#but the smell of wet soil? heaven

[h34rtbeat]

perv loser hyuka who cums in his pants from kissing u for the first time

OH EM GEEEEEEEE!!!!! IM GOING INSANE

FIRST TIME

pairings: pervy!nerd!hyuka x reader

warnings: mentions of panty stealing, he jerks off in ur bathroom, just rlly nasty and pervy hyuka!!, he jerk’s off in front of u (u ask for it tho)

Soft pants and grunts, as Kai’s hand wrapped around his cock.

Seated with his head between your legs, on the floor as you sat on the edge of your bed. Heavy breaths shared, as he came for a third time.

It was a study session— well, it was supposed to be one.

Your dear classmate, and friend, was so good at chemistry, it made your head ache. On one hand, you could fail. Other hand, you could call him over for a study session.

Though, the heavy textbook now sat on your desk, as your thighs coated hyukas head, cum coating his hand.

Cheeks reddened, begging you “please, please kiss me a-again, I-I… I like it so much..”

Who were you to deny? After all, it was a simple redundant. Keep kissing him, and he’d go into heaven.

Wet and moist sounds coming from his soiled hand, god you were so close, you smelled just like he imagined.

Your clothed pussy was so close to his face, he could feel the heat radiating off of you, as you leaned over for another kiss.

Tongue mixing with one another, coaxing him into what seemed as close to heaven as he could get.

“God.. hmmm.. hmph..!” You shut him up, he was just too cute.

Cumming in his own hand over and over, the same way he came into those panties he stole.

“God, Hyuka.. didn’t know you’d cum so much. M’not even touchin’ you.” You mumbled, tongue mixing with his.

His eyes rolling back, mouth agape at the feeling of you.

Perhaps he’d need… much more study sessions.

#[🦭] venoms race! #[🦭] txt! #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt x you #txt x reader #txt smut #txt #txt hyuka #txt kai #txt heuningkai #heuningkai #hyuka x reader #hyuka #hyuka hard hours #hyuka smut #hyuka hard thoughts #heuning kai #sub!txt #sub!idol #dom!reader #sub!kpop #sub!hyuka #txt imagines #txt scenarios

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

You ever read a fic where they describe the natural scents of people and it’s always either ‘sweet vanilla and toffee’ or ‘dew on fresh grass and cedar wood’ sort of scents that are described?

Has anyone ever actually smelt that on someone? Naturally that is? Cause I know I haven’t and I’m here to do my own take with my old friend, Ghoap. Which is still, such a dumb name for them 😂 also this is long so strap in lads.

Anyway! I reckon Johnny’s natural scent when he was a kid used to be grass, coffee and whatever random shampoo that was on sale at the time.

He was constantly outside and rolling around in the grass, coming home with grass stains down his legs and mud on his face.

Coffee was always in the pot in his house, his family consisting of more adults than kids at that point and all of them needing their beans to keep themselves going. Johnny’s positive he could’ve left his clothes outside for days on end and they’d still come back smelling like his family’s favourite brew.

And given he had to shower every single day ‘cause heaven forbid you get those stains on my fresh washed sheets John McTavish’ his hair just constantly smelt like the shampoo they had gotten for that month.

So yeah, when Johnny was a kid those were the natural scents that clung to him. It wasn’t necessarily a good scent, wasn’t anything that made people swoon at a mere passing by, but it was his.

Simon’s natural scent when he was a kid was something he always hated. He didn’t know it was how he smelt since he couldn’t smell it on himself, but it was how the house and his father smelt and he hated it with a burning passion.

Simon smelt of cigarettes, mildew and wet dirt. All the things he couldn’t fuckin stand for years on end. Still can’t stand when caught in a bad spot or on the wrong day.

His dad constantly smoked, enough so that the walls were yellowed and his clothes reeked no matter how many times they were washed. When all of their clothes were washed the scent rubbed off in theirs, which meant the smell of it would be following Simon no matter how far he ran.

Their house was old, definitely would’ve been considered derelict and abandoned if not for the constant screaming and crying coming from it. Mildew grew in every crack and corner of any surface in the house, there was just no escaping it.

And Tommy had a horrible habit of pushing Simon into the dirt when he was feeling particularly mean. Shoving his face deep enough to choke and make him squirm, tears welling in his eyes and wetting the soil beneath his face.

Simon didn’t know these scents clung to him but he hated any reminder of them. The first thing he had done when he ran was get rid of every single piece of clothing he owned, anything to get that stubborn tobacco smell away from him.

He would clean his rooms obsessively, unwilling to leave any sort of chance for mildew to grow and haunt him once more. When it rained he locked himself away from the outside. Unable to deal with even seeing the rain hit the ground because he knew exactly what it smelt like.

It took a long time for those scents to change to something else. Many years of being in the military and being surrounded by different things for their natural scents to morph and change into something new but still uniquely them.

Johnny smells like everything you’d expect of him now. Gunpowder, nitroglycerin and metal, everything you’d expect from a demolitions expert obsessed with exploding things.

Simon smells almost the same. Gunpowder, metal and the bitter chemical tang of the paint he uses around his eyes. Also what you’d expect from a soldier who hid his face from the world.

But there were little undertones to them that were uniquely them. Little hints that they’d breathe in when hugging one another in order to reassure themselves that yes, they’re still alive and together.

Simon’s got this face cream that he uses that smells of a very specific skincare shop - that Johnny can’t put his finger on - because the paint dries out his face and he doesn’t like it when his skin feels all tight and itchy.

There’s his favourite tea that clings stubbornly to his mask cause the man will take a sip and immediately pull his mask down sometimes, the drops stuck to his upper lip rubbing off on the fabric and staining it with its scent.

And then there’s the shampoo he shares with Johnny, because the latter had found out he doesn’t look after his hair much - doesn’t see the point in it when it’s covered all day, everyday - and the man had decided to make it a ritual of theirs after missions. He washes his own hair and then he’ll get Simon to lean down so he can wash his hair with the same shampoo he uses.

Johnnys own subtleties are a little more potent than Simon’s own, but they’re no less comforting. The mans got the scent of a welder stuck to him and his clothes cause sometimes, Johnny will weld bits and bobs together to make model bombs or whatever.

Johnny swears up and down that it’s just their usual metallic smell but there’s a certain heat to it that can only be achieved through welding, and Simon loves the scent more than he’d care to admit.

He smells of coffee as well, not the brew that his family loved and that he grew up surrounded by but it’s similar. It also clings to him just as badly as the scent from his childhood had.

And then there’s the odd mix of Simon’s paint and Johnny’s pencil lead and charcoal. The younger insists on helping Simon apply his face paint and the older man knows how much it stains but Johnny is adamant. Always was and always will be.

Their scents have changed over time. Morphed into something new and different but still them, and still unnoticeable to the ones who carry it.

But the other can smell it in everything they touch. Their clothes, the bedsheets and the kits they have especially made for them, their scents cling to everything and they both find comfort in it. They both love each other even more for it as well.

#fic prompt #ghost x soap #fuck off haters #i’m looking at you die hard cod players #johnny ‘soap’ mctavish #prompt #call of duty #simon ‘ghost’ riley #ghost #fic #soap x ghost #ghostsoap #soapghost #it’s been a while #Drabble #this is a long one #natural scents #not necessarily ABO but could be seen as one #they’re in love your honour #they’re so soft it’s not even funny

[octuscle]

Hi! I don't really know the Chronivac but someone I sorta know told me he got one recently. for context, there's a guy I used to go to college with who I used to catch staring at my feet like, all the time, and he used to awkwardly hit on me saying that he wished I'd wear thicker socks so he could borrow them. He gave me a pair once, but I just threw them out. We haven't spoken in two years since we graduated, but I just got a message from him with his Chronivac thingy and he told me that he'll finally be mine, and something about me being his daddy? We're the same age! But now I'm finding all my socks are like those work pairs he bought me, but they're unwashed! Are you guys behind this?

That you only have dirty coarse socks for work boots is the only change you notice? Then your buddy has done a really good job. Because if I see it right, most of your shoes now also fit the socks. Stinky sneakers and dirty work boots. Sure, what else do you need. Either you're slaving away on the construction site. Or you exhaust yourself in the gym. It doesn't matter, the main thing is that you sweat. You love the smell. And your young lover is totally into it. When Daddy puts his smelly sock on his face… Or when you let him smell your wet, hairy armpits…. He gets a boner and leaks precum. And as soon as he does that, it starts with you too.

Fuck, young lover? What the fuck? You're both the same age. You're both… Wait, your boyfriend's 26. Got his MBA two years ago. Hot fellow, but unfortunately, a college stud. You met him when you were working as an ironworker on the construction site of the new cafeteria. He had a crush on your sweaty muscular body. And you liked his slim six-pack and the submissive love he showed you. And now you've been in a fuck relationship for six years. At 34 years old, you may still be too young to be his daddy. But with your full beard and bushy hair under your arms, you are definitely more of a daddy than he is with his youthful hairless swimmer's body.

Bruh, that was a killer workout! You are in the shape of your life. And your sweaty socks stink to high heaven! I know someone who will get a massive boner when he's gagged with one of those socks later.

The soiled socks were available at @back-front-side

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #muscle transformation #age progression

[anonymous-witness777]

Nasonov

We cling to the dandelions’ edges west of the basswood stump, the grasses slumped and gone to seed, the dew-wet scraps of late-summer leaf-falls, while the must of petrichor and moss is on the air. For a moment one of us is solitary, joined with the distant clouds and pink-tinged sky, testing subtle pressure and humidity shifts, and then her message returns to us in pure chemical lucidity—a message something like the color blue or an open flower, or a limitless horizon from behind which intoxicating scents float. 

Now we are one again, fixed in wanderlust and a compulsive yearning that thrums with our wings, go, go, go, go now, we go now; this is our voice as it swirls below the hex-door, and we swarm out, the tendrils of a great sun at the honeyed heart of the world. How good it is to be among the Searchers.

We rove. Our antennae twitch, gently scraping the air and gathering scent-fragments—dust, soil, peeling bark, swelling fruit, grass, water, animal hair and blood, disease, one another. 

And—sweet, holy, inexorable—the flowers. Now, now, now, the ritual-hail burns inside; we fix on our flowers with antennae struck forward ..-.-. alone now. 

Joined: the flower and something with yellow fur on its back, something that wears no name. We (the flower and I) approach each other; it shines more violet than violet and speckled in pink. Smell like the deep beat at the wood-heart, the god-heart, the body lurched upwards to a green and wet heaven; yes, this is a dark one, dark and cloyingly sweet. It is the best. It is always my flower that is the best. Drinking, pressing, peeling back, and pollen-heavy stamens brush against legs and leave a holy residue. This is our exchange.

Then we pull away from our flowers and we are together again. Any kind of singular yellow-furred being is forgotten, but the memory of the flowers is fixed and shared with the rest. Each which gave good nectar we mark with a message, so that other Searchers may drink as well. Now the compulsive desire returns, go, go, go now, but it is not for something unknowable and wide-open. It is for the close, clear sweetness of home. An unbearable nostalgia washes through us. 

We turn back towards that great sun and hex-heart of the world, the daughter of the still-greater Sun which burns above, who is the mother of the flowers and of us. We will not turn towards that Sun until the end, and then—they say—we must make the journey alone.

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

1.    Worker honeybees secrete Nasonov pheromone to guide other bees to nectar-rich flowers, or back to the hive.

2.    Honeybees often return to the hive before storms—it is uncertain how they are able to predict the weather.

3.    Honeybees can detect ultraviolet light.

#honeybees #bees #beeblr #bug xenofiction #animal xenofiction #bee xenofiction #bug pov #xenofiction #nasonov #poetic prose #bug writing #bee fiction #bug fiction #insect xenofiction

[phaedoe]

The white sky sips green tea, heat melting its ice, a drink more yellow than the light: a coming of a moon more bright than the afternoon. Nubile mammals noodle down the sidewalks seasoned in spaghetti strapped dresses. Shine sips the tea; it tastes its serenity. Through fogged glasses, the sun’s eyes linger on me. Then the sun looks away, blinded by my directed glance.

And now the night glares. A restlessness mystifies the humid summer air. It jostles streets made labyrinthine. It is brusque; it is obscure. It shouts gibberish. It hears a haze, feebles to scratch this itch. Hell is thirsty in its debt yet the heavens wait to wet. The earth is scorched, so it stays still, but in its core sprinting is its pulse. The beldam universe opens its legs. The virile organism shaves the thick hair on its head. The all is complete. The arms of the all reach. Diurnal delirium is rising in the east: a dizzying, moonlit resistivity.

Writing in rhyme to ask why. Is it form? Serums for smooth skin create bumps. Write with rhythm to ask when. Is rhythm beauty? Is beauty a sin? Writing of form and beauty only right as antonyms. Creating music with haphazard counts, the earth heavies with activity, lightens with words; when it floats, it sprints, where it sinks, it creates. The soil digests expanding space. Biting lips to a crust, soil shits a simple time—specious carbs—to be alive. Lacquering lips to a custard, soil swallows florets—every crumb of petal the heart of its own body.

Passion, passion, eyes see it everywhere, still curious as to when, still curious as to where, I smell it in the air, still curious as to when, still curious as to where, the sun sleeps, and the moon glares…

I think of the people in my life. I hear their thoughts; they think of the sky. It mazes their streets seen from their windows inside. I appear at the same time their thoughts vanish to mist. The mist is the bright moon’s midnight kiss.

#vague journaling

[the-kr8tor]

Salt in the Wound

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 6.6k

Tags: Use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mentions, CW innuendos, TW blood, TW death, CW violence.

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Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

CHAPTER 11 >>> CHAPTER 12

Tears run down your cheek as you see the sailboat get to the island as fast as its rickety wood can handle. The wind is on their side, blowing the sails towards the small patch of land.

“Y/N,” Hobie's voice echoes above your sob, he tentatively cups your elbow, and like the sun, you let him pull you in. “They're alright,” he whispers atop your head, sighing, letting himself meld into you. “We're alright, yeah?”

Pulling away, you nod, “go, I'll be here.”

Shaking his head, he cradles your face, you can still smell the soil clinging to his palms, you don't mind it simply because it's him.

“We'll greet them together. They're as much your family as mine.” His words spill over you like the tears brimming in your eyes. Leaving your side, he encourages you to follow with a nod and shining eyes. “C’mon, scuttlebutt, let's meet the crew halfway.”

Your poisonous words are still stamped in his mind, clinging to him like invasive vines. But he's not going to be cold around you, or it might prove your words right. He's still figuring everything out, every syllable of your words is sticking to him. He'll do better, he promised himself right on her empty grave, but how could he do that when his hunger for revenge claws at his bones?

He wishes he could do both.

“Alright.” You utter quietly, “I'll be behind you.”

Sparing you one tender look, Hobie sprints towards the shore with a grin, salty water crashing against his legs. You lag behind, watching Gwen jump from the boat even though the water still reaches up her neck.

Swimming towards each other, Hobie tugs her hand, pulling her close, embracing, squeezing and laughing in relief. Pavitr and Miles follow a second later, completely drenched, wading the water towards Hobie and Gwen. They join them, hugging and clinging to each other like barnacles on a ship.

Hobie does his best to embrace the trio in his arms while James tackles the four of them to the sand. With a splash, they untangle themselves. They yell happily even when they get a mouthful of salty water.

The water laps at your feet, drenching your shoes, tears still streaming down your face. Your weeping gets Gwen’s attention. She weeps when she sees you standing, heart still beating.

“Y/N,” she says through a wet sob, reaching towards you, the men waits for you to join them in the sand.

But before you could even get close, you hear loud splashing, Yuri swims towards you speedily.

“My wife!” She yells, eyes welled up and red, arms at the ready.

You open your arms to her happily. With how fast she's running, Yuri crashes her body to yours then you both land on the wet sand with a loud *plop.

