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monstersflashlight · 3 months

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Hi me again here |˶˙ᵕ˙ )ﾉﾞ

Loved your little piece about the forest entity, so you'd make me very happy with a second part :)

Tentacles and forest monsters are just soo good <3

So yeah, I'll keep looking and loving your writing, thanks for all your amazing work ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Hi! Thank you so much for your compliments, that’s so sweet! Here you have it a little bit of filth <3 Part 1 is here, if someone needs a refresher.

Plant toy

Forest entity x fem!human || tentacles (vines), bondage, edging, oral sex, double penetration, gagging, nipple clamps

You had no idea what compelled you into going back to the forest, but there you were, wearing a skimpy outfit and walking around without any reason. You felt stupid, but also a bit excited. A bit turned on. The opportunity of finding the forest entity that fucked you too good to pass. You wanted a repeat… Well, more like you needed a repeat.

In the past couple weeks since it happened, you couldn’t think of anything else, your brain was completely stuck on him. (You didn’t miss the joke about being stuck on a tree-hole just to end up being stuck on a forest entity). Every second of every day you wanted to feel him again, to feel those vines and roots against your body, constricting your movements and leaving you at his mercy.

It was exhilarating, but the memory was not enough anymore. You burned down the batteries on two of your sex toys and had not enough energy to keep looking for more fun ways to get yourself off. Nothing was as good as the vines, nothing was as good as him.

So there you were, getting lost in the forest. On purpose this time.

You wandered for what felt like hours, until your body was tired and your anticipation dissipated into a more real sense of fear. You didn’t know where you were, if he didn’t show up at some point you’d be lost in the forest without a way to find your way back. You felt like you were walking in circles, unable to see anything as the sun started to set. Real panic started to fill your insides.

“You are lost and scared once again, but this time you have done this to yourself… Why?” His voice startled you, and you screamed. As you turned around, the vision of his strange face calmed you completely. He was there. He came for you.

A rush of adrenaline filled your body and your panties got wet. Fuck, that ethereal voice was messing with your libido big time. “I- I was looking for you.” You told him, voice caught in your throat as some vines and roots bloomed from the ground beneath your feet and lifted your body, undressing you in the process.

“For me? Why?” His utter confusion would have been cute if you weren’t suspended in the air with wines holding your arms and legs apart.

“I don’t know.” That was a weak ass response and you knew it. He tilted his head to the side like he was trying to decipher your whole soul with a look. Maybe he was doing exactly that, how would you know. “Okay, okay… I- I wanted a repeat,” you confessed in a murmur.

“Of what, human?” His uncanny features made your insides twist and turn, but also made you even more curious to know more about him. “There’s no balance to be restored now. Are you making a free offer to the forest?” He added. You didn’t think of that. You didn’t think of anything apart from getting fucked again. You were so dumb. Your face flushed at the acknowledgment that you got lost on purpose just to get fucked by vines. How freaky was that?

“I- Yes! Yes. That’s it,” you agreed, without really knowing what that would entitle. “I want… I want you to do that again… with the vines.” Your face burned as you said it.

Said vines took on their own and started caressing your body, like he wasn’t controlling them, as if they were a living organism on their own. That filled you with an unsettled feeling, but part of you liked that thought. Part of you wanted to be at the mercy of some mindless plant organism.

He turned around, not looking at you. Disappointed had a sour taste against your mouth. “I see…” He was leaving. He was leaving you there without even looking twice at you. Without an explanation.

“Wait! Are you going to leave me here?” You asked, panicked. Your heart was beating so fast you could hear it in your ears. The spike of fear mixed with anticipation and arousal, leaving you breathless.

“I need to retrieve something, I’ll be back.” Just as he was saying that, some more vines appeared in front of you and stuff your mouth until you couldn’t answer back, like a plant gag.

He left you there, mouth stuffed with vines and your body suspended in the air by plant-acles (plant tentacles?). As soon as he disappeared, the vines took a turn. More vines and roots appeared around you, touching you. Caressing every inch of your body. The ones in your mouth started thrusting into your throat until you were gagging and salivating around them. It felt like the messiest blowjob of your life as some more vines and roots caressed your nipples and clit. It was exhilarating.

But they wouldn’t finish you. The tentacles around you played with your sensitive areas, pinching, caressing, sucking… You were thrown against the edge a thousand times, but they never let you cross it. The vines moved and caressed around you, tightening and releasing parts of your body. It was maddening, the unfulfilled pleasure was driving you completely insane. Over and over for what felt like hours but was probably less than twenty minutes, the vines edged you until every caress felt like it was going to make you explode. But it didn’t. They didn’t let you.

When he reappeared in front of you, you could have sobbed. If you weren’t already crying because of the overstimulation and the edging. Tears ran freely down your face, mixing with the drool around the plant-gag fucking your throat. You felt used. And you enjoyed it, like the little pervert you were.

He looked at you for a few seconds, “I shouldn’t have left them unsupervised. My apologies, human.” His apology sounded a lot like a non-apology. He wasn’t sorry at all, he consciously left you there with wild vines edging you, the little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth was answer enough. “I found the compass.” You didn’t know what he was talking about, but the vines wouldn’t stop moving and you felt ready to explode. You wanted to scream at him, to beg him to end the torture to your senses and let you come. But he kept talking. “Now you would be able to find me,” he explained. He looked at you expecting an answer you were unable to provide. “Oh, the vines…” He moved his hand and the vines fucking your throat retracted.

You breathed deep before chanting: “Please, please, please…” You were unable to form any more words as you screamed and begged for release. “Please let me come. Pleaseeeee!”

“It’s okay, human. I’m here,” he told you softly.

His words sounded ominous, and maybe you should have trusted your instincts because before you realized, the vines around you were morphing and moving. Some of them constricted around your nipples, acting as improvised nipple clamps as he approached step by step to your naked and restricted body. He stood there for a few seconds, admiring his vine work.

And then, he raised his hand and you cried out. For the first time ever, he touched you. His fingers caressed the skin of your abdomen and made a trail lower and lower… When his finger touched your clit, you screamed at the top of your lungs. “None of that, you don’t want to bother the little animals, do you?” He didn’t give you time to react, he conjured a new vine around your head and gagged you.

That wasn’t the only new vine, soon enough there was one curling around your leg, approaching your center. He cooed at you when you whimpered, shushing you as he caressed your hair softly, his other hand still circling your clit.

The tender gesture was such a contrast with the sexual torture he was inflicting on your poor human body. You were dizzy by it. It was maddening. And when the vine pushed into your hungry cunt, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You groaned and moaned as he kept fucking you restlessly.

You were lost in the pleasure he was giving you. So lost that the first touch of a vine against your asshole caught you off guard. You tried to scream, but he wasn’t having any of that. The gag around your mouth pressed harder as you whimpered around it. You were breathing so hard you feared hyperventilation, but his soft touches to your side kept you focused. Bit by bit, the vine pushed inside your asshole until it was fully seated.

And just like that, it began. In perfect sync, the vines inside your pussy and ass started fucking you. It was better than anything you’d ever felt. It was so much more than you thought you could take. But he didn’t ask, he gave and you took.

He was looking at you with such intensity you felt hyperaware of every twitch, every groan and every bit of saliva you let out around the gag. But he still didn’t let you come.

“Just a bit more, human, you are doing great,” his voice was soft as he moved his hands to direct the vines around your body. In and out. In and out. They fucked you in tandem as he looked at you like you were his prize.

His encouragements were making you see stars and a thousand different lights behind your eyes. The assault to your senses so deep and profound you didn’t know how to feel anymore. You didn’t know if it was too much, if it was too little. You could only feel the vines moving in and out of your holes, the stretch and pressure of it against all your sensitive spots.

“Come for me human, give me your offering.” Like a magic word, you exploded on a thousand pieces as your body melted against the vines, a splash of your juices showering everything around you. “That’s, such a good human for me.” That was the last thing you heard before you blacked out.

You woke up next to your car, re-dressed and with a shiny compass next to you.

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headspace-hotel · 1 year

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Fact is, mechanical mowing is nothing at all like grazing in terms of its impacts upon a plant community.

Grazing animals are selective in how they forage, eating plants they find tastier and avoiding plants they don't like. In this way, the power of a highly competitive plant could be nerfed because that plant is yummy and gets eaten more.

Grazing animals also don't graze uniformly over a whole pasture—they have areas they prefer to hang out and areas they hang out in less. This creates a broad range of specific levels of pressure that the plant communities face

Grazing animals chop and churn up soil with their hooves. They jostle seeds loose and bury them in mud. They compact some areas of soil but not uniformly.

Grazing animals poop. Ruminants like cattle, bison, goats, and deer use symbiotic bacteria that live in their guts to digest their food. The bacteria break down the plants into nutrients. When the animal defecates, it provides a feast of nutrients and moisture for plants and insects.

Finally, grazing animals are significantly slower and less violent than lawn mowers, and thus less likely to run over critters and shred them to bits.

I doubt it would be possible to comprehensively measure how many insects get shredded to bits by lawn mowers, or what impact this has on the overall population, but running a Creature-Shredding Machine regularly over your entire yard can't be good for them. You're chopping up a lot of caterpillars and other flightless larval forms of bugs, which birds need a LOT of in spring to feed to baby birds, among literally everything else.

Our turf grasses evolved to have large animals munching them down, which is why we have to cut them with machines. However, the machines fail entirely to fulfill their part of the symbiosis.

Most importantly, the machines spew shredded plant material all over the ground, where the mess dries out and essentially does nothing. Lawns are too short to hold in the ground's moisture, and perpetually sun-drenched because of the scalped plant cover. Ruminants chew their cud to help their bacteria break down the incredibly tough plant material into a form that releases the absorbable nutrients. Lawn mowers are not meticulous like that. The shreds take forever to be decomposed—assuming they are decomposed on-site at all instead of being blown or washed away.

The spewing of shredded plant gunk is something that certainly has unique impacts on the plant life. I have particularly noticed that grass clippings get stuck to leaves of nearby plants (often causing them to rot) or even pierce through leaves, injuring or killing the leaf. The death of a single leaf on a single plant is tiny, but tiny stresses like these can determine which plants are capable of thriving in an environment and which die out. A plant might happen to respond badly to frequent micro-injuries.

Here's an interesting fact: There is a highly endangered plant found in Kentucky called running buffalo-clover. Why do you think it is called that?

The running part means it forms long, vine-like stems that sprawl out and run along the ground, growing new roots along their length.

The buffalo part refers to the plant's association with bison. When bison trample on it, they chop the running stems with their sharp hooves. Since the stems are rooted into the ground, they can live on their own without being linked to the main plant, and in this way, the bison are chopping the plants up into more plants!

#random #plants #ecosystems #environment

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nereidprinc3ss · 7 months

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like real people do

in which spencer gets home from a case and fem!reader is feeling extra clingy

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as a girl, non-sexual nudity/intimacy (again....??...), if you have daddy issues you'll prob like it, i should try therapy, technically suggestive, not even one whiff of plot, just cute shit a/n: wrote about a heatwave because winter makes me crave death. kisses!

It was hot in LA, and it’s a different, muggier kind of hot back at Spencer’s apartment when he gets home at four in the morning. The plan is to take a quick shower without waking you and then pass out for ten hours, but as soon as he opens the bedroom door, plans change.

Even the sheer sleep-deprivation he’s experiencing can’t hamper the smile that forms when he sees you face down on the bed, fan on the highest setting and pointed straight at you, and conspicuously lacking a shirt. He drops his bag and folded suit jacket to the floor, trudging to the bed before practically falling upon you, pressing a trail of kisses up your spine.

A little sleepy grumble from you notifies him that his plans of keeping you asleep have failed, but he can’t find it within himself to be too broken up about it.

“Spence!” you murmur, voice so quiet and scratchy with sleep but still drenched in pure adoration and joy.

“Hi, baby,” he says, lifting his weight off of you just enough for you to turn over before he collapses on top of you again. He slips his arms underneath you and around your waist just as you wrap your arms around him.

“You’re home.”

“I am,” he agrees, burying his face in your neck with a sigh. “And I missed you so much, pretty girl.”

He laughs when you kick the blanket away, attempting to wrap your legs around him like a koala bear.

“Did you kiss any movie stars while you were gone?”

“Not a one,” he assures you, pressing his lips to your jaw like an offering.

“Are you sure?”

“I am positively sure. Did you give up on clothing yourself while I was gone?”

“You don’t know how hot it was earlier when I was trying to fall asleep. There was no other option.”

He hums, his face still slotted under your jaw like pieces of a puzzle.

“You should go back to sleep. I’m just going to take a shower and then I’m coming to bed.”

Your hands weaves through his hair gently, which doesn’t make him feel any less like passing out where he is.

“Can I come?”

“To the shower?” He chuckles, rousing slightly. “You’re welcome to, but it’s not going to be very exciting. I’m exhausted.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him. “There will be no funny business whatsoever.”

“Okay. Come on, lovebug.”

He rolls off the bed, pulling you to your feet with just a little bit too much force. The momentum send you stumbling into him, but he catches you gratefully and captures your lips in a sweet kiss.

“Wait,” you order when he tries to pull away. “Not done yet.”

“Oh, you’re not?” He laughs against you between kisses, but slowly the humor fades and he loops his arms around your waist, gently rocking the two of you back and forth for a very long moment. “You are in rare form tonight, sweet girl,” he murmurs, finally pulling away from the kiss for good.

“I’m not all the way awake yet,” you admit. “What’s that called, again?”

“Hypnagogia.” He presses a kiss to your temple, loosening his hold on you. “I am also rapidly losing consciousness so we need to make this shower super quick, okay?”

“I know, I know! I said I would behave!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says dryly, tugging you toward the adjoining bathroom. You pout.

“Your lack of faith in me hurts."

Despite his hesitations, the shower remains PG-13. You cling to him pretty much the entire time like a flowering vine, but no untoward advances are made.

“Okay, you’re going to have to let go of me long enough so I can put some clothing on.”

Spencer says it lightheartedly, but you huff dramatically anyway, sitting on the edge of the bed as he roots through drawers in search of pajamas. When he produces a shirt for himself, your favorite of his, you object.

“Wait, I wanna wear that one.”

“Oh? I thought you don’t do shirts anymore,” he teases, tossing it to you before finding another for himself. You pull it over your head, getting up again to search for a pair of shorts as he gets dressed.

“Well, since you’re so concerned that I’m a sex-crazed harlot, I figure I’d better wear some clothes.”

“I never said that,” he reprimands gently, pulling you backward by your waist. “If you decided to forgo clothing completely, I would respect that decision.”

“You think you’re so funny.”

The two of you land on the bed, a tangle of limbs as he pulls you close as humanly possible.

“I think I’m delirious,” he admits. With a start you realize the room is lit with the very early beginnings of dawn—you don’t even want to know how long he’s been awake. Suddenly you feel very guilty.

