#matching robe and swaddle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

areyoudoingthis · 1 year ago

Text

Rated E. 7,724 words. This isn't at all what Stede saw in his own fantasies - there's no beard, no sword, no avenging swashbuckling pirate standing in the mirror in front of him. There's just Stede, swaddled in fine fabrics like he was most of his life, but not the same at all. This is Stede touched by Ed, draped in Ed's love manifest in the clothes he picked for him to wear because they reminded him of a time in his life when the memory of Stede helped him breathe underwater. This is how Ed seems him. This is the image of Stede Ed saw when he needed him most. He feels his eyes well with tears at the realization. - Ed gets Stede to open up through the magical power of new clothes.

They're mostly done with their list of purchases for the day when they walk by the tailor shop. Ed's eyes bore through the windows as his legs stop moving, and Stede's heart pitter patters at the thought of going clothes shopping with him, of sharing something that always brought him solace in his lonely years with someone who fancies a fine fabric as much as he does.

He smiles encouragingly at Ed and nods towards the store, and Ed doesn't need any further invitation; next thing he knows Stede's being dragged excitedly by the hand across the threshold.

He lets himself be pulled, gazes adoringly at Ed as he watches him drink in all the colors and patterns that are theirs for the taking. He will never forget that this was the first thing they bonded over, the way Ed's eyes shone when Stede showed him all the treasures he kept tucked safely away in the auxiliary wardrobe for the first time. The awe in his expression as he took in the rows of autumn vibes and summer linens much like he's doing right now, his excited giggles as they traded clothes.

He loses track of Ed as they browse, picks up an emerald green cashmere robe with silver accents that he simply has to get for him, gets lost in the daydream of holding Ed in his arms while he's wearing it and forgets where he is and what he's doing for an indefinite number of minutes.

He goes looking for Ed when he comes back from his fantasy, and finds him standing uncharacteristically still next to a rack of colorful suits. He's pulled out one in particular, satin in a gorgeous shade of orange with intricate patterns of leaves and flowers on the front and the sleeves. He has impeccable taste, Stede's always known this about him.

Ed seems mesmerized by the fabric, rubs it between the pads of his fingers and stares at it with something like reverence. Stede smiles, always happy to get Ed anything that makes him light up like this.

"Do you like it, darling? Should we get it?"

"It's..." he turns to Stede, all wide eyes and intense longing. His voice is small and awed when he replies. "It's the same color as your scales in my vision."

Stede swallows around the sudden knot in his throat, struggles to draw air into his lungs, but Ed isn't done knocking the breath out of him yet.

"I wanna see you in it."

There's no way Stede can say no to that, even if he was inclined to turn down a well-made, beautiful coat like this one, which he hasn't been once in his fifty years on this earth.

He wonders briefly if it may need to be tailored, but judging from the avid way Ed's still glancing between him and the fabric pooled in his hands, he worries that something may happen if he decides to try the suit on in public. He doesn't fully know what, but he decides wisely not to risk it and just pay for everything and make sure he can bring it back later if it needs any adjustments. The saleswoman is gracious and reassuring, and Stede makes a note of the store in his mental list of "Stede's favorite places in the world he absolutely must revisit later."

He's ready to pay for the robe, coat and matching breeches when he remembers that all he has at home are worn shirts and an assortment of leather and rough cloth trousers.

"Will you choose a shirt and waistcoat for me, darling?" he ventures, and is rewarded with Ed's eyes going big and hungry again.

"Me?"

"You picked the suit, you know the color scheme you're working with."

Ed nods determinedly, squares his shoulders and heads back towards the racks of clothes muttering quietly to himself, like he's got a big mission to fulfill. Stede feels so impossibly in love every minute of his life these days that it's a wonder he gets anything done at all.

He turns back towards the woman behind the counter and inquires about a new pair of shoes (he can't possibly wear something this delicate with boots) and, heart hammering in his chest for some unknown reason, stockings.

He's purchased stockings dozens of times in the past, but his mind seems to have attached some special significance to the idea of stockings-and-Ed, and wearing something for Ed just because he asked. He breathes deeply and tries not to turn red, doesn't want to make the poor woman uncomfortable.

He chooses white to go with the suit (one can rarely ever go wrong with white, unless one is perhaps Lucius at the Republic of Pirates), and can't help but get the lavender pair she shows him, too, imagines the way the color will look against Ed's skin and loses the fight with the blush spreading warmly on his face. He has time to ask her to wrap those separately, please, they're a gift, before Ed comes back with the items he picked. He shows Stede a flowing white shirt with lace cuffs that he immediately falls in love with, and a golden yellow waistcoat with delicate pearl buttons that's almost as lovely as him. Stede thinks he'll gladly let Ed pick all his clothes from now on.

They pay for everything with the money Ed always seems to have on him in infinite amounts (Stede often has to remind himself that one of them is still rich, and that living in a house that keeps threatening to fall apart on them was a choice they made), and they start on the trip back home with all their new treasures in hand, along with the groceries they got earlier.

It isn't until later that day that the suit is brought up again, when the food has been put away and dinner's come and gone and they're on their second cup of tea of the evening, and Ed asks him, timid and hopeful, to try it on. Stede heads towards their room with his heart in complete disarray, wondering if he'll ever get used to the way Ed can set his whole body and mind alight with a few simple words.

Ed has unpacked every piece and laid them neatly out on the bed for him, and Stede feels himself choke up a little at the caring gesture.

His fingers tremble slightly as he ties the laces of his new shirt, and he wonders if this is how brides usually feel as they get ready on their wedding day - at least brides who are getting married by their own choice. He certainly felt nothing close to this pleasantly agitated and anticipatory when he was about to be married. That suit was given away to charity as soon as Stede considered it polite to do so; he hopes someone got some comfort out of it.

He holds the lace that decorates the sleeves between his fingers and gets lost in the sense-memory. His fingers welcome the touch back like an old friend.

The waistcoat goes on next, and Stede admires the color and the way it fits around his chest and waist. Ed could make a living out of dressing people if he wanted to, his eye is unerring; he may not even need to get the suit adjusted at all. He leaves the buttons undone for now and turns back to the slowly diminishing pile of garments on the bed.

He sighs ecstatically as he slides the stockings up his legs. He missed this most of all, the soft, decadent whisper of silk against his skin. Boots and leather are fun, definitely practical and useful for fighting and working on the house, but it's so nice to be able to indulge like this again. His body's readily and easily adjusting to being covered in finery once more.

The thought of Ed waiting expectantly on the other side of the door to see him in these makes a thrill run down Stede's spine that has nothing and everything to do with the stockings and the shiny laces he's tying them up with.

He pulls the breeches on top once he's done, and goes about the slow task of doing up every button on every piece with slightly impatient hands. He's never gotten dressed this elaborately in the past knowing that he'd be getting undressed a short while later, and this part feels a little like a waste of time and effort. He grins to himself, feels his whole body bubble with an exhilaration he's never experienced while putting on clothes before. These days the excitement is usually reserved for taking them off, and Ed tends to be the one impatiently taking care of that. He wonders how many new firsts he'll keep discovering every day of his life with him, wishes hopefully that they never run out.

When he's finally done securing the last buttons down the side of his new breeches, he slips his feet into the shoes and stands up straight, tugs on the coat a little to adjust it. It's got that stiff new outfit feeling, but Stede doesn't mind, because as soon as he focuses on the mirror in front of him the breath gets knocked out of him for the third time today.

He looks absolutely radiant. The satin glimmers where it catches the light, and the mix of orange and gold, delicate pearls nestled in embroidery and soft touches of lace and silk all combine to make him look otherworldly to his own eyes.

And, he thinks, this isn't just any old fancy suit, something he's donning like armor first thing in the morning for the umpteenth time. This is what Ed chose especially for him to wear, because it holds a particular significance to him, because it reminds him of a time in his life when the memory of Stede helped him breathe underwater.

This is how Ed seems him. This is the image of Stede Ed saw when he needed him most. He feels his eyes well with tears at the realization.

This isn't at all what Stede saw in his own fantasies - there's no beard, no sword, no avenging swashbuckling pirate standing in the mirror in front of him. There's just Stede, swaddled in fine fabrics like he was most of his life, but not the same at all. This is Stede touched by Ed, draped in Ed's love manifest in the clothes he picked for Stede because he wanted the pleasure of seeing him in them.

He feels slightly unstable with everything going through his head and his heart all of a sudden, and for once in his life he knows exactly where to turn.

"Ed, can you come in?" his voice wobbles a little as he calls out.

Ed confirms his suspicions that he was waiting on the other side of the door by opening it immediately and stepping into the room with him.

He zeroes in on the tears running down Stede's cheeks instantly, with the same care and devotion he always shows him. He's got Stede's face cradled in his solid hands within seconds, thumbs wiping away the saltiness and lips whispering soothing words on instinct.

"What's wrong, babe?" he asks once Stede's been profusely comforted. "Don't you like it? You don't have to keep it on if you don't."

"I love it, Edward," Stede confesses quietly. "I love it so much." His voice grows even smaller. "Too much."

Ed's eyes and nose scrunch almost comically in confusion.

"How can you like it too much? That's not a thing, Stede. Ya like it, ya wear it. That's how clothes work."

And he makes it sound so impossibly simple. But it's never been simple, has it? Not in Stede's experience. Wearing pretty things because he likes them has never been as straightforward for him as Ed assumes. He doesn't know how to explain that, though, doesn't know where to find the words to encompass his father and his peers and his own wife and the contempt Stede's enjoyment of fine, delicate things was met with his whole life.

He starts crying in earnest instead, and Ed stands unwavering with Stede's face held gently in his hands, kisses his tears dry and presses their foreheads together, pours his adoration into the silent, intimate space between their mouths as he lets him figure out how to say what he needs to say.

Stede tries to breathe through his tears, tries to make his mind and his tongue cooperate with the arduous task of summing up a lifetime of disdain in a few sentences. And then a memory comes to him, of another time when fine things were worn and one of them also ended the night upset, and he thinks maybe he knows how to help Ed understand.

"Do you remember the french party boat?"

"Yeah, I remember," Ed grits out, clearly still has the same negative associations with it that Stede does. And Stede is sorry for what he's going to bring up next, but he hopes Ed will forgive him once he gets where Stede is going with it, why he's digging up the unpleasantness to poke at it.

"Remember how they made you feel when you used the wrong spoon?"

Ed grumbles his assent.

"I always picked the right spoon, Ed," he sobs, trembles against him, unable to stop the grief from ripping out of him. He keeps talking as his voice breaks. "I was taught which spoon was the right spoon and I picked it every time after. And I always felt just like you did that night. Every day. For almost fifty years."

Ed's hands leave his face to wrap around his shoulders and pull him close. Stede feels safe pressed here against his chest, feels shielded from the harshness of the world like he's never felt in his life. Inside the circle of his arms is the only place no one's ever been able to harm him, the wall no pointed barbs can pierce, a refuge where no dark thoughts can thrive.

"Stede, you made those fuckers set themselves on fire," Ed reminds him.

"Because they hurt you," he says, raising his face from his shoulder to stare earnestly into his eyes.

Stede thought it was obvious this whole time. There's nothing he wouldn't do to make Ed feel safe, to punish those who insult and hurt him.

Ed's eyes light up with understanding, and then flood with compassion.

"There was never anyone to set them on fire for you, was there?" he whispers softly into the quiet room.

Stede nods through his tears, burrows closer into his arms. Ed holds him tight, tireless in his love, presses his lips tenderly into his curls, rubs his hands up and down his back and makes warmth bloom in his body. Stede is always surprised to be handled this gently, hasn't managed to get used to it yet.

"You've got me now," Ed promises. "I'll set anyone on fire for ya, love." He says it like a prayer, like a vow, and Stede smiles shakily and keeps crying into his shoulder, keeps drawing comfort from his steadfast presence and the way he offers himself up for Stede to take whatever he needs.

Ed lets him weep in his arms until he calms down, until the reassurance of his presence eases the hurt of his absence for all the years that came before now a little. And then Stede remembers he had more to say before he broke down.

"I look beautiful in this. I feel beautiful, Ed."

Ed nuzzles his cheek affectionately.

"You sure do, babe. Happy you agree."

"It feels different, kind of. From when I used to dress like this, before." He pauses. "I like it when you dress me."

"You like it when I undress you, too."

Stede chuckles a little wetly.

"That's not what I mean, you menace. I like that you picked this for me, that you showed me how you like me." He takes a breath. "I like that it's how I like me, too," he adds.

Ed beams at him from underneath impossibly long eyelashes.

"You do?"

"Yeah."

"Can I pick more fancy stuff for you?"

There's that boundless excitement that he loves again. Stede knows if he lets him he'll soon find himself with even more clothes than he had when he moved into the Revenge, and then they'll need to build a whole secret wardrobe into their house, too. He'll start drawing the plans in the morning.

"Please do," he asks.

Ed smiles, pleased, and says, "I liked that store."

"Oh, I noticed, darling," he teases. "I like it, too. We'll have to go back soon."

Ed hums in agreement and kisses him enthusiastically, and soon he's making Stede's head spin until he forgets that he was crying and why. He pulls him greedily into his body, runs his hands reverentially down the soft fabric of Stede's new jacket.

"You can keep this bit on," he murmurs, and Stede whimpers into his mouth and feels his knees go a little weak at the ravenous tone and the clear intent behind the words.

Ed slides his hands under the coat and wraps his arms around Stede, guides him backwards towards the bed as he steals his breath with his lips.

He stops when the backs of Stede's legs meet the bed, pushes him down gently until he's got him sitting on the edge, and then shorts out his brain by sinking to his knees in front of him.

"Ed," he moans, fingers tangling in his hair without Stede ever making a conscious decision to make them do it. Then he has a brief moment of lucidity and says, "Pillow, darling. We don't want your knee to be sore in the morning," as he passes him one from the pile on their bed.

Ed places it obediently under his left knee, gives a pleased little sigh and bends down to remove Stede's shoes. He drops hungry kisses along the way, touches his burning lips to his knee, his calf, his ankle, sets Stede's skin ablaze as he goes.

"I love your fuckin' fancy lacy shoes," he says, holding his leg delicately to slip the shoe off his foot.

Stede laughs. Only Ed could manage to sound ferociously enthusiastic about shoes.

"They're not the most convenient footwear," he points out.

"Who fuckin' cares about that, Stede. Your legs look fuckin' great in heels."

Stede feels the blush climb all the way from his toes to his ears. He's feeling perilously close to overwhelmed and all Ed's done is kiss him and compliment his shoes.

Ed sets both of his bare feet down on the ground and rests his hands on Stede's knees as he comes back up, uses the leverage to pull his legs apart and settles easily between them, like he's belonged there his whole life. Stede's chest rises and falls rapidly as he watches him - he's all perfect curls and lovely brown skin, pupils blown wide in hungry eyes, and Stede loves him so much he's afraid his heart might burst.

His mind has inexplicably decided to make him experience everything tonight with an intensity that's making him feel as if this somehow the first time they're doing this all over again. Perhaps it's how their first time would have gone if no one had ever told them who to be or how to live - the two of them undressing each other unhurriedly layer by layer, long before there were any scars hiding under them, before anyone left and any hearts were broken. But he knows they wouldn't be the people that they are if none of that had happened, and that's without a doubt the most heartbreaking possibility of all. He loves this man just as he is, loves who he's learning to become around him. Losing this is unthinkable.

