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cevenths · 3 days ago

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somewhere south with fruits sweeter

logan howlett x fem!reader — 6.6k

(s). with your mother smitten during your visit, he was bound to taste her cooking soon. sharing food is an intimate act, and you weren’t expecting to offer something to him, too.

. . . extras: 18+ minors dni; written with origins!logan in mind; one (1) mention of drinking; reader is slightly shorter than logan; no use of y/n or she/her pronouns, only described as a daughter; pet name ‘sweetheart’; descriptive touching and kissing; very brief thigh riding; implied sexual content: oral (r receiving); a lot of fruit & food symbolism—do with that what you will; this is my first longer-length work so comments are much appreciated! x

────────────── gif from @ultrviolecnt

Maybe the fruits tasted all the more ripe, a real pleasure to eat, due to his hands now arranging their shapes in the weathered, woven baskets; you hadn’t seen him when you visited last year and such a change in the apples, peaches, pears would’ve surely made itself known.

He was one your mother brought into casual conversation sitting on the front porch or working simple chores, and she insisted others were doing just the same; who could place blame on them when such a man was sure to bring about hushed dialects and connotations, a secret of sorts kept in the confines of the town’s acres.

Because of your visiting for the season, it was you instead of your mother who drove the half an hour to the familiar wooden shop that rose with the respective fall of the leaves.

It was becoming something of a bore in the years past, but a little less so now with him around, his presence and rather effortless strength admittedly easy on the eyes. Your mother spoke of him with high regard; only a few minutes after stepping out of your car and onto the gravel of the market’s driveway was enough for her praise to turn tangible in the summer heat that first morning, it now being replaced with a push of a breeze.

You noticed that even with the broad stretch of his shoulders, the trecks his boots left behind from mud crawling in the back, he somehow still managed a sort of ease about his figure as he worked. Anything he started in the chill of the morning he got done right as the sun rested its bleary eyes, leaving with a nod and a cigar in between his lips—all without speaking much. When he would carry in fills of crates with jams or fruits and vegetables, he wouldn’t stop to make talk with the customers, instead searching for another task that whispered his name once as wood warmed from the sun, now as a twirl of leaves browned and reddened scuttling against the exterior. You figured he didn’t do so from irritation at the others he worked with—you had known them since you were little and they were nothing if not welcoming—but as a means of simply getting work done; talk not adjacent to his doing must’ve been fruitless.

You didn’t dwell on the fact, instead revelling—as much as you hated to admit—in meeting hazel with an unintelligible finish to the color in the teasing cold the times you had walked with a slow gait through the aisles, brushing past weathered gingham a dusted color from years past.

Tonight you were to be greeted with an infamous cherry pie, having been told to get as many cherries as you pleased, along with anything that seemed ‘good on the soul’. (She might as well have been hinting at him, written his name big and bold, with hearts curving over the letters.)

When you stepped through the doorway and atop the makeshift floor of scuffed wood underneath homemade rugs frayed at the edges, you only barely caught denim shifting out the back, presumably to bring in more boxes with whatever was to be displayed alongside a handwritten note detailing a new price for eager hands and acquired tastes. You stepped around tables with thin cloths acting like decor, embellishments to distinguish one from another, and stopped short when the usual spot for your mother’s preferred cherries was implied with folds in gently disheveled plaid.

At the furrow of your brows and your leaning over adjacent boxes and barrels to see if perhaps they were hidden someplace nearby, a lady to your side gestured to the spot with a jut of her chin.

“Logan just went to grab a new batch, hun. He’ll be back in a second.”

You nodded at her words, involuntarily crossing your arms over your chest to the best of your ability with a basket in your hand. Broken conversations slipped in one ear and out of the other as you waited, talk of food to be prepared or how distant children were growing taller by the day. Shuffling of feet with a deep groan brought your attention back to the space prior, Logan now standing with a crate in his hands, a stitched cloth draped over the top. His tongue prodded at his cheek—the skin there, the bridge of his nose, the knuckles of his hands, beginning to flush pink from a gentle biting of the air outside—as he set it down, taking the covering off and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans after hitting it once against his thigh, the dust trickling down the denim to the floor, the creases in his boots.

You muttered a ‘thank you’, not expecting much more out of him in return. He simply nodded, but a clearing of his throat dragged your eyes to his.

“Your mom the one making the pie?”

He continued talking at the quick flicker of slight confusion that washed over your features, that made your palm pause as it reached out to pick the nicest ones, reds shiny and seductive around inedible pits. “Someone came around last week, told me her daughter was coming to stay for a little while and she wanted to bake something nice.” A pause, a narrowing of his eyes, your own drifting upwards to brown strands undone from their styling, now brushing above his brows in light curves.

Knowing your mother spoke of your person to him brought a smile to your lips. “She loves to gossip,” you admitted with a nod to confirm his ask. “Especially over her cherry pie.”

He let out a hum, eyes following the hand that held a bunch of said fruits from their stems. He stayed that way for what felt like a while, though it was really only a few seconds; his gaze was soft, but bore into your basic movement, as if assessing which of the fruits he had brought you so kindly you were to pick.

A call of his name directed them someplace behind you with a lean of his upper half and a hand to his hip.

“Nice meeting you,” he said, catching your eyes as he brushed past your figure, smell of smoke and freshly picked fruits stuck to his skin, mimicking a wanting to bite innate to your psyche, to savor the source at your lips and teeth, though they were all laid out in front of you; perhaps that was the point.

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The next week, with a complaint of the chill that crawled into the crevices of her jacket and a harsh adjusting of the heater, your mother sat in the passenger seat eagerly awaiting an order she had placed with the owner days prior. Turning onto the gravel lot that rocked the interior, you found a vacant spot with a curse at how uneven the small plot had gotten. She let out a gasp and nudged an elbow to your arm as she unbuckled her seatbelt, hand already opening the door.

“Look who’s working today.” She knew he worked everyday they were open, but you rolled your eyes with a smile at her teasing nature—she could have her fun, you figured as you followed her out, slamming the door behind you.

Logan, much to your amusement, played into her harmless comments. He worked at the front, adjusting the panneling of the signs welcoming passerby, a carpenter’s belt wrapped around his waist and a nail inbetween his lips. At the shuffling of your mother’s feet coming closer to where he stood, he looked over with a charming smile.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mumbled, nail a mimic of his cigars as he spoke, dipping his head as a hello to the both of you when you stepped to her side.

Your mother dismissed his words with a swat of her gloved hand in the air, flattery evident as a smile. “You’re talkin’. Just here to pick up a few things for dinner tonight.”

He furrowed his brows, shoving the nail into a pocket of his belt, adjusting its hold on his waist. “I might’ve packed them all earlier”—he began to make the way inside, gesturing his chin for you to follow—“but I’ll have you check.”

Not long after, he was carrying crates to the trunk of your car at the insistence she needn’t lift a finger—even with the slight cold becoming familiar with the skin of his own hands. You offered after her, but he repeated his words with a threading of his hand through his hair. There were quiet huffs and groans leaving his lips as he did so, his breath mocking smoke. Your mother instead headed inside, while you stood at the trunk, leaning against the chilled exterior; there wasn’t any harm in looking for a little longer, hearing more evidence of his voice a little closer.

He spoke first, an octave lower and with a lilt of amusement.

“Dinner must be good tonight.” He met your eyes for a split second before placing a hand ahold of the trunk above his head. “Seems like you’re having…” he pinched a cloth from the crate closest to the edge, lifting it with a dramatized slowness, leaning over with a raised brow—something of a defeated breath left his lips. “Why don’t you mind tellin’ me.”

You leaned over for yourself, hands pushing similar cloths for a peek at what it was your mother had bought. The two of you were so close, or so it felt, as if keeping the contents of your trunk hidden from all but the hazel of his and your own. There wasn’t a need for your peripheral; a simple knowing he was near was enough, a certain spark in your nerves for the scene felt intimate, this unveiling of what you were to eat—you knew, of course, what was to be served that night, and he most likely knew that, too.

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Surely they would be sick of seeing you when the sun had dipped with a lazy arch, pulling underneath the horizon. And yet, there was an ache in your mother’s stomach that she insisted could only be softened with one of their homemade pastries, something she shared with you when you were little, and as she focused on dinner—which you’d assume would only make such an itch worse, even given the contrast of savory to sugar—you flipped on the headlights into the last hours of the evening.

You gave something of a guilty nod to the woman at the counter as you made your way to the shelving in the back corner that held the familiar packaging, alongside others. All that was on display was shrouded in thin, gentle slits of white, the moon offering its own of what the sun had given prior. The fruits looked misty eyed, the jars as if filled by a dreamy hand.

Just as quickly as you had pulled into the lot, you were twisting the keys once more; yet this time, a weak sputtering from your engine sounded rather than its usual dull rumble.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumbled, one hand gripping the wheel and the other getting ahold of the key once more, this time with a slower insertion and turn, it’s cold against your palm a mimicry of the early night air. The same cough, akin to a sickness in a body, invading the steel and screws of your car.

With a groan, you threw the door open, circling to the hood and, with a steady grip, lifting it above your head.

It was now far too dark to tell where one part ended and another began, it simply a blend of shadow you certainly did not feel like combing through with the chill as an accomplice.

You smelled the burning end of a cigar before the scraping of gravel along soles.

“You alright?” Logan asked, voice leaking smoke like a lure for both your eyes and ears. His skin was accented with a soft gold from the flickering bulbs of the market as he stopped a few feet away, holding the cigar lazily at his hip. The lighting was bewitching, a natural distraction, and you cursed the way your eyes dragged at the outline of his shoulders, the narrowing at his waist, silver of a buckle glinting for a moment as if catching you in the act.

At your not answering, he took another drag, peering into the hood for himself, though you were sure he could guess your response at the knitting of your brows, the irritated grip of your hands to the front bumper.

“C’mon.”

You simply stared as he gestured with his chin, cigar to his lips, front half already turning the other direction. “I’ll take you home”—smoke curled at his cheeks, the hair that was cut shorter to the skin, when he glanced over his shoulder at you having not moved a muscle—“unless you’d rather stay out here.”

Much like when you both had been eyeing the insides of your trunk, it was as though your body knew of his presence just as much as your mind; sitting in his passenger side stiff against the seating, some unconscious reminder that tugged at your joints to keep them still, as if there was an awareness that preceded him in the form of tensed muscles and intrigue, a nipping at your eyes to even just look at him when he was this close, wanting that satisfaction, whatever it was, that came as a consequence to curiosity, infatuation, more like.

“Never seen you this late at the market.”

You cleared your throat, explaining the pastry you bought for your mother. “I think this is just my car’s way of telling me not to.”

A laugh disguised itself as an exhale through his nose. “‘m not that bad.”

Your eyes caught his own when you furrowed your brows in amusement at his words, a barely registrable hint of a smile on his face.

“I didn’t said that,” you argued, though your tone was anything but. He angled the hand resting atop the steering wheel and the palm at his thigh upwards, feigning defense.

The drive wasn’t too long; neither was conversation. He asked about your mother, how long you were staying for, but more as a means to ease the space in between simple directions from you.

He slowed to a stop in front of your doorstep, shoving the stick into park as you began to get out, opening the door and stepping onto the ground, pastry in hand. You placed a hand against the cool exterior, offering a smile and about to utter a thanks—not entirely dismissing the way he was looking over at you, leaned over to grab a cigar from a case stowed in the glove box, a necklace of some sort having loosened from beneath autumn layers and swaying in tandem with the column of his throat—when your mother’s voice called instead.

