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sweetbbarnes · 11 months

Text

GODDESS

postTFATWS!BuckyBarnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re still trying to figure out how a healthy relationship works. Bucky is more than happy to show you.

Warnings: mentions of a past toxic relationship, reader is insecure, feelings (because it’s me), Bucky being the sweetest man possible (yes, he’s a warning), established healthy relationship, a tiny bit of possessive!Bucky (in a healthy way), SMUT, exhibitionism, fingering, talks about birth control, unprotected sex, cum kink (sort of), possessive sex (you have to squint), praise, p in v, let me know if I forgot something.

A/N: I was daydreaming about this yesterday and I just had to write, if you like it please let me know. Also I changed my username ‘cause I didn’t like the old one that much.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY STORIES TRANSLATED, COPIED OR POSTED TO ANY OTHER SITE/APP/ACCOUNT. DO NOT STEAL MY WORK.

You clutch your jacket tightly, your knuckles turning white as you secure the denim fabric around you — a nervous habit you've developed over time. You had intended to change before Bucky arrived, but he showed up earlier than expected, leaving you no time, so you just took the first jacked you saw and covered yourself. Insecurities flood your mind as you open the door for him. He gives you a tight hug that communicates how much he missed you, but instead of embracing him back, you just clutch your jacket harder. A shield, of sorts.

"Are you okay, sweetheart? Are you cold?" Bucky asks, concern etched on his face as he gently rubs your hips with his leather covered thumbs.

"I'm not sure about this dress," you admit, avoiding his gaze.

"Why? Don't you like how you look? Let me see it," he suggests, releasing his grip on you, giving you space to remove your jacket.

Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, you summon the courage to reveal yourself. It’s a pretty dress, used to be one of your favorites, actually, but you retired it after it caused your ex to almost hit you for “wearing something so revealing”. Today, as you were searching for an outfit and found it hidden at the bottom of your wardrobe, you couldn’t help but choose it, as you felt an overwhelming sense of freedom after trying it on. Now, though, you’re not so sure anymore.

You feel the cold air touching your bare arms and brace yourself for the harsh words, echoes of your past relationship lingering inside your brain. But Bucky remains silent, intensifying your anxiety. It has only been a few months since you started dating the supersoldier, and while you've seen no signs of violence from him, you're still guarded, prepared if the moment comes. Bucky is a gentleman, but so was your ex at the beginning.

"I can change if you want," you quickly offer, seeking to appease any potential displeasure.

"Why would I want you to change?" Something in his voice prompts you to open your eyes. Rather than the disappointment you were expecting, there’s some kind of amazement and even lust as he looks at you up and down. Not a single trace of anger.

The gentleness of his question gives you enough courage to ask, “don’t you think I look like a slut?”

Bucky's eyes shoot up to meet yours, a little shocked, but upon noticing the fear in them his face softens with understanding, and he steps closer, enfolding you in his arms. “Darlin’, you look like a fucking Goddess.” He gently kisses your forehead. “Absolutely stunning.”

Bucky knows about your past relationship and the emotional scars it left behind. When he met you, you were a mess. He thought that an ex-assassin would be the last person you’d choose to date after everything, but apparently he did something right, and the moment you accepted him in your life he vowed to himself he’d do anything to show you what a genuine, nurturing love feels like.

"Are you sure? You're not... mad? I mean, that other men will look at me.” you ask hesitantly.

"Why would I be mad?" Bucky responds, his voice filled with sincerity. Despite the heartbreak upon seeing you so scared, he manages a tiny smirk. "They can look; only I get to touch."

You remain uncertain. Your previous boyfriend, when he was in a good mood, had also claimed not to care when you dressed like this — until another guy so much as glanced your way.

Sensing your hesitation, Bucky leads you to your bedroom, positioning you in front of the mirror and standing behind you. As you gaze at your reflection, he notices the sparkle in your eyes and the joy that emanates from within. You like how you look in the dress, and that realization instantly makes it Bucky's favorite.