Ed draws him back from his bittersweet musings by slowly undoing the buttons of his waistcoat and pushing it aside so he can bury his face against Stede's stomach. Stede combs his fingers through his silver-threaded hair, thinks idly that he should brush it and plait it for him one of these days. It's as if his hands have remembered all the soft things they used to do and are eager to get back to them.

Ed kisses his body over the shirt, slides his lips down to mouth at his cock through the front of his breeches. He moans when he finds him hard and wanting, and Stede moans with him, blood humming electric with every touch Ed lavishes on him. Ed's fingers work deftly on the buttons while his mouth is busy, and he tries to push the breeches down his hips once he's got them open, but the fabric has no give and they stay stubbornly where they are.

"Pants have to come off, babe," he says, tugging on them. "They're too fuckin' tight." Stede giggles and leans back on his elbows to let him pull them off. He belatedly recalls the tiny buttons down the sides of the legs as Ed's about to slide them down his calves.

"Ed-" but there's a small rain of metal tinkling musically on the floor before he's finished getting two words out.

"Shit," Ed says, forlorn. He looks utterly dismayed about a few pieces of metal and fabric, and his face is so expressive that Stede can't help but laugh and lean forward to kiss the sour look off his lips.

"They're just buttons, darling," he consoles. "At least you didn't tear the ones on the waistcoat, those are my favorites." Ed smiles as Stede presses their mouths back together, and Stede will consider the buttons a fair sacrifice for everything he's gotten out of tonight.

Ed forgets the urgency of his task and keeps kissing him instead, hands still bunching up the fabric around his ankles. He looks so pretty on his knees between Stede's legs, cheeks flushed and mouth red and bitten. Stede would gladly stay here kissing him forever.

They need to come up for air eventually, though, and the pants finally come off without further incident. Stede loses Ed to some transcendent experience the second he notices the stockings he's wearing and the laces holding them up, judging by the glazed look in his eyes. He's instantly pressing forward to rub his cheek against them, and Stede can feel the tingly drag of his beard through the thin fabric, feels his cock jump at the sensation.

"Stede, holy fuck. I'm gonna live between your legs if you keep wearin' these."

Stede's heart beats a wild rhythm at the words. He's definitely tempted by the promise, will wear them again on purpose now that he knows the power silk stockings wield on Ed. He remembers the package he hid away as soon as they got home, wonders if he's gonna be as excited about wearing them himself as he's about seeing them on Stede. His mouth waters at the picture of Ed in nothing but lavender silk, cock standing proud and tattoos stark against the light shade of the fabric. His breath hitches and he groans out loud.

Ed's still lost in silk and Stede's legs, keeps running his palms and his face against them in deliberate movements that make Stede tremble. He wonders briefly how they stayed away from each other for weeks while he wore tight breeches and silk stockings day in and day out, sighs wistfully at the memory of those early days and is brought crashing back to the present by Ed's mouth sucking wetly at the skin of his leg through the silk. His back arches and he rests his weight more heavily on his arms, head falling between his shoulders and breathy moans spilling hungrily from his lips. And then Ed bites his thigh right where lace meets skin, and Stede's hips shoot off the bed, a bolt of electricity coursing all the way up from Ed's teeth to his cock.

"Like that, do ya?"

He nods vigorously, and Ed smirks and gets right back to it, pinches the tender skin between his teeth and lips and makes Stede see stars.

There's something so fucking intoxicating about Ed worshiping his body like this when he's back in his favorite clothes. He's felt desired and admired every time they've made love, couldn't feel anything but with the way Ed touches him and begs for him and cries out his name. But everything feels heightened today, as if being back in silk and embroidered satin has awakened Stede's senses to unprecedented degrees.

"Ed," he sighs longingly, runs his fingers through his hair with all the devastating affection he feels.

Ed caresses his hands up and down his calves as his mouth sucks bruises into his thighs, and Stede congratulates himself on the stroke of genius that told him to invite Ed into the store earlier and led to this particular moment in time. He thinks it may have been the smartest thing he did since he left Bridgetown and settled down here to renovate an inn with the love of his life.

"This is making a mess," Ed tuts, pulling Stede's cock away from where it's smearing precome on his white shirt. Stede pants as his hand closes around him, whines when Ed presses his thumb against the slit and then sucks the digit into his mouth to taste it. It comes out with a loud pop, and Stede can't take his eyes away from Ed's mouth.

"What are we gonna do about it, babe?"

Stede feels like a deer caught by a hunter, eyes wide and heart racing madly against his ribs. His entire mind has gone up in flames, his body is Ed's for the taking however he wants.

"Stede, you okay?" he hears Ed ask, and realizes he went somewhere else made of pure sensation for a while. He has no idea what's happening to him tonight, and his mind feels too placid and liquid to try and find out. He'd rather just let Ed decide how best to make him feel good.

"Yeah," he whispers, and he bends down to kiss him again, thinks he can detect the barest aftertaste of salt on his tongue. Ed kisses back easily, and the way he gives Stede anything he asks for makes him say the next words without hesitation.

"You know how you like to let me take over sometimes?"

Ed nods.

"Can you do that tonight? For me?"

Ed moans and positively devours him, wraps his hands around Stede's jaw and holds him still while he kisses him and kisses him until they're both gasping and clinging to each other.

"Yes," he answers fervently. "Yeah, I can do that, love."

Stede smiles adoringly at him and relaxes further on the bed, groans when the wet heat of Ed's mouth envelops his cock and tightens his fingers reflexively in his hair. They're both here and somewhere else at the same time as Ed's tongue licks a slow stripe up his length, dips into the slit for a few seconds and disappears only to come back and do it over again. Stede cries out his name, feels the easy heat of earlier burn brighter and cascade through him, scorching him.

Ed takes the sound as the encouragement it is, sucks the head of Stede's dick eagerly between his lips, his tiny moans muffled but still audible over their heavy breathing. Wherever they are, it's together, and that's all he cares about.

Flames skitter over Stede's skin as Ed's lips slide up and down his shaft, and his hips shift in tiny movements to press into his mouth. The drag of soft fabric against his skin adds to the intoxicating luxury of it all, and Stede is drowning in molten fire.

He struggles to keep his eyes open, mind soaking in the thrill of Ed's mouth being in control of everything he feels. He shivers when he takes him deep, feels his cock hit the back of his throat and moans Ed's name reverently. Stede feels drunk on him as Ed sucks him off at a lazy rhythm, keeps taking him in as deep as he can, swallows around him and hums contentedly every time Stede's cock hits the back of his throat.

He knows how much Ed loves doing this, has watched him fall apart from nothing but Stede's cock in his mouth, and he takes pleasure in his obvious enjoyment of the act. Ed's fingers curl around his thighs as he bobs his head with abandon, pull on the lace and the silk and shoot tiny pinpricks of pressure and pain down Stede's spine that zap him like lightning.

He can feel the pleasure build and build in his hips and sweep incandescently through his whole body, the delicious rush of Ed's mouth and clever tongue drawing it out of him in increments. He bunches the lace cuffs in his fingers, enjoys the soft-rough drag of the material over his skin and the way Ed whimpers around him at the sight.

Ed's hands leave his thighs to dig into his ass and pull him closer, until his legs are resting on his shoulders. Stede spins out of control at the new position, the way his stockinged legs are on display against Ed's skin as he continues to suck him indulgently. He feels decadent and desirable, skin on fire and lungs burning on every exhalation of Ed's name. He holds onto him almost desperately with the fingers buried in his hair.

Ed's hands hold him safely in place as his nails push into his skin, the sharp sting dizzying and grounding at once, and something settles within Stede, makes him feel impossibly bright, awash with the glow of the devotion Ed is doting on him. He loses himself to the liquid fire flowing joyously inside him and sinks into blissful, velvet heat and wetness, floats happily in it for as long as he can. Ed keeps him on the edge expertly, uses his tongue and his throat to push Stede right where he wants him and draws him back just as he's about to tip over. Stede is mindless with it, made of love and pure sensation for minutes, hours, ages.

His orgasm is the cresting of a wave when it hits, breaks over him blazingly as he pulses and pulses inside Ed's mouth. His world turns hazy around the edges, body going utterly pliant and relaxed as a warm ocean of pleasure flows through him. It feels endless and golden, and he's never enjoyed giving himself over to anything this much before.

Ed sucks him greedily through it, slips off Stede's cock to swallow and breathes heavily against his thigh while Stede recovers. He gets up slowly, leaning on Stede for support as he regains the feeling in his legs.

He stands over him for a few seconds before he starts pulling off his own clothes, and only then does Stede notice that he hasn't taken a single stitch off so far. He thinks through the lingering fog of his orgasm that he should insist on fucking him in his new robe sometime soon, seeing as how clothed sex is something they both apparently enjoy. The list of things to try with him that Stede's been writing in his mind grows exponentially every hour, and he celebrates the realization that he'll never run out of things he wants to do with Ed.

He's not wearing any leather today, so undressing goes quickly, and as soon as he's done he descends on Stede hungrily, licks the taste of him back into his mouth. Stede moans and lets him rearrange him on the bed until he's kneeling between his legs again.

"Told ya I wanna live between your legs from now on," Ed groans, and the way his voice is rough from having Stede's cock down his throat makes Stede's head spin with searing want even though he came a few minutes ago.

Ed crawls leisurely back over his body, wraps Stede's legs around his waist and sinks back into his mouth. Stede tries to keep up while he swims in the heady combination of Ed's damp skin on his, the smell of sex in the room and the taste of himself still on Ed's tongue.

"I'm gonna fuck your thighs, just like this," Ed whispers suggestively into the shell of his ear before biting down on it.

Stede swallows and struggles to pull air into his lungs, clutches his shoulders while Ed's hips roll sinuously against him, his hard cock dragging against Stede's spent one and making him whimper on the edge of oversensitivity.

"Please promise me you'll wear these to bed every night," Ed asks greedily as he strokes a hand over the stockings still covering Stede's legs. A breathless giggle bursts from Stede's lungs at the request.

"You want me to sleep in silk stockings every night."

"You look fuckin' sexy in them, babe, 'course I do."

Stede glows, pleased at the compliment. Ed smooths his hands slowly against the shimmering satin of Stede's jacket, sits up to take him in.

"Fuck, Stede. Look at you." Stede blinks dazedly up at him, a question in his eyes he doesn't dare to ask with his lips. "You should see the way you look right now," Ed answers anyway. "You're the fuckin' prettiest shade of red I've ever seen, all golden and sparkly in the clothes I picked for you." Stede blushes intensely.

"Is it what you imagined?" The hunger he sees reflected in Ed's face makes him feel brave enough to ask.

Ed bends down to press their foreheads together, speaks the answer fondly against his lips.

"Merperson you was lovely, but havin' real you splayed out like this for me in the clothes I picked for you is so much fuckin' better, love." Stede's whole being lights up and overflows with love for this wonderful man, who somehow guessed exactly what Stede needed and insisted on giving it to him, who allowed him to fall apart in his arms, kept him safe while he did and then put him tenderly back together.

Ed licks his way back into his mouth, kisses the breath out of him as he rocks his body lazily against Stede's. Stede welcomes him eagerly, slides his legs over his naked skin and feels Ed shiver on top of him.

Ed sits up abruptly and pulls him up with him by the lapels of his jacket.

"Let's get you more comfortable, love," he says, and Stede can't deny that it's hot under all these layers.

The jacket is pushed delicately over his shoulders and down his arms, and Ed stands to fold it and place it on the chair in the corner of their room before he keeps undressing him. Stede's heart swells at the gesture, at the care he shows for his precious things and for him both.

He feels a pang of regret as Ed removes the waistcoat - it really is his favorite piece. He's already planning how he can start wearing it with his other clothes, coming up with exciting combinations of colors and textures. Ed must see something on his face, because he places it on the bed next to him, smiles and says, "You really like this, don't ya?"

Stede nods.

"Hmm. I could put it back on, fuck you in nothing but your silk socks and your shiny new waistcoat."

Stede feels his cock twitch in interest at the suggestion, thinks maybe if they'd been doing this a few decades earlier Ed's tone would have been enough to get him hard again, with the way his words shoot fire through his whole body. He stares at him with wide eyes, lips parting soundlessly, and Ed just grins and pulls the shirt over his head to drop it somewhere around their feet.

He puts the waistcoat back on him just as he promised once he has divested Stede of the rest of his clothes, and sits back on his heels to admire his work. He must truly like what he sees, because his eyes go dark with hunger.

"Want you right now," he growls, and surges into Stede to push their mouths back together, bites his lips until Stede's ready to beg for it.

"You can have me," he gasps wantonly in between kisses.

Ed is reluctant to pull away from him despite the urgency of his words, keeps nibbling Stede's lips between his teeth like he can't help himself, and Stede understands the feeling perfectly, wants nothing more than to hold him forever, be touching him constantly. He runs his hands over his back, revels in the broadness and hard muscle they meet, the solidity of Ed's body above him.

Ed does move eventually, grabs the vial of oil from the shelf above the bed and spreads some over Stede's thighs. He fists a hand around his cock to slick himself up once he's done preparing him and his eyes fall shut, lips parting on a moan of Stede's name as if he's picturing sinking into the warmth of his body already. Stede couldn't look away if he wanted to - Ed in the throes of passion is the loveliest thing he's ever witnessed, lovelier than any silk or lace or pearl buttons in the whole world.

When Ed comes back to him he presses their whole bodies flush together, foreheads to feet, settles heavily on top of him. He sucks wet kisses into Stede's neck, grinds his hips into him and the slide is so much better now. Stede shudders and sighs into the safety of his mouth; he feels held and precious. Ed sinks his cock between Stede's legs, starts thrusting slowly until he finds a rhythm he likes.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful, Stede. Want you so fuckin' much all the time. Sometimes it feels like I'm gonna die if I'm not touchin' you."

Hearing his sentiment from earlier echoed back at him makes Stede feel glad that the intensity is mutual, that they can simply touch and kiss and fuck whenever they want to and don't have to deny themselves ever again.

"Me too, Ed. Always."

He presses his legs together as tight as he can, holds on to Ed's arms as he fucks into him, the glide of his impossibly warm cock between the sensitive skin of his thighs and the way it drags against his balls on every other thrust making him feel delirious and ragged. His nails dig into Ed's biceps as Ed pants above him, pace becoming faster and more erratic with every minute.

Stede feels his urgency as if it was his own, the waves of pleasure radiating off of Ed crashing into him and making his blood thrum with desire. He's never felt this intensely aroused after having already spent himself before. Ed's holding himself up on his elbows and snapping his hips feverishly above him, cock dragging deliciously against the meat of Stede's thighs.

"So fuckin' close, Stede. Fuck. Want you so hggn much. You're so fuckin' tight and soft."

Stede is breathless at the praise, all the needy corners inside him that have gone neglected for decades filling with the brightness of Ed's desire for him. The drive to make Ed come is equally intense, to feel the proof of his love and his pleasure on his body.

"Come on, darling, show me how good I make you feel."

A guttural moan tears from Ed's chest, a frantic litany of his name falling from his lips, and Stede feels him come warm and welcome between his legs, moans right along with him as Ed's orgasm ripples through them both.

Ed collapses boneless on top of Stede once he's done working himself through it, as if his limbs have given up on the task of holding him up, and Stede receives him gladly, relishes the sweat on his skin and Ed's hot breaths against his neck.