“Oh—I’m really sorry for keeping you up, Spence.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m comfortable with my choices.” His hand finds the small of your back, rubbing small comforting circles over the bare skin. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Okay,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Love you.”

“I love you,” Spencer sighs dreamily. “So much.”

And the warmth you feel then has nothing to do with the heatwave.

#if you saw me post this earlier no you didn't #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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jamilynfx · 25 days

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Stuck Again

Summary: You're stuck between your boyfriends in what seems to be the hottest night of the year.

Pairings: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Inspired by this post made by @dorkszn 💖

Warnings: implied sexual content, mentions of stabbing and biting, FLUFF ALL OVER

Part 2

It’s hot.

You don’t mean the usual, July kind of hot in New York when everything seems to melt like a neglected ice-cream cone. You also don’t mean yourself or your companions, even though they have a lot of hot qualities going on.

It’s the place that you’ve found yourself in, or, more accurately, a nest that one of your boyfriends insists on creating each night, no matter the high temperatures outside. With the AC unit barely working and a half-damaged fan, which was almost destroyed on purpose by Logan during one of his daily fights with Wade, tonight’s heat is unbearable.

And it’s not that you don’t like being warm. You’re more of a summer girl, enjoying extreme heat and the sun kissing your skin, your wardrobe full of dresses and skirts to catch a light breeze when outside, always the first one on a lounge chair to sunbathe and bask in the heavenly white heat of long, summer days. Your worst nightmare is deep winter, with agonizingly cold temperatures and activities like ice-skating or building a snowman, hands half-frozen and teeth clattering uncontrollably.

But tonight?

Tonight everything is too much, even for you. The heat is overwhelming and unpleasant, surrounding you from every possible angle.

The fan sounds as if it’s its last night on earth, definitely working overtime and below its paygrade. You can’t see Mary but her light snores fill the room accompanying Logan’s casual growling, deep and insistent in your ear. Wade is silent for once, his breath steadily brushing the skin of your upper arm and neck, the constant sleep talking temporarily simmered down.

It’s your usual sleep arrangement, Logan comfortably situated behind you, your naked back flush with his bare chest, his arms hooped around your belly and mid-section like a vine, his large hands on your waist, leaving you literally no space to move or escape without waking him up. Wade is glued to the front of your body, your legs tangled together like roots of a crazy tree, your head resting on his shoulder with your face hidden in the crook of his neck, and Wade’s other arm slung over you and Logan, to have you both within an arm’s reach.

Logan isn’t a fan of Wade stealing you all for himself, especially if he does it in that obnoxious, you won’t do shit about it, peanut way, which causes low, unamused grumbling on better days and scratching or outright stabbing Wade on not so good ones. It’s more of expressing difficult feelings through violence than real hatred but Logan wouldn’t be caught dead saying out loud that he secretly enjoys when Wade hugs you both the way he’s doing it now.

Sure, there are nights where Wade is the one to squish you from behind like a sponge but, most of the time, he prefers to be in front, chest to chest or tits to tits,if you were to quote the man himself, leaving your behind to Logan’s exclusive use. Too bad Wade ain’t ever really tits to tits, it’s more of his head resting on your shoulder or right between your cleavage, which dangerously overlaps with him drooling all over your breasts every other time. It isn’t that unpleasant but you fake-complain in the mornings when it happens, just to see Wade be slightly embarrassed for once. Your legs always end up entangled, little Mary resting somewhere in between the three of you.

And while having two private heaters is heavenly during the cold, winter months of the year, now it seems to be a not-so-funny joke. Both Wade and Logan love to sleep naked or with just one item of clothing on them, Wade sometimes choosing to sleep only in Logan’s t-shirt. Yes, it doesn’t cover anything, and on days like this you’re grateful that Al is actually blind. Sleeping naked isn’t a downside per se, but now it makes you feel oven-hot, the heat that radiates from everyone suddenly too overwhelming to enjoy it.

To make matters worse, you’re sticky. Sticky with multiple layers of sweat, droplets of it actively trickling down your side and back, your hair plastered all over your neck and forehead making you even hotter, especially with Logan’s beard buried in the crook of your neck. The place where Wade’s arm rests on yours is soaking wet, little beads of sweat running down to drip, drip, drip right onto your hip and sheets. On the top of it all, you’re sticky like that, too, a mixture of bodily fluids splashed all over your thighs, lower belly, and chest, a rather messy testament to your before-bedtime activities, which made you delirious with pleasure and forced you to fall asleep right after Logan’s hushed ‘night, princess.

You’re stuck.

You try to focus on falling back to sleep but it doesn’t work. There’s no way you’re not going to wake up Logan if you start moving but you can’t stay like that, feeling like a lobster being thrown into boiling water. The final straw is Mary, who changes her position mid-sleep and covers your feet with her little body, making your temperature skyrocket.

You grunt, wiggling carefully to free yourself of Logan’s arms. Wade is still asleep when he slightly turns away from you both, leaving you a bit shocked that he dressed into his Hello Kitty boxers for once.

You’re in the middle of sliding down Logan’s chest, his arms level with your tits, when Logan’s hoarse voice makes you stop all your abrupt movements.

“What is it that you’re doing, bub?”

Fuck.

“It’s too hot in here. I need out,” you whisper quickly, your hands coming to rest on his huge arms. You’d think he’d let you go but it’s not that easy. Logan slightly loosens his grip on you, only to slide you back up and hide his face in your sweaty hair. You manage to twist your body towards his face. “I’m serious, Lo. I need a cold shower, right now.”

The urgency in your tone gets his attention. He lets you go with an unhappy growl that makes Mary perk up.

“Want me to go wit’ ya?”

You kiss him on the lips, just a little peck but that seems to do the trick.

“No, I’ll be quick. Sorry about waking you up.”

His only answer is another low growl but the crease between Logan’s brows straightens, then completely disappears, right when you’re kissing Wade’s sweaty forehead.

Your visit to the bathroom is quick but Mary follows you anyway. She sits right in front of the shower curtain, yawning a total of six times before you finish showering. The water is cold on your skin, a bit of a shock after being surrounded with extreme warmth, all stickiness and hotness going down the drain in a matter of minutes. Dry and ready to go, you pick the dog up with one hand, placing her under your left arm.

“Look at you, standing guard and all,” you whisper words of praise as you go back into your small, stuffy room, Mary wagging her tail happily.

Ten minutes are enough for Wade to force himself into Logan’s personal space, now that you’re not their buffer. His hello kitty cladded hips are perfectly aligned with Logan’s naked ones, his hand fondling Logan’s tits, his face halfway in Logan’s hair.

“Come quick, baby girl, and save me,” squeaks Wade when you put Mary down on the edge of the bed. That’s when you see it, Logan’s teeth buried in Wade’s arm, the same one which Wade used to feel Logan up. It’s nothing serious if there’s no blood, so you lie down in between them, forcing Logan to let go of Wade’s flesh.

“Gods’sake, behave, both of you.”

You put your head on Wade’s chest, finding your way back into a comfortable position, Logan’s hands immediately on your hips. Wade makes a big stretch, “accidentally” extending his arm to embrace you both.

“Thought he’d bite it off but I’m safe when you’re here.”

Logan buries his nose in your neck, growling lowly behind your ear, probably something about slicing Wade’s arm off, but it’s too incoherent to know for sure. He doesn’t move away from Wade’s embrace, though, which is enough for you to smile happily, watching as Mary finds her spot in between Logan’s feet.

Stuck again.

Exactly the way it should be.

#deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #poolverine x reader #deadpool x wolverine x reader #deadpool 3 #wade wilson x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wade wilson x you #dorkszn #writing #mine

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blue-devil-of-the-lord · 5 months

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Hey there~ If you are still taking requests for Kurt Wagner imagines/scenarios, can I suggest one with a mutant who has plant powers? Plant manipulation is my go to power. Nothing specific, I just really want more Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler content 😊

Mother Nature

Kurt Wagner x reader Words: 1,6K A/N: Alright, first of my requests is done! I made some kind of mix between headcanons and oneshot because it just fit well in my opinion. Also, the gender wasn't stated so I tried to keep it neutral. Hope you like it :)

Let's start with some basics, shall we? In my opinion, Kurt would adore a partner with plant manipulation powers.

Yes, flying and teleporting are all well and good, but plant manipulation? He's absolutely fascinated and will watch you every time you use your powers. And don't you dare stop him watching...

You are, even if it's not immediately obvious, an incredibly powerful mutant. Control over plants means control over almost everything, trees, flowers, grass, even the earth if you try hard enough (through roots, of course). Kurt is a gentleman, of course, and it doesn't always sit right with him if you want to do certain things on your own that he could help with, but oh boy... If he doesn't get weak in the knees when you go into full mutant mode.

The first time he met you was in the old garden shed, which was pretty run-down. He hadn't really wanted to end up there himself, but in retrospect he is very grateful that he did. The professor had never really had time to look after the garden house, which is why you took on the task. And let me put it this way: the first time he saw your powers? The man was smitten from day one.

Plant nicknames. You won't escape them. Neither in German nor in English. “My flower”, “My lucky clover”, “My rose” but also references, especially to mythological creatures “Little garden fairy”, “Persephone”, .... The full program.

When he gives you plants - which he loves to do - he makes sure that they are planted so that you can enjoy them for a very long time. Kurt brings you plants from different cultures and countries, keen to give you as much diversity as possible. However, if he is forced to give you a bouquet of flowers, that's no problem either. You may prefer living plants, but hey - what can you manipulate plants for if you can't bring them back to life?

One disadvantage of your power is that you don't feel very comfortable in an environment without plants. It's fine in the institute, as it's mostly made of wood (dead, but still plant-based), but Kurt makes sure that there are always at least four living plants in your classroom as well as in his room.

Also loves listening to you. You teach a kind of mixture of theoretical biology and practical manual work in the gardens and there's almost nothing better for him than listening to you talk passionately about the plants. Or kneeling down in the garden bed, your eyes gleaming in the sunlight...

Should you move in together later? Be prepared for this man to go all out and fulfill your every request. Nothing is too good for you. Big garden? No problem. Plants all over the house? Already done. House in the country, surrounded by nothing but nature? Your wish is his command.

You have also quickly become his favorite training partner. And that's not just because Kurt can't keep his eyes and hands (and tail) off his partner. For one thing, it helps him to avoid moving objects, because he has learned the hard way how painful it can be to get an ivy tendril in the face. On the other hand, the two of you are simply perfectly attuned to each other. Kurt teleports a little too far to the left? Don't worry, the branch likes to stretch out a bit to catch him. The vine was a bit too short and not quite enough to catch you? Kurt is there to pick you up with ease. In other words, you don't want to compete against the two of you.

Kurt loves it when you make him flower necklaces or flower crowns. They last forever thanks to your power and as soon as you put them on his head? Don't expect him to take them off any time soon. He wears them with pride.

Kurt has always liked nature as he has traveled a lot in his life, but since he's been with you? He's become a huge fan of garden or nature dates. Whether it's a picnic outdoors, a walk in the woods or an afternoon in the greenhouse, he'll take it all. And if you do some magic with your power? He's in paradise.

Speaking of the greenhouse? Although it was initially your project, over time, especially after the relationship began, it has become your and Kurt's project. He doesn't know much about gardening, but he's willing to learn as long as that means continuing to listen and watch you.

Kurt materialized in the middle of the greenhouse and immediately the scent of the different types of flowers, of which he did not know the names, wafted towards him, but he knew that they made you happy and that was all that mattered to him. His eyes wandered around the open room, looking for you, and he realized again how much you had already done.

Yes, he had helped too, but it was you who had done the main work. Kurt still remembered the dead beds, the dried up earth and the broken sidewalks.

The glass panes were dirty and partly broken and the rain had caused mold to grow on some things. None of the garden utensils, the few that were at least there, were usable and pretty much everyone would have labeled this greenhouse a lost cause.

Not you.

You set to work yourself and improved everything yourself without using much of your powers. Kurt had caught you at the beginning of your project, so he was able to assess the improvement pretty well. You had cleaned and partially replaced the glass of the greenhouse - the latter admittedly with his help, as it was easier for him to reach the panes above - knocked out the path and replaced it with a loose, albeit well-kept, gravel path. The old borders of the beds were torn out and replaced with a large partition to the gravel path, allowing the plants greater freedom to grow.

One day you had grabbed Logan and Scott, Kurt had come along voluntarily, and had taken them to a gardening store to buy the necessary equipment and seeds. Logan and Scott had both grumbled while carrying them, Logan a little more than Scott, but your results were impressive.

Dozens, if not hundreds, of different plant species were growing neatly in every direction and it no longer resembled a greenhouse, but a rainforest that rivaled even the true jungle in diversity. Kurt smiled slightly and ran the tip of his tail over the soft petals of a red hibiscus flower.

You had made it possible for many plants to grow here, even if the conditions were not ideal, but they thrived under your guidance.

However, just as he was about to bend down to smell a new, previously unknown flower, a frustrated groan sounded, which seemed all too familiar. Kurt could already guess where you would be. He disappeared into a dark cloud and emerged not two meters behind you.

For a few moments he gazed at you lovingly as you knelt in front of the lily patch, but he quickly stepped towards you when he realized you were about to snap with anger (last time it had taken a week and a lot of affection from Kurt to remove the rampant thorny vines from the school grounds).

„Liebling," he knelt down next to you and tilted his head. "What's the problem?" You glared angrily at the beds in front of you and began to poke around in them with the shovel. "Snails. Snails are the problem. What's the point of being able to manipulate and grow plants if those blasted bastards eat all my lilies?"

Despite your frustration, Kurt had to smile. "You still haven't given up the fight."

"No," you replied, throwing another slug into the bucket next to you with a disgusted look on your face. "That's my greenhouse. Let them find their own."

Kurt couldn't help but find your behavior endearing and pulled you closer to him, even though you tried to fight it. You might be better with plants, but he was the stronger of the two of you, whether you liked it or not. "My love," he murmured in your ear and you gave up your fight, just snuggled up against him, pouting.

"You can't possibly remove all the slugs, the greenhouse is too big for that. Besides, it's late. Let's go back to the institute. I'll make us some hot chocolate, we'll snuggle up on the sofa and watch that movie you've been wanting to show me for weeks."

You hesitated but his tail wrapped around your middle and the tip slowly traveled up and down your side and Kurt knew he had won.

You groaned in defeat and grabbed the bucket, which you promptly emptied out of one of the windows and closed it. You cast one last angry look at the beds. "You may have won the battle, but I will be the victor of the war."

Kurt laughed softly, wrapping you in his arms again as his tail wrapped boldly around your waist. "You will." With a sweeping motion, he picked you up bridal style and pressed you tightly against him, making you squeal and then laugh. He pressed a soft kiss against your temple.

"Tonight, though, you're mine." You disappeared in a cloud of black and blue mist and let it be said, you didn't think about the creatures that had declared war on you for the rest of the evening.

#kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader #kurt wagner #nightcrawler #xmen #x men #x men comics #x men the animated series #x men 97 #x men evolution #x men x reader #marvel #marvel x readre

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bitchimasnake-sss · 5 months

Note

i love from me to you sm! 😭 like it aimed directly to my heart 😭 you're so good at writing stuff so, here i am asking for a zoro!fic where reader hides that she got wounded during their last battle and zoro founds out and our poor moss head thought reader was gonna die so, he confessed (i just love flustered zoro) 😚 n e ways, continue writing the best stories!! lotsoflove! - glasses of nanamin

i feel like this is your second ask cause of the "n e ways" but lol, eitherways that's such a cute concept!! i would love love love this (i tweaked the prompt a little bit to fit it better, but i hope you like it it still)

got me losin' my cool ft. roronoa zoro!

set-up: as anon asked!! you get hurt during a fight and zoro almost has a mental breakdown haha live, laugh, love <3

warning: a bit of angst, zoro is a dumbass. otherwise, wholesome!

roronoa zoro's feet pound against the earth and he was sure that with every leap he took, his heart sunk further under. his fingers were clammy. so very clammy against your soft skin. and he was sure the sweat dripping off his forehead and dropping onto your bloodied tank top was the last thing you wanted to see before you died.

"zo—" you rasped helplessly and your voice felt like graters against his skin. your chapped lips, almost closed eyes, the wound on your stomach and your week, blood-stained hand on it. he couldn't even bear to look at you without wanting to breakdown.

"stop talkin, please." he clenched his jaw tighter, the sound of teeth against teeth jarring. and although he refused to look down at you, cradled carefully in his arms, he could hear the desperate heaves that rocked your body.

he picked up the pace, ducking under hanging vines and leaping over overgrown roots of ancient trees carefully, so, as to not hurt you. the ship should be two minutes away, docked at the edge of the island and chopper must be there. and chopper would know what to do. how to help you.

zoro had to just deliver you to chopper.

but with his poor geographical skills, he felt like he had been running for the past thirty minutes without finding the ship. and he was certain the ship was docked only 10 minutes away from where the fight was taking place between the strawhat crew and a local pirate crew.

"zoro—" you started again.

why were you speaking? DID YOU WANT TO DIE?

"—don't use up your breath. please." he panted, feet still working to find the ship. where was that goddamn ship?

"that side—" you winced as you pointed your arm in the opposite direction. you coughed, wincing again before whispering, "the sunny."

zoro's head whipped around to look behind him. and at once, he changed the course. running as fast as he could, he soon found himself at the rocky beach the ship had been docked at.

"CHOPPER!" the swordsman bellowed for the mini doctor as he climbed up the ship. the reindeer was peering over the deck and when he looked at your nearly passed-out figure, he yelped in surprise.

"she got stabbed." zoro explained as he carried you inside to chopper's makeshift office/operation theater. laying you down gently, they both looked guilty as you groaned and clutched your own hand on the wound tighter.

"i need to apply some anti-septic, clean the wound and stitch it up." chopper stated, eerily calm in the heat of the moment. "here—" he gave zoro a sterilized cloth from his cupboard, "—apply it to her wound. put pressure on the area, i need to go make the anti-septic really quick."

"you have to make it? how long will that take?" if the swordman wasn't scared out of his wits, he would be surprised at how desperate he sounded.

"five minutes."

zoro looked at the reindeer wide-eyed. but the reindeer ran off, presumably to make the said medicine.

he looked back at you, putting the cloth to the wound and gently pushing down. he knew how to make the bleeding stop, he had done this multiple time. what he hadn't done multiple times was see you so lifeless, so incredibly overtaken by pain.

"hey." he found himself saying softly. softer than he had ever spoken before, "hey, can you look at me? hear me?"

you nodded slowly and relief washed over him. atleast you hadn't lost all cognitive senses.

"just focus on my voice, okay?" he knelt down so that he was on your eye-level from the bed. his other hand gingerly took ahold of yours. mindlessly, he rubbed soothing circles on your skin. he repeated, "just focus on my voice. yeah, close your eyes. i'm here okay?"

you found yourself closing your eyes, relying solely on the darkness of your eyelids and his voice to guide you to safety. his hand felt like a familiar weight against your stomach, the kind of touch that will renew a dead man and get him climbing back from his grave. his voice was sweet, too sweet to be even called his.

"i—" he paused, rubbing your skin with the pad of his thumb, "chopper's gonna fix you up, you know. h-he always does. i mean you're stronger than this. you'd survive, right?"

he's not sure if he meant to ask it as a question. he was sure he had said it to sound reassuring. but somewhere in between him uttering the words and you hearing them, they had turned into a desperate, desolate plea.

your chest fluttered underneath him, your breath strained. the face he adored slowly scrunched up from the pain. and he found himself talking even more.

"focus on me, okay? just me." he steeled his voice. and his nerves. "you'd be okay. you know, you always said you'd make me mochi, you never did. you said you'd make sake flavoured mochi. is that even a thing?" he laughed despite himself. it was barely a laugh. a pitiful scoff maybe? it was not the kind of laugh that would fool you.

"uh— once you get better." he pretended to ignore the way your body seemed to go slack under him. he repeated, "once you get better, i'm gonna convince franky to make us fireworks. you love those. and- and nami. i'd convince that money-hungry witch to lend me some money so that i can take you out. we will go shopping. you always said you—"

why were you so awfully quiet? usually, you'd talk to the point where he wanted to cut his ear off. now, he wanted to her you. he wanted to hear you call him a moss-head like sanji and he wanted you to laugh when he yelled at luffy for doing something stupid. and—

"—hey?" his voice pitched higher, "please wait, chopper will be back yeah?"

but you didn't even shake your head a weak yes. his shaky fingers reached out to look for your pulse on your neck. it was there. feeble, but there. but for how long?

how long till he lost you?

his throat was closing up, he couldn't breathe. his eyes burned and he was sure he was gonna mark your skin with his own from the way he held onto your wrist.

why won't you talk to him? call out his name, god fucking dammit. nobody called his name the way you did. as if you liked the syllables enough to make a home out of them. nobody smiled at him the way you did. so sweet, too sweet for him. you were everything. even though he was just another wrecked, broken boy with dreams too big for his mortal body, you were everything.

"please," he clutched onto you like a maddening bastard, "please. just hold on, okay?"

but bile seemed to crawl farther up his throat every time you didn't respond. not even a slight glance. not even the movement of a pinky. his fingers checked for your pulse. faint, but there.

and he couldn't hold his words back. he called out your name in a desperate effort to awaken you. water blurred his vision and he blinked it away. his throat was scratchy. too scratchy. and where was chopper?

"i love you." he finally confessed, not thinking much of his words than the fact that he just wanted you to hear them. "i love you so much. i have for so long. i-it wasn't supposed to be like this. i- i was gonna take you out to explore some island. i would have bought you food and called you an idiot when you smiled at me. then— then." he paused, "i would have told you i loved you. you would have said nothing back. and i would have loved even despite that."

he called out your name, sobs racking through his body like accursed symphonies.

"move." chopper was back, in his hand was a ceramic bowl with a green, gooey paste. "go out. i'd call you back, okay?"

if chopped noticed the state zoro was in, he simply chose not to dwell on it. and if zoro had any residual doubts for what kind of a doctor chopper was, he didn't dwell on them either. he caressed your hand one last time and stepped out.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

the swordsman had been pacing around the deck. none of the members were back and it gnawed on his heart. what if they were hurt too? should he go back to see? but how could he leave chopper and you alone here? and what kind of a first mate was he if he cannot even save his own crew?

the world's greatest swordman be damned.

chopper stepped out and zoro looked at the doctor, frantic. chopper gave him a sigh and chased it with a smile, "she's okay."

zoro was not sure if it was the exhaustion, or the relief, or some other feeling his gut had concocted in him without asking. but he crashed down on his knees. his palms felt rough against his face and when he inhaled, he could smell dried blood on them.

"hey." chopper trotted towards him, keeping his paw on the green-haired man's shoulders, "she's okay, really. they missed any vital spots and she didn't lose a lot of blood. she will heal, okay?"

zoro couldn't do anything but just nod along. then, when he had the courage to look away from his hands. he looked at the doctor, finally muttering a faint "thank you."

the reindeer blushed at the compliment, "don't thank me. but you know, once she's better, you should tell her how you feel. this time maybe while she's conscious."

"chopper." the swordsman groaned.

the reindeer shrugged mechanically, "i won't tell anyone what i heard if you promise to take her out on that date."

after much deliberation— having to choose between humiliation at the hand of his crewmates when they discovered his crush or the humiliation from his crush when he finally confessed— he finally gave in. after all, humiliation from one was better than humiliation from seven. especially that fucking cook.

"fine." he grumbled, "i'd take her out."

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

it had been two weeks since you were stabbed. well, you didn't talk to anyone about it, really. but when you drifted off into the wicked embrace of sleep, you would be plagued by the memories. and well, a confession.

it's not like you were pretending to be dead!! your body had simply given up. it was exhausted from the fighting and the not-dying. so, when you were laid on chopper's bed to be patched up, your body had gone slack. but just because your body had gone slack doesn't mean you weren't awake.

it had been two weeks and you hadn't told the green-haired asshole what you had heard. why? maybe cause you thought he would make the first move. or maybe because you weren't quite sure if he actually said those things or if you hallucinated it to dilute the pain.

eitherways, seemed like things between you and the mosshead were the same as they were before the incident. and you were really starting to consider the hallucination excuse. but then—

"hey." zoro quipped up as he came to stand beside you. it was cloudy today, the grey skies churning in anticipation of a storm. the winds were unkind and the sea was malevolent. beautiful nonetheless.

"oh hey." you turned and gave him a small smile. you shifted from one feet to another, pretending as if you weren't terrified of the route this conversation might take, "whats up?"

"uh—" he looked back for a spilt-second and you saw— from the corner of your eyes— chopper hidden behind a bunch of boxes, giving zoro his best death glare. zoro sighed, "so, uh, this is random, i think? but when we dock on the next island tomorrow morning. do like... do you want to go see some new sword-cleaning equipment with me?"

you shouldn't have laughed. but you did.

"what's funny?!" his eyes widened and his cheeks were dusted pink.

"no-nothing." you heaved, closing your eyes. "that's the best excuse you could come up with? sword cleaning equipment?"

"what do you mean 'excuse'? i need some equipment!"

"zoro." you forced open your eyes, your smile still frozen over your lips, "if you want to go out on a date with me, you should say that okay?"

his ears went red and he looked away. you were sure if the weather was quiet, you could hear his heart picking up the pace. clearing his throat, he finally asked, "who told you? chopper?"

"no, dummy." you reached your hand out, taking his calloused palm in yours. your thumb rubbed familiar patterns on his hand, "you did."

"me?" he snapped to look back at you, "me?"

you just gave him a grin, "this reminds me, i did promise you i'd try making sake flavoured mochi. i never did. but again, you said you'd ask frankie to make us fireworks and we're still firework-less. but hey, i forgive you if you forgive me okay?"

his head could have burst open from the sheer pressure on his brain but you continued, "but eitherways, what i really mean is that if you said i love you." you stepped a bit closer, "i'd say i love you too."

your hand let go of his and you chose to walk away, leaving him dumbfounded. when his senses came to him, he ran upto you, "YOU HEARD THAT ALL?!"

"all of it."

"ugh."

"heh, it was kinda cute."

"i thought you were dying, woman."

"in a way, we all already are."

"have you been hanging out with robin too much? god, kill me."

"god doesn't need to. you're already dying."

"i want to die faster."

you took his hand back in yours and pulled him towards yourself. pecking his cheek, you said, "no. we still have to go on that date. i mean, if you ever actually ask me."

the flustered mess that was rorononoa zoro just sighed. accepting his fate, he asked, "well, do you wanna go on that date or what?"

you snickered, "i'll think about it"

"do you live to annoy me?"

"maybe. but you love meee."

"i might change my mind after this."

but despite his words, his fingers stayed gently intertwined with yours. hey, maybe getting stabbed in the stomach wasn't all that bad? (jk, it was very very bad)

a/n: i love writing stoic men are flustered little guys lmaoo. hopefully y'all like this? i've been writing a lot of fluff/semi-angst lately. i wanna write some nsfw content but im so out of ideas. send reqs if you guys have anything in mind!!

#one piece #opla #op #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #one piece zoro #zoro fluff #zoro fic #zoro imagine #one piece x reader

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anonymityisfunwriter · 26 days

Text

too sweet

pairing: bucky barnes x reader summary: he knows you're too sweet, but it won't stop him from trying to enter heaven's gate.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | AnonymityisFun’s SongFics Anon's Birthday Celebration

not to be annoying about this, but i am convinced people are not hearing this song. convinced.

like the wedding bells as he rejects you?

he’s literally hearing wedding bells as he says you’re too sweet for him, as he tries to hold you at arms' length.

you’re sweet as a grape, soft as a vine?? if you could sit in a barrel he’ll wait???

he'll wait. he'll wait until he can have you all to himself. because really, at the root of the song... is gluttony.

wanting someone that you know is too sweet for you. wanting them anyway. wanting far more than just your fill. wanting everything and more. the taste of you will never be enough.

pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, sloth.

the seven deadly sins.

and gluttony was always bucky's poison.

down to his core, he was a glutton. a glutton for punishment. a glutton for love. a glutton for you.

he knew it from the moment his eyes feasted upon you, taking you in as the newly minted SHIELD agent. his own personal circle of hell.

he's starving, desperate to put his lips to something. he just knows there would be something so especially gluttonous about wrapping his teeth around you.

he's not sure how long he can wait, but he knows he has no choice but to wait.

his teeth would rot if he allowed himself a taste.

he'd miss the feeling of bitter whiskey sliding down this throat if he allowed himself a taste.

you're simply too sweet. but he's nothing if not a patient man. he'll build the barrel for you to sit in, if you'd like.

after all, even the sweetest grapes eventually turn into wine.

you're so blissfully unaware of it, of his scheming, his puppeteering, pulling your strings from the moment he'd set his sights on you.

that very first night, he invites you - and other agents to avoid suspicion - to drink with him.

you're all so eager for the team's approval. clamoring for a taste of their approval.

and yet, you're the only one brave enough to look him in the eye.

he has to admire your nerve as you, without invitation, slide into the barstool from beside him. "thank you for inviting us. i'm sure you had better things to do than be here with new recruits."

he shifts in his barstool, his eyes gleaming with amusement, "what makes you so sure about that?"

"oh, i just - i guess i just assumed."

he really likes the faint blush of your cheeks in the dim bar light. he's sure in that moment. sure that you're far too good. far too sweet.

and more sure than ever that he'll wait however long it'll take if he can keep you.

"i'll take a whiskey. neat." he juts his chin at you. "you?"

you shake your head, offering a twitch of a smile. "oh, just a water. thanks."

"not much of a drinker?"