Embracing her middle, she hides her cry on the crook of your neck. With your eyes facing the heavens above, your vision slowly fills with their faces. Smiling down, sniffing and tearing up, you reach up and they take the invitation to lay on the sand with you, letting everything out like Yuri.

Hobie watches the pile of pirates as they all have a good cry. He can see the relief in their faces, shoulders shaking yet their muscles are relaxed. Letting the tides wash over him as he sits on the soft sand, he observes your hands and how it holds on to everyone tightly.

He gets reminded of what could've been if not for Mathias. The fire that was quelled by you roars back to life inside his chest. His eyes train towards the empty graves, the ugly beast of revenge hungers once again.

One call of his name from your lips calms it down immediately even if it's brief.

With your smile, he thinks you've found what you've been looking for.

Miles leans away from you first, untangling his limbs, he makes his way towards Hobie with a wobbly smile. The navigator clasps his shoulder for only a second before deciding that a proper hug is better.

“Took care of ‘em for me?” Hobie asks, holding Miles by his shoulders, eyes brimming with tears when the kid he watched grow up nods at his question.

“I'm glad we found you because I'm never doing that again.” He jokes, earning a laugh from Hobie.

“Good, you did good.” Hobie pats Miles’ shoulder before tugging him in, hoping that he shows his gratitude through the hug.

Yuri lifts her head up from your neck, sniffing then groaning at the weight on top of her. “You all smell! Get off!”

“We're having a moment, Yuri! Could you not ruin it?” James exclaims from your side, his hand cradling the back of your head.

Everyone laughs at their bickering, you look at the fishing boat, expecting two other bodies to appear. With heat behind your eyes, you cry again.

“Look what you've done! You two made Y/N cry again!” Pav wipes his eyes with his sleeve, choking back a sob. “And now I'm crying too!”

“Pav!” Yuri, now sitting up, her hand holding yours, beckons him over. Her voice cracks but she still comforts Pavitr.

He frowns, sniffing and closing the small distance to get to Yuri's open arms. “They're alive.” His words squeeze your heart.

Yuri pats his back, “They're good, Pav.”

You and Hobie look at eachother at the same time. He smiles softly, mouthing something you can't decipher. Opening your mouth to ask, Gwen lays her head down on your chest, you think she's listening for your heartbeat.

“I'm alright, Gwen.” You brush her hair away from her face, her cheeks are red and sunburnt, frowning lips moving to ask you a heavy question.

“Is he alright?” Her voice is merely above a whisper, sitting up, you follow suit. “Are you alright?” You know what she's truly asking.

Shaking your head with teary eyes, you glance at the graves hidden behind the trees. “I really don't know, Gwen. But we're getting there.”

As the others head towards camp and away from the sun, Gwen helps you up to your feet. “I'm just glad you're both alive. That's all that matters.”

James suddenly exclaims, “you were living in damn luxury! Look at this camp!”

Pav calls for you and Gwen, wiggling his eyebrows towards you with a teasing smirk. “And only one bed oho!”

The blonde next to you raises a brow, a smile slowly spreading across her lips.

“Don't—” you warn nervously.

“I wasn't even gonna say anything.” Gwen puts her hands up in surrender, walking away from you with a smirk similar to Hobie's.

Yuri cackles loudly, arms full with your stash of chocolate. “You're holding out on us, Hobie!”

“That's not yours, you goblin!”

“You already have her, let me have the chocolates at least! Learn to fuckin’ share!”

Hobie has his hands on his hips, shaking his head whilst Yuri gives him a shit eating grin, tempting him to say otherwise. He doesn't.

Chuckling, you make your way towards the group. Hobie notices you coming and he gives you a small flitting smile before he leaves you and Yuri to your own devices. He then drags James away from the makeshift tent.

Grabbing him by his feet while James shrieks, yelling out, “I was just checking out your place! It's so tiny, how'd you two fit in there?!”

The tears turn into laughter, and the frowns shift into smiles.

Pav elbows your side, “you cuddling our captain?”

“Oi, Pav, I just realized I haven't hugged you yet.” Hobie stomps over to him, arms wide open, eyes glaring at his teasing.

“Yes you did—” With Pavitr’s surprised oomph, the captain tackles him to the ground, James joins in, adding himself to the dogpile.

—

James chews loudly, pomegranate juice sliding down his chin and arms. Ruby liquid leaving thin pink lines on his skin.

“Christ” Yuri says under her breath, wiping her hands clean on her pants.

Everyone sits around the fire, fishbones and pomegranate skins used as kindle, turning the smoke into an unsavoury mix of smells.

Hobie sits across from you, watching him chat with Pavitr through the flames. The orange and reds cackling around him, you think he fits right in. But he shouldn't be.

All the while, you feel eyes on you. Blinking, you crane your neck to look at the source of the disturbance. Miles’ eyes are narrowed into slits, not angry or frustrated, like he's trying to find something that has changed in you.

“Miles, what the fuck?” Your words turn heads. Hand limp around the stick you use to poke the fire.

“You look well,” He makes a face. “Considering you were stranded here for a month.”

Pavitr hides his laugh behind the fish he's eating. Yuri and James share a look while Gwen waits for the scene to unfold. Hobie warns Miles with a stare. He doesn't budge.

“Do you want to trade places?” You jokingly say. “We've got plenty of room.”

“Hmm” he contemplates, flicking his eyes at Hobie. “You also look alright. I mean you both look really well.” he said teasingly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Took care of eachother huh?”

With Miles’ last sentence, the crew lets out a loud guffaw that has the birds nesting in the trees to fly away frightened.

If only they knew.

“Come off it.” Hobie throws a wet pomegranate seed at him. Hitting him right on his head.

“What?” Miles asks, still giggling. “I was just saying how well you took care of eachother! I mean compared to us who were just trying to live day to day in the capital, you two were living like royals!”

Pav nods at you. “Very jealous right now.” You give him a wordless look, saying ‘really?’ through the simple stare.

Yuri elbows your side. “Did he give you his magic fingers?” She wiggles her own fingers, eyebrows dancing.

“Yuri!” You gasp while Hobie almost chokes on his pomegranate seed.

They all giggle, Gwen has a disgusted look on her face. You hear her audibly groan despite her suppressing it with her hand.

“Sorry,” Yuri says without genuine apology, still laughing. “I meant his ‘magic hands’ y’know Hobie's great at massaging. Even though he rarely shares that gift.” She jokingly glares at her captain.

“You don't deserve my magic hands.” Hobie adds, flicking a fish bone at her.

She dramatically sighs, “after so many years of service, I still haven't reaped the benefits of having a masseuse as a captain.”

It's your turn to chuckle, the sound getting Hobie's attention.

Yuri flicks her eyes between you two with a soft smile and raised eyebrow. “Shit, I should flutter my eyelashes at you too eh, cap? I might get that massage if I do.”

“Oh I want a massage too!” James exclaims with his mouth full, he then blinks rapidly towards Hobie who turns James' face away with his whole palm atop his face.

“When we get Mathias everyone gets a bloody massage.” Hobie didn't let the teasing go under his skin, he just couldn't take the way you were smiling at him. If the joking got any further and with your smile all carefree and filled with genuine happiness, he won't be able to resist himself.

Then the teasing will definitely get unbearable.

“Better yet, once we get to the mermaid’s head we all line up to receive our massage compensation.” Yuri adds, Hobie's smile flattens into a line.

“I agree,” Gwen proudly says. “I think we all deserve one after what happened.” she smiles at Hobie, it fades slowly once she sees his eyes alight.

He throws his half eaten pomegranate at the fire, the flames roar to life, illuminating the lines on his sharp face, and you see the same Hobie you met. The grey clouds warn you of a storm coming, warning you to hunker down and hide, but instead you want to greet it so you could calm it down once it's all said and done.

The air is suddenly thick, the searing heat singeing your skin. And they all feel it too.

“We'll talk about that later. For now you need to say goodbye, we need to leave before nightfall.” Standing up abruptly, he makes way towards the trees.

“Goodbye to who?” Pavitr asks you, confusion on his face, voice tensed.

“The crew” you answer sadly.

It was enough for them to join Hobie.

—

You sit on the sand, eyes down, chin tucked atop your knees, fingers drawing mindlessly on the sand— flicking away pomegranate seeds that were left discarded. Listening to the crashing of waves, you let it wash over you, tempted to join it.

You're happy that they've found you and Hobie, grateful to whatever entity paved their way towards safety. Your heart swells that Hobie can finally breathe again now that he has the knowledge that they're all alive and in one piece. But the muffled cries behind you bring tears back to the surface.

You gave them space when Hobie showed them the graves, letting them say their goodbyes without you– you who was a complete stranger back then, who, compared to them, was just a visitor in their lives. You thought they would appreciate it, but his grey eyes never left your back, silently inviting you in. If only you had eyes behind your head.

Fingers brush atop your hair, you would've thought it was him but it's somebody else just based on the different callouses.

You know him by touch alone.

“You alright there? We were waiting for you.” Gwen asks, sitting next to you.

“Everybody seems to ask me that question lately.” You don't mean to sound rude, but you couldn't help it after hearing Pavitr calling Finn's name when he saw the graves, it would put anyone in a whirlwind of emotions with how his voice breaks.

Your emotions are running high, afraid of what's to come, afraid of all the uncertainty.

“Well, are you?” She looks at you pointedly.

You give her a tight smile. “What happens now?”

She sighs, fatigue written all over her young face. Staring at the horizon, watching the sea swallow the sun whole as the waves crash on the beach, she closes her eyes; letting the breeze cool her cheeks.

“I'm sorry it took us this long to find you.”

“What happened to the crew after…everything?”

“We docked on the nearest village, surprisingly there weren't any navy waiting for us.”

“I don't think anyone could survive that.”

“But you and Hobie did.” Gwen cranes her neck to finally look at you, “We all did—”she gestures towards the others. “I…” She continues with a pained look. “After we recuperated from our injuries, one by one people started to leave. By the time we were setting up to try and find you, it was just us five left. Y/N, there's no bloodsail pirates anymore. It's just us.”

“I'm sorry,” you feel like it was your fault, from Finn's death to the ship sinking. And you have no idea how you could forgive yourself for it. You might've said goodbye to the perished crew, reigned in your grief but the guilt still presides in your throat. Slowly choking, slowly leaving you breathless. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

How could Hobie still sleep next to you when all you did was ruin what he had?

That's why the island tempts you to stay, let the others leave you here as a penance for what you've done. Because on your island, everything stays how it is. You silently wish you were a part of it, even if he isn't there by your side. But it's alright, as long as he can forgive you.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Gwen says, reading you like the open book that you are. “Finn chose to help, and we chose this life. You have no hand in this.” Her words shakes your guilt ridden self. “Their deaths would mean nothing if you don't live, Y/N.” She grabs your shaking hand, “that's why we're leaving, we're tired and you were right back then, we deserve to live too.”

“What do you mean?”

“We're going back to the mermaid's head, and if Hobie wants to join us he can. But if he doesn't then that's that.” Gwen sniffs, fighting the tears. “There was no traitor, we asked, we interrogated everyone who was left. I kinda wished there was, because it means that Mathias wasn't that good, that he didn't just know everything. That he can be beat.” There's anger in her voice, it's faint but it's there. “You can't fight someone that powerful. Someone that’s always two steps ahead of us.”

She hesitates for a moment. “If Hobie doesn't stop or at least let us breathe then we're all moving on.” Swallowing thickly, you squeeze her hand. “Part ways. We all talked about it, and we'd love it if you could join us.”

“Leave Hobie?” The thought has your heart cracking for him. “What would happen to him?”

Gwen scoffs, “I don't know, but I know he can handle himself.”

“If I can convince him to stop, will you stay?”

You know you can't persuade him, the flames have engulfed him, he's used to the heat and the burn. You've tried your hardest to dissuade him the entire time you've been on the island, thinking your efforts were enough for him to let his anger go, thinking you were enough. But you failed, your promise to Karl lay broken at your feet. But you understand him now more than ever, you understand him more than you understand yourself.

Now all you can do is to make sure he survives the embers, to rise through the ashes when it's all said and done. He has to survive, he has to or the fire would consume you too.

“He won't, Y/N, he said it himself just a minute ago. He's not gonna stop until Mathias' head rolls.”

“But—” It's futile.

“Listen, I've seen him look at you, you could be the only person who can convince him.” She shakes her head, wiping a single tear that escaped from her eye. “He's not the same Hobie as before, we love him but we can't keep watching him destroy himself—”

“Gwen.” Hobie's voice echoes through the clearing.

Your head turns speedily towards him, Gwen looks on with her head held high. His face is unreadable, jaw clenched, grey eyes staring down.

“Time to go.” His strides are heavy on the sand. He's sharpening his knife once again.

You've forgotten he's a pirate with all his soft touches and tender eyes he has given you during your stay. Revenge once again rears its ugly head, and you see him stand tall, answering its call once again.

—

The sky is slowly turning dark, the clouds red and orange in the horizon, stars appearing one by one, dotting the forlorn heavens. With the island fading away from view, you stare at it until it's a mere dot in the distance. The thought that the piece of land has been there before you and it'll be there after you're long gone fills you with ease. The marks you and Hobie left in it will hopefully stay for years to come, with the pomegranate seeds, you wish that it may grow into a tree and one day help someone who needs it.

With the soft rocking of the boat against the waves, you're back at sea.

Blinking away the thought, you watch as Hobie sails the small boat, the small lamp tucked in the corner illuminates his face, all his worry and responsibility brought into the light. he hasn't talked since your conversation with Gwen. And you hadn't had the chance to speak to him.

The sea is rough with wind blowing harshly on the sails, but nothing could compare to the thick tension in the small boat. It's deadly silent, Gwen and the others stand on one end of the ship, whispering to each other; while Hobie stands on the other. You sit in the middle, crouched down, hunkering down for the heavy conversation that's about to happen.

Yuri sighs, footsteps thudding loudly on the wooden floorboards. Suddenly you're brought back to the day that Mathias almost had you in his clutches.

“Hobie.” Yuri calls, voice rising above the loud wind.

“What?” He asks, hand tightly gripping the helm.

“We need to talk.” She's steadfast, back straight, nails digging into her palms.

“Then talk.” His voice is firm, words uttered through gritted teeth.

Yuri sighs, eyes roaming around the small crew. Her eyes stop over to you, so you look away.

“We need to talk about where we're heading and what we're going to do.”

“Simple, we kill Mathias and we go home.” He says without looking at Yuri.

Yuri scoffs, “home? Where the fuck is that even? Our home is now at the bottom of the sea.” You stand up, still avoiding everyone's eyes. “When will you wake up, Hobie?”

Hobie turns around, eyes alight. “Do you think I'm doin' this for fun? He needs to go down, Yuri.”

“I know he does!”

“We’re tired, Hobie, we need to regroup.” Miles pipes up. “Come on, man, we can't beat him in this dingy boat.”

“We had an entire month to rest. We were this close to getting him.” Hobie wavers but he continues on his path. “Just—we need to find a ship, then we hunt him down, and be ready for what he throws at us. Be better.”

“With what crew?!” Gwen cracks, frustration marring her face. “It's just us, Hobie. No one else.”

“We've been through worse—”

“Enough is enough!” Gwen's voice breaks. “I love MJ too, but she's gone, Hobie. She was a navy spy who was supposed to bring us down. And now Mathias is using her against us again. Please, we miss you, you haven't been yourself for a long time.” She quickly wipes her fallen tears, not letting Hobie see it.

You had a glimpse of it, the old Hobie in your little slice of paradise, he's still in there, underneath his tensed muscles and shaking knuckles. You've accepted the other side of him too, all bared teeth and bloodied skin, it's what you were used to. You know he can be both, and you're terrified to admit you love them both.

“We understand your pain, Hobie,” Yuri adds and Hobie scoffs. “We do,” her voice is soft, lacking venom. “Her death has been chipping away at you but can't you see that you've forgotten why we do this? Why we joined you? Trusted you?”

