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meichenxi · 3 days ago

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12 hyper-specific actionable neurodivergent-friendly goal suggestions for the New Year!

If you are considering writing goals / intentions / focus points that are more ADHD and/or autism friendly and not overly focused on career or relationships but rather on feeling at home in your body, here are 12 very specific, very actionable tiny steps that have made my life actively better in the last year. Feel free to reblog with similarly actionable points!

(Obligatory disclaimer: these are what have helped me – hence why ‘hyperspecific’! They might be completely the opposite of what you need, or irrelevant to your situation. And all of them, of course, are funds-dependent. But I hope you can find something to inspire you to think about more actionable goals for the coming year.)

1) Get a recipe box

This is number one for a reason. In the past, I have lived for three years on sandwiches (!). I cannot cook or reliably feed myself, and have been beating myself up about it for years. At its best it is humiliating, and at its worst I have gotten various illnesses from malnutrition. I find cooking a sensory hell, as well as triggering past ED thoughts, and shopping and deciding every day what to eat is an executive dysfunction nightmare.

‘You should be able to cook’ – okay, but you can’t. If you can afford it, what’s more important – that you eat well, or that you fail again and again at doing what you ‘should’ be able to do? I think of it as part of my autism accommodations, and just one of the ways that existing as a disabled person is more expensive. Please take the shame away from it, and use it if you need.

I pay for Gousto – it’s the best for vegans, and costs about £35 a week. This is a huge part of my budget for the month, but I find it worth it a million times over. It delivers the recipes and packaged foods in correct amounts to my house every week, and I always choose the quickest recipes to cook. They are done in about fifteen minutes. This forces me to be in the kitchen every day, which has the added benefit of making it very clean, because I can’t stand to cook when the kitchen is very dirty.

2) Go to the gym for ten minutes a day

- (If you don’t want to go to the gym but do other exercise instead, swap the location out for your preferred place!)

- Most traditional advice around exercise revolves around not doing too much – so for most beginners that means 3-4 times a week, at the maximum. The problem is that for AuDHD and other neurodivergent people that habits may be much harder, if not impossible, to form. This means that the executive function required to remember to go to the gym if it’s only 3 times a week, conversely, is actually significantly higher than if you do it every day.

- The ‘ten minutes a day’ thing, for me, means that my goal is not to do X amount of exercise or overwhelm myself. My goal is only to get there. Once I’m there, I can do whatever I want. This formulation of the goal in my mind removes the demand-avoidance and executive dysfunction barriers because if I really don’t want to exercise, I can just walk on the treadmill for a bit and then leave. Knowing this means that I almost always do more exercise than I otherwise would if I were forced to follow a difficult and tiring exercise regime.

- The key to this is that you actually have to mean it. Don’t beat yourself up if after ten minutes, you go home. That’s okay. Your goal was ten minutes – your goal is to make going to the gym a habit, not necessarily the actual exercise you do. That comes next.

3) Use a weighted neck-wrap, cushion or plushie

- For a disorganised sensory system, as many autistic people in particular have, proprioceptive input (that tells your body where it is in space – so weight, pressure, compression etc) can be hugely regulating and calming. A weighted neck wrap is small enough to go under your clothes or can go over your chest as you sleep. I already use a weighted blanket, but this means I can have a little bit of calming proprioceptive input as I work at my desk as well.

4) Get a smoothie box

- This is a similar point to the recipe box. I frequently have health problems because I absolutely hate the texture of fruit and vegetables, and just don’t ever eat them. Rather than forcing myself, as I have done for the past several years, to just try – I’ve leant into my difficulties and worked around them. Smoothies work for me. A smoothie box that comes every month averages out to about £2 per smoothie, which is less than the cost of a bottle in a supermarket. You don’t have to chop anything, just put it in the blender with water or oat or coconut milk.

- Most smoothies have 3 of your 5 a day at least, and some even have 5! If you are struggling nutritionally, it might be something to think about. It’s helped me hugely, and I now consider it an essential part of my budget.

- If it’s too expensive, consider buying frozen fruit by yourself if you have the spoons for that.

5) How can you look the most ‘put together’ without doing anything at all?

- I don’t mean showering. I mean infrequent practices like haircuts! I hate wearing makeup for sensory reasons, but I have a good haircut, one that makes me feel like myself and sharp and confident – I feel so much better, and it’s something I only have to do once. I now make it a deliberate choice to put a haircut in my calendar for every two months.

- Consider a ‘no style’ haircut that will look smart whatever you do! My haircut is a short French bob. You need essentially no styling, it works curly or wavy or straight (though if you have curly or coily hair, you should go to someone who can work with your texture – if you don’t thin it out properly, it’ll give you a horrible triangle shape!). I feel SO put-together with this haircut – it elevates even pyjamas, and I have to do absolutely nothing.

- I bite my nails to the point of bleeding – getting professional gel paint on my nails (no extensions) is the only thing that works to stop me, because the smooth round tips meant I could stim with those instead of biting. For ages, I didn’t because it was a ‘waste of money’. This year I realised: if I’m not going to stop stimming, I need to give myself something to stim with that doesn’t hurt me. Accept your neurodivergence and work around it. I now book a nails appointment every 6 weeks or so, for £20-£25. I find it again more than worth it.

- Similarly, I have just got a nose piercing, and I am considering tattoos for next year. For me piercings and tattoos do the same thing as the above two: they make me look more put together without actually ever having to think about wearing temporary jewellery or makeup (which I can’t for sensory reasons). What might work for you?

6) Dress for Sensory Good

- I have found a noticeable difference in my self-confidence with my appearance once I a) accepted that I have sensory differences, and b) bought clothes that accommodated those differences without making me look like a slob. For example, I hate feeling constricted around my thighs as I like to jump and stim and dance, but I don’t want to live in tracksuit bottoms because that leads to Depression Soup – so I have started buying formal, ‘monk-style’ trousers with a wrap-around belt and flowy legs. I like the feeling of pressure around my waist that a tight top provides, but I hate it around my shoulders (don’t ask me why…), so I have started wearing tops with huge baggy sleeves and a wrap-belt around the waist. So many of these tiny adjustments, and for the first time in my life I feel both comfortable and beautiful in my wardrobe.

- Do you like heavy things? Soft textures? Scratchy wool? Lots of badges to play with? Tight compression? Flowing fabrics? And how does this work with your lifestyle? When I am overwhelmed, I often want to cover the lower half of my face and neck – it feels comforting to me. So I have started wearing light scarves that I can wrap around my face like an old lady (!) which both block out the world, provide that comfort, and also look...normal? It lets me stim without visibly outing myself as autistic, which I don’t always feel safe doing.

- Other things to consider that might help: compression clothing, weighted jackets, heavy boots, ankle and wrist weights (there are some that are very minimalist and look like bracelets), wrap trousers, tight belts, cloaks with hoods, cowl necklines, activewear, Merino wool (if you sweat a lot or can’t shower / do laundry often), complete light-blocking sunglasses (you can buy these from a ski shop), stretchy fabric, etc. Whatever works for you – find it!

7) Use a sippy bottle with a straw

- I can’t stay hydrated. If it’s left up to me, I drink less than a glass of water every single day. I have constantly bleeding cracked lips and skin from lack of hydration. The only thing that has worked so far – and it has been a game-changer! – is to buy a huge 1.2 litre / 40 oz water-bottle with a built-in straw that I can take around everywhere. I can stim with it, the straw feels nice, I much prefer drinking from a straw because I hate accidentally wetting my chin / sleeves - and all I have to do is remember to fill it up twice a day. That’s way less mental effort than remembering eight glasses!

8) Get noise-cancelling headphones and Loops

- I assume everyone who is autistic has these. If you don’t – they will change your life. I only got them last year and suddenly so many places have become accessible to me that I would have just avoided before. I also tell people very honestly that I often wear them, so please don’t be alarmed if I do – if you want to start this, I’ve found it less intimidating to do it with strangers first, and then moving up to friends / family. Now everyone is used to it, and I get way less overwhelmed.

9) Use an audiobook service

- For a long time I thought that I had lost the ability to read. I now know that’s directly correlated to my levels of overwhelm (which makes my ADHD traits worse), but even so, my short-term memory is so poor that I have basically never been able to read non-fiction – it goes in one ear and out the other. Now that I use an audiobook service, however – I am listening to lecture series about so many things I’m passionate about and actually remembering things for the first time in my life!

- Knowing that I can listen to things I love whilst I clean or tidy my room or pack or whatever helps me so much. I also enjoy lying down in the dark under my weighted blanket listening to audiobooks as I wake up and go to sleep – it has completely replaced scrolling on my phone as the first / last thing to do in a day. When I’m overwhelmed I often can’t look at a physical book as it hurts my eyes, so an audiobook is far better.

10) Get Huel / Pleny / other meal-replacement drinks

- Because sometimes even with a recipe box, you won’t be able to cook. You’ll have forgotten to go shopping. You’ll be so sensory-weird that the thought of eating food is awful and makes you want to vomit. This doesn’t work for my partner, who hates the texture of Huel, but for me I can bear it and often enjoy the same-ness of knowing exactly what to expect. On days when I can’t cook or go out or sort out a meal, Huel is a life-saver.

11) Add active rest time to your calendar

- I don’t mean necessarily an actual calendar, but about how you think about time and your day. I make it a habit now to automatically add the same amount of time as the activity took as recovery time afterwards. So if I schedule a date for 2pm to 4pm, then I know that after I get home I will need two hours to recover before I can do something else.

- This has helped me be both more deliberate about my rest time (I don’t scroll or watch anything – I deliberately ‘go in’, as I call it, using my weighted blanket, other weighted things on my chest, a blindfold, brown noise, pitch black room etc), and also be realistic about how much I can do in my life. I know that if I have to rest for two hours after a two-hour event, it’s very unlikely that I can do more than one social engagement in a day. This expands to longer periods: if I go and visit my family for four days, I will likely need four days doing not much afterwards, and certainly no cognitively demanding tasks or socialising. This is a reality check which helps me say no to certain things that are not crucial.

12) Try compression clothes

- These provide a subtle and constant proprioceptive input which can calm the nervous system – as I have said above, proprioceptive input (knowing where your body is in space, pressure etc) is hugely regulating to AuDHD nervous systems. It also massively affects the other sensory systems if it is dysregulated – so if you aren’t meeting your sensory needs for proprioception, it’s likely that visual or auditory will be even harder. You don’t need to buy ones specifically for autism – UnderArmour or shapewear or activewear works just as well.

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I hope these help! I have many more suggestions, but will leave that to another post :)

#audhd #autism #actually autistic #adhd #actually adhd #neurodivergence

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the-californicationist · 7 hours ago

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Cali Cali bo-bali banana fana fo-fali me my mo mali! Cali!

I'm three Budweisers in and got an itch for alpha Price with a sudden need to breed (yay! Surprise rut!), and there's his sweet smelling omega neighbor who he's been keeping at arm's length because he's a professional dammit and has complete control of his urges, thank you very much.