His leather-clad hands gently trail along your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Do you feel beautiful?" he asks, admiring your form as much as you do.

You answer, blushing and avoiding his eyes, "Yes."

"And do you feel comfortable?" he inquires further.

You hesitate, your thoughts momentarily scattered. Then, you consider his words and the scenario he paints.

"I... Well..." you trail off, contemplating the tiny sparkle of confidence starting to bloom inside your chest.

"Forget about me for a moment. Imagine you're single, going out with your girlfriends. Do you feel comfortable then?" Bucky prompts.

You ponder his question, allowing yourself to envision the scenario. After a brief moment, you respond, "Yes, I do.”

Bucky raises his hand, cupping your cheek and tilting your head until your eyes meet in the mirror. A proud smile graces his lips.

"Then that's the outfit you're wearing tonight," he declares, his voice filled with certainty and adoration.

You smile timidly at him, not really sure how to deal with this… respect, coming from a boyfriend. His hand starts to travel down through your stomach.

“When the other dudes look at you, and they will…” Bucky lowers his mouth to the shell of your ear and whispers, “I’ll make sure to show them that you’re mine, alright?”

His words cut straight to your core, and you involuntarily press your ass against him, feeling his already hard length. You gasp. He whispers your name.

“Keep doing this and we’re not gonna leave this bedroom tonight.” He murmurs with a deep tone.

“Would it be so bad?” You fake pout, grinding against him again, on purpose this time.

“Well, I really want to show you off in that outfit, so…” He says, but can’t help himself from lowering his hands to the hem of your dress, leaving goosebumps along the way.

“Bucky…” You sigh when he starts giving lingering kisses along the curve of your neck and the bottom of your earlobe.

“But I suppose we have some time before our lateness becomes socially unacceptable, right?” He whispers, sneaking two fingers under the fabric, millimeters away from where you need his touch the most.

“How much?” You ask, watching as Bucky frees his flesh hand from the glove to let you know what’s about to happen.

“Enough,” he says, dragging one finger along your clothed cunt, and moaning at your drenched panties. “Already, baby?”

You only hum in response. He uses his other hand to pull down your panties and lightly tap on your hip, signaling you to step off of them. You obey. Returning his fingers to where they were before, he drags them along your lips, collecting your wetness, and starts the slow circles on your clit. Mustering that confidence Bucky just unburied from a locked place inside your brain, you cover his hand with yours and guide him to your entrance.

“No teasing,” you plead.

Bucky chuckles. “What a greedy woman you are.”

He circles your entrance for a few moments before slowly inserting two digits all the way up, your wet walls making it easy for him. You moan, relieved, and rest the back of your head on his shoulder.

“That enough to make you roll your eyes, darlin’?”

You try rolling your hips, but Bucky quickly encircles your waist with his metal arm, firming his grip so you remain still.

“Please, Bucky…”

“Oh, baby, you know I can’t resist when you beg,” he kisses and bites your shoulder, then curls his fingers inside of you, his knuckles rubbing on that delicious spot inside your hole as he presses his clothed cock against your ass again, “and look at this dress, see what you do to me?”

You feel a twitch in your stomach when Bucky starts stimulating your clit with his thumb, along with the in-and-out movement of his fingers.

“Open those beautiful eyes for me, would ya’?” He asks softly. “See how pretty you get when you beg like that.”

You silently thank the universe that he’s firmly holding you, because his words make your knees almost give in. Panting, you comply with his request, fixing your gaze in the spot where he’s fingering you under your dress. Just like everything else about you, he notices the direction of your eyes.

“You wanna see it, baby? Wanna watch while I fuck you with my fingers?” He asks carefully, amusement lacing his deep voice.

You whimper, imagining the sight, and nod frantically.

“Go ahead, dirty girl.” He encourages.

