#lamb dinner ideas
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the idea of characters and lambs (even if lambs might not exist in other realms, it’s not about that but the contrast of animals purity and innocence clashing with violent characters)
shang tsung gently holding a lamb before setting it down to slaughter it in order to further his research and experiments.
ashrah striking quickly to save a lamb from a pack of wolves, but too late to save the lamb’s parents.
reiko looking at a lamb in the midst of the aftermath of a battle, the lamb lost and fumbling around dead bodies.
havik seeing a lamb cooped up in a pen and carrying it out of the pen.
mileena staring at a lamb, and a desire to feast on it itches at her, but she manages to contain her hunger.
kuai liang caring for a cold lamb by cradling it to offer it warmth.
johnny cage visiting a ranch and initially refusing to hold a lamb, until it was plopped into his arms and he couldn’t disturb it when it had fallen asleep in his arms.
raiden attempting to soothe a frightened lamb in the midst of a thunderstorm.
#reiko also prolly ended up killing that lamb and serving it up for dinner#also the idea of like. mk12 characters essentially being like babies considering it’s the first game of the new era and had that fresh slate#of innocence like lambs#but then innocence was washed away with violence tragedy betrayl struggle etc.#i’m sure they were all like lambs to liu kang#but none he wanted to slaughter#(titan) shang tsung however lmao. he’s killing all of them no remorse <3 liu can suffer for his amusement#talking;
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Roast Lamb With Garlic Rosemary and Japanese Spice
Looking for an interesting twist on your Easter lamb? Try adding garlic rosemary and Japanese spice to give your family an Easter dinner they'll never forget!
If you’re looking for a new twist on a roast lamb this Easter, then we have the recipe for you! After using za’atar for our Thanksgiving turkey last year, we gave our Easter lamb an exciting twist by adding some Japanese flavors. All of the ingredients for the Japanese spice should be easily found at your local Asian market! INGREDIENTS -5 lb boneless lamb leg -2 oz butter (melted and…
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#anosmia#anosmia recipes#delicious#easter#easter dinner#easter dinner ideas#easter ideas#food#garlic rosemary#garlic rosemary lamb#gluten free#japanese lamb#japanese spice#lamb#low carb#recipes#roast lamb#so good#the no nose kitchen#yummy
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SV fic where Luo Bingge discovers that Shen Jiu had a long-lost half-brother or something, and subsequently decides that he's going to infiltrate the minor sect which this "Shen Yuan" belongs to in order to get close to him and then indulge in revenge fantasy 2.0 when it inevitably turns out that Shen Yuan is like Shen Jiu (i.e. a horrible abusive scum teacher).
So Bingge uses some magical object or technique or other, makes himself look like a scrawny 12-14 year old, then puts himself in Shen Yuan's path in hopes of convincing the man to take him on as a disciple. The idea being that after Shen Yuan abuses him, Bingge will be justified in reenacting his Shen Qingqiu Revenge Arc again and maybe finally feeling some closure about the whole thing.
Yes, this is a very deranged plan. No, no one is going to tell the emperor of the three realms that. Bingge also wants it to be clear that this has nothing whatsoever to do with his recent escapade in an alternate universe, except that he was inspired to find Shen Jiu's relative as a consequence of that. But he's absolutely sure that this guy is going to turn out just as rotten as his brother, given the opportunity. That is definitely the only reason he is doing this!
Flash forward about four years. Bingge's retainers are begging on their knees for him to actually come back and do some administrative work. The harem is running itself at this point and they're all very terrified of the situation with Liu Mingyan and Sha Hualing (i.e. ruling with lesbian iron fists) and whatever the heck Ning Yingying is up to (no one is certain but it's something). The outer provinces are rebelling. Mobei Jun's somehow found another weird human surnamed Shang to cavort with, except this one is basically running admin for the entire northern kingdom now and no one's even sure if they're fucking or if it's some kind of mind control situation or what.
Bingge is annoyed. He doesn't have a good explanation for why a bunch of demon lords would be showing up on the doorstep of Tiny Cultivation Sect to beg him for anything. They're going to spoil his cover! And they're interrupting his schedule! It's already four o'clock and he hasn't started on Shizun's dinner yet! Shoo! Get lost!
Anyway, eventually some of his demon followers get desperate and dramatically kidnap him. Shen Yuan is horrified and grieved when it seems that his precious disciple, so like white lotus Luo Binghe from the novel, has been captured by demons. He tries to track the assailants down, but they've covered their tracks too well. In the end, there's only one path left to him to pursue: taking this matter to the protagonist!
Yes, the protagonist! Because the thing is, Shen Yuan noticed the similarities between his disciple and the book character he so admired. Not only that, but he did manage to glimpse Bingge one time from afar. It wasn't anywhere near to a real interaction, but it was enough for him to notice the strong resemblance between the protagonist and the mistreated little lamb who showed up at his doorstep. A resemblance for which there can only be one explanation:
Shen Yuan's disciple is one of Binghe's kids!
Yes, he had it figured out since fairly early on. Not only was there a resemblance, and not only were their dispositions quite similar, but also the boy showed a lot of signs of some demonic heritage. Shen Yuan was just working up to broaching the subject, partly because he had been trying to avoid any direct or even indirect interactions with the emperor, and partly because he... became somewhat reluctant to part ways with his student. Sue him! He got attached! And anyway, he knew how missing child plots usually went. There was probably someone in the harem who was out for his disciple's blood, and it wouldn't be safe to send him back into that mess until he was strong enough to look after himself.
But as is inevitable, the plot seems to have reclaimed Shen Yuan's student all on its own.
He just... needs to make sure that it isn't a tragic outcome. It seems it falls on him to make the emperor aware of his son's survival, and subsequent peril, and help launch a rescue!
Which also means approaching Luo Binghe in person, which he knows is very risky indeed, due to his connection to the infamous Shen Qingqiu! He'd been avoiding the protagonist at all costs for that exact reason.
But if it's his only hope of rescuing his disciple, he will simply have to take the risk, and hope that enough time has passed that Luo Binghe doesn't read too much into a shared surname and a passing resemblance. Or that restoring the emperor's long-lost son to him will be worth seem lenience for the crime of being connected to Shen Qingqiu. Maybe if he's lucky, he will even be allowed to continue visiting his disciple! (Ha, yeah right! More likely, Luo Binghe's going to take his head for hiding his own kid from him for so long!)
Anyway, cue Luo Bingge running around swapping between his Emperor and Disciple forms, dramatically trying to orchestrate a situation where he can fake the emperor's death and go back to the sect with Shizun as his disciple, or something, only for it all to blow up in his face because Shen Yuan keeps flinging himself between Bingge and potentially fatal threats that could plausibly kill him???
#bingqiu#svsss#scum villain's self saving system#bingyuan#scum villain#long post#shen yuan: no way can binghe die like this I'm getting to the bottom of this mystery#luo binghe just trying to fake his death so he can go live his best housewife life: no he's dead it's fine let's just go please c'mon#it all probably turns out#like shen yuan's going to figure it out and then pretty much immediately forgive him once he recovers
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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Matchmaking Buns: Part Two
Part One
What the bunnies look like
The evening of the promised dinner comes faster than you’d anticipated. With every passing minute, you flit from one end of the house to the other, adjusting pillows, checking on the simmering dishes, and shooing your furry “helpers” out of the kitchen for what feels like the hundredth time even if they thump at you. Between binkying across the living room, flopping lazily on the rug right on your path, and trying to sneak nibbles of any available furniture, your bunnies are in top form, thriving in their role as resident chaos agents.
Finally, the doorbell rings. You wipe your palms on your jeans, take a deep breath, and open the door, immediately greeted by four towering figures who seem somehow even more imposing in their casual clothes. Johnny’s already grinning, Kyle’s soft smile is reassuring, Price has a hint of amusement in his eyes, and Simon—well, Simon is as inscrutable as ever, though his gaze lingers on you for just a beat longer than expected.
“Welcome! Come on in and, uh, make yourselves at home. You’ll be sharing the space with the true homeowners, of course,” you say, gesturing toward the four bundles of fluff darting around underfoot, raising their heads in curiosity. “Don’t worry, they’ll give up the prime seats… eventually.”
Price chuckles, stepping into the living room as your spotted holland lop scurries past his feet. “I was almost expecting to see little bunny-sized chairs around here, the way you talk about them.”
“Careful, you’ll give her ideas!” Johnny laughs, watching as your grey Flemish giant noses around his ankle, clearly demanding a greeting. He squats down to give her a gentle scratch behind the ears, and she leans into his hand with that smug satisfaction only a beloved pet can have.
You usher everyone toward the dining table, where a spread of your best dishes awaits. You won't lie; you are extremely proud of what you'd prepared: a platter of roasted herb-crusted lamb, tender and drizzled with honey-balsamic, sits as the centerpiece. Nearby, creamy wild mushroom risotto with parmesan shavings, its earthy aroma irresistible. A vibrant salad of mixed greens, heirloom tomatoes, and crumbled goat cheese (it was a nightmare making this one with the way your bunnies were almost ready to paw-fight you for the greens). There’s also warm, crusty bread with rosemary-infused butter, and a golden vegetable gratin with layers of zucchini, squash, and potato, bubbling with creamy gruyere.
The smell of the food finally entices your bunnies to settle by your feet, eyeing the proceedings with their usual mix of suspicion and entitlement. Simon, catching sight of your mini-lop sniffing determinedly toward a bowl of the salad, picks up the bowl and sets it just out of reach with a faint smile- he has taken off the mask, and you have to tell yourself not to stare too much at how pretty he is.
“Thanks for sparing me from his wrath,” you say, laughing, after clearing your throat. “He’s usually the one ringleading all their mischief.”
The meal kicks off in earnest, and you’re surprised by how quickly everyone relaxes, including you. Price sets a warm tone, regailing you with stories while Johnny occasionally jumps in, keeping everyone laughing and chuckling. Kyle is quieter but genuinely interested, asking about the bunnies, your garden, even your job. Every now and then, you catch him sneaking tiny bites to one of your rabbits, who’s stationed at his feet, looking particularly pleased with itself.
“Looks like they’ve already trained you all,” you joke, nudging Kyle’s elbow as he hands over a piece of carrot to your flemish giant. You've been keeping an eye on them, ensuring he doesn't give them too much.
He grins back, his eyes twinkling. “Guess it’s hard to resist them when they give you those eyes, yeah?”
You sigh, directing a mock glare at your rabbits, who blink innocently back. “Tell me about it. They know exactly what they’re doing.”
As the meal goes on, you feel a shift in the atmosphere- an easiness and familiarity you hadn’t expected to find so soon. Simon is quiet, but every so often, you catch his gaze resting on you, his expression thoughtful, almost… fond. You’re not entirely sure how to read it, but each time, you feel a flutter of warmth. Price seems equally at ease, laughing and sharing stories that, more than once, have you all leaning in closer. Even Johnny, whose teasing often has you blushing, seems oddly protective, always ready to interject if you look the slightest bit uncomfortable.
Finally, as the dishes are cleared and the bunnies settle into a post-feast nap near your feet, you sigh contentedly, leaning back with a soft smile. “Thank you guys again, seriously. That rescue was above and beyond. I owe you all big time.”
Simon, who’s been absently petting your mini-lop, looks up, his gaze steady but warm. “Just watch out for them next time, yeah? Or you’ll end up owing us another dinner.” There’s a subtle tease in his tone, a faint spark of humor that catches you off guard from a man like him.
You roll your eyes, laughing as you try to brush off the warm flutter in your chest. “I suppose that’s fair. But if you all had fun tonight, maybe we could make this a regular thing?” You don't know why you suggest it, but the second the words are out of your mouth you regret them. They won't accept, this was just a "thank you and sorry for the trouble" dinner and-
Johnny’s grin is immediate, stretching wide as he exchanges a glance with Price. “You dinnae have to ask us twice, lass,” he says, his accent rolling thick and smooth. There’s a softness in his expression, a warmth that makes your cheeks flush. He winks, and you catch yourself stifling a giggle, relief blooming in your chest and making it easier for you to breathe.
After dessert (and showing them all the spots, nooks, and crannies you've made for your bunnies), they prepare to leave. Johnny gives your Flemish giant one last scratch behind her ear, and she rolls her head down to give his palm sweet little licks. Kyle leans down to scoop up your mini-lop, placing him gently back near the others, his fingers brushing yours for a moment too long. “You’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs, smiling as he watches your sleepy bunnies pile together. “It’s nice to see someone care so much.”
Flustered, you smile back, stammering a little. “Thanks… they’re, uh, a handful, but they’re my little family.”
Simon, who’s already by the door, pauses, his gaze on you softened by some unreadable emotion. “Just keep us in the loop if they escape again, yeah?”
Your heart skips at his tone, low and almost teasing. “I’ll make sure to notify the official rescue squad.” You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to hide your grin.
As they finally step out, John turns back to you. His eyes are crinkling at the corners, and he holds your hand up to kiss your knuckles. "Next time, we'll be the ones to take you out, luvie."
Not a request, but he is simply telling you. (Un)surprisingly it has you blushing and nodding.
You watch them head down the driveway then, and for a moment, you stand there, caught somewhere between disbelief and hope. There’s an undeniable warmth in your chest, a realization that maybe this isn’t just about the bunnies after all.
When you finally close the door and glance down, four sleepy bunny faces stare up at you, blinking in unison as if to say, “You’re welcome.” Shaking your head, you scoop up the nearest one, your toasty holland lop, kissing it on the top of its soft head.
“Thanks for the assist, you little terrors,” you whisper, grinning. “Now I have a dinner to look forward to. Perfect.”
#cod#cod x reader#cod x you#noona.posts#tf 141 x reader#tf 141#tf 141 x you#cod imagines#john price x reader#poly!141 x reader#poly 141#poly 141 x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#soap x reader#soap x you#gaz x reader#gaz x you#johnny soap mctavish x reader#kyle gaz garrick x you#kyle gaz garrick x reader#johnny soap mactavish#cod imagine#noona.writes
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regular/modern!human x true form sukuna boyfriend headcanons for fun <3 mainly for my pookie @kasukuna bc that's who i think of when i think of bf!sukuna
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sees that men get their lovers cute things like flowers and chocolate and thinks its overrated. sukuna realises he needs to up his game with a romantic gesture, and thinks its cool to carve your name into a tree with his claws. you catch him picking bark from out under his dark nails.
saw that you made smoothies in the morning with breakfast and waited till you left the house to try it for himself (he always said he didn't care for them but he just doesn't want to admit). sukuna threw together a ripe banana, a loaf of bread and a whole METAL can of tuna and turned the blender on. you came home to a broken, smoking blender and a gross, banana-covered king of curses who acted like this was your fault.
no table manners, sorry. you think that the happiest you've ever seen sukuna is when you're back with the groceries and there's a raw leg of lamb wrapped up in butcher's paper. delights in the idea of a rare cooked steak, but prefers to eat them bloody.
if you study (say you're in college or university) he claims he doesn't give a flying fuck about what you learn, and doesn't understand the concept of degrees. he wonders why people just aren't allowed to practice their trade, and why they need a piece of paper first. but when you're not around, he reads through your textbooks and quotes them to you afterwards. but sukuna pretends he just already knew all that shit anyway.
absolutely no patience in the morning for lazying around. you figure a big, massive being like himself can sleep through sunrise. but he's got unblinking, freaky eyes and when you crack open your eyelids in the morning, he's already looking down at you, demanding that you get up and not waste your day. at first, you worry that he just doesn't even sleep. you need not worry about that, he can knock himself flat out like an elephant that bathed in nyquil.
you asked him to help with dinner one day. kind of annoying how sukuna's very good at malicious noncompliance. you know that he is an expert in all things sharp and weapon-like, and a kitchen knife is no exception. and yet, he decides to use his long claws to cut the parsnip, slicing through them very slowly in a way that drags and creaks agains the chopping board.
sukuna rages over mario kart and rainbow. has grown oddly obsessed with the leaderboard and claims that he will vanquish the player titled 'sixeyes1989' that keeps calling him rude names online.
thinks siri is mocking him and sulks the entire day at this automated voice that seems to not understand what hes saying. you ask sukuna to gently release the grip he has on your phone before he shatters it. again.
you mentioned something about how sweet it is that your friend's boyfriend leaves her little cute notes with love affirmations on it. the next day, you find sweeping yet scrawled foreign symbols on peeled sticky notes. turns out that his version of cute love notes are ominous, medieval runes that are protection spells against curses.
does NOT play fair in games night. sukuna burned all the monopoly money when you charged him rent for mayfair. invents random words and claim they're from his era in scrabble, and he insists they count. almost set something on fire during go fish and ate the cards. has sat on a chessboard just so you wouldn't win.
#this is kind of piling on the ask reddit 'help i summoned the king of curses!' au <3#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna fluff#ryomen sukuna x reader#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk headcanons#sukuna#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#works#daphworks
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The Lion's Lamb - Chapter 7 - MV1/33
Max Verstappen x reader
The Lion's Lamb Series: Aesthetics, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.8, Ch.9
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Over the next few days, the two would meet up casually, either to get coffee at the cafe they met at, going for walks, and even getting casual dinners together.