"Fuck," Ed says eventually, when he's regained the ability to speak. "That was..."

"Yeah," Stede agrees fervently.

"We need to go clothes shoppin' more often."

Stede laughs, sated and exhausted.

"We definitely will. But we're not even done trying on everything we got this time. I haven't seen you in your new robe yet. And I have a surprise for you, too."

Ed unpeels his face from Stede's shoulder to look at him eagerly.

"I may need to stay on this bed for a few days before I can move again, though," he jokes. Ed snorts against his skin.

"Talk about you, mate. I did all the work tonight."

"And you did such a great job that my legs have turned to jelly," Stede replies honestly, and he can feel the tiny huff of pride and amusement Ed lets out even though his face is still buried against Stede's neck.

"Well, I'm gonna have to get up sooner or later," he grouses, put upon. "Unless you want me to clean you up with your shirt."

"Don't you dare, Edward. My boyfriend got that for me," Stede chides fondly.

"Mm, sounds like a nice guy, this boyfriend of yours."

Stede looks at him with endless affection in his eyes.

"He's the best boyfriend. And the best man. I don't know how I got so lucky."

Ed starts to raise himself on his arms and drops a loving kiss on his mouth.

"Right back atcha, babe." He stays against Stede's lips for a few more seconds. "'M really gonna have to go get somethin' to clean you up with, don't wanna ruin all that pretty silk with spunk."

Stede makes a grossed out face at him, and Ed's laughter lingers behind even when he leaves the room.

He returns with a damp cloth and runs it over Stede's thighs and stomach gently, cleans off every last drop of oil and spend, still worshiping his body with every touch. Stede lies on the sheets and allows himself to be taken care of, basks in the tiredness of his muscles and the happy sparks still coursing through him and the love Ed shows him always.

"Up," Ed says, grabbing his hand and pulling once he's tossed the rag aside. He removes the waistcoat when Stede complies, folds it and sets it and the shirt down with the jacket on the chair, picks the breeches up off the floor and does the same. His own pants and shirt follow.

"Those are stayin' on tonight," he says, nodding towards Stede's legs. Stede stretches out contentedly, doesn't even dream of arguing, not after the reaction the stockings got.

"Dickfuck!" Ed yelps.

"What?"

"Stepped on a button," he complains, rubbing his foot resentfully and bending down to retrieve the offending bit of metal.

Stede laughs.

"I'll hunt them down in the morning and put them somewhere far away from your feet, darling, don't worry."

Ed steps carefully on his way back towards the bed once he's done folding their clothes, keeps an eye on the floor for more unexpected attacks. When he's made it back safely he grabs Stede in his arms and shifts him around to lay them down side by side on their bed. Arms go around waists and legs tangle together instantly, as if staying away from each other for a second longer was impossible.

A question pops into Stede's mind when they've been lying quietly together for a few minutes enjoying their post coital bliss, and he has to ask.

"Ed?"

"Hmm?"

"Would it be okay if... if I didn't want to dress like this every day again?" He bites his lower lip, oddly nervous about this. "I just... like my other clothes, too."

He thinks of the colorful cummerbund he added to his black pants, made with a bit of salvaged fabric, and the blue shirt he was wearing when Ed first told him that he loved him, the one he later tore the laces off of with his teeth. Or the red shirt with the lovely black ruffles that survived the purging of his red suit, the one Ed complimented him on when they kissed under the moonlight. He loves collecting clothes, and he grows attached to most of them for some reason or other (most of them seem to be Ed related these days).

As fun and enjoyable as it is to have nice suits again, he doesn't want to go back to dressing in no less than three layers at all times. Sometimes it's nice to have less stuff on, to be able to move more freely, feel the sea breeze and the sun on his bare skin, watch the way Ed ogles his chest in every low cut shirt he puts on. There are so many more pleasures in life than Stede once dreamed of.

Ed smiles and kisses him playfully on the nose.

"Babe, ya could wear the rice sack the crew made me put on every day and I'd still want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Stede grimaces in horror, thinks that may be too much to ask even of someone as generous as Ed, and definitely too much to ask of him. A lack of color and variety he can live with, but sack cloth is a step too far.

Ed laughs at his alarmed expression and hides his face in the crook of his neck, keeps shaking with laughter against him.

"Seriously, Stede," he says once he's calmed down. "You can wear whatever you want. 'Slong as it's what you want, I'll love it. I love you."

Love thrums golden through Stede's veins at the acceptance, at the praise and adoration he's been showered with all night. It pools warm in his heart and lulls him pleasantly to sleep in Ed's arms.

"Love you, too," he whispers right before sleep claims him.

#blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd #ofmd fic #our flag means death #my fic #i'm setting myself free at last #this fic wouldn't stop growing guys i think i created sth that came alive

76 notes · View notes

yesthefandomfreakblr · 9 months ago

Text

Also hey fun HC that has zero supporting evidence:

What if every year during the fliers mating season, their fur gets thicker because hormones, ornamentation, and protection fighting but AFTER they shed it like a winter coat and the humans help groom them/brush it all out? Good way to keep track of the year cycle and there's a need for the fliers to visit and depend on the humans? BAT SALONS?? The humans get tons of fluffy bat fur they organize by color and texture, bonds keep their flier's fur for their own, and you can take it to get spun into yarn or woven into fabric? It's so warm you don't really need it but imagine giving your child a toy bad that looks exactly like your bond? getting a downy flier fur blanket? A sweater or piece of clothing so you can match your bond? CUTE. Imagine all the beautiful gold things Luxa would have, or the edgy black cape Henry had. Solavet wearing a dark dress with deep blood red fur lining/embroidery and Vikus wearing soft silver robes. The bonding time of Gregor spending hours brushing Ares and learning to groom him. And getting a cute Ares doll made or a new jacket cause Ares wrecked his.

Vikis' cape has a soft swooping shape, like it's giving him a hug. Henry's cape is big and showy and open, like it's framing him. Henry never got a doll made. Vikus had one made for his children. Luxa's mother's was passed onto Luxa as well as a doll of each of her parent's bonds. Her swaddling blankets were made of their fur. Fliers getting dolls made for their own pups. The dolls and blankets being passed down for generations. Bond shit.

#the underland chronicles #gregor the overlander #headcanons #lore shit #idk #cute

12 notes · View notes

renee-writer · 6 months ago

Text

This is what postpartum looks like.

It’s not the matching robe and swaddle blanket pictures that you may see, that’s for sure.

It’s painful.

It’s disgusting (let’s be honest).

It’s uncomfortable and we struggle to figure out what this new body is.

It’s exhausting–trying to heal and care for a newborn.

It’s stretched, flabby skin and/or stitches across her tummy.

It’s being ripped apart, somehow surviving, and being put back together again . . . and then having a baby attached to your breast immediately after.

And you know what? There is no “bouncing back” after it.

Sure, my figure might get a little slimmer but my hips will always be wider now. My body has gone through intense physical and mental changes. The scars are there. There is no coming back from that.

I’ve endured the pains of labor to become a mama (three times now), and my body will forever be changed.

And that’s okay . . .

This body is a temple for God’s Holy Spirit. He’s guiding me through motherhood. He’s gifted me with all I need to be the mama that these kids need me to be.

This body may never be the same, but neither will I. Because I’ve now found that I need Him now more than ever. Motherhood is hard, but God is in the business of helping me through all the hard, and yet, holy moments of life.

My body has gone through it all, but it’s given birth to three precious babies.

So when I start looking at the world’s definition of “bouncing back” postpartum, I’m reminded that I’m made in His image.

And He’s picked me to be their mama.

*repost from 2023

#via facebook #the unraveling blog

7 notes · View notes

missmoonfrost · 7 months ago

Text

Catching a cold - a wolfstar microfic

~1200 words of pure comfort

The night that Sirius and Remus finally admit their feelings and become a pair just happens to be the week marking the beginning of Quidditch season. Remus fusses over Sirius flying around in pouring rain, which Sirius of course finds cute but totally unnecessary. However, caused by the weather or not, he actually does catch a cold the day after the semester's first Quidditch match.

Sick Sirius is a whiny Sirius. When he’s got a cold, everyone knows it. Each of his coughing fits ends with a few extra coughs and a whimper.

Growing up, Sirius' parents only considered his well-being at the bottom of a long list of far more important matters, such as his reputation, acts, and appearance – and how they reflected on the family name. But if these matters were sorted, being sick was one of the few occasions when his mother showed a sliver of care.

It could sound something like: “Oh send up some tea for that sniveling boy, I can’t stand hearing it. And make sure there’s scones and honey with it.”

Or that time he showed up to their private flying lesson with a fever: “What are you doing? You should be in bed. Regulus, go fetch him a warm blanket immediately. Now rest, we don’t want the whole house to get sick, do we?”

In essence, it had been one of the few problems he had been able to voice unpunished.

So, this time just as every time before, he sits in an armchair in the common room and lets everybody know just how sour his throat is and that he has got exactly the kind of headache that means a fever is developing.

But instead of mimicking the others' eye-rolling and mildly annoyed snickering, Remus for the first time embraces just how adorable he finds this helpless Sirius. He kisses his forehead, strokes his hair, puffs his pillow, swaddles him in a blanket, fetches him a cup of tea, and quietly sits reading with an arm around him. And Sirius falls in love all over again. Passion and fun are one thing, they have plenty of it. But he has never ever felt this cared for.

Only when Remus tries to spoon-feed him at dinner in the great hall he smiles: “You’re embarrassing me, Moony.”

Smiling right back Remus teases: “That’s what happens when you whine like a baby.”

Sirius blushes. And he is so cute that Remus has to kiss him, despite all people around them. It’s just a quick soft kiss on the lips, but it makes Sirius blush even more. Remus showing the world that they belong when Sirius is his usual sunny center of attention is one thing. But today? When he’s a red-eyed sniveling mess? It’s astounding.

That night Remus carries his pillow and blanket to Sirius' bed and lays down beside him. He lifts the blankets carefully to not let in cool air and let his warm body up against Sirius back. He kisses his neck and runs his fingers softly through his hair. When Sirius turns around, he kisses him.

“Don’t kiss me”, Sirius mumbles, “you’ll get sick, too.”

But Remus ignores him and they kiss until Sirius turns around again and falls asleep snug and secure in Remus' arms.

The following days the others note a significant reduction in whining. Because thanks to Remus, Sirius has cold water, warm tea, and tissues at hand before he can say it. He has nearly constant company and a loving hand clutching his whenever he reaches for it.

When Sirius starts to get better, Remus doesn’t demand any return of the affectionate favor. He just quietly withdraws, leaving Sirius feeling just a little alone before he returns to his usual activities. He wouldn’t have attended a quidditch training just yet, but this afternoon it’s only a tactics-discussion.

When he comes back Remus is already asleep and he decides to not disturb him. No wonder he is tired after meticulously taking care of him for almost a week. He deserves some alone time.

The next day Remus is pulling his robe tightly around himself and shuddering a little as he moves quietly between classes.

“How are you, love?” Sirius rubs his back with a concerned look.

“It’s nothing. Just tired.” Remus tries to smile reassuringly and still his sniffles. Because of course, he’s got a cold now. Just like Sirius said he was.

Sick Remus is a quiet Remus. If he could, he would disappear altogether or become invisible until it was over.

Remus clearly remembers being a child, crying in pain after a full moon. His parents sitting on the outermost edge of the bed, patting and stroking him with awkwardly outstretched arms and weary eyes. That troubled look in his mother’s eyes every time he mentioned feeling tired or nauseous or having a nightmare. His parent’s voices from the kitchen, low and worried, when they thought he’d fallen asleep. Not quite sure how the whole lycanthropy-thing worked, always wondering if it could mean something would happen with him, something that made him dangerous.

In essence, being ill has always been a bad thing. A thing that drives even the ones who love you away.

So, when Sirius climbs the portrait hole and enters the common room after that night’s detention and sees Remus sitting in the furthest corner, muffling his coughs as best he can and discreetly holding a tissue to his running nose, he finds it absolutely heartbreaking.

He fetches Remus' favorite sweater, a cup of tea, and a bar of chocolate. He moves a chair to sit right next to Remus but ends up sharing his armchair instead. And Remus just can’t believe how lucky he is to have someone willing to be close to him always, not just on his bright days. He ends up closing his eyes and resting his head against Sirius' chest. When he falls asleep Sirius carefully puts a piece of parchment to mark the side Remus thumb is and puts the book away. He takes Remus in his arms and tries to carry him, but has to put him down by the stairs. Remus smiles and let himself drowsily be led up to his bed and swiftly drifts back to sleep.

That night he clings feverishly to Sirius and burrows his face against his chest. Every time Sirius is woken up by Remus gripping at his clothes or holding him crushingly tight in his sleep, he smiles and gently strokes the hair out of his clammy face and rubs his back for a little bit.

The next morning Sirius carefully wraps Remus in the blanket and asks what to bring him for breakfast. After “You don’t have to bring anything”, “Whatever”, and “Doesn’t matter” are met with silent refusal, Remus sighs “Toast with jam, then”. Sirius brings him one piece of toast with every kind of jam he can find and a big cup of tea.

And over the course of the next days, Remus slowly starts to voice his needs and wishes. First, because he knows that if he doesn’t, Sirius will just keep asking until he gets an answer, and Sirius who normally can be unreasonably stubborn has taken this principle on with unimaginable determination. And later, because he knows that all Sirius wants is to do whatever he can to make him feel better, even if it’s something childishly needy like holding his hand while he naps.

And when they are both themselves again, they look at each other in a different light. They both know that what they have is worth the world and they are never ever going to give it up.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #my babies #love them #comfort fic #sometimes that's just what you need right?#writing what I need

17 notes · View notes

maddicurry · 10 months ago

Link

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Mommy O’Clock Robe / Matching Baby.

0 notes

christasclothes · 2 years ago

Link

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Maternity Robe & Swaddle.