"no, not really."

too sweet.

he knows that. he knows he's inhaled too much smoke in his life. even considering dragging you down to the pits of his hell has to be blasphemy. he knows it all.

and yet, he can see it.

he can see you waking by his side, dark as a lake.

he can hear it, the wedding bells clanging through his bones like a death knell.

he can taste your lips, sweet as ambrosia.

he may not be a virtuous man, but patience he would have. for you. he'll kneel and worship at your altar for the rest of his life if you'll let him enter heaven's gate.

and like any good man, he bides his time. sitting and waiting. you're an early riser. you're up before he's even hit his bed for the night.

the smell of a dark roast wafts through the air of the compound kitchen when he pads through on his way to bed.

he sees you standing at island, offering a gentle wave of your fingers, "hey, sarge. i didn't take you for an early bird."

he grunts, the corner of his mouth twitching up, "'m not. still haven't gone to bed."

"you haven't gone to bed," your eyes widen slightly like you can't believe it. "it's five in the morning."

he cocks an eyebrow at you, "then what are you doin' up?"

the smile that forms on your face is far too bright for him this early in the morning. "i like to watch the sunrise."

bucky snorts. "of course you do."

he wants to tell you, to show you. you can watch the sunrise with him. you keep him company in the noon of night and sleep just as the sun hits the horizon.

he wants to show you the other side of life. don't you know that the moon shines just as bright as the sun? no. you have no idea, but you'll get there eventually.

he just has to wait...

a few months later...

"bucky! bucky!" you crouch down before him, looking panicked. he's not the only injured, not even the most severely injured in your field of view. and yet, here you are, on your knees, lavishing him with your attention. "are you okay?"

he waves you off, doing his best to play the part of the noble, self sacrificing hero, all while he relishes in your attention. "i'm fine."

"you could've been killed."

was it true? sure. was it likely? no.

he looks up at you. he knows his face is littered with bruises and scrapes of all shapes and sizes. "at least the job got done."

"you have to be more careful, bucky. you're not expendable."

this time, his smile is genuine. he doesn't think he's ever head you call him that. bucky. he likes how it falls from your lips.

his eyes flash over to you, his ocean blue eyes swimming with mischief, "well, who wants to live forever, doll?"

you suck in a shaky breath. there's a part of you that he knows wants to bridge the gap between the two of you.

he can see it. your edges fraying. he swears he can see you stepping out of the barrel of your own making. he can smell your liquor soaked bones.

there's a part of you, that wants to join bucky in his gluttony. but not quite yet. not while you're still bright as the morning, soft as the rain. just a little longer. he could practically hear the gates creaking open for him.

it doesn't take much. not with the temptation bucky so dutifully lays before you. he's not sure what it was. the constant torment of unending missions. the fact that he could see your willpower slipping every time he got too close.

it was almost like a switch flipped.

no, you were no longer as bright as the morning sky, but shimmering like the night sky.

and beautiful just the same.

he watches as you stare at the counter of the bar from that very first night. it's like you know he's near. your eyes lift, finding his.

you look at him, then at the bartender.

without ever breaking eye contact, you mutter a drink to the bartender. "i'll take a whiskey. neat."

a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, he nods at the bartender, then turns to you. "i'll have the same."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityisFun’s SongFics

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes @beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064 @michealharrypotter @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @withyoutilltheendoftheline @the-photo-hoe @rae-nna @sarachabeans1@double-shot-of-tequila @spookyparadisesheep @lunaalovesyouu @daisy-loves-bucky@roseproseposts @theoraekenslover@king814318 @maybesomedaytho @carlie-babes99 @sunshinechikin @as-white-as-snow-love @melala1030 @badasswlthafatass @armystay89 @multiversefanfics @cherrysscinema @breathlesspieceofdeath @ravenn-darkholme @bxckybxrnes24 @guiltyasreid @bellabarnes1378 @blithecapricorn @mrsnikstan

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 8 months

Text

The Three Bear Hybrids

Summary: You find yourself lost in the woods at night but luckily there’s a cozy cabin you can take a rest in! Sure hope there aren’t any lustful bear hybrids who own this cabin….

Warnings: Reader has a Vagina (no pronouns or tits mentioned), Smut, Breeding Kink, Spit Kink (Kinda? Lots of slobber), Reader really just broke into these men’s house, Dub-con (reader is described as having a hazy mind at times, implied like pheromone shit or something)

Pairings: Bear Hybrids!Ghost, Price, and Gaz x Reader

A/N: Any spelling mistakes you see are between me and the Devil so if you see them then shhhhhh

It was a bit cliche to say that it was a dark and stormy night, but you couldn’t find better words to describe it. The sky pitch black, sparkling stars and the bright full moon covered by thick black storm clouds, a deep cold settling into your bones. And you were caught right in the middle of the woods, lost in the forest while out picking mushrooms for tomorrow’s breakfast. You cursed yourself under your breath, worried eyes looking up towards the clouds just as a few droplets started to fall down on you from the heavens. With no other choice, you resigned to find your way home in the morning, wrapping your cloak around your body tightly to fend off the chill and the rain, a new haste in your steps as you trudged through the forest, almost tripping over roots and rocks that you could not see without the guidance of the moon’s light or your lantern that you had stupidly left at home, thinking that you would not be long. Nothing to help you find an alcove of thick brush trees or an abandoned cave to protect yourself against the coming storm.

Nothing save for a faint glow in the distance, a beacon calling out to you in the night. And like a moth to a flame, you followed it. Relief filling your weary bones when you set eyes upon a large cabin nestled cozily in the forest. A bit tattered on the outside, lacking any love. No pretty decorations or painted walls. Vines and moss growing up the sides, the door left cracked open and seeming to be broken off of its hinges, but set firmly in the place it should be to keep the inside warm. Carefully, you approached. Moving the door was a bit of a struggle but you managed it, and you were able to slip inside before placing it back in the frame, looking around at the interior of the cabin when you were sure the door wouldn’t fall on your head the second you turned your back to it.

The inside of the cabin was just as sparse as the outside. Everything made of plain wood, crudely made, everything seeming to be made just for its purpose with no care of how it looked. The table in the living room was crooked, the couch propped up by thick books instead of proper legs. The kitchen bare save for a single freezer box, packed full of meat and varying sizes of jars filled with jellies, jams, and fruit. The glow that called to you earlier revealed to be a small candle left burning in the windowsill, which you grabbed and used to light your way in the plain cabin. Not that there seemed to be much to see in the first place. The only thing of real note being that everything seemed to be made for giants, all the furniture almost comically big. But nothing was as big as the beds. Three plush mattresses in an almost perfect row, just a few inches from each other in the same room. Curiously, you ran your hand over the one in the left corner. Stiff as a rock, and you wondered who could sleep on something so hard. The next bed was softer. Too soft in fact. When you laid your hand on it, it felt like it was just a pile of blankets instead of a mattress. Certainly cozier then the first, but you doubted such a mattress was good for someone’s back. Oh but the third bed!

The third bed was just right.

The perfect mix of soft and firm, still warm with the heat of whoever had last slept on it. And when you couldn’t help but lean in closer, there was a soft alluring musk that waived off of the sheets. It lulled you, made your head fuzzy and stupid. You couldn’t stop yourself from curling up into the bed, that scent embracing you like a long gone lover as you wrap your cloak tighter around yourself just to stave off the slight nip in the air. Just a short nap, you promised yourself. The owners of this cabin surely wouldn’t even notice you were there. You’d be long gone by the time they came back.

The assurances you told yourself were enough to ease you into fully closing your eyes, a sigh of contentment slipping from your parted lips just as the rain outside started pouring down, covering up the sound of heavy footsteps crunching cobblestone beneath their weight.

You awoke to the sound of voices. Your mind still hazy with sleep, cocooned in that nice comfy feeling of warmth and safety and laziness. The kind of feeling you never wanted to wash away just because of how good it made you feel. But the feeling never lasted, and it started to drip away from you like ice melting in the spring sun.

“But they’re sleeping in your bed, Price!” A voice hissed softly, like they were trying to keep themselves quiet. Were they trying not to wake you? It seemed like an odd thing to do when whoever it was was clearly panicked.

“I can see that, Gaz.” A rougher voice said in return, a deep sigh following the statement, and you felt the hair resting on your cheek be shifted away. Still sleep dumb, you could only sigh and snuggle further into the large warm pillows beneath your head, almost missing the amused chuckle sounding from above you. And then suddenly your whole body was being moved, the bed shifting beneath the weight of another person as they pulled themselves onto the mattress with you, tucking themselves up against you. It was what finally drained the last of your sleepiness away, and you tried to shoot up in the bed in your panic.

Tried being the key word here.

An arm, thick and muscular, shot up at the same time you did, wrapping around your chest and yanking you back down, pulling you chest to chest with an older looking man, his blue eyes sparkling beneath the faint rays of the rising sun shining in through the window at your back. They looked like the sea, bright and mysterious, beautiful. You felt like you could drown in them, like they’d pull you under their waves and fill your lungs with that blue til you couldn’t breathe. Unbidden, you felt heat rise up in your cheeks as those blue eyes narrowed at you, clearly not impressed with your pathetic escape attempt.

“Easy, Honey.” That gruff voice, hoarse and rough but almost melodic to your ears, said, a hand running down your back at the exact same time, pulling you even closer somehow. Not giving you the room to run away or fight him off. “We’re not gonna hurt ya, Honey. It’s okay, just calm down.”

Surprisingly, his words did wonders to ease your nerves, your flailing turning to light shaking as he kept looking into your eyes. But your own look beyond him, at the two men standing just at the edge of the bed. One tall, taller than the man holding you, scars criss crossing all over his face, brown eyes looking almost like warm honey in the light. But, seemingly a bit unnerved by your looking, he turned his face away. Looking down at the man beside him. Shorter than the other two but his smile seemed to fill the room, warmer than the sun, eyes a darker brown. Like the wood of a great oak tree, strong and steadfast, but glinting with boyish mischief.

And it was just about then that you noticed something….peculiar about the three men. Namely the round fluffy ears that sat atop their heads, twitching at every sound in the room. And if you looked closely, you were sure that you could see a small fluffy tail twitching excitedly behind the shortest man, and the sound of one lazily thumping against the bed coming from the man holding you. More than a bit confused, you opened your mouth to question them, but the scarred man beat you to the punch.

“What are you doing in our cabin?” He asked, his tone defensive, full of bite, like the dog of your neighbor who so fiercely defended his properly. It made fear peak up again, but it didn’t escalate into full blown panic as the man holding you started to rub his nose against your neck, sniffing you like some forest beast. The heat in your cheeks only intensified, especially when he let out some pleased sound that rumbled deep in his chest.

“I…..got lost. In the forest.” You tell him, biting back a sharp gasp as the man licks a long trail from your neck up to your ear, nosing against it before nipping your lobe. It should have unnerved you, frightened you, but it only made a warmth pool in your cheeks and belly. For some inexplicable reason, you enjoyed it. And so did the man, if the rapidly hardening bump against your thigh was any indication.

“And you decided that breaking into our cabin was the best course of action?” He asked with a quirked brow, disbelief in his eyes. But he seemed nervous, twitching just like the man beside him, both of them seeming almost possessed. Licking their lips and sniffing the air like their was something delicious cooking in the other room.

“I-It was the only shelter I could find.” You tell him, eyes going a bit hazy as the man holding you suddenly shifts, laying you flat on your back and hunching over you, growling as he works to untie the tight strings of your cloak before angrily ripping at it when it would not bend to his will. You wanted to be angry, but find that you couldn’t summon the will to tell him off when he just dived for the open skin of your collarbones, sucking and licking with a fervent need.

“And sleeping in our beds, that was also for shelter?” The scarred man huffed, his tone softer now, thick with something heated and warm as the shortest man stepped closer, starting to undo the laces of your shirt, delving beneath the loosened fabric to stroke eager fingers over your pebbled nipples. You shuddered, head tilting back with a soft whimper as he leans in, whispering against your ear, breathe heating up your skin.

“My name is Gaz.” He says, and you immediately stored that information away, moaning out the name softly when he pinched one of your nipples before lazily rolling it between his fingers. “And this one, the one sucking on you like some cub? That’s Price. And the big fucker behind me is Ghost. He’s a bit shy though, Love. Needs a bit more incentive to come closer. Why don’t we get you undressed and show him what he’s missing out on?” Gaz suggested, and you couldn’t help but nod, your fate sealed as he ripped your shirt clean off your skin, Price already working on your pants, yanking open your legs and letting the sweet honey scent of you fill the air, all their eyes going hazy, all thought washing away from them as they all tried to lunge for your wet core, growling and huffing at each other, tongues darting out for a taste and getting angrier and angrier when they kept accidentally licking at each other in their eagerness.

But you? You were drenched in bliss, the feeling of three tongues fighting between your legs, thighs forced open wide to accommodate them all, hearing them growl like wild animals just for a single lick of you. It was incredibly arousing and the mewl you let out when one of their noses bumped against your clit was loud, all eyes snapping up to your face. Lust all over their faces, mad with it, hungry beasts who wanted nothing more than to tear you apart on their mouths and cocks.

Eventually, after several minutes of the battle for your cunt, Price was the one who growled at the other two to get back, loud and ferocious. Gaz backed away with little resistance but Ghost growled right back, reaching out to grab at your hips and try to drag you closer. That was, until Price gripped the scruff of his neck and practically ripped him away from you, the bigger man going limp before finally backing away with a soft grumbling noise.

Price then turned to you, a happy gleam in his eyes as he leaned down between your thighs again, tongue slower then before, like he was trying to savor a delicacy as he licked a long stripe from ass to clit, his groan reverberating through your lower half in a way that made a tingle go through your belly. And then he was all wild animal again, starved for your pussy as he lapped and succked and nibbled, his nose grinding against your clit and his beard leaving raw scratches along your inner thighs that you knew would be tender for days to come. But in this intense you couldn’t care less, throwing your head back with a loud moan, clamping your legs shut around his head, feet resting between his shoulder blades. It did little to deter him, only seemed to encourage him in fact, and he dug his fingertips into the undersides of your thighs, not letting you open or close them any further, practically suffocating him in your pussy. Just as Gaz was taking to sucking at your nipples like a welp, soft moaning sounds made against your flesh, his eyes closed whenever he pulled back to switch his affections to the other pert bud, licking and kissing along the expanse of your chest, leaving little untouched by his sinfully talented mouth.

And Ghost. Oh Ghost was just enjoying the show, his eyes wide as they roamed over your body and the two men worshipping it, his hand beneath his pants, stroking slowly to the sight of you getting tongue fucked by Price. It wasn’t til you reached a hand out to him that he approached, leaning down to sniff at your wrist a little before licking it, laughing under his breath when you jolted, his free hand coming up to hold your palm against his cheek as he continued to jerk himself off, eyes locked onto yours, his orgasm hitting him at almost the exact time yours hit you, almost twin like soft noises falling from both of your mouths as he leaned in to kiss you, all tongue and teeth, saliva dripping down your cheeks as he bit your lips and licked alonhg the inside of your cheeks. It was the best kiss you’d ever had, and you didn’t want it to end, whining with disappointment when he pulled back to allow you to breathe. But you just grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him back down and forcing your mouth against his, pleased with the rumbling groan he let out in response. It was heavenly, he was heavenly, they all were. You’d never felt such pleasure in your life. The haze over your mind making thoughts sink far out of your reach, like a stone in water. The wave of heat over your body like a comforting childhood blanket. And you were sure nothing would ever feel better than this.