Their conversations usually surround you, about your life, dreams, and aspirations.
Whenever the conversation switched over to Max, mainly about his line of work, he would always quickly change the subject.
You thought it was odd, but figured it wasn't something he wanted to talk about and he'd open up when he wanted to.
It was Friday evening and sadly Max was pushed into a boys nights with his friends, leaving you to figure out what to do for the night.
You knew Max had told you to text him if you needed him, but you didn't want to bug him, especially if he was around his friends.
You didn't want to be the type of girl that would continuously blow up a man's phone while he was out.
It was around 8pm when Amelia came storming into your room, "you're coming out with me tonight."
"Why do I have to go out?" You asked.
"Well I can't go alone," Amelia said dramatically, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Cant you go out with your friends? I really don't feel like going out tonight."
"You have too! Who knows what will happen to a young, pretty girl like me all alone at a club!"
You bit your lip while nodding your head slowly, feeling guilty if you left Amelia to go out alone and something were to happen to her.
"Great!" We leave at 10:30," Amelia said smugly before happily leaving the room.
By 10:45, the two girls had arrived at the club. You're trying your best to keep close to your roommate as they made their way through the busiest club in Monaco to get to the bar.
It was true that Amelia wanted the girl to go out with her so she wouldn't be alone, but it wasn't the full truth.
She knew how pretty the you were, how your aura of innocence you projected attracted men like a moth to a flame.
You had no idea that your roommate was using you to attract men. You were playing the oblivious wing man.
After ordering both of the girls a drink, Amelia was quick to pull you out onto the dance floor before you could even think about protesting.
While your roommate started dancing, trying to attract men towards her while you sat there awkwardly taking small sips of your drink.
You were uncomfortable with the amount of people surrounding you causing you to feel claustrophobic.
They were on the dance floor long before two men found their way towards to the pair.
One was blonde with brown eyes, average built and height. The other was brunette with brown eyes so dark they could be mistaken for black. But this man was shorter then the other but slightly more built. They were both attractive looking, and just by looking at them, a person could tell they reeked of daddy's money.
While the blonde went over to Amelia and whispered something in her ear, the brunette stood there, staring at you. The look in his eyes made you nervous and intimidated the hell out of you.
"We're joining them at their table," Amelia interrupted before grabbing you by the hand and dragging you to the two men's booth.
Amelia is moving to sit next to the blonde and the brunette coming to sit next to you, uncomfortably close.
"I'm John," the man stated after an awkward amount of time passed with them just sitting in silence.
"(your name)," the girl responds softly, giving the man a small smile, trying to be polite.
The smirk that rested on John's face told the girl everything she needed to know. He knew he was an attractive man and used it to his advantage.
He knew that any girl at that club would be clawing to get his attention, yet he was intrigued on the one girl who didn't want it.
You continued to talk to him, making small talk because you didn't know any better.
You thought you were being polite and just trying to make it through the night. John took it for flirting.
Little did he know that the only person you were interested in was a blue eyed Dutchman.
"What is a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" John asks while slowing inching closer towards you, resting his arm behind you on the back of the booth.
"My roommate wanted me to come out with," you politely stated, deciding to ignore the compliment and keep it short.
Before John could continue, alcohol was brought to their table. John, his friend and Amelia all were taking shots, the man next to her talking at least 5 in a 30 minute period.
They asked the girl if she wanted some, but you declined, okay with sipping what was left of your original drink.
It didn't take long for John to make his move after that. Thought their conversation, he had scooted closer until his knees were touching her.
His arm behind your back, causing you to be slightly trapped when he leaned in and started to run his hand up your thigh.
"Why don't you and I get out of here baby," he whispered in her ear, his lips grazing her ear.
You quickly jumped back from your seat, trying to get out of his reach.
"No," you stated sharply, but fear filled your entire body. You turned to catch Amelia's eyes to try to signal to her for help, but she was too busy making out with John's friend.
"Come on sweetheart, you wouldn't be here dressed in that sexy little dress if you weren't trying to get someone attention," he said slowly moving closer again, like a predator stalking its prey.
In an instant, you stood up mumbling about having to go to the bathroom. you bolted to the toilets in hopes of escaping the situation.
Max had spent the evening hanging with his friends and playing videos games together.
He hadn't done it in a while since meeting you, but you insisted he hang out with his friends, thinking he never gets to see them because he travels so often.
He was glad he did it because he had time to relax a bit before their next race in Qatar next weekend.
He arrived home close to midnight, and immediately laid down in bed, ready for a good nights rest when his phone sudden rang.
Looking at the caller ID he couldn't help the smile that erupted across his face.
"Hello beautiful," he said gently.
"M-Max," he heard your weak stuttering voice through the phone.
"What's wrong?" He asked, sitting up immediately.
"I'm scared." Your broken words echoed through the phone, leaving an impact on his heart with those two words.
"I-I went out with Amelia, a-and this man started to put his h-hand up my dress and I'm scared."
"Where are you? I'll come and get you right now"
"I don't know," you say softly, "I've never been here before. I don't remember the name."
"Okay love, can you send me your location?" He spoke softly, not wanting to cause anymore fear or anxiety.
"Okay," you mumble.
Max looked at where you were at and luckily the club was only 5 minutes away from his apartment.
"Okay love, I'll be there in 10 minutes. Why don't you go wait outside in front so the bouncers can watch out for you."
"Okay," you stated quickly before hanging up.
The Dutchman quickly bolted towards his front door, scared out of his mind. In his line of work, fear wasn't an option.
If they have fear while driving, they wouldn't survive. For the first time in his life he actually felt fear when hearing your meek voice say those words.
I'm scared
Those words echoes through his brain as he drove to his little lamb. He felt like someone stabbed him in the heart.
He made a promise to himself that his little lamb will never have to feel this way ever again.
You decided you had to grab Amelia and take her with you, or at least have to decency to tell her you're leaving if she refuses to come with you.
Swiftly, you left the bathroom to go back to the booth where you end up finding no one except one person, John.
"Where's Amelia?" You asked with hesitancy, wanting nothing more than to just leave.
"She left sweetheart," he said with a smirk.
"What?"
"She went home with David," he started to make his way closer to her again, his eyes darkening even more than they already were, "Now it's just me and you daring. Why don't we go and have some fun?"
"No," You said, taking a few steps back, "my friend is waiting for me outside."
Without another word, you finally made your way towards the exit, deciding not to give John the chance to keep coming after you.
It wasn't until you felt the cool Monaco breeze on your skin did you actually let out a breath of relief. You tried to even out your breathing, calming herself down but you couldn't.
The loud pounding of the music emitted from the club caused you to slowly make your way down the street towards the street corner.
You started up in the night sky. A wave of peace and calm washed over you as you gazed upon the stars that filled up the dark night sky.
Sadly, this peace did not last long as you felt a hand grip your arm tightly, making you cry out in pain as the person turned you towards them.
John stands before you again, yanking your body closer to him, leaving no room for you to struggle.
You scratched and tried to fight him but he quickly gripped your wrist, tight enough that there will surely be a bruise there tomorrow.
"I've been looked my everywhere for you darling," he whispered close to ear, pulling back with a wicked grin on his face.
"Let go of me," You hoped your voice would come out strong but it came out weak and fearful.
"I can't do that sweetheart," he tilted his head slightly to the side, starting you down like you were a monkey in a zoo, "you're coming with me."
"No!" You shouted hoping that someone would hear you. You need to escape somehow now or else-. You honestly didn't want to think about what would happen if you didn't.
"Stop fighting," John snaps, annoyed at your struggling, but You refused to go down without a fight.
One minute you struggled with John, the next you were being pulled away from him into someone else's arms.
This person wrapped you up in their arms, their firm chest provided you some form of comfort.
You didn't care who this person was, anyone was better than being stuck with John.
"Don't you dare fucking touch her!" The rumble of a familiar voice vibrated through the chest you currently leaned into.
Max.
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Taglist: @shelbyteller, @smithieandy, @fangirlforever2000, @herexpertcollector, @vip-access, @genevieve-blr, @a-beaverhausen
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or: you married a butcher, not a martyr.
MDNI simon "ghost" riley x f!reader word count: 2.7k warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of torture, reader is hashtag depressed, mentions of death (assumed death), simon is a weirdo at the end <3
*****
He’s a butcher, an apprentice actually. Every Monday through Saturday, regulars flock to the shop, where Simon, the gentle giant behind the counter, takes their order with a smile. Kids love him, always excited to see the man who tells droll jokes when their mothers, who are more interested in the way he winks at them after throwing in an extra quarter of a pound of meat, aren’t listening.
Simon is the talk of the block. Every nosy soul wants to know his deal. It’s not like he came out of nowhere. Simon was born and raised on the streets of Manchester, but there’s an intrigue about the young man that was never tapped into until he took up working at that shop, chopping and slicing up people’s dinners while asking 'how's the family?’.
So it’s no surprise when one day an old lady, a regular at the establishment, asks Simon, elbow-deep in raw lamb, if he’s single.
After breaking the news that he wouldn’t like to make a habit of dating customers, she explains that her granddaughter (“She’s about your age and– you’ll see –she’s the prettiest girl in all of England.”) is in town.
Before he even thinks, the woman scribbles on her receipt for three lamb chops an address and 8pm.
Eight hours later he stands outside of her house, a bouquet of flowers in hand and the receipt folded neatly in his back pocket. Before he has the chance to ring the bell, the door flies open, bombarding Simon with the scent of roasting meat and floral perfume. Standing barely at his chest height is the woman from the shop. She calls a name, and round the corner comes her granddaughter.
Simon almost drops the bouquet in his hands. Your grandmother really didn’t lie about how lovely you are. Even as you abscond her (“You didn’t tell me he was actually coming tonight!”) Simon can’t stop staring at you.
Dinner goes by as awkwardly as you could have expected. Your grandmother sits at the head of the table, you and Simon at opposite sides, kicking each other awkwardly each time either of you crossed or uncrossed your legs. She prompts you two with conversation starters.
Darling, tell him about your job.
Simon, I hear you have a brother.
It’s like pulling teeth. The whole night Simon is kicking himself for not meeting you elsewhere, where he could make a real and good impression without watching eyes. It’s over, he thinks when you finally pull the plug on the evening, dismissing Simon with the excuse that you have to work early the next morning. It’s a shame, he really thought that, despite everything, you two had a connection. There were enough fleeting glances and shy smiles from you for Simon to really believe.
You at least have the decency to walk him to the door, thanking him for entertaining your grandmother and for being such polite company. And, with a glance over your shoulder confirming that the coast is clear, you pull Simon in by the lapels for a kiss, it’s chaste and quick, but has Simon’s chest heaving up and down.
“There’s a pub down the street, you know it?” You ask. Simon nods his head dumbly, his lips still tingling. “She goes to sleep early. Meet me there in an hour, yeah?”
He practically skips to the pub. He orders two pints and waits and why did he order you a pint? It'll be warm by the time you get here and he doesn’t even know if you like beer. This was such a bad idea, you’re probably not even going to–
Fifty-two minutes later you walk through the door, chest heaving and hair tousled. You ran. You really ran to see him.
As you down your pint, he sends a silent thank you to whoever answered his prayers because– wow –you’re here and even more beautiful than he could imagine, with a bead of beer slipping out of the corner of your mouth and dripping down your neck.
The next morning, you two wake up naked in Simon’s bed with headaches and a ring on your finger– his nan’s ring to be precise, the one she explicitly told him to give only to the girl. There’s a voice in the back of his head that says he should be mad to have given it away in a drunken stupor to some girl he just met. But then you laugh, saying, “I’m engaged.” And he laughs with you, a sinking feeling telling him that drunk Simon may have gotten it right.
Simon watches you observe the ring glitter in the morning sun. “Do you want to be?”
You scrunch your nose at the question. “Depends,” you say, dragging out the final ‘s’. Simon blanches. “What’s your last name?” You ask, scrutinizing him.
Simon loses his breath as he stares into your eyes. You’re laying naked, halfway on top of him, and yet it’s the way you look at him that makes his world tilt. He barely manages to stutter out, “R–Riley. Simon Riley.”
“Riley… Mrs. Riley.” Your features soften. “Yeah, I think I want to be.”
In three months, you’re married. It’s a real, proper wedding with both sides of the family there. Simon washes the sinew and blood from his hands and gets all dressed up. He’d pick his bloody apron over a suit any day, but the smile on your face when you see him down the aisle is enough to make getting all dolled up worth it.
Your grandmother dies a happy woman shortly after your wedding. She leaves you the house and well wishes for your future (and with the request to name her future great-grandchildren after her).
Marriage suits Simon. He leaves you for work each morning before the sun is up. You wake hours later to a cold bed yet a warm cup of coffee in the kitchen. He comes home at five o’clock on the dot with a pound of meat cut and ready to cook, which he does. It fills some caveman-basal part of him– the ability to provide for his wife, melting away his worries every time you sigh in delight at the taste of the meal he oh so lovingly set out for you.
Three days after your first anniversary, Simon comes home with a pamphlet. Her Royal Majesty's Armed Service. You laugh, tell him there’s no way he wants to enlist. He almost believes you, sounding so sure in your words. Maybe he is being ridiculous, but then he turns on the news and sees the chaos of the world and realizes that chopping meat wasn’t all he was meant for.
He sits you down again. This time you don’t laugh.
“You will not make me a widow, you understand?”
“Of course not.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, love.”
He enlists, joins the infantry, and you wonder if you made a mistake marrying that man. Then 30 weeks later, he comes back and you almost forget the heartache until he’s standing right in front of you, this time without a pound of meat and the smell of blood clinging to his skin.
He fucks you. You fuck him. It’s only natural after so long. He’s missed you. You’ve missed him. And you have plenty of frustration to get out.
It’s when you’re laying in bed, fingers trailing his abs– yes, abs, born out of the weeks of grueling work– that it strikes you how much this means for you. You squeeze what used to be the loving layer of pudge that circled his waist.
“You like it?” he asks, his smirk pressing against your head.
But the energy to lie doesn’t exist in you. You tell him no, that you miss the Simon that walked out of your door thirty weeks ago, that– sure –abs are nice but you liked the Simon with a little fat, that you didn’t want him to do this, that you didn’t want to have to waste away, alone and worrying about him.
Yelling ensues. You cry. Simon cries. You sleep in the guest room. Simon sleeps on the couch.
He’s a good soldier, you learn. Not from him of course, Simon’s too humble to brag about his achievements like that (plus, he’s afraid that his growing accolades would just remind you how you never wanted to marry a decorated soldier, you wanted to marry him). You always come to base to pick him up from deployments. Soldiers give you respectful nods and tell you how good of a sergeant your husband is.
You and Simon had a distinct separation between work and life. As soon as your car is through the base gates, not a word is spoken of his deployments. It always gets you in too much of a fit. So it was agreed upon: you didn’t have to hear about it.
Until one day, work shows up to your front door step. Simon’s on a deployment, and you’re finally unwinding after a long day of your own. As you begin to pour a glass of wine, there’s a clinical knock on the door.
Two men in uniform are on your porch. They hold their hats in their hands, as with solemn voices they try to explain it all to you. It’s strange– you don’t cry. They ask if you need anything and you simply say no. After all, what could they give you– Simon? You have a chuckle at that after you finally send the soldiers off.
You continue your normal routine: finish that second glass of wine, tidy up the house, and cook dinner. You burn your thumb on the cast iron pot. With your finger in your mouth to soothe the burn, you think to dial your grandmother’s number. If anybody needs to know about Simon, it’s her. Except, when you dial her number all you get is a robotic voice explaining that the number you are trying to reach is not available.
Oh, you realize, that’s right– nan’s dead!
You lose it on the kitchen floor. Your sobs are so loud, the neighbors come to check on you. They find you right there on the kitchen floor, dinner burning on the stove, and paperwork from the army on the counter.
People treat you like a widow after that. You don’t consider yourself one. It just doesn’t feel right. He left without a goodbye, and now you’re supposed to accept that he’s gone?
You’re a celebrity around town– poor Simon’s widow. You quit your job, the widow’s pension being enough to get you by for now. Simon’s old boss starts giving you cuts for free– not even the shitty ones. You get filet mignons from him, aged wines from neighbors, extra pastries from the bakery, and pitying stares from strangers.
In three years you went from a complete stranger to Simon Riley’s widow. Three years and that man tore your life apart. The six month mark is approaching. It’s funny, really. That’s twice the time it took for you two to get hitched.
There isn’t even a body to bury, only a plain gravestone with his name and dates. You don’t visit it. There’s no point. What’s there to mourn? Instead you dig a hole in your back garden. It isn’t very deep, and the garden’s long dead. You don’t dare touch the shovel, it had been Simon’s– used when you needed a hole dug for flowers or bushes. Instead the hole is dug with your bare hands, like a dog searching for something.