The raven haired stands her ground. “Revenge has blinded you, Mathias was a fuckin’ drop in the sea of assholes we needed to take down but you let that single drop drown you. All this time we could've gone after worse people then came back for him, but you wouldn't listen.”

“Mathias killed Ned.” James pipes up from his corner, arms crossed on his chest. “I miss the little shit as much as you do.” He looks at Hobie. “But we're too weak right now, we can't kill him with seven fucking people and a fishing boat.” He stands next to Hobie, “I'm not gonna leave you, cap, but It's not Mathias' time yet.”

“James—” Yuri calls him sharply.

“I'm staying with Hobie. If he agrees to rebuild.” James waits for Hobie's reply.

Like a cruel twist of fate, Hobie looks at you.

“Don't bring Y/N into this, Hobie.” Pavitr comments next to you. “I don't want to leave you either. You're our captain, but we've been at it for three straight years, put up with all of it, followed you because you're our captain. We just need you to let us breathe. Please.”

“We will never be able to breathe again until he's gone. So we can't let him heal, he's at his lowest and if we strike now—” With Hobie's words, the crew walks away. He turns to you, face full of hidden sorrow.

“Drop us off to the nearest dock.” Gwen says without looking back.

You stand in the middle of everything.

He calls your name, looking towards you for something– anything to help him.

But in truth, you have no idea what to do and which side to choose. The voice inside your head screams for you to run, to get away from what's in front of you.

So you do the opposite. That's not you anymore.

Your feet feels heavy when you walk towards him, numerous eyes dig at your back. But you don't turn around.

They shake their heads, leaving you two alone to head below deck. You can hear their muffled voices, frustrated and angry.

“You leavin’ me too?” he asks, turning back to the helm, trembling hands gripping the wheel, brows furrowed and frown deepening with every second that passes.

You hold his hand, slowly uncurling his fingers away from the wheel, kneading his skin softly.

“Haven't decided yet.” Looking at him through your lashes, you massage his hands like he taught you.

“Not funny.”

“Wasn't joking.”

Hobie blinks, conflicted. “What's there to decide? You either leave or you stay, easy.”

“No, it's not easy.” You avoid his eyes, turning his hands, palms up, you trace the lines over it with your thumbs. “I honestly don't know what to do.” You chuckle nervously.

His eyes follow your hands that squeezes him tender and gentle. Too gentle for someone like him.

“But I do know grief, I may not understand it well but I know you shouldn't adjust your feelings to make other people feel comfortable. But at the same time, you shouldn't neglect the people that are still around you.” You look at the rain clouds in his eyes. “They love you and I—” you pause, and his heart almost stops. “—they don't want you to destroy yourself. Do what you need to do, just don't let him try to kill you the second time.”

You continue, heart thudding loudly like cannons in a ship. “I know you, and that everything you do is out of love. Love for the crew that you've found family in, love for the people that you've helped and the people who you'll help.” Your words are soft and gentle. “Love for your ideals that never waver. And dare I say, love for yourself. You've done so many amazing things against all odds, I know you'll conquer this too.”

“Don't act like you know me.” he says it forlornly like he doesn't want to believe his own words. Truthfully, he wants you to, needs you to know him as much as he knows you.

You smile softly, eyes roaming around his face and all the sadness he harbors underneath. “Hobie” you call his name quietly, shaking your head subtly, you tell him otherwise, conveying that his words aren't true at all.

The dark clouds part in his eyes, and he twists his hand to hold yours. “But you do. Fuck,” he inhales sharply at the realization. “You do.”

“I do.” you take your hand away, reaching up to cup the back of his head, fingers grasping gently at the baby hairs. “And it's alright if you don't know me. You don't have to.”

“What if I do, I do know you.”

You chuckle, “it's an honour to be known by you.” Holding on to him tightly with your breath fanning against his skin, your face is solemn, “just don't make me choose between them—Hobie!” you gasp at the end, gripping on to his shirt, eyes wide with fear at what's behind him.

He follows your line of sight, a large ship looms just behind the boat, and it's heading towards you at great speed. It's sails are all open, stark white against the dark sky.

“Go tell the others.” He frantically twists to look back to you, maybe he shouldn't have, for your fear stricken face would haunt him for the rest of his days. “Love,” shaking you back to reality, he takes your face in his hands. “Go below deck and hide.”

“I'm not fucking leaving you up here.”

“I don't see any flags, chances are it's a merchant ship. I'll talk to them, now go” He reassures you, hiding his own fear, tamping it down for your sake.

With one last look at Hobie, running quickly while he maintains speed, casual, trying not to alarm the other ship. He has talked his way out of situations before, he can get out of this, for the crew and for you.

He hears footsteps, and just like back on his ship, the great sea spider weaves his webs around the crew, instructing them, guiding them like always.

“Hobie,” Gwen calls as they all watch the large ship sail next to them, the shadow casting over the smaller boat, hiding the moonlight from their eyes. “Did you teach her how to swim?”

“Aye, I did.” he whispers, eyes boring into a man with a large frame, his brown hair blowing softly in the wind.

“Good,” she says, hands never leaving her weapons. “We might need to swim.”

The remaining bloodsail pirates stare at the well dressed men looking down at them, their faces unreadable from the height, their swords glinting in the moonlight.

You hunker down below deck, legs tucked, body hidden behind crates, arms braced over your head, waiting for impact. The force doesn't arrive, instead, you hear a booming voice outside, deep and commanding, the sound lights your nerves on fire. Then you hear your name from the man's lips and you close your eyes tightly, imagining that you were back on your island, with him, with the sweet pomegranates and the sand between your fingers.

Maybe you should've stayed.

Hobie's voice is clear as day, bringing you back to the present. Tone laced with anger and resentment, but to you it's the light at the end of the dim cave, without it you would've been lost in the past.

“No Y/N here,” he says convincingly. “Must've gotten the wrong boat, we're just fishin’ ‘ere.”

“What fisherman carries a blunderbuss? Two at that.” The former admiral says gruffly and impatiently. He sighs audibly, “can you at least tell me if she's alive?”

“‘m tellin' you, mate, we don't know anyone by that name.”

“We've got a shipment scheduled for tomorrow. Do you really want our families to starve just because you're looking for a bird?” Gwen adds, her voice is steady.

“I think your father's well fed at the stables, miss Stacy.” You can practically hear their shuddered breaths from below. Holding your dagger close, you watch your mirrored disheveled expression on the steel. “You've been traveling with her for months, I highly doubt you don't know her.”

Hobie seethes, teeth clenched, he masks his voice. “Ah, that one. She's dead, drowned when your old friend Mathias attacked us.”

“He's not my—” Miguel clears his throat. He pauses, then he calls your name once again, louder this time. “I’m not here to hurt you, just please show yourself.” His voice is tired, fatigued. “I have your necklace, and I'm—”

“She is not here” Hobie enunciates every word uttered. “You want her that bad hm? She's at the bottom of the bloody sea, now kindly fuck off.”

You hear the unmistakable click of guns. There's an image in your head, a morbid vision of your friends lying dead on the floor, blood pooling from their broken bodies, head cracked open. Hobie's eyes dark and lifeless, lips uttering your name softly. So you run towards danger, for them, for Hobie.

He sees you come up in slow motion, eyes glossy, irises small and erratic, hands gripping the pommel of the silver dagger. Your eyes meet the hurricane inside him for a second before you stand in front of him.

“I'm here,” you say, stance unwavering despite everything. “Put down your weapons and we'll talk.”

Pavitr and everyone else gets flung back to the day you stood in front of them just like this. Back straight, fingers curled around your dagger, voice as powerful as the sea. Fire licking at their feet, corpses of people they once knew littered on the floor, their blood spilling over the same floors they once called home.

They can't have a repeat of what happened that day.

But all they could do is watch, having no plan and limited bullets. The heated fight before melted everything in them. All they could do is watch and be ready to grab you and jump overboard. Even if they have to swim for a thousand miles.

All Hobie could do is hold the hem of your shirt, subtly, more than ready to yank you away from the danger in front of you. He knows he can't fight the former admiral, he now realizes he can't fight Mathias in this state. It's too late now for he has destroyed the trust of his crew with rotten words he threw at them with his thirst for revenge destroying everything he once held dear to him.

Miguel's face morphs into relief, telling his men to stand down, eyes never leaving your form.

“I meant it when I said I won't harm you. Do you think I chased you across the country and sea because I hold a grudge?” His voice wavers. “How could I when you're a mirror of your mother?”

“Wha– I'm not—” you grow furious. “Jess? Is she with you? What have you done to her?!” Like a caged animal, you take your anger at him, teeth bared, claws ready to strike.

“She's not here, I— can you let me talk for once?” he presses on the gap between his eyes. With a sigh and sympathetic eyes, he tells you the truth.

“I'm your godfather and I'm here to bring you home.”

Your resolve cracks, the word ‘godfather’ is foreign to you but one word echoes through your chest— home. You've got someone waiting for you.

Looking behind you, smiling softly, chuckling with tears streaming down your face, and you see it again, the anguish on his face. Scars stretched on his skin with his deep frown. And you get lost in the silver of his eyes, molten rivers of steel, you'd do anything to protect those eyes. Even if it ends up hating you.

Hobie takes you by the elbow, his own body hiding you from Miguel.

Said man groans, rubbing at his eyelids, exhausted and lacking energy in his sloppy movements. In your peripheral you see a familiar woman trailing next to him, resisting the urge to smack him upside the head with a roll of her eyes.

“What if he's lying?” Hobie whispers, thumbs wiping your tears away. “What if he's only saying that to get you?”

Miles and the rest of the crew circle around you both, never turning their back away from the men watching from above.

“Is he the same guy you told us, Hobie?” He asks, dark eyes trained above, an excuse to avoid Hobie's face.

Your body tells you that you belong in the circle, not outside of it, forever observing as an outsider. Yet your mind screams for you to question Miguel, ask him about your family, ask him where you truly belong.

“You all know?” Your voice shakes as Gwen squeezes your arm. A reassurance that they mean well.

“I told ‘em just in case he tries to chase after you again. It was for a good reason, Y/N, I had to tell them.” Hobie lets your face go after remembering there are numerous eyes on him. They can't know he cares for you lest they use you against him.

“I'm not mad at that, I trust them.” You roam your eyes around their faces like it would be the last time you'll ever see them. “I trust all of you. But you can all leave, sail away far from here and I'll talk to him alone. I won't hold it against you. This is my problem, not yours.”

“If it's your problem then it's our problem too.” Pav says with his whole heart and everyone agrees. “You're part of the crew, Y/N, if you stay, we stay too.”

As you roam your eyes around their faces, faces you've come to care for, it wouldn't be so bad if Miguel was lying. But you have to know, or all the unanswered questions and curiosity will eat at you until your end of days.

With a small nod and sharp inhale, you continue. “Can you trust me?” you smile at them, they can see the sparks in your eyes.

Yuri smirks next to you, hand never leaving the handle of her gun. “Sounds like you've got a plan eh, wifey?”

“I do.” And I hope it works. You think. “I'm not getting on their ship. If he wants to explain himself then he can go to us.”

Hobie smiles proudly, while the others nod approvingly.

“Hah,” Gwen pats your back. “Just like what we did near the coast of Malta.”

“Good times.” James adds, elbowing Pav like there isn't danger ahead.

“If I find out he's lying, I'll cut him myself.” You say bravely.

“No,” Hobie interrupts. “I'll do it. 'm not lettin' you be alone with him.” He knows men like Miguel, skin traders who will lie and sink their teeth in just to get a bag of coins in return.

The crew thinks you would protest until you nod. You'd be crazy to decline, and now they know how much they've missed throughout the month you two have been alone on that island.

“I'll be at the helm,” Pav whispers, “just in case we need to get away fast.”

Hobie clasps his shoulder in thanks. “James, stay near the mast, help Pav steer the bloody thing.” James, thumps his knuckle on Hobie's chest before going to his station. “Miles, be at the door and listen in if we need an extra pair of hands in bringing him down.”

“Gladly.” Miles says, leaving the captain's side to keep watch.

“Gwen and Yuri, you two know where to shoot.”

They look at eachother with determination.

“I'll take the helmsman and you take the gunner.” Gwen instructs Yuri.

“Aye aye.” The raven haired beams mischievously.

Now alone, he opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it with a simple call of his name.

“Hobie.” Arm slipping out of his grasp to hold his hand properly. Squeezing it, remembering where every single indent and scar on his knuckles are with just your touch. Brushing your thumb around it, without a second thought, you lean towards him, lips pressing like a feather on his cheek.

As quick as the tides, you lean away from him.

Hobie wanted it to last forever, to meld his skin atop yours, to forever be attached to you. But he knows what the kiss entails, it wasn't just your affection bursting at the seams after months of longing; it was a goodbye.

He barely felt it but it doesn't mean his heart didn't skip a beat when he felt your cold lips. With a shuddered breath, he takes you in, simmers in your soft smile, bathes in your eyes. You do the same as his familiar scent wafts over you, sea salt and sea breeze, you now know why men choose the sea.

“I won't let him take you.” He promises.

“And I won't let him kill you.” You promise.

And with your final words, you turn towards Miguel with fire in your eyes fueled by your will to continue.

“Come down here and we'll talk.” In that small ship you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders.

With the loud thump of his weapons falling from his waist to the wooden floorboards, hands up in surrender, he agrees wholeheartedly.

#bdas #between the devil and the sea #between the devil and the sea chapter 11 #between the devil and the sea series #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #spider punk x fem!reader #pirate au #pirate! hobie #pirate! hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #fanfic #cw food mention #cw violence #tw death #tw blood

[pragmatic-illusions]

A young mercenary, lays back against a well, resting with a sword in hand, on the loamy soil, by a bricked dwelling, with its horse idling around close bye its late in the noon, clouds are Nimbostratus, the sky is plunged in darkness, the shield is ensconced on the towering twisting branches that face the east. it is autumn. branches frail, mute and withered. the air is gentle and still, yet the world feels a sinister loom that of before a heavy storm, the smell of wet earth envelopes the air, a quiet thunder rumbles at a distance, a wooden door opens and a bright glow envelopes a soft glow that is bright as a fire is casted on the fallen. An angel stands before him donned with a brown tunic that reaches the floor, she rests her hand on her chin, The angel grabs from flowers and branches in their hand folds them, and crushes them in the palm of their hand into a fine power.

with a whisper of concern "oh fallen heavens..., she looks out ward to the sinister sky with a worry. She leads the horse to the back stables, the angel tries to float them inside, but the weight is too much, they look upon their palm with a grief and pining in their eyes. they physically hoist the body inside.

The air starts to pick up and the wind starts to howl, a droning sound fills the sky. the trees start to creak as well as the door, The angel watches attentively, they fixate on chained circlets of amber that the unamed mercenary. "there is so little left you before the great ruin"

the angel hovers her hand above performing a body scan and feels something off, in their chest, they perform a sign language of U and V twice, a wide slit is cut open on the persons tunic,

a charcoal and crimson axon spreads outward on their body like tree roots /mycelium on their chest and an , a mute glow a with each pulse of the heart.

they examine the veins of their form arm, "their bloodline is branded"

the mercenary wake up, startled "where am I"? a sigh of relief, oh its you.

" , your exactly are where you need to be, such as your destiny" with an affable reply.

the angel, snaps their fingers and floating flame floats above their index, they flick it towards hearth and sets the came fire ablaze with grace

they wave their hand a bowl floats and rests on the night stand.

they cup their hands, and water fills like a fountain and spouts into the bowl, they mix powders from earlier into it.

the mercenary watches in amazement.

"what is your name brave one,"

Nova...I thought angels had the power to know all such names...

yes... our powers have diminished and we have to hide in secrect, you are the last of the very few of your people who can receive divine messages through slumber. I'm glad you arrived.

heaven has fallen, and has been taken over. we been exiled or had to leave, not many of us survived.