“Logan, is that you?” she sang, voice sounding pleasantly surprised and a harsh cut through the relative quiet of the night.

His brow raised in amusement; you rolled your eyes in a silent apology.

He answered nonetheless.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s me.”

Immediately at his simple confirmation your mother was ushering him in for dinner. And who was he to decline such an offer.

It was far too casual: the way he let you in first, a ghost of a palm over the small of your back; taking off his boots at the front door; nodding at your mother and asking her how she was as he eyed two plates she had already filled with whatever she had made for dinner that night on the countertop. You placed the pastry in her hands, to which she gave a quick kiss to your cheek and insisted the both of you sit and eat before the food got cold.

Without a word he took the two plates in his hands and walked over to the dining table, setting them opposite each other as you stood at your mother’s side, her face implying an explanation as to why you were in his truck, as well as a teasing response to his manners. You merely muttered an ‘I’ll tell you later’ as you filled two cups of water and grabbed two forks and knives.

He nodded as a thanks as you put the glass in front of him. The overhead light was warm, dipping down the slope of his nose and the hair that curled upwards at the nape of his neck—it almost didn’t look like him seated in your home, taking the silverware from your hand, the tips of his fingers brushing again the skin of your hand. It was someone who needn’t falter at the door, who memorized which floorboards creaked their complaints, who muttered ‘good morning’s and ‘good night’s to a lover in time with the celestial company.

Watching him eat food from your mother’s hand felt like he was indulging in a part of you, this meal that you’ve eaten time and time before now being offered to him.

“It’s really good.” His voice was practically a whisper, the quietest you’d ever heard it, as if only you could be told such a thing—you hadn’t any part in the plate already nearly scraped clean in front of him, your mother feet away, unwrapping the pastry for dessert.

You nodded, a smile on your lips even with the fact. “Family recipe,” you simply said.

He hummed, eyeing you over the rim of his glass. It met the wood with a gentle clink after a generous sip, tongue darting briefly across his lips.

His eyes drifted to her at the counter, crossing his arms on the tabletop.

“You’re a wonderful cook.”

She turned her head with a smile. “Thank you, Logan.” You hadn’t missed the way she gestured towards yourself with a fork donned with crumbs and raspberry jam. “Though I might have competition soon, what with the pie that’s supposed to be made this week.”

You furrowed your brow in mock irritation, your voice spoken through a smile nonetheless. “Who’s to say it won’t be the worst thing you’ll ever taste in your life?”

She raised her own brow, questioning your words. “If I’ve taught you anything, it’s how to make a damn good pie, hun,” she retorted with conviction in her tone as she averted her attention to her pastry once more.

You rolled your eyes in a lighthearted manner, catching Logan’s as your knife’s teeth dragged along what little you had left on your plate; the barely-there smile on his lips told you he was amused by your shortlived banter.

“That a family recipe, too?” he asked.

“It will be, once I figure out how to make it.” You paused to finish your plate, the knife and fork resting nicely atop the porcelain. “Though I’m thinking of a blueberry pie rather than cherry.”

With a nod, he gathered his own plate, reaching over to take yours as he got up from his seat, his way of insisting you need not get up and clean after him nor yourself.

Hazel slightly hooded held the color of yours as he did so. “I’m sure it’ll be just as good.”

At this point, it almost seemed proximity was an arrangement made from whatever guided your limbs to his, and that same culprit threaded itself in his, for your mother handed you the dish towel when she hastily remembered she needed to call her sister. Whether it was true didn’t matter: here was an excuse to stay close, revel in contact that was teased by the lack of it. He stood at the counter, sleeves rolled to below his elbows, hair corded at his forearms wet from the tap water, the lather that coated his palms and knuckles. Lavender was a foreign scent to be attached to his skin, not one to prettily mingle with cigar smoke, but your nose got used to it regardless.

It was a quiet process, his washing and your drying. Your eyes would wander to his hands, stay for just a little while, the shine from the warm water accenting the skin something almost seductive with the performance of such a domestic task—if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Over beer you had found in a back cabinet growing lukewarm under the dining lighting, you learned he had gotten the job at the farmer’s market just as the sun opted for a few more hours, offering as a trade deep oranges that shrouded the landscape and any roaming warmth that stuck to wood and grass and skin. He was in the area and needed work, there had been a sign posted near where he was staying of the address and basic requirements, and, in his words, ‘he could use the free food’. Though it made you wonder where exactly it was that he was staying, you didn’t pry. He instead recounted the morning your mother came in and they—though mostly her, he admitted with a smile at your small laugh—had engaged in friendly talk as he carried her groceries to her car.

“She hinted at saving a slice of that cherry pie f’me, for the help.” His lips tugged ever so slightly as he leaned back comfortably, stretching the denim at his thighs taut with a shift in his legs, arms crossed and all the while keeping his eyes on yours. “But I prefer blueberry.”

And how cliché it had been when you first saw him, a rugged yet quiet stature of a man with sweat at his brow and the dents of the muscles lining his arms, blue denim to the dirt of his boots, a worn baseball cap keeping the sun from his eyes, and how cliché it was now that he was in your home and you didn’t mind.

There was a mention from your mother, standing just at the end of the hallway to face the kitchen and the two of you, of a shelf and drawer that needed fixing in the old guest room as you walked him to the door, a calloused hand already wrapped around brass.

“I’ll take a look at it in a few days,” he reasssured her with a soft smile, to which she told him you could offer a few slices of pie in thanks, all with a grin on her face that she also adorned when quoting others’ words of amusing connotation.

He chuckled, a low sound that came from his chest. The old creak of the door was paired with a ‘have a nice night’ as she retreated around the corner into the hallway. You stepped out before him onto the front porch as he swung it closed, though just enough so it didn’t click into place with the frame; the porch light adjacent to it casted a similar color against his skin to the one when he ate.

You didn’t really know why you stood there in the chill that lay stagnant around your home, but he didn’t ask.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding to the door. “That better be a promise.”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Depends on how good of a job you do.”

A chuckle, same as before, this time his breath appearing in between the two of you. “Are you doubting me already?”

“There’s only one way to prove me wrong,” you said, raising a shoulder.

He hummed in , barely audible, tilting his head.

Your body wasn’t as stiff, your mind as clouded with nerve as it had been in his passenger seat, though you blame it on his figure having been surrounded by comfort, familiarity, food he had eaten with your cutlery at your dining table and with a good word.

Perhaps that was why it had leaned the small distance towards his own, lips meeting the skin of his cheek and the stubble adorning it. The small smile that he reciprocated was something almost satisfactory, albeit a little bashful, as you put a hand against the door, not missing the brief dart of his eyes from yours to your lips and back again.

“Good night, Logan.”

“G’night.”

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It served as a harsh reminder, the honk that met your ears rather than the usual gentle birdsong. You cursed, shoving the window open with one hand and yelling a ‘give me a minute!’ as you hurriedly dressed in the dwindling dim of your bedroom; the memory that he was picking you up to get your car from the market came far too late for your liking as you made your way to the front door, grabbing the keys and about to say a rushed ‘goodbye’ when the absence of your mother made itself known, as well—she had left to visit her sister, and you noticed the familiar yellowed sheet lined with grooves from cherry staining fingertips placed at the counter.

He gave you an apologetic smile as he stood leaned against the passenger side, eyes following your rushing down the stairs, uncrossing his feet and opening the door for you.

“Too early?” There was humor in his words and the way he eyed the buttons left undone at your sternum.

“You told me you don’t work today,” you reasoned after he circled the hood, closing the driver’s-side door and adjusting the heating, catching your eyes as he did so.

“Early bird get’s the worm, or whatever,” he shrugged. “The worm’s your car.”

You rolled your eyes, though a tired yet amused smile was already at your lips. “I already own it.”

“Regardless.” He rolled out of your driveway, the morning sun through the windshield catching the silver of a ring at his pinky finger. “Don’t want anyone stealing it, do we?”

“No, sir,” you said, eating into this side of him like teeth against a sweet.

A smile akin to the one he adorned at your doorstep hours previously came across his face, and you returned one of your own, despite his eyes on the small bit of gravel road.

He worked as you watched from the wooden fencing behind him. “A simple fix,” he had deemed it, eyeing into the hood of your car. “Shouldn’t take longer than half an hour.”

Beneath gray cotton the plane of his back shifted and stretched. Though it wasn’t as cold as days prior, you noted the pink coming to at the shells of his ears.

“‘s it alright if I come by this afternoon to take a look at that shelf your mother was talking about?” He turned his head just enough to see you nod.

You told him you were going to walk around the market, just to see if there were any new jams or pastries shelved; he watched you leave.

Given the sun had only made its tired arrival a few hours prior, some items were still being arranged nicely atop the patterned cloths, labelled with notes marking the price. The jams were put with ribbons at the lids with their respecting fruit.

There were a few wildberry, a number of blackberry. As you read the labels on some of the fresher desserts, someone carried a crate of needed vegatables behind you; not before they asked if you were the one that came with Logan. You confirmed, wondering for a second if maybe he had work and simply lied, but they spoke before you could with a singular, almost dumbfounded laugh.

“You must’ve put him in some sort of spell,” they said, dropping the crate at a table in front of them and shoving it to the edge. They turned to face you, clapping their hands to dust off chips stuck to thin gloves. “I don’t think we’ve even heard more than a ‘good morning’ from him.”

You couldn’t figure out how to respond to such a blunt way of reiterating something you already knew, but perhaps it was because others had noticed it was you he chose to speak to, and you who implicitly invited him in your home, and you who were to do so again.

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That afternoon, you indulged in the sun that was filtered through the lace curtaining as you gathered cutlery and tins and bowls and plates. The quiet of the house was something you liked every once in a while, as it allowed you to imagine you were cooking for yourself rather than for two; something about only your word and teeth influencing the taste when you were to set up the dining table for yourself, lighting a candle to present a dinner for one was nice to admire.

But you weren’t, for the hammering persisted rooms over once more, a reminder that something sweet was to be offered to him this time.

You might have felt more at ease if he was your lover; you’d have enough tries at that point, perfected a recipe already perfected by your mother. Instead he would be second to cut the lattice for his own pleasure with a fork you would hand over to him—a part of you did not want to disappoint.

Blueberry had since settled into the skin of your fingertips, the backs of your hands, and it made you sigh. Logan, alongside yourself, was to be given this performance of sorts, an edible delicacy that you hadn’t even tasted yet. He might as well gauge sweat in the crust, nerved blood in the filling.

It was not that serious, you told yourself. Yet the fact that it was him made it so.

Something your mother had said to get a rise out of your tired state the night he had taken you home made you roll your eyes at the mere cantation in your head: ‘I saw the way he looked at you when he led you through the door, sat at the dining table; I’m sure he didn’t mind your car breaking down’.

The tin was placed into the oven, out of sight, out of mind. It was a little while later when he had stepped around the corner, familiar carpenter’s belt around his waist.

“Shouldn’t cause her any more trouble.” His voice was quiet as he ran a hand through his hair.

You turned to face him, gathering utensils and jars dirtied with ingredients and tossing them into the sink. “Thanks—let me get you a drink, hold on.”

Opening the upper cabinet, you hoped he didn’t catch the sigh that left your lips seeing the only glasses left lining the back of the wood.

But he did, and ever the gentleman, he was at your side with a clear of his throat.

“I’ll get it.” It came out in a near whisper, only for you to hear; not the already setting sun, not as a cue for the moon to bleed the kitchen a gentle white.

