only furthering his guilt. But again, the craving and the need for his internal torture to stop overpowered that feeling.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Spencer stated almost desperately, avoiding eye contact with you.

You exhale slowly.

“Spencer,”

He still refused to look at you, staring at his own trembling hands and scratching at the inside of his elbow.

With each second that passed, the need for a needle in his skin only grew stronger, and it was starting to become hard to keep resisting the urge.

“Look at me,” You tapp the side of his chin with your finger, a gentle gesture for him to turn his gaze towards you.

He slowly raised his gaze to your face, and you could clearly see how exhausted he was. Dark bags hung heavily under his eyes from lack of sleep, and his body was wracked with tremors from the withdrawal symptoms.

Seeing your sympathetic expression, his guilt only increased. It was like you knew exactly what he was going to say, and he didn’t know if that scared or embarrassed him more.

“I-,“ He started, his voice wavering. “I need-“

“Spencer,” You shake your head at him softly. “No…”

For a moment, he wanted to be angry, to scream and demand you understand his situation. But as he took in the weary yet sympathetic look on your face, a wave of shame passed over him.

“Please,” He whispered hoarsely, “I can’t do this. It hurts too much.”

“I know it hurts,” You rub your hand carefully down the curve of Spencer’s neck, settling it on his shoulder. “I know,”

He clenched his eyelids shut as your fingers began to massage his shoulders. It was almost enough to make him relax a bit.

Almost.

But that craving, and the pain, still clawed at the back of his mind, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore them.

“I need it,” He choked out, opening his eyes to once again gaze at you pleadingly. “Please, I just- I need it,”

The more he talked, the more desperate he began to sound, and he knew how pathetic he must look.

There’s a small pause as your eyes flicker over his expression.

“You remember why I offered you to stay here don’t you?”

He nodded tiredly, his head hung low in shameful understanding. You were trying to help him, and here he was begging you to let him do the one thing you’ve been trying hard to help him not give in to.

“Come on,” You let your hand fall from Spencer’s shoulder onto his leg, squeezing at his hand as it lies on top of his thigh. “Come with me,”

You groan tiredly as you climb out of the comfort of your bed, and Spencer hesitantly lets you guide him out of your room.

When it finally registers that you’re taking him to the kitchen, a flicker of pathetic hope blossoms in his chest, only for it to be immediately squashed down under the loss of your contact and the opening of your freezer.

It’s an ice tray that you pull out, cracking the plastic harshly against the edge of your kitchen counter to free the ice cubes from their confines and plucking one between your fingers, gesturing towards him.

He glances down at the ice cube, not really understanding why you’re giving it to him. But when he sees your expression, it clicks for him, and his eyes widen. He knew how withdrawal and drug addiction worked, so this trick wasn’t new to him. He just didn’t think you would be willing to do this for him.

He warily held out his arm to you, and even in the dim light of the moon outside, you could see the faint track marks that scarred his arm.

If you’re deterred by them you don’t show it, and you press the ice cube carefully against the bruises, dragging it over the tender skin.

“Do you want tea?

He winced slightly as the cold ice cube touched his arm, the sensation familiar yet foreign. He slowly shook his head at your question, not trusting his voice to answer you.

He stared down at the ice cube with a mixture of relief and shame. He was so far gone, to the point where the feeling of frozen water on his skin helped to calm the incessant itch of drug withdrawal.

“Hot milk then,”

He glanced up at you from under his flattened curls, slightly confused.

Hot… milk?

He’s confused for a minute, then it clicks. Hot milk. To help him sleep. Like a child.

It was embarrassing, really, but right now he was too tired to care.

So, he slowly nodded to you, watching as you busied yourself making him the warm milk. He was torn between looking ashamed that he’d even considered shooting up to have the easy out, and being grateful that you were willing to help him so calmly.

“Keep the ice going, Spencer,”

He quickly obeyed your instruction, bringing the ice cube back down to his forearm and slowly rubbing it over the faint scarring. It wasn’t the best, but it was better than nothing, and the cold soothed his itchy skin.

He stayed quiet as you made the hot milk, watching you carefully add a little bit of honey to help sweeten the drink. He wasn’t sure why, but something about you being so calm and unbothered by this whole situation felt so… comforting.

After a few minutes, you returned to him, hot cup of honey milk in hand, and held it out to him. He couldn’t help but stare at it for a moment, a swirl of emotions playing through his tired mind. But he quickly squashed the swirling thoughts, taking the milk from your hands and slowly sipping the warm liquid.

“The change in temperature should shock your system,”

He hummed in acknowledgment as he took another sip of the warm milk, letting the heat of the beverage run down his throat.

He’s read about the method before, where suddenly increasing or decreasing the temperature of the body can help with withdrawal symptoms.

It was supposed to be paired with hot showers and ice baths, but he supposed ice cubes and hot milk worked too.

He quickly downed the rest of the milk, watching as you took the now-empty mug from his hands.

As the heat of the milk began to warm up his body, exhaustion really started to wash over him, and he could barely stop a yawn from escaping his lips.

He could see the slight upturn of your lips when you noticed he yawned, and felt the shame hit once again.

Here he was, a 24 year old man, and you were handling this situation like how someone would a child. But the tiredness made it impossible to care very much about how pathetic this all looked.

“Come on Spencer,” You press your hand gently between his shoulder blades, a prompt to get him moving. “Back to bed,”

His movements were sluggish as he let you steer him back towards the bedroom. It was like his body had suddenly hit a wall of exhaustion without warning.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured, stumbling slightly as you guided him into bed.

“Shhh, none of that, lie down,”

He tiredly did as you said, slumping down on the bed and letting his tired body sink into the sheets. As he closed his eyes, a wave of exhaustion washed over him, making it hard for him to think.

“Thank you,” He whispered quietly, his words a bit slurred by the sleep that was quickly catching up on him.

“That’s it, just rest now, Spencer,”

He mumbled incoherently as he nodded, already slipping into the haze of sleep. As he slowly drifted off, he faintly registered the feeling of your hand gently smoothing his hair from his face.

And just like that, he was asleep. His breath evened out into the deep pattern of his sleeping breaths, and he relaxed, not realising just how tired his body had become from the strain of his withdrawal.

[adore-laur]

sorry if there are any mistakes english is not my first language!

dadrry idea - harry and y/n together with the children go to a get-together at a restaurant with friends and family and in the middle of the get-together the younger baby starts crying with hunger just as the food arrives and harry goes out of his way to help y/n /n to eat while y/n breastfeeds, and to help the older baby eat too! you can add something if you want

——

You were at a new restaurant that Harry had picked out for lunch, and you didn't know if it was the humidity in the air, but you had two incredibly fussy children wanting to make your first outing as a family of four a tricky one. The outdoor seating area was packed with people taking advantage of the weekend's beautiful weather. You counted yourself lucky to have found any available seating at all. You suspected Harry might have pulled a few strings since he knew the business and employees well, but he kept his lips tightly zipped.

Going to a restaurant used to be an untroubled experience before you had kids. It was a simple sequence—sit down, order drinks and a meal, and talk together without any disruptions. When the first baby came, supervising a newborn in any public place hadn't been without its fair share of stressful moments. Many trips to the bathroom to breastfeed or change a diaper made you feel prickly with anxiety. There was also the crippling fear of your baby having a piercingly loud meltdown and annoying the people around you. It was why you relied on Harry to make these trips with you, whether it was grocery shopping, a stroll through the park, or going out to eat. You needed him to be the calming force. You needed his gentle methods of diffusing the cries.

When the second baby came along while your first was at peak toddler stage, the mere thought of going to a restaurant or store by yourself was daunting. Horrible thoughts battered your brain. What if a temper tantrum happens? What if I lose one of them? What if they get kidnapped right in front of my eyes? Progressively, the thoughts became more unrealistic, but they successfully kept you from venturing out alone with the two vulnerable halves of your heart. You wouldn't risk their safety by selling yourself as overconfident in your motherly capabilities.

Now, you had your toddler incessantly saying "mom" while your three-month-old baby squirmed in your arms, quietly whimpering near your breast. She was awfully close to making her cries known to every single person in the restaurant. Harry sat across from you, your eldest by his side with an abandoned coloring sheet crumpled in front of her. Phase One of her tantrum involved throwing a fit over the restaurant not providing a magenta-colored crayon. She whined and sulked until Harry set her on his lap and distracted her by having her recite the colors of the rainbow in order. It worked, but only for a brief moment.

Phase Two was when you were dragged into it. You had been to blame for her coloring sheet disaster, and while you simply told her that magenta wasn't a common color, she knocked over her sippy cup in protest of your reasonable explanation. She expected you to have an answer for every question in the universe.

Phase Three was happening right now. Her desperate attempts to get your attention were needling under your skin and whittling away at your patience. The meals hadn't been served yet, and the hunger and heat you felt were like little volcanoes waiting to erupt. One more spike of overstimulation and you'd lose the last shreds of your poise.

You shifted in your seat, and when your newborn let loose that first wail, you stared at the cloudless sky and swallowed roughly. When you looked back down, you saw Harry eyeing you with steady focus. He knew the exhaustion was catching up. Last night had been full of anxiety and insomnia, which never paired well. It was a rarity that you were able to muster the energy to step out of the house today.

"Do you want to go to the car?" Harry asked, knowing the telltale signs of a hungry baby all too well.

You shook your head. "I can feed her right here."

He grabbed the nursing cover from under the stroller and handed it to you. Your eldest was stretching her limbs impatiently, still on his lap, and you were counting down the seconds until she became overwhelmed too.

After putting the nursing cover on and letting your baby latch, the food arrived. It looked delectable, but your appetite had somehow vanished within the past ten minutes. With the mind-body connection, you assumed your stress and frazzled hormones were messing with your stomach.

While you held the baby, Harry stabbed his fork into your tossed salad and brought a serving of iceberg lettuce, chicken, and cherry tomatoes up to your mouth. "Eat," he said softly.

You could handle small bites, so you accepted his offering and munched on the crispy vegetables. It was a meal just light enough to settle nicely.

Back and forth, Harry fed you, his eldest, and also himself. She was calmer now, more interested in her kid-size chicken tenders than whatever she was angry about. In her floral summer dress and pigtails, she was a cute little menace. The toddler stage was chaotic in the best way.

Your mind drifted to Harry as you watched him make your daughter laugh with his silly antics, her lips no longer pouting. He had the dad thing down pat when his girls got fussy, and he always checked in with you first to make sure you were all right. He knew your emotions lingered longer than a child's brief outburst, so you appreciated his attentiveness now more than ever.

After lunch, which had thankfully been peaceful once everyone's bellies were full, you all walked along the nearby Santa Monica coast to soak up the sunshine and refreshing ocean breeze.

Harry had the baby cuddled against his chest in a sling, which was a miracle worker for nap time, while you pushed the stroller with a nearly asleep toddler in it. You guessed tantrums were exhausting sometimes—hopefully, that meant the car ride home would be serene.

"Harry," you said from beside him. He never liked walking in front of or behind you. "Thank you for earlier."

He glanced over, practically glowing under the sun's mild presence. "What did I do?"

With a smile reserved just for him, you answered, "You take care of us." Guilt got the best of you when you added, "And I'm sorry for not being able to step up to the plate."

It consumed you in your weakest moments, but you didn't have to deal with it alone. Harry was there to shoulder it and shelf it for later.

"Sweetheart, you're the one who gave me these babies," he said, reaching his hand out for yours. You took it, and you instantly felt grounded. "You're the one who keeps them fed and healthy. You will always be the most important person to them."

"It's hard to believe it sometimes."

Harry squeezed your hand three times. "Then I'll be here to remind you every day. We'd be lost without you."

——

[anantaru]

I just wanna ride and suck Baizhu until he's just a whimpering mess holding my hips and hair weakly :(

It's not asking much.

cw. riding, he’s your boss, fem! reader

the current, vulgar— although tasteful setting you happen to find yourself in was, on all counts, unplanned and in every way coincidental.

first and foremost— to clear up the suffocating air abutting through your glued down thoughts, you did not expect to end up fucking yourself on your bosses cock when you were originally supposed to work, yes, and manage the pharmacy. primarily doing the extensive chores you were being paid for by the man who was currently holding onto your restless hips for his dear life.

baizhu found himself in heaven— and he was criss crossed, panting, puffing and blowing warm exhales from his pinching lungs while you incessantly rolled your stuffed pussy on his cock, fully slotted on him and leaning real close so he could sense your signature fragrance and keep it imbedded in his nostrils, so your boss baizhu wouldn't forget about this day for years to come.

individually from each new shove forward, loose stings manifested right from it, fueling the uptight knots in your stomach that were like a bubble being continuously nudged and forced to pop.

while the tremors— like pins and needles, intensify whenever baizhu feeds your insatiable desires with his coarse hiccups and cries. he can barely catch his breath when you decide to clench down again, tighten around him while letting go right after— you know he loves it when a little smile crosses his pretty lips.

"leave it to me." you coo and settle your pulsing walls on his girth, gnawing down again, releasing the tension once more as he began to feel up to ten times heavier in you and you work together like the most melodic, in tune symphony from an orchestra, with the end being a freeing release.

"f—fuck." he pours the remnants of his power to his moaned out words, "this, keep going like this." although frail and husky, you fuse into him at each of his weak whines, your toes twisting at the featherlight touches and little thrusts into your warm, wet cunt. he wanted to vocalize his pleasure because baizhu wasn't one to fully take the lead, ever.