Honestly, I just wanna see Mr. "I'm Married to My Job" lose it and show back up on base abashed and mated, and also ridiculously proud of his lil omega's claiming bite, because "she turned into a wildcat, lads. I couldn't stop her." *wink-wink*

Or not. I'm happy with any smutty Price fic you bestow on us, really. I'm just being weirdly specific because— alcohol = horny thots. 🍺😏🥴🫠

Drunken hugs 🫂 from Random Thot

RTG!! You are the most amazing person, and every time I see your pfp on AO3 or tumblr, I just get all gooey inside. Thank you for the ask! I wrote (and fully deleted) this fic three times because I wanted to get it right. I just pray that I could deliver. <3 <3 Hope this is what you were hoping for!!

MDNI/NSFW -- TW: damsel in distress, ABO dynamics, knotting, fuck-or-die scenarios, CNC, fluids, PIV sex, female OC

Glory, Glory

It was his last beer of the night, and he was ripping it apart. Curling, soggy shards of the torn label were stuck under his thumbnail, darkening the translucent edge and making it look dirty. They littered the sticky, lacquered bartop like ugly snow, falling in a tiny, chaotic mess. His hands were more than just dirty, the captain thought to himself as he used his wide thumb to itch at the glue-covered glass, rolling little, paper shards away from the smooth surface to reveal the amber liquid swirling within. The captain’s hands; they were covered in blood. Not innocent blood, but blood all the same. They’d never be clean again.

But, that was the job, and he was good at it. His hands were a direct reflection of his hard work. Killing evil bastards kept the world safe. Some poor sob in a factory could clean out the glue-painting machine that pasted these fuckin’ labels on all of these bloody beer bottles because of one unshakable truth: John Price was good at killing evil bastards.

Unfortunately, the killing would need to wait until after the mandated leave window closed again. His argument with Kate still grated inside of his head. He could almost hear her harsh, Yank accent in his ears.

“What do you want me to tell payroll, John? You can’t be here. You’ve got too many days. Go home. See your mom.”

“I see her plenty, Katie. Let me run that ops gig with Keller. C’mon. I’ll do overwatch,” he tried his best to weasel his way back into a bit of active duty.

“You’d be the world’s most expensive overwatch. Hell no. Here’s your ticket,” she shoved an envelope in his hands, “...and your money,” another envelope, “Go the fuck home, Captain. That’s an order.”

An order. More like a toothless threat.

But, alas, here he was, staring at a freshly shaved, buzzcut version of himself in a filthy pub mirror, undressing bottles left and right.

“Another, mate?” The barkeep pointed to his almost-empty drink, making a slight grimace at the paper graveyard that was sprinkled across his bar.

“No,” John sighed, pulling out a few notes from his wallet, “I’m off.”

“Happy Christmas,” the barkeep took the bills and didn’t bother to look up again, setting himself to sweeping the torn strips off of the surface, preparing for the next paying customer.

“You, too,” John muttered, tugging his black wool beanie over his ears before braving the classic cold, wet, and windy Liverpudlian night.

He didn’t live far. John’s mum had kept up his loft down by the docks, but it certainly didn’t feel like home. Home wasn’t real. Not anymore. As he walked along the Mersey’s edge, he peered into the black water, wondering if he’d ever truly go home again.

All of a sudden, he heard a shrill scream. Every sense that had been dulled by his lager was now as sharp as a blade and set on its edge. Again, a high-pitched shout pealed through the night air, beckoning him back to his heroism. That keening was the sound of some evil that needed stamping out, and he was hungry for it.

He sprinted through the warehouse district, chasing the noise of scuffling, ducking behind alleys and abandoned garages, looking for the source. Finally, there was a flash of red that caught his eye, so he ran towards it, his mind making sense of the scene in front of him.

Voices were jumbled and mashed up together, barely registering in his mind.

“Out here in a fuckin’ heat. Dumb bitch! C’mere.”

“She’s got a knife!”

“C’mere, you little slag. Get –”

In the middle of three huge, stinking Alphas, a tiny Omega was struggling, arm outstretched, brandishing her knife at them to keep them at bay. John came up behind the biggest one, some bald fuck with a dirty coat, and dropped him, cracking his spine in two places with well-placed fists, and breaking his jaw on his way down to the ground, leaving him groaning on the concrete.

One of his mates, a older man with thick, black eyebrows, lunged at Price, a look of indignant surprise on his face. The Omega screamed, her red coat yanked back over her face by the third man, her knife clattering to her feet. Price focused on Mister Eyebrows, dodging a lazy haymaker before popping him twice in the nose, drawing out his blood and knocking out at least two of his front teeth. Then, John grabbed him by the collar, pulling his jaw into his raised knee and listening to the satisfying splash as he fell into a murky puddle.

Finally, he set his sights on the last Alpha of the pack whose ropey arm was looped across the Omega’s neck, choking the air from her lungs. He growled at Price, his scent turning to rancid fear,

“Stay back! She’s mine, you big bastard.”

The captain had nothing to say. With a practiced ease, he side-stepped her assailant, breaking the elbow that controlled her throat, making him release her immediately. The evil bastard stumbled back, hand outstretched, bargaining for his life,

“Wait, wait. I’ll share her with you, how’s that? I’ll even let you have first go!”

A deafening howl came out of his mouth as Price’s boot heel made contact with his kneecap, forcing it to snap at a terrible angle. John’s hand shot out and grabbed the man by the hair on the crown of his head, tugging cruelly at his scalp. Without mercy, John slammed his face into a nearby bollard, and the howling stopped.

It was quiet again aside from the Omega’s trembling breaths. She had recovered the knife and was now pointing it towards John with shaking hands and wide, determined eyes.

“You alright, love?” Price asked, holding his hands up in a sign of peace, edging towards her in gentle, predictable steps.

“Y-yeah… Stay! Stay right there,” her voice was bright and clear, and he could hear her strength laced through her words. He stopped in his tracks, respecting her wishes.

“What are you doin’ all the way out here, darlin’?”

“They dragged me over here from Baltic Fleet,” she straightened up, getting her bearings, wiping the blood from a small cut in her cheek, “Fuckin’ bastards. Thank you, by the way.”

“Jus’ doin’ my job,” Price shrugged, waiting for her to lower the knife even further before he continued his approach.

“Police?” She asked, a little confused.

“Not exactly,” Price smiled, offering a hand out to her, “John Price, Captain of His Majesty’s RAF service.”

“Oh,” she studied him for a moment, and then her eyes fell to the hand, ready to bite but deciding to shake it instead.

When he touched her skin, Price felt her fever. Shocked, he tightened his grip, not meaning to startle her but too surprised by her temperature to ignore it.

“Christ, love. You’re burnin’ up.”

As quick as a flash, she yanked her hand out of his grasp and retreated back towards the wall of the warehouse behind her, scooting her way towards the corner to get out of his range, ready to bolt. She didn’t respond, but John watched as she wiped her brow, dotted with sweat and covered in concern.

“Hey,” he moved forward again protectively, “You can’t be out here alone. Not like this. At least let me walk with you. I’ll stay ten paces behind. It’s not safe.”

“I’m fine,” she said with more strength in her voice than what she was ready to produce.

“You’re not. You’re in a bloody heat. When did it start?” He watched as her knees began to tremble, and against her obvious wishes, he helped her sit on the warehouse deck, letting her keep the knife so she could feel safe.

“Yesterday…” She closed her eyes, trying to shake it off, “It’s… I’m fine. It’s never this bad.”

Now that he was close to her, Price was smothered by the scent of her body. The Omegan glands in her neck smelled like thick, wild honey, and her heat was mixing with her aroma, turning an already sweet smell into a lucious, decadent gourmand, pulling him in like quicksand.

“C’mon,” he helped her up, “Where’s your place? I’ll get you close.”

The clang of her knife made him glance up to see her eyes closed and her mouth slack. She was out, too weak to withstand the fever and the physical exertion.

Price felt his body react to her need. He was filled with rage, white and hot, at her situation. Those goddamn monsters were trying to take advantage of her in this vulnerable state. She should be home in her nest, being taken care of by her Alpha, covered in soothing oils and cool compresses, her needy little cunt stuffed full of his knot, staving off these symptoms and enduring them for her. Instead, she’d been hunted, chased, made to fight for her dignity out here in the middle of the docks. Something else inside Price’s chest curled around his anger.

Possession.

He tried to shake it off, knowing it came from being unmarked, but it had been so many years as a lone Alpha that he knew how to control it. Or, at least he thought he did.

Now, though, he found himself pulling at the neck of her coat as he held her in his arms, invading her privacy to check for a bite. He felt the shame wash over him as he covered her skin back up. He had no business searching for a mating bite. She was not his Omega, and he was not her Alpha.

After a few minutes out in the chilled wind, he made it to his apartment. Thankfully, it was late enough that his neighbors weren’t outside to witness what looked like a literal kidnapping, and he shuffled her inside without much trouble. Price lay her down on his long, leather sofa, careful to rest her head on the soft arm. He went to the kitchen to retrieve a cold rag and pressed it to her forehead, hoping to hold back the fever for as long as he could.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Wake up,” he whispered, trying to gently shed her coat and sweater, peeling her layers off to bring her temperature down to a more manageable level.

She moaned, her eyes wrenching shut even tighter, her face twisted in pain,

“My head…” She sighed, desperate for some relief.

“I know, love. C’mon,” John propped her up a bit, moving the rag so that the coldest parts would be against her skin, “What’s your name? I can find an address. Do you have your purse?”

“They… took it? I don’t… I dunno…” She muttered, obviously having a hard time stringing her thoughts together, “I don’t feel so good.”

This was not ideal. Price knew what came next. A high fever, exhaustion, fatigue, nausea, increased heart rate, and then…

“Alpha?” Her eyes were open, glassy and dark, the pupils fully blown, looking up at him with an outpouring of unfathomable need. Her scent rolled off of her in mind-altering waves, shoving Price’s carefully-built walls out of the way and sending shocks of desire straight to his heart and his fat, growing cock.

“No, baby. I’m not your Alpha. Who is he? Can you give me a name?” John asked, checking her coat pockets in a rushed panic. He was running out of time.

“Alpha, please… I need… Help me, please,” her shaking hands reached under his jacket and shirt, her knuckles rubbing against his furry belly, her strong fingers digging around for his belt buckle, getting right to the point.

Price felt the room flex around him, and he tried to breathe in air that wasn’t saturated by her vanilla spice, searching in the deepest recesses of his mind for some semblance of his self control.

“Easy, love. I can’t m–mmngh!” Her mouth slotted over his as he tried to protest, stopping his heart and his words at the same time.

She was heaven. Her smell was making his skin tingle all over his body, down his arms and up his legs, rushing to his central, sacral core. And her taste was even better. His little cinnamon roll, so sweet and warm, burning for him like a flame, hot and ready to scar him for life.

“Mngh… Love, mmm… Wait…” Price held her back, using more force than he thought he should need, surprised by her sudden power.