In the pathetic pit in that dead garden, you put your ring– the one Simon gave you, that his nan gave him –wrapped in his apron.
The backyard burial doesn’t make you feel better. It just puts dirt under your nails that won’t wash away no matter how hard you scrub at it.
You consider selling the house. That leads to another breakdown. You were supposed to raise your kids there– Simon’s kids. Nan wanted you and Simon to have that house. Now nan’s gone. Simon’s gone. But for some reason you’re left to wander the ruins.
Six months finally comes. People stopped giving you free shit by month three. It’s not like you ever wanted their gifts. It’d come to you with a smile and some bullshit about how we get it or we’re here for you. You laugh at the notion when you wake up on the six month anniversary of your fucking husband’s death alone and…
It’s not the anniversary. Not the real one, at least. It’s only been six months since those men showed up at your door, like the grim reaper dressed up for Queen Elizabeth. He had to have died some time before then.
You don’t even know when your husband died.
It has to be on the paperwork they gave you. Six months after however many days since your husband’s death, you tear apart your house. Every drawer is pulled out, every cabinet yanked open in the hopes that you can find the paperwork that has Simon RIley’s death date.
Not on the pension form.
Not on the letter from the crown.
Not on the invitation to the fucking widow’s club.
When the hell did he die?
You fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning, surrounded by every piece of paperwork you could locate. It’s still dark when you wake up, mind clouded with exhaustion. You almost fall back asleep right there on the floor, but when you let your head fall back down on the hardwood, you feel rhythmic vibrations travel through the wood to your cheek. Footsteps.
“Love?”
Only one man has ever called you that.
It’s like you lose the ability to speak. Any thought you could have dies on your tongue as two familiar arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you into a lap. He holds you on the floor, lets you cry it out until the sun comes up.
The first words to come out of your mouth: “You said you wouldn’t make me a widow.”
He holds you tighter, “And I didn’t.”
Simon doesn’t tell you what happened. All you know is that he had been taken, tortured, and somehow rescued.
He looks different. He’s gots lots of scars now. They bother him, he covers up in long shirts and pants more often than not, no matter how much you tell him he doesn’t need to. He says that he doesn’t want to worry you with them.
It’s not the scars that worry you. Simon’s different. Whatever happened to him back there had made him needy. He doesn’t let you out of his sight. At night, you’re adhered to his side by an impossibly strong grip. He whispers in his sleep, don’t leave me, as though you could possibly escape his iron grip. Maybe needy isn’t the right word. Obsessive, more like.
He digs the ring up just like you did– all bare hands and fury. You don’t know how he found it– you never told him. You just wake up one morning to him pawing furiously at the ground. He pulls it out and presents it to you like a cat with a dead mouse. He puts the ring on your finger before even rinsing the dirt off.
In bed he consumes you. Where once sex was fun and playful, it now is a ritual, like Simon is claiming you. It’s enjoyable, yes, but overwhelming. You don’t think he blinks anymore. It’s like he’s worried you’re going to be ripped away from him, like every time is the last time.
Two months after he comes home, papers arrive for him in the mail. He’s being deployed again. You’re worried. It’s too soon. You can’t lose him again, and you tell him as much.
Simon placates your worries with a kiss on the head. As he pulls you into a hug, he utters, “Love, I crawled out of the grave for you once. You best bet I’ll do it again.”
Somehow, you don’t think he’s lying.
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Yan!Andrew with his Reader who found out she's pregnant? Spoiler: She didn't want to have children.
Yan!Andrew Graves x Preg!Reader
TW: Unexpected pregnancy, hints at abortion, reader in captivity, manipulation, yandere Andrew, unwanted pregnancy
♡ Notes: I wrote this entire thing while on a train so you'll probably find a wild typo or error font somewhere here. I said in my last post that my next work would be a fluffy one, I lied. Sorry. Remember kids, practice safe sex, and dont act like Andy. Thank you so much for supporting me, anon! I appreciate all the requests and asks from you guys. <33
Andrew hummed as he removed his shoes and took off his coat.
Work was a drag, his boss was a dick, and his family was unbearable. But despite it all, he had you at the end of the day.
When he came home, he'd always hear your padded footsteps coming down the hall to greet him.
You'd wear one of his shirts or wear a cute outfit he'd pick out for you, all to make him happy.
He just loves you so much.
I mean, that's why he took you in the first place.
You had no idea who he was, only that he was a customer that came at odd times of the day in the cafe where you worked.
He could only guess how poor the pay must've been. How miserable you were... Yes, that's it.
As he watched you, he could spot the circles under your eyes, and he knew instantly that fate had brought you here, or maybe it was a cult summoning? Either way, you belonged with him. And he would bend heaven and earth to keep it that way.
Andrew blinked away his train of thought and looked up. He hadn't heard your footsteps.
That was unusual.
Andrew quickly slipped his bag to the ground and walked further into the house.
The kitchen was empty, minus the dishes and pots from last night's dinner that still remained untouched in the sink.
The living room was empty, minus the tissues scattered all over the floor, and the blankets that pooled the floor.
With his heart racing, he sprinted to the last room he hadn't checked. The bedroom.
He pushed the door open with haste; his eyes wildly searched the room.
The bed was unmade, and the sheets were shoved off the mattress, trailing onto the wooden floor.
As Andrew stepped further into the bedroom and he could hear the sound of the shower, and small sniffles coming from inside.
Andrew let out a sigh of relief, you hadn't left. You were still home with him. But now he had another problem to deal with.
He knocked on the bathroom door and heard a quick shuffle from the other side. The water turned off and Andrew flinched at the sound of objects crashing.
Then out you came, your eyes were red and your hair was messy, as if your fingers ran through them constantly.
You mustered a smile for Andrew, muttering out a weak 'welcome home' before Andrew grabbed your arms for inspection.
"What happened? What were you doing? Why were you crying?" He craned his neck out to try and look inside the bathroom, but you quickly closed the door.
"I was about to take a shower when you came home so uh, I dropped some bath products when I realized I hadn't greeted you." It was a horrible lie, really. You knew lying was one of Andrew's biggest pet peeves, even if he lied consistently himself.
"My little lamb, you're not making a lot of sense right now..." Andrew tried giving you a sweet smile, but the vein twitching in his forehead told you how he really felt.
His grip on your arms became tighter, and he leaned in closer, "I would like to know what you're keeping from me, please."
"I... I was crying," you cringed at how weak your voice sounded.
"Clearly, what else? Don't stall for time you don't have Y/N. Tell me who hurt you, I don't fucking care for the reason."
You peeled Andrew's hands off of you which was surprising giving his intense tone. You slowly walked to the bed and sat down, tracing the thread that was imbedded in your mattress. Your eyes lingered on the white sheets for a second too long.
Andrew followed suit, instead opting to go on his knees in front of you as to hold your hands.
He traced his name on your wrists with his finger and hummed a low tune, unremarkable at best, but it calmed your nerves.
"You are my bleeding heart, Y/N. Everything you feel, I long to taste, everything you love, I devour, and every secret you keep from me I savagely rip apart to find. What could you possibly keep from me, that I wouldn't find out in under a day?"
You kept still, refusing to meet Andrew's gaze.
"You have to promise you won't.. um, get mad." You chewed on your lip as you thought about your next words. The lump in your throat grew harder to swallow the more you thought about it.
How were you supposed to deliever such... news, when that news made you want to rip your hair out from stress.
"yeah, I promise. My little lamb, tell me, what is wrong?"
"I'm scared, Andrew." You looked up.
"Scared?" Answered Andrew, who let go of your wrists to instead settle around your waist.
He continued, "What could you possibly have to fear while with me? Are you afraid of someone?"
You shook your head, "no, well maybe, not yet I-" You took deep breaths, your chest felt like it was going to crack from the pressure.
"Not yet? What does that even mean?" Andrew furrowed his eyebrows and scrunched his nose, trying to make sense of it all.
"Andrew, do you know what day of the month it is?"
Andy groaned; his patience was begging to grow thin. "Y/N, I'm done playing this game with you. Are you trying to provoke me to extreme measures or something?"
"No! Just... answer the question. What day of the month is it?"
Andrew shrugged, "It's the first of the month. It's my mom's birthday. It's trash day. It's Monday. I don't fucking know what this has to do with our conversation, Y/N!?"
"No Andrew, just listen to me! Look, I usually get my period on the first of every month. But last month I didn't get my period."
"So?" Andrew looked at you with annoyance in his features.
"So.... I should have gotten my period last month, but I didn't. I'm not an irregular person and I've been here awhile so..."
Andrew's features stayed scrunched with confusion and annoyance as the words mulled over in his head.
Then it hit him.
Andrew fell back on his butt in shock, staring at you, your belly, and then back to you. The realization so big that his brain stopped the train to language station.
"You're pregnant?" He muttered.
You nodded, the tears that danced on your waterline finally falling. Your chest shook, and you gasped deep breaths, the pressure you had on your chest this morning, becoming ten-fold the weight as Andrew processed this information.
Your head hung low as the sobs shook your ribcage.
Without realizing it, Andrew got back up and sat beside you on the bed.
Wrapping his arms around your head and body, so that your body pushed against his chest.
A gigantic smile placed itself on his face, every bad thing that happened up until that point dispearred in a cloud. The only thing he could think about was the baby you were growing.
His baby.
Finally, Andrew let you go and grabbed your face, lifting it up so that he could place gentle kisses on your forehead. "My Y/N, thank you. This... fuck, I thought you were going to say something horrible, but this? Shit, this is the best news I could have ever heard, well maybe besides news of my sister's death or imprisonment but shit this is even better!"
His kisses became harder and more passionate. But he hadn't noticed the soul that had left your body. Instead, you looked at him terrified.
"But... Andrew, I'm not ready for this. I- I don't even think I'm old enough to be raising children, let alone birth one. This thing could rip me apart." Your breathing became quicker, the pressure on your chest becoming an unbearable pain.
You were so sure that Andrew would hate the idea of children, that he would have the initiative to take this thing out of you, but he was so happy, so much so he couldn't be bothered to notice your despair.
"Doesn't matter. You need to stop worrying about things that haven't even happened yet. You're pregnant, and that's all that matters. You're pregnant with my baby, and you will live through every moment." His smile never faltered as he leaned his head into the crook of your neck, humming a sweeter tune this time and rubbing your tummy.
"I'm not ready," you cried, shaking your head profusely.
Andrew looked up with a smile, trailing his forefinger down the bridge of your nose.
"Doesn't matter."
You held onto Andrew's hands as he leaned forward and embraced you. Sighing deeply into your chest.
"I love our little family. Don't you?"
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Thank you for the ask!<3
#the coffin of andy and leyley#x reader#andrew graves#andy graves#y/n#andrew graves x reader#andy graves x reader#headcanons#tw pregnancy#tw yandere#yandere x reader#toxic relationship#not proofread#dark content
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tyler owens knowing you for years and years and asking you out countless times but you always reject him and he has no idea why. when he asks you for the reason you don't tell him and laugh it off. he makes a bet with (about bullriding; you don't think he's still got it but he knows he does. if he proves you wrong, you have to go on a date with him. of course, you lose.)
you're expecting something low effort — maybe he'll take you to dinner, maybe a drive, something like that. when he picked you up and started driving (in his storm chasing truck, ofc) you thought your prediction was right but he proved you wrong again. he drove you out to a clearing and obviously you made a classic serial killer joke which he laughed at maybe too hard (was it actually that funny?)
he got out of the truck and walked around to your side to open your door and help you down but instead of pulling you to some stupid rock or something, he brings you to the bed of his truck. you hadn't noticed the blankets and pillows and cushions and stuffed lamb that he'd arranged there. you were truly in awe.
he helped you up and the two of you laid back and got comfortable (and extremely close. his eyes were the most beautiful blend of blue and green). the sky was clear and when you looked up it felt like all of the stars were right there. you could feel his gaze on you and it made you blush heavily but you didn't look back at him.
eventually he wore you down and you finally told him why you never went out with him. it wasn't because he was a cocky asshole and you weren't interested. it was because you were scared of getting attached and then something happens to him during a chase. where would that leave you?
he reassures you that he is in fact a professional and you have nothing to worry about, baby and he gives you the most charming but genuine and true smile and it makes you melt and how did you never go out with him before tonight.
the night progresses and you talk about everything and nothing and point out constellations and you're getting closer and closer and soon you're wrapped up in his arms and his nose is in your hair and he isn't going to kiss you on the first date because he's a gentleman but best believe next time he will because he absolutely cannot resist, even on a day-to-day basis and he isn't sure how he has this much self control tonight because you're bathed in moonlight and you look so happy and at peace and he really really wants to but he won't because he was raised right.
when he drops you home he gives you that smile again and this time it's you who can't resist and you lean across the truck and all its weird buttons and you kiss him and it's soft and gentle and affectionate and perfect and when you leave him half-stunned in his truck, you're both left thinking about how perfectly you fit together and you've never been happier about losing a bet.
#save a horse ride a tornado#writing this half asleep but ive been thinking about stargazing in his truck for days now#couldn't be bothered to write it properly so here's a concept#tyler owens#tyler owens x reader#tyler owens imagine#tyler owens x you#tyler owens x y/n#twisters#twisters 2024#glen powell
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Merry Christmas, please don't call
꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎
Pairing: og8 X gn reader
Summary: When you struggle with the holidays for different reasons, the guys are right there to cheer you up.
Genre: Comfort/hurt
Word Count: 7K
Trigger warning: Loneliness, mentions of dead family members, grief, family issues, depression, insecurities, alcohol and drinking, and jokes about suicide as a coping mechanism.
If you or a loved one is struggling this holiday season, you can find some mental health resources here.
A/N: Some of these drabbles are rather lighthearted and others get a little dark. Whether you will be spending time with friends and family this holiday season, or spending the day alone, please take care of yourselves. Eat a good meal and drink some water. Let's survive this holiday season together and make the new year a good one <3
_ _ _
Chan:
The clock struck noon and the chimes began to sing again. Another wasted day, another sound of silence, and another meaningful day slipping through your fingers. Lately, most days seemed to end up that way, but you couldn’t find it within your seeping soul to care.
Most bodies were a temple, but yours was a walking grave. You were idle on the inside and just waiting for your time to go. Upside down on the leather couch, your arms dangled against the worn beige carpet. Your feet dangled over the back and on each side of the couch, two pillows sat in a place they called home.
Chan was out today and he’d be out for most of the day. The two of you were having an extended vacation in Sydney, so he could visit his parents for the holidays. You were offered a chance to go along with him, but you politely declined. You didn’t want to overstep and it had been so long since Chan saw his family, you didn’t want to barge in and make yourself at home for the dinner they were making.
It was a full spread with his father’s grilled lamb and some of his mother’s favorite recipes. His siblings were going to be there and you loved his family, but you hated the idea of sticking out like a sore thumb. Besides, you already had dinner with them a few times.
You tried to get your mind off of it by cleaning the airbnb. His parents wanted him to stay there, but he wanted you to be comfortable. Plus, his old bedroom had been taken over by storage. Staying there required buying a brand new mattress, a box spring, and bedding. It felt easier to rent an airbnb.
Your face grew darker and darker as the blood rushed towards your head. Your eyes shut and you let your hair dangle. While they were having dinner, you had to find your own dinner. Sydney was full of possibilities, but all you could think about was his father’s lamb.
How many times had he raved about it? Back in Korea, he talked about it all the time. Whenever he ordered lamb from somewhere, it was delicious, but it was never up to the same standards as his father’s. The thought of it made your mouth salivate.
“What are you doing down there?”
Your eyes widened in shock. Above you, dimples formed in the sides of Chan’s cheeks. “Look at you, my little cutie.” He bent down and gently poked the top of your nose. “You look like a little tomato.”
You huffed and lightly pushed his hand away. “Stop it, I’m just hanging out. Why are you here?”
“I got halfway there and then turned the car back around. It didn’t feel right showing up without you. I don’t like the idea of eating a Christmas dinner without you by my side. Not to mention, my parents would demand to know where you were.”
He grabbed one of your wrists, reached down to support your back, and supported you while you sat up. You allowed it, but when he tried to tug you off the couch, you hesitated. He raised an eyebrow in confusion.
“I don’t want to ruin your Christmas dinner with your family.”
“How will you ruin it?”
“Your parents don’t get to spend holidays with you often. You should see them by yourself. They don’t need me there to worry about. They called Christmas a family gathering for a reason.”
A soft sigh escaped his lips and he sat down beside you. “Sweetheart, you’re part of my family too. You don’t think my family considers you part of our family? Did you know that my siblings can’t wait for the day that we’re married? They’re excited to truly consider you a sibling.”
Your head shook, your own stubbornness refused to let you see it. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” You tugged away, but his fingers didn’t let go of your wrist.
“Talk to me, what’s really going on? What’s causing you to feel like this?” His hand cupped the side of your cheek. The familiar warmth of his thumb slid across your eye socket. “Please just talk to me. Do you not like them?”
“Of course, I like them. I love your family, but I feel like an embarrassment. Shouldn’t I be celebrating my own holiday with my own family? I hate feeling like an intruder.”