But you were quickly proven wrong when Price shifted between your legs, sitting up straight over you as he shifted down your pants, yanking your lower half closer to him so he could run his cock through your warm wet folds, tapping the large mushroom head against your clit almost playfully before sliding in with one firm thrust that had you crying out with pain tinged pleasure. But they held you through it, all of them. Ghost’s big palms on your cheeks, Gaz’s holding your hands, and Price’s squeezing your hips. Oh and it felt like coming home when Price was rooted inside you to the base, tip so close to brushing against your cervix that it made you want to scream. It burned, in both good and bad ways, but thankfully he gave you time to adjust. Letting his boys shower you with affectionate kisses for a few moments before he gave a slow experimental thrust.

Instantly, pleasure shot up through you like a bolt of lighting and you jolted beneath them, keening and wiggling, much to their amusement. But it was all that Price needed to know, setting a steady pace that battered at your slick walls pleasurably, stretching you out in a way you were sure that you would never fully recover from, sure to gape from the width of him when he would pull out, an ever present reminder of him. The thought made you clench and he snarled, fighting against the resistance your walls gave him, struggling to pull and push when you were clamping down on him so tight. He clicked his tongue, hand reaching down to rub rough circles on your stiff clit, more force behind his thrusts now, unwilling to be deterred by your body’s tightness.

“Gonna breed you.” Price huffed, voice thick, sticking like honey in his throat, like it was hard for him to speak. “All of us are gonna breed you full, Honey. Give you a few cute little cubs to take care of come spring. Maybe get lucky and have one from each of us. That sound good to you, Honey? Can’t wait to see you with a cub on your hip, feeding another one in your arms. Never gonna stop giving you little babies to take care of. You’re ours now. Swell like ours. Sweet little mate, we’ll take care of you.” He promises, his words sending molten lava through your veins, only able to stare up at him as he tilted his head back and growled. Not like the playful and commanding ones he used just previously, but something animalistic, inhuman. Terrifying and arousing at the same time. Ghost and Gaz pulled back just enough to make similar sounds, something in them becoming even wilder at the sound, diving back into you like you were a buffet, slobbering all over your body as they left no inch of you kisses and suckled at, pawing at you and humping your sides to relieve their aching cocks, tension building and building and building.

Until it snapped along with that knot in your belly, your orgasm washing over you as your sight becomes overtaken by a sheen of white, back arching to the heavens as you cry out, the sound copied by the man above you, his own pleasure shown in the ropes of thick white sperm that he sprayed inside you, hips nestling against yours, unwilling to let even a drop spill free as the two other bear hybrids already begin to bicker amongst themselves as to who would get the next turn with you. But all you could focus on was the ceiling, wondering what on God’s green earth you’d gotten yourself into now.

#fairy tale au #cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #John price #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader

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tuktukpodfics · 1 year

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Thinking about how underrated the Foggy Swamp Tribe was in Avatar.

In the show they’re mostly played for laughs. They don’t wear pants, they have thick accents, they don’t seem to know much about the Northern and Southern Water Tribes. But they're a lot wiser than they're given credit for. Not to mention they're big dang heroes.

The Banyan-grove tree

Philosophically, the swamp is fascinating. Their home is centered around a banyan-grove tree, a cross between a mangrove and a banyan—two trees symbolizing life and death.

Mangrove trees are the nurseries of the ocean. Sea life migrates to mangrove forests to lay eggs in the protection of their murky root systems. Bato may look down on the swamp people and make a snide comment about them not wearing pants, but the swamp people are the stewards of ocean life.

Banyan trees are trees of death. The banyan is a parasitic plant that grows by latching onto another host plant, eventually choking the host to death. Banyan figs are also pollinated through death. Wasps crawl into the immature fig, lay their eggs, and die inside it.

So this tree needs death in order to live. And it can’t provide shelter and food for animals without the death of other animals. You can see how this cycle of life and death is reflected in their worldview—which is completely ride or die.

Everything is connected.

The first thing they do once the gaang stops attacking them is call them kin. They bring them home and treat them like family. And I think the swamp people really do see them that way.

They could have comfortably sat out the war. They didn’t. The war might not have affected them personally, but they still felt responsibility to help.

Death is an illusion.

They’re not even scared on the Day of Black Sun. They don’t seem afraid of death at all. They keep cat-gators as pets! For fun! Katara and Sokka are distraught by the visions of dead loved ones they see in the swamp gas. The swamp people live in the swamp gas all the time. Death is all around and they do. not. care. In fact, they embrace it, treat it like a normal, necessary part of life.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to the swamp people after the Day of Black Sun. They surrendered along with the other adults, buying the children time to flee. The swamp people have their own section in the crowd at Zuko’s coronation, so presumably they were released. But released from where? Were they locked in a prison for water benders like the horrific one Hama was imprisoned in? What happened to them in Legend of Korra when Kuvira harvested the banyan-grove’s vines? Where was their kin when they needed help?

#P.S. Fun Fact: Tho is the only person outside the gaang who correctly identifies Momo’s species (lemur)#Everyone else calls Momo a monkey #Tho calls Momo a leemoo #...which is played for comedy because of his accent #foggy swamp tribe #atla #avatar the last airbender

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tgirltorment · 1 year

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You're a student of mystical flora, a field researcher. For so long, dryads remained a mystery for you and your colleagues for the apparent reason that no one who strayed into their territory ever came back. For such seemingly gentle creatures, the idea of killing trespassers seemed preposterous. So then what was happening?

That's what you intended to find out. Now you're deep into their forest, the canopy choking away all sunlight, the way forward lit only by glowing mosses and fireflies. You have no way of knowing when you've crossed into their official territory, and you have no idea what might happen to you when you do. But you have to see for yourself.

Colorful flowers hung from vines and clung to the bark of age-old trees. You hadn't recognized them. Could they be a new species? What properties might they have, dwelling in these magical woods? Curiosity, ever your weakness, drove you to get closer. You didn't dare pluck one, instead squatting down to one at the roots of an oak. You pulled out your journal and pencil to make a quick sketch. You needed a closer look...

When you bent down to examine in closer, you noticed a sweet, enticing scent. You came even closer, your nose just barely brushing one of the scarlet petals. But it was enough. At the touch, the flower spewed a delicious gas, intoxicating in its sweetness. You immediately felt dizzy, sort of fuzzy, as if your thoughts were being muffled. You quickly stood, stumbling. You felt so hot. You felt like you were burning.

You staggered onwards, the gasses supressing any sense of alarm you should have reasonably felt. The heat grew. God, it was hot. You quickly tore off your shirt, already gleaming with sweat. You started to feel tingly as well, your cock instantly hard and throbbing. You dropped your journal somewhere back. You barely cared at all.

Only a few steps forward and the sensations grew, hotter, hornier. You were becoming incredibly sensitive, nearly falling over from the feeling of the tip of your dick rubbing against your leg. You couldn't walk like this. Frantically, you unbuckled your belt and removed your pants, shoes, and socks. The ground was soft and comforting beneath your feet, but you still couldn't move without folding in half. You took off your underwear too, not caring about your nakedness in the slightest.

You struggled to remember what you were doing. Everything felt so fuzzy and quiet. "Forward," you remembered. "I need to move forward." So why were you sitting on the forest floor and stroking yourself? You shook yourself off and continued.

The fireflies danced around your head. So pretty. You wanted to just sit and watch them all day long. But you had a mission. Forward. So you walked, nearly tripping on your own feet, hands occasionally straying to your cock before you catch yourself.

You couldn't tell if you walked a thousand steps or a dozen, but you caught a glimpse of movement behind the trees. Humanoid figures, green skin bare. "Dryads," you remembered, struggling through the haze. "I wanted to see them." So you approached, entranced by the dancing figures. They saw you, eventually, blowing you kisses and beckoning you forward.

You were so close to them when something snaked around your ankle, something smooth and wet. You looked down to see vines slithering across the forest floor grasping your legs. A small part of you knew you should be alarmed. The rest could only think about the dryads in the distance, smiling and dancing in the darkness.

The vines roped around your arms now, squeezing your torso as they pulled your legs apart. You were suspended off of the ground, gazing up at the dark canopy. The dryads appeared above you, running their hands along your body. One leaned down for a kiss, the same mind-numbing smell from the flower on their breath. One of the tendrils around your thigh, slick and slimy, began to slide into your asshole, making you whimper in excitement. The dryads chuckled. The tendril pushed deeper, rubbing against your prostate, pulsing inside you. It felt so good. You wanted to beg for more, but when the dryad's tongue left your mouth it was immediately replaced by another vine, snaking down your throat. It tasted delicious. You discovered that when you sucked on it, it released more intoxicating slime, and soon you were sucking desperately.

You felt one of the dryads mouth wrap around your throbbing cock, their tongue playing with the head. Vines wrapped tighter around your body, choking your neck, pounding your ass, filling your mouth with addictive slime. Fireflies danced above head. Such pretty fireflies. You came just as a flower was placed over your nose. You breathed deeply, savoring the pleasure for one heavenly second before passing out.

You awoke in a moss-lit grove to the sounds of moaning. Vines bound you to a tree, deep in your throat and ass. You saw others in similar situations, bound, pounded, and desperately whining around the vines in their mouths. A few had dryads kneeling before them, feeding on their semen. Your cock hurt so bad watching this, and you wanted to cum so badly, but each time you approached the edge, the pounding stopped, leaving you squirming and moaning. Soon, though, you saw a dryad kneel before you, felt their mouth around your aching dick, and came harder than you ever have before.

No one who entered that grove ever left, and you spent the rest of your days tied to that tree, food for the ravenous nymphs.

#monster fucker #monster smut #sub reader #corruption kink

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a-deep-ocean-of-secrets · 3 months

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Home Is Where I Want to Be (But I Guess I'm Already There)

Summary:

The thing is, Buck didn't mean to move in with Tommy.

Read below or on AO3 (3.8k words)

The thing is, Buck didn't mean to move in with Tommy.

Those first few giddy weeks and months (like bubbly champagne buzzing through his veins every time he saw Tommy’s smile, kissed Tommy’s full lips, found himself tangled in Tommy’s bed sheets) of staying over in his boyfriend's cozy, Venice bungalow have him living almost exclusively out of his trusty duffle bag. Which isn't a big deal. He's used to lugging that ratty thing back and forth from the firehouse to his apartment.

Can it be annoying sometimes? Sure. His clothes are constantly wrinkled (which majorly sucks when he's trying to dress to impress on date nights) and he's always forgetting or running out of one toiletry or another. If it’s not his deodorant then it’s his mouthwash. If it’s not his aftershave then it’s his moisturizer. Minor inconveniences, really, but worth it every time to wake up in Tommy's king-sized bed with Tommy's strong arms wrapped around him and Tommy's hot breath on the back of his neck.

It doesn't take long for that to change. Like a seed beginning to take root, Tommy, as he’s done since the very beginning, makes room for Buck in his life. Just as he opened his helicopter to Buck and his friends and flew them headfirst into a raging hurricane on nothing more than an outlandish hunch. The same way he took time out of his busy schedule to grant Buck a private tour of Harbor Station and answered all his jumbled questions as Buck nipped at his heels like an overeager golden retriever, tail wagging a mile a minute, wanting nothing more than to be closerclosercloser to the cool guy with a megawatt grin, who called him ‘Evan’ and had his heart skipping a beat even if he couldn’t identify the why of it all at the time.

So it’s not a surprise at all when he carves out precious space in his closet and lets Buck's colorful and patterned button-ups and polos blend in with Tommy's neutral henleys and shackets. They’re two big guys with a penchant for working out, so their wide array of tank tops, sweatpants, and basketball shorts become indistinguishable from each other. Their LAFD-issued shirts are so interwoven that they've given up trying to tell them apart and frequently go to work wearing the other's name branded on their backs, much to their coworkers’ loud and endless amusement.

Buck’s grapefruit shampoo and citrus body wash relocate to the shower niche alongside Tommy's own sandalwood and frankincense-scented products. On the vanity, Buck's red toothbrush is a companion to Tommy's green one.

All these minute modifications to Tommy’s home are simple and understandable ripple effects of Buck regularly spending a few nights a week there.

The offshoots of that single seed deepen into winding vines without Buck even noticing.

First, it's Buck's lucky set of boxing gloves hanging innocently alongside Tommy's Muay Thai gear in the garage. After a frustrating and tedious shift, he enjoys nothing more than a few vigorous rounds with Tommy’s punching bag. Then, Buck's large and varied assortment of books (ranging from biographies on famous figures such as Marie Curie to The Book of 10,000 Incredible Facts to the new YA fantasy series that is all the rage among Christopher and his friends) slowly but steadily find a home among Tommy's WWI & II aviation history collection on the shelves of the reclaimed redwood bookcase Tommy crafted by hand.

His favorite cast iron skillet and Instant Pot take up permanent residence in Tommy's kitchen, alongside his garlic press and waffle maker. His 'Buck Off' coffee mug (a gag gift from the 118) is always ready to go for lavender and daffodil-colored mornings spent on Tommy's front porch overlooking the canal as kayaks and paddle boards drift by in the early morning light. The sinfully soft, ocean blue afghan Carla knitted for him during the pandemic is draped over the back of Tommy's unfairly comfortable sectional. Christopher’s US History textbook is lying open on the coffee table, left behind after a pizza and study session. The newest season of The Bachelor (the combined forces of Maddie, Chimney, and Josh got him hooked. What can he say? He loves love.) is TiVoed on Tommy's flatscreen TV. His Jeep has its own designated spot next to Tommy's ’71 Bronco.

The roots of their budding relationship grow deeper and extend farther than the eye can see.

Buck's most cherished brand of coffee is readily available in the kitchen cabinets. His all-time favorite blend just so happens to be named The Beast. A fun fact that never fails to stop him from leering at Tommy and waggling his eyebrows every time he brews a cup. His favorite cereal is stocked in the cupboards and his favorite yogurt is in the fridge. The same fridge that is currently plastered with Jee-Yun's vibrant crayon drawings alongside pictures of Tommy’s nieces and nephews in Chicago. A true collage of sparkly princesses and menacing dragons beside Polaroids of beaming faces on the sandy shore of Lake Michigan and sitting in the stands of Wrigley Field with messy hotdogs and giant foam fingers.