“John…” He met her eyes and found a particular clarity within them. She was coming out of her haze. But, it wouldn’t last. This was his final chance to keep her from doing something she would regret.

“Darlin’, I can’t. I’m not your Alpha.”

“You smell like you are,” she mewled, rubbing her wounded cheek across his engorged neck gland, spreading his scent all over herself.

“I can’t,” he moved away from her, trying to hold her in his arms for comfort rather than to bask in her expressive heat, “My work… I can’t leave you here, pretty girl.”

She sobbed out, trying to hold back from writhing against his body, doing everything she could not to make it harder for him to turn her down. Her eyes were rimmed red and pink from exhaustion, and she was staring down at her own hands, vibrating with tremors, slurring her words,

“Just lock me in the bath. I’ll run cold water. I’ll be fine…”

Something ancient and feral snarled in Price’s mind.

No.

“No,” he said, involuntarily, the voice in his head escaping from his throat.

“Please… I can’t stop myself… I want your knot, Alpha. Lock me up before I do something to you… Something you don’t want…” She could barely put two words together. Every thought was a struggle. He was losing her again.

He grabbed her and held her to his chest, clutching her like water in his palm, using all his strength to keep her with him,

“I want you, love. I want… Fuck, I need you.”

All of a sudden, the energy around their bodies stilled. That cracking, sparking electricity that bound them together was roiling just beyond John’s consciousness, ready to surge. But, he stayed perfectly still, waiting to see what she did next. She locked eyes with him and leaned in close, as if she would kiss him. But, she didn’t. She dipped her head down until she found his Alphic gland, swollen and bruised purple from him holding back his lust, nuzzling at it with the tip of her nose, rooting against him, testing his patience, checking to see if his temperament was true. Then, when he let her sniff him in his most potent spot, when she knew his soul was as pure as his scent, that he was true, she sucked his flesh between her lips, drawing his musk onto her tongue.

She’d accepted him. He reeled from it, unable to hold back a groan, his cock jerking against his zipper, thrashing to escape, flooding with hot blood and threatening to fill his knot before he’d even had a chance to taste her.

John pulled her mouth off of him and stared at her eyes again, in awe of her beauty, his mind swirling and yet perfectly sharp, begging her darkly,

“Give me your neck, Omega.”

The ritual had begun, and as she swept her hair away from her shoulder, pulling it around her back, she bent for him, arching her head down in a submissive bow, revealing her Omegan mating line. It looked like a keloid scar, the raised skin swollen and painful, like a pounding vein that ran from below her earlobe down to the top of her shoulder, full of her hormones and thick with her magic. One bite, and he would be in her thrall, pliant to her every whim, beholden to her needs until her heat had run its course.

Price had never given his bite to anyone. It had been easy to abstain. In fact, in his youth, he had a hard time understanding his mates’ commitments to their Omegas, scoffing at their lack of duty to their stations, doubting their commitment, and - moreover - doubting their loyalty. He remained a captain through and through, and he’d never made room for anyone or anything else. But, here he was, his teeth aching in his jaw, bigger and sharper than they should’ve been, his every sense heightened and taking her in like a drug, compelling him to punch through her delicate flesh and suck her nectar deep into his belly.

The feeling of her skin against his lips was enough to send a chill through his body. He was cooling from the inside out, and his body needed her heat. She was forcing a rut to take hold in him, and he could feel himself changing for her. Then, he bit down as hard as he could, breaking the thin seal of her mating line with ease, feeling the searing mixture of her oil and her blood filling his mouth and throat like a ripe plum, wet and sweet, and promising pleasure if he chose to swallow her.

He drank from her for as long as he dared, taking her in long, slurping gulps, letting her essence coat his throat, feeling the hot fluid burn inside of his chest and down into his stomach where it pooled and lingered, warming him up from the inside out.

“Alpha…” She moaned, raising her hand to cup his cheek as he sucked her life into himself, rubbing her thumb so softly over his shut eyelashes that he barely felt it.

John pulled away from her, his eyes fluttering open, her bright orange blood iridescent with her mating oil, making the red cells burn bright like a fresh-cracked yolk, gleaming, trapped between his teeth like gold. He watched it drip down her chest, staining her clothes, and he began to tear them off of her. She let him, limp and mute as he peeled her open, making her naked and pulling her into his arms.

He carried her into his bedroom, kicking open the door and busting the bolt through the strike, splintering the wood and not giving a shit about the damage. John lay her in the middle of the mattress and set to surrounding her with whatever softness he could find; his shirts, his blankets, even his scarves. Anything warm and comfortable was added to the nest, giving her as much support as he could before standing back to admire his work.

She eyed him from her recumbent throne, commanding him with her gaze. John stripped off his shirt for her, raking it up his back and over his shoulders, feeling as if he was moving his body for her and only for her. All of his motions, even his ragged breaths, were only escaping from his lungs because she wanted them to. His buckle clattered apart, and he popped open the button of his jeans, lowering the zipper in a sharp, metallic rip.

Once free, his heavy prick flagged, leaping forward and pulsating for her, proudly showing her his gleaming head. He was drooling an unrelenting stream of iridescent precome, his balls tight and full of Alphic oil, ready to coat her warm insides with his shining sex.

John climbed onto the bed, his face focused on her wet mound, admiring the plumpness of her, imagining her - in every delicious way - like a tender peach. He crawled to her, his mouth still stained neon orange from her gland, and he smeared her wet quim all over his lips and tongue. He wasn’t licking her so much as he was wearing her like warpaint, moving his nose and cheeks through her to ensure he was soaked in her heady slick, his body making wild, unbridled choices purely on instinct.

“Yes, baby, please…” Her voice went straight through him like a bullet, tightening his cockhead to an uncomfortable degree, and it jerked against the mattress in protest. Her hands were in his hair, scratching through his scalp, encouraging him to sink his tongue deep inside of her hole.

John obeyed, helpless to her desire, his mind wiping clean and being rewritten by her will. He was swimming in her scent, drenched in her slick, and gasping against her pussy, his eyes fixated on her form as it writhed above him. When she met his eyes, she bit the inside of her lip, crying out for him, rewarding him for his prostrated fealty. Then, she began to rock her hips against his jaw, fucking herself on his face, and he let her use him to her heart’s content, staying strong and sure, allowing his body to be used, objectified and glorified by it.

When she began to come, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He followed his tongue inside of her with two of his thick fingers, pressing against her walls, pushing her over the edge. She bolted upright, wrapping her thighs around his face, smothering him with her body, trapping him breathless between her legs. Her whole being trembled for him. He could feel the shimmer of her very soul, rattling and writhing with her siren-like keening. And just when he started to see spots in his vision, needing air just a little less than he needed to please her, she lay open for him, blooming outward like a flower, releasing him from a limbo he longed to return to, oozing with a stream of rainbow-tinted come, the Omegan oil within her womb escaping to advertise its promises to her mate.

Without knowing why, John found himself lapping it up from her pulsing hole like a hound, swallowing mouthful after mouthful and grunting with each pass of his broad tongue.

“John, I need... Please, put your knot inside me. I’ll be good…” She begged, tears shining at the corners of her eyes from her come-drunk bliss, her hands plucking at her nipples and trying to soothe herself down from her high.

“My pretty girl wants this knot, yeah?” John grinned devilishly, dipping his finger into her over and over and licking it clean like she was a jar of endless honey, “Wants me to breed this gorgeous cunt…”

At that comment, she spread her legs even wider for him, opening up for him like a blossom for the sun, ready to take whatever he had to give her. It was mesmerizing for John to see her like this. Everything about her was filled with intoxication and need. He was just a vessel for her pleasure, pouring himself into her to make her full again. Dizzy and drunk with adoration, he notched his girth at her entrance, struggling to fit even his cockhead within her.

“Fuck… so bloody warm…”

Her body was burning him with every millimeter he sank into her, the heat of her tight sex in such high contrast with his cool rut. It felt like he was swimming in a roiling pot of sugary caramel, clinging and cloying and sticking to every part of him, and yet it was not enough. He needed more. His hips thrust forward, savage yet steady, reaching deep inside of her like an anchor, rushing to settle himself within her darkness.

The way his Omega cried out this time was different, and it snapped him to her attention, his mind immediately sensing a new need.

“Love, tell me what you need.” He purred, his mouth kissing her lips and her neck, lapping at the now-healing wound his own fangs had made, talking to her between long licks of his tongue, “Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“You’re so big. I’ve never…” She sounded ashamed.

Price slowed to a creeping pace, focused fully on her face,

“Never had a knot before?”

She shook her head, her eyes full of worry. John wrapped her up in his arms, dragging himself out of her slowly before filling her up again as carefully as he could.

“Tha’s alright, baby. You’re mine, and I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“Feels like I’m burning alive,” she sighed, her brow furrowing with distress, “John, I need… I don’t know how…”

“Look at me, alright?” He helped her focus her eyes on his, “Don’t… Just stay with me, right here. You’re gonna come for me, and then… I’ll give you what you need.”

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice so small.

Price set himself on a path with a purpose. He used his hand to rub small, rhythmic circles beside the rigid body of her clit, coaxing her pussy to drop even more slick around him, using every ounce of willpower he had left not to let his knot slip inside of her prematurely. His thrusts were jerky and restrained, but he felt her begin to rock back and forth with his hand’s movements, bringing her closer and closer to her glowing joy.

“Good girl,” he praised her, watching her as she began to fall apart around him, “Tha’s my good little Omega. Come for your Alpha just like that. Just… mmf-fuck! Like that! Holy fuck.”

The feeling of her slick pussy clenching and twisting around his cock’s tugid body was enough to make him see stars. He felt almost sick with pleasure, his whole core lighting up like a roaring fire, spitting and aching to bury himself within her.

At the end of her crescendo, he felt himself let go of the chain, and he rutted his knot inside of her, humping himself forward ruthlessly, his body contorting itself to fit her needs. His knot sealed him within her, and although he was not yet orgasming, he was filling her with his come, the creamy flow of it spilling out of his tip, filling her hole and coating his prick from inside of its hungry little sheath.

“Your come… I can feel it inside of me. Oh, my God,” she sighed with some sort of relief, her eyes rolling inside of her head, her arms losing their strength, and her back arching towards him, lifting up as if she would float right into Heaven.

And just like that, her fever began to abate. With his knot stuffed inside of her, locking his seed within her hole, his Alphic oils could soothe her heat, bringing her back to the realm of consciousness and delivering her from her wild state.

“John,” she lay back, her hand pressed to his cheek.

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he bent forward on his elbows and kissed her mouth, chastely at first, and then languidly, exploring her taste. When he did finally pull away, she was awake and alert, sated and happy. He smiled down at her,

“Hey, pretty girl,” he whispered, wiping her hair back from her face.

“Hey,” she smiled back at him, wrapping her ankles around his back for comfort, not knowing that it was just enough to set his cock on edge again, his Alphic instinct rejoicing at the feeling of being trapped by his mate.