“Well, you’re not.” He leaned forward, his nose nearly touched yours. “You’re going to come along and, even if I have to drag you there, we’re going. If you’re lucky, maybe my dad might give you his lamb recipe.”
The pitiful look in your eyes was more than enough. He leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. “What are you waiting for? Come on!”
You squealed as he stood up and grabbed you. His fingers lightly tickled your sides and he hauled you over his shoulder. Your giggles filled the air with each dramatic bouncing step he took.
No matter how much of an intruder you felt like, he’d never leave you alone. _ _ _
Minho:
The sudden shriek from across the room caused your eyes to widen. You glanced over and found Minho’s face returning to normal. Almost like he hadn’t just jerked his head back and let out the loudest wail known to mankind.
In his hands, a fresh ceramic mug of black tea sat. A steady stream of steam lazily twirled into the air. He ignored your look of concern, gently blew onto the drink, and took a sip. His lips smacked together and he let out a content sigh.
“What the hell was that?” You finally asked.
“What was what?” His eyes found yours. “Blowing on my tea? Can’t you see that it’s hot? Is your eyesight bad enough that we should take you to the eye doctor?”
A blank look of your unamusement caused him to chuckle. He took another loud sip, trying not to laugh at your annoyance. You shut the book you were holding and leaned back along the couch.
“So you’re just going to pretend like you didn’t scream?”
“Oh, that?” He shrugged and adjusted his grip on the sage green mug. “I was just thinking about how excited I am to go home for the holidays. I can’t wait to see my cats again. You know them?”
“How could I forget Soonie, Doongie, and Dori? Of course, I know them. Are you old enough that you have memory loss?”
“I’m older than you, learn some manners.”
You rolled your eyes, grabbed your book, and began to flip back to the page you were on. He headed in your direction, sat on the couch beside you, and placed his mug on the wooden coffee table.
“I’ve mentioned my holiday plans a few times, but you’ve never mentioned yours. What are you doing for yours?”
“I’ll be hanging out here in our apartment.”
“What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed. “Why? What about your family?”
“Pretty hard to celebrate when your family members are buried six feet down in the frozen ground.”
He slowly blinked, wondering if he heard you right. You didn’t explain yourself, instead, you just continued to flip until you found the right page again. Your body relaxed back up against the arm of the couch and you started at the top of the page.
When you didn’t clarify, he reached out, and he placed a sprawled out hand over the words, so you couldn’t read them. “What do you mean they’re dead?”
“My family was small and there was an accident. They’re dead and life goes on. I haven’t celebrated the holidays since they died. Now if you’ll excuse me-” You pulled your book from his hand. “You’re blocking my story.”
You acted like your words were normal. He wanted to know more, but you didn’t seem to be budging. He reached out, jerked the book away, and planted a finger in the page you were reading.
“Hey!” You cried out.
“We have to talk about this. You can’t just say that and expect me to be fine with that. No, no, no.” He brought up his free hand and wagged his finger in your face. “New holiday plans, you’re coming to my house to spend time with my family.”
“Minho, it’s fine, really. I’ve gotten used to it and I’m okay with being alone. I’m not going to ruin your family’s holiday just because-”
“Oh no, I’m not asking you.” He handed you your book back. You sighed and took it back. He pushed himself off the couch and began to pace while he pulled out his phone.
You tried to ignore him, but curiosity got the better of you. “What are you doing?”
“I’m texting my mom and telling her to make extra food. You’re going to meet my grandma and my parents. Your loneliness can be damned this holiday season. After this, I’m going to order matching Christmas sweaters for us and my cats.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t question me, my family is going to love it. I’m going to post the photos of my cats to Bubble afterwards. The fans are going to be mad. Not only do I have three cats, but they have matching sweaters, and they don’t.”
“Do you always plan to torment your fans?”
He finally glanced up from his phone. “Well, someone has to keep them humble. Nobody else is going to do it, so I will.”
For the next twenty minutes, he kept showing you cat Christmas sweaters on pet store websites and asking which one you thought was cuter. _ _ _
Changbin:
“Are you staying there? Baby, are your eyes closed? Are you peeking? Stop it!”
“I’m not peeking! My hands are over my eyes and I don’t know what more you want from me! I’m trying to be patient, but you’re freaking me out. What are you doing out there?”
“DON’T OPEN YOUR EYES!”
You were sitting with your legs crossed in the middle of the couch. Changbin came home from work wrapped in an oversized white blanket. Before you could even ask, he told you to stay put and close your eyes. So here you were, curled up, with your hands flat against your shut eyes.
For the past few minutes, Changbin had been out in the kitchen. Soft clatters floated from the room, but you didn’t know what he was exactly doing. Every time you tried to peek, he’d shriek at you like a mother defending her eggs from a predator.
There was more clattering and it was topped off with a giggle. In the kitchen, Changbin rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Baby, are you ready?”
“Can I look now?”
“One moment! I’m coming. Don’t look until I give you the okay!”
Giddiness coated the lining of your stomach and you waited. His footsteps came closer and closer until they stopped altogether. “Okay, you can look now.”
You opened your eyes with a smile on your face. It only grew wider when you saw what he was wearing. He was in a white button down long sleeve shirt. A black vest sat on top of it and a matching bow tie was secured around his neck. A white apron tied around his waist and gave the illusion of a long skirt.
On his hand, there was a silver platter adorned with three styrofoam cups. You gave him a funny look, but all he could do was give you a goofy grin. As he balanced the platter, his legs began to move.
“Hot! Hot! Ooh, we got it! Hot! Hot! Hey, we got it!”
You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop the giggles from escaping. He moved and twirled around the living room with the platter. Unbeknownst to you, the empty cups were taped down and the tray was secured to the back of his hand with a strap.
“Hot! Hot! Say, we got it! Hot chocolate!”
His feet tapped against the floor and he spun around with the platter overhead. It took you a moment to find the fake mustache glued onto his face and when you saw it, you lost it.
He didn’t stop singing and dancing. Your eyes widened as he stepped onto the couch beside you. You had to look up at him. He winked as your eyes met and he spun off and back to the ground.
Just as you thought, he couldn’t do more, he moon-walked to the coffee table and jumped on top of it. Part of you was alarmed, but the other half of you was amused. He jumped off with ease and bowed in front of you with the platter held out to you.
Heavy breaths racked his chest and his heart beamed with pride. Your hands went together and you began to clap in delight. He got back up, hurried into the kitchen, and came back with a mug of steaming hot chocolate.
“For-” He sucked in a deep breath, “for you.”
“Thank you,” You uttered as you grabbed it. “How long did it take you to learn the dance?”
“About a week, but it was worth it to see that smile on your face. I know how much you like the Polar Express. I-I was trying to figure out a way to cheer you up, so I-”
“Changbin?”
He glanced down at you and you patted the space next to you. “I love you so much, you have no idea. This is the sweetest and most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. You look exactly like the waiters in the movie.”
His cheeks went red and he brushed your words away. “It was nothing, really. Maybe I can teach you the dance and put a fake mustache on you. Do you think I should grow a mustache?”
“I think if you ever find yourself out of a job, you should consider working on one of those trains that recreates the Polar Express. You’ve got the role in the bag.”
“Is the hot chocolate good?”
“Delicious.”
“Good. Did it work? Did I make you feel better? You’ve been glum lately and I hate to see you so miserable during this time of the year.”
You swallowed another sip before offering him the cup. He glanced over at you and giggled at the sight of the brown mustache sitting on your upper lip. His thumb reached out to wipe it away.
“Forget me growing a mustache baby, you would suit one perfectly.” _ _ _
Hyunjin:
“This is too hard and I’m dying. I know too many people. Why did I agree to go Christmas shopping with Felix and Jeongin?” Hyunjin’s hands wiped down his face and he groaned.
Perched on your shared bed, there were four rolls of wrapping paper in different holiday prints. A bag of premade colorful bows scattered everywhere. Scissors were half open and nearly digging into his leg. The wrapping paper that he cut too short was scrunched into balls and littered the carpet beneath the bed.
You were on your way to the bathroom when you glanced in to check on him. After coming home with multiple bags, he sauntered into the bedroom nearly an hour ago and he had been there ever since. He said he was going to wrap presents and you assumed he’d struggle, but you didn’t realize that it’d be this much.
“Hyunjin?” You called out softly as you poked your head into the room. “Are you okay in here?”
“Am I okay here?” He scoffed and gestured around. “Do I look like I’m okay? Look at this mess! How do you fold wrapping paper over a gift that’s not a square shape? I should have never let the guys talk me into buying so many gifts for people. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
You chuckled and stepped inside. “You’re very, very sweet. Do you want some help?”
“Please. Preferably before Santa himself comes in and boots me from his workshop.” His arms crossed over his chest and his lips stuck out in a pout. “Wrapping gifts is too hard. We should just be able to give people items without them expecting wrapping paper.”
“You don’t have to wrap them if you don’t want to,” you reminded him.
“I know, I know. I want to wrap them, I just-” He sighed. “I’m just annoyed by it all. It’s really not that difficult, but I’m struggling with the amount of paper to use.”
You headed over and grabbed the scissors. After searching for a few seconds, Hyunjin grabbed the tape and handed it to you. You glanced around at the gifts and nodded. “We can do this. Which wrapping paper and which gift?”
He grabbed the black and red plaid wrapping paper. He nearly fell off the bed in the process of stretching to grab one of the gifts. Once he handed them to you, you gestured for him to follow you.
You carefully averted yourself through the maze of gifts and headed out to the kitchen. He followed your steps and the moment his body broke free of the room, his stress melted away. You seemed so sure of your skills as you loaded up your tools onto the island.
The first gift was a smaller square box with cologne in it. You unraveled some of the paper and set it in the center. “You see this?” You took the edge of the paper and rolled it up over the side. “You want this side of the paper to cover half the box.”
“But it’s covering less than half?”
You nodded and unraveled more wrapping paper. He watched as you adjusted the box and taped the first half of the paper down. You took your time letting the scissors glide across the end of the role. You pulled the other half over and asked for tape.
He placed down a small piece, mimicking your previous motions. Once it was secured, you showed him how to bend and fold the ends. After you folded them, you let him tape them down. When you finished, you slid the box to him.
“You made that seem a lot easier than it should be.”
You chuckled at his words. “It’s really not that difficult to wrap a gift. My parents taught me that when I was younger. I’ve carried the skill around since then.”
“God bless your parents.”
You forced a smile at his words and watched as he disappeared to grab a bow from the bedroom. By the time he came back, you took your attention to the window above the sink. Painful memories adorned your brain at the mention of your parents.
“Are you going to help me with the next one? You know I struggle with seeing things just once and being expected to know what to do. It takes me a while to get things.”
You shut your eyes and nodded, still facing the window. “I’ll help you wrap the next one if you get it.”
He kept an eye on you, worried about the sudden distance. Something flickered in your eyes when he mentioned your parents. When you reached up and wiped your eyes, he knew something was wrong.
You weren’t expecting him to appear behind you. When his hand found your shoulder, you jumped slightly. Tears wet your eyes when you spun around to face him. Without a word, he tugged you to him.
You couldn’t fight it. The familiar lull of his heart caused your eyes to shut. Your hands wrapped around his waist. “Family issues?” He uttered softly.
“Something like that.”
“I’m sorry I made you wrap a gift. I didn’t mean to bring up memor-”
“Don’t apologize, I’ve missed wrapping gifts. Actually, I like wrapping gifts, but I’m not a fan of celebrating Christmas.”
“So would you like to be a dear and spend the next few hours teaching and helping me wrap gifts?”
“Obviously.”
You forced yourself to smile, but he knew deep down that you weren’t okay. A storm brewed in the silence of your soul. Maybe one day you’d talk about it, but for now, he was just happy to be in your presence.
He couldn’t heal the gaping wounds, but he could try to dull the ache. _ _ _
Han:
“Baby, please wake up.” Han reached over and shook your sleeping body. You had been asleep for a few hours and he was desperate for your feedback. “Please, get up.”
When your groggy eyes finally cracked open, he grinned. “Hi there. I’m sorry for waking you up, but look!” He held open a homemade card and pressed it to your nose. “Be honest with me, can you read this?”
“Kind of,” you mumbled. “Who is it going to?”
“My mom.”
“I’m sure she’ll be able to read it. Didn’t she grow up being able to read your handwriting?”
“Well, yeah, but I wanted to make cards for the guys too.” He pushed the card against the bed and sat down on the edge. “I’m feeling festive this holiday season and I want to let people know how much I care about them.”
“Mm-hmm. That’s nice.” Your eyes slipped shut again and you twisted. You nuzzled the pillow and wrapped the blanket around your body tighter.
“Baby?”
“Huh?”
“Do you want to get up and make Christmas cards with me?”
“And send them to who? I cut off my family members, remember? I don’t talk to any of them to save my mental sanity.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, baby, I totally forgot.” He laid down beside you and slithered his hands around your waist. You didn’t fight it as he pulled you against himself. “Is this why you’ve been sleeping so much lately?”
“Here I’ve been going on and on about the holidays and the people around me, but I haven’t even thought about you and your situation.”
“I’m not mad at you. I like listening to you talk about everything and everyone in your life. You’ve got a lot of love to give and creating homemade Christmas cards is cute. I’m sure they’re going to love them.”
“I hate that you think your family issues make you unlovable.”
“I-I don’t think-” Your voice cut off as a lump built in your throat. Tears began to build up and you blinked rapidly. Of course, you felt unlovable.
Holiday ads were smeared with family gatherings. Songs chirped about winter and connection. Even when the birds migrate for winter, they fly to warmer weather with all their friends and family. So many creatures, human or not, have connection, but not you.
You had Han, but everyone else? Everyone else seemed to be far away. Even when your parents’ compliments were backhanded. When your grandparents gabbed about your disappointing appearance and when your siblings reminded you that you were a loser, you were supposed to endure it for the holidays.
It didn’t matter if you were their own flesh and blood. It didn’t matter if it hurt your feelings, you were just supposed to sit through it. You were supposed to be grateful you knew them. You were supposed to be thankful that you even had family.
How many times have your holiday dinners been interrupted with a lump in your throat? When you excused yourself from the table, so you could let your tears fall in the privacy of the bathroom. How many times had you clung to the rope tethering your family together, despite no matter how much the rope burn rubbed your hands raw?
So you walked away from it all. You were deemed an ungrateful traitor by your family members. They were the victims of your selfishness in your eyes, but if selfishness was what you had to be called to pick and choose your own lonely path of happiness, so be it.
You shifted and curled into Han’s chest. He held you to him tighter. One of his hands began to gently rub your back. The other hand went to the back of your head.
“I can’t put into words how much I love you. I hope you get to hear it in some of my songs. I hope you’re able to pluck it out between the melody and the backing vocals. I hope you can feel it in my touch.”
“Thank you,” you finally managed to utter through tears.
“And for my next Christmas card, I’ll be sending it to your parents house. On the front, there’s a giant ‘fuck you’ written in glitter. Tis the season to tell them to fuck off.”
You couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up in your chest. _ _ _
Felix:
Jingling bells were mixed with sobs. The halls were decked with tissues. The snowy gray skies were dotted with misery and an impending doom that you just couldn’t shake.
The holidays were a continuous slow death. The lack of sunlight brought in depression and your brain was haunted with past memories. Everything seemed to be decorated for Christmas, including downtown.
A nearby business was having Christmas carols tonight and Felix wanted you to go with him, but you turned it down. It was an open invite by the business, anyone could come along and sing, but you didn’t have it in you to stand in front of a door of strangers and put on a smile.
Your apartment was dark and when Felix first arrived, he wasn’t sure if you were home. It was only around seven and your car was in the parking lot, but the rest of the house seemed dead. Every light was off and there wasn’t a sign that you were around.
He placed his basket over his arm and knocked but you didn’t answer the door. He frowned and knocked harder, but you still didn’t answer. Instead of leaving, he pulled off his glove, and pulled out his phone. He got to your number and hit the call button.
Inside your house, you were drowning your worries in eggnog. You normally stuck to the non-alcoholic version that was stored in the coolers, but this time, you picked up a bottle at room temperature that was mixed with a spiced rum. Outside, the streets were wrapped in a velvet green and bright red, but your soul was tainted black.
You thought about ignoring Felix’s call when his contact lit up your screen, but your hand moved before you could stop it. You answered the call and placed it on speakerphone. “What do you want? I told you I’m not singing tonight?”
“I’m not here to gather you for singing. I’m outside and I have something for you. I thought we could do something together inside and enjoy each other’s company.”
“Go away, I’m probably drunk.”
“If you were drunk, you would have hung up. You forget which way is left and right. Why not let me in and see what kind of treats I brought?”
You paused at the words and you glanced over at the front door from your spot in the kitchen. “Edible treats?”
“Of course.”
“Sweet treats?”
“You bet.”
“I’m coming, don’t leave.”