0 notes

brooklynislandgirl · 2 years ago

Text

Advent Calendar: Day 3 @ronmanmob

The tree is alight in jewel-hued faery lights and it’s crowning star, baubles that are a mix of handmade and purchased ~some from his life, some from hers, some collected together over the years~ and strands of tinsel high up enough not to cause distress by being in dog-reach. They both know the stories of emergency vet visits during the holidays. And because of that the greenery is also high; holly and ivy-glossy green and striking red. But not a single poinsettia petal which is poisonous, something neither one can abide what with their pack of pups. There’s no real warmth radiating from them but she can swear she feels that glow at her back, just as she can feel the chill from the frost-coated glass mere centimetres in front of the tip of her nose. Her arms fold just so to prop up her chin. She’s kneeling at the windows, leaning into the space while swaddled within the robe that Ron had given her the year before. Super thick and super soft, it wraps around her nearly head to toe and around her body nearly twice. The weight is negligible, and she often wears it like a blanket. The dove-grey hue with its darker charcoal abstract vine pattern engaged her for hours and he can still find her petting it at random. Beneath that is an old-fashioned flannel nightgown. And beside her, once little and now adult-shaped Noe matches her with her grey coat, snoozing with her muzzle on Beth’s leg. A neon-sign of obvious trust comes when neither one of them at the subtle vocal susurrus followed by his deeply intoned but gentle ‘--'Ere...'Ere--’ startles her out of her skin, nor makes her leap up by inches. His hand comes down on her arm. Bids her to meet him in that space he takes up and she does turn in time to catch his still quiet query, suddenly aware that it must be very late or very early because he’s wearing his glasses as opposed to his contacts. ‘Y’alrigh?’ Completely apart from the fact that Ron doesn’t really meet her eyes often, there’s something special in the way she turns slowly and lifts her head. Eyes half lidded glitter almost as brightly as their tree. An undefinable dreaminess softens her every feature and there’s something achingly beautiful about the smile she wears. She hadn’t wanted to wake him simply because her blood sizzled in her veins. That her thoughts were racing almost faster than she could catch them until she simply decided not to. Her intention had been to come and make herself a cup of Horlick’s to see if that would soothe her but then she’d seen it. A wisp of white out of the corner of her eye that brought her to the window. She peered into the dim dark and the streetlights became like moonglow. She felt herself choke up on the sense of wonder that swept through her, urging her to stay and watch. “Hau,” she says. An awed whisper. “Poli’ahu come dancin’.” She turns back toward the window, pressing her fingers against it, ignoring the cold. Childlike joy practically shrieks from every pore of her body, if she tried hard enough she might be able to reach through the panes to catch the fat fluffy flakes drifting toward the ground. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Her head comes around a second time. Brings more than half of her with it as she clutches onto Ron’s forearm. “Can we, Ronnie? Go out an’ dance?” Of course she means the snow, and not the radiant goddess who brings it. There’s something subtle to her tone, the kind that is reserved for those far younger than she is to cajole another wiser person into something that is at best questionable. The wait between the question and when he takes her hand is interminable, feels like she’s lived and died a hundred times. ‘Yes-But.” A pause that nearly has her coming out of her own skin, enough that Noe finally stirs and gives a grudging doggie-groan at being woken from her own drowsing calm. ‘We wear our coats. I’s cold aht.’ He offers her his little finger, the one she knows by now is his most solemn vow. “Promise. Coats. Snow. Yeah?” Ron earns a kiss to that scar under his chin as she scrambles up to her feet after carefully squeezing his pinkie with her own and ensuring that she isn’t about to kick Noe, confused as to what Papa and Mama are about. She wriggles toward Ron and gives his hands kisses before hopping down and chasing after Beth.

#ronmanmob #Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters|Ron and Beth #ft. Little Noe #Merry Christmas 2022 #London Calling|Legend verse #Cedra Court Moments

1 note · View note

cipheramnesia · 3 months ago

Text

The smell and taste were familiar to us from the memory of the queen. Alice slowly moved her body up and down along the grated floor, through the layers of cast off waste left to rot into a single shade of undistinguished red or brown. She felt the floor with the tips of her toes and the joints on her arms whined as her newly grown tendons flexed and pulled against the unpowered joints to reach above her head. The smell filled her nose and she rolled over again. We sought out one another as she pushed herself along in confusion. Her body moved, but something was not right.

We swallowed the nourishing decay, while Alice continued to move slowly. The process of moving her limbs was clear enough but the movement did not match our other memories. Inside Alice, her stomach and esophagus convulsed, her body contorted and we felt excited - the nourishment was pushed up from her stomach as Alice puked. The sudden activation of our hive, carrying out a perfect sequence of activities, gave Alice the confidence she could pull other actions from us.

She finally got her arms under herself, preparing to stand up, when a woman she didn't recognize burst through the door of her chambers.

----

"Sterile and blessed garments. Bed sheets, anything." Sylvia dug her sharp little nails into every acolyte she saw on the way down, wrenching them away from their duties for the sacred work. One after the next. "Bring the garments to the altar. Soap, towels, immediately." She nearly hurled them in her careening path downward.

The chambers echoed from the dead girl's cybernetics banging the grate and her voice, babbling through nonsensical and overlapping syllables before pressing her lungs empty of air. Sylvia felt the world at a distance, falling away and drawing her slowly closer to the subject, the success, a dead woman writhing in the gore of her new formed life.

"Alice," she said, coaxing her way near to the resurrected. "That's your name, right?" She could see the woman's face pulling odd shapes until her mouth opened and she said: "Nuaaahh!" and spit repeatedly.

The changes to the resurrected body were so tantalizingly suggested in the dark chamber, under the coating of blood and refuse. Sylvia could see new growth over her body, but couldn't make out the details. She could see how close Alice was to standing, her legs kicking, metal hands scraping furrows through the floor grate.

"I can help you," she said. "Let me help you." The dead girl loosed another series of incoherent screams. "It's okay," Sylvia held out her hands. "You're still new, it's okay." She could hear the acolytes on the stairs, echoing footsteps.

Using one hand under the knee, and another behind the back, Sylvia tried to shift Alice's legs underneath her body. The formerly frail corpse had gained an enormous amount of weight, and she struggled to move her while Alice clung against her body, gripping her bicep in one metal hand.

"It's okay, I've got you." Sylvia's whole chest felt like it was visibly shaking as she tugged Alice's legs. Her arms were slick with brownish red slime and the front of her robe was smeared with reeking mess. Alice tried to speak again, but Sylvia's attention was pulled away suddenly by the crack of her humerus, crushed by the sudden tightening of Alice's grip.

She screamed, and screamed, sucking air with a shuddering cough as if she'd never have enough. The other acolytes were rushing over and Sylvia was falling limp, except that arm still twisted around in Alice's grip. They were swaddling Alice in clean cloth, trying to prize apart her fingers to no avail, all the while tears and snot streamed down Sylvia's face.

By the time the acolytes had managed to maneuver Sylvia and Alice out of the chambers, Sylvia was sickly pale while Alice finally let her arm go to accepted being carried/dragged up tje stairs. The shape of Alice's hand was pressed deep in Sylvia's flesh, while a massive bruise had spread from her elbow to her bicep.

"Don't hurt her." Sylvia's words were slurred, but she was insistent. "Don't hurt her. She's the sacred. Our future. Don't hurt." Her consciousness didn't make it past the sexond floor, where a doctor rushed over to try and help.

In the deep dark of unconsciousness, some part of her still struggled to explain. This was their future.

Part 3: The Death, Rebirth, and Afterlife of Parasite Alice

The Riverside Clinic for Wellness and Long-term Care weathered safely the storms of the burn just as all the worst memories navigate the mindscape unimpeded. The venerable history of the red brick and white trimmed building carried it through the poor and homeless left in squalor to the airy chill of lobotomy and electroshock therapy, two wings wide and three floors tall. Its height well serviced its intent, too short for escape even via a yearning leap from the roof to its concrete driveway.

The persistance of such single-minded enclosure of the divergent mind carried forward to the interior, with mutiply sectioned floors along each wing navigable only through a network of stairwells. A more modern elevator spired through the center of the building, lever operated and gated by iron on all sides. None of the layers of white tile or muted gray carpet or soothing art prints or geometic wall paintings over the years could fully excise the prison lovingly built into the architecture. Inside, it promised no escape. Outside its dignified facade offered warm reassurance that aging loved ones to difficult children and everyone in between would be safely forgotten.

Some part of Alice understood all this as the square black truck complained about stopping at the brick stairs with their awkwardly late addition of a wheel chair accessible ramp, leading to wide white doors set with large windows blocked by gauzy white curtains. The driver helped her out of the car and she said, "I can do it just fine!" before almost falling as her legs wobbled. She didn't like strangers touching her, but now everyone was a stranger and she leaned on a stranger just for the simple task of reaching the door of the building where she will die of cancer.

The doors swung inward to reveal an average man with a surfeit of dignity to his gray peppered mustache and deep, dark eyes beneath a noble high forehead and a gently swept back head of mostly gray hair. His thick belly preceded his wide shoulders into any room, and his hands were noticeably large with thick fingers, moving quickly and nimbly to pull a wheelchair onto the small porch. He wore checked trousers, a pale yellow golf shirt, and his arms were exceptionally hairy.

"So good to meet you," he let one hand overtake his stomach to greet Alice, which she disregarded. "My name is Dr Hopewell, and I'm the administrator here at Riverside. I've heard quite a bit about you, and I wanted to make you comfortable right away. You're quite the special guest!" He smiled away the dignity of his profile.

"I don't need a wheelchair," she said. The driver shrugged and let her go, forcing her to grab to armrests to keep standing. "I'm just tired." She gave daggers out of her eyes to both men before maneuvering herself into the seat. "Don't get used to this."

The driver passed a clipboard over her head. "You gotta sign for the delivery, also initial there... and there. Sign and date there too. Okay, nice knowing you."

Dr. Hopewell was already turning her and rolling her into the building before the driver started the truck. "Don't worry Alice, we'll make sure you have the best of care here. You're a celebrity after all, but there may be a few bumps ahead!" They wheeled past a heavy wood door and a much larger orderly took over, pushing her down the hall then bumping up a flight of stairs.

"We specialize these days in unique individuals like yourself. I understand you won't persue treatment?" She folded her arms and rolled her eyes. "Well, if you change your mind, we can be ready to start immediately." The chair and orderly bumped back down stairs into another long hallway. "But here is your room, and we've put you with someone you should get along with. She's very unique."

The room was small, two beds with a curtain divider, wall mounted TV sets, a closet bathroom, one tall window and a few small sets of sad artificial wood drawers.

Another woman sat in a rolling tube frame chair in the far corner of the room. She was big and soft and still in pajamas, her belly stuck out a bit from under the top, and her sloping shoulders seemed to be a permanent fixture of her slouch while the sweeping curve of her neck to her chin echoed in her faint jawline. Her nose was long and straight and Alice thought it was very fine with her dark black eyes looking a thousand miles away and her arrow straight glossy black hair hanging behind the chair. Alice wondered what it would be like to hold her hand. Would she squeeze hard or gently? Interlaced or fingers to thumb.

She about the woman's hands and lips and eyes enought, it took her longer than it should have to realize the other woman was also shimmering with the golden glow of the burn.

#parasite heart

114 notes · View notes

deartouya · 2 years ago

Text

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS — HAWKS

no matter how rough the patrol, keigo always knows he has people who love him to greet him at home. i.e. you and your son greeting keigo when he comes home from patrol.

★ pairing: hawks x afab!reader (biological child, they/them used)

★ word count: 1.4k

★ content: fluff, kid fic, established relationship, children (oc son kaito, around 3-4 years old), food/eating mention, use of petnames (dove/ie, birdie, angel), a nauseating amount of fluff.

i saw a panel about hawks coming home to an empty apartment and it made me sad ;-; so i impulse wrote this. have this soft bird dad in an attempt to make everyone love keigo and doubles as me fighting for my hawks moot right <3

It’s been raining periodically all day — all week actually. Heavy clouds and dark skies shaped miserable conditions for patrol. Conditions made worse by how uneventful they are, filled with petty criminals and runaway pets. Keigo wastes nearly his entire lunch perched on top of an office building glaring at a pair of pigeons who’d tucked themselves in the of a patio; dry and warm.

Keigo’s always despised the rain. Water soaking his wings, weighing them down, curling the ends and matting the down of them. His hatred for the weather only grew when he knew you and Kaito were at home, swaddled in the warmth of your apartment and working through the lingerings of a cold.

He’d sent you a text a little after your own lunch, a pitiful picture of him far too close up hiding behind a Miruko billboard. His hair wet and clinging to his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

You gave him very little sympathy. You'd answered with a photo of you and Kaito in the kitchen wearing matching fluffy robes and holding mugs of hot chocolate.

He keeps his collar up against his neck, burrowing his face into the fluff of it. It smells like you, detergent and perfume clinging to the fabric from when he’d tucked it over your shoulders the day before.

Keigo finds himself watching the clock the closer his patrol’s end becomes, using the awning of a coffee shop as an umbrella. It’s odd, he thinks, how quickly he melted into his — domesticity. It happened slowly, without him even realizing it had until you were already moving in. Until he’d started counting the minutes until he was home again.

When six finally does hit, Keigo’s fighting off a smile, shoving his phone back into the damp pockets of his jacket, and taking off for your apartment.

He used to check-in at the agency first before returning home. He'd finish up whatever paperwork was created throughout his shift and utilise the oversized showers which were perpetually empty. Now, he always found himself rushing to get back — even if it meant earlier hours to do the paperwork from the day before.

So it’s also expected of him. The ease with which he accepted you — your change, love. He’s spent years longing for something a little simpler, softer, kinder. Keigo’s never been someone to take things slowly and he loved no differently.

The apartment — one you’d helped him pick — is quiet when he pushes the door open, peeling off his overcoat and heavy boots, “I'm home!”

He barely has both shoes tucked under the entry table when he hears laughing, small and light. Your answer comes as he rounds into the living room, “welcome back!”

The couch is gone. Or it’s covered at least. Obscured by large throw blankets propped over the dining room chairs and spilling over with pillows and soft-looking throws. The TV’s on too, playing a manta ray documentary and bracketed by patterned cushions.

Kaito’s golden eyes, softened echoes of Keigo’s, round in excitement and he nearly trips over a sea-turtle printed blanket in his haste to get to him, “daddy!”

Keigo makes an exaggerated sound, a huffed little oof, when Kaito collides with him and his tiny arms tangle around his legs. His pudgy cheek smushes into Keigo’s thigh and his fists curl into the fabric of his pants.

“Kaito!” Keigo echoes the boys’ excitement, smoothing his bangs from his forehead as Kaito giggles. He chases his hand and the little plumage of red on his back ruffles.

Both of their attention shifts when you finally detangle yourself from the couch, moving to cup the softness of Keigo’s cheeks with warm palms. Your thumbs brush over the bones before warm lips connect with his forehead. He huffs a soft laugh when you continue the kisses, dotting them over the freckles coating bridge of his nose, the divots of his dimples, the apples of his cheeks.

“Aw, did’ya miss me?”

“Mhm, ‘course I did,” you answer, combing through his bangs as he ducks to Kaito, “always do.”

Your affection is repeated when Keigo finally pries Kaito from his leg, hoisting the boy into his arms and settling him on his hip. Kaito’s grin broadens, nuzzling his cheek against Keigo’s and pressing a messy kiss on his brow bone.

“Saw the fight on tv, birdie,” your voice is quiet — reflectively, like any louder it’ll shatter the intimate little bubble, the warmth — as you trace his features with your eyes. No injuries.

Keigo leans in to knock his forehead against yours softly before he grins at you, “did I look cool?”

“Aww, of course you did!” His eyes narrow, your tone playful as you run your fingers along Kaito’s ribs, “rigghhhtt after you got your butt handed to you.” Kaito giggles softly, nestling into the crook of Keigo’s arm to escape your fingers.

“You wound me, dove — what, did you two spend the whole time celebrating my pain?” His free hand fists over the fabric covering his heart when you hum and Kaito lets out a happy ‘yep!’ “I can’t believe you two!”

“But you looked so cool!”

It’s immediate, the way Keigo’s entire being brightens. His eyes narrow in a smile and wings puff up behind him as he nuzzles his cheek against Kaito’s, turning to you with a faux accusing glare, “at least one of you loves me.”

A soft blurb from the stove pulls you away from them, knocking your forehead affectionately against Keigo’s this time before moving to lower the heat and continue your previous stirring.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you hum, feeling a soft cheek squish into the side of your neck and a chin hook over the other side, Keigo’s free arm winding around your waist.