“You alright?” John asked, a tinge of worry at the edge of his voice.

“I am now, thanks to you,” she sighed, tucking herself in beneath him, rubbing her hands along his ribs and the soft fur of his back and arms, feeling every bit of him as if she was seeing him with her touch, “You saved me, Alpha.”

“Aye,” he nudged her jaw with his nose, asking her wordlessly to give him the vulnerable softness of her neck. She obliged, and he spoke to her between sucking kisses, “All mine. My Omega. Innit that right, baby?”

She was practically lambent beneath the scrutiny of his possession, rolling in it like a wave in the sand, captured by it and surrendering to the riptide of his unbreakable grip. She nodded, humming her ascent, her expression turning a little rueful right at the end of his kisses. The sorrowful timbre of her voice broke his heart,

“I’m grateful. But, I know this isn’t what you wanted, and I’m so sor–”

“No,” he kissed her words away, feeling his length throb inside of her, urging him to kiss her again, “No, love.”

“I won’t bite you,” she promised, her gaze still full of apology, “You won’t be stuck with me.”

“Bite me, Omega,” he bent his head and buried his face in her shoulder, giving her his gland in total surrender, “Go on. I’m yours.”

“John…” She hesitated, but he could feel her body flood her hole, excited beyond measure at the thought of binding him to her as her mated Alpha.

“Go on,” he commanded in his smoky growl, holding her tighter and bracing for the ecstasy of her teeth.

He felt her lips first, and his balls tightened, ready to fling him into a messy orgasm as soon as he felt his gland shatter in her mouth. Her Omegan teeth wouldn’t break the skin, but he knew she was strong enough to crack the shell around his swollen node. The anticipation of her bite was wrecking his mind, and he was gasping for breath by the time he felt her jaw set itself against him.

“Baby, please…” He whined in her ear, his hips thrusting in short, jerking thrusts, unable to move much with his knot still trapped up inside of her, holding his gushing come in her hole, pushing it into her womb from the sheer volume of it.

Her teeth connected, and he could hear his unbroken shell give way beneath her strength, the hormones inside of it rushing through his system like wildfire, burning through his veins and making him scream for her. At the same time, John felt his core throw him into a raw orgasm, his whole body trembling above her, wringing himself from the inside out.

“Alpha,” she sighed, licking his neck to comfort him, “My Alpha…”

“Yours, baby. All yours.”

— — — — —

The new trainees filed out of the gym, sweaty, bloody, and eager to be out of the captain’s sight. Price had run them ragged, forcing them to spar with practice weapons, pitting them against each other in a strained, exhausting competition. Ghost and Soap sat with Gaz as they eyed their commander, their eyes glued to the fresh bite mark on his neck, shocked into a silent stupor.

“I cannae believe it. Mated? To which lassie?” Soap asked, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t think he’d ever take a mate,” Gaz marvelled.

“I thought he was savin’ himself for marriage,” Ghost quipped, earning himself a scuff from Soap.

Price made his way across the mat, pulling his sweaty shirt off his back to trade it for a clean one. The red welts and nail-marks across his shoulders and down his belly made Gaz let out a low whistle. But, his commander’s glare stopped him mid-note.

“Wha’s that, Garrick?”

“Nothin’, sir. Just… admirin’ your battle scars,” Gaz smiled, wishing his two teammates would stop snickering so loudly.

“Looks like a hell’uva fight, Cap,” Ghost added, looking everywhere but into Price’s icy eyes.

“Wha’s her name?” Soap asked outright, skipping over the double entendres and going right for the point.

Their captain sighed, zipped up his gym bag, and stood in front of his three officers, glaring down at them with a look that was on the border of dead-seriousness,

“If I told you that, lads, I’d have to kill you.”

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the-guppy-fish · 2 days ago

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HC - Simon "Ghost" Riley

Types of relationships - Friends

...I have some thoughts...about our boy Simon...there are not many...but more will come...

(definitely have to make a part two🤭)

No warnings, yet. (Slightly proofread)

Simons eyes are always on you. No matter where in the room you are, his eyes always find their way to you. Both consciously and unconsciously. He just likes knowing where you are.

He has made it a habit to rest his hand on your shoulder whenever he stands behind you. (He just likes touching you..and not in a weird way)

Purposefully steals you hairties and hides them in his pockets. Whenever you leave something (jackets, shoes, ...your phone) within his reach, he loves to just hide it from you. Nothing vile. He just loves to see the confusion on your face when you mutter:"Where the f..Simon! Give back my xx"

Somehow, he knows when you get hungry. If you're ever out together, whether that be on an OP or just out with friends, it doesn't matter. Right before your mood turns snappy and you can't concentrate, he hands you some sort of snack.

He has the lamest, most dry fucking jokes ever. But you find them hilarious. Each and every single one of them. Because he has become a master at delivering those jokes.

- while walking in a desert somewhere on an op.

- Simon picks something up off the ground.

"Here, take this."

- he hands you something small. Dropping it into your gloved hand.

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

- while walking away he answers lowly.

"It's for rock music."

- you look down at a thumbnail-sized, triangular and flat rock.

🙄

"Eat." Was all he would tell you.

Tries to shepherd you if you're in crowded places. But you got a will of your own and a gene for getting distracted, so it's quite the struggle for him sometimes. He'd place a gentle hand between your shoulderblades, guiding you to wherever you need to go.

"Stay close, love."

He texts you out of the blue. And it's usually something weird. Something he's spent a good amount of time pondering over....or no time at all. Sometimes, it's something silly, and others he's thought about something deep and very emotional.

'Do you think I should get a pet for when i retire?'

'How about a dog?'

'No'

'Maybe a turtle'

'I want a turtle'

'Would you help me pick one?'

'Do you ever think about what would happen if I didn't come home from an op?'

'Shit. Sorry'

'I did it again :'( '

'Sorry love'

'You busy?'

'Oi'

'Answer me'

'Please'

'I just need your opinion on something'

Si👻 sent a picture

'Don't laugh. Just tell me if you like the sweater or not'

Simon is definitely someone who texts sporadically.

And speaking of texting. He loves to send you random pictures of animals he finds. No explanation. He just wants you to see the cute cat/dog/squirrel he encountered on a walk around town.

Simon is the kind of friend who you just click with. You don't have to talk much. You just get one another. But still. You yap his ears off every time you spend time together. And he just listens. Oh, Simon loves to hear you yap. He knows it brings some quietness to your, sometimes, racing brain. And he knows. The day he needs to talk, you'll be all ears.

Whenever he leaves for an op (without you), you use your chat, more or less, like a diary. You know he has no access to any kind of network what so ever, while he's away. So, all the messages you send... will only be read once he comes back to base. And even though it's not much, and usually only silly and funny things you send him, he loves every bit of it.

(Even when you use your chat to keep grocery lists in)

When things get rough. Because they will. Life sucks sometimes. You're there for one another. You have an ongoing list of times where you helped each other out because no one else could. (And you wanted no one else to help you)

The time you had the nastiest cold. Like snot everywhere. Coughing your lungs up. Fever. Headaches. Everything. He took some days off from work to help you feel better. He stocked your fridge with vegetable soup and made you like a hundred cuppas until you finally felt like yourself again. All while laughing at you whenever you sneezed without a tissue because you just couldn't keep the snot in.

The time Simons apartment flooded because his upstairs neighbour had busted a pipe, and water began running down Simons walls. In no time, you had helped him collect the few possessions he had at home and brought them to your place. For a few weeks, he occupied your couch while his apartment got fixed.

One time, your bank card had been stolen, and all your accounts were frozen until the card had been deactivated. With no real money to your name at that moment, Simon had lent you at least a month's worth of rent, utilities, and groceries until your bank had settled everything.

Simon once went out to drink with the task force. He had somehow convinced them that he was sober enough to walk home by himself. (He was not.) On the way home, he had managed to trip over his large feet and stumble down the pavement and almost face plant on the empty road. In his drunken state, he had managed to call you and ask for help. Even though it was late, you had gone out for him. Helped him home and into his bathroom. You had helped him clean the scrapes and cuts on his hands, knees, and chin. Brushed his teeth and made him drink some water before you sent him to bed. The next morning, you woke on his couch, the sound of Simons hangover reaching you from the bathroom. He sounded like he was dying. But at least he was up.

When you were working together, your friendship looked a little different. Your work relationship made it hard for him to express his care for you in the way we'd like. So he found other ways. Both of you had to dial down the banter and long yap sessions. So Ghost found discrete ways to be there for you. He made sure your canteen was always filled with water. When he was assigning guard shifts, he would usually put you two on the same shift to ensure you had at least some hours in each others company. Sometimes, he even saved the tiny piece of chocolate from the field rations you ate so he could give it to you whenever you had a shitty day.

When you're on leave, he loves to ask you to go hiking with him. Simon loves to spend time in nature, and he loves to spend time with you. So why not combine it? You spent hours together, both talking about almost everything between heaven and earth, but also in silence, just enjoying the comfort of being around one another.

Also, Simon loves to tease you. Not to be cruel or try to embarrass you. No. He just loves to see you squirm a little. (But he also loves it when you set your foot down. That fire behind your eyes when you tell him to "fucking quit it." He feels proud to see you stand up for yourself. Even if he was the cause of your irritation.)

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod #simon riley #simon riley imagine #simon riley x you #headcanon

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shyamanuensis · 2 days ago

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love your work! any chance for some sad sebastian? you write sad ominis with such grace i'd love a little more drama if possible. xoxoxox

I swear someone is listening in on the conversations @eva-fitzgerald and I have because we literally were talking about this earlier today. A lazy oneshot written in the car as we drive home for Christmas. Enjoy xx

“So, what do I tell everyone if you don’t come home one night?” “The truth – that I died doing my job.”

The small black box I held in my hands was standard government issue. A ‘goodbye box’ was what most widows of ministry workers called them, however only being engaged, I wasn’t sure the lingo applied in my situation. What was usually delivered by a high-end ministry official, had been brought by instead by his best friend. Waking up to the sound of knocking at my cottage door a little after 3am, Ominis was the last person I expected to be standing there. His choice of words deliberate – tone cold, yet soft as he spoke. As if hearing what he was saying with a more sympathetic, yet straightforward voice would make things easier. However, irrespective of what he saw, experienced and recollected throughout the current ongoing wizarding war; it was obvious that the requirement of delivering bad news never got easier.

“And you think the kids will understand?” “Sweetheart, I’m doing this for them.”

Stumbling back into the house, I left the door open for Ominis to follow through and took a seat on a sofa; balancing the small black box on the tops of my thighs as hands cradled the lid to lift it and peek inside. I could feel my breathing hitch, my skin begin to burn, hot tears fall into the corners of my eyes. I knew however, I had to stay quiet and not wake the sleeping toddlers in their bedrooms. Feeling Ominis hand on my shoulder; gently rubbing as it travelled along onto my back I sighed softly, knowing this day would have to one day come.

“Sebastian you’re being unreasonable.” “No, you just aren’t being supportive.”