Satisfied with the permission, you lift one of your legs and place your foot at the bottom of your bed, granting you two full access to the view. You both watch Bucky’s motions in awe, the wetness that covers his fingers reflecting the dim light of the room, silent except for the squishy noises his fingers make as he fucks them into your pussy. The sight almost makes Bucky drop down to his knees to worship you like the Goddess he honestly thinks you are. Actually, if he didn’t know you’re only standing because of his arm around you, he’d probably do just that.

“Like what you see?” He whispers in your year.

You moan in approval, trying to move your hips, but Bucky’s grip is strong, and he smirks.

“Magic word?”

“Faster.” You demand suddenly.

That’s not quite the word Bucky was expecting, but he’s too stunned by your behavior to care. You two had sex before — as soon as you gave him indication that you wanted it, because how could he resist you? —, but it was always so… loving. I mean, Bucky really wants to show you how tender real love can be, but he’s absolutely relishing this newfound confident side of yours. Never had he imagined you could be so filthy, and he really wants to beat the shit out of your ex for making you think that you have to hide it. Also, as he had already imagined it would, your slight dominance leaves him at your mercy, and he moans as he pleases you, fastening his movements.

That familiar knot starts to build up in your belly, and you try hard not to roll your eyes, not wanting to miss a single moment of the view.

“Bucky…” you call, finding it harder and harder to breathe. “I’m gonna come.”

“Do it, baby. Let go for me.” He whispers next to your ear, satisfied to feel your tight walls clenching his fingers. “You’re such a good girl. So fucking beautiful in this dress.”

With the fog of pleasure taking over your brain as the words hit your ears, you moan loudly and let the overwhelming feeling consume you. Bucky can’t quite keep himself from grinding against your ass as you drench his fingers with your sweet nectar, whimpering while he fingers you all the way through your orgasm. He watches, grunting in pleasure, as you fight your eyelids from closing, until you can’t control yourself anymore, going limp into his arms and rolling your eyes with relief.

Coming down from the high, you look at him through the mirror, smiling sheepishly as you watch him raise the two fingers he just used to make you come and suck them hungrily, licking until there’s no trace of your orgasm anymore. Finding it hard to decide if he should compose himself and drag both your horny asses to the bar or toss you in bed and keep your legs spread open for him to eat out as he pleases until the morning lights, an idea pops into his head.

“You’re on birth control, right?” He asks. He never fucked you bare before, so he never had to ask, but, well… There's a first time for everything, right?

“I am, why?” You ask, still a little dizzy.

He smirks, then gets you by the waist and tosses you in bed unceremoniously, making you gasp in surprise and then giggle.

“Bucky, we have to go.” You remind him, but give no indication that you’ll get up.

You watch as your boyfriend determinedly undresses himself, unashamedly staring at his built up body. The muscles from his abdomen tightens as he bends down to get rid of his jeans, and you lick your lips seeing his long length being freed, already hard with need.

“Sam’s got time. He can wait.” He answers, using his knees to spread your thighs apart as he positions himself right where he belongs: between them.

You make a motion to undress yourself, but when Bucky realizes what you’re doing, he stops you.

“Keep the dress.” He says, and you lay back.

You feel the coldness of Bucky’s dog tags touch the skin of your chest as he towers over you, using his metal hand to support himself and the flesh one to cup your cheek and caress it with his thumb. His expression turns into a soft one.

“When those guys out there look at you dressed like this…” he teases your over sensitive entrance with his tip, the sensation almost too overwhelming. Almost. “They’ll desire you, baby, and they’ll have no clue that you’re walking around with my cum dripping from this pretty pussy.”

With one swift motion, he enters you, unable to contain the pornographic moan that leaves his lips. You gasp in surprise, both from the lack of a condom and from the fact that Bucky never filled you up so abruptly like this. You’re not complaining, though, as you feel his bare skin stretching your soft walls.

“You like that, baby?” He asks when you raise your hands to his short hair and pull it. “Everyone will see you in this beautiful dress and they won’t even imagine that I just fucked the shit out of you in it.”

Bucky slowly – so slowly – takes his cock out of your hole, leaving just the tip, and sharply enters you again, earning an almost scream from your lips.