You let him. You felt the warmth of his figure as it stood close, akin to all the times prior, a hand just above the small of your back, not making contact but close enough, and the other reaching overhead. The glass chased the last streams of sunlight from the kitchen window, and rather than handing it to you, he set it on the countertop, the soft clink deafening in your ears.

He repositioned himself so he leaned against the counter, hands splayed behind him atop the surface, gesturing to the oven with a tilt of his head. “How’s the pie?”

You caught his eyes, hooded hazel, brushed your hands along your apron as a means to ease the wanting to guide his own back to where it was. “It looks good. Don’t know if you want to wait a little longer to eat it here—if anything you could always take it with you.”

He gave you a smile that was so sincere, so unashamedly forgiving, though for what, you thought, if not to insist you could stay for however long. “I can wait, if it’s alright with you.”

If you did as you wanted—keep your eyes on his—your knees were bound to give underneath you with the way he looked at you, a gentle accepting to waiting alongside you in your kitchen, such a sacred place. “Of course.”

He stayed in place, eyes following as you walked around him to put any last dishes into the sink and leaving them be, not feeling like touching anything else with a smooth finish.

“You can leave those in there,” you told him when you noticed him shift. “Rest for a while.”—directed at him and the dirty dishes. You reached behind yourself to grab the knot at your back, desperate to take the thing off with reasoning much like the pie in the oven—you hadn’t realized just how tightly you had wound the string.

And there he was, ever so reliable, behind you once more as he uttered an ‘I got it’ under his breath, putting his hands over yours and already beginning to unravel the knot himself.

Your previous thought still rang true, like a delicate synth prettily reverberating in your mind: this would be so much easier, bearable, if he were a lover, simply something more than a frequent acquaintance.

And perhaps he heard you, for his hands went to the strap around your neck, fingertips gently grazing against the junctures of your neck and shoulders.

“You should rest, too,” he mumbled as he lifted the fabric above your head, held it out for you. You took it in your hands, staring down at the fabric, what was left of the sun for the evening slithering through window and lace, joining flour and rich violet.

You muttered a ‘thanks’, a sigh. “I know.”

The kitchen fell quiet, not silent, for it contained the two of you; your passing breaths and pulsing heart comparable to the clatter of porcelain beneath familiar conversation.

Water from the tap directed your attention to the sink, where he suddenly stood pouring himself the glass, taking a sip; water hitting the sides of the house came like an afterthought.

It might as well have been his doing, such perfect timing, with the way he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “D’you know it was s’posed to rain?”

You shook your head. You took it as an attempt to cover the tension that how hung heavy in the air, a rhythmic tune to combat the beat of your pulse and the itch that resided in your hands.

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Blueberry bubbling warmed in pastry spilled into the wood of the kitchen and his nose; he let out a hum at the smell from where the two of you sat on the floor against the cabinets across from each other, his body next to the oven. He pushed his sleeves up, similar to when he stood at the sink with hands of lavender, from the heat that crept as company to the finished taste.

“You ok with me being the first to taste it?” he asked with a nod in your direction, something adjacent to surprise, or disbelief in his voice.

You furrowed a brow—“I never saw what you did to that shelf.”—in reference to the hint your mother had made.

“Feel free to take a look for yourself,” he crossed his arms as if to imply he wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t done a perfect job.

You hummed. “I better not have to call you back here in a week, then.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

A flush betrayed your skin; you hated its response. “So you made it worse, is what I’m hearing.”

He tongued at his cheek, fighting a smile yet narrowing his eyes and shrugging a shoulder. “Define ‘worse’.”

“It’s definitely what you’ll be feeling after you leave without that pie you want so bad,” you said, standing up to check on the oven, adjusting the dish towel that hung from the handle. You let out a small hum at the golden color that blossomed along the crust.

You took it out with delicate hands, the metal of the tin clattering with the stovetop.

“We’ll let it cool.” A declaration implying more wait—though he didn’t seem to mind, if his following your actions and standing behind you with hooded eyes was any indication.

“Looks good.”

You gave him a small, satisfasfied smile, though not necessarily from his words but at the dessert in front of that did, much to your relief, look good. You stayed admiring the work made from your hands to be eaten by them, alongside another whose familiar cigar smoke slowly paired with blueberry; it made a nicer blend than lavender.

It was similar to when he had spoken to you first, the smell of other fruits stuck to his clothing enticing you to reach out and distinguish which ones were where—you were close to acting upon intrigue. You figured he was too, for he did not move—except for one part you could see out of your peripheral.

His voice was soft as he asked: “Is this okay?” He was referring to the hand smoothing over the countertop to rest next to yours, the skin just barely meeting.

You nodded—“Yeah.”—hated the breathy delivery of your response; he hadn’t even done anything, but you wanted to put the same hands that made a necessity sweet upon him, a blunt want and nothing more than to satiate an ache not riddled in your stomach.

His voice was much closer, a little deeper, almost timid in its hushed delivery.

“Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

His kisses were slow, trailing up, up to just below your ear. The hair cut at his cheek left a delicate burn along the skin, yet you leaned your head back to his chest without a second thought.

“Here?” His question was asked along the skin of your cheek, your head tilting as if lured, enchanted by his words. One hand set itself on your hip.

You mumbled an ‘mhm’, resting a hand atop his own; he draped the one on the counter over yours, lacing the fingers. His fingertips were calloused, a welcomed touch akin to natural skin encasing an apple, rough yet promising.

He placed a kiss to your cheek, the corner of your lips; you could feel a small smile stretch across his.

You spoke before he could ask, eyes shut and a gentle nod: “Don’t be such a tease.”

He let out an exhale, amused at your words. “My bad, sweetheart.”

At his lips on yours, you turned around, putting the hand alongside his at your hip to his cheek; he threaded the other in a similar fashion atop the counter. He kissed with a gentle fervor, a low hum coming from his throat when you combed a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. Denim slotted between your legs, an offering to the lust leaking into your blood.

His nose pushed at yours as he tilted his head, quickening to placing pecks to your lips so you could catch the breath he had taken from your lungs. The moon peeking as if with curiosity from behind roaming clouds and lace shrouded his figure in alluring white, accenting the beginnings of a flush to his skin.

He bowed his head to your neck once more, biting the skin and leaving a kiss in its place.

With fog from his touch contaminating your brain, the blueberry baked into pastry snuck into your nose.

Logan put his hands underneath your thighs and lifted your body without hesitation, pressing a kiss to your sternum and mumbling into the skin a claim that he hoped you wouldn’t mind him indulging in something sweeter.

And you didn’t, laying back as he bit and kissed at skin like a man starved, holding you down against your sheets with gentle drags of his palms. The insides of your thighs burned, sweat dotting the fabric underneath you; he insisted a second with praise for the first.

#my works #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfic #logan howlett x reader smut #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #wolverine x y/n #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfic #wolverine x reader smut #wolverine smut

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simdertalia · 1 year ago

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🧵 ACNH Able Sisters Store Set 🪡

Sims 4, Base game compatible | 48 Now 51 items

(added the awning, chimney, and the stairs as a deco item with no footprint)

All the items you'll need to recreate The Able Sisters cute little shop in your TS4 game. All items came with only 1 swatch each. There are a few items that I added a couple of extra swatches for.

As always, turning the brightness down on functional lamps will make them look better (not overly bright) due to my vertex paint issue in Blender.

Type “ACNH Able” into the search query in build mode to find quickly. You can always find items like this, just begin typing the title and it will appear.

Use the raise & lower keyboard cheat to put your already styled mannequins onto the displays. The displays have slots, but mannequins will only let you place them on the floor, and won't allow styling once they have been raised, so make sure to do that first. They only need to be raised 1-2 notches depending on which display you are placing them on.

Use the scale up & down feature on your keyboard to make the items larger or smaller to your liking. If you have a non-US keyboard, it may be different keys depending on which alphabet it uses.

I hope you enjoy! ☺️

Build: -Wallpaper/Paneling | 1 swatch -Wood Floor | 2 swatches for orientation

📁 Download all or pick & choose (SFS, No Ads): HERE

📁 Alt Mega Download (still no ads): HERE

📁 Download on Patreon

Will be public on December 5th, 2023

Happy Simming! ✨ Some of my sets will be early access from now on. If you like my work, please consider supporting me:

★ Patreon 🎉 ❤️ |★ Ko-Fi ☕️ ❤️ ★ Instagram📷

Thank you for reblogging ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

@sssvitlanz @maxismatchccworld @mmoutfitters @coffee-cc-finds @itsjessicaccfinds @gamommypeach @stargazer-sims-finds @khelga68 @suricringe @vaporwavesims @mystictrance15 @public-ccfinds

The rest of my CC

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kosmichippieccfinds · 1 year ago

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👑 MEDIEVAL MODS + CC | The Sims 4

I am currently playing Morbid's ULTIMATE Decades Challenge over on YouTube. Below is a list of all of the Mods + CC I am using in my game to create the ultimate MEDIEVAL experience 👑

I'll be updating this list as I add new mods and cc to my game.

📺 Watch on YouTube

👑 MODS:

Medieval Windenburg

MC Command Center

MC Woohoo

More Traits in CAS

Royalty Mod

Medieval Interactions

Ye Olde Cookbook + Stoves

Home Region by Kuttoe

Fashion Authority 2 by Lot51

Functional Broom

Functional Loom

Functional Pottery Wheel

Archery Skill

Blacksmithing Skill

Honey Production Mod + Mead Brewer

Children/Toddlers Can Die of Anything

Playable Harp + Lute

Functional Horses & Carriages, No Helmet

Create Campfire Bonfire Anywhere

Arranged Marriages

Custom Farm Animals

Purchase Custom Animals

Zero's Historical Mods (pickpocket, disease, etc.)

Phone to Notebook Replacement

Sippy Cup + Toys Default Replacements

Stuff for Pets

Harvestable Wheat Grain

Natural Knitting Stuff

Live in Business (LittleMsSam)

More Buyable Venues (LittleMsSam)

Force to Leave (LittleMsSam)

👑 CC:

Build:

TSR Ye Medieval - Ligna Windows Set

TSR Ye Medieval - Timber Frame Walls

TSR Ye Medieval - Framework Walls

TSR - Broken Wood Door

TSR Ye Medieval - Soil Terrain

TSR Ye Medieval - Hay Ground Terrain

Birch Tree (2048x2048)

Objects:

Lili's Palace - Folklore Set No. 1

Linzlu's Frontier Items

TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 1

TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 2

TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 3

TSR Ye Medieval - Peasant Homelife 4

TRS Ye Medieval - Tristan Bathroom

TSR Ye Medieval - Tavern Part 1

TSR Ye Medieval - Candle Holder

TSR - Skara Stool

TSR - The Old Garden Boat

TSR - The Old Garden Quay

Fish Market Decor

Fish Rack

Fish Crate V1

Fish Crate V2

Bohrium Vegetables I

Old Rustic Well ("Eco Living" version)

Stable Set by Moriel

Rustic Animal Shed

Rustic Chicken Coop

Rustic Bee Box

Bassinet + Infant Crib

CAS:

TheSimsResource (Ye Medieval)

TheSimsResource (Sifix)

Simverses (most of my peasant CC)

Anora's Hair (Princess Leia's Kenobi Hair by Buzzard)

Rosceline's Hair (Lusine by simstrouble)

Kenric's Hair (Henry Hair by JohnnySims)

Mira's Hair (Padme's Mustafar Hair by Buzzard)

Papa Cedrick's Hair (Wearwolves Game Pack)

Roseline's Peasant Dress

👑 LOTS:

Caspian's Seaside Hut (Lot + CC List) (20x20)

Caspian's Lakeside Cottage (Lot + CC List) (20x20)

TSR Ye Medieval Avelyn Castle (64x64)

TSR Ye Medieval Galbury Tavern (30x20)

TSR Ye Medieval Tyrada Tavern (30x20)

TSR Ye Medieval Herbalist Hut (40x30)

👑 SAVE FILE:

Srsly's Blank Save

Map Replacement Medieval Windenburg

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ghoularaki · 9 months ago

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baby's breath | 2

↠ summary: Merely by coincidence, Erwin, your father's former friend had crossed paths with you again after nearly a decade. He offered solace once finding out you were struggling with not just school, but your home life as well. His home he shared with another one of your father's friends, Levi, became a sanctuary. Though, the more you came over for study sessions, the more they wiggled themselves into your private life. And like baby's breath, they weeded themselves in so deep you couldn't uproot them.