"i am grateful for your hospitality, this illness on my chest, can you be of aid"

I cannot remove the curse, but what ever is on your chest I can.

drink this and please hold on to something, and bite onto to something. "please forgive me if this hurts, this will be transient"

the angel eyes glowed white, the mercenary feels a singed, as they palm their chest. the mycelium writhes and flails like a snake, and screeches. the mercenary agonizing in pain and clenches hard, and fists tighten. Sweat pours from the brow.

there is it removed. though i am not much use of that blood line curse.

you are a lunacerian correct? they all been marked in veins.

how goes the war effort Nova? how is the morale?

we received a message from a kingdom across the sea, we gathered at the court yard, rode into the harbor, sailed the clear blue seas. arrived to the shore to witness atrocious that took place.

filled with many strife's. the realms are in ruin, buildings, bodies lay to waste, the sky is yellow, hard to breathe, it smells of smoke, the sun is red, all my comrades in my unit have either been devoured, or been corrupted. i fled like a coward...made haste to the row boat. a monster destroyed my boat, i almost drowned, someone rescued me in the water, brought me ashore, they gathered what ever jetsam or wreckage, a siren of sorts aided, i slept, got your message, went to the nearest town, warned them, hired a horse and road hear before the coming storm.

#Bricolage #Bricomimetic #writing #worldbuild #incanto #draft #Vercano #Vercano 1

[annoying-hot-tub-detective]

To my beautiful love,

As my Goddess of beauty slowly walks down the stairs, I see a heavenly hurricane. It’s like an image flashed on the city streets, in the middle of the night when the moonlight shone on the two of us returning home on rickshaws. Through the light pollution of the city, I see the face of my primitive idol. I smell the air just as the hot soil gets wet after the rain - damp, yet warm. The bridge formed between the two of us is like a flowing river which I crossed to say that I would touch her on the day of the nightmare. I am afraid, realizing this, I will wake up and I will go back to my olden days, sitting on the quiet, salty wall looking at the sky in the sad afternoon. She cuts a pinch on my body and lets me know that she is a little heaven on the crust of my collapsing earth.

#love aesthetic #love #literature #passion #romantic academia #desire #musings #beauty

[myboyfriendstinkyfeet]

The smell of his socks was just amazing! So intense that I can only submit to his feet!

While choking me with his filthy feet, Tom continues to massage my peacock! I couldn't hold back my moans of pleasure as the feeling of his hand soiled by my precum was so good, not to mention the smell of his stinky feet which made me more and more addicted!🤤

"It's been almost two months since I changed my socks, I don't even have to take off my work shoes for the smell to invade my office! You would love to be under my desk, my two feet hot and filthy on your face! During your peacock would flood your boxers with precum! It's time to take a deep breath mon Chéri !"😏😈

He pressed his feet firmly against my face, his filthy, extremely smelly socks filling my nostrils with that strong male scent! I was in seventh heaven! 🤤 Completely under his control, his feet could do whatever they wanted with me!

The smell was so powerful that I was losing my mind, so much so that I hadn't even noticed that he had taken his socks off! When I opened my eyes, I was amazed by the divine splendor in front of me! 😍

"I haven't washed my feet since I gardened barefoot a week ago! I know how crazy that can drive you! Ooooh! You're getting more wet in front of these two wonders! My hand is flooded! Let's see if you get even wetter when I rub them on your face!"😈

I barely had time to realize what was happening when he stuck up and rubbed his stinky, filthy feet against my face. I was shaking with pleasure, it was so divine! Tom stuck my nose in the crook of his toes, the smell was even more intense there! So intense that I was helpless against his dirty feet!😍

This smell was almost indescribable! A mixture of sweat, dirt, dirty socks that prevent me from regaining my senses, I am under his control!🥵

#Tom'sFeet

#tom'sfeet #gayfeet #stinkyfeet #smellyfeet #dirtysocks #myboyfriendsfeet #stinkysocks #dirtyfeet #hairyfeet #malefeet #underhisfeet

[chasingpj]

𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐦𝐞?

"My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers?"

pairing: leo valdez x gn reader

words: 2,994

warnings: cursing, mentions of genitalia

category: one-shot, soulmate!au

You don’t know who your soulmate is, but when you find out, you know the first thing you’ll do is punch him in his face. You don’t understand why he does this. Why can’t he be romantic like everyone else? You have a few friends who have the same connection you share with your soulmate, through your skin. Your friends rise from their slumbers with beautiful sketches on their arms; Or throughout the day, lines will appear as they’re being drawn, creating the most beautiful artwork you’ve ever seen. However, of course, you don’t get that; instead, you get this.

You stare at yourself in the mirror with pure disbelief, and you can’t decide whether to cry or scream. You’re used to these kinds of drawings in places like your arms, stomach, and legs, so they were easy to hide. But this has never happened before; it's never been in a place so… so visible.

You fill with rage as you observe the sloppily drawn dick on your forehead and your fist clenches as it lays on top of your bathroom sink. You fucking ass. How the hell am I going to hide this? You have to be at work in fifteen minutes, and you have this vulgar drawing on your forehead. You’re sure if you tell your boss your situation, he’d probably dismiss you because this is obviously not appropriate for the workplace. Still, you can’t even imagine trying to explain this to him. It was way too embarrassing.

"What am I going to do?” You whine as you rub your hands on your face. The drawing won’t be removed from your skin unless your soulmate removes it on his, so you had to think of a solution right away.

“Where could he possibly be where this is acceptable?” You try to refrain from sobbing hopelessly as your frantic mind searches for a solution. You think maybe a hat will work, but you discard the idea knowing your boss will tell you to take it off once you’re indoors. Suddenly, like a sign from the heavens, your solution hits you right in the face when you catch sight of your makeup bag lying on the toilet seat. You reach over, grabbing the pouch and unzipping it. Your quivering hands move too fast, causing the products to fall out and scatter into the sink. Your eyes skim over them in search of your thickest foundation and concealer. When you find them, along with your primer, you sigh, saying a silent prayer before getting to work.

***

Leo gasps sharply as the sight of his face in the mirror shocks him out of his fatigue. He touches his forehead, trying to recall the memory of last night while ignoring the pounding headache surging through his skull. He remembers getting to the club with a group of friends and how they took one shot after another until their vision was blurry. He has a faint memory of dancing with some girl, and the chaos of his 4 am Macdonald’s run with his friends. However, he doesn't recall the moment when this picture was drawn on his face. When did this happen? More importantly, who did this? He pauses, gawking at his reflection. His jaw clenches as the culprit comes to mind. He felt foolish for questioning who did this because he lives with, and he went home with one person last night, and that's Percy.

“Percy!” He yells angrily, and in the next room, he hears Percy’s manic laughter getting louder as he runs down the hall and into the bathroom with him. Percy can’t help but laugh even harder at the sight of a distressed Leo, and he silently congratulates himself for pulling such a successful prank. Leo’s expression hardens, and his gaze snaps over to him, “It's not funny!”

Percy snorts and nudges his shoulder, "Come on, loosen up!" Leo laughs sarcastically,

"Come on, loosen up!" He mocks with clear annoyance, making Percy’s laughter ceases. Leo usually takes things like this so well; he's never been angry at him because of a childish prank. The two of them have been pulling pranks on each other since they moved in together, and they would always laugh it out while deviously planning their revenge. Percy tilts his head, now growing annoyed that Leo’s annoyed.

"Why are you so uptight today?" He almost snaps, not understanding his fury. Leo's eyes narrow at him,

"My soulmate is linked to my skin." He speaks slowly and carefully, accentuating his words to make sure Percy understands how bad this is. Percy's mouth drops open, and he stares at the vulgar art on his forehead.

"Oh… shit," is the only thing he can think of saying. “Fuck, I forgot. I’m sorry,” Percy apologizes even though he knows it doesn’t help anything. He didn’t share the same connection with his soulmate, so he had forgotten entirely about Leo’s bond with his. He’s now left with regret knowing that there's someone out there going along their day trying to hide this lewd image.

Leo groans as he throws his head back. "I-It'll wash off? Right?"

Leo flips up the sink’s nozzle, dipping his head in the cold tap water to wet his face. He scrubs with his fingers, blindly grasping the soap next to him. He runs it over, spreading the suds and lightly scratching his forehead. He rinses everything off and returns to his original position to check his face now. He yells in panic when he sees the drawing didn't budge at all; it didn't even fade. Percy audibly gasps,

"I used permanent marker."

"BRO!"

"I'm sorry!"

Percy shifts on his feet as the memory of last night comes back to him. Leo fell asleep in the cab ride home, and Percy, somehow without much balance, carried him over his shoulder into their apartment complex. He squints his eyes, and with a vague remembrance, he recalls plopping him down on the couch. Leo was unconscious, and Percy’s drunk mind saw this as a perfect opportunity to prank him. He picked the first marker he saw, and in the middle of a giggling fit, he sloppily drew the phallic item and took a picture.

Leo frantically puts his head back in the sink to scrub again, and Percy stands by the door, watching panic wash over him. Leo continues scrubbing his skin, and though his skin becomes red under the friction of his nails, he persists. Percy shakes his head, walking over to him quickly, and he pats his shoulder.

"Come on, man. It's not working; you’re gonna hurt yourself." If Percy let him, Leo would scrub his skin raw. He disregards his advice and continues to scrub, bringing the soap over the drawing once again before scratching harshly. Percy, not wanting his friend to hurt himself, turns off the tap, and Leo groans, standing straight. He stares at himself in the mirror, his face dripping wet, and his skin is red with irritation. I'm so sorry.

***

Your day hasn't gotten any better since this morning. First, you wake with a dick on your forehead; second, you miss your bus because you took so much time layering makeup on your face. Then, you get to work about 15 minutes late because your commute, which usually took about 5 minutes, was delayed due to traffic. You assumed that your day couldn’t get any worse, but you discovered you spoke too soon when the system your job uses to put in orders crashed, making your job even harder than it had to be. Also, you spilled hot coffee on yourself during the morning rush, and that almost sent you straight into tears, but somehow, you prevailed.

By the afternoon, you wanted to rip your hair out when you realized you forgot your wallet, leaving you unfed and cranky. Your boss was no help to your mood either. He picked at everything you did today and held a grudge about you being late this morning. You've never had such a shitty day at work, and there is a sense of relief when you witnessed the clock turn to 4:30 pm. You immediately stood up from your chair, collecting your things before walking straight to the computer to clock out.

The last challenge you're facing is to get home in the slippery aftermath of the pouring rain earlier today. It was colder than usual; the sun’s hidden behind stormy gray clouds, and the smell of wet soil is in the air. You shiver, your arms wrapped around your frame in a poor attempt to keep you warm. You don't have an umbrella, and you hope it doesn’t start raining again. You were sure that if your makeup washes away in the rain for everyone to see the mystery under it, you will lose your mind.

You stand in the corner of the waiting shed, resting your head on the side. You take a deep breath, noticing your hands are anxiously chipping away the week-old nail polish. From the corner of your eye, you see someone join you under the shed, and out of usual curiosity, you look over. A tall, slender guy stands in the opposite corner; he wears distressed blue jeans, a black hoodie with a print you can’t see from your view, and a black winter hat. In his hands, he fiddles with a piece of scrap metal. His skin was tan, and his brown curly hair peeks from under his hat. Oblivious to your staring, he looks away from his fiddling and happens to glance over at you. There's a moment of awkward eye contact before you snap your vision away and out to the street.

You cringe at yourself for staring too long, shifting on your feet. You casually lean over the side of the curve, and you swear the light of the heavens was shining on your bus as it drove toward you. You couldn’t help but smile, a sense of relief washing over you. It’s here; you were one step closer to getting home and relaxing.

The excitement was taken away as quickly as it arrived, your bus passing your stop making a mini tsunami in the process. A wave of water splashes directly on you, and it takes you a moment to process what just happened. You stand there, cold and wet staring blankly at the curve. You felt overwhelmed, not being able to hold back the cries that you’ve been suppressing all day.

"are you-" a sob releases from your lips, stunning the unknown guy next to you. You miserably walk over to the bench, plopping down and resting your elbows on your thighs to lay your head in your hands. You sob freely, not caring about the boy's presence, and he stands in his spot, not sure what to do. He had an innate urge to make you feel better, and he doesn't know why but it pains him to see you like this. He clears his throat and decides to settle in the seat next to you. "Bad day?"

You sniffle, trying to find your breath, "The worst."

You don't look up, your hands doing their part to cover your face and your forehead. "I don't understand why everything is going so wrong.” You didn’t even care that you were pitying yourself, but you felt like you had the right considering how shit your day has been.

"I woke up with an awful drawing from my soulmate. I was late for my bus, which made me late to work; I haven't had lunch either. I'm hungry, cold, and now, soaking wet in street water." You sniffle once more. "My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers? I'd even take a tacky picture of two stick figures falling in love... shit; I’d be satisfied with a grocery list. But of course, with my luck, that doesn't happen. I get stupid drawings of... genitalia."

Leo’s body tenses next to you, and his teeth bite the inside of his lip. Drawings of genitalia? Sounds like him. Now he needed to see this drawing you were talking about, and he feels himself getting anxious at the possibility that you could be his soulmate. You continue to cry, refusing to move from your position.

"Well... it can't be that bad?"

"Oh, it's bad,” you managed to respond in your ragged breathing. Leo hesitantly reaches over, affectionately rubbing his hand across your upper back. Your breath hitches softly at the back of your throat, and there is a surge of warmth that radiates from his hand. You feel your tense shoulders begin to relax, and you furrow your eyebrows as your breath miraculously finds its regular pace. You even have this strange desire to cuddle into his frame to acquire more of his touch.

"Come on, show me. It's probably not as bad as you think." He speaks from his experience this morning. If you aren't his soulmate, he's sure that whatever you have isn't as traumatic as what he and his soulmate have.

"No! You'll laugh," you whine, your head laying firmly on your hands.

"I won't! I promise." You can tell from his voice that he was genuine, and for some reason, you can trust him. You slowly remove your hands from your face, but your head is still in an embarrassed bow. His heart pounds in his chest at the anticipation and leans forward to get a look at your face. You close your eyes, not wanting to see his initial reaction.

There it was. Right under your concealer, there is the familiar drawing faintly present. Leo's mouth drops, and his eyes widen; how is he going to tell you that he has the same picture on his forehead? You sigh shakily,

"It's bad, isn't it?" Your face burns in pure humiliation, and you now regret showing him. Leo is silent for a bit, trying to find words to explain himself.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes flutter open to look at his guilty expression.

"Why are you sorry?" He doesn't even attempt to explain himself in words. He simply slides off his winter hat, showing you the original drawing on his skin. You inhale sharply, your mind trying to process what is happening in front of you.

He's your soulmate, the person that you ideally would spend your life with. You didn't think you'd find him anytime soon or even at all. Your stomach flutters at the sight of him, and your cheeks get warm. You both gaze into each other’s eyes, and there was an immediate connection. You take in the tousled curls on his head, a bit frizzy from his hat and his big brown eyes. Your heart pumps hard in your chest, just as fast as the boy’s heart in front of you.

A few people told you that you’d feel like the world will slow down when you meet your soulmate. You’ll feel complete, and all at once, you’ll fall in love. You thought it was a load of over-romanticized bull, but you found that it was true even with your strange circumstance.

You finally found him…

But he's done this.

Your anger somehow counteracts this "in love" feeling, and you momentarily hate him for starting your day off on a sour note.

"You!" Your arms lift to strike him in the chest, but before you could attack, he grasps your tight fists.

"I'm sorry! I can explain!" He says quickly. Your arms loosen up, and you narrow your eyes at him,

"Explain yourself then." Sheepishly Leo cowers and his hands remain around your fist, just in case.

"Well," he sighs, "I partied a little too hard last night, and um, my roommate, Percy, thought it would be funny to draw this on my forehead."

"Your roommate is an ass."

"Well, yeah. Sometimes. But he was just as drunk as I was, and he didn't realize that the marker was permanent. When I saw it, I immediately thought of you, and how you’d have to walk around with this." He chews on the inside of his cheek, "I tried getting it off, but it won’t go away." You sigh, willing to forgive him since it wasn't his fault.