The first thing my eyes flickered over in the box was his auror badge; employee number etched into the back as if that’s all he was. Beside this, the trusty broken teal checkerboard wand handle I knew had failed him. There were a few folded pieces of parchment, notes maybe or letters unsent. Beneath them a photo of the children poking out from behind the cover of a leather-bound journal I’d one day bring myself to read. That was what made the first tears fall. In silence. The photograph of the children.

“You know what, I’m sick of this argument. Just... go.” “Promise you, we’ll talk more about it when I get home.”

Closing the lid; I managed to keep it together only barely as I placed the box on the coffee table and picked nervously at my lips. A quick look at Ominis which held vulnerability, naivety and despair without a single word spoken had him responding that he’d stay until the children woke up; knowing that right now, solitude was not what I needed. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sighed dryly, remembering our last conversation before Sebastian left for work the previous evening. A heated argument: words left unsaid, tensions high as they had been the last few weeks; knowing through whispers, rumours and phone calls what he’d be dealing with and going through.

“…fine.” “I love you.”

I’d never have the chance to turn back time and reply. The image of him leaving home for work one I’d forever have etched into the back of my mind. We’d promised each other we’d never argue before work or before going to bed; but the regret of our last conversation would haunt me now forever. Ominis rubbed my knee gently before whispering that he’d go and check on the kids. And once alone; in the darkness of this house with a fireplace dying out which no longer felt like a home, the cries came crashing down uncontrollably.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #writing prompts #hogwarts legacy fandom #no editing - hope its okay

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cayleeuhithinknott · 2 days ago

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inspired by this !!

CW: SMUT, short, SUPER CRINGY WRITING!!! oral (m recieving), degrading, rough sex, slapping, begging, crying, pet names, and probably more but the biggest concern is the cringy ass writing

"on your knees, baby," chris whispered, his hot breath sending tingles down your neck.

your heart raced as you obeyed, kneeling before him. chris wasted no time, unzipping his jeans and pulling out his thick, erect cock. it was a sight that made your mouth water. you looked up at him with pleading eyes, a silent request for his touch.

“you've been a naughty girl, ignoring me all week," he said, his voice low and menacing. “time to remind you who's in charge, hm?”

before you could respond, he grabbed your hair again, positioning your face right in front of his throbbing member. "c’mon, suck it, baby," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for refusal.

you parted your lips eagerly, taking him into your warm mouth. his cock filled your mouth, and you moaned around it, the taste and feel of him driving you wild. chris held your head firmly, thrusting his hips forward, fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate strokes.

tears formed in your eyes, blurring your vision as you tried to take him deeper.

he pulled out abruptly, leaving you gasping for air—confused. it seemed he’d gotten too impatient. "that's enough of that," he said, smirking down at you. "i wanna really fuck you, baby.”

chris lifted you up, making you stand on shaky legs. he pushed you against the couch, bending you over the armrest, exposing your sensitive pussy to his hungry gaze. you felt his fingers trace your wetness, teasing your clit, making you squirm with anticipation.

"please, chris," you begged, your voice hoarse from the rough oral session. "i need you inside me." every ounce if dignity you could’ve—and should’ve—had was gone. this always happened. you were too sensitive to his mean demeanor, it left you craving more, no matter how much it made you cry.

he chuckled, the sound sending a shiver through your body. "oh, you'll get what you need, baby, but first, i want to hear you beg some more.”

chris slapped your ass hard, making you yelp and arch your back. “such a pretty pink color," he remarked, admiring the handprint he had left on your soft skin. he delivered another stinging slap, this time on the other cheek, leaving you breathless.

"please, please fuck me, chris," you whimpered, your tears now a mix of pain and desire.

his rough hands abruptly gripped your hips, and you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. with one swift thrust, he impaled you, filling you to the core. you cried out, a mix of pleasure and discomfort, as his size stretched you in inexplicable ways.

chris—expectedly—showed no mercy, pounding into you relentlessly. his balls slapped against you with each powerful stroke, driving you closer to the edge. you felt like you were being torn apart, yet it was the most incredible sensation. your cries filled the room, a combination of pleasure and pain, as he fucked you with abandon. tears dripped down your face and onto the couch, soaking it.

“you like it rough, don't you, slut?" he growled, his voice thick with desire. you just whimpered in response. but then, he plants a firm smack on your ass. “answer me.”

“yes—yes, i love it—“ you sobbed, your body trembling.

chris chuckled darkly, grabbing your hips tighter and slamming into you with increased force. his dominance over your body was exhilarating. you felt his fingers dig into your soft flesh, leaving marks that would remind you of this moment for days to come.

as he pounded into you, his cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust, your orgasm built to an unbearable peak. you screamed as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body convulsing around his invading shaft. chris showed no sign of stopping, continuing to fuck you through your climax, his own release building.

“you’re gonna take my cum, c’mon baby," he grunted, his breath hot on your neck.

he pulled out suddenly, his thick cock glistening with your juices. you whimpered, craving his fullness, but he had other plans.

chris turned you around, pushing you to your knees, and then he gripped your hair, guiding his cock to your mouth.

“clean it, baby," he demanded, his eyes blazing with desire.

you obediently took him into your mouth, sucking and licking his length, tasting your own essence on him. chris held your head, thrusting gently at first, then with increasing urgency as his orgasm approached.

“fuck, yeah," he groaned, his hands tightening in your hair. "suck it dry, slut."

his cock twitched, and you felt the hot rush of his cum hitting the back of your throat.

you swallowed eagerly, savoring his taste, as he emptied his load into your mouth. he held you there, his cock softening, as you licked and sucked every drop of his essence.

as he released your hair, you collapsed onto the floor, your body trembling from the intense experience. chris stood over you, his expression softening slightly as he saw the tears streaking down your face.

"you okay, baby?" he asked, his voice almost gentle now. after sex, he was always so sweet—a contrast to his usual mean demeanor.

you nodded, a weak smile forming through the tears. "i love it when you fuck me like that, chris. ‘s just... so intense."

he smirked, his dominant nature returning. "good. because that was just a warm-up. you’re gonna be beggin’ and cryin’ before the night is over."

when chris admired your tear-stricken face, he almost felt bad for making you cry so much.

almost.

tags: @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @claireezz10 @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222

#cayleeuhithinknott #sturniolo triplets #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #smut #blurb #𝜗𝜚 cayleeuhithinknott sensitive!brat!reader au #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo

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pocket-sized-nightmare · 2 days ago

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@runwiththerain hello hello! here's your secret santa gift for @/offline-nobody's hermit secret santa event :D

It turns out that when Hermitcraft’s automated mail system goes down, they’re very lucky to have a moth hybrid as a postmaster.

Late December is the worst possible time to discover a system glitch – nearly every Hermit is expecting something, whether it’s a gift from a friend, a request for a shop restock, or a new winter coat from off-world. No one from PET Post had even thought to check in on it until nearly twenty packages had backed up in the post office. Etho and Tango are working to fix it now, but since there’s no indicators of where the problem lies (and yes, Etho did check the whole system for potatoes), it could take all day. That unfortunately leaves Pearl, the winged hybrid with the fastest travel speed of the trio, to manually deliver all the mail herself.

Pearl scans over the post office one more time to make sure she hasn’t missed anything. One more outgoing delivery pops up, to her surprise: a little package hidden in a cabinet, addressed to Gem in Pearl’s own handwriting. Right – she’d packed it up a few days ago but never got the chance to put it in the system. She tucks it safely into her mailbag, then takes out a piece of paper and scribbles a message onto it.

Out delivering packages! Please leave all outgoing mail here. The redstone’s being mean today :( -PearlescentMoon

A few curious pogts peek out of cabinets and wave to Pearl. One climbs up onto the desk and grabs the note in its mouth, then walks away with it to find an envelope.

“Hey!” Pearl laughs, snatching her message back. “That’s not a letter, you nugget! That stays here for the Hermits. I’m gonna be out all day.” She adjusts her cap and slings her heavy mailbag over her shoulder. “Take care of the post office for me!”

The pogt squeaks and waves goodbye. Pearl dashes out the door and takes flight, headed for xB’s mailbox. Zero packages down, twenty to go.

Inside the post office, meanwhile, a few pogts climb up to the desk to join their friend. They squeak an indecipherable conversation. After a moment, one rifles through a drawer to find an envelope, while another runs off and returns with Pearl’s favorite stamp. They tuck Pearl’s message into the envelope and prepare to drop it into a mailbox, but one of the pogts remembers the broken mail system and takes the letter itself instead. It studies the stamp and squeaks a question to its friends, then nods and waddles towards the door with one destination in mind.

The moment the door shuts behind it, Tango walks in to grab a few supplies before returning to his redstone work. The conspiring pogts all scatter and roll around on the desk in an unsuccessful attempt at acting casual. Tango chuckles. “What are you little critters up to?”

They squeak innocently in unison.

He shakes his head. “Not gonna question it.”

----

As GeminiTay settles down to eat dinner, there’s an unexpected knock on her door.

Well, “knock” isn’t quite the right word. It sounds more like someone repeatedly throwing a ball at it, accompanied by a little squeak every time. “Hello?” Gem calls.

No one responds, so Gem puts down her mushroom soup and walks over to the door. The knocking sound continues. “Hold on a sec, I’m coming!”

Gem opens the door. There’s no Hermit there to meet her, but a small, fuzzy ball comes flying through the doorway with a startled squeak instead. It lands, rolls a few blocks, then stumbles to its feet (oh, it’s some kind of creature) and adjusts the flower on its head.

Gem stares down at it, and it awkwardly waves hello to her. She bursts out laughing and scoops whatever-it-is up in her hands. “What are you doing here?”

It holds out a letter, unaddressed but marked with a clear GeminiTay stamp.

“Oh, do you work for the post office?” Gem asks. “Is this a special delivery?” She takes the letter, puts the pogt down on the floor, then opens the envelope.

Out delivering packages! Please leave all outgoing mail here. The redstone’s being mean today :( -PearlescentMoon

Gem rereads the message, puzzled. “Hey, this isn’t a letter for me! Did you take this from the post office?”

The pogt squeaks and bounces onto Gem’s shoe. She isn’t sure she can translate it right, but she gets the sense it’s trying to say something like yeah, but it’s important and we wanted you to have it. (Either that, or she’s just convinced herself that Pearl’s post office creatures think she’s an important person. She’d like to think it’s the former.)

“Aw, well, thanks for the gift,” Gem says. She picks up the pogt again, prepared to take it back to the post office, when something occurs to her. “Wait, I haven’t seen her fly by yet. How long has she been out for?”

The pogt tilts its head sideways in thought, which only succeeds in making it fall over sideways. It squeaks in surprise, stands back up, and shakes its head as though to say no idea.

Gem glances out the window at the rapidly darkening sky. She always forgets how fast the sunset goes when she isn’t thinking about it. Pearl definitely wouldn’t have gone for a serverwide flight past sundown, especially not without a fast-travel system like a nether hub. She must have been out for hours by now.