"whatever you say." you drawl back, repeatedly slipping him in and out of your used hole, "—boss." and he closes his eyes in euphoria at the name— it triggers something in him, something the clever man himself wasn't able to discern, but his body reacted to it almost immediately as he sloshed all his thick whites and smeared his seed over your thumping walls— your name weakly falling from his plump lips.

his eyes remained closed, chest heaving up and down in large pumps as you pettishly circle your hips on him with his warm whites strewing and gushing out of your worn out pussy.

how much more powerful baizhu felt outside of this, when he was in charge of your doings, your boss, the man who paid you and was responsible for your livelyhood, yet there he was, naked, bare and exposed, his cock twitching and forcing a tear out of his eyes when you tank yourself into his member again, arching your back as your new thrusts caused him to see white.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[corroded-hellfire]

Okay. I absolute love ASW serie. And i have a request about the boy’s holiday concert and knowing what Eddie thinking when she arrived. 🥰

I love see you in my notifications. You’re the best 🫶

Ooh I’ve been so excited for this one! Been chomping at the bit for it to be Christmas time so @munson-blurbs and I could write it lol. Eddie’s mentioned before how pivotal of a moment this was in regards to how he feels about reader, so I’m very glad and thankful you requested this. I hope you enjoy ❤️

Words: 4.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

4:56. In four minutes, Eddie is supposed to take Ryan to school. The concert doesn’t start until 6, but kids have to be there early to warm up. He’s not quite sure how much a vocal warm-up will help second graders harmonize, but he’s not about to be the parent whose kid shows up late. 

His wife apparently does not share that same concern. 

4:57. 

Brittany was supposed to be home to watch Luke; Eddie knows better than to drag him along any earlier than he has to. Ryan is nervous enough about his solo, and he certainly doesn’t need his little brother incessantly asking questions that will only fuel his anxiety. 

4:58. 

“Daddy?” Ryan comes down the hall with you following close behind. “Can you tie my tie?”

Eddie nods, tongue poking from between his lips as he kneels down and fixes his son’s tie. It’s still a bit crooked—there are minimal opportunities for him to wear one as a mechanic, and even fewer now that he and Brittany rarely go on dates—but it will have to suffice. 

Tears gather in your eyes as you look at Ryan’s outfit, the red tie completing his white button-down, black slacks, and shiny shoes. “You’re so grown up!”

4:59. 

You catch Eddie glancing worriedly at the clock. He’s changed out of his coveralls and wears a maroon button-down shirt, cuffed at the elbows, and pants that match Ryan’s. He’s absolutely delicious; the thought of being the one to unbutton him has sweat prickling under your arms. 

“Ry, why don’t you go and get your brother?” Eddie says as gently as he can. Vaguely aware of the tension growing within his father, Ryan nods and heads off to do as he’s told.

As soon as the boy is out of earshot, Eddie mumbles, “shit” under his breath, and rubs his hand across his forehead. 

“He has to be there by—” you start to ask but are cut off by Eddie’s exasperated sigh.

“Yes, we need to leave. Now.” Eddie takes a deep breath and his eyes trail over to you. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to jump down your throat like that.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” you assure him with a shake of your head. “I completely get it. Brittany’s late, you need to get going, it’s stressful.”

“Yeah, Brittany’s late,” he murmurs more to himself before addressing you. “There’s no reason for me to take anything out on you, you’ve been nothing but wonderful.” His words send a pleasant tingle down your spine. As he takes a step closer, you look up at him beneath your eyelashes. “I’m sorry I snapped, sweetheart.”

“Really, Eddie, it’s okay.” Your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, trying to emphasize your point. All it does though is leave both of you on pins and needles at the touch. “Why don’t you go ahead and take Ryan?” you offer, reluctantly bringing your hand down. “I’ll bring Luke by for the start of the show. This way you don’t have to try to wrangle the little monkey while you’re getting Ryan where he needs to be.”

Eddie’s brow furrows together and he eyes you warily. “A-Are you sure? Because I don’t have a problem taking on both of them. I’ll use a spare tie as a leash for Luke if I have to.”

You can’t help but giggle at the mental image that conjures. Luke would manage to get a foot or so away and Eddie would reel him back in like a catfish. 

“I don’t mind. Really. Cross my heart and all.”

Eddie takes another moment to consider it and concedes as he nods his head. “That would be really helpful. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you say with a dismissive wave. “I enjoy the talks Luke and I have when we hang out. I always end up learning something new.”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie agrees with a breathy chuckle. “Has he told you that one milliliter of ocean water can contain about 10 million viruses? I got that one at dinner the other night.”

“He has,” you say with a soft giggle. “And yet, he still says going to the beach is what he always wishes for when he throws a coin in the fountain at the mall.”

“Are we going?” Luke’s booming voice precedes both boys as they come into the room. The younger Munson brother looks more annoyed than anything. He probably knows he’ll have to stand around and do nothing before he is forced to sit in an uncomfortable seat and made to listen to his schoolmates unwittingly butcher Christmas Carols. 

“Nope, you’re coming with me,” you tell Luke, poking him on the top of his head as he walks by. “Daddy’s taking Ryan to school now and I’m gonna take you for the show.”

“Oh, good,” Luke says with a sigh of relief. Even Ryan looks a bit relieved; he knows it’s hard to corral his little brother. 

Eddie’s also noticeably calmer as he prepares himself to leave the house. He pats his pockets, and the jingling of keys lets him know he’s got them. Another pat to his back pocket confirms he’s got his wallet as well.

“All right,” he says, looking to Ryan. “You got everything? We ready to go?”

“Uh, I think so,” Ryan says. He looks down at the secured tie around his neck and can’t come up with anything else he might need. 

“Then let’s hit the road. We’ll see you guys later,” Eddie says, nodding at you and Luke.

“Bye, Daddy! Remember, don’t drive on black ice!”

Luke’s warning makes you giggle to yourself as you wave Eddie and Ryan out the door. Once the sound of Eddie’s truck has faded out of the driveway and down the road, Luke turns to you and places his hands on his little hips.

“What’re we gonna do?” he asks. 

“Hmm.” You pretend to ponder over his question as you walk to the other side of the room and pick up your purse. “What about, we go up and get your nice clothes for the concert and put them in your Scooby Doo backpack.”

“Why?” Luke asks, wrinkling up his nose. The small boy has a lot of adorable quirks, but you’re pretty sure that one’s your favorite.

“Well, I was thinking,” you say with a shrug. “Nothing goes better with a Christmas concert than some cookies and hot cocoa. I thought you and I could go grab some at the cafe near my apartment. And I know you, you’ll end up wearing half the snack, so it’s better we don’t get you into those nicer clothes until you have to.”

Luke’s big blue eyes light up at the idea of the sugary confections. His head nods so quickly that, with his small shoulders, he looks like a Munson Bobblehead. 

“Good idea!” he calls behind him as he races towards his room, nearly tripping over his own feet. “I’m okay!”

The auditorium buzzes with excitement as you and Luke make your way down the aisle. Eddie sits in the front row, easily spotted by the mess of curls tucked into a low ponytail. His brown eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he sees you. 

“Oh, wow—I mean, you made it!” Eddie can’t help but gaze at the way your green velvet dress hugs you in all the right places. It’s flattering without even teetering on inappropriate for an elementary school concert. He recovers awkwardly but quickly, reflexively pulling at his collar to give himself more room to breathe. “Here, um, you guys take a seat…”

Luke bounds over to his dad, plopping into the chair between the two of you. Better off, Eddie thinks wryly, before I do something I really shouldn’t. He glances over at the handmade Naughty and Nice list propped up on the stage; if anyone could read his thoughts right now, he knows exactly where his name would be written. 

“Daddy, I had hot cocoa and cookies! And the cookies had chocolate chunks in them. Not chips—chunks,” Luke clarifies, underscoring the importance of differentiating between the two. 

You shrug guiltily. “Sorry, I needed a way to get him out of the house on time,” you explain. 

Eddie laughs, ruffling Luke’s hair before turning to you. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to negotiate with terrorists?” But above Luke’s line of vision, he mouths thank you, the inaudible movement of his lips sending sparks to your lower belly. 

Someone slides into the seat next to Eddie; you expect him to say that it’s taken, but he barely notices. Neither does Luke, and that’s what breaks your heart. Both he and Ryan are so accustomed to their mom missing important events that they no longer bat an eye. 

The lights in the auditorium dim and the audience breaks into polite applause as the spotlights click on and teachers usher their small students to where they’re supposed to stand. You have no doubt this is part of what they practiced with the children being here so early, but there’s a handful of kids who still don’t seem to have a clue of what they’re doing. 

Ryan is easy to pick out of the crowd. He’s one of the taller boys in his class so he stands up on the back rafter, a spotlight hitting his hair just so to make it look like a honey brown waterfall. Quickly, he catches sight of you as well and waves to you, his father, and brother as the rest of the kids are reaching their intended destinations on stage. Both you and Eddie acknowledge Ryan with small waves, but Luke whips his arm up in the air and waves it back and forth like he’s trying to signal a helicopter where to land. 

Feedback crackles over the microphone on center stage as a teacher steps up to it. She clears her throat and shields her bespectacled eyes from the bright lights aimed her way. She taps once, twice on the microphone before she leans in to speak, short blonde curls falling in her face.

“Thank you, everyone, for joining us this evening for Hawkins Elementary School’s Festive Fun Holiday Concert.” There’s a small smattering of applause before she continues. “I am Mrs. Pierce. My class, along with the classes of Mrs. Lopez and Mr. Abrams, have been practicing very hard to bring you all a Christmas treat this evening.”

Luke has already tuned out the talking, his head on a swivel to take in all aspects of the small auditorium. He looks from the speakers to the light fixtures adorned with green garland, back to the kids on stage, then down the rows of the audience to see who all is there. You gently take his littler hand in yours and give it a soft squeeze. Just to ground him back in this moment from wherever his mind wandered off to. He smiles when you shoot him a wink and, now that the teachers are done talking, finds it easier to zone back into the show. 

Tinny music begins to play over the speakers stationed around the space and it takes you a moment to place the song as Let it Snow. The initial singing by the children is jarring, but not nearly as off-key as you were expecting. Some of the songs are a bit rough, but some are surprisingly pleasant as well. 

As the music transitions to the next song, you see Ryan take a step down from his rafter and make his way towards the front of the stage. He goes to one of the two microphones low enough for the children to access and waits. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer starts with all the children, but by the look of how nervous Ryan is, you’d wager that he has a solo coming up. His small fingers twist against one another as he does his best not to look out into the crowd. Though he’s naturally a shy boy, you can tell there’s some stage fright in there as well. It’s evident that his part is fast approaching when you see his little chest swell with breath, then release it slowly. Grinning from ear to ear, you watch as Ryan takes half a step closer to the microphone and opens his mouth.

“Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Santa came to say,

‘Rudolph with your nose so bright, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?’”

A look of relief washes over Ryan’s face, but you can also see a bit of pride in the way that he smiles. And he should be proud! His small solo was excellent, and you can’t wait to dote on him over it later. 

You glance over at Eddie; his grin stretches across his face so widely that you wouldn’t be shocked if his cheeks hurt. He catches you looking and turns his head slightly, one eye winking as if to say, thanks for being here for my kid. Thanks for being here with me. 

And maybe it’s the way you giggle, or the way you make sure Luke is comfortable before easing back into your seat, or the way you cheer for Ryan like you’re at a stadium concert, but something shifts within Eddie. He’s always found you beautiful; tonight, you were downright stunning in that dress. It was the oldest cliché in the book: dad crushing on the hot, young babysitter. That’s how he’d managed to brush it off all this time. He was a man with needs, you were an attractive woman. Simple biology. 

What he’s feeling now is anything but straightforward. He doesn’t just want to sleep with you; no, he wants you by his side at every school function, every birthday party, every moment of his life, big or small. And not as the babysitter; as his girl. 

No, this is not a crush, and it’s not a cliché. It’s love. 

After the concert, both you and Eddie are excited to greet Ryan and gush over how well he did. The unspoken fear that you both have though, is that the seven-year-old will be heartbroken when he finds out that his mother didn’t attend the performance. While Luke fidgets where you wait outside of the auditorium for his brother, you and Eddie trade nervous glances as the kids start coming out.

“Where is he?” Luke bemoans after the third student comes out and it isn’t the one he wants. 

Ryan comes barreling out of the red double doors, laughing with a group of his friends. The moment he spots you and his family, he waves goodbye to the other kids and dashes over to you. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Eddie holding his breath, waiting on pins and needles to hear what the first thing out of his oldest son’s mouth will be.

“I did it!” Ryan cheers.

Eddie sags in relief and even you feel unburdened of a weight you weren’t aware you were holding. The smile on Ryan’s face is pure glee and he’s practically jumping up and down on the spot.

“I’m so proud of you!” Eddie tells him, throwing one arm around the boy’s shoulders and ruffling his hair with the other. “You were the best one up there.”

Ryan’s cheeks turn pink at his father’s praise. Of course, you just pile on top of it, relishing in the way he gets embarrassed and overjoyed at the same time. 

“My little George Michael!” you say as you pull Ryan in for a hug. His nose wrinkles up at your comparison but the smile on his face only grows.

Luke looks up at his big brother. “Y’know, I always thought it was froggy Christmas Eve.”

Despite his better judgment, Eddie asks, “bud…why would Christmas Eve be froggy?”

“I dunno,” Luke shrugs, “maybe Santa was delivering a lot of frogs. Or the reindeer got tired, so he had frogs pull his sleigh. Or—”

Eddie puts his hands on Luke’s shoulders and laughs. “All right, Frog Boy. What do you say we get home and celebrate Ryan’s rockstar moment?”

Everyone agrees to that, the four of you walking through the double doors and into the parking lot. Ryan takes Eddie’s hand, and Luke takes yours. 

“Where’d you park?” Eddie asks you, and you realize he wants to escort you to your car. Heat creeps up your neck at his small act of chivalry. Part of you suspects that if you shivered, he’d offer his jacket. 

Maybe if you were more courageous, you’d test that theory. 

“Oh, um, over there.” You point towards your car, leading the way. You can feel Eddie’s eyes on you; protectiveness with a hint of possession. It’s lust with something you can’t quite put your finger on. 

You dig your keys out of your bag, smiling triumphantly when you find them quickly. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow?” You laugh kindly, ruffling Ryan’s hair. “I’m so proud of you, Ry. You’re brave and talented.”

A blush settles into Ryan’s cheeks. “Thanks. Um, I’m glad you got to hear me sing. You’re the best.”

“Me, too,” Eddie chimes in, clearing his throat. “I mean, I’m glad you got to hear him sing, too. Not that I think you’re the best. Not that you’re not the best, because the kids love you, and you, um—”

“Hey, look what I found!” 

Eddie has never been more grateful for one of Luke’s interruptions. “What is it?”