↠ word count: 4,395

↠ pairing: levi ackerman x reader x erwin smith

↠ genre/warnings: angst, smut, modern au, DARK CONTENT, yandere, noncon/dubcon, daddy kink, forced infantilism, pet play, age gap, death threats, human trafficking, bdsm

An overwhelming urge to vomit awoke you. Pain shot from behind your eyes and encompassed your head. Pressure built up like someone was crushing your skull between their palms. Clenching your eyes, you attempted to blink the hurt away. Light streamed in from the blinds, tinted pink from the curtains.

Your brows furrowed as you tried to whisk away the blurriness clouding your vision. As the kaleidoscope room morphed into one, you were more perplexed. You were placed on the floor that was a soft carpet under your fingers. The appendages went to dig your nails into the wool only to be met with resistance.

You couldn’t move.

Not even an inch. You were completely paralyzed besides your eyes. Tears clouded your vision more as panic built up in your chest. With every bit of will power, you forced your mouth open to scream, but a mere squeak came out. Breathing heavily, your eyes bounced around what you could. The more your brain cleared, the more you realized, you had no clue where you were.

The room was that of a little girl’s. Wallpaper decorated with butterflies ranging the rainbow with a light pink background spanned the whole room. There was a bureau—a light colored wood—with trinkets of fairies and bunnies on top of it. You gained a little more mobility in your neck to turn deeper in the room to see a crate built for a great dane with a bed inside along with a multitude of stuffed animals. A blushing canopy hung over the crate along with twinkling fairy lights.

Peering upwards, you see an open closet filled with frilly clothes of whites, pinks, purples and baby blues. The most jarring part was the leashes and collars lining the inside of the door. As you gained a little more mobility and feeling, you realized you weren’t in the same clothes as before. Down to the underwear and lack of a bra. A sob broke out from your chest.

Attempting to still your breathing, you shakingly inhale and exhale to gain some clarity. Closing your eyes, you focused on your whole body. Envisioning your own nervous system, you willed at least your fingers to move. Nostrils flared, you were able to get your toes to wiggle with great concentration. The headache was worsening.

A door creaking open pulled you away from your stupor. Instinctively, you turned your head towards the door to see the very door Erwin kept you from. Within the frame stood Levi. From your place on the ground, the man towered over you, peering down at you from his nose.

Fear clutched and squeezed your esophagus as you attempted to wiggle away. You barely moved a centimeter as Levi gracefully walked to you. Unable to look away, you kept eye contact as he crouched down, hovering over you. A whimper crept up your throat.

He tilted his head at your pathetic form, drinking it up. Levi brought a hand to your face to clutch your cheeks, squishing them in between his calloused finger pads. He turned your face left to right, inspecting it.

“The toxin should wear off in a couple hours.”

You could only whine in response, not able to move your jaw up and down just yet. The way he was clutching your mandible was no help either.

Delirious and terrified, what happened before you passed out came rushing back tenfold. Your eyes scanned the room again for a hint of where your old clothes were in hopes to find your phone. As if reading your mind, Levi drops your face to reach into his back pocket. You flinch considering last time he reached behind him, he jabbed you in the neck with a syringe.

In his hand was your phone. Your fingers twitched, begging to snatch it from his grip. He dangled it in front of your face, taunting you. “Looking for this?”

You softly nod your head, eyebrows pinched. His hands grip both ends and snap it in half like flimsy wood. The audible crack haunted your ears. Tiny glass shards crumbled into the carpet while Levi dropped the broken phone. Your chances of escaping were depleting rapidly.

He goes to stroke your hair as you sobbed, scared of what was going to happen to you. Were they going to kill you?

“Don’t worry your daddy will be home soon.”

The words offered no solace and only confused you more. You prayed he didn’t mean Erwin. Your chest heaved more as you grew more hysterical. This can’t be happening. You wanted to go home.

“Hey brat, you need to calm down,” His words were cold and apathetic.

You only cried more as your fingers dug into the rug and your feet barely kicked. You needed to get up. You had to run, escape, scream, do something. If you didn’t, they were going to kill you and no one would find your body. No one would care anyway. You would be just another missing person case filed away in a cold, metal cabinet serving as your casket.

At this point, you were hyperventilating. Your body had gone into full blown panic mode and even Levi lightly slapping your face did little to pull you out. You didn’t want to die. There was so much more you wanted to do in life.

You choked on your own tears as warm liquid spilled from your crotch and pooled around your bum. How pathetic were you to piss yourself out of fear? Your body begged to curl into the fetal position and wallow in self pity, but whatever Levi injected you with wouldn’t leave for a while.

“What is going on?” A new voice sliced through your cries.

Erwin stepped into the room along with Levi. The short man’s knees cracked as he nimbly stood back at his full height. Both men swallowed you whole as you laid in your own filth.

“She started to lose her shit.”

He nodded and his blue eyes spied the darkened spot on your skirt and on the carpet. “This is the exact reason I said to lay down the puppy pads,” Erwin scolded Levi.

Puppy pads?

“I didn’t know she was going to piss herself like a shitty toddler.”

Levi really did know how to rub salt further into the wound. You were embarrassed enough as is, his degrading words offered no solace. The smell of ammonia permeated in the air.

“I will take her to get cleaned up, I can tell you’re already itching to bleach the carpet.”

Levi clicked his tongue at that, but didn’t refute his command. As Levi walked out the room to get his supplies, Erwin crouched down beside you. Gently, he tucked one arm under your back and the other under your knees. He pulled your weight up with ease.

With you cradled close to his chest, he walked out the door and down a familiar hallway. You attempted to struggle, but he squeezed you tighter. Your breath got caught in your throat from his rope-like arms. The drugs were heavy in your system so all you could really do was lightly kick your feet. Even that had you out of breath. At the far end, on the right, Erwin nudged the door with his toe and went through to the bathroom. He set you down on the counter.

The lights above you hissed and hummed while they stung your eyes. In the other room, it was illuminated by a soft, orangey glow while the ones in the bathroom were a harsh almost blue tinge. From the hallway, the smell of bleach wafting in made your nose crinkle. Levi wasted no time.

Seeing your pinched face, Erwin departed from you and closed the door, locking it as well. Panic built up again. The older man filled up the room, swallowing you whole. There wasn’t much you could do as you had to be leaned up against the wall like a doll. Lifeless and frail. The most strength was in your legs, you could feel how the muscle begged to move.

Like a magnet, his body gravitated towards yours once more. Lacking any politeness, Erwin started immediately stripping you. His fingers hooked around the babydoll dress you were forced into while sleeping. Latched onto the hem he tugged it up until it reached under your armpits.

“S-stop,” You gained your voice. It was meant to be a scream, but what came out was a pathetic whimper.

He ignored you as he gripped your arm to slide it out one sleeve and the same with the other. His hand went to the middle of your shoulder blades to sit you up for a moment to pull the clothing over your head. Neatly he folded the dress back up and set it on the other counter next to the sink. Oh how your arms screamed to hide your exposed breasts.

“Don’t t-touch me,” The command was futile, but you refused to let him think you were going to take this lying down.

The man let out a dismissive hum and moved to the bathtub, twisting the knobs. His hand went under the water to find the perfect temperature. Satisfied, he plugged the drain up. Erwin went into the cabinet parallel to you and grabbed a clear, honey-tinted bottle. It was baby soap. What he grabbed was soap made for infants. Your fists balled up. Despair filled you like how the water morphed into the shape of the tub.

What the fuck is going on?

Squirting some of the liquid soap into the tub, you watched as the bubbles boiled up. A soft, clean scent encompassed the room. The smell filled your head of childhood memories long forgotten of sharing baths with your cousins. If you thought hard enough the smell of washable crayons would soon follow. But you weren’t in the safety of your aunt’s home, you were locked in a house with two men with strange, perplexing intentions.

He put the bottle back and turned to you. Trembling, you knew what was about to happen. Erwin slotted himself between your parted legs. A little more bold, he placed his large palms on your knees. Your thighs quivered as his fingers danced up the skin towards your last bit of protection.

You could do it, Your tendons told you, Don’t let this fucker think you’re weak.

Just as his fingers wrapped around the band of your underwear, you reared your knee back and shot the heel of your foot straight into his nose.

“Fuck!” He grunted as blood poured out.

Some of the red splashed onto your shin and onto the white tiles. Your shoulders bounced as you laughed at his misery. The toxin heavy in your system was making you delirious.

Erwin clutched his nose as he shoved a finger in your face, "We don't do that."

His condescending tone tempted you to kick him again. He muttered under his breath as he went into the cabinet to grab a hand towel to wipe off the blood. Unfortunately, you didn’t break his nose and the blood stopped after the initial blow. Throwing the towel down onto the counter, he tugged your underwear off with fervor. Barely contained aggressiveness caused his forearms to quake.

"You're lucky I don't call Levi in. He won't be as tolerant as me."

He picked you back up and you attempted to wiggle, but the kick had left you limp. Erwin shoved you into the bathtub, the warm water embracing you. Despite the exhaustion gripping your bones, you go to hit him in the face again. More sluggish and Erwin expecting it this time, he gripped your ankle and tugged.

You yelped as your body slid down and collapsed into the bubbly solution. Water squirmed into whatever orifice it could. Choking on the soapy liquid, you panicked as it shot up into your nose and lungs. Your arms were no better than cooked noodles so there was no way to pull yourself back up. You were drowning.

Erwin gripped your upper arm and hauled you out of the water. You sputtered as you came back up. Coughing roughly, you threw back up all the liquid flooding your system. Your eyes stung and were bloodshot. As you hiccuped, you glared up at Erwin from under your furrowed brow.

He clutched your cheeks and leaned himself over the rim, “Don’t make this anymore unpleasant for the both of us.”

Knowing it was a losing battle, you nodded your head. You couldn’t fight anymore, not until the drugs wore off. You had to be smart about this.

Erwin petted your wet hair and maneuvered your body into a more comfortable position. He took a washcloth and dipped into the soapy water and started to clean you. His movements were purely clinical and didn’t linger anywhere unwanted. Your teeth almost cracked from your tensed jaw as he dragged the cloth across your inner thighs and your pussy.

The knob jiggled open. From the doorway, Levi made his way into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. In his hand was a key he shoved deep in his pockets. Your eyes drank up the information, filing it away for later.

Erwin turned to Levi and the shorter man’s permanent scowl deepened. His light feet crossed over to his friend and bent down to examine the darkening bruise on his nose.