"So, we're gonna have this for a while?"

"Probably a couple of days or so." You groan and don’t say anything in return. You look down at your lap, still hiding your face from anyone around. "Oh, here, take my sweatshirt. The hoodie can keep it hidden.” He puts his hat back on and pulls his sweatshirt over his body, passing it to you. You smile softly as you take it from him. You pull it over your still soaked and cold frame, slipping your arms in and bringing the hood up. You mutter a small thank you, shoving your hands in the front pocket. He replies with a hum, allowing the sounds of the passing cars to fill your comfortable silence.

"Again, I'm sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, and you turn your head. You smile reassuringly,

"It's okay. I'll forgive you this time,” you say teasingly, and he chuckles. "I'm y/n, by the way."

"Leo." You reach over, taking his hand, and you guys share a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, soulmate.”

masterlists

#leo valdez x you #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez one shot #heroes of olympus fanfic #heroes of olympus #my writing

[inkcavity]

Make me your Aphrodite. ੈ♡˳·˖✶ | Tifa/Reader

+.*☆ No, not even Aphrodite could make love to you like this. ☆*.+

.

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✎ … Tifa Lockhart / Reader (NSFW) ; afab reader, but could be any gender.

✎ … Warnings: Pegging ; light dom/sub ; finger fucking ; choking ; gagging ; spit kink ; GN!reader ; vaginal sex.

✎ … LINK.

For if Aphrodite was jealous of all those more beautiful than her, than may she strike her down, screaming her name. Black hair cascades around you like silk, and red gleams as light dances in the iris of her eyes, lower lip bitten with an impish suggestion not quite spoken, but her body language speaks volumes. For if you were to compare her to that of beauty, your piousness would befall her, and you would speak her name and let it bellow in the walls of the confinement you two surround yourselves in, in the solace of your heart and aching core the drips like molten honey. Honeyed words she speaks alight a flame inside you, and you melt like wax on the tips of her fingers.

Tifa traces constellations on your body, strumming you like a harp as you sigh, release so far away. She presses her lips to your forehead, a soothing motion that leaves you shivering against silken sheets beneath your quivering form. It's gorgeous—the way she bends you, the way you break. She smells of lavender and honey and gin, the taste residing on her skin.

"Open up for me, sweet," she commands, and you do, mouth opening with little fanfare and tongue lolling out along with it. Two fingers push inside and your tongue curls around them, wetting them profusely as she smiles down at you. "How sweet," she says once more, this time pushing her fingers further down your mouth, effectively gagging you. You choke and sputter around her, saliva pooling and dripping down the corners of your mouth. Dizzy, your face heats up with the action, but you love every second of it.

Her free hand continues to caress your body, gently prying your thighs apart. And who are you to deny her access to your most sensitive parts? She's the only one who can set you aflame.With the hands of a thief, fingers deftly dance between your legs; your core aches when two fingers rub at your clit. You can feel the toy harnessed around her lower body poking your outer thigh, something that you desperately tremble for making your world collapse until it’s just you and her. Her, her, her.

Your back bows, head thrown back as she slips two fingers inside you, her thumb rubbing semi-circles roughly on your clit. Heavy breathing, your hands grip and struggle on the bed sheets, tugging and pulling erratically as Tifa simply giggles above you, lips curled devilishly--the face of an angel, but damned. Tears well in your eyes as you moan especially loud, her fingers hitting your sweet spot as she continues to rub at your clit, body strung and sung out beneath her. Angel, you hear her say as you cry out with her fingers still in your mouth and in your cunt, cum for me. And who were you to disobey?

White floods your vision as she holds you, fingers withdrawing and your eyes roll back as tears flow freely; your fire burns incredibly bright, your ambrosia flows freely as Aphrodite herself takes you to heaven on high, cloud nine. Haphazardly wiping her hands on the soiled bed sheets, Tifa caresses your face, cooing to bring you back from the brink of ecstasy, holding you oh so gently. No, not even the Gods could cradle you with such care after destroying you oh so tenderly. “Next time,” she whispers with a hint of glee as your clumsy skull chases after her gentle caress, watching as she grabs your thighs and moves them apart, the toy between her legs and inside her finds purchase on your outer lips, “I’ll use my mouth on you. I’m sure you taste so sweet.”

And once again, you scream her name, babbling to the heavens in a chant that only she can hear, echoing in the walls of your home as she pushes inside you. You keen under her as you feel her hips against your, the toy fully seated inside you; she’s beautiful like this, hair of silk tousled and messy, lips bitten raw and blood seeping in the corner, eyes blown wide with bliss as she hits you inside to the hilt. Her hips pause, a stutter in their tempo, then she moves, rhythm soft and smooth, tender and loving. The world slows to a stop, time never ticking as she makes love to you. Her lips befall yours, passionately kissing you, tongue to tongue.

Your moans mix with hers oh so deliciously, a symphony created by your amorous lovemaking, silence has no life here. The bed squeaks underneath you, the sun paints highlights on your skin from the open window, and you think once again, no god could make love to you like she could. No, only Tifa could bring you to the 7 rings of heaven and back.

“Can I?” She pleads with you, and you know exactly what she wants. Her hands are your favorite necklace. With a nod, her hands wring themselves around your neck and you gasp, stars exploding in your eyes as her thrusts gain momentum. In a heartbeat, the pace goes from loving to hard fucking, Tifa’s gasps and your mewls getting louder with every piston of her hips against yours. Your arms scratch roses in the garden of her back, and her hands paint violets in the canvas of your neck. Breaths mixing and bodies entangled together, you’re so close to meeting your end once again. Just one more push, one more shove.

“Keep your mouth open,” Tifa stutters in command, rhythm growing irregular and thrusts sporadic, the haze in your brain commands you to listen. With a rough thrust, you cry her name, and she spits onto your tongue. Your saliva pools and mixes with hers a cocktail of your own creation. It should be disgusting, wretched, but your toes curl in delight; she marks you just right. Perfect. Perhaps, it’s far too intense.

Your body arches once again, white blinding your vision as Tifa giggles, a blurry haze trapping you within, and you think: No, not even Aphrodite could make love to you like this.

#final fantasy #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #tifa lockhart #tifa x reader #tifa/reader #ao3 #smut

[acemapleeh]

Dreams of Philadelphia (Chapter 2)

Word Count: 4595

Characters: America

Read on ao3

Read Chapter One Here

Alfred had been feeling like crap on and off for the majority of the year. It has started sometime in March, small enough to ignore and move on without much thought. April he was having a tougher time getting out of bed. His chest ached anytime he sat up and more things seemed to irritate his throat. A little castor oil and his voice was commanding and grand once more. His head ached something fierce but he chalked it up to a caffeine withdrawal.

He knew his men were ill.

A flu.

The word felt weirdly foreign to him. It didn’t sit right in his stomach.

He let his men take a few days to rest from their training, starting with one but soon growing to dozens. It had reached a thousand in a week. Disease itself wasn’t a new thing for Alfred, of course. He’d never had the flu before but he had been stuck in bed with yellow fever, measles, and smallpox. His country had its fair share of outbreaks in its short history, but the war was his biggest priority. He went through the spring without letting it hold him down. He had to believe things were fine at home. His medicine was rising in the world, medical institutes competing with the likes of those in Paris and Berlin. In the last few decades, things like smallpox, rabies, and anthrax were becoming a woe of the past. Whatever this was, he trusted a vaccine would be made and his people will be fine.

He only grew concerned at seeing those around him coughing and staggering. Francis was first. His body was already weaker than normal from his soils carved into, once beautiful fields of countryside were now a mass grave filled with hundreds of thousands of rotting corpses. He still stood upright, voice commanding his men to hold their ground as he fought with every breath and bit of strength his people could give him. He was just as Alfred remembered when he assisted him all those years ago. He had looked up to him, to men like Lafayette to guide him as he grew into adulthood. He had slung Francis’s limp form over his shoulder, he could feel the heat of fever through his jacket and wet coughs on his neck. He couldn’t believe what he saw. The battle had been won. Francis hadn’t any major injuries. The two were talking, collecting themselves, and assessing the entirety of the situation when Francis had clutched at his chest, coughing and hacking. His body was trembling and Alfred could see past the layer of mud the flush on the man’s face. Whatever the man was running on, whatever was keeping him upright was no longer enough.

Arthur was second followed shortly by Matthew come May. His father had hidden it well. To those who didn’t know him, he was only a little under the weather from fatigue. None of it stopped him from carrying on. Matthew demanded softly in the late hours of silent nights for the man to rest. Alfred never intruded in those moments. He hadn’t earned back that relationship. His brother was always better at caring for others anyway. Anything Alfred would say would only make things worse. Every ask of if the old man was holding up was met with condensation and denial no matter how Alfred tried to approach him.

Matthew was more or less the same. He was young, unable to have as strong a mask as their father had crafted to perfection over hundreds of years. Alfred also knew him too well.

They were together as brothers should be, side by side in battle come victory or defeat. His Matthew who looked at Alfred like he was an angel from the heavens when he came to his aid with bottles of maple syrup and warm clothes that smelled like the pines of home. They talked about baseball and other things that hardly seemed to matter as they sat by the fire and drank rationed alcohol with rosy cheeks and hearty laughs. His Matthew who hid from his family that something was wrong. His Matthew who found himself in a medical tent for two weeks sick as a dog only because Alfred had to drag him into one to begin with. His brother was weak from the war, the gas, the shrapnel, the disease that had been eating at his chest. Weeks and years of putting others in front of himself catching up. It felt wrong to leave him behind but the war would not be won by sitting still and waiting for death. Matthew had clung to Alfred’s hand, rasping in comforting French that he’ll be alright. Alfred had to fight, he was needed above all if they were going to win this thing. He didn’t want to. He wanted, at that moment, for things to be like when the two of them were young. He wanted to lay in his brother’s bed, curled up, and assure him that he was safe. It was childish and foolish and they both knew it. The sound of Matt’s wet coughs louder than the pounding rain echoed in his mind as he left the tent.

Alfred had received a letter from him a month later. Matthew assured him that he was fine and thanked him for the new boots in messy handwriting. He apologized if Death had informed him of his temporary passing, he wished as always for his brother not to waste any worry on him. The whole thing passed with little concern. His death only a footnote in the letter, the conversation going right back to enjoying the freshly received coffee and how much he hated the tea father was forcing on him to “lift his spirits.” Alfred kept that tear-splattered letter folded in his inner breast pocket, tucked safely in an empty packet of Lucky Strikes.

The summer made spring feel like a lost dream.

September was the beginning of a nightmare.

There was conflict inside him. He knew how close they were to finishing this, he should feel elated. But he felt wrong. His body felt like lead and his mind felt like he was swimming in a lake of molasses. Exhaustion from the war that his medical kit couldn’t take care of. The headaches were from the heavy artillery that never ceased, the soreness of his muscles from injuries that just were taking a little too long to recover, the shivers at night from the terrible weather. Autumn in France was dreadful. There were too many nights he sat up on watch, volunteering because he couldn’t sleep. The rain soaked through everything and the hallowing wind made him even more miserable. The wool blanket he pulled around him did little to warm him. Hell, he didn’t even want the thing and had argued with the man who forced it across his shoulders. There were other men who needed it more, who could die if they spent another cold, wet night with puddles soaking through the holes in their boots.

But he could not stop shivering.

He longed desperately for the southwestern sun to warm his face as he rode horseback in the deserts of Arizona. He wanted to sit on his porch in Pennsylvania with homemade apple cider watching the leaves turn to match the brick of home. He craved the comforting grits and crayfish of the south after a summer day of wading through the Mississippi River. He needed anything to get his mind back into the fight. Alfred couldn’t let his spirit waver.

He finally got his chance at Saint-Mihiel.

Alfred could take to the skies; perhaps, more importantly, he could take cockpit capsules without getting a second glance. It was his first large offense launched for him to take charge. He couldn’t afford to fuck it up. Their plans were detailed for penetrating German trenches using a strategy of combined arms. He was low on essentials for a well-balanced field army. Francis came to his aid without hesitation, loaning him half of the artillery, airplanes, and tanks he needed for this operation to be successful. Even with so much on his shoulders, Alfred was struggling to stand upright. Pressure was building and he hated the way his hands trembled over the controls.

His chest was screaming in agony worse than it had in the spring. It had to be this hideous weather. The roads were muddy and soaked his legs to the thigh. The rain drenched his uniform and the wind drove through the marrow of his bones. The hands hidden by gloves were bony, clammy, and cold.

A small syringe of blue glass was injected into his vein with a practiced hand. He had to stay awake no matter what. The only way he was going to rest his eyes this battle was if he was shot in the head or had shrapnel lodged in his throat and he bled dry.

Unlike other officers who took command from the rear, his were in the front lines in hopes of taking control of the chaos. He trusted them as he flew overhead alongside his air squadrons.

Morbidly, Alfred wished the entire thing took longer. By the evening of the following day, the Americans were withdrawn so that they could move to the upcoming Meuse-Argonne offensive. He held back for now. He had other places his help was needed. Around France he drove in his trusted jeep and marched on, his body only held upright by the cocaine, caffeine, and morphine that replaced his blood. Once in a while, when he was stopped at a camp, mail would catch up with him. Things were bad back home. New York, Boston, and Philadelphia were all struggling to keep this epidemic under wraps while simultaneously trying to make enough coffins to bury his dead. Newspapers buried flu reports in the back pages behind news of the war.

He soon found himself in Saint-Quentin with Jack by the end of September.

By this point, his vision was blurry no matter how many times he tried wiping his glasses clean of dirt and blood. It could have just been the fog he told himself, even though he was struggling to get those just a few feet in front of him in focus. Alfred couldn’t think of a word to describe how he was feeling. He was there to help break the Hindenburg Line. He was there to assist Jack and his men, to lead the way so the others could exploit this break. The Australians were low on men and those that remained were strained with exhaustion. Jack was being entrusted by the British to spearhead this attack despite these conditions.

Alfred didn’t know how much help he was offering the young man. The troops that he arrived with were inexperienced in battle but he was assured the Germans had such low morale at this point that their ability to resist was weak. He didn’t like the assumption but they had to work with whatever men and resources they had. His first job was clearing out German outposts in the northern section of the line. The British had failed in their previous attempts, their own troops exhausted like all the others. Again and again, they just had to hope the Germans were just as tired as they were. Off they went and it wasn’t until they were there had Alfred realized the lack of officers and leaders present. He tried to shout orders, tried to organize these boys that were afraid but his voice wasn’t carrying.

They had failed.

It was only the preliminary operation but a failure nonetheless.

He was in no better shape for the main attack two days later.

Alfred felt the losses. Each death made it harder and harder to hold himself up and take another step forward. He tried not to focus on the numbers, on the faces, the names, the families… He didn’t know where he was. The fog was thick but gunfire still sounded all around him. Shouts of confusion and panic were the only things that overpowered the noise. His heart was thumping, his vision swimming as he desperately dug through his pockets for his medkit. He had to pull himself together. Alfred had to lead his men, Jack was depending on him.

There was a gunshot to his left and there was pain in his cheek. A graze, it was only a graze but he couldn’t move on from it. It had hurt. No, Alfred thought, that couldn’t be right. His body was running on so many things that something as simple as a bullet grazing his face, hell, he’s been shot just about everywhere on his body in this fucking war alone, that it should not have frozen him in his tracks.

“On your left mate!”

Jack’s voice and form appeared from the murk, the slouch hat giving a distinct silhouette that shook Alfred back to the moment at hand. There were more forms closing in on them and he retrieved the pistol from his belt. He shot. He missed. They were getting closer. Jack was beside him with his rifle held securely at his side. The man Alfred had shot at before was now staggering as the Australian aimed and fired. Alfred was back in his element, the sounds of gunfire finally snapping him in place. His mind was running and running, moving his men forward with Jack alongside him to push them forward. His medical kit was left in the confines of his coat.