“Want them to know…” you manage to say hoarsely “Want them to know I’m yours.”

Your words hit Bucky in an instinctive place of his brain, awakening all those raw feelings of protection and possessiveness inside his subconscious, and he almost finishes then and there. He thrusts into you vigorously once again before answering.

“Oh, they will,” if you had the mind to pay attention, you'd notice his voice just got impossibly lower, “we’ll show them, alright? You and me.”

Bucky loses the ability to make coherent sentences as he feels your walls clenching around him, a sign that you’re already getting close again. Without hesitation, he fastens his movements, losing himself in the feeling of your soft interior.

His thrusts are harsh, but still caring in a way, since you know he’s not doing it to hurt you, but to please you. He kisses you passionately, holding your face and licking the inside of your mouth, because if he's being honest with himself, if you keep almost screaming his name like you were, he might as well not last as long as he needs to make you come again.

You wrap your legs around his waist, the new angle making you feel him even deeper inside your cunt, and he almost loses it when he feels you dragging your heels along his lower back.

With one hand, you scratch his back hard enough to feel his warm blood staining your fingers, growing desperate with the tight knot that’s once again forming inside you. Bucky kisses and bites and licks your neck, not giving a damn about the pain — enjoying it, even. Your other hand goes straight to your clit and you start treating yourself with just the right amount of pressure and speed. The action, of course, doesn’t go unnoticed by Bucky, and he grunts in approval.

The headboard slams into the wall as Bucky feels his movements start to become a little sloppy. “Gonna come.” He says, panting “Gonna come inside you, baby. Gonna make you all mine.”

A jolt of electricity travels down your spine, getting you closer and closer to the edge, and you buckle your hips up in excitement.

“Let go, Bucky.” You command, making him roll his eyes. “Fill me up, make me yours.”

“Need you to come first, darlin’. Need to feel you co- Ah” Bucky’s request is interrupted by the loud moan you let out when you finally snap, no longer able to control your second orgasm of the day. He follows you not a long time after, as you can feel his hot seed painting your walls white, and he drops his forehead to your shoulder.

You don’t even have a chance to catch your breath when you feel his thick fingers once again entering your overstimulated pussy. You whimper, holding his wrist.

“Just a little bit, sweetheart,” he coos, “gotta make sure it stays inside.”

You whimper again, but let him do his thing, hearing the squishy noises his fingers make as they shove every drop of his seed all the way up before it slips away. Then he proceeds to get up, put on his clothes and retrieve your panties from the floor.

“Can you lift your legs for me, doll?” He asks, and you obey. “That’s my good girl.”

Bucky slides the piece of lingerie up your legs, until they’re back to their place — securing his cum inside of you — and helps you get up, holding your hips until he’s sure you can still walk.

Just as you were going to comment on the plans you two have, you hear Bucky’s phone ringing from his pocket.

“Hi, Sam.” He answers, staring at you. “We’re on our way. We had a little bit of a… situation.” A playful smirk adorns his lips as he says that. “No, I didn’t make her up, Sam. She’s real, we’re just a little late.”

You chuckle. When Bucky invited you to meet his friend — Bucky calls him a colleague, but you can see by the look on his eyes that he cares about him like a dear friend — Sam Wilson (yes, the Captain America), he warned you Sam would probably question if you’re real, since he can’t believe the “bionic staring machine” could be so charming as to find a girl for himself.

Said staring machine hangs up the phone and gives you a peck on the lips.

“Ready?”

He guides you to the door after you secure him you can walk by yourself, opening it for you like the gentleman he is. However, before you can get out, he stops you.

You look at him questioningly.

“Everyone will know that you’re mine,” he reassures, “and if you behave…” he lowers his head until you can feel his warm breath against the skin of your ear, “when we get back, I’ll make sure to worship you like the fucking Goddess you are.”

masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky fic #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky x reader smut #marvel x reader #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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charlesslut16 · 5 months

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-Kissing under the Mistletoe-

summary : you and logan kiss under the mistletoe...