“What happened,” It was meant to be a question, but he phrased it like a statement.

Erwin shook him off. Levi was having none of it and gripped his face. His grey eyes pierced into Erwin’s, likened to how a stormy sky meets a calm sea.

“We had an accident. Don’t be too concerned over it.”

Levi sent one last glare at him, nodded his head and extracted himself from the taller man. You drank up the whole interaction, nitpicking their whole relationship and how to abuse it for later. Back to his full height, Levi looked at your limp form. Luckily, besides your collarbones, everything was shielded by the extensive bubbles.

“How is she holding up?”

Erwin’s shoulders tensed a little before relaxing and going back to stroking the cloth over your skin. He was scrubbing the same spot on your thigh over and over again. If he kept going, the skin would be rubbed raw.

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

You despised how they talked like you weren’t in the room with them. Erwin gripped your right arm and lifted it out of the water to now clean that area. You shivered as you were exposed more to the cold air.

Levi sighed, agitated. “Well you better because if I do she might just piss herself again.”

“Fuck you,” You seethed.

Erwin shushed you, “The adults are talking.”

“Are you fucking-” Levi stomped over to the rim of the bathtub and shoved his fingers deep into your mouth. You choked on the makeshift gag, your esophagus spasming around the appendages.

“Watch your tone.”

Your feet weakly kicked as you continuously swallowed around his fingers. You were tempted to bite down, but how Levi glared down at you, you kept your teeth to yourself.

“Am I understood?” Whines tickled your throat as you stared up at him with teary eyes. He shoved his fingers deeper. “I said, am I understood?”

You rapidly nodded your head as much as you could and tumbled out, “Yeth, Thevi.”

He ripped his fingers away and rubbed your spit on your face. “Filthy brat.”

“There is no need to be so rough.”

“Apparently I do. Come, you can explain to her over dinner.” And with that, Levi walked out the bathroom, leaving you alone with Erwin once more.

How was it dinner time already? What time is it? How long had you been knocked out for? The questions swirled and swarmed your head.

Heeding Levi’s words, Erwin switched the flip to drain the bath. You watched as the tiny hole swallowed the water along with the bubbles, sucking it up with an audible, clanky slurp. The tall man came back with lilac hued towels splattered with woven butterflies. He helped you up once more and patted you down dry. Next came a pair of pajamas, a silky pink. The panties were a soft cotton with a white bow in the center. It angered you how cute they were. He slid them up and patted your hips when the band rested comfortably.

Efficiently dressed, Erwin picked you up but this time like how you would a child. He rested your weight on his hip and a firm forearm under your bum. His other hand cradled the back of your neck so your head sat on his shoulder. You put no effort into helping him carry you, having your arms hang by your sides.

Erwin carried you out of the bathroom and down the hall until you reached where the living room was. Turning right, he went into the dining room adjacent to the kitchen. You noticed there was a metal plate on the floor that wasn’t there last time. Welded into the sleek steel was a small arch. The plate sat under the kitchen table. A bad, foreboding feeling sat in your stomach.

At the kitchen table were three plates of food, but only two chairs. Levi was already situated at the head of the table, waiting for the both of you. Your laptop also sat on the table. Erwin walked to his chair to the right of Levi with you in tow.

No wonder there was no third chair as Erwin sat you on his lap. He twisted your body so your back leaned against his chest. Oh, how you wanted to struggle, but decided against it as your butt was mere centimeters from his crotch.

You stared at the delicious smelling food in front of you. Was there anything Levi wasn’t good at?

“Eat,” Levi commanded before taking a bite of his own.

“I’m not a dog,” You snided.

“Could have fooled me with all your shitty yapping. Eat.”

You looked down in shame. You had barely gained any mobility in your arms. Sure you could flex your fingers, but you had no idea if you could bring the fork to your mouth.

Sensing your troubled thoughts, Erwin turned you so you sat sideways. He took your fork, dipped into the food and brought it to your lips.

“Open.”

Already learning your lesson from Levi shoving his fingers down your throat, you clamped your mouth shut and glowered at him.

Fatigued from your constant refusal, Erwin raked his fingers through your hair and yanked backwards. Stinging pain coursed through your taunt follicles as he shoved the fork into your mouth. He placed the fork back down and slapped his palm over your mouth. His whole hand encased your lower face. Unable to spit the food out or bite him, you chewed and swallowed.

“Good girl,” He cooed.

You were going to vomit, hopefully on him.

Levi was a spectator to how Erwin repeated the process over and over until you were done with your food. His own plate was left untouched. The tall man took joy in babying you.

Erwin grabbed a napkin and wiped away the nonexistent traces of you eating from your face. He was delicate like he was handling a porcelain doll. The way his eyes never strayed had your back tingle. His stare was almost uncanny. Deep, deep blue threatened to gobble you whole.

“You’re going to drop out,” Levi cut in.

“What? No.”

“I don’t remember asking,” He grabbed the laptop forgotten in the middle of the table. His nimble fingers rubbed against the mousepad. The laptop illuminated his face with a soft white. He clicked a few buttons and then turned it back around to you. Displayed on the screen was the form to dropout.

“People will grow suspicious if I randomly drop out,” You tried to reason.

“We already know you are barely passing all your classes. No one would care or think twice.”

Your eyes caught onto the weather app at the bottom of the screen. The laptop was tracing the location, it must be.

“They will be able to find me.”

“With the laptop? We already have that sorted, don’t get your hopes up.”

A tight ache settled in your chest. You were so confused why they were doing this to you. The life Erwin helped you build back up he was tearing right from under you.

“Why?” You begged.

Erwin shifted you higher on his lap, cradling you as you started to cry again. “Because you can’t take care of yourself.”

“That’s not true.”

“Hush, Daddy will take care of everything.”

Cold washed over you. What did he just say?

“Erwin,” Levi bit, exasperation on his face.

“She was going to figure it out sooner or later.”

Anger started to swell in the air. Panic built further in your ribcage as you were left even more confused. Why did Erwin call himself such a crude name?

“That’s enough for tonight. Finish the form and we can head to bed.”

Levi got up from his seat and walked over to you. This time he was the one to lift you. He showed no signs of struggle as he left Erwin to fill out the paperwork. When he walked back to the bathroom, alarm bells rang in your head. You refused to be put in such a vulnerable position again.

“No.”

“Quiet.”

The door was left open from before and he set you down on the counter. He opened the cabinet mirror and pulled out a new tube of toothpaste. It was strawberry flavored with childish, cartoon berries decorating the aluminum. Plastic clinked against porcelain as he took a pink toothbrush from the stand with two other ones. One was green and the other blue.

Levi squirted the paste onto the bristles and ran it under the water for a couple seconds. He tapped the brush against the sink. His hand tugged your legs apart and made a home between them. Cupping your jaw, he brought the toothbrush up.

“Open.”

A very, very stupid thought crossed your mind. What if you bit him hard enough to draw blood? He would have to visit a doctor if you did otherwise he could get sick from an infection. How would he explain an adult human bite without raising suspicions? He couldn’t.

Open your mouth you did. As he brought the brush to scrub your teeth, you tilted your head and latched onto the meat of his hand. On the side of his hand where his pinky is, you bit down so hard your teeth scraped against bone.

“Shit!” He grunted out.

He was able to rip his hand from your grasp and hit your face so hard you collapsed hard into the sink.

“You fucking bitch,” Levi seethed as he shook out his hand.

You smiled up at him with bloody teeth, “You should get that checked out by a professional. I heard human bites are worse than a dog's if left unchecked."

“You’re fucking done for, Mutt.”

With his uninjured hand he ripped you from the counter and clamped down on the back of your shirt. Your legs still like jelly so you had to half crawl to keep up with his pace. He dragged you back to the bedroom by the collar like a misbehaving puppy.

By now, Erwin had heard the commotion. His heavy steps marched over. Levi threw you into the room you first awoke in. He muttered under his breath as he ripped different restraints from the closet. Blood ran down his forearm and onto the carpet.

“What is going on?” Erwin’s voice thundered.

“Your little princess bit me.”

Erwin turned his attention to you, sat in the middle of the room, red coated your chin and lips. You smiled up at him, too, no remorse in your stance. Your posture screamed you weren’t going to make this easy for them.

Metal clicking together brought your attention to Levi who came over with various black leather restraints. He also had a pink bone gag.

“Hold her mouth open. I don’t want to be bit, again,” Levi scowled.

Erwin walked to stand behind you. His hand cupped your forehead and slammed your skull into his upper thigh. His other hand pinched your cheeks so hard you had to unhinge your jaw. Levi shoved the gag into your mouth and you sputtered at the taste of oddly sweet plastic on your tongue.

The shorter man’s crotch was right in your view as he went around to secure the belt loops. If Erwin wasn’t holding you down, you would have headbutted him. Your jaw creaked at being forced open.

Levi stood back up. Erwin let go of you, but your freedom didn’t last long. A foot shoved your head down until your forehead hit the carpet. You grunted as said foot stood on your temple as you twisted your head to a more comfortable position.

“You don’t get to complain,” Levi was furious.

“Levi, I can handle it from here. You should get that checked out.”

There was a long pause. “Fine, just throw her in the crate. I will deal with her later.”

“I got her handled.”

Levi clicked his tongue and let up on the pressure on your head. You collapsed further into the ground in relief. You listened as his socked feet pattered away until it was just you and Erwin.

Erwin showed no mercy as he gripped you by the hair and forced you up. He tugged you to the crate you saw earlier. Despite the stuffed animals and pink covers, you were left unsettled by the daunting cage. You were tossed in with little care. Luckily you landed on the plushies and not the metal bars. He slammed the door closed and locked it. The same key from earlier was in his fingers. Were there multiple copies?

“I don’t want to be mean, but if you want to act like a dog then you will be treated like one.”

“You are past the point of mean, Erwin,” You glared between the bars. The words were muffled, but he got the point.

The man looked so tired, “Good night, Princess.”

With that he left the room and shut off the lights. What the fuck were you going to do now?

#yandere x reader #yandere levi #yandere levi x reader #yandere erwin #yandere male #yandere aot #levi x reader #erwin x reader #aot smut

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bigtreefest · 7 months ago

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Chapter 7: Have a Cow

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are finding your stride until a surprise shows up on the porch

Word count: 2,750

Content/warnings: Light mob themes, farming, kissing, lap sitting, fluffy fluff

Author’s Note: It’s been a minute! Hopefully this kickstarts me to get a couple more chapters out soon. Please enjoy, be sure to drop any feedback, I love hearing from you!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

< Prev | Series Masterlist | Next >

You sighed as you walked into one of your barns tucked toward the back of the property, recently transformed into what looked almost looked like a city loft apartment to accommodate for Bucky’s workers on the farm. You were carrying produce crates and one of Bucky’s henchmen, Peter, came to take them from your hands.

Ever since Bucky’s construction crew has been working in the mines, most of the food that you would normally be selling at the farmer’s market has been going to them. That makes it easy for you, though. A few of them have even been around the fields helping out to pick it themselves, too, giving you a little more time to sort through documents, contracts, and future plans, without having to stay up late like your normally would to fit in all the work.

All the men had been a great help, and exceptionally respectful, which surprised you. Sure, you expected them to be formal and well-behaved, but their actions seemed almost rehearsed, like they had been told exactly what to do. Peter, probably the one kid who you had taken a liking to, was the only one who would really hold conversations with you, though. You assumed part of it was due to his status in Bucky’s organization. He was young, but extremely smart, earning him a spot of minor authority. Although every time he opened his mouth, you were never quite sure what would come out. It could either be something honest and profound, or a weird nervous babble. Sweet kid, though, so no harm done. He was like the best parts of Jake and Curtis at that age.