Gem chuckles and puts her head in her hands. Only you, Pearl. “Alright, well, I’ve got some cookies in the pantry from yesterday. Maybe I’ll make her some cocoa. Might as well give her a safe place to land when her wings get tired.”

The pogt bounces up and down, probably to mean now you’ve got it!

“I’m not taking you home, though. I don’t even know how you got here.” Gem walks away, headed for the kitchen. “And you can’t eat my food.”

The pogt waddles after her and squeaks.

“Fine,” Gem says. “You can have one cookie.”

----

Nineteen packages down, one to go.

Pearl thought she’d finished all her deliveries by now, but nope, she’s missed another one again. Gem’s parcel fell to the corner of her mailbag, buried under an enormous box addressed to Scar (cat toys for Katy Bee and Mr. Finnegan, judging by the jingling sound) and a shiny silver package for Joel which could only be from Lizzie. She’s not too far from Magic Mountain, luckily, but nightfall has made the air much colder. Not to mention that she’s been flying for hours with an overstuffed mailbag, and her wings haven’t been this tired in ages. Gem’s base might as well be on the other side of the server.

Still, her job is to deliver the mail. And it’s only one package. It’s no big deal. Pearl sighs and turns around in midair. One package to go.

Gem’s lighthouse is a beacon in the distance, slowly coming into view as Pearl soars toward it. Pearl is almost disappointed by the effective lighting – she must look like a wreck after hours of flying around the server, and she certainly doesn’t want that to be illuminated for the world to see. She waves hello to Gem’s lighthouse fish as she finally reaches it, hesitates in midair, then tries to drag herself away from the bright light. Nope. No moth instincts. I have a job to do–

Unfortunately, one moment of shiny-thing distraction is enough to cause a problem. As Pearl leans towards the light, her wings rest at the exact right angle for the wind to catch them and blow her off-course. She tries to right herself, but her back is too sore to do much more than flutter her wings in place. She tumbles into the ocean below with a shriek.

The cold December waters come as a shock – it takes Pearl a moment to get her bearings enough to tread water. She hears a small object land with a splash next to her, but she’s too busy floundering about to pay it much mind. To her surprise, something hooks onto the collar of her shirt and tugs her towards the dock. She looks up to see Gem smirking down at her with a fishing rod in her hand. “Caught a big one!”

Pearl rolls her eyes. She can’t help but laugh. “Evening, Gem.”

Gem reaches out a hand to help Pearl onto the dock. “Heard you had something for me.” She unhooks the rod from Pearl’s shirt.

“Indeed I do!” Pearl checks the clasp on her mailbag, which has thankfully held strong as usual. “Last delivery of the day. Thank goodness.”

Gem links her arm into Pearl’s and drags her towards her house. “Alright, c’mon. You’ve been out for hours.”

“Wasn’t that bad,” Pearl says. “Only twenty packages.”

“Yeah, only twenty. By hand.” Gem leads Pearl to the kitchen table, pulls out a chair, and shoves her into it. “Pearl, you’re insane.”

“You know the slogan. Neither rain or snow, nor death of night.” Pearl shrugs. “Or freezing cold ocean, I guess.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gem takes two cups of cocoa from their perch atop the warm furnace. She puts one in front of Pearl, then sits down herself. “Still. Who’s gonna deliver the mail if you get hypothermia?”

“Aw, is this you worrying about me?”

“Me? Never.” Gem points to the corner. “Oh, look, your friend’s here.”

The runaway pogt waddles over to the table with a tray of cookies balanced atop its flower. Pearl laughs, eyes wide. “How’d it get here? We’re chunks away from the post office.”

“I have no idea. But it delivered me a message. Something about you being out of the office all day.”

“Out of the–” Pearl spots the envelope on the table. “Oh, you nugget, I told you that wasn’t a letter!”

It squeaks at her.

“Oh, okay, fine. You helped.”

It squeaks proudly and curls up in her palm. Pearl laughs. “Nothing but trouble, these little ones. Reminds me of someone.”

“I made you treats!” Gem says indignantly.

“I suppose you did,” Pearl teases back. She lights up and reaches into her mailbag. “Oh, that reminds me! I made you something as well.”

“You did?”

“I did!” Pearl takes the final parcel from her mailbag and presents it to Gem with a flourish.

“I expected a restock request, honestly. You and your pickles. My pickles.” Gem opens the parcel and peeks into it. She looks up at Pearl with a surprised grin. “Oh, my gosh! You made this for me?”

She takes out the contents of the package: a Christmas card and a little plush shark. The shark’s eyes are the slightest bit wonky, giving it a goofy expression both women can’t help but smile at. “Look at it!”

“To match your ocean theme!” Pearl beams. “It’s made of wool from a couple of messed-up banner patterns. I hope you don’t mind…”

“No, it’s perfect.” Gem hugs the shark close. “I will name him Fish, and he shall be mine forever.”

“Fish! I love it.” Pearl stands and stretches her wings. “I guess I should get back to the post office. The automated system won’t fix itself–” Her communicator buzzes.

<TangoTek> Mail system debuggification complete!

<TangoTek> A few of those darn pogts got into the redstone

Pearl shows the communicator to her pogt friend, who looks away sheepishly. “You know anything about this?”

It squeaks in dismay and waddles off. Pearl chuckles. “Well, would you look at that?” She sighs. “I should probably still…” She tries to flutter her wings again, but they ache almost too much to move. “I mean…”

Gem laughs. “Yes, Pearl, you can stay the night.”

“Aw, you’re the best.”

“I know.” Gem blows Pearl a kiss.

Pearl smiles. “Y’know, after I get some rest… you think the pogts would make good mailmen? They seem to get around pretty well.”

Gem leans her head on Pearl’s shoulder and laughs. “Only you, Pearl.” Cozy and warm inside Gem’s base, Pearl closes her eyes and smiles. Maybe the postal system can wait just a little bit longer.

#pixel writes #hermitcraft #hermitfic #shiny duo #pearlescentmoon #geminitay #happy holidays ivy!! hope you like it <3

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silk-flower · 1 day ago

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Gentle Glow, A Heart's Whisper [James Sunderland X Reader]

anon asked: it seems like James just suffers so much even in fanfics 😭 can he and female reader have something good happen to them at least on Christmas? I just want this man to be happy...

synopsis: It's Christmas Eve, and it appears like the time is against him in these final days of the year. James' darling is waiting for him at home to have Christmas dinner together, but he is working late and doubts he will make it in time. What's the holdup on a holiday like this? You fall asleep on the couch while waiting.

status: oneshot, read on AO3

content warning: female reader, reader described as pale in some parts [?], self-deprecating thoughts, grieving and trying to move on, men crying, established relationship, fluff, romance and kissing n stuff, a Christmas trope

author's note: This was a request that came in before my previous blog got suspended and I didn't have a chance to post it! Wherever this finds you, sorry if this took too long, hope you'll enjoy. Also, this is really long, I got a little carried away...

Aside from the faint hum of fluorescent lights, the sporadic click of keys and clinking of coffee cups as James works on his computer, the office is silent. In an attempt to finish some last-minute work before the holiday break, he has been at his desk for hours on end, sustaining himself on copious amounts of caffeine. Outside, the world is blanketed in snow like in a magical fairy tale, but inside, it's just another bland day at the office. Except today, he's eager to actually leave early instead of taking extra hours.

James glances at the clock on his computer screen. A bunch of gray pixels mockingly blinks 9:30 PM at him. His fingers drop and pull off his computer glasses as he groans and runs a hand through his hair in annoyance. Sensing the impending headache, he closes his eyes and rubs the lids. Just his luck, huh?

He knows you're waiting for him at home, expecting to have dinner together, and there's nothing more he wants than to be wrapped up in your embrace right now, sipping some hot cocoa under a warm blanket. But with the way things are going, he doubts he'll be able to make it in time. It's unpleasant enough to be working on Christmas Eve, but staying late is just on another level of evil, especially when he has someone special, all wrapped up in holiday cheer waiting on him.

He picks up the office phone and dials your home number. James knows he's not exactly allowed to use the corporate line for personal calls, but he doesn't care in the slightest. This is important. He can feel the inside of his palm sweating, waiting for you to pick up anxiously as he fumbles with the ballpoint over some stupid spreadsheet. A few painfully slow rings of the dial are followed by the distinctive rustle of the handset and your well-known, sleep-drowsy voice. James feels sick to his stomach from all the coffee he's guzzled. How is he going to deliver this?

— Uh, hello? — you complain softly, your voice still raspy from sleep. James can hear the faint sound of some holiday program in the background, the audience's laughter and music tugging on his heart strings. You are all alone in your small flat.

— Hey, it's me, — James coos, feeling partly guily for waking you up, the ballpen running in circles on the white sheet, — Merry Christmas.

Several of his few coworkers are gazing up at him curiously from their cubicles as he nervously looks around. Calling you casually in public is still something he's not used to.

— James? — Your voice brightens up a little as you clear your throat and he hears you rise up from the couch, — Where are you? Are you coming home soon?

Home. James feels a pang of guilt surge through him.

— I'm still in the office, — he admits begrudgingly, feeling the wave of anxiousness rise up as he hears your little "oh" through the dial, — I'm sorry, hun.

Over the phone, he hears you whine deeply, his own disappointment weighing hard on his chest.

— I know, I know. I'm so sorry, — he drops the pen, annoyed with himself as he fidgets in his seat, — There's just so much to be done with these blasted invoices, you know how it gets before the holidays.

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and James can almost imagine the expression on your face turning from sour to bittersweet compassionate.

— It's okay, don't worry about it, — you utter finally, your voice softening, — I understand. But I still think they work you too hard, James.

James feels a surge of gratitude for your understanding, even as he knows he doesn't deserve it.

— Thank you, — he says, his voice quiet but thick with adoration, his lips turning up slightly, — I'm just... Sorry I can't be with you right now.

You two keep chatting for a few more minutes, making small talk about your plans for the holidays, the presents you got each other, and his favorite food you've made. Although James attempts to make his part of the conversation lighthearted and upbeat so as not to upset you too much, he is a jumble of self-loathing on the inside. Some partner he is. He should have insisted on a day off or taken an unpaid leave, but he left you on your own on a day like this.

— I miss you, — he whispers finally, a slight blush creeping up his ears as he tries to stare at his computer screen to avoid unwanted eye contact, — I'll see you soon, okay? I'll be there, I promise.

— I also miss you, — your voice is filled with longing as you respond softly, — I'll wait for you and keep the food warm, so drive carefully.

After hanging up, James feels the burden of his guilt pressing down on him. The idea of disappointing you again makes him nauseous, even if you claim you're not angry with him. He knows he's already let you down. He has to make it home before midnight at least, even if continuous typing will make his fingers blister.

With a weary gaze, James surveys the office, taking in the abandoned cubicles and the shadowed windows outside, the only sound being the buzz of his computer. The scarce remains of his coworkers gradually leave the office, waving him warm goodbyes and happy holidays as they head home to be with their families. Leaving him alone and jealous of them in the dead quiet of the building, just the way you are now. He sighs, turning his attention back to his computer screen.