Even food Tommy turns his perfect, aquiline nose up to but Buck loves (like quinoa and chirimoya) are now staples in his pantry. His most treasured cookbook, battered with stained, dog-eared pages with the margins filled in with his own corrections in his scratchy scrawl, holds a place of honor on Tommy's countertop on a wooden stand Tommy scrounged up at the local flea market.

He has to rack his brain to remember the last time he spent a night at the loft. The last time he had been there, to pick up some clothes from his rapidly depleting wardrobe, it had looked even emptier and barer than usual with hardly any food in the fridge, the bed sheets stale and unloved, and a thin layer of dust on his kitchen island. The industrial, modern space had felt cold and clinical and nothing like a living, breathing home.

It lacked the wooden floors Tommy had spent weeks refinishing as he lovingly sought out the perfect stain. It lacked the extra-long, extra-wide hammock hanging off Tommy’s back patio where Buck delighted in taking the occasional catnap on sunny afternoons. The loft hadn't inspired even a fraction of the warmth that Tommy's home did every time he walked through the door with the key Tommy had given him three months in, dangling from a helicopter keychain that made him grin like a dope whenever he pulled it free from his pocket.

Buck doesn't realize any of these very important and essential truths until one morning when he nearly trips over his running shoe that was lying discarded by the front door. At the sound of his clumsy stumble, Baron, Tommy's five-year-old Shepkita ("That's not a word, Evan. He's an Akita Shepherd.”), raises his head from where he's lounging on his overstuffed dog bed, exhausted from their early morning run at the beach.

At the sight of Buck being Buck, Baron lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and puts his head back down to resume his beauty sleep. Kicking the offending sneaker out of the way, Buck stops dead center in the living room, hands on his hips and wearing Tommy’s faded USC sweater that’s been worn soft from years of washings and smells tantalizingly of Tommy’s laundry detergent, and can't help but survey the terrain and take stock of how much of himself is residing in Tommy's space. He's visible in every nook and cranny.

He has completely, and totally, infiltrated Tommy's home.

The thought instantly fills him with indescribable joy that blossoms like radiant sunflowers inside his chest. For all of ten seconds. He then remembers the last time he unknowingly moved in with someone and the heartbreaking consequences of it.

Abby.

She had been so terribly sad and broken in the wake of her mother's death. It had been as easy as breathing for Buck to step up, to prove himself, to try and do everything in his power to fix her with his love and devotion. So he stayed with her day and night, and his things had steadily trickled into her apartment. It had been easier back then to do, he had had so little to his name other than the Jeep and his clothes. And he can't lie, it was a relief to get out of that glorified frat house filled with Connor and the others.

It had seemed natural to move in with Abby (even if she had been unaware of it). He thought they were building something special together, something made to last. He hadn't known at the time that while he saw a new beginning, she saw entrapment. For her, she would be trading one role of caretaker for another. Going from a sick mother to a young punk (at 26, he had still been a kid) who was stumbling like a newborn giraffe through his first serious relationship. Had she stayed, there would have been so much handholding on her part as he continued to figure out all the volatile nuances of life and commitment. And that hadn't been fair of him to ask that of her when she was so vulnerable, he understands that now with valuable time and distance. She had been so lost that the only thing she could do to find herself again was travel halfway across the world and leave him behind in the process.

He had lived (however briefly) with Abby. He was living with Tommy, even if he hadn't clocked it until just now.

And he wants it, he realizes with a jolt not unlike the bolt of lightning that had struck him. He wants to live with Tommy. He wants to wake up with him every morning and come home to him every night (demanding schedules permitting, of course). He wants their high-energy workout sessions that always turn into a different kind of workout and their sunset strolls through the canals with an enthusiastic Baron (complete with goofy selfies in front of David Hasselhoff’s house from Baywatch). He wants their weekends at the Venice Farmers' Market. He wants their monthly meetings of the LGBTIQA+ book club that Hen and Karen started and that Tommy and Buck have hosted twice now inside this very house.

He wants Tommy. Plain and simple. He always wants Tommy. Tommy, who has the world’s worst fake mouth static, but jokingly brags all the same about winning a medal for it. Tommy, who acts big and tough on the job and up in the air, but he never fails to shed a tear whenever they watch the climax of a romantic comedy. Tommy, who always has a heating pad and massage waiting on standby for rainy days when the pain in Buck’s bum leg flares up like relentless flames.

Tommy, who has no idea that they're living together.

An icy sliver of fear sluices down his back at the terrifying thought that once Tommy learns they're essentially playing house with each other he might turn tail and run away, just like Abby did. Or, perhaps, even worse, he won't run, but he won't want Buck here anymore either. He can already see it in crystal clear HD: Tommy's handsome face shuttering to stone as it does when he's uncomfortable but doesn’t want to show it. His blue eyes darting away and his lips thinning into a brittle line as he tells Buck that this is all moving far too fast, that maybe they should take a step back and put some space between them, and then Buck will be banished back to his sad, pathetic loft that doesn't have Tommy waiting for him in it.

He cuts the catastrophizing off at the knees before it can spiral into something far more treacherous. Tommy, for all his flaws — he drinks orange juice straight from the carton like a Neanderthal and he doggedly believes that his directions are better than the GPS ("I spend most of my time in the air, Evan. I know all the shortcuts throughout Los Angeles County.") — isn't the kind of man who runs away from a fight when the going gets tough. He's the kind of man who digs his heels in and comes out swinging the next round. And he's been nothing but kind to Buck the entire time they've known each other. He enforces tough love when he deems fit, but it always comes from a place of kindness and gentleness.

They love each other. And they live together. It's time Tommy knows it.

So, screwing his courage to the sticking place (Jee-Yun loves Beauty and the Beast), Buck shuffles his way into the kitchen where his boyfriend is manning the stove and making their breakfast. In the oven, a frittata bakes away in Buck’s cast iron skillet and on the stovetop, turkey bacon sizzles as it fries. Tommy, hair curly and wet from his earlier shower, flips crispy pieces while humming along to The National playing softly in the background on the radio.

God, Buck adores this man with everything in him.

Tommy catches him out of the corner of his eye hovering there like a massive dweeb and flashes a dazzling smile his way.

“Hey, babe. What was that noise I heard?”

He can feel an embarrassed blush rapidly bloom across his cheeks until his face is as pink and splotchy as his birthmark. “Oh. That was just me. I, uh, tripped over my running shoe,” he lamely explains.

“They can be quite the menace,” Tommy says with his usual brand of wry humor. He chuckles quietly to himself as he turns his attention back to the mouthwatering bacon. For a tempting moment, Buck just wants to forget the stunning revelation he’s had and instead stay in this blissful, domestic bubble that seems to exist whenever the two of them are alone together. It doesn’t matter where they are or what they’re doing, there’s just an undeniable ease to the two of them existing in the same space, breathing the same air, hearts beating in tandem.

But, alas, he’s a man on a mission.

Reaching up and rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, Buck thinks through his options. He’s come to learn, through many a messy trial and error, that honestly truly is the best policy. The last time he had so thoroughly ignored the elephant in the room was when he had asked Taylor to move in with him for all the wrong reasons.

That had been a train wreck of epic proportions, even for him. He had well and truly bucked that situation up beyond repair.

But that was then and this was now. And the only things Tommy and Taylor had in common were their initials and their partiality to cruising around LA in helicopters. His feelings for them were night and day as well. He had loved Taylor, but by the exhausting end of their relationship, he hadn’t genuinely liked her anymore as a person. They were too different, their morals too misaligned to exist harmoniously together. It isn’t like that with Tommy. He both loves and likes practically everything about his fellow firefighter, even the traits and bad habits that annoy the ever-living shit out of him.

“So, hey, I, uh, kinda just realized something…pretty important.”

Smooth start. And to think, before he met Tommy he had honestly had game. But something about the self-assured pilot, from the moment they met on the tarmac at Harbor and he introduced himself as Evan instead of his standard Buck, had him tripping over his tongue in both the best and worst ways. His foot-in-mouth syndrome had ruined their first date and nearly all chances he had had with Tommy, but it was that same unfiltered nature of his that had Tommy granting him another shot and scoring him as his plus one to Maddie and Chimney’s wedding that never was.

Which reminds him: he owes Tommy a dance. He files that tidbit into his mental to-do list for another day.

Tommy looks at him with a quizzical raise of his brow as he lazily twirls the spatula in his hand. “What? Found some more facts about that jellyfish? What’s it called? The spotted—“

“Chriodectes maculatus,” Buck corrects automatically. “Or more commonly known as the spotted box jellyfish. Only the rarest jellyfish in the world, I might add.”

The corner of Tommy’s lush lips curl up into a fond half-smile. “Yeah, that’s the one. I thought you exhausted all knowledge on it last night when we watched that documentary.”

“In the words of Chinese philosopher Zhuang Zhou, ‘Life is finite, while knowledge is infinite.’ So, no, I’ll never know enough about jellyfish, rare or otherwise, to exhaust myself, Thomas.”

Tommy mouths ‘Thomas’ to himself and looks to be gearing up a quippy retort of his own when Buck realizes with tightening dread that he’s on the road to derailing this potentially monumental conversation with talk of jellyfish, of all things. Honestly, he can’t even believe himself half the time.

Time to pivot.

“Forget about the jellyfish. They’re not important right now.”

Swiveling his broad-shouldered body, Tommy gives him his full attention as his eagle-eyed gaze slowly sweeps over the entirety of Buck’s 6’2” frame. Buck, for his part, staunchly fights the urge to fidget as he knows it would give him away in an instant. There’s something almost surgical in the way that Tommy, without ever saying a word, can expertly peel back all the layers of bone and marrow of Buck’s psyche down to his bleeding center where his festering insecurities and crippling self-doubt reside.

If it were anyone else it’d feel violently invasive. But Tommy has only ever treated these undesirable parts of him with the tenderest of care, delicately stitching up invisible wounds Buck hadn’t even known existed until the moment Tommy kissed him in his kitchen and completely shook the bedrock of all his pre-conceived notions about himself.

“Sounds serious,” he says after a moment of contemplative silence. The only sound in the kitchen is the hiss of the bacon roasting away on the stove. Through the window over the sink, a beam of sunlight shines in and bathes Tommy in its golden rays.

Buck heavily exhales a breath out between his teeth. “It is. Or, it could be. Maybe. It really depends on how you look at it, I guess.”

“Look at what?” Tommy asks, even-keeled as ever. It’d be infuriating if it wasn’t such a damn turn-on.

It’s now or never.

“Look at the fact that… We kinda, almost…sorta, seem to be living with each other?”

Tommy freezes to the spot, his eyes going wide as he blinks, coming off as a perturbed owl for a moment before he schools his features back into his usual calm facade. He looks back down at the bacon and quickly flips some pieces before they can turn into a charred mess of meat.

Composure regained, he asks, “Was that a question or a statement?”

He’s always lightning-quick to toss the proverbial ball back into Buck’s court. Always willing to let him take the lead in their relationship and set the parameters and boundaries. Without fail, where Buck goes Tommy follows. It had been a sweet relief in the early days of their relationship when Buck was stumbling around blind, but nine months in and Buck needs Tommy on equal footing with him. It’s the only way forward.

“It’s, uh, a statement.” Damn. That didn’t sound convincing at all. Closing his eyes and centering himself the way Dr. Copeland taught him, he slowly takes a deep breath, and then another, and then one more for good measure, opens his eyes, and looks Tommy square in the eye. “It’s a statement. We’re, for all intents and purposes, living together. And I want, no, I need to know what you think about…that.”

Tommy’s gaze slides away and catches sight of Buck’s mug already topped off with his second cup of coffee for the day as swirling mist rises off of it. He sees Buck’s LAFD hoodie hanging off the back of one of the stools situated at the island. He spots Jee-Yun’s drawings on the fridge, giving the stainless steel appliance so much color and joy. He spies the Fokker Dr. I triplane chew toy Buck specialty ordered for Baron lying on the floor near the dining table.

Tommy’s home hasn’t just been Tommy’s home in quite some time.

He spots every single change that Buck has brought into his house with his very presence, and he gathers them to him like they’re the most precious of jewels. He turns to Buck and smiles at him.

It nearly stops Buck’s heart for a moment.

He loves all of Tommy’s smiles. He loves his smirk when he’s said something particularly snarky or deadpan. He loves the closed-mouth grin he does when Buck is batting his eyes and pouting and Tommy is steadfastly pretending he isn’t endeared by the silliness. He loves the smug curve of his lips when Tommy moves just right inside of him, hitting that elusive, perfect spot that has him seeing stars and clutching Tommy tighter to him until he can’t tell one limb from another.

But this, this is his favorite Tommy smile by a far-flung mile.

It is simply radiant. His smile is wide and open, with his straight, white teeth brilliantly on display. It stretches broadly across his rugged face, exposing his deep-set dimples on either side of his ample mouth. His nose adorably scrunches and his eyes are squinty with unbridled happiness. At the corners of his eyes, his crow’s feet spread like tiny estuaries spooling into the grooves of his tan skin.

He looks boyish and carefree. And so very in love.

All because of Buck. He was the cause of such boundless euphoria. No one has ever loved him the way Tommy unashamedly does.

“What I think is,” Tommy says clearly and concisely, “I think we should make it official. What do you say, Evan? Will you move in with me?”

Buck feels like he was socked in the gut, but only in the very best of ways. His breath is stolen from his body and he doesn’t even know if his feet are still on the ground or if he’s simply floated away with how incandescently lighthearted he feels at this very moment.

“Y-You really mean that? You want to live together?”

It never hurts to double-check. He does that every time with his faithful clipboard. It is truly the only way to be efficient.

Tommy’s smile only widens further. “Evan. You’re my favorite person in the world. Of course, I want to live with you.”

The sunflowers inside Buck’s chest come to full bloom.

He and Tommy live together.

#911 abc #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #tevan #kinley #buck x tommy #fanfic #i know it's wildly impossible for a firefighter to be able to afford to live in venice ca #just let me have my fantasy #i've been watching baywatch and i like the vibes of venice #so tommy gets to live right on the canals and he's a fan of the art scene there #let's also pretend that the s3 tsunami wouldn't have also totally destroyed venice and tommy's house #and yes #he did name his dog for the red baron #he's a history nerd (I'm a history nerd)#sue him (sue me)#hope everyone enjoys this little fic

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stevebabey · 1 year

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surrounded by your embrace

summary: when you get drunk at a party, old memories make steve worry. he really doesn't need to because all alcohol does is make you clingy. gn!reader but mentioned to wear sum eyeshadow, no warnings u and steve are just absolute goobers for each other :D wc: 2k

He goes to the bathroom for five minutes.

Five minutes and you manage to make yourself scarce. The corner you had been previously inhabiting, slurping the lip of your red solo cup while talking to some friends, is completely void of you when Steve finds his way back to it.

Your friends are still there, leaned against the wall and chattering amongst themselves. Steve clears his throat to gain their attention.

"Did you see...?" He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, asking if they'd noticed where you might've wandered off to. You've had quite a few drinks tonight already and Steve's not surprised if it means you've forgotten you're the only one he knows at this party. These are your friends, not his.