He listened to the sound of your footsteps and when you finally cracked the door open, you looked like a mess. You smelled like nutmeg and rum. You hung up the phone in your hand and stared at him with red-rimmed eyes.
“You poor, poor thing.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
He held up his hands in defeat. “Can I just come in? I think these things are cool by now and we can decorate them.”
You eyed the wicker basket he was holding suspiciously. It was covered in a red and white patterned cloth. You couldn’t see in it, but you had suspicions about it. After a moment, you finally stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.
He followed and a blast of chilled air rushed after him. You didn’t turn around as you led him towards your kitchen. He shut the door, kicked off his shoes, and he followed you.
You flipped on the kitchen light, shielding your eyes in the process. The eggnog swirled in your stomach and with a small hiccup, you felt the alcohol crawl back up the back of your throat. You forced yourself to swallow it.
“Welcome to my kitchen, you can do whatever here. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take a nap.” You began to turn and leave, but he grabbed your arm to stop you.
“At least, look at what I brought with me first.”
You sighed and spun back around. He peeled back the cloth and pulled out a variety of colorful piping bags. Small packets of gummies and candies followed. He even pulled out a few miniature candy canes.
“What is this for?”
He smiled at you and held up an undecorated gingerbread man. “I was hoping you could help me decorate them, so they could come to life.”
“Why are you really here?”
“Because I love you and I’m worried about you.” He placed the gingerbread man back in the basket. “Because every time I mention the holidays, you turn away and you scowl. Because you get a far away look on your face when I mention family and you frown.”
That same frown that he had grown used to appeared on your face again. Just the sight of it broke his heart. His hand reached towards yours and he gently took your hand.
“You don’t have to explain it to me, but I just don’t want you to feel alone this holiday season. I think everyone should feel warmth in this cold and I think you deserve it too. I love you and I don’t want you to feel alone.”
The alcohol made you numb to your emotions. If you were fully sober, no doubt, you would have burst into tears. Instead, you just glanced over at his basket of gingerbread cookies. “And if they turn out ugly?”
“Ugly cookies are still cookies at the end of the day, aren’t they? No matter what they look like, they still taste delicious. Deep down, they’re still loved.”
When your lips met his, you finally felt the warmth you’d been lacking this holiday season. _ _ _
Seungmin:
“And for this holiday season, I might hang myself with the lights. Tell me, Kim Seungmin, would you kiss my corpse beneath the mistletoe?
“I’d let your corpse kiss my ass beneath the mistletoe.”
“I didn’t think you were into necrophilia, so I’ll have to note it.”
“Fucking freak,” he grumbled. He turned back to the side of the house and continued to string the lights along the edge. The two of you had been working for nearly an hour, but it still wasn’t enough.
You chuckled at his comment, but then you went quiet. Below him, you stood on the ladder with the raveled Christmas lights in your hand. They were wrapped around a piece of plastic and slowly, but surely, you were unstringing it as he hung the strands in clear clips. Your eyes finally found the ground and you held the lights steady.
When you didn’t make another comment, Seungmin glanced down with a sigh. You didn’t hear it, too busy distracted by your own thoughts in your head. It took a few moments of him calling your name until you glanced up. “Hmm?”
“Why are you making so many jokes about dying?”
You shrugged, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “It’s not like I haven’t made jokes like that before. What makes it different this time?”
“Well, usually you say you’re kidding afterwards, but this time, that never happened. You didn’t say you were kidding, you just pretended like you never said anything. I know you joke about it a lot, but it worries me that you’re doing it more than usual. Did something happen?”
His gaze lingered, but you stayed quiet. Your teeth sank into the velvet section of your bottom lip. He began to descend the ladder when you didn’t respond. He walked over to you, pulled the lights out of your hand, and gently placed his hands on your shoulders.
“Don’t do that. Don’t do that thing where you shut me out and you shut down. What happened?” He lightly shook you and caused your head to sway back and forth. “Just please tell me what happened.”
“Nothing specifically,” you finally uttered as your eyes found the ground. “Nothing specific happened, I’m just struggling, that’s all.”
“With what?”
“It’s the holiday season,” you shrugged. “Haven’t you noticed that everything goes bad during the holiday season? A light bulb blows and you don’t have a new one. An elderly family member passes away. You feel warm and cozy because of the holiday season and then you’re slammed with the heartbreaking realization that people don’t care about you the way that you care about them.”
His fingers gently dug tighter into your winter coat and you lightly shoved him away. “It’s nothing, really. I’m probably just being dramatic, but it feels like everything spirals during this time of the year, doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t know you felt like that.”
“I don’t want to ruin your holiday cheer.” You reached down and grabbed the lights from the ground. “At least, the house will look festive.” You tried to force a smile, but it came out as a grimace instead.
He pulled the lights from your hands and put them on the ground. You let him tug you inside and into the warmth of your shared house. The scent of the homemade apple cider you made earlier still lingered. The cinnamon sticks swirled with sugar and apples and spritzed the air.
Seungmin spun to face you and he reached for your coat. You stayed put as he began to unzip your coat and pull you out of it. The freezing temperatures caused the tip of his nose and the tops of his cheeks to turn red. He was working with gloves coating his fingers.
“What are you doing?” You finally whispered as he peeled off your hat. He didn’t respond and pulled off your scarf. You stayed quiet and watched him begin to peel off his own winter articles of clothing.
You blinked and tried to keep your focus away from his face. You weren’t sure what he was doing, but he looked rather determined. His eyebrow sat in a furrow and he threw his hat onto the couch behind you.
When he finished freeing himself, he gently cupped your face. You swallowed the lump in your throat as your eyes met him. He finally began to speak for once.
“You lost a family member this time last year.”
“So?” You hoarsely uttered, trying to keep the tears at bay.
“It’s your first holiday season without them.”
You pressed your lips together, desperate to keep the tears away. Decorating a grave isn’t nearly as fun as decorating the Christmas tree. Christmas lights lose their allure. Santa Claus sightings, Christmas cookies, and holiday songs can’t tune out the emptiness in your heart. No matter how many parties you go to, no matter how many presents you wrap, it’s never enough to heal your bleeding heart.
The moment tears appeared in your eyes, he leaned forward and pressed soft lips to the center of your forehead. Your eyes shut, savoring the flicker of attention, and seeping in his silent love. He didn’t utter another word as he pulled you into his arms because he knew that you knew what he was saying.
A strangled sob came out and his arms slipped beneath you. With snow encrusted snow boots, he took you to the nearby couch. He didn’t care that he sat on the mix of scarves, hats, and gloves. He rubbed your back as you let the holiday turmoil ooze out.
Not every season was meant to be jolly. Not every holiday would be full of laughter and smiles. Sometimes the lower branches of the Christmas trees would be empty underneath and hold nothing. Sometimes the people you wished to celebrate the season with the most would disappear.
Seungmin would hold you until the snow on your boots melted and soaked the carpet. He’d cling to you until the sobs stopped. He’d do this forever if you asked him to. He’d sit here until the next holiday season and do it all again.
Maybe next year, you’d feel better, but until then, you were entirely his. _ _ _
Jeongin:
“I hate the holidays. I hate this time of year. I hate people dressing like Santa. I hate red and green, they’re the worst colors.”
“Okay, Ebenezer Scrooge, we get it, you don’t like Christmas.”
You glared over at Jeongin, but he didn’t seem to see it. Instead, he continued to fold a piece of white construction paper. Your arms crossed over your chest and he continued.
“I think the Grinch might have more love in his heart than you and that says a lot. For someone who tore down Christmas trees and stole Who Hash-”
“I get it! I get it!” You threw your hands up in the air. “I’m the most miserable person to be around this time of year. I know!”
His eyes widened, he sighed, and shook his head. “Well, you’re not going to ruin my Christmas cheer. I’m making snowflakes from construction paper because I actually like this holiday, unlike some people.”
You stuck your tongue out at him and he pointed his scissors at you. There was a loud snip, but he didn’t dare try to injure you. The two of you were back to playfully being a pain in one another’s ass.
“How the hell do you make snowflakes from construction paper?”
“You fold the paper over and over and over and over again. I think you’re supposed to fold it in a certain way, but I just fold in whatever way I want to. I take these scissors-” He snipped them loudly a few times. “I cut snips into the paper and I open it back up.”
He carefully unfolded the paper and once it was back to its normal shape, there were multiple slits to create an uneven snowflake. “Look at it! A snowflake! Ta-dah!”
“Why does your snowflake have scoliosis?”
“Hey!” He cried and he tugged the paper to his chest. “Be nice to my snowflake. Haven’t you heard that each snowflake is unique? Bully my snowflake again and I’ll give you scoliosis.”
“You’re going to open up my spine, curve it, and stitch me back up?”
He held up the scissors again. “If you don’t stop it, I’m gonna scissor you with these scissors.”
Your cheeks sucked in as you tried not to laugh. Realizing what he just said, his eyes widened. “Hey, no! Stop it! Not like that! Ugh.” He tossed the scissors onto the kitchen table. “Let’s go back to the main topic. Why are you literally acting like this time of the year is the worst?”
“Because it’s cold outside and I’m miserable, Jeongin! Look at my feet!” You pushed your fuzzy-sock feet up in the air and wiggled them. “Look at them! I have two pairs of socks on and I’m still freezing!”
You got up to show off your hoodie and sweatpants combination. “Look at me!” You spun around and gestured to your clothes. “It’s the worst time of the year to celebrate when I’m freezing.”
“I can’t go swimming or to the beach. If I try to go outside on a walk, I nearly freeze to death. Don’t get me started about the glasses I wear. Going from the freezing cold outside to the warm inside and then being unable to see from condensation, it’s the worst!”
“Is that all you have in your defense?”
“Yes, Jeongin!”
“Wow.”
“Santa Claus would find more joy in the depths of hell during this time of the year.”
“Do you even know how hot hell is?”
“Hot enough that I wouldn’t be freezing my sweet cheeks off, catholic boy!”
He shoved a hand over his mouth and turned away, trying not to laugh. You scoffed and shook your head. “Laugh all you want, but when I turn into an icicle in this household, it won’t be funny then.”
“The heat is on.”
“And I’m ten degrees away from turning into a freezing cold corpse.”
“I forgot how sensitive you are to the cold.”
“Oh, you have no idea. Grocery shopping and entering the cooler and freezer section is the worst. It doesn’t matter if I have on a hoodie and a coat. Once I’m cold, I’m chilled to the bone and it ruins my day. I’m cold for the entire day and can’t get warm.”
He reached down and began to fold a paper. You settled back down on the couch after yanking the decorative blanket off the back end. You took your time tucking yourself in and leaned back. Your hands ran down the velvet and you sighed softly. “This is so much better.”
“You big baby.”
“Frozen corpse.”
He playfully rolled his eyes, stood up, and began to head towards you. Without asking, he leaned over and wormed his way on top of you. The moment he appeared, more warmth flooded your body.
“I’ve been blessed by Jesus himself this holiday season.” You basked in the relief as you shifted to get comfy. “Merry Christmas to me, you’re not allowed to leave.”
“Who says?”
“If you go anywhere, you’re getting a lump of coal for Christmas.”
“A harsh price to pay. I guess I should just be lucky that some part of me loves you. Thankfully, my catholicism blessed me with patience and gratefulness.”
You shot him an unamused glare. He responded with a dimple-showing grin. As much as he was annoying sometimes, you still loved him. When you shut your eyes, he shifted and placed his head against your chest.
The craft snowflakes would be there later, but if he didn’t warm you up now, he was secretly worried your heart would freeze over, just to spite him.
| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |
Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45
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#stray kids#stray kids fanfic#stray kids drabbles#skz fanfic#bang chan#lee know#lee minho#seo changbin#hwang hyunjin#han jisung#lee felix#kim seungmin#yang jeongin#skz imagines#skz scenarios#skz#skz fluff#skz comfort#skz angst
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What Weighs in Your Heart.
+18, mdni
(priest coriolanus x f. reader, mdni!)
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summary: the priest of panem's church was the one you confided the most, that's the only reason for you to confess your sins every sunday evening, and that's why you always stayed until late at church.
c.w: priest!coriolanus, christian reader, christian guilt, altar sex, slapping, mentions to blowjob, grinding, fingering, squirting, church sex, dirty talk, smut, nsfw, public sex, dacryphilia, degrading, praising, overstimulation, sub reader, religious imagery mentioned, priest kink, praying during sex, sex in public place, mdni!!
the sin - heinrich lossow, 1880.
a piece showing a nun moans and a priest holds her hips. based on the events of the last day of October 1501, where cardinal cesare de borgia, son of Pope Alexander VI, supposedly hosted a decadent dinner party.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀༺ ♱ ༻
every sunday, you spend your whole evening at the church, always so eager to please your religion and your god, but you knew deep in your heart that this was not your true intention.
you've waited until everybody left the church again, so you could ask father coriolanus to listen to your regrets on the confessionary – that's how far you can remember –, and with your moans echoing through the church and your pussy gushing around his skilled fingers, you cried out in pleasure, hearing his prays.
both of you weren't anywhere near the confessionary, if you looked up you could see the stained glass window with a image of Jesus Christ looking at you, and you'd immediatly look down again, the wet sounds of your cunt echoing through your eardrums.
"that the eyes of your heart may be enlighted, so you can repent for your sins and your place in heaven is reserved." he prayed, his fingers fucking your pussy relentlessly while his other hand held a rosary, praying for you. "tell me what weighs within your heart, my child."
you couldn't even speak an entire phrase without moaning, you didn't have any idea you were so wet and sensitive until the moment he pulled your panties aside.
"you didn't hear me?" he asked, curling his long fingers into your cunt. "confess me your sins."
you gulped down, crying from guilt and pleasure all at once.
"forgive me, f..father, for i have sinned." you started, legs spreading a bit more just so you could be met with a slap on your ass and a finger thrusting into your core. "fuck, father. i-i can't- i can't sp...speak!"
your eyes were closed shut, your mouth opened up to let him hear your squeal once he slapped your butt.
"the church is not a place for you to run your dirty mouth like that." he warned you, taking his fingers out of your core and making you suck on them.
"i'm sorry, father. please forgive me." you said, eyes swelling up with tears as he frowned at you, shaking his head negatively.
"tell me what weighs in your heart, so i can show you the path of god, my dear lamb." he said, both his hands on your hips while you shamelessly whined, grinding your hips on his stiffened dick.
"forgive me, father, for i haven't stopped sinning kn every lord's day and can't stop coming to the church only to sin." you said, your voice sounding to malicious to your liking. you truly hoped god would help you, the guilt in your heart was nothing near the pleasure you experimented on coriolanus's dick. "father, please. i can't stop thinking about you," you admitted, your own hand travelling down your stomach to reach for your swollen clit.
an action that, much to your sadness, was prevented by the priest towering on you. his hand held yours, caging them with the rosemary he held.
"you should know better than to indulge in such a dirty path, little lamb." he said, in a soothing voice while you thrusted back at him, crying for release. "look at you, you're on the right path to become satan's main worshipper. you're so dirty, so stained." you cried upon hearing those words.
"it is not my fault, father, i swear!" you cried out, your core clenching on air as it missed his cock inside you, throbbing inside you while he usually hit your ass. "it's not my fault! i-in god's plan, he made the devil so much stronger than any of those whose flesh is the main pleasure-" he gave you another painful slap, your lips gasping as the tears rolled down your cheek.
"so now it is god's fault that you are such a whore?" he asked you, grinding back at you, you mewled at his words.
"n-no, that was not what i said-"
"it is exactly what you said, lamb. you should watch your words." he said, the stern tone on your voice made you sob.
"i'm sorry, father. i'm sorry, i wasn't thinking straight, i- ah!" you sobbed, feeling the tip of his cock entering your core, your cries were too pleasant for him.
"this is what you wanted, right? this is why you're always here, looking at me with those pleading eyes that are always screaming 'fuck me, father.' isn't that right?" he asked you, a smirk curling into your lips as you nodded pathetically. "you can't help but crave what is not yours to have, can you? even if it's a priest's cock. i bet you fucked more priests in this life than any prostitute." he whispered into your ear, thrusting slowly into your pussy with a tortuous rhythm.
your brain felt too mushed up for you to even talk, so you sticked up with shaking your head negatively, your moans and cries being paused for you to mewl a bunch of no's.
"use your words, you are a bitch, but you're not dumb and nor are you mute." he said, his cock entering you entirely, filling you to the edge as you cried out in pleasure, his hand grabbed your boob aggressively, pinching your nipple as he turned you to face him. "do what i said."
"'m sorry, fa.. father! i'm sorry. i-i didn't fuck any priest other than you, i promise!" you cried out, the tip of his cock teasing your clit before entering you again.
"see? it wasn't that hard speaking up and using your voice for something other than begging for my dick." he said, looking into your eyes, and the smile he gave you was so pretty that you just knew that fucking in missionary would end up with you saying something forbidden, something dirty. he was right, you were stained after all. "you're such a good girl, can't believe you go around with my cum in your pussy looking that innocent." he chuckled.
he put your handcuffed hands on his neck, making you hug his neck before he made one of your legs wrap around him, thrusting into you until his tip teased just the right spot inside you.