As you handed the crate over, you looked around at the high ceilings, now lined with bulb lights and the cool tones that decorated the previously wood-heavy space. “I’ve always wanted a barndiminium, just never had an excuse to make it.”

Peter added your box to the stack in what appeared to be a makeshift kitchenette. No way they had time to hook up appliances and water lines already, right? “I know our men seem pretty gruff, but if there’s one thing they like, it’s comfort and luxury where they lay their heads.”

You laughed and nodded your head. Just like their boss, although he didn’t seem to complain as much anymore, laying on sheets that were probably about as old as him.

Peter continued shifting crates around, unloading certain items likely for whatever meal they had planned next once the next round of workers got off their shift. “And of course, boss wouldn’t want anything less than the best when it comes to you. Says this’ll increase the property value. And it’s all yours to enjoy as you please when we’re gone.”

Ah, there it was. The kinda thing Bucky wouldn’t say to your face, but Peter’s lips let slip like it was nothing. Like it was obvious. You tried to change the subject, unsure if you could confront those types of feelings to Peter when you hadn’t even built up the courage to discuss them with Bucky yet. You knew Bucky cared about quality, and had a little understanding of the extent he was willing to go for you. But you didn’t even want to think about a time when Bucky could be gone.

“Don’t you need permits for this stuff?”

He winked. “I won’t tell if you won’t. Plus, I’m sure the higher ups worked their smooth talking magic and their connections. They’re amazing with things like that.”

You hummed in agreement. You had seen and heard first-hand how effortlessly Bucky could have something done for him. The world was at his fingertips. Surely that rule stood true for most people around him.

“Don’t I know, Peter. But I’m sure you’ve got your own charms. Some of your own connections that Buck doesn’t.”

He gave you a sheepish smile and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess, sort of. But I’m not sure how much they’d really put me in charge of that stuff. Sometimes I just freeze up when I have to tell them things instead of them telling me what to do…I just get so flustered around Mr. Barnes.”

You nodded and put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, I’d say they trust you a lot for you to be in control of as much as you are right now. They definitely see through your nervousness. You’re doing a great job and I really appreciate you discretion and assistance around here.”

He gave you a soft smile. “Oh..wow, thanks.”

You nodded and turned on the newly laid floor, ready to head back to the house to continue your paperwork.

The mid-morning sun was at your back as you made your way inside towards the office. You were almost never inside at this time of day, so it was a wonderful pocket of time to be productive. You were greeted by Bucky sitting in your chair, shuffling though papers while he was on a phone call. He drew his gaze from the fan of parchment in front of him, smiling when he saw your face.

“Yeah, just keep an eye on her and increase security all around. Overlap shifts and monitor cameras 24/7. Thanks, Steve. Bye.”

You smiled as Bucky set the phone down. You had never heard him thank anyone before. As you took another step closer, though, you saw which papers he was looking through. Your own smile fell to see the contract from Cole for the hundredth time. Why was Bucky able to be so happy when this attempt at a forceful ‘offer’ was in front of him?

“C’mere, Honey.” Bucky gestured for you to come sit with him on your chair, but instead, you opted to take a seat opposite him, in front of your desk. There was work to be done and you couldn’t let yourself get distracted, even if he seemed oddly at ease.

You watched as his previously carefree gaze scrunched in on itself, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and lips in a slight pout. As you plopped down in the old cushion, you crossed your arms and legs.

“Bucket, I’m doing this for the good of both of us. Talk business with me first, then we can discuss…accessory ventures.”

You nodded in gesture to the papers, hoping he’d explain why this all needed to be looked over again. Was it not enough that it was constantly running through your mind? You had the power to just say ‘no,’ as long as Cole didn’t keep pushing or have anything over your head, but things were never that easy, so what was really going on?

“Honey, come on. We’ve got a little time to be close. This way we don’t have to flip papers back and forth to read them.” His voice had softened from his phone call, nearly reaching a whine.

“James…” oh, you weren’t messing around. You were taking this seriously. “I can read upside down. It’s fine. Just talk me through what’s going through your head.”

He sighed and his chin met his chest in defeat. “Ever since Curtis messaged me that Cole tried to get into the bar and Lloyd had been with him, I just want to be extra cautious, which is why I’m going through these. Again. I’ve already sent them to my lawyer in the city, so he’ll confirm for me.”

You nodded and stood up, finally walking over to him. “So is this what you’re really worried about? What’s not in the contracts, but real-life threats?”

You walked around your desk, hips swerving to miss the corners as you finally stood in front of Bucky. He swiveled the chair so you stood between his legs and threw his forehead against your stomach. You held him close and stroked his hair before he moved to look up at you, resting his chin on your sternum and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Yeah. I’m worried about you. And what’ll come when I have to leave. And just how involved Lloyd may be. I know I already told you about him, but I don’t think words can describe how much he truly doesn’t subscribe to caring for the well-being of others when they stand in his way. I know this is all that Cole has sent so far, but if Lloyd has anything to say about it, this won’t be the last push, but it’ll certainly be the nicest.”

You nodded down to him before gesturing for him to sit up so you could straddle his lap in the oversized leather chair. You held the sides of his face before leaning your forehead against his. You did your best to speak in a firm, yet placating tone.

“Jamie. I promise, I’m going to be fine. I was fine before you and I can take care of myself when you’re gone.”

He closed his eyes and sighed again. “I know, I know. But I just made the command to keep Peter here with you. He’s an extra precaution. You’ll barely notice him, and I’m sure having the help will be nice.”

You pulled away to smile and roll your eyes. “Bucky, he’s a kid. What’s he gonna do that I can’t? Plus, you know I like him. The last thing I would want is him putting himself in harm’s way for my sake.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, you know how capable he is. If I can see it, I know you sensed it from a mile away. He stays at least until it all blows over. Everyone is willing to do what is necessary to protect you. It’s what they signed on for.”

You knew that Bucky wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so instead, you simply kissed his temple and wrapped your arms around him, nestling against his neck. “Okay, fine. But he’s gonna become the buffest farmer you’ve ever seen when he comes back to you. I’m burning all his little suits. You’ll only ever see him in strictly flannel.”

Bucky let out a light chuckle as he rubbed your back, sitting in the chair and enjoying the moment with you before you mumbled against his neck in question.

“So you wanna tell me what Jake was really doing here? And what you did to make him into the same guy he used to be?”

Bucky hummed in thought at your question. He wasn’t quite sure if honesty was the best way to go here. Sure, you knew that everyone who knew about the mines had to come into town, but why have Jake help? And why didn’t Bucky hate him as much as you’d anticipated?

Bucky clicked his tongue before deciding on the diplomatic answer. “I just reminded him of his place and how valuable you are. Not much more than that. He’s smart if you direct the way he needs to think. I mean, he’s half the reason you’re in this mess, but he could help us get out if we do it right.”

“Yeah, okay Mr. Politician. Whatever you say. Just make sure you restock my duct tape. I’ve been running low lately and I’m not sure how that happened.” Bucky froze as you laughed at the reaction. Dang, he should’ve told the truth. You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t already know, you were just giving him the opportunity to let you in. Noted.

The rest of the week on the farm was fairly easy as you and Bucky worked in tandem, sporadically getting updates on the mine reinforcements and spells of assistance from his men.

But otherwise, you got along well. Bucky was truly learning the farm chores and operations, catching on quicker than you had anticipated. He only ran the tractor into one ditch and his boots hadn’t gotten stuck in mud at all. Now you were helping, or at least trying to help, him reach mastery in what you thought he would’ve caught onto easily: barking orders.

The two of you were out in the pasture, as you finally taught him how to use your sheep and cattle dogs. Sure, they were practically self-sufficient, but sneaky little things sometimes with their own agendas. Bucky, in an attempt to boast about all the independent work he had done the previous week, revealed himself for the actual issues he had experienced with them, obviously not unbeknownst to you.

After a long day of running around and nearly a week since hearing anything from Cole, you and Bucky were spent, walking back up to your house to have a nice night in, just sitting on the porch and enjoying the peace. As you got closer, though, you could hardly make out a small brown blob waiting there next to one of the posts. Was it a package? You hadn’t ordered any new equipment lately….and then it moved.

You threw an arm out in front of Bucky, both of you stopping stark in your tracks.

“Wait. Hold on. You see that?”

Bucky grabbed your arm close to his chest when you stopped, leaning over it and squinting until it became clear. What was that doing on your porch?

The two of you cautiously kept walking towards it, finally deciphering what you were looking at: a brown, fluffy, baby… highland cow?

You could hear it moo more and more the closer you got, eventually seeing it tied to one of the porch posts with a rope and a ribbon around its neck: both Turner’s blue.

You walked up to the calf cautiously, holding out a hand and cooing at it to ease its evidently nervous state.

“Shhh, shhhh, hey there little thing. What are you doing up here?” Sure, you owned a plethora of livestock, but none of these. This was, for lack of a better term, a house cow. Something Decks had begged you to get for years, but you never had the need or the time for.

You pet the tuft of hair on top of its head as you squatted down, grabbing the piece of card stock attached to the ribbon before looking up over your shoulder at Bucky. You could already see the anger rising in his eyes and seeping through the rest of his demeanor, fists clenched and body rigid as he nodded for you to read.

“Peach, take a taste of what success could be. Here, have a cow. -Cole. P.S. all in good faith”

Oh, Bucky was gonna have a cow, alright. You rolled your eyes at another ridiculous note. This was very evidently not a dairy cow from his stock, so you weren’t sure why Cole was trying to pull one over on you by claiming it was. And he didn’t even leave it with any feed or water for who knows how long it had been there up until this point. The main question was: why didn’t Bucky’s men intercept? You guessed they were probably under specific instructions not to, as to keep a low profile.

When you looked back up at him, Bucky was already on the phone. Even before you had gotten to the porch, he had sent a message to Peter to check the cams and make sure no one had lingered on the property after the delivery. This new development instantly put him on high alert.

He held the phone to his ear now, though, as it rang only twice before you heard someone on the other side pick up. “Hey Barber, I know you’re busy with that other stuff I sent you, but what do you know about corporate gifting policies?”

Meanwhile, you had untied the poor baby from the post and scooped it up, carrying it inside and to the kitchen while Bucky slumped into the couch. You gave the calf—at least it was a girl capable of producing milk and not a boy-which you definitely would’ve roasted Cole for—some water before taking her over to the couch and setting her down next to Bucky. You ran your knuckles against his temple in a soothing stroke before petting through his hair and giving him a kiss on his hairline. When you pulled away, thumb moving to stroke his cheek, you mouthed ‘it’ll be okay,’ only seeing his jaw unclench slightly at the reassurance. You moved to sit on the couch on the other side of the calf and criss-crossed your legs, petting her and listening to Bucky’s lawyer walking him through corporate gifting laws, now on speaker.

Next >

Bonus A/N: highland cows are so cute. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been sent a video of one getting a little spa day🥰

Series Taglist: @scuzmunkie @openup-yourmind @vicmc624 @hawkeyes-queen @blackhawkfanatic @morgthemagpie @buckybarnessimpp @calwitch

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desertdollranch · 8 months ago

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Kirsten's bedroom renovation

It's a sunny spring day in Minnesota Territory, and Kirsten is stuck indoors, helping with the spring cleaning. Her first task is to sweep the upstairs bedrooms--she shares one with her three siblings, and so it gets messy very quickly. But Kirsten doesn't complain--she remembers her previous home, a one-room log cabin on her aunt and uncle's farm. That was easier to clean, but it was hard sharing such a small place with six people. After a fire burned that cabin down, the Larsons bought a much larger house, the beautiful home they dreamed they'd have when they left Sweden two years ago.