As he types away, his mind wanders to thoughts of you, curled up on the couch at home with your cozy blanket keeping you warm. As you sleep, James imagines your face, calm and soft, your chest rising and falling with each delicate breath. He sees himself sitting next to you, holding you close and engulfing you in his arms. The way your eyes would brighten when you saw him get home in time to wake you up with a tender, passionate kiss. The way they would sparkle with laughter, the lovely pink pearl earrings he got you catching the light, outlining your shoulders' slope and your neck's exquisite curve…

God, how much he longs to see you. James closes his eyes and sighs in anticipation. He has to focus on finishing the paperwork now and stop daydreaming about you, or none of this is going to happen with the way things are going.

He puts in another hour of effort, but his progress is frustratingly slow. The dates don't match, the figures won't add up, the last person working on the file is making him angry and swearing under his breath, and he's anxious about finishing on time — everything seems to be trying to slow him down.

By the time he's finished, it's nearly midnight, and the office feels even more empty and desolate than before. James gathers his things, hurriedly swiping them into his briefcase, and grabs his coat, dismissing his hat and gloves to save the little time he has left. Legs heavy with fatigue, he rushes out of the office and to his car, never minding the strain in his feet. There's so little time left he doubts he will make it, but he still pushes. You must've given up on waiting for him, feeling disappointed and abandoned, finally falling asleep, and the thought clutches at his heart, making him walk to the parking lot faster.

The cold night air hits him like a slap in the face, prickly snowflakes getting caught in his eyes, but he barely notices, his mind focused solely on marching through the snow slopes as quickly as possible. James hurries across the parking lot, his feet pounding against the white pavement with each step, the snow crunching under his feet, reminding him of the forgotten holiday. The strain in his legs is starting to take its toll, but he pushes through it, determined to make it to you on time.

He fumbles with his keys as he gets closer to his car, the lock severely frozen and his fingertips numb from the cold. After a while, he unlocks the door and enters, slamming it behind him in despair.

— Come on baby, don't let me down now, — he breathes out pleadingly to his old but still beloved light blue Pontiac as he turns the keys, the roar of the engine making him instantly elated.

James starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot, the tires screeching against the icy pavement. The roads are empty, but he still drives with a sense of urgency, his heart racing in his chest. As he drives, his mind drifts to thoughts of you, curled up on the couch at home, waiting for him. His knuckles whiten as he tightens his grasp on the driving wheel as a wave of shame sweeps over him. He ignores his icy limbs, even though the leather seat and the wheel are frozen cold with the car staying out on the street all day.

With the Christmas lights glittering in the distance, he rushes through the deserted streets. The sight would be lovely to him normally, but tonight it simply reminds him of what he's missing out on. Despite James' best efforts and the radio music blasting, the negative thoughts continue to bombard him. He feels terrible, like a monster that leaves his family alone on Christmas Eve. His mind tracks back to the last year when he met you, and his heart soars with warmth and adoration. His mind's eye brings out your smaller frame before him, giving the most beautiful smile to the weird, not really there, stubbled stranger at the bar. Was it back then when he started catching these feelings for you?

He sees your flat's window ahead as he turns onto his street, the living room's muted lights still on. The sweet feeling of knowing you're there somewhere puts an excited smile on his face. James pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine, his heart pounding in his ears as he pats on your present in his breast pocket, snug and secure. For a short while, he sits in the car and looks out the window at the lights you strung on the Christmas tree while trying to soothe his racing heart.

James walks up to the door, fumbling with his spare set of keys once again. At last, he gets inside by carefully turning the key in the keyhole, hardly making a sound, and meticulously shutting the door behind him.

— Sweetheart? — James calls out gently, his voice laden with unspoken worry, — I'm home.

The house is quiet, save for the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall. James walks down the hallway, his heart in his throat. He feels a surge of gentleness as he quietly discharges his boots and coat, tiptoeing to the living room that is only lit up by the lights of the Christmas tree that you so diligently decorated all by yourself. His socks and the edges of his slacks are effectively soaked with snow.

The man walks quietly to the living room, only the light sounds of your breathing and his soft footsteps echoing in the stillness of the room as he takes in the sight of his lover. The sight of you sleeping with the phone clenched in your hand makes James' heart skip a beat as he walks over. You've been calling the office, searching for him.

With the colorful lights creating a rainbow of hues on the walls and ceiling as well as your serene features, the space is filled with a cozy, joyous glow. He pauses to look at you, huddled on the couch, slumping over the edge with the pastel-colored phone handle clenched in your hand. James feels a wave of affection rush over him as you appear so tiny, so comfy, so much like home.

His hand reaches out to brush a stray hair off your forehead as he kneels on the plush cream carpet next to the sofa. You stir slightly at his touch, your eyelids fluttering, but you don't wake even as he slides the back of his palm gently on your cheek. Seeing you waiting for him and missing him makes him realize how fortunate he is to have you in his life and to be allowed to be in yours, even if he knows he let you down tonight.

James gently presses his mouth against your forehead in a kiss, his lips still a little dense from the cold. You radiate warmth in return.

— Merry Christmas, — he whispers, his voice barely audible in the silent room, as he gazes upon your ethereal form.

James sits back on his heels, his eyes still fixed on your sleeping form. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart, keeping himself from planting gentle kisses all over your face like he yearns to; your rosy cheeks, adorable tip of your nose, soft eyelids and lips. Reaching out, he removes the phone from your grasp, delicately uncurling each finger individually before placing it on the coffee table. You've been waiting for him all night, and he doesn't want to wake you up.

He stands up slowly, his joints popping from the long day of sitting at his desk. He doesn't stretch, though, to not let them crack and destroy the tranquility of the peaceful haven that you've turned your living room into. James looks around the room, taking in the decorations you put together. The tree he took care of mainly; the stockings hanging on the wall, and the wreath on the door were of your making. You did it all for you both, for your first holiday together.

Admiring the antique ornaments he chose especially for you, he approaches the tree and runs his fingertips down its branches before placing the small jewelry box underneath. He smiles as he remembers the way your face lit up when you opened the colorful store box and saw the ornaments, the way you hugged him tight and thanked him for making your first Christmas together so special. James recalls the way he laughed and teased you for how you found joy in the simplest things; those were just silly trinkets after all. But seeing joy on your smiling face was worth so much more than this ordinary gift. He would give you the world if he could, everything you'd ever ask for, though he knew you wouldn't.

It has now been five years. He finds it hard to comprehend how quickly time passes sometimes. It's been nearly five years since... The pain never truly left, not really anyway, lingering somewhere deep in his subconscious and daring to come out in the late hours of the night. Recently, however, things have been beginning to improve a little bit; his heart craving for new things that are beautiful, warm, and welcoming, drawing him into their embrace and instantly numbing his guilt and hatred for himself, even if just for a short while.

"Mary, I... I think I'm falling for someone else", he thinks to himself, and surprisingly, he does not feel distraught.

The way you accepted him and continued to gaze up at him like he was your treasure, your beacon, even after revealing what he's done. Like he was the only man in the world for you. Sometimes, it made him think of the dark side you shared with him. James was aware that he did not deserve it, but perhaps fate — or whatever it was — was offering him a second chance to try to change and start again. Perhaps he will have an opportunity to make amends soon as well.

James' hazel eyes catch a particular shiny ornament, a silver bell that hangs too far on the branch, threatening to fall off. He touches the ornament on the tree, attempting to adjust it a little, causing it to jingle slightly, melodically erupting through the silent room, disturbing its peace. He lets out a startled moan, yanking his hand back immediately, but it's already too late; the fiddled branch gives under the weight of the mischievous toy. James' hand freezes in midair as the ornament falls with a pitiful thud, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. As he turns to look at the couch frantically, he finds you fully awake, looking at him with your eyes still half-lidded, hands rubbing your face.

For a moment, your face is a mask of confusion, brows furrowed comically as you try to process the sight of him. But then, recognition dawns, and your expression shifts, a smile spreading across your face. Your bleary eyes widen with surprise, and your face immediately changes when you realize that your love is home. Still clad in his office job suit, his clumsy silhouette illuminated by tens of sparkling lights. You glance at the clock rapidly; it's minutes before midnight.

— James! — you exclaim, voice filled with joy and relief.

You jump off the couch, almost tripping on your wrinkled blanket, his rushed "careful!" following suit, arms outstretched and ready, as you leap towards him with abandon.

James extends his arms to embrace you, his heart bursting with affection. You collide with him, your heated body molding against his chilled one, your arms wrapping around his waist, your face buried in his shirt, inhaling his cologne and the faint smell of coffee.

James holds you tight, bones almost cracking, his hand running through your freshly washed hair, his lips pressing against the top of your head. He breathes in your wonderful scent, a mix of floral shampoo and the faint smell of cinnamon apple pie you've baked, as his blonde hair mingles with yours. He feels your pajama-clad body relax against his frame, arms tightening around his waist, fingers digging into his back. He knows you've been waiting for him all night, so beautiful, so perfect.

— I'm sorry for waking you, — he murmurs, apologizing yet again this night, his voice muffled against your fluffy hair, seemingly unable to stop inhaling your heavenly smell as he takes long and deep whiffs of your locks.

You pull back slightly, your delicate hands cupping his face, your eyes searching his deep hazel-green puppy gaze.

— It's okay, stop apologizing, — you grumble, your voice softly scolding him for berating himself, — I'm just glad you're here now, it's all that matters.

James leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes meeting yours, and his lashes lowering in delight at your closeness.

— I missed you, — he murmurs, his voice full of feeling, — Missed you so much today.

— Missed you too, honey. I've been waiting for you, — you mumble gently, trailing off as he daws closer to you, his breath fanning against your face.

James leans in, his lips chapped from the cold, brushing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. As you sigh, granting his mouth and tongue much-needed permission, he pours all of his love and passion into your hungry lips. His cold hands cup your warm face, and his thumbs caress your cheeks, allowing him to sink in their warmth. He presses his torso into you until there is no more space, pulling you up and closer by your waist, hands raking your middle. Deepening the intense kiss, your lips moving gently against one another, and the room filling with the subtle sounds of wet skin on flesh.

Just when you start feeling your insides tingling with the added sensation of his stubble rubbing against you, he pulls back, his eyes searching yours, his heart racing in his chest under your palm.

— Merry Christmas, — he whispers, his voice husky and low.

You smile, eyes shining with joy and love,

— Merry Christmas, — you whisper back, voice filled with warmth.

As you stand there, surrounded by the glow of the Christmas tree, James feels a sense of peace wash over him. For the first time in a long while, he feels truly content, truly... Happy. And the thought of it doesn't scare him.

James cradles you close, his chin resting on top of your adorable head, his heart bursting with love and yearning. He can feel the warmth of your body, the softness of your hair against his chin, tickling him slightly as he blows it away gently.