“Ooo, you’re an angel, dovie,” Keigo’s arm tightens around you, lips brushing your temple, “what’d ya make?”

“Chicken noodle,” you reply cheerily, turning to wind your arms around his waist. “Kaito and I just got over that cold, we should make sure we’re getting all our fluids, isn’t that right?” Kaito ruffles at your cooing, leaning in to tap the point of his nose against your own.

“Mmm, sounds amazing, angel,” he presses a soft kiss to the round of your cheek, “I didn’t eat lunch — I’m starving.”

“Y’know just because I forget to pack you something doesn’t mean you get to just skip eating,” your chastising falls on deaf ears as he watches you finish off the soup, ladling it into tall mugs. “You have to take care of yourself, Kei.”

“Awww, c’mon — you take care of me plenty! I was totally fine. Drank some coffee and everything.”

He quiets at your glare, jutting out his lip when Kaito laughs, “ooo, you’re in trouble!”

You move into the living room to eat, all three of you nestled in the plush nest you’d helped Kaito make, mugs of soup warm between your palms as you watch the ending of another documentary.

Kaito falls asleep first, bundled up on one end of the sectional snoring softly — a habit picked up from Keigo.

“I’m really glad you’re okay.” Your fingers find the red and gold bead bracelet around his wrist, fraying and poorly strung together courtesy Kaito, “it looked rough.”

You’re propped up against the arm of the couch now, both of Keigo’s wings sprawled over you and dragging against the carpet. He huffs, propping his chin against your chest, “aww, you know I can’t get taken out that easily.”

His voice is playful but you know he means it. He always does. So you smooth a hand through his curls. “You better,” pinning him with a teasing glare, “it’s not too late to get a divorce.”

Keigo laughs, wiping his smile into your shoulder and humming contentedly when your fingers thread through his hair. Your other hand smooths down his back, brushing through the down at the base of his left-wing. It flutters minutely underneath your touch and he presses himself closer.

“Like you’d ever want rid of me,” his tease is undermined by the tone, cooed and full of adoration. You can’t help the smile, shuffling down the couch so your lips can connect with his. It's tender, slow and you hope he knows that you meant it, your worry for his health. The way he responds, enthusiastic and through a grin, tells you he does.

Keigo’s ear settles over your heart, arms wrapped around you and fingers rubbing soothing circles into your hip bones. His wings tuck fully around you, overwhelming himself with you — the gentle puffs of your breath, the beat of your heart, the rising of your chest. This is nice, he thinks. Slowing down, being content.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #hawks x reader #hawks fluff #keigo takami x reader #takami keigo x reader #keigo x reader #✶ writes #✶ writes.bnha #✶ writes.hawks

499 notes · View notes

comfymommy · 1 year ago

Text

Enjoy the Parenthood that you are blessed with ❤️ - Comfy Mummy Shop

0 notes

amiedala · 4 years ago

Text

Something More (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 3: TO TRUST

Rated: Explicit (not this chapter, but future chapters will be)

Warnings: descriptions of violence

Summary: “What…” he starts.

“You got hit—” you interrupt.

“…Are you wearing?” Mando finishes, and your cheeks flush, looking down at his giant shirt you never changed out of.

“I was—when you called, I was in the fresher,” you say, scooting slightly closer to him, resting on both knees. “I didn’t have time to put anything else on before you told me to hide.”

“Oh,” he sighs, and then he’s pushing himself off the floor despite literally every single warning you spurt at him, and finally, he’s up against the same wall you’re leaning against. The space is small, small enough that two people would be pushing it, and the fact that one of those people is much larger than the other and in giant beskar armor means that your forehead is almost flush against the visor when he turns his head into you. Your breath catches in your chest. It’s not lost on you that in the heat of the moment, you didn’t run. You ignored where you were, and you forged on to save him. That didn’t happen the last time you were on this planet and the fact that belonging to something—to someone—was enough to push past the fear and do it anyway sung inside you.

The baby is in your face. You startle awake to a sea of green. He babbles as you jolt up, clapping his tiny hands together in celebration. He’s all swaddled up in his own robes, but he’s so much warmer than you are, and you groan as he hops up against you, fingers beating around your arm as you bring him in closer to your chest, hoping to leech off his warmth. Slowly, painfully, you push yourself off the ground and push on your neck to make it crack, the pain shooting up behind your eyes like starfire. You don’t want to see what shape your belly’s in.

“Good morning,” you slur through sleep, as the baby giggles and pushes into you. You just stay there, half awake, slouched against the wall of the ship, when suddenly the baby is being plucked from your arms and you’re staring into beskar.

It’s not lost on you that you’re at eye level with the Mandalorian’s crotch, and while you try your hardest to not let your gaze linger there in an obvious way, your eyes stutter once or twice looking up to where the helmet is.

“You’re awake.”

“Barely.”

He kneels so that you’re almost at eye level, and he’s dangerously close to you again. You feel your cheeks flush, the rush low in your belly, deeper than your injury, deep down somewhere warm.

“I need to see you.”

“Huh?” You manage, and hope it’s not as croaky as it seems.

“Your stomach. I need to make sure you don’t need a shot or to get checked out by a professional.”

You nod as his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, going slow, giving you a chance to stop him if you want. You want to sit on your hands and just let him take it all the way off, but you try to focus your brain elsewhere. Literally anywhere else. You fail. His hands are just as large as last night.

“You’re telling me you’re not a professional?”

“I know how to take care of injuries. I mean… a nurse droid, or something.”

“Last time I checked, this was an injury,” you pressed, a smile breaking out of your face faster than you can control it. “And you hate droids.”

“The injuries I usually take care of are my own. I can gauge how bad the pain is, how deep the cut goes. I’m not inside you,” he says, and it’s so fast that you think you imagined it, “so I can’t tell how bad it is.”

You blink at him, stunned into silence. Your heart is so loud and fast you’re terrified he can hear it. In the background, the baby is staring at you with his giant, magic eyes, and you know he can hear it, the little womp rat, the way he’s smiling at you. “Not bad.”

The Mandalorian taps your stomach, not enough to really hurt you, but enough to startle the bruise. You wince. “Bad,” he says, simply, point proven.

You let him check you out and argue about how it wasn’t that bruised, and it ached but you could move, and finally, very begrudgingly, he let you stand. You tried to gesture him up the ladder to the cockpit, but he shook his head, arms crossed.

“You first.”

You squint at him, shocked by his brazenness, shocked that he’s insinuating watching below you as you ascend the ladder, and your tummy does full back flips before you realize that he’s probably waiting to make sure you have enough working muscles in your abdomen to keep yourself upwards as you climb. You’re thankful you’re going up first, now, with the way you’re blushing again.

The ladder is a beast, but you’re up, and you’re not hurting that bad, so you make your way over to the chair where you usually hold the baby and fall into it. The ship is hurtling through hyperspace, smoother than the X-Wing did, but still shakily, and you have to avert your eyes from the rush of it because it’s starting to make you dizzy. Something brushes your leg, and you realize it’s the Mandalorian’s cape, worn and tattered, but fluttering past you even in the cockpit, and you bring a knee to your aching chest to hide your smile as he breezes past you to the pilot’s seat.

“Are you hungry?”

You can’t tell who he’s talking to until the baby looks at you, bug-eyed and questioning. “Not really.”

“You need to eat something.”

“I will. I can’t eat too soon after I wake up or I get sick. I don’t think vomiting would do my stomach any favors.”

He cocks his helmet back at you and you smile again, jutting your chin into your hand. He’s silent, but it isn’t an unsettling one. After sleeping a foot from him last night, you don’t think his silence will ever make you feel unsettled or uneasy again. It’s just there, permeating, surrounding both of you. You want to ask him a million things, and you don’t know which one to pick, but you also don’t want to force anything through the quiet.

It feels like hours have passed by the next time you open your mouth. You want to ask him where you’re headed again, but what falls out instead is, “Do you even know my name?”

He looks back at you, swings his helmet back to center, and then spins the entire chair around instead. “What?”

“I’ve been living here for almost a month,” you realize, counting the days on your fingers. “I babysit your kid. You trust me with your ship,” you say, looking up at the stars flying past the Crest. “Do you know my name?”

He stares at you. The helmet is obscuring his vision, but you know he’s staring at you. You can feel his eyes on your face, looking how your lips are parted, your hair still piled in a mess on your head.

“Of—” he starts, and then both of you are thrown sideways. Something on the dashboard is blaring, and before you can haul yourself off the floor, the Mandalorian is extending a hand to you as he navigates the ship out of hyperspace. You scramble back to the chair and buckle in, grabbing onto the baby’s floating cradle so that he won’t get knocked around either. You want to ask if the Mandalorian needs your help, but as quickly as the ship fell into disarray, the beeping stops. Your heart is hammering.

“What was that—?”

“I forgot about the shields,” he muttered under his breath, and then you look outside the window, and you realize where you are. You swallow, looking out at the planet in front of you, wide and purple and all-encompassing. You fold your legs up under yourself, not focused on anything except where you’re headed. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, hungry and roaring.

“Hey,” his voice filters back in, and it’s sharp, and you look over at him, trying to look neutral. You can tell it’s not working. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell again?”

“No,” you whisper, and then repeat it louder, “No, I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting to…be back here anytime soon.”

The Crest pulls through the planet’s atmosphere, and you breathe a sigh of relief that you aren’t anywhere close to the heart of Galactic City, that wherever the bounty’s new coordinates were, it was on the opposite side of where you had been the last time you were here. Besides, you were staying on the ship, and you didn’t have to breathe any of the air of the planet if you didn’t want to. You swallowed, and as he pulled into a landing bay, you realize the Mandalorian’s helmet is still trained on you.

“You’re not a fan,” he says. It’s not a question. “Of Coruscant.”

“No,” you say, and you don’t elaborate because you’re not sure if you can without your voice shaking.

He keeps his visor trained on you, and you try to smile, but you’re afraid it’ll come out looking more like fear. “I’ll be quick,” he says, and his voice is low, honest. It reminds you of the way he talks to the kid, not to you, but you’re too shaken by being thrown out of hyperspace and landing on the planet you almost died on to understand the significance of his cadence. “Come downstairs with me.”

You follow him, aware of his gaze on your body as you descend the ladder. In any other circumstance, you could feel it burning straight through you, but you were too focused on trying not to fall. Silently, you match his footsteps as he walks over to the armory. His body is so large, so present, that you focus on the beskar and try to keep moving. The Mandalorian pushes a lever and the armory opens, and you blink at all the metal as your eyes adjust.

“Pick one.”

Hazily, you remember he told you to pick a weapon last night, and you let your eyes survey all the glinting metal before you settle on a small blaster, one that looks like a cousin of the one you lost in your crash landing. Similar enough to be strapped to your thigh in the same belt you still have around your waist, and you fit it in there triumphantly. You give the Mandalorian a half smile, and he nods, shutting the case.

It’s dark in the Razor Crest, even in Coruscant’s glitz and glamour. You rest your head against the wall, suddenly exhausted.

“I’ll be quick,” the Mandalorian repeats after prolonged silence, after you’ve made it clear you aren’t going to say anything else. “You stay here, with the doors locked. Sleep more, if you need it.” He tosses you something, and you don’t catch it in time. You bend down to grab it, but his hand is already around it, glancing off your hand for a second too long as he presses it into your palm. “This is to be used for emergencies,” he says. You stare at it. It’s a commlink, a new, fancy one. You nod. “If… if something happens, or if…” he trails off, cocking his head at you, “if I need you to come get me, you just press this button, and you can talk to me.”

He lingers for a second longer and then descends the gangplank, and it isn’t until he’s gone that his words fully register.

If you have to come get him? That’s new.

“Hey!” you call, and you know he can’t hear you anymore, but you can’t help yourself, “what constitutes as an emergency?”

Hours pass. One, slowly, and then two, and then three. You finally eat, you make sure the baby has too. You think about showering, but you haven’t been able to lift your arms above your head since you got your stomach bruised yesterday, so you lay spread eagled on the floor babbling halves of songs and whatever random thought runs through your head. You do everything you can to not look outside at the planet around you, to ruminate on the sleek buildings. You haven’t been on Coruscant for years, not since you were first out on your own when you were still a teenager, and you’ve tried everything in you to forget what happened the last time you were on the planet’s surface.

The baby coos at your feet, and you prop yourself up on your forearms, still sore. It doesn’t ache as much as it did this morning, and your bruises have turned this ugly yellow color around the edges, but you can flex without agony, which definitely means you’re just banged up.

“Hi bug,” you say, and he giggles, climbing up onto your sore belly, and you groan. “Hi. What’s up?”

He makes a series of noises, and you can’t understand him like his father clearly can, but you can gather the gist of what he’s saying. He’s babbling away, now pointing his tiny finger up to the ceiling, and you pretend you know exactly what he means.

“You’re absolutely right. Mhm, yep, I know. Is that true?”

He claps his hands together.

“You’re right, again, you little womp rat. Excellent point.”

He giggles.

“You’re much cuter than a womp rat, you know.” You pause. “I gotta tell you though, buddy, I don’t know what a womp rat looks like.”

He gasps, all awe. You look at him. There’s something about the kid, something magical, something that feels…elevated. You look into his big eyes, and you see yourself. You know that it’s because the things are huge, but it’s that same gnawing intuition in your belly that you had when you first met the Mandalorian, the same one that told you to crash land on Nevarro instead of trying to make it somewhere else, the same one that got you out of Coruscant the last time—you shake your head, trying to clear it from your head. You softly touch the baby’s nose, just once, and he giggles and climbs into your arms.

It doesn’t take long until you start itching for something else to do, so you peel yourself off the cockpit’s floor and start cleaning, using part of your torn shirt to dust off the dashboard and the pilot’s seat, humming ancient lullabies under your breath. You stop short when you realize you’re singing, and you double check the air locks, making sure you’re safe in here. You don’t dare to put on the radio, and you don’t sing louder than under your breath, because even though you have the new blaster strapped to your hip, the memory of yesterday is still too recent in your head. It isn’t long until you find yourself in the tiny room where the fresher is, looking at yourself in the mirror for the first time in days.

Your eyes are wild, that’s the first thing you notice. Frazzled, on edge, the kind of gleam that you used to get flying in the Alliance, but without the pride and the adrenaline. Your hair is a hot mess. You touch the lock of hair the Mandalorian pushed behind your ear last night, reverently, softly. Your shirt is ripped and stained to hell, and your necklace is hanging at a strange angle, the chain link touching the insignia, totally off kilter. You see the small blaster on your hip catch the light, and you pull it out of its hold. It’s shiny, sturdy, and much newer than the one you lost in the fire. You’ve never been a perfect shot, but the gun fits in your hand as well as the old one did, and when you hold it, you feel confident enough to know how to cock it back and pull the trigger, and you think you probably hit the target.