One of them points towards the kitchen and he mutters a quiet thank-you, beginning to wind his way through the people to reach the kitchen.

A fraction of unease prickles at the back of his neck. Last time he was a party and his partner ambled off, full of alcohol, it had left a couple memories that cut deep. Steve hasn't ever admitted it aloud to anyone the seeds that Nancy had sowed that night, the little insecurities that had never bothered Steve in the slightest suddenly sprouting up overnight.

Worst is, he can't make himself forget that night. He remembers the spill of red punch on her white shirt vividly. Remembers the sting behind his eyes. Remembers how later on she'd come back in the middle of everything with Jonathan by her side and Steve had just... known.

But you're not Nancy and he knows that. He knows that this is a different party, you're a different person, it's a whole different relationship—

Yet, those insecurities have rooted deep and Steve can feel them shifting painfully inside him as his worries get away from him. Like vines wrapping tight around his ribcage the longer it takes to find you.

You're aren't by the drink station on the kitchen bench and looking out at the sea of people in the living room, you aren't there either. Steve pulls his collar away from his neck, feeling the prickle roll down his skin again. You've gone, something in his head whispers meanly, You've left him and found someone else at this party. Someone without his baggage, someone without his neediness, someone—

Steve scrubs a hand down his face and shoves away his ugly thoughts. None of them are fair to you — you who has been nothing but impossibly and endlessly sweet on him in the one month you and Steve have been dating. He inhales sharply to clear his head and scans the crowd again. Nothing.

Just as he's turning to go bug your friends again, he spots movement out the corner on his eye, someone shuffling about the walk-in pantry. Steve walks closer and peers in. It's you.

Delight and relief bloom together in his chest and he rounds the corner with a shaky smile, leaning up against the door frame. "There you are."

You turn with a little hiccup, clearly startled.

Steve adores how the recognition on your face melts into excitement, steamrolling his anxieties in an instant, and you drop whatever is in your hands and leap for your boyfriend.

"Steve!"

"That's me," He says with a smile, arms opening for you to burrow yourself in. You do so, arms twisting around his middle and face smushing against his chest and he welcomes the warmth of you in his arms. He expects you to move after a minute but you stay put, pressed right up against him, hold only tightening.

"I couldn't find you." You whine.

"You were looking for me in the pantry?"

"Nooooo," The drinks you've had have turned your usual drama up to 11. You dig your face out of his chest and rest your chin against it instead, forcing Steve to look directly down to meet your eyes. "S'just went to get water from th' kitchen 'n' then I saw they have a box of Fruit Roll-Ups."

You say this all as if it's incredibly self-explanatory why you're in the pantry while you're also looking for your boyfriend. Steve looks over your head and spies the spilled box on the ground you were holding just a few moment prior. Lo and behold, half a dozen Fruit Roll-Ups are scattered on the ground.

"Fruit Roll-Ups, Steve." You whisper with more emphasis.

He laughs a little, looking back down at you and thinking how pretty you look tonight. There's this blue crystal-coloured eyeshadow lightly smudged across your eyelids and it glitters beneath the low hanging bulb of the pantry.

"Well, I'm sure you can have one." He nods to gesture behind you. "Melanie won't mind, you're her friend."

Melanie, the party's host, had been tucked up and fast asleep in her bed with a big red bucket by her side when he had opened her door trying to find the bathroom. Steve definitely thinks she won't mind letting you gorge yourself of a single Fruit Roll-Up. Or a couple. Whatever, he won't tell on you.

"You think?"

Steve rubs your back lightly and goads you back towards the snack you're clearly hungry for. Your hands slide out of the hug reluctantly but the moment you turn, you're scuttling over to the treats. Steve chuckles watching you plop yourself down, sitting down on the cold tiles. You're in shorts. Steve can see your goosebumps from here.

He takes a few steps and crouches down, taking a seat next to you, leaning his back up against a beam. You're trying to tear into one of the packets but the moment Steve's back in your view, you're pouting and holding it out to him.

Steve pretends to scoff, taking the packet and opening it easily, but really, he loves that you ask him to do those things. Loves doing little things for you. He offers it back to you and you pluck it from his hands with glee.

He assumes you'll sink your teeth into it but you stare at it for a moment before you surprise him, crawling forward and all bout clambering into his lap.

It's rather inelegant, your drunkenness not helping and you push the heel of your hand just two inches from where it would really hurt, making Steve wince in anticipation. He holds his hands up and out of the way and lets you settle yourself.

A quiet revelation makes something in his chest glows hotly. You're always affectionate, always want to be touching him, but this is another level for you — there's a shyness around PDA that you usually carry that seems to have been shed tonight. Anyone could peer in the pantry and see you curled up in his arms and lap and you seem too enamoured with him to even care.

Steve grins and chides himself for ever being worried earlier.

"Hi." You say, finally situated comfortably. Steve's not sure it is comfortable, sitting sideways in his lap with one leg twisted nearly underneath you and one out in front, sorta curled in, but you seem content enough. He places one hand on the small of your back, the other holding just above your knee.

"Hi there. Comfy now?"

"Very. Can you pass me my roll-up please?"

You've dropped it in your wriggle to get closer to him and its rolled nearly under the shelf Steve's leaning up besides. He leans over and retrieves it, thanks God for the wrapper, and produces it for you.

"A gift." He says, drinking in how your face washes over with delight. With the lights haloing behind your head, your hair frizzy from dancing earlier, he thinks you look like an angel.

"That's right!" You take it from him and pull it close to your chest, attention back on him. "I wanted to give you a kiss, to say thank you."

Steve feels his heart flutter, a stutter in the beats at the utter tenderness of your words. He squeezes your knee and turns his face, holding out his cheek.

"Well, go on then."

You giggle and it's the most dreamy honeyed noise Steve's ever heard. You lean in and plant a big wet kiss on his cheek with a happy hum, pulling back with a mwah!

"Thank you for the kiss, sweetheart." He rubs the hand on your back lightly and you soften at his words completely, pure giddiness running rampant across your features.

Steve soaks it all in, unsure of the last time he knew someone who gave him love so freely. You seem to have endless amounts of it for him. You don't even mind when he's greedy with you.

You finally peel back the wrapper of the Fruit Roll-Up and gobble a bit of it down. You chew and swallow and lean all your weight against him, your shoulder pressing into his. You're close, a couple more inches and the tip of his nose would brush yours. A bashful expression flits across your features.

"I like when you call me sweetheart."

"You do?"

You nod enthusiastically.

"That's good," Steve says, fondness coating each word. " 'Cos I like calling you sweetheart, sweetheart."

It's so cheesy that Steve thinks you shouldn't laugh, but you do because you're wonderful. He grins, his fingers on your knee tightening slightly as you look over him, your eyes crinkled up by your grin. The alcohol makes you brash enough to stare and you look at his face intently for a moment before you huff.

“God!” You drop your head back with a dramatic sigh and sink your teeth into your bottom lip to try contain your giddy grin. It doesn’t work in the slightest. “That look.”

"What? What look?”

You tip your head back up and Steve can read the shyness on your expression, pulling at your eyebrows.

“You know,” You say, a little embarrassed, which is even more adorable on you while drunk. You're flustered over your words, like you know you wouldn't normally have said them if you were sober. “You just get this look sometimes, when you’re looking at me—”

Steve frowns for a moment, minuscule, as he thinks of what face you might be referring to.

“—and your eyes get all intense and- ugh! It still makes nervous when you do it.” You’ve drop your head again, forward this time, to hide your face in his shoulder. You pat your tummy theatrically and then clutch it, voice lowering to a whisper in his ear. “These butterflies are your doing, Harrington.”

Steve laughs, entirely too pleased with himself —he still makes you nervous. Ditto, he thinks. “Is that so?”

"Mmhm." You hum and Steve feels you place a soft kiss on one of the moles on his neck. His breath catches and his heart flip-flops. You wiggle a bit but it's just to try get closer to him, your nose nuzzling against his neck. A tired sigh escapes you.

"You tired? Wanna go home?" He asks.

You nod sluggishly but make no attempt to move. Steve chuckles lightly, his hand still soothing up and down your back gently, not helping in the least he knows. Still, he can't help himself; he wants to ply you with love, with comfort, if he can. You sigh happily.

"N' a minute." You mumble. Your words are slurring the more tired you get. "Just wanna be at a party with my super hot and amazing boyfriend for one more minute. S'okay?"

Steve's heart crumples and he can feel his entire body curl up, his legs sliding up an inch, his hands tensing, all involuntarily reactions to try bring you in closer to him. There is an ache in his very core but it's a lovely ache. Steve feels a burn behind his eyes. He blinks and presses a long kiss to your hairline.

"Yeah, sweetheart," He murmurs into your hair. "That's more than okay with me."

#title from halo by beyonce ! bcos i literally have. had on it repeat #plus the line in there about halos is indeed a ref to that <3 #why did i bust this out in one night. who am i #this is unedited so like if theres a mistake just like take me out the back and shoot me dead #ruby writes steve #steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #annnnnd uuuuuh post :D

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tomicscomics · 5 months

Text

04/26/2024

It's a metaphor!

What's a meta for?

Nothin! What's a meta for you!

*wheezes for six minutes straight without taking a breath*

___

JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. In this Bible story, Jesus describes Himself as a vine (like a grapevine), and His disciples as its branches. Branches can only bear fruit while connected to the main vine. If their connection is severed or tainted, they wither and die, and then they're pruned, suitable only for being tossed in a fire. Jesus is warning His disciples that their mission's fruitfulness depends on their continued, dedicated, healthy connection with Him and His Father. 2. In this cartoon, after hearing Jesus's metaphor, Peter declares that he and the other apostles (the "branches" in Jesus's metaphor) will "stick" with the vine. A "stick" is a long, thin piece of wood (like a branch), but "stick" can also mean "stay connected to." This is an inferior pun, because while the word "stick" has the two above meanings, only one of those meanings makes grammatical sense in Peter's comment (the latter). 3. Jesus replies that the vine (Him, in the metaphor) will be "rooting" for them. "Rooting" can either mean "laying down roots" (as in a tree growing its roots into the ground), or "cheering on" (like an audience cheering for a sports team). This is a superior pun to Peter's, because both meanings make grammatical sense in Jesus's comment. His declaration can be taken to mean either (1) that, as the vine, He'll provide the apostles with roots to nourish their fruitfulness, or (2) that, as their teacher, friend, and Lord, He'll be cheering them on and supporting them in their mission.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is another "Tomics Resurrection," where I have plucked the desiccated husk of an old cartoon from the withered branch of the past, and gorged it with so many steroids and hormones that it blasphemes nature but looks way more colorful! Also, it's been slightly reworded to flow better while maintaining the meaning of the passage; the disciples have been moved inside to the Last Supper, since this reading takes place either during or just after; and the image of the grapevine is in the second panel now, including a lush branch and a withered branch to illustrate what Jesus is saying. Tell me, how does it compare?

#catholic #christian #jesus #comic #cartoon #catholic memes #jesus memes #christian memes #tomics #bible #peter #st peter #apostles #vine #branches #metaphor #whats a meta for #nothin whats a meta for you

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lanafofana · 4 months

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The Faithwarden & The Archdruid

Day THREEEEEE of HalsinTavWeek is upon us, fam! Pairing: Halsin/Tav(F) Summary: When she is away, Tav wonders if Halsin misses her as much as she misses him. Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI Warnings/Tag: Voyeurism, Mutual Masturbation, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Post Epilogue No Beta We Die Like Yonas (RIP Yonas) And an AO3 link! For all who celebrate.

If Tav had had any idea of the kind of commitment involved with holding the title of Faithwarden, she might have just killed Khaga in cold blood where she stood. The woman had certainly made it tempting enough without the added threat of being named the equivalent of a druidic mediator, judge, and oracle.

When she said as much to Halsin the former archdruid had only given her the proudest, softest expression and assured her that she was the only druid he had ever met who was well suited to the task. Which might have just been, possibly, the least helpful thing he could have said.

The summons came from all over Faerûn and took her away from home from anywhere between a tenday to months on end. Settling disputes between groves, ousting unworthy leadership, and using her ironclad grasp of Silvanus’ teachings to guide, illuminate, and teach his servants.

Highest honor this. Under the eye of Silvanus himself that. It was godsdamned exhausting, is what it was.

Every time her duties kept her away from home for longer than a few days her skin itched to return. To ensconce herself in their house amongst the trees, rousing from her meditation and rolling on top of her lover, listening to the chatter of nature while she walked barefoot through the forest born anew. These were the things that tugged at her mind most when found herself many miles from home.

Frustratingly, Halsin did not seem to miss her quite as much as she did him. When she returned he greeted her warmly enough, an enthusiastic participant in their lovemaking always, but a part of Tav wondered if she was the only one left pining during their separations.

If she was gone longer than a ten day they would exchange letters or messages through nature, sometimes managing to speak through their meditations though that was rarer. He shared news of the happenings from home, asked after her welfare, and sometimes included messages from the children under their care. All very sweet but the few times she tried to broach the subject in her letters, how she missed him and yearned for his touch, he either said something clinically empathetic about duty or, worse, didn’t address it at all.

The lack of reciprocation of her desires began to chip away at her confidence in their bond. She began to wonder if maybe she was being selfish trying to bring it up all the time. Perhaps he considered the lust she felt in his absence a youthful fault of her own and nothing to do with him at all.

When she takes her leave one day she mentions while he walks with her to the boundary of their home, that if it looks like she may need to stay longer she will send a letter before the tenday is out. He smiles and nods but tells her she need not trouble herself on his account and kisses her softly on the forehead.

Walking away from him, her steps feel heavy, and the words chase themselves in circles in her mind. Hurt blooms like a wicked vine, crawling through her mind with cruel barbs that whisper silky lies that taste like truths. Keeping in contact over long distances is not necessary. If someone should miss her, they surely know how to reach her. He may as well have told her not to come home at all.

It all boiled down to the same thing. My love does not equal your love. Once she had the thought she found it had taken root and would not be burned away. She heard it as she walked, as she lay staring at the stars, and in her troubled meditations that shattered under the weight of it. It took very little imagination to begin to hear them repeat in her mind with his voice. The journey is long and difficult but with dark thoughts dogging her heels she pushes herself as far and as fast as she is able. The grove is surprised to see her arrive so early but readily enfold her to the circle and the reasons they called for assistance.

Two days, one set of bruised knuckles, and a sternly worded letter to an archdruid in Amn later Tav leaves the grove in an even fouler mood than she went in.

“Please, Faithwarden, at least stay another day. Your journey here was most perilous and long, you should take a day and refresh yourself.”

Tav tries to put her best face forward, she really does, but it is extremely difficult after her altercation with the grove’s resident healer left her in such a seething rage the First Druid had been forced to physically hold her back from beating the woman to death. When she whirls on the young novice he flinches back and Tav feels the sharp words turn to ash on her tongue.