As for my part in this, I created a bedroom for my Kirsten doll a few years ago, but I recently renovated it to make it look more like the illustrations in Kirsten's sixth book, Changes for Kirsten.

The walls in this illustration look like they've been finished with plaster, which was common in houses at the time. The light color would have come from local sources of limestone.

So most of the changes I made were to the walls and windows. I used printed photographs for the windows, and added the twelve-pane window frames over the images before printing. For the walls, I took down the boring white wood paneling. I imitated that plastered look using tissue paper stuck to the first layer of pale yellow paint, and then I painted another layer over the tissue paper.

The furnishings are basically the same, except for the trunk on the right side of this photo. She used to store her clothes in the top half of Felicity's clothes press, which I mentioned in my recent post about moving the clothes press into the parlor for Caroline to use. After I did that, I knew Kirsten would need a place to store her clothes, and what better piece than a smaller version of her trunk?

Most of the things in the above picture are not from Kirsten's collection. The bed was made by my grandpa when I was eight and first got my Kirsten doll. My mom made the quilt on the bed and the one on the rocking chair, the pillow and mattress on the bed, and the two darker gray cats. The foot stove next to the bed is Pleasant Company, and so are the shoes (including snow shoes) lined up next to the trunk. The rocking chair came from an antique store. I made everything else: both rugs, the cradle, the nightstand, the candle and book and stuffed cat on the nightstand, the cross stitch hanging on the wall, the shelves and everything on them, the painted round boxes at the foot of the bed, baby Britta's dress, and Kirsten's quilt square in the embroidery hoop.

This is a little wooden trunk I found at a craft store. I painted it blue and then painted on the decorative designs using stencils.

That's Kirsten's straw hat hanging on the wall, from her collection. My mom made the two sunbonnets.

I gave it a weathered look by lightly brushing on white and red paint.

The trunk can hold all of Kirsten's clothes. It has room for a few more dresses too. I have almost all of Kirsten's clothes; I'm only missing her baking outfit, skating coat, and promise dress.

I also made the gingham curtains for the windows. There's a lot of blue and white going on in here, so I wanted them to match the color themes.

Next to Britta's cradle are the round boxes I made to hold Kirsten's socks and ribbons, which are all Pleasant Company things. Her lunch box and bucket are from craft stores.

I remade her honey crate and the jars of honey. They now contain clear glue dyed with food coloring. I made her little gnomes too.

The rocking chair was an antique store find. It's perfect for her to sit with her baby sister Britta.

I also painted a little flourish on the end of her bed.

This definitely isn't all of Kirsten's collection--I have a few pieces hidden away underneath her room that won't fit here. That includes her actual big trunk that my grandpa made, her Saint Lucia wreath and tray that I made, her dishes set from her official collection, and some other small things that she doesn't need in her room.

#kirsten larson #changes for kirsten #kirsten's room #kirsten's bedroom #kirsten's cabin

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skeedelvee · 2 months ago

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Thanks for the tags, y’all! Right now I’m working on a cubby that I��m going to turn into a living room for the dolls!

I made the box out of wood from wine crates I found on the street and now it has its own spot on my IKEA shelf. I got the doll house furniture set from IKEA, so now all I have to do is do the floor and walls and then decorate!

What kinds of things do y’all think they should have in there? I’m definitely going to make some mini books and some mini frames, maybe a couple swords too

#wip wednesday #crochet snowbaz #snowbaz #carry on rainbow rowell #skeedelvee

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mistystepmoonbeam · 8 months ago

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Reborn into BG3 - Chapter 4

You're reborn into BG3 with only the memory of your past life. Now you're Tav's companion on his journey, and must learn about yourself as much as your new reality.

Chapter 4: You meet Wyll and return to camp, weary from all your recent travels.

Word count: 1.4K

You couldn’t get away from Auntie Ethel fast enough. You scurry as quickly as possible around the bend by the storage shack and sit on a crate to catch your breath. It feels like you’re breathing for the first time, away from all the characters and shouting and mayhem. You hold the staff in front of you and rest your forehead against the smooth wood, eyes closed. The coolness of the shade and the staff do little to cure the pounding headache that’s started up.

The sound of the children slashing at training dummies, the gentle calls of the birds, and the voices of those around you fade to nothing. There’s a small wriggle behind your eye when a vision of Karlach comes to you and disappears just as fast.

“It seems you and I have the same affliction,” a man says. You open your eyes to find Wyll at your side. He takes a seat on the crate next to yours, leaning back on his palms as he speaks. “I wanted to commend you for your actions with the prisoner but it seems we have more dire circumstances to discuss.”

“Dire is a strong word,” you reply. “But wait, you saw what I did?”

“Witnessed the aftermath.” He chuckles. “Your friend cares for you deeply to run that fast to Nettie. Your other, paler friend filled me in on the rest; didn’t seem as impressed as I was at your valour.”

“No, he was not.” You give a small laugh. “I don’t even know why I did it.”

“Mercy is a rare thing these days, best to appreciate it when you can.”

“Even if it’s stupid?”

“Mercy is never stupid. Misguided at times, perhaps, but never stupid.”

Your chest warms at his words. When you finally look at Wyll you find him observing the head of your staff. Hoping to distract him you question who it was you saw in the vision.

“Karlach,” he answers. “A servant of Zariel and a devil from Avernus. I’ve been tasked with tracking her down.”

“Sounds difficult.”

“It’s not for everyone.”

Beyond Wyll you spot Tav coming up from the bottom of the grove. His head swivels left and right in search of something until his eyes land on you. He jogs over, followed by Astarion and Lae’zel.

It’s strange to watch the introductions happen in person.�� When the narrator states what’s happening it makes sense, but seeing them squirm and wince as the tadpoles connect without context? Yeah, that looks very weird. And the silence feels a lot longer.

Wyll goes into more detail about Karlach on Tav’s insistence, and when the tiefling offers to help, Wyll hesitates. “Perhaps we should stop by your camp first. Hunting a devil is dangerous work and it would be best to be prepared.”

When all eyes fall to you you understand the meaning behind his words. No injured people allowed. Or perhaps it’s no merciful people allowed. Either way you’re getting booted to the camp with Gale and Shadowheart.

You choose not to question the elaborate setup of the camp. Each party member has their own little tent, even you. When you had asked about it Gale said anything was possible with a helping hand and conjured a blue Mage Hand as if that answered everything. You let it answer everything.

Tav, Wyll, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart are the ones to head out and track down Karlach. As much as you want to join your body is feeling the full force of events—the ship crashing, multiple hits to the head, an arrow through the hand (which was also commended by Gale), and having the hell scared out of you by a hag. It added up to one weary body.

Your own tent is sparse, a few herbs hung on the outside by Shadowheart are the only decoration, and it is more because that is the only available space to store them. The blue fabric is draped over sturdy branches, with a bedroll and pillow on top of a matching blue cloth that covers the ground. All in all, it wasn’t terrible.

You drop both your bags to the ground, finally free of their weight. You take a seat on your bedroll, eyeing the one that you haven’t opened.

“Knock, knock.” Gale announces himself at the wide opening of your tent. “I hope you find your abode to your tastes.”

You each look at the nothing that surrounds your space so he adds, “Well maybe not quite what you’re used to but it’s better than the forest floor.”

Again, Gale looks at your coat.

“I’m not sure what I’m used to, but this is good,” you tell him. You shrug as you stand, giving him a smile. “Thank you for putting it together. I wouldn’t even know where I would start.”

Gales brow furrows. “You are most welcome. But you aren’t sure what you’re used to?”

It’s only then that you realize you never actually told anyone you have no memory of your current life except Tav. And even then you’d just said your name and Baldur’s Gate, so your confusion would have seemed to be a result of the crash. And when Astarion had teased you in the grove about not being able to read he hadn’t actually asked anything about having no memory until you questioned your identity looking into your bag. Even then he didn’t question you, but he probably didn’t care at this point in the game. Journey. Not a game anymore…

“I don’t remember anything,” you admit, “except my name.”

“Memory loss isn’t a common symptom of ceremorphosis, but our tadpoles are hardly common. I’m sure you’ll get your memory back in time, and if not, we can deduce some facts based on, well, you.”

Gale holds his hands out as if putting you on display.

“You come from affluence,” he says. “There’s powerful magic radiating from your coat alone, not to mention your boots, which means you’re either friends with a very powerful wizard, or wealthy enough to afford one. I’ve enchanted some items in my time but I’ve never met you, and I would remember someone like you.”

“Why?” Well, money is quite memorable, you suppose.

Gale straightens and stammers, “Why? Well it’s not every day you meet someone willing to take an arrow for another being, and a goblin no less. Anyway, have you looked through your things?”

Your eyes fall on the bags. “Just the one. It’s only gold though.”

“May I?”

“Sure.”

Gale picks up the heavy bag and opens the latch to peer inside. “Yes, I’d say you are indeed wealthy. Very, very wealthy.”

When he sets that bag down and moves to the other one you quickly dart over and grab it before he can. The sudden movement makes him jolt. You say, “Sorry I just…I haven’t looked in this one and…”

Your grip on the bag tightens, palm aching with the pressure. You can’t find the words to explain to him what opening the bag would mean, what looking inside could take away. With eyes scanning the floor of your tent you shake your head.

“No explanation necessary,” Gale tells you. “I’m no stranger to the need for hope.”

You meet his soft hazel eyes. Behind him the sun is just starting to dip towards the horizon.

Graciously, Gale offers to move the conversation along to something lighter, like the imminent possibility of turning into a mind flayer. You both leave your tent and sit on the rolls by the unlit campfire and once the sky begins to turn red Gale lights up the wood with a spell. You’re not sure where Astarion has been all this time but you imagine he’s off bathing in the sun while he still can. He only makes an appearance when the fire casts your shadows long across the ground, and Gale is finishing a story about the hijinx he and Tara got up to when he was young.

Though there’s still plenty of time until it’s truly night you feel exhaustion wash over you. You wanted to wait up for the others to return but it’s nearly impossible to keep your eyes open, so you excuse yourself to your tent.

“Goodnight Gale, Astarion,” you say.

“Sleep well,” Gale responds.

“Sweet dreams,” Astarion adds.

When you take off your coat and boots, and tuck yourself into your bedroll you find a small pit of loneliness rise in your throat. If you weren’t so tired you might have been able to focus on it, think about all the things you had to put aside today, but instead you fall into a dreamless sleep.

Taglist:

@half-poison-and-half-hope @sanscas @hotmesshobbit @godoffuckedupcats @thequeen-oni @terrenuserinj @straewberrysoda @theomnipotentfox @becksynthetic @quitecontrary-to-mary @furblrwurblr @mega-trash-cringe @fandomsbookclub @dontneedbiologytoadopt

#reborn into baldur's gate 3 with no memory and plenty of money #gale dekarios #gale dekarios x reader #bg3 wyll #bg3 fanfic #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #reader insert #gender neutral reader #basically a harem for the reader lol

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cosmicaces · 14 days ago

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compilation of details about the souls' home:

not many things on the exterior! they have a clothesline and a lawn chair. we can assume they wash their clothes by hand.

we don't see much of it, but there's a very small entrance area! they have an old doormat, can't really make out the design because it's faded. i can't tell what those papers are on the wall... ads, maybe? there's a storage crate holding umbrellas and planks of wood—shelving? i can't tell what's rolled up in the corner, either... my first guess is carpeting. tucked next to it is what looks like a pair of winter boots.

across from the front door is the bathroom! their bathroom is pretty cramped. they have a cabinet with what looks like a lock on it, the mirror hangs by a nail, and i think that's a light fixture on the wall? they have toothbrushes and mouthwash. there is no door to the bathroom so they use a curtain instead. if they have a shower, it would have to be a small stand-up since there's no room for a tub.