"fuck! father, please, keep going!" you begged, crying as your head hide on the curvature of his neck.
he tugged your hair back, making your eyes meet his, the ones you were trying your best to avoid, the ones you knew that once you looked into, you would see the abyss of the fire of hell waiting for you. he leaned closer to you, his face mere inches of yours. he couldn't kiss you, no. it'd make everything worse- but god, his lips looked so pretty. so kissable. you wanted him to, and inside of you, your heart prayed he would. but he didn’t.
"you're so eager." he smiled, groaning as you squeezed his cock between your gummy warm walls and cried while he nibbled om your neck and earlobe. "but you heard what i said about your language. the church is no place for that." he said.
"but you- hah, god! y-you're always cussing around too! y-you called me a whore just two minutes ago!" you cried out, defending yourself in this situation was pathetic.
"because you are one, lamb." he said, chuckling as he kissed your tears on the right corner of your mouth. too close to your lips. "my language can be excused when i'm telling the truth," he paused, growling while his forehead leaned into yours. "your language, however, is just a bunch of fucks."
"f-father, please don't." you said, moaning while trying your best to pull away from his lips.
"'don't', what? 'don't cum inside this time'? 'don't suck on my neck'?" he asked, his eyes boring into yours as he thrusted faster and deeper into you. ah, you always looked so pretty when he fucked you and messed you up, such a slutty mess.
"d..don't kiss me," you said, for his surprise. and he chuckled at you. you could handle fucking a priest but couldn't handle a kiss? how cute. "you're too close to me, y-your lips- i want you to."
"be more specific," he groaned, his hips slapping in yours as his cock hit your cervix and his hand slapped your ass. "you want me to do what, dear?"
"i want you to kiss me." you pleaded, crying from humiliation.
"you told me not to." he said, teasing you as his thumb rubbed on your clit, making your walls squeeze him. he gasped, soft grunts leaving his mouth as he frowned, looking down to see his cock disappearing inside your pussy with each thrust.
"please do. p-please, please." you begged. this wasn't the first time you fucked him, but it would be the first time you kissed him, and in general, it would be the first time you kissed at all. "just this once. j-just today."
"pray." he demanded.
"what? no- not now. it's wrong. it's dirty" you sobbed.
"just like you. pray." he said again, torturing you as he montioned his hips in a slow, steady place. you gulped down, apologizing to jesus mentally before commiting the terrible sin you were about to.
"o-our father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name, thy kingdom come-" you cried, your heart heavy with guilt. "t..thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven, give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses." you closed your eyes shut, overstimulation hitting you like a brick as you sobbed.
he begin thrusting faster in you, your voice melting at each rapid thrust that hit your uterus, his cock entering deep inside you, his balls kissing your core as his member throbbed inside you. "keep going." he said, and so you did.
"as we- ugh, coryo! as we forgive, those who- who tre... who trespass against us," you groaned, feeling your climax arriving. you held yourself, prohibiting yourself from cumming in such a time. "and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,"
he kissed you, his tongue tangled on yours. such a filthy kiss, such a messy kiss, took you over the edge. his hand brought you closer by your waist, fucking you relentlessly while his other hand held your head, kissing you roughly. you came first than him, a wet mess being made on him as you squirt on him, moaning into the kiss as he kept going, cumming inside you right after you.
"a...amen." you finished, shaking as he pulled his cock from you, kissing your tears alway.
"good girl." he said, kissing your temple. you pouted as he cleaned your tears, and after straightening your clothes and pulling his pants back, you were still shaking, your legs trembling from the intense orgasm you just had. "be a good lamb and sit there while i bring you water and clean myself, okay?"
and you nodded obediently, sitting on the first bench you could reach.
he was so gentle to you. so good. your brain thanked heavens that he made you pray during that, even if it was the biggest sin you've commited, you knew that if he hadn't done such a thing, you would tell him you loved him.
fuck, you're a terrible christian. and to think your parents were so proud of you being such a church girl.
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tagging: @tiaamberxx
#coriolanus snow x reader#young coriolanus snow#the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes#young president snow#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coriolanus snow imagine#tbosas smut#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus x you#x reader#18+ mdni#mdni#coriolanus smut#smut#priest.kink#tbosas fanfiction#fanfiction
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A doggie!! | Various x Kid!Reader |
Warnings: Fluff - Curses - HH violence - Alastor hates dogs - Lucifer its all up to bother Alastor - grammar mistakes - may do pt2 -
Charlie could not hold her smile as she walked down the streets of hell, a big box in her hands and a nervous Vaggie at her side.
"Charlie...love, do you think this is a good idea? Vaggie asked again for the 10th time that day
Charlie who was already planning on how to give you your gift stopped to look at her gilfriend.
"We have been over our head with the hotel and the new patrons. No one has the time to play with (Y/N)...." Charlie said, memories of your sad self leaving the room after seeing everybody was working on something.
"I know but do you think a....dog would help them? They are too young..."
"This" Charlie exclaimed with the biggest and proud smile on her face shoving the box in Vaggi's face "its the most well trained and behaved Cerberus!! I know this race i used to have one, they are loyal and friendly and.."
"And they breath fire, do you really think (Y/N) its going to be alright with one?"
~☆~☆~☆~☆
Turns out, you were even better than right.
Amazing one would say.
Charlie let out sounds of happyness as she snapped pictures of you and the little and chubby cerberus. Both of you currently playing inside your room.
Well one of them, since Alastor and Lucifer insisted on you having a room close to each one of them.
"Its really mine Sis?" You asked giving the dog some trears then rubbing its belly.
"Yes! We have been working too hard in the hotel and i know you must have feel lonely, but now you have this frien by your side"
The shadow from alastor and flying lamb from Lucifer where at the side giving Charlie offended looks.
~☆~☆~☆~☆
No one was ready for how was going to be with you and a cerberus.
First, Lucifer almost had a heart attack when he went to your room to get you and saw the puppy who in return sent a blast of blue fire towards him.
You had to calm down the creature that had turned big when being suprised by the hell's king.
"Hey hey!! Its fine its my dad"
"(Y/N) GET AWAY FROM THAT THING"
Of coruse his screams alerted Charlie who went as fast as she could to see her father sending glares towards your cerberus (when did it got so big?) And you trying to calm it down.
After Charlie explained and Lucifer calmed down so did the dog. Returning to its puppy size and now running in circles, not a single sign that it was the same beast from minutes before.
~☆~☆~☆~
Alastor hated it. And the dog hated Alastor back.
When he heard you had got a dog Alastor was ready to try and get the thing out of the hotel.
Maybe he could get you a fish....yeah that sounded better.
But no. The moment Alastor tried to get that dog it turned six feet tall and growled at him.
And no, Alastor was not suprised and he was ready to fight it.
But that thing was more intelligent, when it hear you were coming it went back to its puppy size and started crying. And you just happened to be around the corner.
"Cerberus? Uncle? What happened?"
Oh that fucker played Alastor so well, he could see the dog smiling and wanted nothing more than to squish it.
"Oh Dear! Looks like i scared it, maybe its not as strong as it seems" Alastor joked getting a low growl.
"Nono! Cerberus its so strong and gets big!! It even let dad, sis and I ride on its back" you explained while petting each head. "Maybe you can come with me? I promise you wont fall"
Like hell he would let himself be on top of that thing. But he could not tell you that so he just smiled "maybe another time, lets go and listen to some jazz while i work on my program"
"Can cerberus come?"
At the question Alastor's eye twitched "of course it can"
~☆~☆~☆~☆
Lucifer was in cloud nine after hearing at dinner that Cerberus had pissed Alastor's studio making the radio demon let out static noise and almost stabbing the king.
You were so sorry almost crying your eyes out making Alastor stop from breaking the dogs necks.
So new rule! No dogs in his radio station. And no dogs in his room.
You know what? No dogs near him.
~☆~☆~☆~☆~
The only time Lucifer and Alastor agreed on something: you spent too much time with the dog.
Sleep? With the dog. And no one could be in the same bed with you and it. Why? Because that thing would get bigger on purpose to prevent someone from stealing you.
The only one who could be with you and it was Charlie. Why? No one knew but if you were out your room the only other demon near you and your dog was Charlie.
She would prepare sleep overs with you and cerberus, Vaggie would join too, and the dog never reacted towards them. It even let itself be pet and kissed.
But with Lucifer? Yeah no. Even if it did let him ride on its back it was still not so friendly towards him. The dog even glared when Lucifer claimed you and him needed to go and could not bring it.
And Alastor had a personal war. Everytime you were not looking he would snap his fingers to try and make the dog leave. Nothing even worked.
"A truce, we get the dog out" a drunk Lucifer said one night to an equal drunk Alastor.
"I accept, i cant deal with that thing any longer"
"Well, it pissing your studio was something..."
"Haha, dont forget when it took your hat" Alastor bite back.
"HAHAHA well at least it likes me a bit"
"You must smell like it"
"FUCK YOU"
#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel x you#lucifer x reader#hazbin hotel lucifer x reader
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Just a little funny idea I had… this is just lamb dropping some hints to Nari… I’m tired so please excuse my ugly handwriting. Enjoy!
Lamb: “Hey Nari! Dinner is ready!”
Narindee: “about time…”
Dinner = “Head”
#cotl lamb#cotl narinder#cult of the lamb#cult of the lamb narinder#cultofthelamb#drawing#lambert#narinder fanart#narinder x lamb#sketchbook#artwork#artists on tumblr#colt#lamb#cat#lamb fanart#lamb x narinder#cult of the lamb lamb
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i love thinking of faroeverse as more of a role swap au than a ‘genderbend’ au (except for Denise “The BUTCHer” Collins i love you Denise “The BUTCHer” Collins) where it puts focus on existing female characters in malevolent that either don’t really get explored or who kind of just exist as backstory for men (addison larson, samantha holeman, faroe herself) and ive found that through that process it creates REALLY INTERESTING characters because once you break out of the male default for a lot of character archetypes you can start having a lot of fun with their motivations
who is Samantha Holeman in faroeverse? well, if her brother fought in the Great War (and maybe he dies in it in this universe), perhaps she worked in the munition factories, as some women did. maybe the poor conditions led to her developing breathing problems. maybe there’s something to be said here about the betrayal of serving your country dutifully until your lungs are feeble and your skin yellow from the sulfur, only to never truly be recognized for that sacrifice after the war ends and you are once again cast aside, with a parting gift of your brother shipped home in a box, unemployment, and your now irreparably damaged health. maybe the woman faroe meets wears a gas mask, but also her brother’s old clothes, someone still stuck in a time long since past (and faroe really isn’t much different, is she?)
who is Addison Larson? in canon, she’s a sacrificial lamb, a casualty of her father’s lust for power, a parallel to arthur’s loss of faroe, and not much more than that. but in faroeverse maybe she was a little girl who always had a habit of snooping around, spoiled by her rich father, who never thought to question his love for her until she finds a hidden room in their house, and starts discovering a whole other side to his life. she starts to steal books, she eavesdrops on his meetings, until she eventually learns what he has planned for her. maybe in this world where father’s love prevails, he wasn’t even going to go through with it, not his Addy. but addison wouldn’t know that. she sits at a dinner table across from a man she knows is planning to kill her all of those nights, her whole world shattered. maybe that’s when the idea comes to her; it’s him or her, and she’s Not going to die. in the end, it’s her father who is torn apart, crying out at the betrayal of his own daughter doing what he could not. and once she tastes that power, she finally understands.
addison believes that her father’s death, a ‘sacrifice’, in the most literal sense of the word, enriched her own life. faroe has never stopped torturing herself over her own father’s death, a true sacrifice made out of love. she can’t help but just see herself as addison
#faroeverse yaps as promised#juno says silly things#I love you addison larson you are so evil but also just a girl#faroeverse#faroe lester#addison larson#samantha holeman#malevolent au#malevolent podcast
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The Girl Who's Got Agoraphobia (Part One)
*pictures not mine. layout made via canva
Summary: You're the girl with agoraphobia Michael told Oliver about. You're known for not leaving your room much (obviously). But that doesn't stop Michael from checking on you.
Couple: Fem!Reader/Michael Gavey
Category: Flangst, friends to lovers
Content warnings: Agoraphobia stuff, pretentious dark academia vibes with English literature (no, I’m not sorry)
Word count: 1.4k
A/N: as someone with agoraphobia, I saw an opportunity to make something cute, so I pounced. Enjoy :)
Also on my Ao3
Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four
Class of 2006
From your window, you see your classmates disperse across campus. They stumble together, arms around necks and howling to the sky so loud, like wannabe werewolves. You can hear them from your window. Most of them seem to stumble toward the Botanic Gardens (which are closed) or to the Christ Church Meadow to gawk at cows and pass out in the grass before sunrise.
And all you can think is, thank God.
Thank God that you chose not to go to that dinner. You saw the setup whenever you passed the dining hall between classes. The tables looked narrow and the chairs were so close together, that there was no way you were going to snag a seat at the end. All those chairs in one room. It was enough to make you panic at the idea of being there. You would have definitely needed an escape plan before the first course was even served.
No, instead you preferred watching your classmates from your big chair, surrounded in the comfort of night, your things, and solitude while they clattered atop one another like drones in a hive. It only confirms that you made the right choice.
The knock on your door, however, briefly makes you question otherwise, but only for a moment. The adrenaline taking course from your heart to your limbs nearly made your knees buckle and force you back down to your seat. It obviously wasn’t your roommate, Venitia. She moved out two weeks into the semester because you never left the room (her words). You did leave your room, though. Just when it was essential: class, studying, and eating. Optional dinners to celebrate the class of 2006 were simply nonessential. So the word of you being the girl with agoraphobia spread quickly. You heard about it when you left your room, of course.
But when the adrenaline finally kicked it down a notch and you could step forward, you did so carefully with arched feet and great hesitancy. The doors are so thick and old, that it’s difficult to hear the old floors creak with weight shifts. Your eye follows the light from your peephole. Its faintness matches the atmosphere of your candles, except you can see the dust particles ebbing and flowing in the tiny beam. Your hand was already on the knob, though, because you knew who it was. You just had to make sure. You swallowed as you opened the door, your heart still pumping.
“Michael, hi.” You try to sound put together and keep your legs straight and unmoving as you lean on the door.
Michael Gavey, an actual genius and basically your only friend at this pretentious place, grins as you stand in the doorway. His Cheshire Cat lips curl as he says hello. He was one of the kindest people here, as evidenced by the plate in his hands, wrapped in clingfilm. The condensation was prevalent from the steam. “I brought you some dinner.” He holds it out for you to take.
And of course, you took it (while trying not to smile too widely). He was a good friend. “Thank you,” you eventually say. The plate was weighty with a hefty portion of quiche and lamb chops. You cock your head to the side, encouraging Michael to come in. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”
“It wasn’t a problem,” Michael said. He drops his satchel by the door as per usual. “I asked the staff to save a plate for you since you said you weren’t coming.”
You shut the door behind him. He takes his spot on the floor, next to your bookshelf. Most of his classes this semester involved maths (which was something you also bonded over. You both don’t like maths). He doesn’t get to indulge in the classics as much as he would want, so he takes the time to steal a novel from you when the two of you hang out in your room (often). He’s a horrible thief because he ends up giving them back. And if he’s feeling extra generous, he’ll slide it back exactly where he found it in the bookcase. You rarely remember where they originally were, but Michael manages to recall every time. Then you’ll discuss what he read. He loves literary analysis. You can see the way his eyes light up.
It was surprisingly easy to be natural with one another, considering he was bloody awkward when you met at orientation this past summer. You grew close quickly when discussing The Picture of Dorian Gray after discovering a statue of Oscar Wilde near the Pitt Rivers Museum. While you focused on the symbolism of vanity, Michael spoke about how corruption destroys everyone in the end. You also talked about Oscar Wilde and how certain (non-straight) elements of his life bled into his works. So it was surprising to find out that Michael’s major focused on mathematics and science.
You grab a fork from one of the kitchenette drawers before sitting across from Michael. You unwrap the plate and immediately go for a lamb chop. Meaty, with actual flavor. You chew and cover your mouth with your hand. “So how was it?” You asked him.
Michael shrugs. “Unremarkable, mostly. Nothing too surprising.”
You swallow. “Hm.”
“Hm, what?”
“You usually have more complaints over events like these. So something positive must have happened.” You didn’t want to ask further, out of fear you might learn something you’d rather not. “Did you meet someone?”
“Oh, I did.”
You inhale. “Who?”
“Another new student. Name’s Oliver Quick.”
You exhale. And you feel better.
“Quiet. Mostly odd, but,” he shrugs, “I’m not one to talk.” He snickers as he looks at you. It’s the classic dorky snicker that nerds in TV shows and movies always get assigned. To you, it’s sweet, because he doesn’t show it often.
You pick up some quiche. “Do you think he’ll like it here?”