You look forlornly at the shower, and before you can think about how sore you are, you strip the rest of your clothes off, leaving the gun and the commlink on the small counter beside the mirror. You’re planning to be quick, just a rinse and scrubbing soap off of the leftover blood and grime from the night before, but when the water hits, it’s warm and inviting and it envelops you. You let it unfurl your messy hair from your head, let it permeate into your sore shoulders and all the way down your spine, temporarily washing away the years of nights spent sleeping in uncomfortable positions on makeshift beds. You touch your fingers over your belly, following the scar straight down to where it drifts off on the left side of your stomach. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but the bruises resist your fingers. You reach for the soap, and it’s blindly, and you don’t realize until you’ve been scrubbing for a minute that it’s very much not the subtle lavender scent you picked up a few bounties back, but the Mandalorian’s. It smells like clean wood and leather and strangely, cinnamon, that amalgamation of freshness that fades off skin slowly. You push the full bar up to your nose, and when you breathe in you can almost see it lathering into his skin, can almost feel your tongue licking clean up against it if he was in here with you—you catch yourself. Again. It’s there again, the arousal and want that had been long dormant before you ever met the Mandalorian. He’s infiltrated everything. You shake water out of your hair and think of anything else while your hands slip down the rest of your body, trying and failing to forget the way his voice got low when he found you hurt, how he touched you, how he held your throat with a singular hand—

Something is making noise, and you force yourself out of your fantasy to the sound. “Hey,” comes a disembodied voice, and your wet hand fumbles for the blaster before you realize it’s coming from the commlink. You sigh, turning off the water, tripping out of the fresher, scrambling to pick it up.

“Are you okay?”

“I need you to come get me.”

You stare at the commlink, then at your reflection in the mirror. You don’t have clothes on. Come to think of it, you don’t know if you have clothes to change into, and you’ve suddenly been promoted to getaway driver.

“Can you hear me?”

Even through the modulator, his voice is deep. You startle yourself out of your reverie.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I need a minute—”

“I’m going to give you coordinates,” the Mandalorian says, and then there’s a huge blast, and silence.

“Hey. Hey! Mando—”

“I’m here,” he says, but it’s gruff. “Dank ferrik. I’m hit. Here are the coordinates.”

You scramble out of the fresher, looking for clothes. You can’t find anything, and your bag must still be upstairs in the cockpit, so you shove open the alcove where the Mandalorian sleeps in a desperate attempt. There’s a shirt, just a shirt, but it falls to your knees and you make your compromise with the underwear you stepped out of before the shower. “I’m coming. Please hold on. Pleaaaaase hold on,” you whisper, low enough that you hope he can’t hear your wheedling, and then you’re up the ladder, your hair wet and wild, dripping on the cockpit floor.

“Do you have your blaster?”

“Um,” you say as you navigate the Crest out of the landing bay—hell, this ship doesn’t know how to move. “Yes?” You scramble down the ladder and back up again with your blaster in hand. You punch in the coordinates and let the ship go into autopilot as you scramble back down the ladder and grab the gun, wrapping your wet hair up in a towel.

“Grab the kid and put him in his cradle,” the Mandalorian says, and you do, and the wild look in the baby’s eyes makes you give him a quick kiss before you shut the crib and push him into the darkest corner.

“I’m almost here,” you say, and you can see what he was talking about. You’re still not near the hustle and bustle of Galactic City, but Coruscant has layers, each of them grittier than the last. The Mandalorian is attached to what you hope to the Maker is his quarry, lugging the conspicuous body up a hill, blasting at what looks like twenty other men. “I’m here. I’m gonna land—”

“You need to get out of sight,” he manages, and the commlink goes quiet. You do your best to land the ship—it’s not handling well at all—and then scamper down the ladder for the third time in wet feet. You grab the baby’s floating egg and your blaster, strapping the commlink to your wrist, and scrambling into the little alcove that holds the Mandalorian’s bed.

There’s a minute before he enters the ship, and everything is quiet. You huddle at the back of the chamber, the baby next to you with the blaster in your hand. Your towel has come loose and there are wet chunks of hair in your face, and you wait in the silence before he comes in. The cot is tiny, and not that comfortable, but this small space smells like his soap and the dirt he carries around, and despite it feeling lumpy in all the wrong place, you could absolutely fall asleep here, surrounded by him. It distracts you, and you hum lowly in your throat before you hear the hiss of the gangplank and you swallow all the air.

You’ve been seen by bounties before, they’ve made comments about you, and then they’ve been frozen in carbonite. A few looked dangerous, a few were just creepy, but the Mandalorian always let you handle yourself around them. This is the first time he’s ever told you to get out of sight, and you don’t know if it’s because the events of last night are still fresh in his mind, or because whoever he captured was dangerous. You wait with bated breath as you hear blows land, and when it’s been quiet for what you gauge is long enough before you peek out of the alcove. The Mandalorian is on the ground, and you can’t tell if he’s just resting after a fight until someone peeks back at you and you pull the trigger the second the alcove doors fly open. You rocket up on your knees, punching one arm out at a swaying body before he hits the ground, and the Mandalorian comes to. The man on the ground is livid, swinging at your bare feet, and you kick him backwards, not gracefully, but powerfully enough, and he collides with the carbonite gas, and before the Mandalorian can get to his feet, you press the button. The blue faced bounty is frozen, instantly, and you gasp in air as you sag back on the Mandalorian’s bed.

“What did I say about getting out of sight?”

“I did,” you manage, between gasps, “and then you got knocked out.”

He trains his visor on you, and you smile victoriously for a full second before you realize his hand is bloody. You follow it down to the slip in the beskar and see that there’s a nasty gash under where his hand is pressed.

“You’re hurt.” You scramble forward, grabbing the towel off your head. Your hair falls in your face, and it definitely smells like his soap, but you’re not sure if he’s conscious enough to notice. “Hey. Hey you. Mando. Stay awake.”

“’M fine,” he slurs, and you want to pull the helmet clean off his head and look into his eyes when you tell him to shut up.

“Definitely not fine,” you say, pulling him down to the ground with you. It’s messy, you know that much, and you know he has some bacta patches hidden around you, but you need the bleeding to stop. “Hey. Listen to me. I have to take this off,” you say, gesturing at the plate at his midriff. “You’re hit, I think it was a blast, but I need to make sure.”

“No,” he says, and you grab his visor and drop to your knees on his left side, pushing your palm flat against it.

“I’m not going to look at anything except the cut. You weren’t hit in the head, were you?”

“No,” he repeats, and you nod.

“Okay, then I’m not gonna see your face. I won’t look at anything else except the cut. But you’re losing blood, fast, and there’s definitely people shooting at the ship, and I need to make sure you’re okay before I get us the hell out of here.”

He nods. It’s small, but you catch it.

You inhale sharply when you lift the small piece of armor. He’s bleeding, but the wound is small, and you’re able to shove the towel on it to suffocate the blood while your hand flutters around in the small hold behind you until you can find ointment and the bacta patches. “Hey. Mando.” His hand finds your free wrist, and you stop investigating the ointment to look at him. “What?” you ask, your voice softer.

“Cauterize,” he manages, and you look back and forth between him and the wound, and you shake your head.

“It’s not that bad,” you promise, checking to see if the blood has started to clot around the wound. “Look, it’s gonna hurt for a few days, but the bleeding is slowing down, and I can give you this ointment and then put the bacta patch over it, and you’re going to be okay.”

He flails at your arm again, and before you can realize what you’re doing, you straddle him, one hand on his abdomen against the stifled wound, and one reaching up to touch his helmet, as lightly as you can, in some desperate attempt to soothe him, “I promise, I know when a wound needs cauterizing.” You point at your own stomach, hoping he’ll remember the scar. He nods again, and you exhale. “I swear, I’m going to fix it right now, okay?”

You pull the towel away and press the ointment into his skin. You can tell it stings, he hisses and groans through the modulator, and if you weren’t so preoccupied with trying to save his life, your brain would have fixated on the noises he was making as you straddled him. Once the bacta patch was secure and you were sure that it held, your fingers grazed over his bare skin. It was golden, soft to the touch, such a stark contrast to the shiny silver beskar exoskeleton that you stopped just for a moment to stare at it. You touched as lightly as you could, and once you were positive that he had stopped bleeding, you pulled his undershirt down and reattached the armor, sliding sideways off of him, resting against the same wall for the second time in two days.

It took a few minutes and lots of nervous babbling from the baby, but the Mandalorian finally eased himself back into consciousness, and when you heard him stir, you whipped around.

“What…” he starts.

“You got hit—” you interrupt.

“…Are you wearing?” Mando finishes, and your cheeks flush, looking down at his giant shirt you never changed out of.

“I was—when you called, I was in the fresher,” you say, scooting slightly closer to him, resting on both knees. “I didn’t have time to put anything else on before you told me to hide.”

“I know,” the Mandalorian says, and you inhale, hoping you didn’t just unintentionally say all of that out loud.

“What?”

He sighs, and it comes out through the modulator, but he’s not annoyed. You can tell that much through his filtered air—you know when he’s exasperated, and more and more lately, it hasn’t been directed towards you.

“Your name.”

You swallow. “Say it.”

He does. Perfectly. “It suits you. Names…Mine has only been shared once since I became a Mandalorian. I was on my deathbed, and that’s the only reason. I haven’t named the kid. He might already have one, but I don’t know it, so I don’t use it.”

You nod against the visor, your head touching his helmet. The beskar is surprisingly warm, and you pause there for a second, not wanting to move it away.

“Names don’t hold significance to me,” he whispers, and it cuts through the darkness of the hull of the ship. “I don’t need them to trust someone.”

You want to say you understand, even if you don’t entirely get it, but he sighs again and then you think he’s asleep, his helmet sliding down to the crook between your head and your shoulder. If you reached with your pinky, it could interlink with his gloved one, and you wait a few minutes to be sure he’s okay. When you hook his pinky with yours, he breathes, cinches it at the knuckle, and fades off into sleep.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din dijarin fanfiction #star wars #fanfiction #i hope y'all enjoy!!!!!#see you all next saturday for the next chapter update!!!

339 notes · View notes

sisi-halloway · 2 years ago

Text

Remedy (Shuhei x Isabella)

@mystifiedgarden

To you, with love

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

"This way," Shuhei murmurs to his wife.

He's leading her down a dusty path, the sandstone homes of the part of Orasan city making a narrow way for them. The two tiptoed under the few lit torches of the alleyway, careful not the make any noise in this quiet part of the slums.

Stray dogs lay cautiously watching, heads on their folded paws. They stirred up dirt with their scraggly tails and panted a hello to the pair as they continue on. The night sky is filled with stars, twinkling like little blazes of fire in a faraway land

"Where are we going?" Isabella asks.

Shuhei tightens his grip on her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. He brushes his index finger on her knuckles. "There's a place I want you to see."

As they crossed an intersection in the road, a few camels cut them short. Isabella marvelled at their swaying hips, and their masters swaddled in dark clothes. They were most likely Vithrat smugglers. Shuhei had known about them in his time on Orasas. They sold other things besides the most tempting drug known to this side of the sea, like gold wares and exotic treasures and pets. They were more common now that the Guard has no means of enforcement. They were friendly enough when provided the right accommodations. and the right price.

Shuhei tightened his grip on his wife as they continued through the streets. His geta and her sandals scuffed the sandy stones underfoot. What he was about to show her... he hadn't shown to anyone else before. He wasn't even sure if it was still there.

"Shuhei, look," she points out. There was a small tattered piece of cloth with an insignia on it, limp in the windless night. It hung in front of a small sandstone abode, toward the end of the narrow side street. Jungle trees had overrun the front stoop, once tamed and well groomed. The shingles on the roof had long since been stripped and the walls were crumbling and cracked. The blood smear beside the rotten wooden door had faded. Not how he remembered the place. He had been afraid of that.

"What does that mean, do you know?"

Shuhei sighed. He had wished this wasn't the case... but what did he expect? Almost 20 years away from this place. What did he expect?

"It doesn't mean anything now."

He shouldered the door in, dust and sand falling from the shifting doorframe. He waited a beat to make sure the structure was stable before he held out his hand. Isabella took it firmly, stepping inside the small home.

There wasn't much left inside it, in the main room at least. There was a fire pit in the middle of the floor and moth-eaten blankets and rugs on the dirt floor. Everything was covered in soil. Shuhei turned his nose up at the foul condition of the place. It made his blood boil, it made his heart ache.

He turned to Isabella. Her hair had grown out again since living in Orasas for a while. It fell down her shoulders in a braid he had done up for her. Her body was covered in a halter made of red silk, a wrap-around skirt to match. She clutched a shawl around her torso with one hand, holding his with the other. Her eyes were wide, curious, taking in the surroundings. She wondered what this place could be... where her husband had brought her this night.

"Shuhei, baby?" She looked at him for reassurance, for clarity. "Where are we?"

Her gentle voice was almost drowned out by the locusts and crickets in the trees outside. Some of them had made their way inside, opening the small space to make it seem like it was just an extension of the untamed island. Like nobody had ever lived here... like this was a ruin that was intended to be forgotten.

He grimaced.

"My mother's house."

Isabella softens, taking a step forward into Shuhei's arms. Her head is pressed to his bare chest, the hems of his robes touching her cheeks softly. She could hear the coarse, yet light fabric scrape against the gold barbells that were pierced through his nipples. He held her close, standing in the middle of a home that never seemed to be.

Isabella knew how hard this must have been for him. She knew that he felt this was a part of him that he was supposed to leave behind. She was honored he had shown it to her.

This part of him seemed to always have been a blemish, a rancid spot that Kyoh had tried punishing him for... then attempted to wash out. Although it had faded and morphed and evolved, he had never let it die. He had never forgotten who he was. Orasas was always going to be ingrained in him... but it seemed the sands of time and war and turmoil had blasted the last of his hieroglyphs from their original place. Now the only copy of his roots left for him was the bastardized transcription written on his chest in blood. She knew that. He had told her, and she knew.

"Oh, Shuhei..." Isabella hugged him tightly, pouring her love into him. His face was hard to read, a stone bulwark over a whirlwind of pain and disappointment and rage. He draped his arm on her shoulder, not able to take his eyes off the vacant space. Isabella hurt for him.

"I'm so sorry, baby."

He shook his head. "So am I... Sorry, I wasted your time... There's nothing here."

Isabella turned his chin to face her. There was so much love in her eyes, the color of rosy hibiscus. It made Shuhei ease, the hardening of his heart slowed down, and it came to a stillness.

"You haven't wasted a bit of time. This place, it's important to you, no?"

Shuhei pets her head, nodding slowly. Her hair was so soft, so silky. The way her slender fingers trace gently upon his back, faintly rubbing back and forth, it lulled the raging seas of his mind.

"Then coming to see it is worth it. Okay?"

Shuhei took a deep collective breath and his anger seemed to subside a bit. This was proof that there wasn't anything his wife's comfort couldn't fix. She brought his face down to her so she could press her pink lips to the corner of Shuhei's mouth. The Head of the Royal Guard savored his wife's intimate reassurance.

"Show me... show me everything," she whispers.

He nods, regaining the courage to shift through the wreckage of his mother's past, one she seemed to have let fall prey to assimilations in Kyoh. Who could blame her? All the stares, all the beatings, all the spit Shuhei had to wipe from his face as the other children looked down upon him... he would be the first one to understand why his mother would let the ripples of her past turn to the cold, still water of his father's land.

Oh, but the water was never still.

He notices something glinting on a shelf nearby. The moonlight had caught it, sparking a shine in his brown eyes full of pain. Without letting go of his love, he reaches with a long arm to grab the trinket.

It had been a piece of stained glass. It was dusty, but with a few swipes from Shuhei's thumb, he could see the red glass more clearly. He marveled at it... could it be?

"It's..." He whispered. He talked as if he'd blow his own hope away. Softly, his words barely a sound leaving his lips.