PAIRING : logan sargeant x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : ITS TO SHORT I AM SO SO SORRY

december masterlist ; masterlist

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Today has been a very busy day for you all. Everyone went in and out of the home of Logan and you because of the Christmas party that would be held with his and your family.

The party would be held at 6 pm. It had been 6 am since your families separated you both, Logan to your family and you to his, so you would learn some of the traditions and make this party amazing.

As quickly as you saw each other, you had gone again. Walking through the house, seeing you through the eye and walking away again, carrying boxes and decorations.

It was truly exhausting. But after all the running and carrying came the rest. That you had all deserved, as the house looked fabulous. You and Logan sat on the couch with your hands enfolded in one.

Both of you watched a Christmas movie, kissed each other, laughed, drank a hot cocoa from one cup and just had a good time together, as all should do at this time of the year.

And as the time came to start the party, you got up and started to get dressed. Logan decided on a simple plain white t-shirt, some black slacks, white slacks and the highlight of his outfit, a Christmas hat.

While you had decided on a long black dress, skin tight, some white high heels, some jewelry to match the whole look, the casual makeup and as the highlight of your outfit, the Christmas hat.

You walked down the stairs and in hand as the other members of the family came to your house to celebrate this wonderful time of the year. All you knew was that this evening would be great.

Logan, you and your family greeted everyone and led them into the dining room that you had made so cozy and enjoyable. Everyone sat down and started talking and laughing together.

The food came a little later to the table and all the members of the families started eating and drinking. An enjoyable and new way to learn more about each other families.

Members of the family talked about embarrassing stories about you and Logan as children, but you didn't feel any embarrassment, just pure happyines and luckiness to have someone like them.

After dinner, you and Logan cleaned the dinner table to play a little game to make everyone more familiar with one another. Just as you wanted to go into the dining room, Logan came and walked into you.

"How do you like it, love?"

"I love that they are having such a good time!"

But before Logan could answer, someone mustered, and you looked at them, he just pointed his finger to the mistletoe above you. You looked at it, and before you could do anything, you were kissing Logan.

It had happened so fast, He pulled you into him and started to kiss you, one of the many things he did so perfectly. You wished that this moment would never end.

#f1 #formula one #formula 1 #f1 fluff #christmas #masterlist #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant fluff #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant #logan sargeant imagine #williams f1 #log

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polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup · 18 days

Note

forever ago you mentioned in an ask post that you have a story in your head about college-aged Matt saving Frank’s kids and in return the Castle family forcibly enfolds him into their tribe. There is literal kidnapping involved, and every word in your little summary was fucking hilarious. I want you to know that that scenario has lived in my head rent free ever since—I am astounded by your brain and that concept makes me want to eat dirt (in the best way)(that is a compliment of the highest degree)

anyways! Please don’t think this is me asking “when will you write that” bc i get it, some plot bunnies are just bunnies, and time/real world is a bitch, BUT—if you ever have any little ramblings about it, I’d love to hear them :) the Castle family is Insane and I love them dearly and I am forever entranced by your characterizations of Matt and Frank

Have a good one!!

Christmas with the Castles my beloved. I love this one so much that I typed out an outline of the fic entirely. It is long. Please, take my ramblings if you want them:

It's Christmas at Columbia, hohoho, peace and goodwill to all mankind. The dorms are closed over winter break to replace the pipes and Matt's out on his ass for the holidays, so get fucked, blind little orphan with no surviving family, and God bless us everyone.

Normally the Nelson clan would have taken him in but Foggy's bitch of a Great Aunt Bertha insists on holding the entire family hostage for the holidays with the will as collateral, and she sucks in many respects but even more in the sense that she doesn't want any blind orphans schlepping around her holiday table. But the Nelson clan will risk it all for Matt, who they think is neat. They'll put the whole fucking will on the line, buddy.

Matt assures them that he's got it all under control and has a place to stay. Yes, with a person. Yes, a real one. An old friend of his dad's. No, he's not going to be homeless. Stop asking questions.