“Mistletoe!” The little boy holds something that is certainly not mistletoe above his head. “See?”

Ryan scoffs. “That’s a leaf.”

“And a very dead one at that,” Eddie muses, plucking the stem from Luke’s fingers. 

A pout puckers Luke’s lips. “You gotta use your imagination!” he insists, taking the pseudo-mistletoe and jumping up and down between you and Eddie. “Now…you…gotta…kiss!”

“No, we don’t,” you and Eddie blurt out in unison. 

“Yes, you do,” Luke indignantly sighs. “It’s the law.”

Before he can wimp out, Eddie swoops in and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. Your skin tingles where his lips brushed against it, and you’re left speechless. 

Luke, however, remains unimpressed. “That wasn’t a real kiss!”

“Yeah, well, that’s not real mistletoe,” Eddie retorts, trying to compose himself. “C’mon, let’s get home. It’s past your bedtime.”

Eddie was hoping that the ride home would help lull the boys to sleep like it used to when they were babies. Ryan still has adrenaline going through him from the concert though, and Luke is feeding off of that energy.

They’re both talking a mile a minute and neither one of them quiet, but Eddie doesn’t hear a word they say because his mind is so focused on you. You offering to bring Luke to the school later when he had to bring Ryan. You in that curve-hugging dress. You showing up for Ryan when his own mother didn’t. You, with the softest skin when his lips brushed your cheek. 

Realizing that he’s in love with you should make Eddie feel worse than it does. The guilt that’s gnawing at his stomach is somewhat abated by the fact that Brittany’s been screwing a litany of men for years. Does it make it worse or better that she probably had no feelings for any of those men? He’s not sure it’s possible for her to truly love anyone besides herself.

Eddie can’t help the smile on his face as he thinks about his feelings for you, though. The way you make him happy is something that he hasn’t experienced in years—if Brittany ever truly made him this happy at all. Everything about you brings joy to Eddie. Well, other than when he thinks of how much younger you are and how you’re surrounded by college age guys who must be tripping over themselves to go out with you. That provides him with a sickening feeling that leaves him dizzy. It’s much easier to focus on the fantasy of being with you, not the reality of where or who you might be headed home to tonight. 

When Eddie pulls into the driveway, the boys are decidedly less quiet, though they’re still chatting away. Brittany’s car is parked there as well, sitting idly next to where Eddie’s truck now is. Eddie wordlessly gets out of the car and lets the boys keep talking about whatever it is they’re talking about as he walks with them up to the front door, the light dusting of snow floating down kissing their cheeks and noses. 

“It’s late, I want you boys to head to your rooms and put your pajamas on, okay?” Eddie says as he unlocks the door. Both boys agree—begrudgingly, on Luke’s part. 

Brittany isn’t in sight when they first step into the house, which has Eddie breathing a sigh of relief. He really shouldn’t be feeling that way about seeing his own wife, should he? Oh well, that ship sailed a long time ago.

The boys head down the hall and as Ryan passes the kitchen, he skids to a halt and does a double take. 

“Hi, Mom!” he says with an enthusiastic wave. Eddie’s prepared for his oldest to launch into the story of how great the concert was and how much fun he had, but he just continues down the hall towards his room. Luke didn’t even stop to greet his mother. 

Eddie drops his keys in the bowl by the door and shrugs out of his leather jacket. It’s slightly wet to the touch from the flurries that landed on him between the truck and the house.

If Brittany had just missed an event of his, Eddie wouldn’t give two shits or make a big deal of it. But this was Ryan’s big night, something that she should have wanted to and made sure to attend. Now Eddie feels the need to make a stink about it.

He wanders into the kitchen and slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans. As soon as he steps inside, he sees Brittany leaning against the counter with a glass of water in her hand, absolutely glaring at him. The look takes him aback. Why in the hell is he getting that look? She’s the one who has to explain herself. 

“I can’t believe you,” Brittany says, further shocking her husband. 

“I…what?” Eddie asks. He almost feels too dumbfounded to speak. It quickly crosses his mind that maybe she somehow figured out the epiphany he had about his feelings for you tonight, but if Brittany could read minds things would have gone downhill a lot sooner in their marriage than this. 

“You left without me. You couldn’t even wait until I got home?” Brittany slams the glass of water down on the counter and takes a step towards him. 

Eddie quickly checks to make sure the boys haven’t stepped in behind him before he raises his eyebrows and lowers his voice.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I did wait, Britt. I waited until the last goddamn minute. But Ryan had to get to the school, and I wasn’t about to make him late just because you couldn’t be bothered to be home on time.”

The sneer Brittany gives him could curdle milk. 

“So now my son is going to think that I don’t care because I didn’t go tonight,” she seethes.

Eddie toys with the idea of telling her that he didn’t seem to care one iota that she wasn’t there, but he doesn’t want Ryan to catch even a smidgen of her wrath. 

“You have a car. You know where the damn school is. Why didn’t you get your ass over there when you got home?”

“That isn’t the point!” she snaps. Eddie now knows that this argument has moved from rational and logic, to whatever bullshit straws Brittany can grasp at. 

“Okay,” Eddie says, knowing full well he’s already fighting a losing battle. “What is the point?” He crosses his arms over his chest and Brittany mirrors the action, as if annoyed she didn’t think of taking up the offended posture first. 

“That you didn’t wait for me. Your wife. I had to come home probably five minutes after you left!”

“And I told you why we left when we did. I also provided you with what you could have alternatively done, but that would mean admitting that you’re wrong and God forbid you do that.” Brittany opens her mouth, but Eddie shakes his head and cuts her off before she can say anything. “Fucking forget it. It’s late, I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

Eddie goes to turn down the hallway towards the master bedroom when he realizes he never took off his boots. He stalks back to the front door and kicks them off, using the wall for balance. When his eyes flit back up from his feet, they catch sight of his jacket—and Brittany’s next to it. He narrows his eyes as he looks at them side by side. His is still wet from the melted snow coating it, but Brittany’s is wet as well. It’s not just the side where his jacket is brushing up against it, either. Eddie reaches for the arm of the jacket on the opposite side and feels that it’s just as wet as his own. If Brittany had really come home just after they’d left, there’s no way it would still be wet.

Dropping the jacket sleeve and letting out a huff of unamused laughter, Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. He shouldn’t be surprised, really. Brittany is no stranger to lying. She probably got home about five minutes before they did, but in typical Brittany fashion, had to spin everything so she’s the victim even when she’s the one in the wrong. 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mumbles to himself. He rubs at his eyes as he walks back down the hallway. He’s way too tired to deal with any of this bullshit. 

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. I’ll just get ready for bed and then I can lay down and think about the woman who actually shows up for me and my boys—and try to imagine she doesn’t do it purely out of the goodness of her heart, and that she enjoys spending time with me as much as I do her.

He can hear Brittany talking on the kitchen phone, prattling on to her friend about how her awful husband cruelly abandoned her at their son’s holiday concert. Looking over at the empty half of the bed, he pictures you sleeping there. His arms would wrap around you as you whisper about how proud you are of Ryan or relay a funny tidbit from Luke. Eddie would kiss your forehead as you drift off to sleep, reveling in your beauty even as you slumber.  His own eyelids soon grow heavy with the day’s physical and emotional exhaustion. Before he falls asleep, he manages to eke out a wish to dream of you tonight. 

[ghostsoapwhore]

Fix the Unfixable - Part One

Chapter One: In the Crossfire

Warnings: Mention of abuse, mention of lab testing, mention of needles, mention of gunfire, a/b/o

Pairing: Task Force 141 x reader

The fluorescent lights never stop humming, at first it was irritating, driving your senses mad as the frequency continued, but soon it became soothing. The sterile laboratory that surrounded you was in constant silence, a silence that would drive anybody mad. Your new life here started three months ago. Three months of poking, prodding, and needles, and questions. The isolation here made you feel cold. The only interactions you had with people were the occasional tests, beatings, and shuffling footsteps down the corridor.

Subject 132

That’s what they called you. That’s what the sign above your little cell said in bold, black writing. You had seen it once when you were screaming and kicking trying to get out of their grasp. It was made to strip away your identity, to return you to your base form. Omega. That’s all you were to them, not a person, just a creature who they did impersonal experiments on. You were data, numbers, graphs, failures. You were the experiment.

The lab was cold. It had been from the start. It had white tile walls that managed to never get dirty, metal tables that shone in the fluorescents, and blinking monitors and whirring machines  that incessantly made noise. The lab was made so there was one main testing room, and your tiny cell attached. You were positioned so you could see only the equipment, and not the door to your left.

 The tests were made to be a routine, you had learnt this by now. First the psychological phase, where they would attempt to force you into distress. They would try to make you shut down, forcing you into your most vulnerable form so they could extract more data. Being an Omega was the only reason you were here, of course they would use your primal instincts against you. Then, followed the physiological testing. The testing was never ethical. Questions such as; “What would the omega do if we hit her?”, “How would she respond to a near death experience?”, “What would happen if she died, then came back?”. Questions they would do anything to answer,

Today. Today felt different. Today there was a nervousness in the air, the test subjects could feel it. It began with shuffling in the hallways turning into urgent yelling and shouting of orders. Then it became cells unlocking and test subjects being forced out. There was loud boots rushing the halls and equipment being dragged with people. The feeling that accompanied these noises was odd, you felt hopeful, yet terrified. A disgustingly satisfying mix.

It was strange, being truly alone. You knew you were. The smell of the other surviving omega’s had long faded. They were gone, you were forgotten. It always had to be you, huh? The building was totally and completely empty, save for the pair of footsteps approaching the door right now.

The metal door to the main lab exploded inwards without warning. There was rubble flying past the cell, some of it even into the cell, and sparks lit up the room. The sheer force of the explosion caused you to stumble slightly, with your hands raised to shield your face. Smoke filled the room, followed by your lungs. You had to bite back the urge to cough.

The smoke hadn’t cleared when the silhouettes of tall, terrifying figures coated in tactical gear stalked into the room. The shine of their gear was ominous, the now smashed fluorescent flickered above them. You watched them make strange hand signals to each other, as one moved closer to you. He stepped out of the smoke, into clear view. He was tall, rugged and bearded. His eyes were piercing and he held an air of command. This man was definitely an alpha, you knew this despite the lack of scent he carried.

“Clear the room.” His voice was deep and commanding, and the other men followed his instructions. His eyes scanned the room efficiently. “You’re Subject 132?”

It was less of a question, more of a demand. You knew he hadn’t seen the sign above the cell, which caused shivers to run down your spine. You nodded weakly, you felt paralyzed by both curiosity and fear. The other men cleared the room efficiently, it was empty, of course. You knew that already, but they had to be sure.

The smoke slowly diffused, allowing a clearer view into the room. A younger man was standing nearby. He had bright, friendly eyes as he looked at you with a light grin. He was lighter in build than the bearded man, and had a very… interesting haircut. “Hello, lass.” He beamed. He had strong Scottish accent that added to his charming appearance. “We're here tae get ye oot o' here, whit’s yer real name?” You blinked at him, once, twice. You felt tongue tied, unsure whether to tell him or not. In the time you contemplated two figures had emerged from the now dissipated smoke. The largest one of the whole group, adorning a skull mask, walked over to the cell door with some chain cutters. He made light work of the door and it swung open. If Price’s appearance said alpha, his screamed it.

The one with the mohawk entered the cell with an air of confidence, not quite enough to be an alpha though. He offered you a friendly hand as you continued to scan the last member. He was a dashing younger man, with beautiful browned skin and straight white teeth. He was smiling, talking to the bearded man once more. You gently took the mohawk man’s hand, it was warm. It was an extreme contrast to what you had called home previously.

“Ma names Soap, whit’s yours, lass?” He prodded again. You told him your name, barely a mumble. He took it upon himself to repeat it at about twenty times the original volume which caused your face to flush.

The area was secure, and the men were all standing around you now. The guy with the skull mask had a deep accent, definitely a British one, but what kind of British you had no idea. “Get her up, we need to reach evac point in ten minutes.” His voice was gruff, his tone indifferent. “He’s right.” The bearded man said. Soap pulled you up to your feet. What kind of name is Soap anyways? You could hear them talking as they began to usher you through the halls. The bearded man spoke up. “Sorry for the late introductions, I’m Captain Price.” He looked into your eyes as he spoke and walked. Your legs had to work double time to keep up with their large, and surprisingly stealthy, strides.

“The skull-mask is Lieutenant Ghost, and this is Gaz.” He slapped the young man’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble and emit a grumble from him. I nodded, staring at them. The introductions did very little to assuage the fear and confusion pulsing through your veins. You had been captive long enough that freedom was no longer a word in your vocabulary. “Come on, lass, we hae tae get oot o' here afore we're left ahint." I blinked at the Scottish man a few times, trying to translate for a second, before nodding. He’s right, we’ve got to get out.

“Hang tight, love.” Gaz spoke up from behind me. “We’ve still got some work to do on the way out, but we’ll keep you safe.”

Price and the others nodded in agreement, continuing forwards. You felt strangely vulnerable now that you were free from that cell. Once out of the lab, Price and Ghost were discussing their next mission in hushed, professional tones. There was the distant sound of gunshots and screaming. The sounds of a battle outside. It caused you to falter, paralyzed for a moment. That’s exactly why Gaz crashed straight into your back and sent you tumbling to the ground.

“Careful, love. Need you in one piece.” Price spoke up as you scrambled to your feet with the help of Gaz. “Stay close to Soap, he’s in charge of you for now.” 

It was a secret instruction, one for Soap, he nodded and immediately took his place next to you. “We’ll get through this, stay close.” He muttered. It was the most legible sentence yet!

The corridors beyond the lab were dimly lit and narrow, the walls lined with the same sterile white that surrounded you for three months. But now, as you followed the team, the oppressive atmosphere of the lab became lighter, nearing the exit.

Momentarily, you glanced over at Ghost, who was clearing the path ahead. His presence was imposing, and even though his face was hidden behind the skull mask, there was something serious and commanding about him. Definitely alpha. It was strange, you noted, that there was no indicator of anyone's status. No scents at all. You were aware that you had no scent either, the lab technicians had filled you with enough scent blockers to last three lifetimes afterall. 