Isabella looked up at him, at his eyes turned hopeful, nearly black in the dark house. She didn't know what he was holding.. but it seemed so important.

Shuhei took a minute to complete his thought. He didn't want to be wrong. He let the world stand still around him, in case what he thought to be was all just a mirage...

But it was. It was what he had thought! He smiled, hugging Isa close. He held it down so she could see it. She huddled over the piece of glass inventively.

"It's my grandmother's old prayer glass..."

Isabella rose her eyebrows. It was beautiful, engraved with swirls of Orasan ash paint and etched with little words. She wondered what they said. She had a feeling though, that she shouldn't ask.

"It's beautiful," Isabella mentions. It looked expertly crafted and very very old. It was chipped on the edges, the perfect circle resembling a sand dollar.

Shuhei nodded. "Yeah... these are considered artifacts now... They were supposed to shed the Devil's light on your old sins... and pray them away."

He admired it, holding it to the moon's light so that red beams would strike the floor of the home. "My mother also has one..."

He paused before he continued as if he didn't really want to mention what was going through his mind. Isabella waited patiently for him to finish.

"But it's locked away since she no longer practices Elsmaic Worship. She says it's cursed."

The words hung in the air like a plague. The history of this prayer glass was just another thing about them that had gotten washed away. That his mother was wished away.

Isabella looked up at Shuhei. "Do you believe it's cursed?"

Superstition and religion were something that Shuhei had always struggled with. Isabella had her deities, and those made sense to him. His friend Salice was living proof of the Devil and his promises... but even so, he could never find himself believing in anything... not fully.

He shook his head. "No."

It wasn't used for anything anymore. His mother hadn't called on the Devil in decades. How could the devil curse someone if he no longer has power over them? Why would the Devil care so much about a piece of glass? Nobody else did.

Isabella closed her hands around her husband's, encircling the prayer glass in her protective hold. She kissed his knuckles, worn and calloused. How she loved his hands. These hands had built her a home, wielded a sword to protect her, and touched her so tenderly in ways nobody else in the entire world could understand.

"Then we shall keep it."

Shuhei gazed at her soft face. The moon's light cast white rays on the angular shape of her nose, contouring her face into the mural of a goddess. Her sweet lips held the secrets to heaven and the words that will forever guide him when he is lost in the purgatory of his own obscured emotions. He grabbed her chin, leaning down to capture those lips in a sweet kiss.

She held his face, gazing into his eyes for a brief time. The world seemed to stop as they shared this intimate moment. Shuhei could live here forever. His wife's presence turned this shabby grave of his formal life into a grand mausoleum, embracing everything he had ever wished to destroy about himself.

"Shuhei... I want you to know that if this glass is a part of you, I will keep it. If this home is a part of you, then I will honor it. Just as I have received this island into my heart, I will receive any part of you. Good, or bad, blessed or cursed, you are my husband and your life is my life."

Shuhei's tears didn't hesitate to spill over his lids. He cupped Isabella's cheeks and looked into those eyes once more. He knew his heaven would be a place he could forever admire these eyes, and his hell would be any world without them. He pressed his forehead against hers as a quiet sob broke through the confining fortress that was his lips. He couldn't say anything, for she had said it all.

After thirty years, judgment day had finally descended upon him. It had come and gone in these few moments, and, with Isabella as his messiah, he had passed over into a place of peace. His wife accepting this final part of him welcomed Shu into a world of validity, encouragement, and sanction.

Shuhei Kumagai, a bastard of two incommensurable lands, no longer wore the bloody smear of shame. The insurmountable weight he had been carrying both on his shoulders and the pit of his soul had been, at long last, lifted. The four corners of his complicated, fragmented, and equivocal world were now thoroughly explored and were acknowledged with love, by none other than the woman that completed him.

On this day, in the comforting dominion of his wife's light, a man was remedied.

It was this day, with his old sins forgiven, his past curses abolished, his wife had baptized him in love unconditional so that he could bestow it upon himself, today and every day thereafter.

#isabella kumagai #shuhei kumagai #orasas #original character #character redemption #love story #thank you so much and i miss you

4 notes · View notes

theodorevg923 · 2 years ago

Text

Temple of Auctilus

Chapter 1

Monty x Raspberry (OC)

So, gonna be late getting Chixy Day 4 out, as I need to write Day 4 of SeaPup first. So here all y'all go, something I wrote back in late February when I was still inexperienced. There will be a lot of mistakes as I haven't taken the time to fix all the mistakes I made and don't plan to until I pick this back up. I cringe everytime I read this. Enjoy the story line but the writing... I wanna burn it in Hell.

Based on a Security Breach Gods au that's open to everyone.

Monty ~ Auctilus | Roxy ~ Lupigna

Master List!

⚠️ human sacrifices, blood, guts, gore, injuries, bit smutty, nudity, no child was harmed in the writing of this story, death of minor characters, possible drowning, drinking, fighting, mentions of abuse, mentions of starvation, possibly questionable consent, 18+ only

- 5,300 words under the cut!

Rubidaeus, holding a crying bundle in her arms, was running through the last barley field before the temple. She was almost there, to the temple of Auctilus, despite her fear of the god.

Auctilus was said to be a rash brute in the image of an alligator. Lashing out at anyone who dares to anger him. He was a newer god, after causing the downfall of Lepagax, the god depicted as a hare. All the people of her village worshipped him. Until wolves started attacking them at the start of harvest. It was whispered around the village that Lupigna had started a war with Auctilus.

One full moon night, a village councilman's daughter was stolen from his home. That very night, it was decided by the council to send a sacrifice to Auctilus to seek his protection. Rubidaeus and her little sister, Karvelia, who was born barely the harvest before, were chosen. It didn't surprise Raspberry, as her father called her. She had turned eighteen during the spring. Their father had died in the first wolf attack, leaving the sisters on their own.

After being woken up and informed of being chosen as sacrifices, the village had prepared Raspberry in a cleansing ceremony. Her heart broke for her sister. Their mother died when Karvelia was born. Now she would never have a life to live. The village women had bathed and clothed her. She was dressed in a simple knee length black linen robe, matching sash held her deep pink and magenta hair up. They set her and her sister off to the temple at first light.

Raspberry was passing the barley fields that surrounded the temple when a pack of wolves had caught up to her.

Before Raspberry made it to the edge of the temple, a wolf slashed her back with its claws. Throwing herself onto the patio, she landed on her side, cradling her sister close. The wolves stopped just off the patio, howling and snapping their hungry jaws, frustrated their prey had escaped. Raspberry laid quietly, curling around her sister, waiting on the wolves to leave.

After a few moments of silence, Raspberry opened her eyes to find the wolves had left. She knew the other gods could not enter another's temple without permission. Raspberry sat up, pain lancing her back, laying Karvelia on her lap. She unwrapped the linen cloth swaddling her sister. She was unharmed but very upset and crying.

Raspberry sighed, wincing as blood trickles down her back. She swaddles Karvelia back up before standing. Raspberry tried her best to soothe her sister, but she could never get a handle of it. She had taken over the childrearing duties, but she couldn't remember her mother's lessons.

Raspberry walked further into the temple, soothing her sister. The sheer size startled her, the stone chilling her bare feet. Women weren't allowed at the temple for fear of Auctilus taking them for his own. The front part of the temple was vast, columns towered over her, supporting the roof. An inground bathing pool was in the middle, a massive bronze statue of Auctilus in armour stood behind. Stone tables smothered in offerings of food, wine, weapons and clothing rested behind the statue. Further in, smaller rooms closed off with deep green curtains, others with stone walls, could be found.

Raspberry returned to the front of the temple, Karvelia's cries soothed from the quiet walking. Though hungry, she dared not touch the offerings. Raspberry sat against a column, both sisters falling asleep from the excitement of the day.

Raspberry woke to a splashing sound, droplets of water splattering her body. The sudden noise scaring Karvelia, her cries echoed through the temple. Before she could hush her sister, a massive alligator almost as large as the pool stood before her. It hissed, snapping it's jaws. Raspberry curled around her sister, watching the alligator with fear in her eyes.

The deep green alligator had a yellow underbelly. Varied green spots scattered it body with dark purple spines running down it's back and yellow striped tail. Bright red eyes watched her, jaw cracked open showing deep red tongue and white teeth.

Raspberry rubbed Karvelia's back, trying to hush the babbling cries. The alligator stood before her, it's spines rattling as it hissed. It lunged at Raspberry. She closed her eyes as tears fell, squeezing her sister tight.

Raspberry cried as a large hand grabbed the side of her face. "So damn desperate they'd send a human sacrifce? Two at that it seems." A husky and growling voice spoke.

She quieted down, keeping her eyes shut. Her body trembled from fear and anticipation of her pending death. The hand holding her face squeezed, digging claws into her cheek and hair.

"Don't leave the temple." The same voice ordered her. The hand let go of her face. She heard a splashing sound, more water drops hit her.

Raspberry sat against the column, eyes shut tight until her sister started babbling, saying she was hungry. She finally opened her eyes, letting her vision clear before looking at her sister then around the temple. The massive gator was lounging in the pool, eyes closed.

As quietly as she could, Raspberry stood up. Her legs trembled as she approached the pool. She kneeled down before speaking. "M-my gracious and victorious Auctilus, my god of earth and strength. May I ask your forgiveness and blessing for seeking substance from your sacred sanctuary."

Raspberry winced as the alligator turned in the bathing pool. Karvelia's babbling continued as tiny hands grasped her sash and pulled. Raspberry's sash had loosened during the dash for the temple. One more tug and it fell free from her head. Soft ringles of deep pink and magenta hair fell down her back. The hair brushed her the deep scratches on her back. A small whimper fell from her lips in pain.

Auctilus, in the form of an alligator, climbed out of the pool. It slithered up to Raspberry, its thick tail dragging behind. When it cracked it's jaw, the same deep husky voice spoke. "Feast ya fill my brave peaches. When you have finished come back here."

Raspberry bowed her head as Auctilus turned away, slithering back into the pool. She stood up, her legs still trembling, and headed to an offering table.

The people of her village had been desperate to appease Auctilus. Baskets and bowls filled the table with the first harvested fruits and vegetables. Various jars held milk, honey, and sweet wines. Dried meats, beans, grains and cakes piled high on platters. Every bit of the harvest that could be spared came here. Exquisite weapons worthy of men of council were offered to Auctilus as he was god of war and revenge.

Raspberry sat her sister on the floor near the table. She grabbed a few fresh fruits, barely cakes, and a jug of milk for Karvelia and herself. Raspberry wanted to grab a knife, but she didn't want to anger Auctilus. Sitting on the floor next to her sister, she bit into a fresh fig, splitting it open for Karvelia to suck on. She ate a fig herself before starting on her barely cakes.

Once they finished eating, Raspberry used the hem of her robe to wipe Karvelia's face clean. She loved her sister but she could get very messy quickly. She stood up, holding her sister before handing a dried fig to her sister to chew on. Raspberry walked over to the bathing pool, sinking to her knees and bowing her head before Auctilus.

"Leave ya child there and come in after ya strip down." Auctilus cracked his jaw, speaking to her again.

She swallows a small laugh. Karvelia was her sister, not her child. Though Karvelia did have white and soft pink shaded hair instead of the deep pinks of her own. She nodded, sitting her sister in a safe distance away as she was fast at crawling. Thankfully the dried fig was keeping Karvelia busy.

Nervously, Raspberry sheds the torn robe she was wearing. She had never been naked in front of anyone other than her mother, Karvelia, and the women of her village. Blood had soaked the back of it so she carefully folded it to keep the blood off the stone floor. Before turning around she covers her breasts and in between her legs with her hands.

Raspberry walks up to the bathing pool, kneeling on the edge. The water was crystal clear, a sweet fragrance of flowers drifted from it, she reached for it. The water was wonderfully warm as the harvest time brought on a chill. She pulled her hand out quickly, not wanting to dirty the water. Raspberry knew she was filthy from her travel to the temple, and the blood that caked her skin.

"Get in." Auctilus growled.

Raspberry hesitated slightly before complying. No one ignored an order from a god. She slid into the water, holding onto the edge. Thankfully her father had taught her how to swim as a child. It wasn't something socially acceptable, but she knew her father had really wanted a son. But she kept to the edge as the water was deeper than her height.

Raspberry was just starting to relax in the water when something brushed her leg. She squeaked, looking down in the water. Auctilus was under the water, brushing his snout against her leg. She finally realized exactly how big he was. His head was big enough to swallow her whole leg. Raspberry took a quick glance at Karvelia, she was still chewing on the fig, and ducked under the water.

She opened her eyes underwater, Auctilus was watching her intently. She blew a couple air bubbles out, watching him back. Suddenly the alligator lunged for her, pinning her to the wall of the pool with his head. She struggled to fight back, bubbles of air escaping her lungs.

Just before Raspberry's lungs could fill with water, Auctilus released her. She shot upwards to the surface. Climbing over the edge, she gasped for air. Teeth clamped around her leg, dragging her under again.

Was this how she was going to die? Dragged underwater until she suffocated? Her lungs burned, screaming underwater. Water choked it's way into her lungs as vision blurred.

Her mind screams at her to breathe, to escape, but she's too tired. The soft lull of sleep draws her in. Sleepless days and nights spent working on harvesting the garden her father left behind, becoming outcast from her village. Running from wolves to protect Karvelia.

Karvelia. Karvelia? That name sounded so wonderful, a child's laughter sounded in her mind, baby soft white and pink waves. Karvelia. Her sister. She needed to protect her. But from what? Auctilus. He would eat her, Karvelia.

Bravery and strength built in her burning chest. She opened her eyes. How could she have forgotten her sister? She shot straight up, coughing water up as her face felt air. More water forced it's way out of her lungs. She swung her head around, looking for Karvelia. She found her Auctilus looming in front of her.

Grabbing the edge, Raspberry yanked her body out of the pool, forcing it to work. She ran over to Karvelia, throwing herself over the child.

"Please, don't hurt her. I will do anything you want. I beg of you my god of strength, my Auctilus of war. I give myself to you but spare her." Raspberry's lungs burn, tears streaking down her face. "My bounteous Auctilus, god of the benevolent earth."

Auctilus growls low and fierce, his jaw cracked open, red tongue slipping out. "Anything I ask of ya, my delicious sacrifice?"

Raspberry nods frantically, tears staining her face. "Yes, my gracious Auctilus."

Auctilus doesn't say anything else, slinking back into the pool. Raspberry sat up, hovering over Karvelia. Her sister was unharmed, happy even. She giggled, feeling hysteria build in her burning chest. She just gave her self up to a god. Dared to anger Auctilus, the god of revenge. Raspberry knew she would pay for that in time.

Feeling the ache in her body start settling in, Raspberry laid down on the cold floor, shivering against it. Sleep creeped in before she could stop it.

"Karvelia..." Her whisper didn't go unnoticed as she hoped.

The soft sweet smell of honey stirred Raspberry from the depths of dreaming. Soft fabric tickled her body, sunk deeply into a warm place. She curled deeper, trying to grasp at the sweet memory of her dream.

A soft childish giggle slipped through the haze. A hissing growl answered in reply, rumbling the supple ground beneath her body. Another musical laughter sounded. Karvelia, her sister, was laughing. She hadn't laughed since they lost their father. Raspberry languished in the warmth and softness beneath her before realization hit her mind like a goat's head to the stomach.