This is a lie.

His plan is to simply be homeless. Peace and goodwill to all mankind.

Except Foggy knows when Matt's on his bullshit and insists on speaking to the guy he's staying with, which means he needs to get Fogwell to lie for him. Except Fogwell knows when Matt's on his bullshit and won't let him off the fucking hook until he knows Matt won't be homeless for the holidays.

Matt unequivocally refuses to come home with him. Stop asking. He'll find someone else to do the phone call.

They compromise with Matt staying in the fucking boiler room of the gym. Peace and goodwill to all mankind.

Except Matt sort of makes Fogwell think that he only needs to crash for a few days, and Foggy's family is going to take him in for the rest. This is also a lie. He is fucking off to be homeless for the rest of the holiday season.

Peace and goodwill to all mankind.

He's swallowing his misgivings and putting up with staying in the boiler room of the gym for a few days so Fogwell won't freak out. Which he now regrets. Because it puts him right in the earshot of an active hostage situation. Are those kids? Those are fucking kids.

Anyway he tries to call the police anonymously like ten times but this just tips off the hostage takers, who apparently have a mole in the police, surprising no one. Now they're going to kill the fucking kids.

Matt can't listen to this.

Peace and fucking goodwill to all mankind.

Okay. Fuck. He's doing this now.

Fuck.

THE CASTLE'S HOLIDAY SEASON, THUS FAR:

The kids got kidnapped.

fuck.

that happened.

The thing is that some random NSA guy got into contact with Frank and in this AU he actually blew the whistle on the the CIA's bullshit. His family was in protective custody, until his best friend and pseudo brother stabbed him in the fucking back and sold them out. Now they have his kids.

He then kills a lot of people.

Like a lot.

But he can't find his kids. They have his kids.

They're going to kill his kids.

MATT'S NIGHT, THUS FAR:

He's an asshole in sweatpants with a t-shirt wrapped around the top part of his face and no fucking plan, and there are so many assholes with guns in there. Like. So many.

But fuck it. He's doing this now.

fuck.

He fights a lot of guys. He gets super shot. Some guy tries to shoot him with arrows. Like, what the fuck even is this, Robin Hood? Honestly, fuck this night.

Anyway, he saves the kids. Wheee.

It's sort of nice? They bond, when the crying stops. The kids like him a lot. He calls their parents. Sets up a place for them to get picked up. The boy gives him the sweatshirt he's wearing under his jacket, which is kind of him, because it's fuck-off cold and Matt's about ten minutes from going into shock. Anyway, he drops them off at the spot and fucks off into the night before their oddly bloodstained dad can stop him like the world's shittiest off-brand batman.

He then goes to exercise the right of any God-fearing American citizen, which is to bleed out in the basement of his childhood church.

Fogwell's never gonna be okay again if he finds Matt's blood-soaked body in the gym. Matt figures he can just break into that basement no one uses, steal a med kit, make a solid confession about breaking into and stealing from a church if he lives long enough, and hopefully no one will even notice he was there.

This does not pan out.

A really angry nun finds him and narcs him out to Father Lanthom and they bitch him out for "dying" and "not seeking life-saving medical attention" and drag his ass to to the hospital.

NOW THE CASTLE FAMILY, REUNITED AT LAST:

The kids' will be in therapy forever but the danger is gone, because frank killed them all very dead.

He then received a presidential pardon for All The Murder.

Peace and goodwill to all mankind.

Anyway he's testified about the CIA corruption, the government is occupying itself with the coverup to end all coverups, and his only remaining concerns is (1) taking care of his family and (2) making sure the bleeding dipshit who saved his kids lives doesn't die in the streets. He's gotta find that dumb asshole.

Then he gets a phone call from a very concerned nurse at Metro General about the bleeding dipshit that got brought in with his kid's sweatshirt. They're calling because he keeps trying to goddamn leave while very fucking shot and he had a jacket with Frankie's information written on it in magic marker. Do they know him? Can they please come pick him up? They think he's going to die in the streets if someone does not pick him up.