When you finally emerged into the open air you squinted. The sky was a clear, brilliant blue, a stark contrast to the sterile confines of the laboratory. The fresh air was a welcome assault on your senses, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. This was the most colour you had seen in a long time. The sun was beating down on you, the sand beneath your feet crunching and grinding with each step. The laboratory was in the middle of a desert all this time.

The team ushered you toward a waiting helicopter, the rhythmic thud of its blades cutting through the air as it prepared for takeoff. Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost were already coordinating the extraction, their movements efficient and precise.

The feeling of freedom filled you, but a strange feeling overcame you along with it. The rescue was just the beginning. A/N: Feedback and corrections are welcome! Thank you for reading! tag list: @munsonssecretblog

[suigetsusunny]

Temporary Whispers Of The Heart ⊹₊⟡⋆ | Sosuke Aizen X Reader

Chapter 2 | No Scrubs

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

The saccharine taste of jasmine tainted your tongue as you brought the porcelain cup up to your lips. A sugary scent filled your nostrils, and you hummed, satisfied that your tea was sweetened to your taste. You gazed out of the shoji doors of the Captain's quarters, enjoying the alluring scenery of the dusk sun tinting the sky a gentle amber as it submerged into the horizon. 

“You may as well eat a jar of fresh honey, rather than wasting my precious jasmine tea for your… sugar overload.”

Aizen quipped, scoffing as he sipped his own cup of jasmine tea, deficit of sugar before placing it back down on the small coffee table you two were chatting at.

“And you expect me to say that wouldn’t be delectable?”

He rolled his eyes at your declaration, causing you to chuckle into your cup as you tossed aside the courtesy of speaking to an actual Captain through your teasing. 

“I’m making jasmine tea to suit your tastes, I would prefer to hear some words of thanks. I’m sure you’re well aware of my actual affinity for hibiscus tea…” Sosuke murmured, kindly sliding a plate of red bean mochi towards your cup until it clinked from collision. You hummed eagerly in approval, greedily stuffing it into your mouth, savouring the gentle sweetness that bursted into your tastebuds. You shifted from your position on the floor being a polite kneel to sitting on your behind, knees held up to your chest. You tilted your head, gazing back at him whilst your tongue trailed the leftover powder on your lips.

“I’ll keep it in mind, Mr. Aizen.”

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A soft reflection shone your features onto it as you stared into the porcelain cup, admiring the intricate golden design adorning the rims of the cup. 

Attempting to train Sosuke Aizen had somehow been more arduous than trying to find a needle in a haystack. The enigma had somehow always been dissatisfied or had something to say about the Soul Society, his never ending criticisms serving as some deeper form of torture. The dense silence accompanying the office only grew thicker, occasionally broken by the pitter-patter of the rain outside. 

It was devastatingly just you and the man in the office, as you two were considered executive soul reaper officers, your timetables did not give way to many holidays unlike the other reapers… Death stops for no one, as that cunning man Shunsui once stated.

A knock on your door, once again. You groused, reluctantly arising from your comfortable chair to swing the door open. “The computer has ceased functioning again.”

You raised an eyebrow at Aizen's statement, discerning his arms confidently crossed and a complacent look on his face. At least nobody else was in the office to watch the humiliation you had to endure trying to have a mutually intelligible conversation with him. 

“Did I not just train you how to use it? How did you mess it up already…” 

“You are aware I haven’t been in the human world nearly as long as you have recently to adapt to this technology, right.” He grumbled, his tone asserting his authority and irritatingly pronouncing you underneath him. 

You simply rolled your eyes at his sassiness. “You cannot learn yourself instead of clinging to me like a newborn? I’m sure The Sosuke Aizen is capable of figuring it out himself.” You snapped, muttering curses under your breath that you had to interact with him. It felt like ants crawled under your skin every time your ears were forced to hear his belligerent yet smooth voice.

“Do you think I’m willingly asking you for assistance?” He calmly fired back, following his statement with a mocking huff. 

“You’d think a man who’s attained the status of a God could work a simple computer.” You scoffed as you trailed behind him, halting at his desk within his office to investigate the buffered screen.

You stared intently at the display, leaning down to hold the mouse in your grip, clicking it incessantly to somehow get the screen to work. You weren’t too familiar with human world objects either despite your heritage, yet still you refused to look weak in front of that man. You slid a hand behind the thick, cream coloured monitor and slammed your palm against it roughly. Aizen gave you a slightly startled and humoured look as you tried to get it to work by… hitting it.

“Resorting to physical violence is not a trait I thought you had in you.” He jested, a slight curl tugging at his lips. 

You adamantly avoided his comment, focusing predominantly on the task at hand. After shutting the computer off and giving it a bit of a ‘massage’, the rusty tech seemed to crackle and switch on again. 

“Just press this power button to shut it off and on if it acts up again and slightly give it a push.” You muttered, exhaling in relief that at least something was complying with you today. You swung around to leave, facing your office through the gap in the doorway, about to exit the scene. Before you did so, you slightly turned your head to the right, ensuring your side eye pierced deeply into his hazel irises. 

“You may have known who I was before but you don’t know who I am now, Mr. Aizen. ” 

You let the sour statement roll off your tongue harshly before swiftly strutting back to your office. You rubbed your temple with your palm, your head starting to ache at the sheer amount of frustration you felt around him.

Ordering more modern soul pagers, sending Zanpakuto requests, organising Kido training timetables and areas… As of recent, working for the soul society had become… oddly mundane. You hadn’t gotten a request to deal with a threat in a while now, the competence of newer Soul Reapers proving to be more than sufficient.

You pushed in specific buttons on the telephone nearby, leaning back on your inky leather office chair as you rang Urahara’s store about the new transfer of employees to the Karakura district building. As you played with the cord and dwelled on your past, the line abruptly picked up. 

,,Hello? Oh, Shunsui-chan? Is this your new company phone number? Fancy fancy I see~’’

You fumbled in your seat, the legs you had kicked up onto your desk immediately slamming back down on the floor as you sat up, not expecting the man himself to pick up instead of Ururu. Speaking with Urahara was still largely a foreign concept to you. After all, he was the partner of the sister you weren’t in contact with anymore… You let out a deep breath, settling your racing heart as you spoke once again.

“Hello, Mr. Urahara. This is Y/N. I am calling to check in the new April intake of employees that you had organised. Could you please forward me their contact information ASAP?” 

The line went oddly silent, sounds of shuffling and stumbling reflecting on the feedback that blared throughout your ears. 

,,Hey..! Y/N! So nice to hear from you again, how have you been? I heard you were working in the human world now... isn't that great? How have you been finding it-’’

“It’s good. Could you please just send me the files.” You attempted to retain a collegiate demeanour, fiddling with your pens and clicking them incessantly. God, I’m acting like a child.

,,...Of course. I’ll send them through now.’’

You hummed in approval as you perceived the email notification pop up on your screen.

“Thank you. Goodbye.” 

,,Bye! Oh and, also-’’

Shit…

You had slammed the phone down onto its dock reflexively as he bid farewell, accidentally cutting off his sentence. You contemplated calling back, yet you were still unsure as talking to him felt like a thousand needles piercing into your back-

Ring!

You picked up the phone once more, Urahara’s hoarse yet jovial voice booming through the device.

,,Sorry to bother you once more! But, are you attending that higher-ups dinner thing in a few days? It’s being organised by the new Gotei 13.”

You tilted your head to the side, puzzled. A dinner..?

“Oh, I haven’t heard of that. I’ll check the mailbox now.” You stated to the cheerful voice that blasted through your eardrums. 

You contemplated your answer to the blonde, aware that you would have to probably see your sister again.

“I’ll go.”

A boisterous gasp and a slight giggle followed your statement.

,,I’ll be looking forward to it~! Bye now!”

-beep.

What have I gotten myself into…

You slid back the sleeve of your blazer to discern the time on your analog watch. Sure enough, it was already 5pm, as you could tell from the shuffling outside your room indicating Aizen’s unfortunate existence. You tucked your belongings meticulously into your beige messenger bag, slinging it around your shoulder as you left your office.

A familiar gait ensued further behind the clacks of your heels, causing you hasten faster to press the elevator button before the steps caught up to you. After what seemed like a millenia, the lift arrived and the doors finally decided to part, causing you to rush inside and slam the button to shut them before Aizen caught up to you. 

Unfortunately, a familiar vanilla scent rose throughout your nostrils as you reluctantly looked up to see the man standing in front of you, staring passionately into your eyes with his deep, brooding, sepia ones.

Aizen gazed at you profoundly as he took a step forward towards you, causing you to take one backwards. You backed further into the corner as he continued to step forward and close the gap between you two, until you could feel his warm breath erecting goosebumps on your cheeks. The brunette raised his arm to the side of you, his pointer finger gravitating far closer to your face than you would have liked. 

Your heart raced, heat flushing across your entire body as your eyes continued to lock longingly with his, roaming to gaze at the lone sepia lock drizzled onto his face from the rest of his neatly tucked hair. 

“What… What do you want…?” You finally mustered out, your heart uncontrollably beating at his increased proximity. He’s still so…

“The elevator floor button...

You’re blocking it.”

Oh.

Eyes widened larger than saucers, you hurriedly moved aside, muttering a rash apology under your breath. I am the epitome of idiocracy. Aizen proceeded to push the ground floor button, setting himself farther away yet adjacent to you in the lift as it proceeded with its descent. Embarrassed was probably the most softest way to describe what emotion ran through your entire body right now. How did I get so foolishly excited over that… Imprudent, half witted… absurd excuse of a Shinigami. The only thing you could even compare your flippant behaviour today would be a child…

As the elevator completed its descent, the doors parted once more to allow the both of you to spill out and seperate out of the building. You glanced at Aizen momentarily on your path to the car park, pausing your flustered thoughts to ponder where he was supposed to even stay in the human world. You then discerned a stern Hisagi emerge from a sleek black Mercedes, the reaper slapping on another pair of handcuffs onto Aizen and sealing his hands behind his back securely before nudging him to step into the car from the door left ajar. You give a gentle grin and a wave to the familiar face as his head still bobbed above the car door, his eyes seemingly noticing your figure in the distance of the car park as he suddenly ceased his movement. Shuuhei removed his sunglasses after seeing you, giving a wide grin as he waved merrily to you before another driver in the car seemed to nudge him to return inside so they could leave. The two of you hesitantly bid a silent goodbye before he stepped back into the car, driving off. 

You recalled the invites sent for the gathering Urahara spoke to you about, causing you to make a U-turn to visit the office mailboxes. You scanned through them as you entered the building again, searching for the one designated to your floor. You slide out what seemed like four invites and held them against your chest before slipping them into your bag. You left once more, wincing at the gush of wind that decided to dishevel your hair as you walked outside.

A sudden call incessantly buzzed in your pocket, causing you to hurriedly fish around for your cell phone and find out who the perpetrator to the call was. You flip open your phone, letting out a sigh of relief after discerning the caller id. You picked up the phone, lifting it to your ear as you greeted your friend amicably.

,,Y/N! Look to your left!’’  

You whipped around to see your closest companion Rangiku, leaning on a hot pink mazda as she clicked her tongue at you. You chuckled under your breath as you snapped the phone shut, sliding it back into your pocket.

“Look at this baby! Isn’t she beautiful? God, I really love human world tech!” Matsumoto chortled, admiring the way in which her fuchsia vehicle sparkled in the dusk sun. 

“Gosh, it’s even prettier in person, Ran…” You mumbled as you stared in awe at the gorgeous car, taking in all its stunning features. Rangiku signals for you to come in as she unlocks the car, a minuscule yet cute beep following her pressing the button on her sparkly magenta keys. You gazed around the vehicle after taking a seat and meticulously shutting the door, knowing how hard the poor girl worked to purchase something like this - and the curses to your entire bloodline that would follow had you done something to it - you tried your best not to damage it. Before you could shower it in more compliments, the strawberry blonde turned to face you suddenly with a sincere look in her eyes.

“Do my eyes deceive me or did I see you walk out with… Sosuke Aizen?” She inquired firmly, a tinge of worry in her tone.

You groan, finally in an environment comfortable enough that you could slam your palms to your face and loudly grouse into them.

“Don’t remind me. I have to work with the degenerate now because of Shunsui.”  You slowly slid them off your face, turning to see Matsumoto’s reaction. She winced, eyebrows furrowed with worry and fury.

“That’s so scary?! How could he just do that?! Put you with someone like that… That must be torture, I’m sorry Y/N.” She pouted, and you pinched her cheek gently between your fingers as you felt guilty seeing her solemn expression. 

“I’ll be fine. It’s my duty.” You give a sincere grin back, reassuring her by patting her shoulder. She didn’t seem convinced in the slightest, yet she let it go for your sake. “There you go again, rambling on about your duty… You really haven’t changed.” Rangiku scoffs before setting the car into drive, shoving her foot onto the pedal to accelerate. Before you could respond, you were thrown back into the seat from the reckless way in which Rangiku sped off. You could hardly have a comprehensible conversation with her from the consistent near-death experiences greeting you almost every 2 minutes.

“Ran!? Oh my god be careful- WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” You yelled thunderously, flinching backwards as you braced yourself for impact.

The blonde slammed the brake pedal before she was about to get T-boned by crossing a red light. “Sorry… still getting used to all these rules..!” Matsumoto giggled as she poked her tongue out childishly, causing you to mentally facepalm at her stupidity. “I doubt this car’s lasting more than a day…”

Before long and after a lot of gossip from her Kido training, you two had arrived at your apartment. Miniscule yet cozy, though nothing compared to your Captain quarters when you used to live in the Soul Society. Rangiku remained in the human world often to do Kido training with the novice soul reapers in Karakura as per her orders, so being the close companions you were, you both mainly took care of each other. It felt good to have a good friend whilst you navigated this place pretty much alone. 

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Rangiku burst out in laughter, the pungent smell of saké wafting towards you and seizing your nostrils. 

“No… No fucking way… Oh, goodness Y/N, I’m actually going to pee myself.” She chortled, causing your humiliation to spike by tenfold.