“He’s not one for conversation, really. I had to pull words out of him most of the night. He wouldn’t even ask me a sum when I told him how good I am at maths. I served the topic on a silver platter.”
A pun was there as you swallowed, looking down at your own silver platter. But you know Michael is cross enough when he can’t see the joke in front of him. So you took another bite.
“So, he seems as hopeless at making friends as we are. I guess we’ll find out.”
“Where’d he go after?”
“Dunno,” he said. “I came straight here.”
That forces you to smile. The candles burn around you, hot like your cheeks. The heat prickles and you hope it’s not too obvious in the light.
Michael continues to smile at you, unchanging, so it seems you’re in the clear. And it’s not long until he leans back to gaze at your bookshelf. He points to the empty space in the middle. “What did you read today?”
“Virginia Woolf,” you reply.
“Oh, which one?”
“A Room of One’s Own. A memoir.”
“Ugh.” He scrunches his nose. He hates memoirs. He’s often informed you about how he thinks too many people write memoirs. But he habitually picked the Kate Chopin works from your shelf, so his opinion instantly becomes a moot point. Luckily, he finds them interesting enough to read on his own, so you’re spared from explaining why the main character ultimately hates being married. He picks out The Awakening. And then he looks at you after scanning the synopsis. “What?”
“Ugh.” You copy his tone.
“Don’t be cross with me because you enrolled late. Would you really have rather taken the one about Fitzgerald?”
“At least he and Zelda are more interesting behind the scenes.”
“Ouch.” Michael puts his hand over his chest, a pained expression on his face. “A burning statement from someone who calls themselves a feminist.”
“If I wanted stories about women who hated being married, I’d be at home with my mum and aunts.”
Michael hesitates to snicker again. “Okay, fair point.”
“You can keep that for a few days if you want. I won’t need that until December.”
“You’re not eager to read about…” he squinted at the back of the book. “Edna Potellier?”
“And the sexual awakening that makes her realize she doesn’t want to be a wife and mother anymore? Again? Not until I have to.”
“Wow. Antifeminist and serving spoilers. Your cruelty is limitless.”
You try to kick him. Then again, ‘try’ is a strong word. He dodges anyway before finding the first page.
#michael gavey#michael gavey fanfic#michael gavey x y/n#michael gavey x reader#michael gavey x you#michael gavey fanfiction#saltburn#michael gavey saltburn#michael gavey imagine#micael gavey self insert#hurt/comfort#michael gavey fluff#michael gavey angst
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threads of fate
pairing: peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x preachers daughter!reader
tags: 18+, mdni. dub-con, heavy and dark religious themes, dark themes, fingering, kissing, swearing, sliiight voyerism, corruption and innocence kink,
summary: after a chase in the woods, coriolanus becomes devoted to making you his one and only follower.
notes: i don't know what came over me.. enjoy!
word count: 7.2k
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౨ׅৎ
the blood of the lamb, washed over the sins of those strayed away from god, atones those begging to be spared from destruction. the saccharine ichor was the ultimate gateway towards deliverance- and thus sought out by sinners and saints alike to be granted eternal redemption for the transgressions that permeated the sweats and tears of the individuals whose secrets would have them damned to the dreadful inferno beneath their feet. the sweet lamb; symbol of innocence and purity, and the wolf who hunted it, the face of deception and treachery, stood now in the heart of the woodlands, the sweet kill hidden shamefully in the asylum of the crowded aspen as it’s predator tauntingly whistled in pursuit of it’s coveted prize.
tears fell in a waterfall down into the vessels of your collarbones, trailing down and staining the frail white fabric of your dress, unveiling the soft tanned skin of your chest in its wake. with one hand clasped tightly against your mouth, you tried to conceal your wails of fear and the threatening thumping of your heart so as not to draw attention to the towering figure looming dangerously close to you, chuckling lowly as he carefully made his way through the maze of trees and forestry. your other hand was clutched desperately on the golden cross that hung around your neck, thumb haphazardly caressing the delicate engravings and etchings of the cool metal.
hail mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, jesus. holy mary, mother of god, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death.
shame washed over you as you thought of your mother and father- your dear father, and what they would make of your inevitable disappearance. you were taught the way of the lord since you emerged from your mothers womb; it followed you everywhere you went. by all means, you had lived your life for god himself. what would he think of you now? the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of god. and yet there you were, a thief, running from, no doubt, god’s punishment for your sins.
despite your fathers widespread fame throughout the district, your family struggled to bring food and water to the table regularly. seeing the despair that clouded your mothers eyes as she failed to provide a dinner some nights for her family had driven you towards madness. you grew desperate- desperate to alleviate the stress that haunted her and satiate the hunger that settled in your stomach for the fifth day in a row. you rationalised, that with your undying devotion, god would find it in him to forgive you. with all the work your father put into his sermons and dedication to delivering god's word to the poverty stricken peoples of district 12, the divine being would be forgiving in his punishment in recognition of the loyalty you harboured.
now, you knew you were wrong.
you berate yourself for even entertaining the stupid idea of pilfering from the small bakery near the marketplace. in truth, it wasn’t even stealing. you had waited until dark threatened the sky, then snuck behind the establishment to snatch a few meagre, stale loaves that had been carelessly discarded in a small bin beside the refuse receptacles. combined with the butter you had been gifted earlier in the week, these provisions would barely suffice to stifle the persistent pangs in your stomach for a few days, at most. you naively assumed you were in solitude and hastily fled when you’d filled up your small leather bag with as many old rolls and loaves as possible.
oh, how wrong could you have been? you never caught sight of the face of the man who now charged after you- only a faint glance at a familiar blue that weaved its way through the trees- but the adrenaline rushing through your veins urged you to run, and to never stop. and now, here you were, caught in the act, pathetically weeping as you waited for the repercussions of your actions to find you.
you moved to press your back harder against the thin trunk of the tree, a twig snapping under the weight of your foot, and your eyes widened with fear as the sound reverberated against the still of the forest, the soft footsteps that trailed behind you coming to an abrupt stop. then, a voice.
“my dear, it would make it so much easier for us if you just came out. i promise you, i don’t bite.” it purred. the way he spoke was low and unrecognisable, laced with an amusement that had you shiver with the depravity of it. your crying ceased at an attempt to remain as hidden as possible, nary a whimper escaping from behind the painful grip of your hand across your mouth.
“i know you know what you did was wrong. i mean, stealing from a bakery? i wonder what your father would think of you now, his daughter a thief.”
you fought back tears at the mention of your father, shame once again weighing at your conscience, “come out, and i promise your punishment won't be as harsh as it should be.”
the proposition had you thinking for a bit, the truth behind the words appealing to you for a sliver of a moment. before you could consider your next step; find an out or comply to the omnipresent man’s offering, a gunshot pierces your ears, and you let out a shriek so loud you swore all of panem could hear you.
you begin to wail again then, uncontrollably, screaming and begging for respite as your body gave in under the weight of itself; your knees buckling and falling harshly against the ground. you shake with the ferocity of a small rodent before you’re pulled up by your shoulders and engulfed into a familiar, warm hug. your eyes wide with panic, you thrash your head back in forth in an attempt to find the man who was tormenting you, only to see that he was now gone, and in his place, a small search party lead by a peacekeeper cheered in glory at the sight of you. relief washed over you as you looked up to find your father, falling into the safety of his arms as he escorted you out of the forest, giving a curt thank you to the peacekeeper and another man you recognized to be one of your fathers students, before dragging you to the comfort of your home.
౨ׅৎ
when your father found out the reason behind your being in the woods, you’d landed yourself a life of extra chores and punished to more frequent church visits until your father decided you had repent enough. your father, reassuring you of god's forgiveness as his child, warned that your actions wouldn't fade from memory. he emphasised the necessity of restoring your relationship with the lord and savior. you were under his constant watch, now. each morning, before dropping you off at school, he compelled you to pray fervently for protection over your family and yourself, urging you to plead for deliverance from the consequences of your actions.
with your increased presence in church taking up most of the time you had to yourself, you found yourself taking note of the other frequent church goers. your father, of course, and his dedicated student, were a constant in your peripheral vision. the old couple who lived only a few minutes away from you, mrs. harmon and her froofy, dirty church outfits, her boisterous children, and her grumbling husband. you noticed small things; like how the wife of the newly-wed couple in town had stopped wearing her wedding ring, and how her husband seemed to never give her a second look. how the twin boys in the grade below you suddenly surpassed you in height, and their younger sister now seemed to lack a certain innocence that was pertinent in her character before. you made a small promise to yourself to pray for her.
there was one person, however, who you were not familiar with, yet you could feel it in the deep ends of your bones that you knew exactly who he was. he had begun to appear only once a week, his shiny buzzcut and blue peacekeeper uniform sticking out sorely from the rest of the crowd. then, twice a week- then three- and then suddenly you found you could not escape from him. everywhere you turned, he was there. when you walked home from school, you would catch him patrolling somewhere nearby, or laughing and chatting with his peacekeeper friends. when you opened the church doors for mass, he would be first to walk in, handing you a small smile before making his way to sit in the pew farthest away from you. he was there, everywhere you looked, and it unsettled you greatly. there was a lack of sincerity in his eyes when he smiled, and for a moment you thought that it had seemed like hunger, but you pushed the idea away before your brain could process it. one night, when closing the church doors and heading to your home, the small sound of rapid footsteps triggered your fight or flight response, the latter winning. when the man rested his hand on your shoulder politely, handing you a handkerchief you had dropped, you felt a strange sense of deja vu. the speed at which it sounded he had ran towards you didn’t match how he stood before you now; breathing even, chest pushed out pridefully, his dark sapphire eyes never leaving yours. but you were so sure that the man had been sprinting, just like the man who had sprinted after you a few weeks ago had. you gave him a small thank you before speed-walking your way to the front door, panting heavily as you locked it shut behind you and your hand made its way back to the pendant on your neck, grasping it so tightly it hurt, the stipe digging into the soft flesh of your palms as a way of grounding yourself back to your senses.
that night, when you got on your knees to pray, you couldn’t shake the look on the mans face from your thoughts. his features themselves were even, lacking any sense of emotion, but his eyes troubled you the most. the way they bore into yours made you feel as if you would burst into flames right then. it made you feel as if there was something he wanted from you, but your poor innocent soul couldn’t figure out what. when you nestled yourself into your bed that same night, you vowed to stay as far away from him as possible.
you hadn't realised how hard that would be.
he approached you the next morning. it was saturday, and the usual gloomy weather of district 12 had been forced away and replaced with the harsh, bright sunlight. it shone spectacularly through the stained-glass windows, gracing the dark wood of each side aisle with vibrant reds and yellows and blues and brightening the deep red carpet that lay evenly along the nave. you stood behind the pulpit, readying your fathers sermons and homilies for that week's sabbath. he had barged in unannounced, making his way towards you slowly as you pretended to ignore the tall figure making its way down the red path.
“good morning, miss,” he spoke lowly towards you, peering upwards slightly as the pulpit was slightly taller than the rest of the church, and you pretended to read through the cards and flip through your bible as if it were you preparing to speak in a mere 15 minutes. he cleared his throat once, and you waved your hand nonchalantly towards the pews, “the preacher will be ready shortly. please, have a seat.”
from behind your fathers flashcards, you could see a small tick of his jaw and he pressed his lips together tightly, nodding slowly before making his way to his usual seat, feigning interest in the architecture of the building.
“its quite beautiful, no?”
you hummed.
“i wonder how the district could afford to pay for it.”
the comment caught you off guard, causing you too look up at him with scrunched brows, your lips parted in confusion. surely, he knew the capitol had paid for it- and even then, what did it matter? a sanctuary for god deserved only the best of resources, you thought. the beauty of the church was a reflection of the beauty of your religion, the intricacies and meticulous carpentry of the building spoke to one of the three transcendentals that point to god. of course, it would be beautiful.
before you could think of a response to the bizarre musing, your father burst in, pressing a light kiss to your cheek and thanking you kindly for preparing for him. the man stood up to make his way to greet the preacher, and you were out of sight as fast as lightning.
that cycle continued for a while. he would sit in the pews, admiring the architecture (when really, he was admiring you), then stand to greet your father enthusiastically, frowning ever so slightly when you disappeared the moment he made any closer to your father. eventually, you had become quite good at avoiding him. you saw him less in the markets, saw less of him in church, and rarely caught sight of him anywhere else. that was, until you found him at your doorstep one hot summer day.
you and your mother swore it was the hottest day to see district 12, and you sat on the porch in a small, lace trimmed top and cut-off jean shorts. your hair was carelessly tossed into an updo to relieve your neck of some heat, and you sat in your fathers old chair as you sipped on some juice your family had been given earlier that day.
you weren’t expecting any visitors that day, so it was safe to say you nearly choked when the man appeared from behind the path of thrush that hid your small home from sight of the church, dressed only in the blue dress pants of his peacekeeper uniform and a thin white shirt, silver dog tag swinging like a pendulum across his chest as he made his way towards you. your father had emerged delighted, mr. snow!, he cheered, patting the man- snow, what a fitting name- on his back and urging him inside. you scrambled to the backdoor and into the kitchen where your mother rest, the door slamming behind you loudly as you entered, causing her to jump.
“dear?”
“that man daddy’s talking to- who is he?”
she gave you a halfhearted shrug, “i wouldnt know, pumpkin, it’s probably business with your father. he goes to the church, no?”
you nodded, pacing back and forth, ignoring the crazed look your mother threw at you as you processed the information.
“do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” she reminded you, and your jaw dropped at the silent accusation she threw at you.
“absolutely not, mother!” you stormed back out the door, drowning your mother’s laughter out with frustrated mumbles of has she lost her mind? and what a woman! how she could ever think something about snow was tempting you was beyond your understanding. however, when you made it back to your chair and your watered down glass of juice, the sight of a shirtless ‘mr. snow’ and your, otherwise fully dressed, father in the garden, dripping sweat shamelessly into your mothers vegetable patch, a snap thought breached your mind that perhaps there was something tempting about the mysterious man.
that sent you into a frenzy. your knee bounced anxiously as you silently begged god to forgive you for the thought, and that it was simply intrusive, and not reflective of the morals and high grounds you held closely to your heart. nervously, you grabbed the book you had abandoned weeks ago and shoved your nose into the pages as if to distract yourself from your own brain and its wicked ministrations.
you weren't sure of how much time had passed, yet it felt like the man's stay was suspiciously short as he and your father made their way inside. you gave him a curt nod, and your father gave you a small lecture about manners, insisting that the two of you become accustomed to one another. and there you were, legs drawn up to your chest as if to protect yourself from the sinful looking man before you.
“my name is coriolanus snow,” he said. coriolanus. it was unlike any name you’d heard before. you returned the gesture softly, hoping that he would disappear behind your father into the house and you could breathe again, but he stayed and stared at you with that look, “your father tells me we’re the same age. he’s a nice man.”
you bit your lip at that. the same age? there was something about coriolanus that seemed older. it also begged the question: what was someone his age doing as a peacekeeper? you opened your mouth to pry at him, but he cut you off, stepping closer.
“tell me, dear, what sins weigh in your heart?”
you drew yourself back further into the safety of your chair, face laced with disgust as you tried as hard as possible to distance yourself from the imposing man now caging you into your confinement. his breath was heavy on your nose, and your heart pounded harshly- from what, you weren’t sure. fear? a sense of danger? temptation? his lips were so close to yours now, you could smell the faint scent of cologne that mingled with the saltiness of his sweat, and you tried your best to keep your breathing as even as possible, feigning indifference to his proximity to you poorly.
“i dont know what you mean, mr. snow.”
he smiled at that, laughing lowly. he didn’t expect you to know what he meant, of course, but he had an inkling that if he played his cards just right, he’d have you right where he wanted. he leaned closer now, lips dodging yours, lightly brushing your nose as his head turned to whisper in your ear.
“do you think of me at night? our little chase?”
“wh-what?”
“you’re smart, miss. think about it.”
he disappeared into the house, bidding goodbye to your mother and father and whisking himself away. your mouth remained parted, eyes wide with confusion as you tried to process what his words could have meant.
surely, he couldn’t mean..
no. absolutely not, you decided. coriolanus may have unsettled you ungreatly, but he was a peacekeeper- and your father had always told you that they served to protect you, that they would never harm you purposely. you stood shakily and made your way quietly into the old house, reeking of old wood and boiled vegetables. you sat on the couch near your brother, holding his head to your chest as you stroked his hair comfortingly, still trying to process. from the kitchen, your father called, “he’s a nice boy, no? perhaps he could be of some influence to you, sweetheart.”
you agreed meekly, despite disagreeing with your father completely. you werent entirely sure what he saw in the man at all, yet you were adamant that he was, in fact, not a good influence, but a parasite. you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. he made you feel unsafe- unsure of yourself, and for some reason, your faith. you decided he was no good; but yet you couldnt make any understanding of the bittersweet ache between your thighs.
when coriolanus walked home that evening, he couldn’t fight his smile. he saw you, in all his glory, struggling pathetically under his gaze, squirming and fidgeting uncontrollably as he trapped you within the cage of his arms.
the sacrificial lamb has been caught, he thought.
what a stupid, stupid lamb.