(silly screenshot moment)

we get a small glimpse into their room across the hall. looks like there's an upper cubby with different books and a mystery box.

they have a kitchenette! there are various cups, two tea kettles, and a cooking pot. there's a box on the top shelf... that could be a first aid kit but i'm not entirely sure! gonna take a guess and say that the two bottles next to the stove top are cooking oil. there's a vent on the wall. some of lala's drawings are hanging up on the wall. there's a toy box underneath the side table. there are flags strung up around their living space. cabinets over the couch. i'm not gonna talk about the shelving to the side because there's an inconsistency in the credits where it is now a bunch of cabinets.

in the credits, their living space is now a little more decorated! they have a tv and houseplant. the mobile has moved from being over one end of the couch to the other end. we can see that they've hung some notes on the refrigerator, too. we don't see too much into their room, but i can only assume that they keep any extra chairs in there? speaking of:

the other little glimpse we get into their room! lala's drawings hang above the bed.

some final notes:

they live on the right side of the river, just by the airport. for any trips into the main city, they would have to either use public transportation or walk (assuming there's a designated area for walking).

in the credits, we can see that there is a small playground located in the trailer park as well as a garden!

and... yeah that's about it 👍

#cosmic chatter #bnha #rody soul #blorbo tag #undescribed #ive been meaning to make this post for a while #ive had to study the layout for when i write bweheh #as a side note (and if i do make a general timeline post ill bring this up again)#i think i know lala's age! i'm almost positive she's 5 years old #from what i could find there's a lot of places in europe where kids dont start school till they're 6 #this is entirely dependent on the assumption that the images of roro in school are happening at the same time as lala's #and yknow. if they are. that would mean that lala is 5 #im pre sure roro is 10-11 #god... i know they watch bluey on that tv

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dirtyhecker · 3 months ago

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i'm sure this has been done already in the hours since these images came out, but i think i've got these companion bedrooms sorted

this one is definitely Bellara. everything we've seen of her so far, with the gyroscopey magical stuff, and that one concept art of her with that exact statue head, makes it seem obvious that this is her room. it also looks like she's into art, given all the paintings, and area rugs? what's with all the rolled up rugs, Bellara. i like her little daybed, and i wonder if her vallaslin are supposed to be for Ghilan'nain, given the halla decoration on the wall.

this one has to be Neve. she's got a whole detective conspiracy wall back there, sans the red yarn. there's some real organized chaos going on with the stacks of books, and the scrolls all over the place. i'm pretty sure there's a pot of tea on her desk, and i see several half-burned candles, despite the several magical lamps and pendant lights, not to mention the enormous windows and ambient Fade-light. i wonder if it gets dark out where they are? also her chair looks very fancy, but i don't see a bed anywhere.

this is Taash's room. they've said she's a gym bro, and there is a weight lifting thingy to the right, in front of that pillar. it's weighed down with sacks of flour, it looks like lol. i wonder if its functional, or just static decoration. i also see crates of weapons, and maybe some kind of forge in the bottom right? and right behind that is a pretty barebones bed. maybe she gets cold, because her bed is surrounded by fire. idk what's up with that table on the left, but everything else looks pretty sparse.

this one i think is Harding's room, but only by process of elimination. the metal bars in the window give dwarven vibes for some reason, but i also see a couple elfroot plants. there's a ton of plants, actually, all over the place, but i don't recognize the others. and there's that sad bedroll on the floor, though the rest of the room looks like my kind of place tbh. maybe it's from years spent as a scout, camping in the wilderness. i suppose this could be Bellara's room instead, but i doubt it.

i thought this was Lucanis' room, even before someone pointed out that it was a larder. i know the devs have said he's a good cook, but i didn't think he'd literally want to sleep in a pantry 😭 this makes me think he's just trying to be as unobtrusive as possible or something. there's also zero personal touches, like i zoomed in and that plywood cot is just surrounded by candles. are you okay buddy??

this one seems like Davrin's to me. he's said to be a monster hunter, and there's like a chandelier made of dragon horns or something up there? and a huge spine? plus multiple skulls of large beasts. i don't see a bed but i think it might be in that far corner next to the hearth. also there's a ton of wood carvings. so many. mostly bears and what look to be bobble-headed nugs, and at least one dragon. if Griffon Dad gives me a nug carving i will cry.

lastly, this has to be Emmrich's room. if the giant skeleton statue on the left wasn't enough of a clue, then idk what to tell you. there are basically the exact same ones in the necropolis, but much bigger. this does look like a laboratory, and an extremely well-organized one at that. i imagine Emmrich's bed is up that spiral staircase somewhere. i keep mentioning the beds because i need to know that these people are actually sleeping between quests, ok.

anyway, that's my professional analysis. i love you, goodbye.

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard

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https-furina · 1 year ago

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✎ baubles & gratitude wishes. ft. diluc x gn!reader content. festive fluff! labelled gn!reader but if you find otherwise please let me know so i can adjust! tw for kisses, sickening sweet stuff with diluc (hehe) assuming that christmas lights exist in canon au... w.c. 1.2k words

notes. this man will not leave me alone ! so when i spun n got him i was like damn, he rlly isn't letting me drop him.. maybe 'm still a diluc girlie at heart <33 this is my first entry for ecrin’s christmas event! taglist - always open, send an ask! @ryuryuryuyurboat @soleillunne @rainswept

at the heart of the winery stands a manor, decorated with dark wood beams and emitting the warmest orange glow into the chill of the night through its many glass windows. it is the peak of winter in teyvat and whilst every nation has a different winter, mondstadt in particular suffers from the dropping cold temperatures and lingering frost that kisses every surface it touches. after years of living in mondstadt with your beloved husband at his late father's winery, you'd grown accustomed to the weather in mondstadt - and most especially how it changes in the blink of an eye.

you sit on one of the plush velvet couches that litter the winery's manor, all deep red in colour to match the ragnvindr family's oddly specific red theme - not that you minded it. it was one of the many things alongside the weather that you had grown accustomed to. another one of those things was your husband's quiet, stoic attitude.

"if you keep staring at the fire like that, you'll hurt your eyes, love," his deep voice resonates from behind the couch, calloused hands placing themselves upon your shoulders, "what's on your mind?"

the sentiment of his question draws a small smile to your face, shaking your head in reassurance as you look up at the redhead, his hair tied neatly back in a ponytail. he quirks a brow, not buying it but he accepts it anyway, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

“have you ever decorated the manor?” you ask with a hum, watching his brows furrow in confusion - of course he has, he thinks as he take a moment to glance around the living area he’s grown so used to, “for christmas, luc.”

ah. that changes his response quite quickly. diluc scowls for a moment before shaking his head, turning his ruby gaze back to you, the one he treasures so much. diluc isn’t stupid and quite frankly, he knows where this conversation is going. a sigh escapes his parted lips before a crack of a smile graces his pale face, framed so delicately by the loose strands of red hair he hasn’t tied back.

“i’ll ask adelinde to see if my father’s decorations are still in the attic.” he sounds reluctant but he drinks in the way that your face lights up, a sparkle glittering in your eyes at the prospect of decorating the manor with the one you love and he knows he can’t deny you now - not only for your sake but his own. diluc knows very well that you have him wrapped around your finger when every time you pout or give him those sorrowful eyes, he can’t help but feel his already fragile heart break.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

there’s a few crates littering the living room floor, filled with the late crepus’ decorations. the lids are covered in dust, save for the fingerprints left by diluc’s gloved hands from when he took the crates from adelinde, scolding her for attempting to do all the heavy lifting alone.

you sit amongst them, unaware of diluc's vermillion eyes that seemed to be trained on your childish delight as you sift through endless decorations - you never had the joy of meeting crepus but from the sheer amount of his decorations diluc had shoved into the attic in an attempt to bury old memories, you could gather that he was a brilliant family man. diluc notes that the glitter in your eyes never fades for even a second and for a moment, he ponders the times when he was once this excited to see these crates. it's melancholic, cracking a smile to his stoic face.

after many minutes going over the layout of the manor's ground floor space, you decided quite boldly that the tree should sit in the entry before the front door. diluc tries to hide his amusement at how serious you're taking decorating the manor but you can see it peak through when you glance at your husband only to see a sliver of a smirk on his face.

"i didn't expect you to like christmas this much," diluc mumbles as he finishes wrapping lights around the bushy evergreen spruce tree - upon your request, - thankful for his gloves when the needles poke at him as he works meticulously, "let alone decorating…"

"life is too short to not find the joys in seemingly mediocre tasks," you grin, two golden, glittering baubles in your hands as you begin to hang them on the branches. diluc watches, noticing that the heavier - and much larger - baubles are placed on the lower branches. after his observation, he copies, "besides, it's much more fun to see the tree whenever you come home and realise that your house is your home, your four walls and warmth."

diluc wants to cluck his tongue, sending a glance in your direction as the warm christmas lights decorating the tree illuminate your face but he can't bring himself to vocally retort his thoughts. you are his four walls, his home and hearth; the warmth he craves after long days of paperwork and tedious tasks or cold nights being mondstadt's mysterious unidentified hero. you are the one he comes home to and realises these things. he makes a soft noise in response to your words, continuing to hang baubles and the like on bushy branches.

he'll occasionally glance back at you. he thinks you look absolutely gorgeous, radiating this exciting energy that glows with the tree as it comes to life. diluc takes these moments to gaze over you and drink in every last detail as if you'll disappear from his grasp after you both return to your shared chambers later that night, sliding into silk sheets and pressing your bodies together for warmth in the chill of mondstadt's winter nights. he drinks it all in as if he'll never see the shape of your nose again or the twinkle of your eyes. he traces the outline of your lips and counts any freckles you may have.

you're not silly, you caught diluc staring ages ago but now there's a glitter in his own ruby eyes that matches yours. two matching flames that keep each other ablaze. the next time you catch him staring, you're quick to shuffle closer to him, pressing against his chest as you rest your head on his broad shoulders. diluc tenses as he always does, his busy hands hanging the decorations they'd been holding before his arms wrap around you tightly. he presses his lips to your hair, nestling his nose in the familiar scent of the shampoo you always specifically request when adelinde goes shopping for necessities.

"merry christmas, luc." you mumble into the fur trim of his coat, your eyelashes fluttering shut in content when you bask in the scent of smouldering ashes from his pyro vision, the wine that he despises to drink and rain. he's your home.

"merry christmas, love." diluc responds softly after a few moments of silence, his eyes raising to admire the handy work of you both as he takes in the tinsel decorating shelves, placed neatly above the fireplace hearth and the lively golden tree at the centre of it all. it has been far too long since he's seen his manor decorated in such ways, he thinks with an ounce of a smile at the nostalgia you've ignited in his heart. you're his home too.

#( sealed letters )#🎄— joyeux noël: 2023 #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #diluc fluff #genshin x reader #https-furina

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