“How was I supposed to know!?” You berated, irritated at her never ending cackling. After you had told her about your encounter with the enigma, she was only able to respond with cacophonies of laughter and many failed attempts to not topple over from amusement and the sheer amount of alcohol in her system.

“I deplore that piece of shit but holy hell, that’s so funny… I want to hear more! I’m so excited to hear more!~” Rangiku's chortles boisterously reverberated throughout the compact apartment, causing you to hush her before you received any more complaints. 

“I can’t do it! I can't hear this asshole spit any more nonsensical shit at me Ran. For the Soul Kings sake, save me. I can’t.” You rested your head onto your arms, leaning down on the table cluttered with several bottles of saké. A drunk Matsumoto snickered at your oddball of a metaphor, a stupid grin lying on her face.

“Wait… Y/N…”

Rangiku’s attitude abruptly changed to a sincere one, her cerulean eyes piercing through you.

“Don’t tell me… You still-”

You cut her off before she could finish the brainfart of a statement you knew would follow.

“Over my dead. Deceased. Rotted. Mouldy. Fossilised body. God, no.”

A playful smirk tugged at her lips as her grin stretched wider than a cheshire cat. You scowled at her, avoiding eye contact as she cheekily tried to fluster you with her teasing looks.  As you turned away, you discerned the time, noticing the clock strike midnight. Her gaze followed yours and both of your moods immediately dissipated from the observation, causing you to sit in a solemn silence. 

“Should we talk tomorrow, Ran?” You queried in a soft voice as you stared at her sorrowful expression. 

“Can I stay over tonight?” She sighed, twiddling with her fingers. You nodded keenly, shifting across the floor to sit beside her. You discern the gentle tears that fell from her reverent sky-blue irises, travelling gradually down her porcelain features. 

“Gosh, I know it’s pathetic… It’s been so long.” She mumbled, bringing a hand up to brush the tears away with the back of her hand. Your own eyes began to water as you tucked both your arms around her, letting her lean into you and sob into your chest. Gentle tears slid down your own cheeks, your sorrow exacerbating as her sobs grew rougher and more painful. 

“You’re not pathetic, don’t say that.”

After a while of comfortable silence, Rangiku shot up abruptly, shuffling around to grab her bag and search through it. Finally, she found her desired item… A large bottle of alcohol. She slammed the azure bottle onto the low coffee table you two were sitting on the floor at, unscrewing the cap and pouring herself a shot.

“I brought it this time.”

You sighed before rotating the bottle towards you, staring intently at the label before you poured yourself a shot alongside her.

Pure Gin. 

Today was the anniversary of Ichimaru Gin’s death. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

happy reading ! and as always, comments and thoughts are always appreciated :-)

sumi <3

[roosterbruiser]

Can I request a Bradley thing where he goes in to get a tattoo and reader does his tattoo and he’s just super love stricken. Next thing he knows he’s going to get tattooed just to see reader till he finally asks her to go on a date??? 🫶🏻🫶🏻

𝐓𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝

𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

Honest to God, if Bradley knew that you were going to be the girl doing his tattoo today, he would've pretended to be sick to get out of the appointment. He would've just gone to a different tattoo place entirely. But it's too late now--he's here, sitting in your little cubicle with its potted plants and hand-drawn posters and knick-knacks and bluetooth speaker, and you're quietly humming as you look over his paperwork.

It isn't that he thinks you're incapable of doing his tattoo--God, no. You were the name that kept popping up when he asked around for artist recommendations, the highest rated artist in his area (and the surrounding three--but who's counting?). And he knows you'll do a good job because he's seen your work on other people and even if he hadn't, the posters on your wall are evidence alone. Bradley can draw a crude stick figure on a good day--so he is endlessly impressed with your skill.

It's just that you are the prettiest thing he's ever seen in his entire life. No, not just pretty--something above that. Beautiful, gorgeous. Fuck, you're ethereal even and Bradley hates people that say ethereal.

Everyone he talked to failed to mention that you are simply the prettiest person in every room you walk into and, Bradley knows just by looking at you, that you're probably the coolest person at every party you've ever been to.

You have big eyes that you wear bright colors on, which look almost too good against your skin and those pretty irises. Just looking at you legit makes Bradley want to bite his knuckle. You have a cool haircut, one that is polar opposite of all the Navy-issued chop-jobs he's so used to seeing, and your voice is raspy and lovely. You're wearing authentic vintage Levi's and a smooth bodysuit, one that hugs your body, one that shows the hills of your breasts so well.

Simply put--you're fucking perfect.

Perhaps the worst of it all is that you're so fucking nice. From the moment he walked through the door, you were all smiles, leading him back to your little area and talking him through everything without making him feel like an idiot. You were offering him drinks and asking what his ideas were and then complimenting his ideas. You were making all the little tweaks he wanted and not complaining about it even a little bit.

And now, as he sits on your table with his foot tapping incessantly on the tile, he's just watching your throat vibrate as you hum. It takes him a moment to recognize it, but when he does, it makes him want to rake his hands through his hair.

"Leather and Lace?" He asks you, perching a brow.

And the way you laugh, looking up at him with a bright grin as the sun kisses your face, should be illegal. You're about to put a needle to his skin and watch him cower in pain--he wishes you would take that into account and look less Goddess-like, for the sake of his ego.

"Stevie is my idol," you sigh, pointing casually to the portrait of her on your arm. He inspects it with a smile tugging at his lips, hoping his ears aren't as red as they feel. "You're a big music guy, then?"

He nods, slightly embarrassed. Isn't everyone a big music person? Who the fuck doesn't like music?

You like this guy--this guy that told you to call him Rooster for some reason. This guy who's wearing the ugliest vintage Hawaiian shirt you've ever seen. This guy who has a lewd pornstache, the one who somehow pulls off the lewd pornstache. God, this guy is still wearing his sunglasses inside, but he's just so goddamn cute. He has one of those infectious laughs and a headful of nice, sandy hair. He looks like California has kissed him--pretty. He just looks pretty.

But you can tell that he's nervous. Most people are before getting under the needle--you totally get it. Sometimes you still get nervous about it, too, despite having your arms almost all the way filled in. but you have a hard time imagining this hunk of a Navy man is nervous about a tattoo on his peck. Even just based on the scars littering his face and throat, you're certain he's been through worse.

"So," you sigh, moving your chair closer to him so he can see the paper in your hands that has the mock-up of his tattoo. He leans in and you get a whiff of sea salt and vetiver--God, he smells good. "I scaled down the legs just a bit. I was thinking some light shading through here and filling in here and here--is that okay with you?"

Rooster nods, swallowing hard, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"It looks good," he tells you. "Like really, really good."

You beam at him.

"Well, thank you," you say softly. "I'm a big art girl."

It makes something come loose in his chest--some breath he's had bated releases through his smiling lips. You're teasing him, you're joking with him. It feels good--natural.

"So, with this detail, I'm gonna put us at three hours. Does that sound good?"

Rooster nods immediately--his afternoon is entirely clear. But the prospect of getting to be with you for three hours is exciting--so exciting that it makes his throat tight. Needle be damned, he's going to get to listen to that laugh for three hours. Three!

"Sounds great," he tells you.

You grin, clapping your hands together.

"Well, I bet we're gonna be good friends by the end of this, huh?"

He grins. He already aches to kiss you and he doesn't even know you. Rooster does consider himself a hopeless romantic--but this is a whole new line he's crossing.

You point to his shirt, a slight blush covering your cheeks.

"You can go ahead and take that off now. I'm gonna prep the area."

As he obliges, he watches as you grab a little plastic razor and some paper towels. You're putting gloves on and still humming along to music that isn't playing, mentally cataloguing everything you're gonna need presently.

"Prepping the area includes--?"

You smile, standing up. He still hasn't taken his tank-top off yet, but you can tell already that this guy is fucking ripped. Not even in the usual California way--no, this guy is like movie-star ripped. He looks like he's been plucked out of a blockbuster.

"Shaving and disinfecting," you tell him, gesturing to the razor.

He nods, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as he finally shrugs his tank and lets it fall into the chair he was sitting in.

"At least let me buy you dinner first," he teases.

Then you laugh--it's the first time he's really heard you laugh. He likes the sound, likes that you laugh with your mouth closed and your eyes wide.

"We'll see how the tattoo goes," you wink.

You're very careful as you shave and disinfect him, humming Stevie Nicks and Don Henley still. And you can feel his eyes lingering on your face as you work, but it doesn't bother you. He has pretty eyes--you're glad he's looking at you.

"Wanna be the DJ?" You ask with a grin, nodding towards the speaker.

Rooster feels like his heart is about to fall out of his ass. If he'd have known that he was going to be DJing this three-hour tattoos session with you--the prettiest girl he has ever seen--he would've made a playlist. Like, a proper playlist. One that is carefully curated and accounts for all possible avenues of this appointment. His dad used to make his mom mixed tapes--he still listens to them. Even though he thinks that making playlists is only a fraction as romantic, he understands that it's the modern mixed tape.

"Sure," he says softly, connecting his phone. "Are you exclusively a Fleetwood Mac girl?"

You shake your head, making sure all your ink is set out on their stabilizing beds of petroleum jelly and your gloves are intact. You pat the bed and he takes the hint, laying down while you adjust the light above you. Jesus, his muscles are practically rippling and he's not even doing anything.

"Mainly," you tell him, running your fingers along his peck and trying not to drool. "But I'm pretty diverse with my music. Hit me with your best shot."

Bradley suddenly feels nervous--put on the spot. It isn't even that he is about to have a needle against his skin. No, he was in Afghanistan, he doesn't really give a fuck about three hours of needle pricks. He cares about picking a song you think is lame. God, he'd just die of embarrassment if you didn't like what he chose.

As if you can sense his sudden nervousness, you grin up at him--it has the ability to completely relax his shoulders.

"C'mon, flyboy," you smile at him, readying your tattoo gun, "give it to me."

And suddenly Bradley can't breathe. You know that--it's why you said it. You watch him suck in a breath, watch him flounder for words, watch his pupils blow. Now he knows what it feels like for you to stare at his upsettingly beautiful midsection.

So Bradley gives it to you--very subtly turning on Hot Stuff by Donna Summer. It makes the both of you laugh--you even dance a little bit for him, in a silly and unserious way that makes his heart warm.

"Bet you're a good time at the bars," he tells you with a grin.

You nod rapidly, biting your lip.

"Oh, I'm the best to go to bars with," you tell him with a grin. "I dance and I sing and I drink."

"Triple threat," Bradley grins.

You nod again, chewing on your lip again. This guy is cute--like too cute for his own good.

"Few and far in between," you say, sighing. "I'm really a spectacle."

His heart is sitting in his throat. He loves the way you blush when you're being mockingly egotistical--he thinks that makes you genuine. Genuine and confident.

"I'd gladly spectate you at any bar," he says. You smile at him, the blush in your cheeks darkening as you narrow your eyes slightly. "You know, if you're up for it."

Your answer is a resounding yes--you know that already. But you can't just give it to him like that--you like to keep guys on their toes. Especially Navy boys.

"Actually, I have a two-tattoo minimum dating requirement," you sigh, shrugging.

He smirks at you. He can do this--he can do the chase.

"Is that so?"

You nod.

"Unfortunately," you say.

"What's your availability look like tomorrow?"

There's that sweet laugh again--it's bigger this time. God, Bradley loves to make you laugh. You just look so fucking happy. Happiness looks really, really good on you.

It isn't hard for him to imagine that you really are the best person to go to the bars with. He can imagine you in a pretty little skirt, sweat dampening your hairline as you twirl on the dance floor, the golden lights above you reflecting off the glitter on your eyelids. He can imagine that your warmth would be enough to heat the entire place. You seem like someone who is just down--down for anything and everything. He likes that.

"Ready?" You ask sweetly not a moment after, still laughing quietly.

He just nods, blinking rapidly at you.

The three hours honestly flies by. The pain really isn't all that bad, not when you're making conversation the entire time. By the end of the tattoo session, he knows where you grew up and that you don't have a boyfriend and that you have a cat named Strawberry and that you don't have a boyfriend and that your favorite food is street tacos and that you don't have a boyfriend and your first concert was Neil Young. Oh, and that you don't have a boyfriend.

And by the end of the tattoo, you know that Bradley is getting the tattoo in memory of his father, who was also in the Navy. You know that he has an affinity for Jerry Lee Lewis. You know that he has a vintage car and an endless collection of vintage Hawaiian shirts. You know he's gonna be stationed here indefinitely and that he hangs out at the local Navy bar--The Hard Deck. And you know that he is endlessly pleased that you don't have a boyfriend.

"Careful sitting up," you warn softly as you take your gloves off. "You've been laying down for a while. Want a hand?"

Bradley feels totally fine. He doesn't want to brag, but he's pushed his body to the brink in his life. Laying down for three hours having a conversation with the prettiest girl he's ever seen is like a luxury for him. But he wants to touch you--so he lets you grab his hand, lets you help him sit up.

And then the two of you are close--like close enough that he can smell that sweet, flowery musk on your skin. He can see the little flecks of his favorite color in your eyes and the way your lashes fan out over your cheeks.

And you can see his scars when you're this close, these pretty white lines that roll over his skin like ridges on a map. You like scars--as an artist, you think they're part of what make bodies art. They're the human equivalent to an eraser smudge.

He doesn't move for a moment, just looking down at you with that sweet smile, just letting his eyes wash over you. And you don't move from his gaze--you feel totally comfortable in it. You haven't known Bradley for long, but you're a good people reader. You can tell that this man, intrinsically, is a good person.

"Don't you wanna check out your new ink?" You ask with a teasing smile.

He makes a show of glancing down at his chest with his eyebrow perched. Then he hums and nods in approval. When he looks back up at you, you're biting a grin of your own.

"So," he starts softly. "Your availability tomorrow?"

eeeeek fun fact about me: I have eighteen tattoos! so it would by me greatest HONOR to write this little fic!!

[normanplusdaryl]

Back to black.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Era: Season 9

Word count: 2.5k

Plot: Daryl comes home after many years to face the consequences of his actions.

Warnings: ANGST, pure ANGST!

A/N: I've been wanting to write this shared idea I had with @finalgirlrick for a while now, I hope I can break your heart (affectionate).