౨ׅৎ
you rushed into church near 5 am the next day, sleep deprived from the constant running of your mind and the damned words of coriolanus snow.
“our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” you repeated to yourself, kneeled below the large wooden crucifixion of jesus, hands clasped tightly together, your head resting painfully against the white of your knuckles.
what you were praying for, you didn’t know. you couldn't go to the confessional- heavens forbid, no. confessing secrets of your dreams of coriolanus’s hands, the outline of his jaw, the way he whispered his sinister words so sweetly into your ear- to your father? you would rather be hanged for the whole district to see. there was nothing sinful about your dreams, exactly, but it felt sinful, dirty, downright hellish. you thought of his lips, the soft and pink flesh of them, the stormy blue of his eyes- and, oh god, you couldn't stop replaying his words in your head.
‘do you think of me at night?’ he had asked you so earnestly. as if he needed you to tell him yes, you did think of him, every night. it wasn't a lie, of course, only the way you had begun thinking about him had changed. but that wasn't your doing at all, was it? no, he was to blame, for speaking to you like that, for dangling his dog tag so close that it brushed your cross indecently, for showing up to your house and stripping himself half naked, sweating impurely over the soil you and your mother sowed and reaped with love, with innocence, purity. it was entirely his fault, from the way he seemed to be forcing himself into your life. the church door creaked open, and you continued to pray, “give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”
your heart raced as footsteps neared closer, as if you knew exactly who they belonged to.
“what troubles you, little lamb?” his voice took you with fear, the way it rumbled in his chest and reverberated on the walls confining the two of you, alone. you raised your head, refusing to look back at him, “i do believe that's none of your concern, mr. snow.”
you heard him chuckle lowly, repeating the words mr. snow to himself under his breath. it made you shiver, and you recited the bible verses your father drilled into your head from as young as you could remember: vindicate me, o god, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation; rescue me from deceitful and wicked men.
you could feel him now, knee pressed lightly against your back. you stood up and turned to face him, eyes wild and daring as they searched the azure maze of his own. his hand reached to stroke your hair, and you flinched.
“why is it that you fear me so much, do you think?”
“i’m not afraid of you.”
he tsked, “‘fear’ is different than ‘being afraid’, darling. to be afraid is a fleeting moment. your brain's immediate response towards danger,” he moved to touch your hair again, now more forcefully, tucking the loose strands along your hairline behind your ear.
keep back your servant also from willful sins.
he continued, “i asked, why do you fear me?”
you tried to search deeper into his eyes, trying to grasp any understanding at what he was trying to communicate to you. your mind ran amok, and it was no help that coriolanus's hand now snuck its way into your fingers, fidgeting with the soft digits mindlessly.
“i don't.. i don't know-” he cut you off by stepping closer before you finished. you had wanted to tell him that you didn't know why he thought you feared him, that you didnt understand the question, and that you needed to get home soon, so to please excuse you.
“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”
you let out an involuntary laugh, giggling childlishly at the accusation. you stopped, when his eyes darkened.
“i’m sorry, mr. snow, but i really don’t know what you mean!” you were struggling to contain your girlish giggles. what he imposes between me and god? it was such a bizarre statement, so plainly laid out for you, that you couldn’t even comprehend it entirely. your laughing ceased, for good now, when his hand circled tightly around your wrist.
let them not have dominion over me.
then i will be upright.
“i’m not stupid, love. i saw you, yesterday, practically drooling over me. i wonder what your father would have to say if he saw the sinful way you ogled at me,” he paused, and you swallowed painfully, “and dont tell me you’ve forgotten all about our little chase, hm? wasnt it exhilarating?” now, panic engulfed you. you tried to back away from him as the pieces etched themselves together in your brain, but his hold on your wrist was only getting tighter.
“that was you?” your voice was impossibly small, weak from the alarm that blared in your head. your eyes darted back and forth desperately, searching for an out, hoping and praying that someone might burst in and see the scene before you, tear hades away from his persephone and save her from her impending doom.
i will be blameless and innocent of great transgression.
he dipped his head to your neck, lips deliciously grazing over the supple skin of your collar bone, pressing kisses so light you could barely feel them as you tried to wriggle from his grasp.
“of course it was me, darling,” the way you felt him smile against your skin was chilling, and you fought back tears as he moved impossibly closer to you, “isn’t that adrenaline rush just addicting? tell me, dove, what do you think about me when you lie in bed and replay our precious little moments together in that pretty head of yours?”
your breathing quickened, and you winced as coriolanus gripped tighter at your wrist, his other hand painfully gripping the small of your waist, massaging the gentle muscle of it. you could feel his entire body pressed against yours, and a tear threatened to slip when you felt the hard pressing of his lower region on your stomach. you shook your head, refusing to give in to his line of questioning, but his grip on your waist tightened and you cried out in pain, “your hands!” you whined, relief slowly making its way to the sore area of your waist as he loosened his grip. he made to grasp your chin under his index, forcing you to keep eye contact with him and urged you silently to keep going.
“your..” you let out a shaky sigh, “your h-ands, your voice, the words you speak to me. i don't understand why.”
he cooed at you now, as if proud of you for speaking up. your eyes darted to his lips, and you saw something flash in his eyes, “anything else?”
let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight,
lord, my rock, and my redeemer.
you tried to look down at your feet as if to run away from the question, but his hold on your chin was unrelenting. shamefully, you whispered, “your lips.”
he let out a small ahhh, as if the admission shocked him. he knew, of course. of course he knew. you poor thing. sweet, little lamb, so innocent and pure. untouched by lust, blind to its deceptive allure. he knew from the moment he’d gone after you in those woods and failed to catch you, that he would do everything in his power to make sure you would never escape his grasp again. he knew when his frail attempts at getting closer to you failed, he had to resort to a harsher solution. he needed to infiltrate every space you breathed in, and break his was into your mind until he had you right where he needed you to be: malleable, so he could corrupt you just as easy.
he knew your father protected you, the extent to which he went to protect you, as well. banning sex education in your school, ensuring your mind stays as pure as possible to the exploits of fickle men and their wants. you knew the basics, thanks to your mother and her worrisome self, but her teachings were meddled down into some confusing allegory that left your mind as clueless as before, so that you stayed intact, perfect and pristine in the lords eye as well as the rest of the district, in your white frilly dresses, light makeup, and perfectly crafted manners.
he knew how easy it would be to get in your head. the human body is funny, like that, wherein it begs for things it doesn’t know of. he knew when he flexed his hands you caught sight of it, when he swallowed you intently watched the way his adams apple bobbed, he knew when he showed up to your home and stripped himself almost bare it would plague your mind with an unknowing want and desire, and soon enough, you’d have no choice but to give in to it, abandon your god and his lessons for coriolanus alone.
he ran his tongue across his bottom lip, swiping his thumb across yours as if to mirror himself, and then ducked his head closer, “go on.”
you squeezed your eyes shut. everything felt so, so wrong, and you didn't know why, but you couldn't stop. when he continued to toy with your lip, slightly plunging the tip of his finger past them and into your mouth, you let out an involuntary, small moan, and your legs shook and quivered as the strange ache from yesterday returned.
“wh-what?”
“kiss me.”
your eyes widened, and you shook your head. coriolanus thought it was adorable, how you struggled to piece together what was about to happen, how your brain tried desperately to fill in the blanks with information it didnt know. you heard coriolanus sigh disapprovingly at your protests and he shoved his thumb further into your mouth, causing you to choke. he removed it, then wiped the saliva that remained over your bottom lip before inserting the digit in his mouth, tasting you.
“its okay, little one. you can kiss me. he wont mind,” you didnt realize your fingers lingered over the necklace nestled on your chest, and your gaze followed his finger as he gestured upwards. he wont mind. you racked your brain over the things coriolanus said to you from he entered the church.
“i think you fear what i impose between you and your precious god.”
now, you truly hoped someone would burst in, and you could scream and wail as you explained the horrors coriolanus was about to commit to you (even if those horrors were unclear). he was so close, and something still pressed hardly against your stomach, and suddenly you couldn't breathe, “he would mind. i promise to pray for you coriolanus, i don't know what troubles you, but the lord-”
he cut you off by shoving his lips onto yours harshly, groaning at the contact. his hands made their way to rest on your clothed breasts, and you wriggled and struggled to try get away from him, but your efforts were fruitless. you were cornered, now. a lamb with nowhere to run or hide, forced to face its fate. he ravaged your lips, hands restless as they caressed all over your protesting body. the ache between your legs grew, and a small part of you realized that the last thing you wanted right now was for someone to walk in, and see the preacher's daughter being completely defaced by a peacekeeper.
“your god cant give me what i need, angel. cant you see? you did this to me,” his hand grabbed yours as he pulled away to speak, trailing it down the hard muscle of his abdomen and palming the hardness that threatened to burst through the seam of his pants. your eyes were wide and doe-like, and coriolanus never needed to fuck you more. his lips met yours again, and his other hand fumbled to remove his pants, hissing when the air hit his straining cock, all while you tried your best to distance yourself from him as much as possible. your face was hot, and your hands remained in the air, unsure of where to rest them, as you slowly allowed coriolanus to slip his tongue into your mouth.
“good girl,” he practically growled, and you let out a pathetic squeak when you felt your core tighten, pleasure washing over you at the small praise. coriolanus was turned on beyond conception, moaning disgracefully as he stroked himself through the fabric of his underwear. if you could see the spectacle the two of you were making, in the middle of church- no less, the thought alone had coriolanus close to the edge. you gasped when you saw him palm himself, and without thinking, your hand brushing his ever so slightly, lingering a second too long before his eyes snapped up at yours, pleading you to go ahead and touch him.
when you finally pressed your hand to his clothed region, you swore the way coriolanus threw his head back with a small mewl and moan would land you an eternity in hell alone.
“thats it, baby, jus’ like that.. keep going..” you gasped when his hand sneaked its way under your dress- your sunday best- your hand faltering a bit when his long middle finger lightly grazed your clothed cunt. the foreign feeling it elicited from you had you desperately searching coriolanus’s eyes for an answer, unable to speak as his fingers that toyed with the most intimate parts of you had you moaning softly and lowly, uncontrollably. you continued to palm him, and his hand slipped into the lacy cotton of your panties, cursing hotly under his breath when he feels you.
“so wet for me. you dirty fucking girl, look at you: making a mess in church.” you didnt know what he meant, but shame burned through your skin. confusion grappled at you and you began to sob, not ignoring the way your tears seemed to make coriolanus throb beneath you, “please stop, coriolanus, this is immoral.”
“baby, if it feels good, then it cant be bad,” he stroked the tear stains on your cheek softly, cupping your face with false earnest as he pulled your head to lay on his chest, “does it feel good?”
coriolanus reveled in the way you looked up at him, like a devoted follower in the arms of their saviour. when you nodded slowly, he gently spun you around and shoved your face into the cool wood of the crucifixion behind you, his hand painfully pushing against your cheek enough so that you couldn't look anywhere but above you, into the sad eyes of jesus.
your panties were ripped off with a shriek that was muffled by coriolanus’s hand around your mouth, and you sobbed as pain mixed with pleasure as he gave a few slaps to your dripping cunt, mumbling about how pretty it is. in a desperate attempt to wiggle out of your new position, you accidentally arched your back further, giving him more access.
“let me show you how i can love you,” he whispered into your ear, before returning his fingers to the slick mess that coated your cunt, your body jolting when they occasionally brushed over your clit, the unfamiliar sensation already too overwhelming for you to handle. with a few more agonising strokes of his fingers, he prodded at your hole, teasing your entrance in a way that had your eyes roll to the back of your head. when he finally slipped them in, your hand pounded desperately against the cross you were pressed up on, pleads to stop falling pathetically into the hand of coriolanus and onto deaf ears. he was merciless with it, greedily pounding his fingers into you in a way that had your knees gravitating towards each other and animalistic grunts of pleasure vibrating through his hand.
something in you burned, your body was pleading for more as an unfamiliar coil formed in the pit of your stomach. your hand continued to bang against the cross, tears falling as you forcibly peered into the eyes of your saviour while you got your cunt ravaged in the middle of his shrine.
“oh god, oh god” you mumbled through his hand. you were unsure if it was shame, or the delicious way coryo pumped his fingers into you, but you grew lightheaded and dumb, eyes hazy as you grew closer to your release.
“thats it, take it. you’re filthy, taking my fingers so well in the middle of church.” now, both hands scraped desperately against the cross, leaving marks in the wake of your fingernails digging into the hardwood. coriolanus tugged your head further up, forcing you to stare at him with tears streaming down your face and desperate pleas for him to stop going unheard. he smiled coyly when he felt your pussy clench around his fingers, and he withdrew them just before you reached your release, a loud, agonising whine of relief and desperation leaving your smushed lips. he was quick to replace his fingers with his cock, the slow intrusion of it making you let out a low, droned out groan as he stretched your virgin cunt past its limit.
he removed his hand from your mouth, and a string of prayers tumbled out of it, “o my god, i am heartily sorry for having offended thee,” and “and i detest all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend thee, my god, who art all good and deserving of all my love.” it earned you a slap to your ass, and you cried out loudly as coriolanus shoved your dress off of you, watching as it fell uselessly around your legs into a pool of white. he flipped you around, admiring your soft breasts and the way they spilled over in the hold of his fingers, and he traced the soft, plumpness of your belly as he chuckled lowly at your continuous prayer. with his cock still nestled into you, he leaned forward to whisper in your ear.
“god loves you, but not as much as i do,” and then he thrust his cock into you with such force that you nearly tumbled to the floor. his hand rest on your lower back, forcing you to arch closer to him, your hips meeting his unwillingly at his fast pace. coriolanus’s cock grazed the inside of your gummy walls perfectly, and you found yourself slipping from reality as he continued to pound his dick into you, moaning when you contracted around him without rhythm, your inexperienced self almost overloaded with pleasure, unable to control your body.
“you’re being such a good girl, taking my cock like this,” he weaved a hand through your hair, “‘n you’re gonna let me cum inside you, yeah? gonna make a woman out of you.” you couldnt focus on the words he was throwing at you, lost in pleasure as the tip of coryo’s dick hit that one spot over and over again. the way he spoke to you had you at a crossroads, and it didnt help that he was fucking you into oblivion, and now you understood what he had meant when he said he imposed between you and god, because you were becoming addicted to the push and pull of his cock inside of you.
“thats right, take it. you look so pretty all dumb and fucked out on my cock,” you reached to grab his arm to steady yourself, your orgasm creeping in closely, “you gonna cum for me?”
you didn't know what it meant, but you nodded anyways, completely lost in bliss, “coryo..” you moaned out, his brows raising slightly at the new nickname, a smirk settling on his face. moans and mewls lewdly left your mouth as he quickened his pace, his unused hand massaging at your tits, twisting and pinching softly at your nipples as you thrashed with pleasure under him.
“gonna make you worship this fucking cock, baby” he was close himself now, his head falling and his voice itching up an octave, lewd moans clashing with yours as the rhythm and pace he set began to falter, and he fucked you as hard as he could as he chased your high and his own, “gonna make you devoted to me. you’re never gonna wanna be away from me again,” his face twisted with pleasure, and you circled your arms around his neck as you tried to ground yourself, the coil in your stomach slowly beginning to unravel and threatening to snap. a shadow passed, and your eyes widened with terror as you slapped coryo’s arm haphazardly, begs falling from your mouth to stop. he turned his head lazily to look at what you were whining about, but his thrusts didn't stop.
“let them see what a dirty fucking girl you are.”
your walls tightened and your eyes rolled so far back into your head you were scared they wouldn't come back up as your orgasm reached you. you covered your mouth, shrieking desperately as the shockwaves of pleasure rolled over you, the newfound feeling unrelenting as it took over every part of your body. coriolanus repeated words of encouragement and praise as he fucked you through your high, before bottoming out and releasing his load in you, christening your walls. you whined at the feeling, so full and drunk off of it that your concerns of the passerby faded. the both of you stood there, panting heavily, both groaning when coryo slid out of you. he slapped his tip on your puffy clit one, two, three times, before a loud knock rapped on the church door.
you could feel coriolanus’s spill leaking out of you as you crouched on your knees, hidden, and you cried silently, the reality of what had just happened to you settling in. coriolanus snow had corrupted you, in the worst possible way, and now you could only feel yourself crave more of him. as he spoke to the intruder, egging them to run along, a thumb caressed your head gently, as if to tell you he had everything under control. the small southern drawl he’d begun to pick up was more prominent. when the intruder finally left, you were forced to your feet, and coriolanus grabbed your ruined panties, resting on his knees below you to shove them into your used cunt, before making his way back to his feet, towering over you. he spoke to you like he would if he were on duty:
“you go on home now, miss. and tell your father i say hello.”
and you did.
౨ׅৎ
@dumbsoftheart, 2023
#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus x you#coriolanus snow smut#tbosas#the ballad of songbirds and snakes
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