Raspberry shot up, sleep still hazing her mind. Karvelia was sitting up, just in arms reach. She reached her out, pulling her sister into her arms. Another hissing growl rumbled the bed.

Raspberry looked up. Auctilus was laid out on the bed, it was like a ginormous cushion on the floor, her sash tied to the tip of his tail, teasing Karvelia. Her sister squealed again, crawling out of her lap to chase the sash. Wiping hair from her face, Raspberry watched her sister have the most fun in a round moon.

"Like what ya see my sweet peach?" Auctilus growled softly.

Raspberry looked at him. Auctilus was curled around them, Karvelia had caught the sash, chewing on it. His body length was almost four times longer than her short five foot two inch frame. She nods slowly, unsure of the situation she was in.

"As ya so kindly begged of me, I promise not to hurt ya lil Karvelia. As long ya give everything ta me as ya said ya would. And I mean everythin' sweet peach." Raspberry could've sworn she saw a grin on Auctilus's snout.

She sat still, watching Karvelia, who was still chewing on the sash. So he did hear her whisper before she fell asleep. But the everything part worried her, a frown tugging at her lips. Did Auctilus mean marriage? She knew of marriage, and of course the consummation night. But her mother passed away before she turned eighteen harvests, so she never knew what really happened. She looked at Auctilus, who watched her with bright red eyes.

A burn spread on her cheeks. Marriage with a human was one thing, but with a god? And an alligator god at that. How would it even work? He could crush her just by stepping on her. Fear and embarrassment swirled within her mind and body. A soft warmth started between her legs, a brand new feeling for her. She never felt like this staring after boys in her village.

She saw Auctilus crack his jaw to speak, but she blurted words out first. "D-do you mean marriage?"

A hearty boisterous laugh sounded from deep within Auctilus. "Yes, my juicy peach, and I must say ya smell delectable." He growls out the last word.

The heat on Raspberry's face and between her legs burns hotter. She quickly looks away, down at the bed beneath her. It was then she remembered, she was naked.

She looked down at herself and frowned. She knew why none of the boys of her village fancied her. She was skinny, too skinny, they wanted women with thick curves. It was a statement that their families had money. The down spiral her father had after their mother died was a painful disaster. Money became tighter as her father stopped working.

They had been well off before, her father was a jewelery maker. Food and wine was plentiful, stretch marks proving she was once plump remained. But over the round moons to come, she had to choose between feeding herself or her sister. Thankfully the village women helped to feed her sister while she needed breast milk.

But after a few months, no money left, they quit. Raspberry had to feed Karvelia with mere scraps she could forage or even steal. As the round moons passed, she had lost all the once sought after weight. Somehow she only lost half her plump breasts, but her ribs started to show the round moon before.

Why would Auctilus, a god who could have whoever he wanted, desire her? A few tears stained her face as she rubbed her stretch marks. Something hot and wet licked at Raspberry's tears, pulling her out of her reprieve.

"My soft blossom, if I didn't want ya, I would've fed ya to the wolves." Auctilus had slipped around the bed behind her.

Fear sparked in Raspberry's chest for a moment, then realization sunk in. Auctilus had chosen her. But why? Granted she was grateful to be chosen, but her mind couldn't process the fact someone wanted her. Before Raspberry could say anything, she's pinned to the bed by a massive clawed foot.

Auctilus was on top of her, one of his eyes staring in hers. "Why do ya dare defy my words? Have ya forgotten I control wars? I feel the pain of wounds ripping through ya. I chose who I wanted to. Or are ya gonna go back on ya words?"

Raspberry's heart pounds in her chest, eyes wide with fear. Auctilus removes his clawed foot, stepping back.

"I will not use the child, Karvelia, as a means to control or force ya. I have no desires for her." Auctilus climbed off the bed. "Come on. I know ya hungry. I can feel ya bellies rumblin'."

Raspberry picked up Karvelia, following the massive alligator. It was then she realized where she was. The bed was placed in one of the green rooms, curtains drawn back to filter light in.

She quickly caught up to Auctilus, who was surprisingly fast despite his low lying body. He led them through columns into another green room. Many exquisite chests were placed in it.

"Pick some clothes out. I know nudity is a problem for ya humans. And I don't want anyone else seeing what's mine." Auctilus chuckled, another mysterious grin on his snout.

Raspberry sat Karvelia on the floor to dig through the chests. The first one held weapons of all types and sizes. Another chest was stuffed with jewelry, she dug through it a little, finding several items of her father's craftsmanship, though she left rhem in the chest. A few more chest later, Raspberry finally found a simple light pink fabric she could use as a gown. She pulled it on, using a belt found in another chest to hold it. She left her hair down though.

Raspberry picked up Karvelia, who she couldn't find fresh clothing for. She would need to make some later after eating. Auctilus nimbly turned around and navigated to the front of the temple.

The same spreads from the day before were still on the table. Raspberry picked out the same meager meal, with a couple extra dried figs.

"Ya need more than that to survive peach. Eat ya fill, I mean it." Auctilus laid on the floor, curling around the pair. Raspberry nodded, munching on another barely cake, leaning back into the alligator hesitantly. A soft rumble could be felt through her back. It set the burn in her face and stomach again.

Raspberry felt rather than heard the chuckle from Auctilus. "Keep that up juicy peach and it'll be harder to hold back."

She turned to look at the eye that watched her. "What do you mean?"

Auctilus narrowed the eye facing Raspberry, watching her intently. "Ya don't know? Thought that was something ya mommas taught girls at a young age."

It clicked for Raspberry, what talk he meant. She shook her head, tears springing to her eyes. "My mother passed away before she could tell me on my eighteenth birthday in spring." Raspberry felt Auctilus still at her words, she looked back at his head.

"Ya telling me they sent a virgin? As in ya don't know what happens on the night of consummation?" An irritated growl rips from Auctilus's throat, tail twitching in agitation.

Raspberry looks at the tail, pulling Karvelia into her. "I-I'm sorry, my divine Auctilus. The women of the village refused to tell me what was going to happen so I stopped asking questions." She looks down, finger combing out tangles from her hair.

She hears Auctilus growl, the twitching of his tail soothing down. "Not ya fault, guess I'll have to explain it to ya." He snorts before continuing. "I want ya to remember this, I will never force ya without permission. I will wait until ya ready. The sweet scent ya keep giving off is called lust. That burn between ya legs means ya cravin' sex, juicy peach."

Raspberry feels the burn get stronger. Something about his words were clicking in her mind. Hushed whispers spoken between the village women sometimes spoke those words. Then the true meaning of his words hit her mind.

Raspberry looked away, suddenly feeling ashamed. She squeezed her legs tight, trying to will the burn away. It was a taboo subject in her village.

A deep rumbling on her back set her heat off and started to cool off. "There is nothing to be ashamed of sweet peach. But if it's easier for ya, I won't bring it up again until ya ready."

That was the problem, she didn't want him to ignore it. She wanted to know more about this new feeling. Why did she never feel this for the men of the village? Raspberry frowned. Was something wrong with her?

Before she could say anything. Auctilus stood up. "We have visitors. Come."

Raspberry picked up Karvelia, carrying the toddler on her hip. She nervously followed behind Auctilus around the statue and the bathing pool. Her heart dropped into her stomach at the sight of the visitors. All thoughts of her new sensation are forgotten.

Several people of her village were kneeled down just outside the patio, a variety of offerings in their hands or next to them. She recognized a few councilmen, upperclassmen, and soldiers.

Auctilus growled and snapped at them, catching their attention, before resting on the ground. She stood next to his tail, which curled around her legs.

"Speak." All the gentleness in his voice had vanished.

The councilmen raised their heads, preparing to speak when they caught sight of Raspberry. Shock and fear flashed across their faces.

Auctilus growled again. He was well known for having a short temper. "Speak."

The councilmen fumble for words before one hushes the others. "Our wonderful Auctilus, we have come to make sure you received our offering yesterday."

Raspberry stands still, watching intently as Auctilus shifts his body. The terror on the councilmens' faces make her smile. The other seems to shrink back slightly.

"Yeah I did. She was being chased by Lupigna's wolves. Ya sent me a damaged, starved, neglected sacrifice and ya think I'd be grateful enough to save ya." Auctilus stands at this, his jaw open wide, red tongue sticking out.

Raspberry takes a step back, Auctilus's tail wrapped tightly around her legs, holding her in place. The alligator's spines started rattling. He hisses at the councilmen. They stumble backwards, dropping the offering in their hands. The others with them start running away from the temple.

"I will not save ya village. Fight Lupigna's wolves on ya own. I will abandon ya village like ya abandoned my sacrifice." Auctilus starts standing on his hind legs. As he reaches his full height, bones start cracking, skin shifts around. Raspberry stumbles, falling on her ass painfully, the alligator's tail still holding her legs.

Bones continue cracking and shifting, taking on the frame of a man. Bright red hair grew in a line atop his head, deep purple marking on his snout, male muscles forming on his chest. His arms and legs stretched longer, almost a males.

Raspberry didn't know it was possible, with the air reeking of fear, but she felt the strongest burn in between her legs. It burned like the sun on the hottest summer day. She sat there watching the god that had chosen her.

Auctilus, god of war, revenge, strength, and the ever giving earth that gave life to Raspberry and Karvelia. He was angry with the villagers for her, for them. He, Auctilus the god, had chosen them to care for and protect. Drool dripped from his jaw, splashing on the ground. The sharp teeth and claws she once feared, now at the ready to save her from more pain. All barely into two sunrises.

Auctilus lunged forward, tail that had grown longer was still wrapped around Raspberry, grabbing one of the councilmen by the head. His skull was crushed, bone, blood, and brains scattering from the alligator's hand, body dropping to the ground. Auctilus grabbed a second, biting it half. He dropped the top half, crunching the legs as the rest ran for the village.

After the villagers were out of sight, Auctilus dropped the remains out of his jaws. He quietly turns, throwing himself into the pool. Raspberry sits still as Karvelia plays with a dried fig and her hair.

Raspberry had seen the slaughter of animals before, even humans. But watching Auctilus slay her villagers was indescribable. She hadn't been scared once, she no longer feared Auctilus, or the scorn from her people.

The burn between her legs had only grown fiercer through the bloodbath. Raspberry's whole body racked with the new sensation she didn't have words for. Her face burned with hot blood, body trembling in weakness. She shut her eyes, gasping for breath, as waves of a sweet feeling rushed across her body. She felt like she was drunk on sweet honey wine.

Raspberry sat where she had fallen, clenching her legs tight as the sensation subsided. She looked up, noticing Auctilus was still in the pool. He was face down, tail tossing waves in the water. His hulking form barely fit as his head was on one end, his tail scrapping against the other.

Taking a deep breath, Raspberry sat Karvelia down on the ground. Her legs still trembled as she walked around the pool to where Auctilus's head rested. The moment she sat down on the edge, swinging her legs into the water, his head was on her legs. The tip of snout rubbed softly against her belly, stirring the new sensation up. Raspberry slowly rested a hand on his snout, rubbing softly.

Raspberry was slightly worried about touching a god, but Auctilus's red eyes closed, sinking into his skull. A soft rumbling vibrated through her body and the water. His tail slowed it's thrashing to a soft gentle swishing.

Within minutes of the rumbling, Raspberry felt a slick wetness drip out between her legs. It soaked the gown beneath her. Auctilus shoved his snout into her belly, inadvertently forcing more wetness out. She squeaked, trying to move backwards. A clawed hand shot out of the pool, grabbing her back and holding her still. The hand stretched from it's thumb on her breasts, all around her back to the claws digging slightly into her side. Showing Auctilus's true size to Raspberry again. She became slightly worried again, something about his size worried her but she couldn't place it on her tongue.

Auctilus opened his eyes to watch her, as if he sensed the worry creeping into her mind. A chuckle escaped his jaw as it cracked open. "My sweet peach, did that turn ya on? I'm sorry if I did that to ya."

The grin on his snout, glint in red eyes, told Raspberry he really wasn't sorry. She giggled softly, all worry washed away. She felt much better afterwards, the sensation easing away into a silky bliss.

Running a hand Auctilus's snout, she brushed the deep red hair on his head. It was long and softer than the finest silks. Her fingers combed through it gently. They stayed like that for a moment until Raspberry had noticed Karvelia had been quiet, too quiet. Frantically searching around, struggling to get up, Raspberry found her sister on the other end of the pool.

"Karvelia!" Raspberry screamed her name.

Auctilus turned his head, still keeping a grip on Raspberry. Karvelia had almost made it to the edge. Auctilus draped his tail along the edge of the pool. Karvelia continued crawling, pulling herself up with the alligator's tail.

Auctilus chuckles. "Cock-blocked by a kid. Never had that problem before."

"Huh?" Raspberry rips her eyes away from her sister to look down at Auctilus. "What do you mean?"

Auctilus laughs, water trembling as he does. "My, ya really are so innocent my peach. It means ya kid stopped me from taking ya virginity."

Raspberry frowns slightly, she had heard of the word before. But she didn't understand what it meant. She shakes her head. "I'm sorry my Auctilus, I still don't understand. I'm very sorry I wasn't taught properly about the night of consummation." There was more Raspberry wanted to say, but she didn't want to anger Auctilus.

"Not ya fault. I'll teach you everything I can. Virginity means ya haven't had sex before. The sweet feeling ya had means ya enjoyed the stimulation I have ya. And I can give ya that again, and so much more." Auctilus had risen out of the water, laying Raspberry on the ground. His hand still wrapped around her back, the other propping himself up. Her knees were against his chest, barely reaching his abs.

Raspberry felt the burning euphoria start again, wetness already leaking out. Auctilus stroked her breast with his thumb. He stuck his tounge out, drool dripping from it, and licked her face before pulling away.

"Not right now though, I don't want to hurt ya. I would split ya open if I tried in this state. And I don't wanna break my sacrifice just yet." Auctilus stood up in the pool.

Auctilus loomed over Raspberry as she stood. Her height barely reached from his hips to his abs. The sheer size of him had her whole body trembling. Though she was curious about what Auctilus said about breaking her. He hadn't actually tried to harm her, unless she counted nearly being drowned.

A squeal from Karvelia broke through her thoughts. Raspberry looked around to find her sister was wrapped in the alligator's tail, splashing in the water. She had forgotten she needed to make some clothes for her sister.

Raspberry walked to the other side of the pool, kneeling down to pull her sister out. Auctilus moved the child closer to her. She pulled her up, holding Karvelia close despite the wet robe.

Raspberry opened her mouth to ask about using some of the fabric offerings but quickly closed it.

"Anything in this temple is for ya use. If ya don't have something, just ask my peach." Auctilus said to her, as he pulled himself out of the pool. The statue next him was barely half his height.

Raspberry bowed before Auctilus before heading for the room that held the chests. She spent the rest of the day cutting fabric to make robes for herself and Karvelia. Using some of the lines to make cloth diapers. She took breaks to play with her sister and eat. Though she didn't see Auctilus the rest of the day, saying he had business to take care of. Raspberry and Karvelia went to bed on the purple cushion when night fell.

Stay Cruel Until The End - Theodore

Posted Jun 2 '22

#theodore923 #fnaf #security breach fanart #security breach gods #fnaf greek gods au #monty gator #fnaf oc #fnaf montgomery #monty is ares #monty god of war #monty x oc #fnaf montgomery gator

5 notes · View notes