@weretheones I couldnt done it without u, like always! Ily <3

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

Daryl was in pain and he knew it.

He tried to ignore the pang running through the wound for several days but the burning sensation wouldn't cave in and the medical herbs were not being really helpful. 

Deep down he knew he needed help but somehow the idea of coming back to Alexandria stung more than the freshly cut on his face. 

The river flowed quiet and calm, leaving barely any trace of the storm that crashed hard the day before. With one knee on the ground, Daryl watched the water following the trail while contemplating his options. 

It’s been so long since he visited Alexandria. 

When he decided to follow the river in hopes to find Rick’s body he never thought it would take so long, until days, weeks and months passed by.  But he couldn't stop, the promise he made to Michonne drove his body incessantly. 

He would never admit it, but there were moments when a small part of his heart hoped the reason why he couldn't find a trace was because his brother was alive.

After many years, that hope slowly started to fade away. Every day became harsher, colder, more dangerous. Sometimes he just survived for instinct, not because he really wanted to.

Days like this were tougher, he could deal with some injury across his face but he wasn't sure how devastating it would be for him to come back home and face everything he left behind to pursue something he wasn't successfully accomplishing. 

He never let his mind ramble too much about what was going on back in Alexandria, he knew if he thought about it too much he wouldn't be able to resist dropping everything to go home, to Michonne, to Judith and RJ, to you.

The first years you visited him constantly, bringing food, blankets, fresh clothes or even weapons, anything that could help him out in the woods, trying to be close to him.

Still, that meant you were exposing yourself to the dangers of the path along the river. 

He knew you were capable of handling yourself out in the open but Daryl couldn't bear the thought of you being in danger trying to find him. This was his task and no one should suffer with him the consequences of his decision, especially you.

“It’s been years, Daryl, you need to take at least a break, come back home, we can think of a new strategy, maybe this time I could come with you and…”

“Just stop” Daryl spoke in a growl without letting you finish. —“Ya shouldn't be here”.

You sighed, you knew you were pushing some dangerous buttons but after so many times of the same conversation over and over, you needed to make sure he heard you.

“I understand Daryl, I really do, but we need you too, I need you.” you begged.

Daryl’s gaze was glued to the ground, paralyzed with the fear of catching your eyes, he knew if he looked at you nothing would stop him from finally hearing your pleas.

“I talked to Michonne, you know? and she isn't expecting you to fulfill the promise, she just wants you back home, we all do” you continued.

Usually, you could read him like a book but right now, you couldn't point out what was going through his mind.

“I… I…  dont think Rick would’ve wanted to see you like this either, Daryl”.

Daryl’s head snapped towards you. His face carried a trace of anger and sadness. 

“I’m never gonna stop looking” he finally said, his tone of voice lower than usual  — “This stops now, I never asked ya to be here”

The feeling of a thousand needles pinching through your body washed you over. You blinked twice, as fast as you could, trying to swipe away the tears that were forming in the corners of your eyes.

It took two long deep breaths for you to finally be able to speak.

“What does that mean Daryl?” you said almost in a whisper, afraid of an answer you already knew. 

Hell, you knew it from the moment that bridge exploded, your legs ran towards Daryl so fast to the sound of the dynamite invading the forest, by the time you got there the flames started to fade away, giving space to dark a fume that took over the sky. 

Your eyes searched everywhere for Daryl until you spotted him a few miles away, crossbow in hand. You yelled his name, twice, and when he finally turned to you, you knew, you could see it in his eyes, devastation consuming his body. Nothing would ever be the same from that moment but you loved him enough to fight and delay the inevitable for years, clinging to a hope that now was slipping right between your fingers.

Daryl took a step back, breaking your thoughts. He paced back and forward trying to gather the courage to speak.

“It means ya need to move on like I did” Daryl’s voice echoed in the silence of the quiet woods.

Daryl closed his eyes to the memory and sighed, that was the last time he saw you.

The way your face contorted with pain when he pronounced those words haunted his dreams almost every night. He knew he hurt you, and he regretted it everyday for the last couple of years.

Sometimes, he wondered if you could forgive him, maybe if he came back home and explained to you he never meant that, you’d take him into your arms like all those nights in the tiny basement of your house in Alexandria. 

His skin was burning, but inside his veins felt loaded with ice, making him shiver.

That wasn't a good sign. The fever was rising fast, shit, there wasn't another option, he needed to go now before he was too weak to make the ride. 

-

The guards of the guard tower recognized him immediately, the sound of the angry motor was something hard to ignore. “It's Daryl, let him in!” someone yelled from the inside.

Daryl drove through the gates giving them a thankful nod. Alexandria was different from the last time he was there, the community was thriving under Michonne’s leadership, they were not taking any new members for a long time now but still it felt bigger than usual. 

 “I thought I heard a bike” Aaron approached as soon as the doors closed behind him, extending his arms to give him a big hug.

“It’s been a while” Daryl squeezed his friend’s arm in response.

“It shouldn't be, this is your home too” Aaron gave him a sympathetic smile.

Home He might be back to the place he once called home but he knew the meaning of the term was gone the day he lost you.

“Jesus Daryl, that looks infected” Aaron broke the silence pointing to Daryl’s cut across his face.

“S’ not that bad” Daryl said as he shrugged.

Aaron’s expression changed as soon as he understood the reason behind his sudden visit, tension slowly invading his features.

“Daryl, I think we should talk before you go to the infirmary” Aaron’s tone of voice became serious. “Look, you probably don't know this but…”

“Daddy!” The sudden scream of a child interrupted the conversation. Both men followed the direction of the sound, finding a little girl walking towards them, pouting with fresh tears along her cheeks. 

“What happened sweetheart, are you okay?” Aaron took the little girl in his arms, swiping away the tiny drops. “I’m sorry, let me take her home so we can talk” he frowned — “Don't move, I’ll be back in a minute”.

Daryl nodded watching his friend leave, confused by his words and sudden change of demeanor.

Once the residents spotted him he felt exposed. People greeted him with surprise, some of them came forward to ask him how he was doing while others just stared, clearly unaware of who he was.

Anxiety took the best of him, the chances of running into you were high the longer he stayed there, he thought it was for the best if he could sneak in, get his antibiotics and leave before you notice. 

He owed you at least that.

The small white house came into his sight, pots full of flowers carefully placed following the road to the stairs. His heart raced when he recognized which kind they were: tulips, your favorite ones.

The curtains on the window were open, leaning on the corner outside the door he peeked inside in hopes to see Siddiq there, but what he saw made him freeze, feeling every inch of his skin electrified. 

You were there.

Time didn't seem to pass by you cause he could’ve sworn you looked the same as the last time he saw you, except the pony tail you used to wear everyday was gone, and your hair looked shorter. He smiled recalling how many times you complained about being too long for the damn summer. 

God, he missed you. 

Daryl endured a lot of things down the river, but being away from you was the hardest one.

After your discussion in the woods, he made himself a promise. To make it through, he could never allow himself to think of you. Not because he didn't want to but because he was certain he wouldn't survive if he did it. 

All the feelings he captured inside him all these years were coming out in waves, leaving him in a daze. He wanted to leave, this wasn't what he was planning on, but Daryl felt hypnotized. He drank you in, memorizing for one last time every corner of your beautiful face. 

Siddiq’s frame appeared next to yours, whispering something in your ear that made you chuckle. The scene had a hint of intimacy hidden in the way you both looked at eachother. 

And then, Siddiq’s hands took your waist, pulling you closer to him, until the distance between your bodies disappeared. He placed one kiss on your forehead followed by another one on your lips and you smiled at the action.

Oh

That's why Aaron wanted to talk to him first.

Daryl’s breathing hitched. No, no, no.

Siddiq looked different from the last time Daryl saw him, older, more mature and he could’ve sworn even taller.

He looked like the happiest man on earth. Daryl couldn't blame him, once he felt like that too.

He took your hand giving it one last kiss before waving goodbye, Daryl’s eyes were glued to the action, feeling a strange sense of relief once he left the room.

He didn't know how long he stood there in front of the door but he couldn't move, it felt like the strength from the earth was nailing him to the wooden deck, immobilizing his body.  Everything hurt, if the fever didn't kill him this certainly would.

Immerse in his thoughts he missed the sound of your steps approaching the door, you opened it before he could make a move.

“Da.. Daryl?!” your eyes widened at him. — “What are you doing here?!”

The shock of having you suddenly so close left him flabbergasted, he remained silent feeling the lump on his throat getting bigger, words couldn't physically come out of his mouth.

Your eyes scanned him, you knew Daryl and the only reason he would come back was if he was dangerously injured.

His skin looked pale, and the bags under his eyes were starting to have a purple look but what really concerned you, was the swollen massive cut across his right eye.

You brought your hand towards his forehead, he was burning.

“Oh my god! Come in, come in." — " We need to take care of that, it’s already infected” you rushed him in as fast as you could.

Daryl nodded, still unable to talk.

Sitting on the stretcher Daryl watched your trained hands hurriedly clean up his wound, the smell of your sweet perfume captivated his nostrils every time you leaned over to apply some ointment. He hummed inwardly with delight, even as you were trying to be really careful to not hurt him further, he couldn't feel a thing, his mind was consumed in the sensation of your delicate touch.

“Here, you need to take one in the morning before eating, make sure to have something in your stomach, please” you softly said while giving him a bottle of pills.

“Ya sure don't need this?” guilt pang him, he was strong, two pills would do the trick, he didn't need more.

“Don't fight me, please?, I know what I’m doing” you scolded him tittling your head.

“Yeah, I know” Daryl’s voice came out almost in a whisper.

The tension in the air was palpable, filled with a thousand emotions. There was so much history between the two of you, even if you weren't together now, both of you knew you would always love and care for each other to the end.

Your heart was pounding so hard you were afraid you’d faint right there. You knew you would see Daryl again, sure, but not like this, not after Siddiq just left. 

It took a long time before you could feel like yourself again, days and sleepless nights wondering for years why you weren't enough. Sometimes you would go outside the gates of Alexandria determined to search for him and talk, beg for him to take you back, to love you again. But his words rang loud in your head whenever you approached near the river “It means ya need to move on like I did”.

“M’ sorry” Daryl broke the cruel silence. “I didn't knew”

You closed your eyes, facing the window, unable to look at his face. It was crazy how deep down the feelings you had for him still burned like fire, hearing the sound of his voice made your heart race, attempting to jump out of your chest.

“Are ya happy?” Daryl continued, standing from the stretcher walking over to you. — “I need to know”.

You were happy indeed. Siddiq brought something different in you, a version you enjoyed. His love was calm, easy, steady, exactly what you needed after so much time alone feeling pity for yourself. A breath of fresh air for your drowning soul. 

Sure, it wasn't the fervent passionate love you felt for Daryl, but it was enough to make you happy.

“I am” you simply answered. “And I hope you found the peace you were looking for”.

Daryl nodded, trying to keep himself together. He was truly glad you were happy but the sorrow he felt knowing he wasn't the reason behind overwhelmed him. 

He couldn't blame you. You fought hard for many years to be close to him but the grief blinded him until it was too late. He told you to move on, so you did. It wasn't that hard to understand.

“Thank ya for the medicine and everythin’, angel.” he managed to answer.

Your head buzzed at those words, it took all of your strength to not run into his arms.

“Daryl, I…” you mumbled, hugging yourself afraid of falling apart into pieces. 

Wishing he was a better man, Daryl walked towards the door crushed by the reality he was facing. He raised his eyes to yours for one last time.

“My heart will always belong to ya.” Daryl pronounced before crossing the frame of the front door, landing every word right inside your aching heart.

You watched him leave wondering if you were making a mistake, but fully aware that right now, there was nothing you could do.

[pictureinme]

Fic idea: reader takes kitten out on a picnic for her birthday or their anniversary and treats her the way she deserves to be treated and like reader gives her all these cute gifts and treats and it's just a cute moment

thank u so much for this request !!! i felt so inspired by this ;-; it may be a bit more than you expected !

autumn breeze

patricia ‘kitten’ braden x f!reader word count: ~1.2k tags: romantic fluff, established relationship, marriage proposal, kitten appreciation hour is in full effect

(ao3)

Kitten walks blindly through the park, unaware of just how beautiful the falling leaves look across the grass. You’re guiding her through winding paths, all the way to a secret spot you paid the caretaker off to leave undisturbed.

Her outfit was as beautiful as ever, and the only criteria you gave her was to dress for the season. While she giggles incessantly, you take it in: a roomy brown sweater which nearly enveloped her hands, tucked into orange corduroy flares, paired with brown mule heels.

You uncover Kitten’s eyes, revealing the surprise she has been anticipating for a week now. Her eyes darted quickly, taking in the set-up before her: a yellow gingham blanket, and atop it was an overflowing picnic basket. She could only imagine what else could be awaiting her, but she could definitely see a familiar wine bottle and accompanying glasses.

“Oh, darling…” Kitten’s hand comes to cover her agape mouth.

You grin, hugging her tightly from behind, “Happy anniversary, my love.”

“Even bought my favorite wine…” She spins around, and her hands come to rest on your shoulders. Her eyes are sparkling, hints of tears threatening to spill. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

“Don’t thank me just yet!” You guide her down to the blanket, kicking off your flats before sitting. “You haven’t even seen the records I brought.”

Kitten daintily takes off her heels, grinning almost maniacally as she kneels on the fabric, “Do tell!”

“I brought all of our favorites,” gesturing to the case against your hip, she notices you had the portable record player, as well as your book of 45s. “Goldsboro, Rubettes, Sweet… even some Stevie!”

You rifle through the binder, and pull out your Bobby Goldsboro “Honey/Danny” single– something you bought for Kitten on your second date. She glowed when she unwrapped it, revealing the orange magenta label with her favorite song’s title plastered onto it.

Kitten holds the record carefully as you set up the portable player, its wood grain stark against the gingham, a holdover from your parents’ generation. She places the disc onto the center spindle, and you place the needle. The sweet, sweet sounds of adult contemporary fill the space.

The warmth of the afternoon lay dappled on the ground, wrapping the two of you in something like a yellow aura. Kitten’s nails were adorned with an orange polish, with delicate flowers– painted by you– in white. Her hand is on top of your own, and you bathe in the feeling of contentment. The autumnal breeze was cool, but welcome.