By the time it was all over, the fog had yet to cease. Alfred’s mind was back in its daze. He hadn’t realized he had been separated from the younger nation. He scanned the crowds of men. Shit. How far back did he lose him? He was certain they had crossed the canal together. He turned heel and ran, shouting the man’s name at the lifeless forms in hopes he was among them.

There was a shout from below and Alfred leaned over the edge of the old bridge. Jack lay on the riverbed several yards away and Alfred was quickly stumbling down the slope to reach him. The tan coat of his uniform was splattered crimson and his right shoulder was bent in all the wrong ways. Without wasting the time for arguments, Alfred was moving Jack’s arm to lay at his side, ignoring the curses and protests with every movement made. The sole of his mud-stained boot was placed firmly on the other’s ribs as he pulled Jack’s arm till a solid pop and shout were heard.

“You could have at least given me a fucking shot of whisky for crying out loud! Jesus, Joseph, and Mary what the hell is wrong with you!”

“I’m sorry, did you want to march all the way to daddy dearest with a dislocated shoulder and have him fucking do it for you?” Alfred was already going through his pack for whatever spare cloth he had to make a temporary sling. “I can easily pull it back out asshole. Stop being a grouser.”

“You’re a fucking cunt,” Jack swore, head laying back against the gravel. “You ran off ahead of me- I thought we were covering each other.”

“Okay, I’m actually sorry about that one,” his voice lowered as he worked a little more carefully at keeping the man’s shoulder in place. “This fucking weather has been throwing me off.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. It’s fucking spring back home, how the hell do you think I feel?” Jack hissed as Alfred helped him sit up. He pressed an arm around his chest and Alfred could see the stains spread. “Get me some morphine will you? I just need to get on my feet long enough till I get actual medical treatment.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it. Just keep still and try not to bleed out on me. Charlie will have my head if you die on my watch. Where do you keep your kit?”

Jack shook his head. “Used the last of mine on my last outing. Meant to get more but shit’s been so crazy I completely forgot. Just give me some of yours.”

Alfred’s tin kit was where he always kept it. Easy reach, familiar weight in his left pocket that hit right below his ribs when he ran. His inner left arm was bruised up and down from how many times he’s had to inject one thing or another. His mind was starting to catch up with his body’s messages of pain and his fingers itched to be closer to his favorite pocket. It was for Jack. It wasn’t for him. He opened the case, eyes scanning for the yellow glass on the end that he replaced time and time again. Well, every time but recently. “Sorry kiddo. I got pure ether though. How’s that?”

“I’m not an ether frolic nor do I plan on it. Just…” he sighed, undoing the buttons of his uniform, be it, difficult with one hand. “Give me a quick patch up. I’ll live.”