He listens as you mumble into his chest, voice still sleepy and groggy from the sudden awakening.

— I love you, James. Thank you for being with me this year.

James's eyes sting, his throat tightening with your sudden heartfelt confession. He knows the past years hasn't been easy for either of you. The loss of his wife still raw in his heart, the tragedy of Silent Hill, the struggle to rebuild his life again and again, starting therapy and failing, then trying to quit his addiction. But through it all, you've been there, a constant source of love and support, his never-giving-up unwavering light in the dark, guiding him to his better self. Giving him the resolve to try, not for Mary or you, but for himself.

James tightens his arms around your waist, grabbing at your pajama top as he does, as if afraid that you'll slip away like a dream if he does. His lips press against your ear, breathing out almost brokenly,

— I love you too, — he whispers, his voice thick with sentiment, — More than you know.

— You deserve this, James, — you say gently as you cradle James' face in you arms, sensing his distress. Gazing directly into his eyes, your own gleaming like two brilliant stars under the sparkling lights, — We both do.

— We both do, — he echoes, his voice soft and filled with wonder. He leans into your touch, savoring the warmth of your hands against his skin, relishing the feeling of your palms cradling his tired face as he closes his eyes in bliss.

And you deserve it more. You deserve more than him, in fact. You've been there for him through everything, a beacon of light in the darkness. You've loved him unconditionally, even when he felt like an unlovable monster, even when he pushed you away at the beginning. James's eyes begin to water, tears spilling down his cheeks. He doesn't try to stop them, doesn't try to hide his emotion from you, knowing you of all people won't judge him. For the first time in a long while, he feels truly free.

— I love you, — he repeats, his voice breaking slightly, feeling embarrassed of his wet cheeks suddenly.

As you give him butterfly kisses all over his damp face, lips gently fluttering against his skin, his heart rises with joy and awe. James can feel the sweetness of your breath, the softness of your rose petal lips, the tenderness of touch.

— I know it. And I do, too, — you whisper back, tasting the salt on his skin.

James knows this is the best present he could have asked for. Not the presents beneath the branches, not the decorations on the tree, but this moment, this bond, this emotion he hopes will last forever.

With his hands on the small of your back and his arms still around your waist, he goes to spin you around a little, which makes you laugh slightly. Inhaling the pleasant scent of your warm skin, he buryes his face in your dainty neck.

— Thank you, — he murmurs, his lips brushing against your nape, making you shiver and hum pleasantly, — For everything. For being here, for loving me, for giving me a reason to keep going.

You tighten you arms around him, holding him close, fingers tangling in his golden rye hair.

#silk writings #james sunderland #silent hill x reader #james sunderland x reader #james sunderland x you #silent hill 2 remake #silent hill 2 #silent hill

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lokischocolatefountain · 4 hours ago

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An Unexpected Present

Summary: Hope and reassurance comes from an unexpected source when Joel think there might be none.

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: Merry Christmas, pedroblr (is that a thing?) This is my little Christmas present to everyone and I hope (ba dum tss) it gives a bit of hope in terrible times in a different world. This is my present specifically to @docharleythegeekqueen as part of @pedrostories's Secret Santa event. Thank you so much for organizing this and I hope I have delivered as Santa.

People never turned up at your door at the crack of dawn. Thank goodness. It was mostly because you didn’t really have a door for the past two decades for anyone to show up at. Now you had one and apparently people—no, men— took that as an invitation to show up. Okay, it was one man. That was already one too many.

“What the fuck?” You asked, looking at the guy holding the most god awful bouquet of dried flowers you’d ever seen. Did they do Valentine’s in Jackson? And if so, did they do it in fucking December?

“You’re the chemistry teacher?”

Don’t fucking say some corny line about having chemistry with me, you thought, the old pick up line getting on your nerves before it could even be uttered.

“I am. And I won’t make you meth if that’s what you’re here to ask.”

He laughed softly, his cheeks turning pink from the winter air. “I wasn’t. But now I’m thinking about it. No, I’m uh… Ellie told me you knew how to make paint?”

You realized then that he was your student Ellie’s dad. Maria’s brother in law who used to be a contractor in the before times. His name had come up a few times when Maria’s husband told you about how they were fixing up the old houses in the town.

“Yeah…?”

“I was wonderin’ if you could make some for me. We can trade for it.”

“Oh. Uh, I’m sorry… I don’t make that kind of paint.”

“I didn’t even tell ya what kinda paint I’m lookin’ for.”

“For walls?”

“Wow. Why, cause I look like this,” he said, gesturing to himself, “I can’t be looking for watercolor to paint the next Mona Lisa?”

“The Mona Lisa was painted with oil paints.”

“It’ll be the watercolor Mona Lisa then. These flowers good enough to make some paint?” He asked, holding out the dried flowers and leaves.

“Depends on the colors you want for this post apocalyptic Mona Lisa.”

“Red, green, black and white.”

“Doesn’t sound like the Mona Lisa to me. Sounds like Christmas.”

“They told me you were smart, but not that you were a genius,” he mocked, making you roll your eyes. You would’ve closed the door on him and avoided him forever. It was a foolish way to spend the little resources you had on something like paint for Christmas decorations. Linseed oil for protecting wooden surfaces, alum for water clarification, and washing soda for…well, washing. So you told him as much. His face fell when you explained you won’t waste necessary resources for something as superfluous as paint. But he accepted, wished you a good day and left your doorsteps with his dried flowers.

You thought that would be the end of it. But you didn’t know a very crucial piece of information then.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked, sounding more aggressive than you’d intended to be.

“Didn’t think it was relevant since ya said making paint is a waste of your time,” he said, sounding a little smug.

“That was before your brother said you had coffee! Why didn’t you tell me you had coffee?”

“You didn’t say what you’d trade for.”

“I’ll trade for coffee.”

Coffee it was. The next morning, he showed up at your door with a thermos full of coffee. Guilty about how you’d treated him the previous day, you invited him inside. What started as politeness became a routine.

“Had no idea it’d turn blue.”

“It’s because red cabbages have a chemical called anthocyanin. It’s a natural ph indicator. So when you add it to a neutral substance like water, it turns blue.”

He nodded, his annoyance at you beginning to change seeing the excitement on your face. It was easy to forget he was also resistant to normalcy when he first arrived at Jackson. Scarcity was the biggest threat to your life outside the infected and it wasn’t easy to set aside old practices you’d built to survive. But that didn’t stop him from being annoyed at you when you told him that paint for Christmas decorations was a waste of your time.

“Did you teach before, too?” He asked.

“No. I uh…I worked in the pharmaceutical industry. Made medicines.”

“Damn,” he said, his mind immediately going to Ellie. If she knew what you did for a living before… There was a real risk too, with you being her teacher and all. A bigger problem was you finding out somehow about Ellie’s immunity and deciding to do something about it. He could handle you of course. He’d handled fireflies with all their weapons. But it wouldn’t be easy to get away with in Jackson.

“Yeah. And before you ask, no I can’t find a cure.”

“Why did you think I’d ask that?” He squinted, his worries still not resolved.

“Everyone does.”

“Huh.”

The rest of the walk to the school passed in silence as he mulled over your words. You didn’t believe there was a cure so you wouldn’t look in Jackson for one. That should be enough to calm him. But you didn’t know someone in town was immune. He would have to keep an eye on you.

____

While the mornings were spend drinking coffee with each other, the evenings were for making paint. He’d gathered everything you needed. Even sat with you and helped you grind the ingredients with a pestle and mortar. You liked to spend your time alone after hours of dealing with loud, curious children.

You didn’t think you would be alright with Joel intruding on that. But he was good company. He stayed silent apart from asking doubts about the process. The only sound was that of the both of you grinding the pigment source into a fine power set with cyclical movements of the pestles in the mortars.

“You’re a big fan of Christmas?” You asked one evening.

“I wouldn’t say so, no.”

“So, why are you parting with your beloved coffee just for red and green paints?”

He laughed softly as he tied a filter to the top of a bottle. “It’s for Ellie,” he said, his hand rubbing the broken watch on his wrist. “She never had a normal Christmas so…since we came here to Jackson, I try to do what the town needs for a nice Christmas.”

“That’s nice,” you said, feeling yourself warming up to him. “How many Christmases have you had here?” You asked, not feeling it appropriate to ask when they arrived. Too personal and invasive perhaps.

“This is the second one.”

“Mmm. She deserves it. Ellie. She’s a good kid.”

“She is, yeah.”

“It’s…hopeful. Being around young people again. We are all so… Well, I am so disillusioned with the world. She seems to have hope.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Asked me if I could find a cure if there was someone immune.”

His heart almost stopped. What else did she tell you?

“And what did you say?”

“The truth. That it’s not possible even if we found someone with immunity.”

“Why is that?”

“We didn’t have the technology for this even back in the day. Not for fungi. It took years to create a cure even when we had proper labs and researchers. It’s not likely for us to even find someone who is immune. Even if I did, how would I get to the source of their immunity? We can’t do any tests. We can’t do imaging. If there was someone immune, they should just shut up about it and be alive.”

“Isn’t that selfish? Ruining the world’s chance to… to become…become normal?”

“It won’t. Not in our lifetimes. Say we do find a cure. How do we manufacture this drug or vaccine? How many can we make? A hundred? A thousand? And how would we even distribute it? I don’t think a few bicycles and our horses could be as effective as planes and ships to take them around the country. And these things have an expiration date, so…”

“I never thought of that.”

“Yeah. People are so intoxicated by hope that they fail to consider the logistics. I don’t blame them, though. It’s only natural to hope. Because if there’s no hope for the future, there’s no reason to do fucking anything.”

“Do you have hope?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a smile. Not a naive one free of the burden of truth but a radical one persevering despite it all. “Jackson gives me hope. I didn’t think there could be such a place… There has to be an end to the fungus’ reign at some point in the future. When it has no one to consume. There could be people who are immune and natural selection could take its course, pass the immunity on genetically. Won’t be anytime soon of course. Maybe a few thousand years.”

“If humanity survives until then. We could all die like the dinosaurs.”

“We could. Or we could survive. If we’re here, who’s to say there aren’t other little towns persevering? Maybe a few will evolve and survive. They may no longer be us— homosapiens. But they’ll be here. But if not, there’s still all the animals who will look up at the same stars we see every night.”

“That’s strangely hopeful,” he said after a moment of silence. He wanted to cross the table between the two of you and give you a hug. Tell you that you were the only one who said something optimistic to him that wasn’t a load of rubbish.

But he went instead for an ornament just for you. Carved it out of wood how he did with all the other ornaments he made for the town’s large Christmas tree.

When you found the wooden star painted white at your door, you were surprised but had no doubt who it was from. You would never know what you’d done for him. He never doubted he made the right decision getting Ellie out of that hospital. But it helped hearing from someone who didn’t know what happened that she would’ve died for nothing had he made the wrong decision. It was an unexpected present. One you never intended.

And the next time he was at your door with flowers, they weren’t for making paint.

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