From her reclined position on the blanket, she hums, “We should probably eat before whatever it is goes stale, hm?”

“Perhaps,” you groan as you move from your own lounging, “You do tend to be the voice of reason.”

You shuffle towards the picnic basket, and hand her the bottle as well as the glasses. Opening it further reveals to Kitten the true lengths you went to for this event: cucumber sandwiches, various berries, cheeses, and crackers, and even more she couldn’t see.

“Goodness, you pulled out all of the stops, didn't you, dear?”

Laughing slightly, you take the bottle back from her and pop the cork, “I’d pull the stars from the sky if it could make you happy, my love.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes as you pour the Sauvignon blanc into her awaiting glass, “Oh, such a poet you are.”

You pour your own glass as she takes out the sandwiches and charcuterie set-up. Kitten splits the sandwich triangles between the two of you.

“Thank you, my love,” Kitten bites into her sandwich, careful not to smudge her meticulously painted lips, “Truly.”

“It’s our third anniversary, and you always do so much for me,” you pop a cube of chèvre into your awaiting mouth, “You deserve so much more than this, Kitten.”

Cocking her head, she hums, “Well, you’ve certainly outdone yourself! Can’t remember the last time we could do something so romantic together in public…”

You bite your lip slightly as her lidded eyes meet yours, “Me neither, I had to bargain for this spot, you know. Sold all our assets away!”

“Shame, I was just about to blow it all at the slots tomorrow night with Charlie.”

“And you weren’t going to invite moi?” You hold your heart in faux offense, “Now I don’t feel so bad about auctioning off your precious silk slips.”

“You did not!”

Laughter erupted from your throat, “Dear, I would never do such a thing! You really must pick up a book on sarcasm.”

Rolling her eyes yet again, Kitten smiles as she tosses a blueberry in her mouth, “Silly, silly girl. On our special day, too.”

You grin widely, and the pair of you continue to eat away at your borderline rabbit food and white wine. The way her head is thrown back after a particularly raunchy joke you made, or how her blonde curls bounce when she’s truly excited, you couldn’t get enough of it.

The two of you make it through almost all of the records before you decide to reveal the true surprise of the afternoon.

“Doll, could you check the basket for me?” You coyly ask, busying yourself with cleaning the stray napkins and empty berry containers. “I’m sure I forgot something.”

She cocks an eyebrow, “You, forgetting something? Believe it when I see it, love.”

You watch as she leans over the picnic basket, moving her locks from her eye-line to properly check. As she investigates, you feel your heart begin to race. What if she said no, what if–

“(Y/N)!” Kitten practically shrieks when she finds the so-called missing item. “Is this what I think it is?”

She moves back to sit in front of you, an expression of pure joy written all over her face.

“Patricia ‘Kitten’ Braden, saint of my heart… will you marry me?”

Her hand was held open to reveal a golden ring, within the center was an oval diamond cushioned by two smaller ones.

“Oh, God, yes, yes!”

Before your hand reaches to slip the ring onto her finger, she’s caught your lips in a kiss that would’ve knocked off your feet, had you been standing. You could feel her heart beating out of her chest, and you raise a hand to cup her cheek.

“I love you more than anything in the universe, my Kitten. I know it may not be easy, getting married and all, but–”

Kitten shakes her head slightly, a tear falling from her eye, “Don’t say such things right now, we’ll be okay.”

Nodding, you smile through what you realize are your own tears, and take the ring from her still outstretched hand. You hold her left hand in yours, and slowly slip the delicate ring onto her finger. Her breath hitches, and so does yours.

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming, darling,” the desperation in her eyes made that knot in your throat hurt so much more.

“Far from it,” you kiss her sweetly on her plush lips, “This is as real as it gets.”

[celeluwhenfics]

Snippet Saturday

I got a snippet! I got a snippet! For pHORSEuasion! Finally! (Excited dance of a slow writer who doesn't often have new material!)

It's the start of the third and final scene of chapter 2.

Rowena sat alone with Théoden. It was a cold and dreary day; the pale fire in the hearth did little to blunt the chill of the vast, damp hall. A clattering of jackdaws cawed on the roof, answering the creaks wrung out of the massive beams of Meduseld by a strong wind that had blown incessantly since the morning.

Lady Éowyn had been all too happy to leave as soon as Rowena had appeared to take her watch, when the bells of noon were heard. Lady Bréda had stayed with her a few moments, enjoying having a sympathetic audience for her gossips and imaginations, but before long, she had also taken her leave to attend to a litter of new puppies born to Théodred’s pack.

The king’s initial wariness of Rowena had waned somewhat. The day before, during the first hours of her long watch, he had growled and scowled at her with unabated defiance. But gradually, he had lent an ear to her soft songs. He let her approach his throne, then touch him, and at last he had accepted food and drink from her hand. She observed his symptoms and attended to his comfort, passing time with the preparation of herbs and sewing. Every so often she filled the quiet with inconsequential remarks, for the comfort of hearing a friendly voice, even if it was only her own.

(...)

Théoden moaned. Rowena set her work aside to pull another fur onto his lap, and she looked up into his pale grey eyes. They appeared veiled and empty; their stare made her shiver. Reining in her uneasiness, she smiled at him and rose the cup of infused herbs to his lips. He took a few sips and blinked. She retreated to her seat, speaking gentle words and keeping a watchful eye on her patient. After a moment, reassured by his calm and regular breathing, she eased down. She picked up her thread and needle and sank again in her musings.

Éowyn had repeatedly rejected openings for intimate conversation; yet Rowena had distinctly felt that behind her cold, impregnable facade, the lady concealed a pain that she would not tell. A thought briefly crossed Rowena’s mind, that perhaps Théodred had called her to the capital not only to care for the king, but also with the veiled hope that she could comfort his overburdened cousin. But much as she knew about tending bodily ailments, none of the skills her mother had taught her held any power to relieve a hurting, desperate heart, all the more one that remained closed to her.

Suddenly, Théoden straightened up and his features animated, as though an unheard voice had called him to attention. His hands convulsed on his knees and his teeth clattered oddly. Alerted, Rowena looked round the hall, but it appeared empty, and straining her ear, she heard nothing but the gale and the hoarse cries of the birds. The king smiled with the most chilling, unnatural expression; an evil flicker lit up his eyes. Between the pillars of a dark side aisle, a shape stirred.

Tagging @sotwk, @emmanuellececchi, @dreambigdreamz, @dilettantefeminist, @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras if you haven't played yet and you want to, and whoever wants to show something!

[pursuitseternal]

Lose yourself “In the Monster’s Shadow” with this highly nsfw update [mind the tags]

Ascended Astarion x Shadowheart | Explicit | 3K

Summary: He may look the same, but Shadowheart knows the monster that lies beneath those simple camp clothes. A monster that comes to play his twisted games, gloves and whip in his hands.

CW: Dub!con, BDSM, whips, taunting, degradation, cruel Ascended behavior, cruel Sharran behavior, Dom!Astarion, Sub!Shadowheart.

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

NSFW surprise below the cut from @marimosalad 🩸🩸. Bless you

Chapter Two…

🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤

Time passed slowly, but Shadowheart began to learn his ways. The moment she said anything, it was provided for. She had but to ask, and it was hers. Food appeared and disappeared. A place to sleep— a pile of blankets and pillows not unlike the ones from camp… so long ago… or not truly all that long ago. Even a stack of books when she began to grow bored of the clean stone walls.

It had been perhaps two days, maybe more, given the frequency of her hunger and sleep. But she knew he would not leave her alone for long.

Not once a pitcher of warm water and a bar of fragrant soap appeared. The implication was clear. And she shuddered to think of his reasons for wishing her to bathe.

A groan echoed in her cell, begrudging and annoyed, but she did it anyway against her better judgment. Unable to stand the feeling of dirt-covered skin any longer. Of course, she scanned the shadows again before stripping off her soiled shift. As if she would find him peering at her.

Not that he wanted her. That was clear. His words had been needling her, prodding her incessantly. Even if he kept her in relative comfort. So she tugged off the filthy fabric and began pouring and scrubbing, that scent of soft florals warming her. Dulling the rest of the water over her hair, she turned, a towel suddenly waiting for her on a chair, which she eagerly used to wrap around her naked form.

“No clothes?” she chuffed, annoyed as she reached for where she had tossed her old shift aside.

But it was gone.

“You have got to be joking,” she hissed to the shadows. Her hands wrapped that towel around her even tighter, her body shivering despite the heat in her cell.

“I am not one for making jokes during our sessions, princess…”

“Ah,” Shadowheart chimed with harsh confidence, “I knew you wouldn’t be prowling too far behind.”

She turned and froze. The man behind her, standing just inside the door, was like a vision from before. Same faded linen, ruffled shirt. Same tightly trimmed breeches that clung to his thighs. As if he hadn’t killed his way into unlimited power, as if he couldn’t melt into the darkness as mist, or ascended to the position of most powerful vampire lord in all the realms. The only difference was the soft kid gloves, black as night, cloaking his dexterous hands.

“Glad to see you’ve indulged in my trivial hospitalities,” he purred, crimson eyes darting over the remains of her washing. Another snap of his fingers, and it all vanished into the mists he conjured. “I’m afraid, however, additional treats and favors will need to be earned, princess. You’ll have to work for your keep, darling.”

“And just how do you envision I do that, Astarion?” she jutted her chin and crossed her arms over her breasts, barely covered by his thin towel, the perfect picture of defiance.

Or at least a delicious attempt, he thought.

“Master,” he corrected instantly. “You will call me Master. Not Astarion, not friend… not vampire or rogue or darling or dear…” A single one of his dark silver brows arched. “Master.”

“I’m not going to do that, Astarion.” She snipped in reply, shaking her head so haughtily.

Oh, she was going to be fun to break. He grinned, a tilt to his head.

“Rule number one: I am your master, and you will obey me in all things. You will always reply to me, Yes, Master or No, Master…”

“I’m not doing that….”

He twisted his hands, fingers twirling in the air. A rush of warm wind swirled around her, commanding her body as if she were a puppet. A marionette. A plaything for the Ascendant. Chains fell back from the dungeon’s ceiling, wrapping around her wrists “Rule number two: as your Master, it is my responsibility to see you provided for, your needs met, your safety ensured. As my Vassal, you will come to know pleasure and pain far greater than you have ever known… so long as you tell me the truth. You will make yourself available for my every desire and satisfaction, once you have learned your place…” He flashed his fangs, folding his arms and mimicking her stance flawlessly. “…Eventually.”

“That Ascendant power has clearly addled your smooth brain, poor thing,” she tugged against her chains again. “Especially if you think I’m going to give you anything. Most especially the truth.”

“You will, in time…” he purred, beckoning her body forward from the wall two steps closer to where he stood. “You forget, I know you… I haven’t always been a monster in your eyes, darling.”

She began fuming, chest heaving, towel slipping from how she had tucked it tightly.

“We have… history, Shadowheart. So much passion and tension shared, matters of life and death that have bound us forever.” He drew a step closer, two fingers tucking into the top of that wrap, a single pull and it fluttered to her feet. His eyes scanned down her fair skin, watching as her full breasts swayed when she tugged against her restraints, the way those rosy nipples of hers harden into little peaks. “You know I am speaking truth, so now it’s your turn,” he hissed, “why are you here, princess?”

Silence. Just more ragged breaths that made her bosom heave.

“Perhaps you need some… convincing, some enticement or a reminder of how much we have shared….” That grin that twisted his face as he spoke made her stomach knot funny, as did the way his eyes kept flickering their crimson gaze over her every exposed inch. “Perhaps the words, ‘Stand and face the wall and we can begin,’ will pique your memories….”

She didn’t need a tadpole to have the memories flash in her brain… the Goblin Camp… her friend, his lover, and her cries of delighted pain… the way the priest of Loviatar made such pretty music come from her lips.

She recalled wishing to be in either place, her body humming to hold the mace or to receive it… to bleed and shiver with pain or to make …her… do the same. Memories alone made her skin turn to pinpricks and shivers race in pleasure. “You're going to make me cry out to Loviatar like she did… your lover…”

His face tightened, the sharp edges of his cheeks and his jaw somehow growing more angled and shadowed. “Oh no, princess, you’ll be crying out to me… dear one.”

Magic swept her around, the ice cold touch moving her body, making her turn, splaying her hands against the wall, bending her body forward to stick the swell of her ass out. But then it eased. A test. To see if she would fight against it or play… if she were up for his test. But she was stronger, she would beat him at his own games. She craned her neck to watch his shadow move across the ground, the sting of magic brushed her skin, the same that came the every apparition of objects. Summoning whatever… materials…that he required to execute his plan. “Looking for the right mace, Astarion? Bet you tried to pinch that one from the Goblin Camp, probably licked it clean of your lover's blood before…”

A resounding crack to her right side silenced her. Her tongue never fell so silent so fast.

“Do you want to keep busying that mouth of yours with insolence… or are you going to start telling me why you let yourself get caught… or would you rather just start mewling and screaming?” She heard him give a little groan, his arousal so clear in the way it caressed his throat. “Because I’m fine with either of the last two… maybe that final option would be my preference, darling.”

She hissed as another crack of that whip sounded on the other side of her head, so close, she could feel the air rush down her neck.

“Unless you want to do this all another way…” he purred. Suddenly, his body drew close. Too close. “Unless you start begging me to let you come somewhere…”

He paused.

“Where?” She pressed back with her words, even if she couldn’t resist with her body. “Where would you have me come?”

A single gloved finger trailed down her spine, agonizingly slow as the supple leather danced a straight line lower. “Oh….” He hummed right beside her, behind her. “On my fingers, on my tongue…. On my cock, once you’ve earned it…”

A shiver raced with fury down her back, following his singular touch until it pooled in her belly. “Godsdamn it,” she snapped as she hung her head, hearing his low throated laugh as he felt her delicious reaction.

“You can forget all your gods now, even Shar. They won’t help you in here,” he growled, lifting his touch from her skin.

Already part of her missed it, his touch, and it burned her cheeks with shame.