Alfred worked in tentative silence, Jack trying to keep a conversation going but it wasn’t working well. His thoughts kept trying to recollect the last time he had used his kit and got it replenished. Maybe he had been overdoing it. He had to though. They were just tools given to him by his military. He wasn’t doing it for fun. Alfred was only doing it because it was his job to keep on his feet. He sighed, helping Jack to his feet, and slowly climbed up the hill to rejoin the others. He needed at least some sense of victory and joy.

~~~***~~~

Alfred picked at the meat stew over dinner a few nights later. It warmed his hands in that little tin bowl and somehow they managed to get real vegetables. His stomach churned. Arthur was looking at him again. He took a bite of a carrot and started a conversation with Matt. It was dull. Man, this rain really has been something hasn’t it? Can’t believe Atkins was able to “borrow” these veggies from that farmer. How are those boots holding up from spring? This tea sure does taste like crap. Anything, anything, anything to prevent a real conversation from starting. God he wished Jack and Charlie could be seated with them but the pair was getting patched up in medical. Arthur could focus his fretting on his other two children but no, now all his attention was on Alfred and Matthew. He hated being stuck between two pairs of eyes that could actually read him.

Boring, idle chat was getting him nowhere. Arthur’s eyes were narrowed in on him and he quickly forked a sliver of onion in his mouth.

There was a start of a remark.

There was the saving grace of the mail coming in.

Alfred was on his feet, dumping whatever of the stew he didn’t eat into Matt’s bowl saying the man was running himself too ragged and needed the extra strength. He excused himself quickly, ready to turn in for the night after an exhausting day. Without waiting for protest or response, Alfred tracked down the mail boy and gathered the envelopes and parcel in his arms. All he could think about was the cot in his tent and sleeping throughout the night. It was quiet inside, the lack of eyes on him finally allowing a long sigh. The lantern glowed dimly as he sat on the cot, knife working on the first of the letters from home. His hands shook from the weight.

Nothing but death.

No matter where he was, no matter what he did, his people were dying.

Those young boys who had hardly had three steps on the front lines who had no voice to follow but their own of panic and fight to stay alive. They had never shot a man. Never killed another. It was Alfred’s fault. He couldn’t get his head clear, couldn’t get rid of the heaviness of heartache from wishing for the simple comforts of home.

There were hundreds of innocents at home, just wanting to support their country.

Their husbands.

Their sons.

Their loved ones.

Now whole families were dead.

Now there was no one to go home to.

Alfred wished he was in Philadelphia to shout at the major, to shout at the people who let so many deaths happen. Doctors and nurses who weren’t serving overseas were dying in their own fight. Colleagues were falling around themselves but they stayed at their post. A place Alfred had long associated with life and freedom, one of the birthplaces of who he was reeked of death. Open windows that once lead way to cheerful laughter and freshly made apple butter now let the souls of the dead pass through as well as the stench of decay. Fluids spilled from the cracks of doorways into the streets. There were no more coffins, no more trees to build them, no more space in the graveyard to keep up with the thousands of new residents.

In the dead of night, echoes of Latin prayers resounded through the streets as mass graves were laid to rest. Those were the lucky ones. It was impossible to keep up. The dead stayed where they passed and loved ones were too sick to move them, accepting and living life as best they could beside the rotting shells of their kin.

Home was supposed to be safe. Home was supposed to be a domestic heaven for these soldiers to look forward to going back to.

He clutched to the wool socks he was gifted. They were from a young girl named Julie. She was in the fifth grade and all the girls in her class got together to make care packages for those at war. Her older brother was out there, her father wasn’t well enough to serve the country but they wanted to do whatever was possible. She lived in Indiana in a little town Alfred had never been to before but he could see the old church that also served as the school building, the neat rows of tended soil, the river that ran through the center of town, and miles and miles of golden wheat.

A coughing fit took hold of him and a splatter of blood stained the new socks.

He had to get to Francis and his men. He did the math in his head; if he hurried, he could reach Montfaucon in two hours. He could leave first thing in the morning; even he could admit in his current state he wasn’t going anywhere fast. Hell, he didn’t even think he could get up from the bed now that he was seated comfortably on in.

There was a gust of cold air when the flap of his tent opened.

‘For fuck’s sake…’

Arthur was there to remind him of the officer meeting tomorrow morning which Alfred had completely forgotten about. The American kept his guard up, grinning up at the older nation as he always did. The cut on his cheek still stung and he vaguely wondered why it was taking so long to heal. The conversation was kept light but he allowed just a hint of vulnerability. Let Arthur think he got to the problem. His brows furrowed as he rubbed over the bloodstain on the sock, trying to hide it into the dark material. He was just homesick. He wished he could have been at the parade in Philly. He was just tired from the war like everyone else. Nothing special, nothing that should cause a raised brow or lecture from his father.

But his words just kept pouring out.

He removed his glasses to clean them, to keep his hands busy and not show how they were quivering.

He didn’t want celebrations. He couldn’t bear another case like what happened in Philadelphia to happen in every major city. There was nothing to cheer for. No reason to crowd close together on the streets. There was too much death on the homefront, too much death on his hands. Alfred couldn’t save them. It wasn’t just his soldiers who were dying, it was his people-

He cut himself short, feeling his throat tighten though he couldn’t tell if it was from sadness creeping in his chest or another coughing fit needing out.

There was a shared moment of silent understanding and Arthur’s voice was soft when he spoke again. Alfred just needed some rest and he would be back at it again. He was only human but that wasn’t entirely true. They were strange things but he didn’t like thinking about it. He took his father’s lie of being only human for the time being.

Another reminder for the morning and he actually had enough energy to make a joke. It felt good, a light flutter in his chest. Even Arthur clearly putting the mask back on to scoff at his comment gave a strange sense of comfort.

The tent felt cold once he was alone.

Alfred dossed down for the night and stared into the dark. He couldn’t ignore the trembling that had started in his hands that had spread to his whole body. He emptied his canteen but his throat was still dry. He tried curling in on himself, hands venturing under the rough material of his shirt. There was almost relief in how warm the skin of his torso felt. For the briefest of moments, he felt fine, not noticing the sweat that was collecting at his hairline and staining the beat-up pillow below. He felt the blood trickle to his upper lip and down his neck as the night went on tirelessly. He hated dying from disease; most nations he’s spoken to shared the feeling. It stuck him with his thoughts, of his guilt. His coughs rattled his whole body and even his back hurt from how often it occurred.

He buried his face in the pillow and began uttering prayers that had been instilled in him since he was a small boy. His cheeks were wet and his very soul felt corrupted and sick. His people were just as afraid, praying for their sinful nation to be forgiven, that this punishment of death and disease cease. Alfred couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way. The cross he wore close to his heart weighed him down and brought little comfort in this moment of fear. He wanted death to come overnight so there was hope he could return to his body by morning’s light. That his soul could visit his rivers and valleys, to ride the winds of the open plains and painted deserts, to be among the stars he loved so dearly. He prayed and prayed heart-shaking pleas for mercy till his throat was raw. He was always too afraid to do himself in no matter how much reassurance his brother gave him as he held a pistol steady to his temple.

At what hour he finally shut his eyes to rest he wasn’t sure. It was fitful sleep of strange dreams brought upon by fever but it was sleep nonetheless. He stayed curled in bed, trying to fit his whole body under the blanket that wasn’t meant for people of his height and build. He wasn’t home and he was in pain and that was all his mind could focus on.

Alfred could not muster any of his spirit to get back up.

#hws america #hws england #hws canada #hws australia #hetalia #historical hetalia #ace writes #writing

[borisdl]

Short Story

When I was about 14 and hit puberty I started wetting the bed. My mother told me the same thing happened to her three brothers and they all wore diapers. They outgrew it in their twenties and that it was just a weak bladder muscle.

I got used to wearing diapers and came to enjoy it. The first time I pooped my diaper I was 15 and it was an accident. I had gotten up for and was getting some orange juice from the fridge. I thought I had to fart, being home alone I stuck my butt out and let it rip. Except it was more than a fart. A lot more. I felt a long thick firm stool pushing forcefully into my diaper. By the time it stopped it looked like I had grapefruit in the back of my diaper.

I was in shock but it also felt good. Really good. I waddled to the bathroom to change I felt my penis getting hard. I often woke up hard and would rub one out in my diaper but this was different. I reached inside my diaper I realized that I had already cum and touching it made me cum more.

After I cleaned up and took a shower I threw the soiled diaper away on the way to school. I was horrified, what if I was losing bowel control too? What if it happened again.

But it didn’t, not for a couple of months. But I kept fantasizing about it and masturbating in my diaper.

The next time it happened I planned it. Ordinarily I’d poop after school but decided to hold it for the next day and go in my diaper. It wasn’t easy but I made it. As soon as my mom left for work I walked down to the kitchen. My intestines were rumbling. Before I could even pour my juice it happened. Bending my knees and spreading my legs I pushed out a huge firm log anthem another. A minute later a third. I had never pooped so much in my life. This time, instead of grapefruit it looked like a small melon in my diaper.

I walked to the kitchen table and carefully sat down. Then, without touching myself my cock erupted.

This soon became part of my morning ritual. Not everyday but as often as possible. Until my mom got a new boyfriend and he moved in with us. My mom explained the bed wetting to home and at first he was okay but by my seventeenth birthday he would mock me about wearing diapers.

At one point his work schedule changed and I came downstairs to find him at the kitchen table in his underwear. I was wearing just a T-shirt and my soaking wet diaper. My click was rock hard in anticipation of doing my business.

Seeing me he laughed out loud and said there’s baby James. Whoa sport! Looks like ya got quite the morning wood. Maybe you like wearing diapers a little too much. Humiliated, I got my juice and left but my relationship with him and my mom was really strained after that. I resented having there, especially in the morning.

I started pooping secretly in the bathroom before my shower but one one day I forgot to lock the bathroom door and while I was in the shower he came in to get something and found my poop filled diaper on the floor. That was it. He told my mom. I claimed it was an accident and my mom believed me but his teasing got worse. I was miserable.

Then one day after school my mom called and said we were going to see her youngest brother Joey. He lived about ten minutes away, drove a UPS truck and was around 30. When we got there he already knew the whole story and said I could come stay with home until I graduated high school and went to college.

He said he knew how hard it was being a bed wetter in high school. He said the only thing that made it bearable for him was he had two older brothers who did it too. So at least home it felt normal and no one got teased.

That very night my mom dropped me off with my stuff, I had my own room and was thrilled. Uncle Joey was super buff Italian looking who everybody liked. I often wondered why he was still single.

That first night he told me he’d bought something special. He went into his room and came out with five pairs of terry cloth lined, padded plastic pants. They were thick and soft with creamy while plastic on the outside. He said this will prevent leeks and that I could wear these over my diaper around the house like regular underwear. Then he said “okay champ?”

Hesitantly excited I agreed. The next morning I walked into the kitchen to find my uncle ready for work drinking coffee and eating toast. Morning James, did you sleep okay? He said.

Looks like your new jammies fit okay, comfortable?

I had to admit they were great. They helped keep my soaked diaper in place and even though they were quite swollen looking, I looked perfectly dry. Soon Joey left for work and I was free. I watched him drive away and no sooner was he out of sight and I let loose.

I was in heaven.

This continued all week until Friday. Joey let me know that the weekend he likes to sleep in a bit and then lounge around in the morning. If I wanted he’d make us some pancakes. I said that sounded great.

My stomach was feeling funny when I went to bed, we had a big risotto for diner and I was stuffed. The next morning my diaper was soaked usual. The leg bands of my terry shorts were even damp.

I went into my bathroom to slash water on my face before going down to breakfast. My stomach cramped and I uncontrollably pooped my diaper. I didn’t know what do but with him calling me for breakfast I had no choice but to go downstairs.

Get your juice, short stack coming right up he beamed bare legged in chef’s apron and tee shirt. I thought maybe he wouldn’t notice the smell and was trying to cover my obvious erection.

I sat down as carefully as coul but some of the poop was already seeping into the cottton leg bands. From behind, I noticed he was olive green nylon running shorts under the apron. Although he was very muscular his butt looked especially round in those shorts.

A second later he put our plates on the table and sat down. Smiling he said, dig in! As he bit into a strip of bacon. I wanted to cry. He was so nice to me and there I was with a big smelly poop in my diaper.

Soon however, I could see his expression change. He looked at me, sniffed the air a little and said, did you fart?. Uncertain what to do I nodded my head. He laughed out loud and pointed at me saying, pull my finger! Reluctantly I did, he shifted his body weight to one side he let out a long loud fart. We both burst out laughing. When we stopped, he said, wait I got do another one but this time he stood up and bent his knees a bit. The send one wasn’t as loud as the first but it was longer. He stood up waving the air and said, phew! That one stunk.

He stood there looking amused but then he said, one more. Then his face got serious, he squatted again spreading his legs and straining. The harder he strained the more distant the look on his face became. Then I heard that unmistakable noise of cracking and grunting of him having a bowel movement in his shorts. When he finally finished about a minute later he stood up taking off his apron I could now see under his nylon running shorts he was wearing a diaper and plastic pants just like mine.

He looked at me said, I don’t think was fart. Lucky thing I had my diaper on. As he sat down slowly I couldn’t help but notice his nylon shorts were stretched to capacity by his raging boner strainng in his wet and soiled diaper.

To be continued.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Into The Thick of It (1)

Loki x Female Reader

Chapter 1: The Cult

Series Summary: Her work as an agriculturist nearly takes the readers life is not for a stranger (and his weird looking dog) who later turns out to be the God of Mischief. Thrown into a completely different realm, you want to figure out a way home while trying to stay out of the way of this literal God. But fate has its own plans for the two of you.

Written for @tarithenurse and her #Taris1Kchallenge

Warnings: torture, sacrifice, undertones of rape

Word Count: I am on a break. It feels good to just breathe without dreading the rest of the day. Why is work so punishing?

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

One single machine whirrs in this dull laundromat. The light above you flickers at intervals so regular you have already made a beat out of it. The only other sound distracting enough is some old music playing on the radio at the front desk where no one sits at this hour. And that fan that seems to be breathing its last over your head. "Yeah, it's unbelievably quiet here," you mentioned in a soft tone before looking around the empty space. "I guess I'm glad I only had to stop for three days here." "What? Are you not going to explore this place?" your friend, Zaira's voice crackles through the phone. You shrug despite knowing she cannot see you. "I don't know, Zai, this place gives me the creeps for some reason. I am only hanging around here because Prashant wants to revise the reports I sent him of the soil composition before he gives me a green light to leave this place." "Damn! That bad?" "Oh! You have no idea!" You look around once again. The front desk guy has just come back in his old Chevrolet and the clock has struck nine. "Zai," you whisper in the lowest tone possible, watching the man whistle as he gets out of his car without closing the door, "there are no kids in this village-slash-town." He walks to the back to open the trunk of his car, whistling a somewhat familiar tune. "That's...not haunting at all!" Zaira's sarcasm can be heard in her surprised tone. "Well, what's more haunting is the fact that the youngest person here is an eighteen-year-old boy who keeps showing up anywhere I go and keeps staring at me funny." The man shuts the hood with a loud thump and you can see a fresh bundle of store-bought rope, a baseball bat, a bottle of some chemical-probably for cleaning- and a pair of rubber gloves as he starts walking to the entrance. "Allah-" Zaira takes the Lord's name in surprise- "no wonder they have The Sacrifice playing somewhere there." The man sets everything on the front desk, still whistling the same tune, which you now come to realise is the song that is currently playing on the radio. "The...the what?"

"The thing playing in your background," Zaira comments, "it's playing on a two strong instrument with a looping chorus. It's a pagan ritual song that is sung by some orthodox communities that still present a sacrifice to their pagan gods. We learned this in the summer session for cult studies, boo. Oh, wait. You were back home that time. The chorus basically says 'here's your sacrifice, now pay my dues'." Not a word of what Zaira said is heard after the pagan ritual song because suddenly all the materials resting on the front desk are making sense. So is the creak of the back door that opens to let the only teenager of the town in. Your body is frozen in place, your mind has gone blank. One moment you are running for the exit. And the next, you are lying on the floor with the two men hovering over you while the song calling for your sacrifice slowly fades away. . It is the discomfort from the heat that wakes you up. The sweat and stickiness all over your body slowly registers in your brain that alerts of a throbbing ache at the back of your head with a bang. Everything is a blur for a few moments; till the lights morph into fire beacons and the sun transforms into a bonfire, the figures moving around you become humans with faces smeared in blood. Your clammy skin shines in the light of the bonfire, your hair sticking to any part of you. Tears are rolling down the edge of your eyes while your brain is registering this new pain altogether from the gag in your mouth. You try to move your hand to touch your skull where it hurts, but are unable to do so. My hands...I can't move them. Your dizzy brain gives your body the command again but in vain. "She's awake!" a raspy voice pierces through the air.  And within a speck of a second, all the memories start rushing in. Y/N? Hello? Babe, can you hear me? Adrenaline shoots up in your system and your senses are heightened. The smell of kerosene is heavy in the air along with the crippling stench of burning flesh. You have been bound to a pole with your hands behind you, the bonfire in front of you, the forest surrounding you from every corner and the moonless sky on top of you. The faces in the fire are all familiar. The residents of this town, all staring at you while you struggle to get out of the ropes cutting through your skin, stop their movement to pick up the bowls kept in front of them and drink its contents. Your cries are muffled; partly because of the gag and partly because of the sobs that want to escape your throat just like your tears. Your already broken body jumps when the oldest woman in the group starts shouting phrases in a language unknown to you. And just as she begins, everyone around her takes out a dagger and starts moving in your direction. Your heartbeat seems to drop for a moment. They can see the horror in your eyes. But that does not stop their moments. The woman's chants grow heavier as her hand moments grow more vigorous. The youngest of them all skips a step or two to straight away jump on the platform where you are kept on display. He looks around once and turns to you to move your sweat laden hair strands away from your face. His pale fingers are cold, almost icy to the touch. "Don't worry, I'll get you out of here," he whispers close to your ears. Your sobs turn to sniffs to hear his words and look into his eyes. Those grey irises are trying to dig straight into your soul. "Trust me." Your instinct- which has never been wrong in your life- is already moving your leg to bend the knee and get his balls. And you do. Watching him writhe in pain for one long satisfying moment as he curses you from heaven to hell. But he gets back up, with the eyes of a madman ready to kill. You are crying out still, for anyone who will listen, in heaven or hell, as he takes you by your throat. The venom in his hold is enough to take your life. "The only way out-" he says close to your face- "is through, you cunt." One last prayer comes out of you as a whimper before you wait for his dagger to meet you.  In the next heartbeat, everything turns white. . Everything is blinded by a white light. It does seem to be the end. Why did I have to die like this dammit?! A Buzzfeed Unsolved episode?! But something does not sit right.  The white light should be the end, right? Then why can feel something wet under my h- Before you realise you are tumbling down the steepness of the forest. Your body can feel every rock and every pebble on the way down the seemingly endless slope. It seems like a long while when your limbs finally skid on flat rocky terrain, bringing the ringing pain to a halt before it can bounce all over your body a bit louder in the deafening silence. The first thing your senses do is look for any sign of danger around you. The forest is dark. And apparently different than the one you were in before. The trees are taller and with trunks that would not fit in your hugs. You cannot see their ends in the sky from where you lay. Not weird at all. The silence too sends your wounded heart into an anxious stir. Not even the cicadas speak here. Am I...dead? Now that definitely stirs something out there. A twig breaks in the distance. You pause your breath and shush your racing heart. A soft rustle of leaves can be heard somewhere that lets your sweat run cold all over the body. It is hard to breathe through the gag as it is, and you are standing nowhere near a hiding spot, making your basic instincts run wild with any shadow you see in this treacherous night. So all you do is stand as still as a trembling mouse and wait. And that wait isn't long. Call it nature's mysterious ways or just a random event happening at the right time, a cool breeze stirs the air for the first time in this place. From where you stand, the breeze hits your back, tickling those sweat beads on the nape of your neck before letting you smell the odour of blood it carries with it. All the neurons inside you make you turn around and face a familiar figure emerging from the shadows with a dagger in his hand. The basic instincts inside you are already making your body break into a run in the opposite direction. The rush of the flight instinct is overpowering all the injuries and you forget for a second that your hands are still tied behind you as you speed straight ahead. But that devil of a man is fast. He has already closed the distance and his hands are grabbing your hair, pushing you both to the ground. He presses you down with his body, not giving you any room to get up or free your limbs. But he does untie your gag before turning you around and holding your neck in a choke-hold. "Please, please, please..." Nothing else is coming out of you at this point; except for hot tears streaming down the side of your face.  "Well," the bastard sighs, pressing down his pelvis on your abdomen while having the audacity to smirk when looking down at you, "we had to sacrifice a virgin. But surely it's going to work the same if I put that mouth to work." The dread of his words does not set in till his free hand reaches for the button on his pants to undo it. The more you try to push away from him, the tighter he grips your throat. Oh, Gods! Just let me die instead. He is halfway undoing his zipper when a sound cracks through the air. It almost sounds like a very quiet motor either just starting or just stopping. And the closer it gets, it starts taking the shape of a growl coming from the throat of an animal. The man is distracted now; looking for the source of the sound. Loosening his grip a bit, he turns around to let his vision get as far in the dark as it could to look for anything out of the ordinary. And while he is busy, it is you who notices its presence and choose not to make a sound. The man turns around to look right into red eyes gleaming at him from a distance of three inches, sending him jumping up and crawling back on the ground as far away from you as possible. Huge white canines visible even in this darkness are on display as this four-legged creature growls in your captor's direction. A twisted horn rests majestically on each side of its head. Paws as huge as a lion's, but claws twice as big and dark as the night are resting on either side of your shoulder. The fur seems dark and dense except for where pointed bones are protruding out on its back. The growl revving in this creature's throat is enough for the predator to crawl back further with his heart stuck in his throat. And before he can figure out what demonic hell this creature had walked out from, he comes to discover another wave of fear when he sees a shadow behind it in between two trees. That shadow seems human. Human enough at the very least until he thought he was hallucinating that figure with gleaming green eyes. "Wh-who's there?!" the man's voice starts in a scream ends up in a squeak. "Get that ugly dog away from here!" The 'ugly dog' shifts from your side to take a few steps towards the bastard, metaphorically pinning him in between the roots of the trees he was sweating in. "Hey!" he shouted again at the shadow, "can't you hear me?!" You sit up, watching the creature slowly ready itself for attack mode. Turning around, you too are able to see a figure. It looks tall and is evidently clad in something heavy. Is that a sword in his hand? But that sword is not as concerning as those illuminated green pupils. "You son of a bitch! Get the fuck out of here before I stab you and your filthy farm ani-" "Rífa hann í sundur," is all you hear in a low hum from that figure's end one second. The next, there are growls and blood-curdling screams emerging from behind you; haunting enough to make you jump and curl up where you sit but never move your eyes away from that shadow that still stands as still as a rock. Tears still fall from your eyes; your legs pulled as close to your chest as possible. The screams continue to come out for a long time...long enough for you to notice a snowflake fall on your knee. More snowflakes come after the first one. And once the screams die down, you feel something brush your hands, almost making your heart fall out, only to realise that creature standing right behind you nudging at your ropes to gnaw your hands out of them. The adrenaline rush has diluted now. The pain and exhaustion that comes with it now lie heavy in your bones. Your eyes cannot take it anymore. But they still want to see that figure which now takes the liberty to walk out of the shadows underneath the clear light of the nearest moon. Your body is ready to fall but the creature provides some support to your lifeless limbs. Its fur feels so good on your cheeks. And that pale face coming to a stop in front of you feels almost angelic. Those green eyes are looking at you with both concern and judgment but what your brain registers first is the moonlight falling on those otherworldly cheekbones framed with clean braids. You want to keep looking at that face for a few more minutes. But there is only so much your wounded body can take before everything is a blur. . You have already hit deep slumber when the God comes to stand before you. He gets down on his knees to get a close look at your face buried in the hound's face.  "What do you think she's doing here, Agni?" Agni huffs and shifts enough to let the God have a better look at the face marred with wounds and bruises. A face that still looks so serene after putting up such a fight. The long pale fingers move those few strands of hair away that are blocking your features under the light of the moons. Calculations have already been done in that mind. What's left is to figure out whether to leave you here in the depth of the endless garden or... "Agni-" that voice commands with zero emotions, still studying your features- "call out for help. We are taking this one back to the camp."