She can’t do anything to rid her face of the stern expression that has decided to live there but she does try to curb her tone at the very least. She assures the poor man she was well rested enough thank you very much but must be on her way to her next destination.

The problem was, Tav had no idea where that destination was. Should she go home? Or would it be so terrible to wander for a bit, away from where she was clearly not as wanted as she supposed. Almost as soon as the thought occurs to her she decides no. She has a stack of letters to work through, almost half of them undoubtedly more summons for her aid.

Standing in the middle of a dusty, overgrown road she sighs. The tangle of hurt and anger giving way to sudden weariness. Was this to be her doom? Always wandering, always aiding, and never finding a notch to catch her heel and making her stop and rest. To sooth her loneliness with the fleeting, loveless passion between strangers who desire her body or her position. It turns her stomach. Inside her chest her heart feels splintered with cracks. One more blow and she will crumble.

When she is close to Thaniel’s realm she hesitates crossing the border right away. She decides that the temporary succor of reuniting with her lover, for once, does not outweigh the turmoil inflicted by the detachment of his farewell. It hasn’t even been a full ten-day anyway, so no one will be looking for her return. She can steal in through the window in her raven form, collect her stack of correspondence, and be gone again without anyone the wiser.

The sky is dark and silent when she begins her mission. A new moon offers plenty of cover to flit through the dark shadows on her way to the house nestled deep in the center of Thaniel’s realm. Spying an open window she flits though and perches on a chair, cocking her head and getting a read on her surroundings. The house is quiet though; the children are all nestled tight in their beds and the druid is nowhere to be seen.

She wonders at that for a moment, it’s unlike him to leave the children unattended overnight. Though, she concedes, he does like to wander the border in wildshape when he feels like thinking in solitude. She brushes the thought away and sheds her birdform to creep on soundless steps through the dark home.

The letters are not in the study where she expected them to be. The desk is tidy, just how Halsin prefers, but the slot where she usually keeps her stack is empty. She rifles through the drawers but they’re simply not there at all. Huffing an irritated sigh she spends a few extra moments poking around the rest of the room but there’s nothing.

He’s already preparing for you to leave permanently, whispers the acrid voice from before. That makes Tav stop her tracks, her heart and stomach and throat twisting so much she has to put her fist against her chest to assure herself she hasn’t been impaled by an arrow. The cracks within, quiver in expectation but she’s here on a mission, not to feel sorry for herself. She ruthlessly shoves the thought and the accompanying lance of pain from her mind.

The kitchen is likewise tidy, and the living area where Tav is most guilty of leaving her things strewn around, “like a magpie’s nest,” Halsin had oft remarked. The words had seemed teasingly affectionate then but now, wandering the spotless house, Tav isn’t sure.

There’s only one place left to check but at this point Tav wonders if she mightn’t just leave after all. It seems unlikely the druid would move her things there, where they had no proper place like the desk. But there is a dreadful anticipation buzzing under her skin and she realizes she can’t not look, can’t leave without seeing for herself if she has been erased from even that space. If he has packed away the odds and ends, removed the evidence of her existence. If he had truly cut her out of his life so thoroughly.

Her hand on the doorknob, heart in her throat, Tav braces herself. When the door swings open on silent hinges, revealing their bedroom just as she remembered it before she left she lets out a sigh that feels less like relief than she thought it would. Stepping in and shutting the door behind her, her keen eyes can see little that has moved or changed in the few days she’s been gone.

Her robe is missing from the place it usually hangs but that’s not unusual. The children were very fond of donning it for their make believe games of wizards and sorcerers. The little vanity table the druid had carved for her is littered with her trinkets and keepsakes, untouched. She spins slowly, correspondence forgotten for the moment while she looks for something. Anything to either untether the ache in her chest or banish it for good. But there’s nothing. The room is unremarkable, ordinary in every way.

She pokes around a bit and finds her stack of letters in the drawer of her vanity. She gives the room another cursory glance but pauses when she hears a gasp. She freezes, wondering if one of the kids had a nightmare and has found her in their search for comfort but the door is shut. The room still.

Curious, she moves as silent as a shadow towards the alcove where the bed is tucked away from sight by a large screen she brought with her from one of her travels. A very dim light comes into view, a guttering candle more ember than wick left. The view that unfolds beyond the screen however, steals her breath away.

Halsin is naked on their bed, eyes shut tight, with one hand holding her robe to his face while the other works a fierce pace along his erection. His hand rolls over the leaking head, once, twice, smearing the leaking precum from the tip before returning to pumping his thick length. His head drops back on the pillow, his mouth dropping open as he pants, his face a rictus in concentration. He breathes in sharply, another gasp he can’t hold back while he pleasures himself, lost in his fantasy, with her robe acting as the anchor.

She feels…giddy. The sight before her would in any other circumstance be enough to have her naked within moments and joining him but the evidence of his clear desire for her, his desperate gasps and near silent wails are the result of his desperate want of her and she…she can’t look away. Her blood runs hot but she’s frozen.

On the bed Halsin whines, teeth clenching, hips flexing as he tries to fuck his own hand. His heavy breathing is broken by a soft murmur, a whispered litany of words she can barely make out except for one.

“Tav.”

The hand holding her robe clenches and he takes a deep breath through his nose, taking in her scent from the fabric and when his eyes slit open Tav feels her own breath shudder out of her. It’s hot, suddenly too hot. His expression betrays surprise, confusion but when his hand stops moving on his cock Tav’s mouth is moving before her brain can catch up.

“Don’t stop,” she commands with a voice that sounds stronger than she feels. Inside she feels brittle and if he pushes the issue she would crumple immediately but he doesn’t. He nods, chest heaving, and his hand resumes its ministrations, his nearly black eyes on hers further driving her wild with desire.

Not even sure what she’s doing anymore Tav sheds her clothes and positions herself at the foot of the bed. A possession has come upon her, moving her limbs for her while her brain is far away. Abandoning his grip on her robe he uses his other hand to squeeze his balls, his breath hitching and in response she feels herself suck in a breath sharply. When he growls, stare heavy on her, she licks her lips and drags the hot skin of her palm across her nipples, her stomach, before finally dipping between the lips of her sex, seeking the bundle of nerves that throbs for attention.

“Tav,” he utters, breathing thready and she sways.

She drinks up the sight of him; squirming, needy, and skin flushed with arousal. The precum welling up from his tip looks like beads of pearls before he swipes it away to join the wet slick slide of his grip pumping his sex. When his hips start to jut into his hand again her hips jerk to echo it, her fingers swirling around her clit increasing their pace to keep rhythm with his movements.

The silent room has become a chorus of their echoing gasps, groans, and stilted breathing. The lewd wet sound as they masturbate to each other’s pleasure is obscene and Tav nearly comes apart with the force of how much she likes it. She watches with intense hunger, the flex of each muscle as he unravels under her gaze.

“I’m–! “ He breaks off, throwing his head back, the corded muscles of his neck taunt, the column of his throat damp with sweat.

“Y-yes!” It’s all she can manage to choke out before she’s lost to the sensation of her toes curling, jaw clenching.

They orgasm together, the sight of his seed spurting across his hand, his stomach, his chest has her moaning and grinding her finger into her clint until she exhales an aching, guttural sob, vision exploding with stars.

She crashes to her knees on the mattress, throwing out a hand to catch herself from falling face first into the blanket while she blinks away the haze of her orgasm. There’s movement and before she’s fully inhabiting her body again his mouth is on hers, his hands pulling her into his embrace. They’re both sticky and sweaty, but it feels like coming home after being away for a decade and she throws her arms around his neck and plunges her tongue into his mouth.

Breaking apart, still catching their breath they sit entwined, foreheads together while they come back to their senses.

When she finally meets his gaze it’s to find it already on her, soft and warm. The ache in her chest cracks wide open and she bursts into tears.

“My love?” Halsin’s voice is the comforting rumble of a summer thunderstorm and it only makes the tears flow more insistently.

“I–I thought...” The words die in her throat. It’s stupid, it’s ludicrous. How could she ever have even dreamed this sweet man would do the things she had supposed. What foolishness had bewitched her? How did she let her mind come to those awful conclusions? She doesn’t have an answer and speaking the words out loud feels fraught with peril.

Halsin doesn’t press her but cradles her head against his chest, running a hand down her back in a soothing gesture that only makes the tangled mess of her emotions a stronger torrent of tears. He rocks her, humming something slow and soft. He kisses the fevered skin of her forehead, clutching her body to his tightly, securely, until at last she feels her last sob give way to hitching sighs.

“I think…I think I’ve been incredibly foolish,” she admits, pulling away to look at him with bloodshot eyes and a snotty nose.

Halsin takes that in but instead of interrogating her, he thumbs away her tears gently before pressing featherlight kisses against the damp skin of her face.

She breathes in, sucking what courage she can from the air between them and haltingly begins to explain. Halsin’s face goes through several complicated emotions as she speaks before settling on sadness.

When she is done relaying the whole of it. How she thought he did not miss her and how it snowballed so horribly from there, he takes her face in both his hands and kisses her softly.

“I miss you,” he begins firmly, holding her gaze. “I miss you when you are not near, whether that means you have gone to answer a summons to a far away grove, or down to the river to collect the children, or even when you are laying in this bed in a trance close enough to touch. I miss you like the land misses the rain in a drought,” he takes her hands in his and presses them to his chest. “I miss you like the winter misses the sun; the dragon misses his flight; the Tears of Selûne miss the moon when its light is extinguished and they are left to trail along until she returns. Without you by my side I feel my days grow dark and grey and spend too often looking over my shoulder for the moment you might appear and bring the light to shine on me again.”

“But–”

“I miss you,” interrupts Halsin urgently. “With everything that I am. Foolishly I held myself aloof in your absence because I did not wish to burden you with my own selfish suffering. You already found the duty bestowed on you an oppressive one and I did not wish to add myself to your troubles. I see now that was a mistake. One I will not commit again.”

“I’m sorry,” says Tav, looking away. “I should have tried harder to explain what I…what I wanted, I suppose. What I needed from you.”

Halsin smiles and nuzzles her cheek. “We each of us have learned something here today and I think we are the better for it, no?”

“You’re very wise, archdruid,” says Tav with a small smile, the spark coming back into her eyes. “You wouldn’t be interested in becoming Faithwarden, would you?”

Halsin laughs and tugs her into his arm again, burying his face in her neck, and stroking her hair and the bare skin of her back. “I’m afraid I’ve quite retired from druidic duties, my heart.”

“Yeah yeah, rub it in.” She pulls back from his embrace when a thought occurs to her and she scans his wide chest in puzzlement before she spies her rolled up robe cast aside on the floor. “Halsin Silverbough did you use my robe to clean up your– “

He leans in close and snatches a kiss to cut her off. “I will wash it myself.”

“Yes you will, that was a gift I got in Waterdeep! Silvanus protect you if I have to go back to that fetid kingdom of money plagued rats to get another one.”

He grins and snatches another kiss before rolling away and snatching the robe off the floor, backing away to the door. “I’m glad you’re home, my heart.”

“You’re not going to be very glad if you don’t go put that in some water right now!”

“Yes, dear,” he calls, sauntering away

“Cold water, Halsin, I’m serious!” He doesn’t respond and she trails after him in alarm. “Halsin? Are you listening?”

“Always, my heart.”

The End

#halsintavweek #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #halsin x tav #halsin silverbough #smut #bg3 tav

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whereserpentswalk · 2 months

Text

There was an abandoned church where the faeries used to come out, tucked away in one of those neighborhoods in the city where only residents ever go. It was a beautiful stone building, covered in vines and ivy, half broken, resting between the corner stores and brownstones. They say it's so old that nobody even remembers the name of the god they worshipped there.

And there used to be faeries there. They would come out quite frequently. Nobody maintained the place, but it was ruined enough so you could just walk in through where the door used to be. And you could see them there, the kobolds who would sing their ancient songs in languages long forgotten. And the hollow backed women who would dance in the silver moonligh, and who turned men who tried to touch them into trees. There where spirits who'd look like dragonflies one momment, and than little winged people the next. And great dire trolls at times would come out and brew strange drinks from grass and root. There were mothmen who flew in the skies above the ancient church, looking down with big yellow eyes. There where witches who'd grant strange requests for strange prices, and who'd look like women from a far, and great mantises when near. And there were even darker things, faceless men, and black eyed girls, who'd come, but they never harmed a soul on those old church grounds.

They say it became a place where people who were grateful for such things would come. Urban sorcerers, and cryptid hunters, unmarketable artists, and outcasts and members of forgotten subcultures would come to. It was mostly just a place people in the city knew about, people who knew enough about the fae, people who had respect for the fae. A few faeries would let themselves show up in dim photographs, perhaps to appear on somebody's blog, but most people who would go there knew to ask first. And they say that. In her gratefulness to the ruins, for being a place where the children of Odin and the children of Gaia had found peace, the queen of the autumn faeries had gifted them a magic sword, that shined like sunset amber, planted forever in the ruins of the church's alter.

And once there was a magical sword there, something valuable there, the city decided it had to take notice. It wasn't just some worthless stone anymore, it was something with more money behind it now. They transfered the ruins' ownership from the underfunded historical society, to a successful real-estate company, who would know how to handle it well, and perhaps bring in some tourists.

And suddenly, things began to change. See, the sword needed to be well protected of course, so there were security cameras all over the place to keep out robbers, and guards of course to stand around and yell at people, and of course perhaps to fire iron bullets at any faeries who thought about hurting humans who wanted to be free to touch them and pet them and take pictures without consequences. And there were metal detectors of course, and there needed to be a closing time because suddenly there was a staff that had to be payed.

And somehow there were less and less faeries then, and the people who had used to come so often had gone away too. But that didn't matter, they still needed to turn a profit, and they had started advertising it, so soon tourists with their fancy cameras and expectations, and families with little children on leashes and dogs in their strollers, and fourteen year old boys who giggled because faerie could mean gay, all started to come, and waited on line to see the minority of faeries who were still there. And soon the walls of the old church had signs and ads and the walls were painted a green because the company thought grey was an ugly color, and the entrance had all those little marketable t-shirts and plushes for people to buy.

And soon there were no more faeries. They didn't want to come. The sword had turned black.

They say the last faeries to leave were the toughest of them, and that they didn't like the new type of guest, trolls would put human bones in their last stews, and witches would curse anyone who took pictures of them, and the black eyed girls and faceless men finally dragged people into faeland never to return. But even they left eventually, all of them did. They say the sword healed when it was bright and amber, but when it was black it's magic was no weaker, but it killed, anyone who touched the black sword would rot away. They say other magical creatures, meaner ones, found good homes in the church when it became so filled with the company's things, blood drinking vampires, and howling ghosts, and deal making devils, found the place to be a perfect hunting spot. The faeries never came back, and the church lost its profitability, they tried to rip it down, and use the land for some pretty shot or restaurant, but they could never clear the foundation, nobody could lift the sword.

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