“I prayed to every one, for two hundred years. Not one saved me. So I know, Princess, your prayers fall on deaf ears here, at least.” She could hear the leather handle of the whip creak in his grip. His breath was loud, rasping in his throat as he shifted over the stone floor.

“Nervous, vampire?” she tested, starting to look over her shoulder.

A crack split the air, the whip kissing her skin, striking the swell of her ass check.

“You will address me properly, I am your master now.” He hissed, letting the whip dance back quickly before he let another snap ring hollow in the air above her back.

Shadowheart groaned and flinched. A groan not wholly in fear, that rumble of need lacing her voice.

“Now, tell your master, what were you seeking coming here?” He let the whip drag over the stones, just the slightest abrasive sound out of her sight. “Coming to drive a stake through my Ascendant ribs? Come to drop a bit of Drow poison in my Ithbank, hoping it weakens me first?”

“What about why you keep me instead of killing me?” Shadowheart spat in return. “You wish your loneliness was so easily ended, don’t you, Astarion?” she hissed, finally casting the corner of her eye to glance behind her. She watched her words hit home, making his head jolt as if struck. His lips curled in a feral sneer, fangs glinting in the fiery light. “Just so lonely since she left you, unbearable isn’t it?”

“Shut up!” he roared, letting the whip crack back and forth to split her other ass cheek again. “You insolent, incorrigible slut. Just saying things to rouse my temper so you get the pain you crave…”

Shadowheart just laughed, pain stinging over her backside from the few lashes she had endured. “Perhaps you haven’t forgotten about me, then. Perhaps your eyes weren’t for your beloved you kept on a tight leash for all those weeks until she tired of you…”

“How fortunate for us, then,” he snarled through his teeth, agitation rippling through his frame, clawing behind his controlled stance. “If she hadn’t left me, I wouldn’t have the delight of marking your soft and supple curves. She never was quite so soft or quite so yielding. But your flesh, little Sharran, it pillows beneath each lash…”

The whip whistled to land on the back of her thighs.

“…it blushes like the petals of a bud with each lick…”

Another lash, smack over the center of her ass, making her legs clench and fly apart to chase away the pain.

“… it buckles and gives so deliciously to every drive I make into you.”

One more lick, the leathered tip of his whip drove as he said into her flesh, breaking into the little opening she had accidentally left between her thighs. Striking into the cleft of her legs, stinging the entrance of her channel with perfect aim.

Her voice screamed, her throat scratching as she cried the instant his whip kissed between her folds. A gush of arousal dripped from the intrusion, trickling down her legs even as she braced her head against the wall. “Trying to draw blood so you can sate your hunger?” Shadowheart snapped back, unable to hide how her voice shook in pain, how her body trembled in pleasure.

She heard the drag of the little leather strap on the ground, the falling of his feet intentionally loud enough for her ears. His gloved hand fisted around her braid, tugging her head up and turning to meet his eyes. His eyes burned like coals, dying embers of scarlet for eyes. Fangs bared as he scowled, keeping a distance, only touching her to lift her head. Enraged, controlled, simmering arousal mixed with hatred. His voice seared like magma, the faintest bubbles of rage in its velvety tone. “Oh, little cleric, there is so much more to hunger for than blood. For me… and for you. You’re going to be begging me for release by the end, craving a little death… and I don’t mean your freedom or your demise.”

His hand relinquished her braid, letting her head hang between her outstretched arms.

“You are a monster, Astarion,” she hissed, flinching even as his words coiled hot and oily like a snake in her belly.

“A vampire? Why yes, I suppose most would agree with that assessment of my monstrous qualities, thank you for the wisdom, Princess ....” He drew back a single step, so close now, she could hear how his dexterous fingers squeaked their gloves on the handle of his weapon, how his breath caught as he drew his arm back for another lash. The little grunt he made as his arm swept forward echoed in her ear. She groaned as she felt the tail split her skin, the warmth of her blood trickling from the line he had made on the inside of her thigh.

“I’m looking for honesty, not wisdom,” he growled as he skated his arm back for another blow. “And now that scent of your blood has filled this monster’s nose, do you wish to offer your master what seeks? Or will you deny me and be left wanting, little Sharran?”

“I’d say ‘Go to the hells,’ but I’m pretty sure you’re already there, Astarion…” she forced her voice to laugh, forced her head to meet his gaze sidelong.

“Fine,” he snarled. “If all you see is the monster you think I’ve become, I can be that… and worse…” He lashed her with all his force, an equal stripe now up her other thigh. A matching slash, pouring out just as much of her blood now.

“Ah!” She cried, so loud her voice shook her own ears as it bounced off the wall before her face, her knees buckling at the racing slice of pain. She panted, she writhed. She wanted… more. “Is that all you’ve got, or has the luxury of your Ascendant life made you soft, Astarion?”

“It has given me the taste for the finest things in life,” he hissed, the handle of his whip clattering to the ground. Her hips ached from bending over, her wrists stung from where they bent back by magic. The lashes across her ass and legs burned with all the fury he unleashed. But it all muddled into a giant swell in her belly as she felt the soft leather of his gloves caress up the backs of her thighs.

Stealthy as ever, he had snuck behind her, kneeling on the cold stones beneath her. His touch was gentle, the softness of the leather warmed by his skin beneath. She had forgotten that his heart beat again, his flesh almost passing for living. A groan leaked from her throat as he passed his touch through the trail of her slick and blood. Seeing nothing, she could only shake in place as his fingers withdrew, the sound of them being sucked, popped from between his fervent lips spiking another shiver down her neck.

Her stomach swirled, hips cocking further out against her will. Like a doe presenting in heat, she hated it. And loved it.

A small chuckle made her buck, the only warning she got before his tongue lapped through that running mix of blood and arousal.

Just the once, he licked her. Licked her just enough to make her moan, like some.. wild animal.

“Guess we aren’t so different from the monsters we always were, darling. You still crave the pain, a way to lose yourself, to find your meaning. And I…” he raised to his feet and stood back, a flick of his wrist releasing her from the magic that tethered her to the wall, “…I still crave the power, the hunger to feed and take, the taste of living blood and the riveting company that it often affords.” He stood, legs splayed, arms crossed. A trickle of her blood at the corner of his mouth, a smear of it on the cream linen of his shirt, a stain of stark violence against its clean background. His face smiled softly, head tilted in that way of his that sent his silver curls to shift to one side.

Rakish. And handsome.

“Get yourself decent,” he added, much colder and commanding. “Next time, you’ll get more if you give me that which I seek…”

“Which is?” Shadowheart panted, rubbing her wrists from the tingle of magic, unaware of how her heavy breathing made her full breasts sway, her soft little belly flexing as it rose and fell…

“Honesty, as I have said. I want to know your purpose, and once I know that…” he cocked his head to the other side, his fingers flicking in the air as a gesture of lazy interest, “then this may be all the more rewarding for you… for us.”

Without allowing her another word, he turned in his heel and vanished into mist.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

[t3nets]

         ♱   𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗜 : 𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗗 𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗦 . 

  ❝   𝐢   𝐚𝐦   𝐧𝐨𝐭   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬   𝐢𝐯𝐞   𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞.  

                        𝐧𝐨𝐫   𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬   𝐢   𝐚𝐦   𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭   𝐭𝐨   𝐝𝐨.   ❞

time.   𝗮   𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁   𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁   𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘀   𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵   𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲   𝗼𝗳   𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲   𝘄𝗵𝗼   𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗱   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆   𝗵𝗮𝗱   𝘀𝗼   𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵   𝗼𝗳   𝗶𝘁.   a   polluted   belief.   one   forgets   they   don't   have   the   privilege.   the   freedom   to   pave   a   future   without   qualm  to the past that nips incessantly at your heels.   doomed   to   fulfill   a   prophecy,   and   worse   that   its   by   your   own   choosing.  desired again, again, and again  even   with   bated   breaths.   the burn of lungs with no air   isn't a   foreign   feeling   but   one   embraced   with   familiarity.   an   antique   sensation   shelved   in   order   to   bring   life   to   something   new,   something   untouched  by    one   who   knew  only  how   to   crush   brittle   things   in   his palms.   knowing nothing else,   learning   how   to   use   such a gift   under   the   eyes   of   a superior.   he's   felt   them   looming   behind   him   like   an   apparition,   a   dog   once frozen in   slumber   across   the   room,   waking   him   in   the   middle   of   the   night.    sweat   trailing   down   his   back   as   it   watches   him   from   the   foot   of   his   bed,   licking   serrated   teeth,   waiting   for   the   bite   of   the   century.   let   loose   and   do   what   it   was   born   to   do.   bite,   rip   and   feast   on   the   remains   hanging   from   rubbery   lips.   even   as   greer   grimaces   and   lets   out   a   guttural   shout   when   he   awakens,   frosted skin sliding against the groove of an uneven ribcage,   the   blue   tips   of   his   fingers   dragging   off   the   snow   that's   made   home   at   the   edge   of   his   brow;  needles   biting   into   his   face   and   ripping   bruised   skin   further apart.   a   necessary   sacrifice   to   see   what's   ahead, vision obscured.   a   sprinkle   of   ice   lands   gently   on dark   lashes,   a   symphony   of   light   drenching   his   cheeks   in   what   warmth   could   be   afforded.   clothes   spared   on   massive   frame   grip onto   his   upper body as he shifts his weight,   a   breath   out   in   a   cloud   of   vapor,   wheezing   with the rush of brisk air.   a   second.   two.   then   three.   greer   aatkani is   gathering the strength to get up. and attempts this perilous feat with a hoarse whine, body protesting with the wet squelch of a shirt caked in blood.   greer is kneeling  in  front   of   the   lake,   gripping  left   arm   with   a   shaking  right  palm,   peering   out   into   vast   water.   fighting.   another   lucky   day,   depending   on   your   definition   of   it.   though   he   was   smarter   than   to   believe   this   was   an   act   of   mercy,   an   act   of   accreditation   for   all   the   years   he   had   put   in.   this   was   a   last warning.   whoever   had   been   watching   him   so   closely.   exposing  what   he   truly   was.   what   he   always   would   be. 

the   poster,   the   glances,   the   voices once coated in admiration replaced with complete distrust,   the   people   he   had   stupidly   fucking   surrounded   himself   with.   the   people   who   cared,   the   people   who   dared   to   near   a man   so   visibly   reeking   of   malicious   upbringing   and   poor   intentions.   greer had wondered   most   days,   if   he   was   an   imposter,   luring   his  next   victim   to   the   inferno   of   his   emotional   fucking   turmoil.   waking   up   everyday   with   the   knowledge   that   what   he   had   was un - fucking - deserved.   the   babygirl   that   still   slept   beside   him   at   nine   years   old;   on nights   she'd   been awoken   by   her   own   little   nightmares.   who   let   him   wrap   her   up   in   his   arms   like   he   earned   it, like he was nothing to be afraid of.   it was unfair.   the  little   hands   that splayed   over   his   chin,    chest   rising   with the   small   breaths   that   kept   such   a   tiny   heart   pumping.   he   thanks   it   every   night — her heart, for keeping her alive.    whispering   a   prayer   to   god   for   granting   him   something like this.   a   gravelly timbre   whispering back   that this   wouldn't   be   forever.   forever   could   be   taken   away   the moment   he'd   fall   in   too   deep,  get  too   comfortable   with   being   comfortable.   but fuck,   he   wanted   it   so   bad.   he   wanted   it all   so  fucking bad.   greer   aatkani,   a   lover   of   life,   of   people,   of   everything   the   world   had   to   offer.  even   if   it   was   selfishly  taken.   

𝘪'𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶,

𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦.

 there's   a   warmth   that   taps   his   chin   in   a   lulling   rhythm,   then   onto   the   pure   white   snow   below.   a   pool   of   blood   that   ebbs   from   his   skull   and   spills over   his   eye   sockets,   realizing   now   that   his   right   eye   served   him   no   purpose,   sealed   shut   by   the   bruise   that   swells   it.   no more running. no more hiding.   no amount of miles would   ever   be   enough.   he   would   never   be   enough.   another   body   in   the   snow,   another   number   lost   in   a   world   that   didn't   need   him   here.   except   her,   his   nour,   his   life.   a   beacon   of   light   and   hope,   a   sign   that   the   world   had   the chance   to   be   kind,   sweet,   and   as   soft   as   when   he   first   carried   her.   still, a stubborn child of a stubborn father. one who    refuses   to   go   silent   into   that   goodnight.   an  overachiever.   a   title   that  always made   his  wife   laugh, eye crinkling with pride.   an   echo pounding in his brain of   parents  that  would   urge   him   to   get   the   fuck   up.   continue for   the   one   person   that   needed   him   most.   a   selfish   act   of   succumbing   to   the   pain,   letting   the   plants   take   him,   fertilizing   themselves   with   a   rotting   corpse   that   amounted   to   nothing. 

𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙚,

𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚.

but   the   body   has   its   limits.   they   made  fucking  sure   of   that.   with   the   high   that   envelopes   the   fog   of   his   mind,   bleary   eyes   that   look   down   at   the   track   marks   on   the   inner   crease   of   his   elbow and  up   the   sporadic   trail   that ends   below   his   wrist,   a   painful   laugh   courses   through   his   system.   a   sadistic   play,   a   karmic   life   sentence   that   makes   greer   cough   up   the   ichor   that   leaks  from  his   innards.   has   half   a   mind   to   jump   into   the   freezing   water   ahead   and   let   it   cut off his lungs entirely.   fuck   it.   one   shot,   one   second   was   all   it'd   take.   a   narcissistic   prose   that   leaps   out   his   mind   as   soon   as   it   comes.   the crack   and   pop   of   a   singular   rib   bone   is   enough   to   have   him   curl   down   in   a  heavy   thump   of mass,   pain   shooting   so   quickly   through   his   veins   that   it   nearly sends   him into the unconscious. redcreek's  winter breeze  is  a  shrill cry  in  his  ears,  and   a  physical terror   to  the  flesh that's  bared  with  the  rise  of  his  shirt.  a beat. head tilted up toward the sky, lilting as spine molds into dirt. greer aatakni, just as he'd come into the world. and just as he was destined to leave it.

ALONE.