#loki #loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fluff #loki smut #marvel fluff #marvel smut #mcu fluff #mcu smut #fluff #smut #fanfic #loki fanfic #loki series #into the thick of it #taris1kchallenge #tarithenurse

[crybabytoy59]

Resignation of fate....

Getting older now I had decide to resign my fate of submissive feelings of having a True Dominant partner, sadly putting this behind me, to stop torturing my self over my inner held submission...After all I had try’d?  

My tumblr page made no secret I wished to be used in a true 24/7 submissive relationship.

But nothing had ever become of my ask along the way, only fake so called Mistress/mummy’s ever messaged with but one thing on there mind a “Tribute” easy cash from despairing sissy submissive’s like Myself was there goal.

So with a heavy heart I could still have small windows in time for myself...

I would simply visit a Pro Dominant that way although paying it would be the real thing not some set of Dom instructions over the net from some faceless person who didn’t even take the time to read any of my stories, to better get to know me or my kink !

That’s how I found Jessica she was ten years my younger 5’7” with long red hair, very athletic as she kept in great shape, a bubbly personality & wit to match...

After lots of questions we arranged a meeting at a hotel of her choice, the drive there had my gut in knots ...I was finally going to meet a True Dominant not some fake kid-on person.

Jessica was a Professional with over 15years in the business her knowledge was vast as were her skills !

Knocking the door to the suite she opened it with a huge smile ! She was stunning even more beautiful than her pictures in real life!

“Hello sweetheart in you come” as I passed her she spanked me lightly, then threw her arms around me like she had known me all her life !

Cuddling me she kissed me very passionately running her hands down to my crotch she giggled “My my someone is a very excited submissive aren’t we ?”

I stammered out a yyyes Jessica! She was great again chuckles came,

“Relax sweetheart this is your time with me I want it to be special so that over the course of out ten meetings you will be in no doubt about your next ten sweetheart ! “

This we both smiled over ...this was just what I had always dreamed of it felt So natural.

Jessica told me to go for a shower then come out with a towel around me once “Fully cleaned” I knew what she ment from our talks pre-meeting, so in the shower I gave my self one last enema to make sure I was clean inside but only clean water came out, after all I had spent two hours Deep cleaning myself for this first meeting !

After my shower I took a Deep Breath & walked out with the towel around me.

Jessica was standing at the foot of the bed in a lace black top with no arms a black corset & black leather jodhpurs! She looked the perfect picture of Dominance to me at that moment !

On the bed lay a pink pvc maids dress with a small pink frilly hood to match the outfit, there were white tights & pink Mary Janes with a pair of frilly french knickers with a garter belt.

My heart pounding now Jessica motioned me over with out a word she threw a pillow on the floor pushing my shoulder, I did as she wished without words I knelt obediently putting my hands behind my back.

This pleased her as she kissed my forehead “Well done sweetheart let’s get you properly dressed for today’s chores my New sissy maid !”

Her touch as she dressed me in the pink frillymaids uniform was simply indescribable!

She took her time going very slowly & sensual with her every touch...

I was in sissy heaven !

My first task was to clean her boots as she sipped a glass of wine, she gave me a small black wax pad for this task & a white cotton cloth this took me an hour to do both boots.

Jessica was very pleased with me & more passionate kisses came from her it didn’t feel very Dominant? She was in control but in a soft gentle way....

Next was brushing her hair then I was to pleat it into a long ponytail...

This to pleased her very much as more kissing followed, the third task was very different she asked me bend over facing the dressing mirror put my hands around & pull my cheeks apart!

I watched as she lubed up a butt plug it wasn’t to large & she slid it home only holding it enough that my anal muscles pulled it in by them selfs!

Next she had me sit on the dresser chair as she applied makeup to me ! After the pink base layer, I jumped slightly in the chair as Jessica had picked up Her mobile the plug started a rhythm of vibrations!

More make up went on as she smiled at me straddling my thighs on the chair as she Finished my makeup !

Stepping away she stood behind me I got my first look at what she had done !

I looked like a China Doll !!!!

The look was utterly fantastic..So much so I gasped to her giggling!

“So my new maid likes her look this is your look Sissy lemon 🍋....Yes sweetheart that’s your new name Sissy Lemon”

With that she tied my ankles to the chair & my arms behind me, she then produced a pair of silk white soiled pants letting me smell them over my face her scent was very powerful !

I was absolutely rock hard now...”Open Wide Maid lemon !” She fed the pants into my mouth then lifted a black leather panel mask, it had a head harnessing from it this was buckled into place & she knelt between my legs pulling my engorged member from its silk prison!

Very slowly Jessica ran clear wax type gel over my shaft it felt warm as she put it on...

Slowly she started edging me...Very slowly...over the next hour she would edge me until I twitched then would stop to drink some wine, she would touch my nipples making me moan for more play !

This girl was very good at getting what she wanted men’s submission !!!

An hour later I could hold No longer I threw my head back as it shot from me ! I felt my balls were coming out Such was the force !

Jessica simply kept pumping every last drop from me !

Without any warning she popped open the leather pad on the front of the gag removing her pants she wiped her hand clean!!

Then uttered the words again ...."Open Wide Maid lemon !”

She pushed the cum soaked pants back into my mouth popping the leather panel back into hold the wadding in place....

She got up walking away to get something? When she returned she pulled the chair further back without a word...

Then lifted a huge black leather flogger ....”Sissy Lemon did Mistress Jessica say you could climax ?....No she did Not ...So my wee disobeying maid a punishment I think !!”

She unzipped the dress pulling it down my torso exposing my chest !

Jessica pulled the flogger back ....she spent three hours flogging cropping & whipping my nipples with a riding crop !...

It was very painful but I was in True submission at her touch...

At the end of my 8 hrs with her I truly could not thank her enough...

She told me that’s all she wish for in her sessions that I would feel I could let go of my inner submissive....

We arranged to meet at the same time each week for my sessions....each one became a bit kinkier & more painful for me ! Jessica would put me in my maids uniform, then spank me !

Sometimes head to toe ! Edge me...have me eat my own cummie as she called them !

It was great just to let go & Be Myself !

But on the second last visit Everything changed...

She had edged me & was putting me through a Very intense chest whipping...this she had stopped to put on a new set of nipple clamps ...this was my chance to show her my submission to her each time I would “present to her Fully arched (this made the clamps tighten) & put my head Fully backwards till she appeared to kiss my forehead!

Then I would be allowed to do My cummie....

But this time was different I truly broke !!!

Holding out not to say my “Safe-word”....something happened..

I burst out crying hysterically...

Jessica ran over pulling the clamps off gently she spoke ....

“It’s ok am sorry ...Breath try to relax....lemon...Your ok...hey it’s ok Mistress Jessica has You Lemon”

I muffled into her pantie gag....So Jessica removed the leather panel then her wet pants (she had soaked them in her pee this session )

It was all too much I didn’t know what day of the week it was ! or Where I was let alone what I was Saying to Jessica !!!!

I can’t even remember what I said...but thirty minutes later I was lay on the bed next to Mistress Jessica she was stroking my face...

“Are you Ok sweetheart ? ...(I nodded ) Good have a shower we need to talk...

After my shower I changed into my day clothes & came out Jessica had done the same , she was now in jeans & a white shirt...

“Ok That was too much ...Am truly sorry but I can’t take you for your last session, I will give you your money back & you can’t see me as your Mistress any longer !

I was utterly shocked & Deeply saddened over this but not knowing what I has said to her I thought best to simply accept that I had over stepped my mark with Jessica....

I told her there was no need to give me money back, that I would rather she got something for herself.

I told her I was truly Sorry over this incident..But I hoped she didn’t hate me...

“No silly it’s fine I just feel that was to much for me as a Mistress.....Your a lovely guy & I truly hope you find what you want of life”

I left that day with such a heavy heart, my world truly shattered knowing my type of submission was to be kept locked away, deep within me forever this being the last straw I had upset another with my innermost submissive....Enough I thought....Enough!!!!..

Three weeks later I got a message from Jessica...?

“Hi you we need to meet up for a chat...This is Not up for negotiation You will come meet me here *******, at 7pm see you then do Not reply simply turn up !”

My mind now racing over why she would message me ? But also the message was very cryptic? ...but what had I to loose ?

I did think of not going to meet her, but my feelings for her were very strong.

So at 7pm I walked up to the house & knocked the door...

Jessica opened the door dressed in the same jeans & white shirt ?...it was like the three weeks had not passed...

She ushered me into her home, then asked me if I would like a hot chocolate as she was just having one, I said yes as we both stood in her kitchen she spoke..

“Now am guessing your wondering why I invited you to my home ?”

I again nervously spoke as I did when first meeting her....”yyyes Jessica”

“Well relax this is my home & your my guest, we have a lot to talk about but let’s go through to the fire & we can have a nice chat” she handed me my chocolate as she sipped at hers....she led the way to a large room with a log burner, the flames cracked as she sat in a red leather chair to the left of the burner she motioned me to sit in the other one opposite...

“Ok where to start...It has been a very long three weeks for me as what happened with you has changed something in me, I need you to realise am just a girl at the end of the day, I have feeling & needs just like any other!

Now I know that day you opened a window to who “you are”

As you fell into sub-space you let lots of things out that day !”

I interrupted Jessica saying I was truly sorry if I had hurt her in any way it was Not my intention...she simply smiled at me & spoke...

“Let me Finnish ! Stop being a brat it’s not All about You !”

This took me by surprise so I remained silent as a drank my chocolate...Jessica continued...

“I want you to drink up the last of your chocolate & I have something to show you...Are you done ?...Ok follow me”

As I followed her she took me to an upstairs room as she put her hand on the handle she told me to close my eyes...I felt her soft hand take mine as she led me into the room ...”Now not a word not a single word You do Not have my permission to speak .....Open your eyes !”

I was in a pink adult baby nursery ! A full size cot, high chair, changing table ..rows of white terry nappies ..diapers of all sorts.. pink frills were everywhere ! The cot had pink frilly bumpers around it ! ....

I stood dumbfounded !!!!...As Jessica spoke to me...

“I have never had children & always wanted a baby ....I thought that had passed me by ..until you broke down in sub-space and let your true self to the surface...I couldn’t believe it when You Called Me MUMMY !!!!....So the question is Crybaby..

Do you want me as your Mummy ?”

Jessica was opening a side room door to a second pink room with an adult size baby bath full of hot water & bubbles....!

“If you do Not want this go back to the living room I will understand...If you do just get into the bath for Mummy.....(I strayed to strip off) Clever girlie Crybaby that’s the Right choice....Hey don’t cry sweetheart....well not yet anyway ! let’s save them for after your bath sweetheart..then mummy will bring Crybaby out to play !!!!”

As I stepped into the bath I was crying but not tears of sadness tears of pure joy ! How could this be ? How could this gorgeous girl want me as hers in this way.....was I dreaming...As Jessica lifted the soap & sponge ...I found it was no dream...she truly wanted Me !!!! ....I truly wanted her.....

She spent the next hour washing me as I sat in the bath Obediently not talking..

she told me my stories were very colourful & that I had told her in my Sob-space of my little want in life to be a 24/7  little, even of my tumblr page & story writings !

After my bath she led me to the changing mat then sat me down.

“Ok lay back ...handies out to your sides...Clever girlie “

I was put into a thick terry Nappy that had a folded soaker pad inside, As she pinned the Nappy on with three large pins each side....next came what looked like hollow fabric pants they were very stiff & ridged, after they were on snuggly she pulled on thick heavy rubber bloomers ! Patting them she spoke to me...

“Up we get ..give Me your handies Baby “

I was pulled to a sitting position then had a large petticoat put on me followed by a pink dress covered in frills & bows....next was my garter & tights I had worn as A Maid, then my Mary Jane shoes, the last item was a pink matching bonnet !!

Jessica took time over my make up painting me as before like a china doll but this time with long lashes to boot !

“Clever girlie Crybaby that’s much better, let me look at you...give Mummy a twirl, ..no silly like a toddler...a Three year old baby girl ! That’s a clever baby ! My my ...now do you know how to curtsy Crybaby?”

Giggling at my face she proceeded to Do a curtsy..one foot behind she bent at the knee....”Clever girlie Crybaby..Now You Please....Wow Baby Girlie is a natural...Ok let’s get you down stairs as Mummy has lots of surprises in store for You Crybaby Toy !”

Mummy Jessica led my by the hand down stairs to the log burner she put pink contact lens into my eyes giving a pink haze to everything I looked at they also narrowed my vision....This made me slightly uncomfortable...

As Mummy turned my around she was not alone someone stood beside her....

“Now Crybaby this is Nanny Bee she is going to help mummy this evening as when mummy has to work Nanny Bee will look after you sweetheart as My baby girlie will never be on her own Not Ever !...Now Open Wide As am going to Gag my girlie...As Crybaby will not be having or using her safe-word ever again sweetheart...this is All about My Pleasures Crybaby Pain Toy !!!!”

As Jessica told me this they both laughed....but not a sweet laugh....

A wicked laughter !!!!!!

[damatris]

I'm Where I'm Meant To Be

Part of the Bog Fluff Battle (Go read through the entries, everyone did amazing job!)

Prompt 24: first kiss

Geraskier, Fluff, No warnings, wc: 1,278

*

"You're such a sweetheart," Jaskier said without thinking. Apparently his brain still hadn't caught up.

"Hn."

Jaskier wasn't sure but there seemed to be the lightest, barely visible, dusting of pink on Geralt's cheeks.

Wanting to test his theory, Jaskier intentionally continued, "An absolute dear. This is really kind of you, Geralt. Thank you so much, darling."

Yes. It was a blush indeed. One that had gotten slightly deeper.

Read on AO3

Jaskier was ready to curse until his face would turn blue.

His boots were sloshing.

His trousers were clinging to his legs, completely soaked.

His doublet and chemise were soiled with mud and who knows what.

With a great show of self-restraint he kept grumbling quietly underneath his breath instead.

"Would you stop that already?" Geralt asked, leading Roach in front of him and weaving between the worst puddles.

"Not until we get out of this blasted swamp," Jaskier groused. "Why did you decide we had to come through here? Couldn't we have just circled around?"

"It'd take too long. We're on a schedule," Geralt said, repeating the words for the umpteenth time. Jaskier was quite sure the only reason Geralt wasn't snapping at him was because he felt bad for him.

As he should, not having warned about a patch of moss that looked solid but actually just covered a deep puddle. Which Jaskier had found out about by stepping on it and promptly getting familiar with the taste of swamp water.

"It's less than a mile before we reach the forest again," Geralt added after a brief pause. "We can make camp then."

"Splendid. Absolutely splendid. I'll just keep freezing in the meantime," Jaskier muttered.

"Better than staying the night here," Geralt stated. "This swamp is teeming with monsters."

"How kind of most of them to have stayed away then."

"Hmmm."

For once Jaskier didn't mind that there wasn't any more conversation during the last leg of the trek. He was feeling too annoyed to be good company and Geralt didn't seem to be any more inclined to start talking than usual. The silence suited them both perfectly well.

The moment Geralt steered them to a suitable campsite and stopped Roach Jaskier dived for his saddlebag, eager to get out of his disgusting clothes.

"Gather the firewood while I get Roach ready for the night first," Geralt said, starting to unsaddle the mare. "You'll be happier having the fire going sooner rather than later."

It was true.

"Fine. I'll gather exactly enough to start it. Rest can wait," Jaskier decided, laying his lute case and saddlebag on the ground.

"Hmmm."

Good. Geralt had nothing against doing the bare minimum before finally changing out of the wet clothes.

It'd be heaven, getting to sit down in front of the fire and warm up.

"Let's have soup," Jaskier suggested, gathering fallen twigs and branches as quickly as he physically could. "I want to warm up inside out."

There was an agreeing hum from Geralt.

In a matter of minutes there was a modest fire burning and Jaskier had clean clothes on and a blanket around his shoulders to ward off the approaching evening chill.

"I'm cold," Jaskier said, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. "Is the soup ready?"

"Take a guess," Geralt said flatly, pouring water into the pot.

"Make the fire bigger then," Jaskier demanded.

"It would draw attention."

"I don't care. I'm about to freeze to death here."

"No you're not," Geralt snorted, standing up and walking to his saddlebags.

"Are you going to taunt me with your lovely woolen shirt?" Jaskier asked, watching Geralt return with it. "Lord it over me that you have warmer clothes than me?"

In answer Geralt dumped the shirt on Jaskier's head.

For a second every thought in Jaskier's head froze. Empty, filled with nothingness, that was his head.

"What?" Jaskier said, not moving a muscle.

"It's a shirt, Jaskier, not a hat," Geralt said.

Jaskier could have sworn he was smiling.

"A shirt," Jaskier echoed, slowly moving his hand until he could feel the fabric covering his head and obscuring his vision.

"You wear them. On your torso," Geralt said, sounding very serious.

"I know what a shirt is."

"Could have fooled me."

"The question is, why did you bring me yours?" Jaskier asked, pulling the shirt off his head and into his lap.

"Wear it," Geralt said, suddenly looking at the ground with great intensity. "You said you're cold. It should help."

Oh.

Oh, Geralt.

"You're such a sweetheart," Jaskier said without thinking. Apparently his brain still hadn't caught up.

"Hn."

Jaskier wasn't sure but there seemed to be the lightest, barely visible, dusting of pink on Geralt's cheeks.

Wanting to test his theory, Jaskier intentionally continued, "An absolute dear. This is really kind of you, Geralt. Thank you so much, darling."

Yes. It was a blush indeed. One that had gotten slightly deeper.

"Shut up and put it on," Geralt grumbled, ducking his head so his face was mostly obscured by his long hair. A shame. Jaskier would have loved to see the blush for a little longer.

But Jaskier did as prompted. The shirt was warm and smelled faintly like Geralt. While it wasn't overly large, Geralt's wider shoulders caused the sleeves to reach halfway down Jaskier's hands. Little tugging and he could tuck his fingers too inside.

"Your shirt is very lovely." You are very lovely, Jaskier wanted to say.

Geralt didn't respond, looking busy with cooking. Too busy. Jaskier was well aware the task didn't require that much attention.

Maybe he should let Geralt be for a while.

It was difficult not to keep poking him but Jaskier prevailed until they had finished their dinner and were just sitting next to each other, watching the fire burn.

"I'm still a little chilly," Jaskier said, glancing at Geralt.

"That so?" Geralt asked, sneaking a glance of his own.

"Yeah. Do you think there's something that might help?" Jaskier asked, locking eyes.

He was sure it was his time to start blushing.

"Maybe," Geralt said, reaching out slowly until he could wrap his arm around Jaskier.

Jaskier happily let Geralt draw him to lean against his side. It was exactly where he had hoped to end up.

"Thank you," Jaskier said softly, snuggling closer. He wanted to wrap around Geralt, to not leave even an inch between them. Wanted to hug him, wanted to be as close as possible.

Wanted to kiss him.

"You're welcome," Geralt said, matching Jaskier's tone.

It was as if there was something brewing between them, neither averting their eyes or moving.

Bolstered by the mood Jaskier gently took Geralt's hand in his and brought it a hair's breadth from his lips, waiting for permission.

"Yes," Geralt whispered, voice deep and a hint of gravel in it.

Keeping looking into Geralt's eyes, Jaskier gave a chaste kiss on the scarred knuckles.

He could hear Geralt swallow at the contact.

If something had been brewing, now Jaskier was sure the air between them was crackling with tension.

Jaskier wanted to find out where it'd lead them.

"Geralt…" Jaskier breathed, keeping holding on to Geralt's hand even as he leaned closer until their noses were almost touching.

"Jaskier…" Geralt said before tilting his head and slowly, so agonizingly slowly, brushed his lips against Jaskier's.

It was as if a bolt of lightning or Chaos shot through Jaskier at the contact.

He had waited for this moment for so long.

Dreamt and wished.

Cried and sung.

Hoped.

Jaskier could feel tears welling up in his eyes, the sweet heartache he had carried for years shattering and leaving only warmth behind. Blinking furiously, Jaskier willed his emotions to stay at bay and kissed Geralt back with all the love and intent he managed to bring into the gesture.

He was rewarded with Geralt returning it almost desperately as if he too had waited for this moment to arrive.

Jaskier never wanted it to end, didn't want to move. He was so content and overwhelmed with love.

He was where he was meant to be.

With Geralt.

#The witcher #the witcher fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #Geraskier #Jaskier #geralt of rivia #Geraskier fic #witcher #Witcher fic #geralt x jaskier #adventures with writing