And Yeah. Yeah, Frank Can Do That.

Matt.

Yeah.

The magic marker, he didn't.

Didn't

Didn't see that part.

Fuck.

Anyway, Matt's On His Way Out To Be Homeless For The Holiday Season, Peace And Goodwill To All Mankind, As Soon As The Goddamn Nurses Stop Hiding The Leave Against Medical Advice Forms. He lied and said he got jumped by a lot of guys, no, he didn't see who did it, because, you know. Blind. Just a regular ol' blind guy here. Poor fucking blind orphan alone and shot for the holiday season. Just give him the goddamn form.

And then that fucking guy shows up in his hospital room. The suspiciously bloody father of the kids he just got shot over. He's here, he's insisting that Matt's one of his family's closest friends and they're paying all of Matt's medical bills, and he's not commenting on the blind bit, but Matt can literally smell his curiosity. Matt's insisting that some random guy gave him the jacket, no, he didn't see his face, because, you know. Blind. He's not the guy Frank thinks he is. Nope. Please fuck off now.

They do not fuck off. Maria Castle blows through the hospital room like a hurricane, hugs him very genuinely, cries a little, and tells him that the Castle family pays their debts, and they've never had a greater one. Then the kids show up, and they fucking recognize him. Fuck.

Matt: imindanger.exe

Matt keeps feigning ignorance. Then, he waits until they leave the room and he fucking books it.

Anyway the Castle family minivan catches up to him when he's legging it a block away. They keep pace with him, and ask to just take him where he's going, and they swear they're not going to hurt him. They just want to help him out. He saved their kids.

And he can hear that they're telling the truth.

And it's so goddamn cold.

And he can hear his own internal bleeding.

And he's so, so tired.

So he tells them that no one would ever believe them. And he gets in the car. and he gives them Fogwell's address. And he tells himself he'll crash there for a day or two and fuck off to be homeless in the streets, peace and good-fucking-will to all mankind.

WHAT THE CASTLE FAMILY DID NOT SCHEDULE FOR THE DAY:

A kidnapping.

WHAT THE CASTLE FAMILY DOES:

It's. It's a kidnapping. They do a kidnapping.

Look. Look. they pay their debts. They pay their fucking debts. It's what they do. And they get to Fogwell's boiler room and rapidly fucking realize that the guy who they owe their everything to is a terminally stupid 20-something and living in the rundown boiler room of an empty gym. And they simply cannot have that.

Frank? Frank, show Matthew back to the car, will he? Maria's going to pack up his things for him.

Matt: what.exe

WHAT MATT DID NOT SCHEDULE FOR THE DAY:

it's.

It's the kidnapping.

it's that.

This fic is fundamentally founded in my premise that the entire Castle family is simply fucking insane. They're just all like that. Frank is not an outlier.

For the Castles, they're being perfectly reasonable. It's obvious that no one's taking care of this lovely young man who saved their kids, so no one will mind if they do it instead. He definitely needs it. So they sit their kids down and explain that sometimes Stockholm Syndrome is for someone's own good, which sounds perfectly reasonable to them. They then proceed to treat this like when you somewhat impulsively get a sick puppy from a Home Depot parking lot, and, well, he's a bit poorly behaved, and he keeps trying to run away, but the kids had wanted it so badly and eventually he's going to settle into his new home and then maybe you can stick felt reindeer antlers on him for the Christmas card, so you keep shoving his meds in peanut butter and forcing them down his throat and keeping the door blocked so the puppy can't slip out into the freezing new york night.

Matt treats this for what it is, which is a fucking kidnapping.

He is now fucking handcuffed to these crazy assholes' guest bed in their suburban home. It's by definition a kidnapping. they're acting like he's the unreasonable one for pointing this out. Except every time he wriggles out of his handcuffs, Frank just lugs his ass back to bed and chains him back up while they scold him. As if he's the unreasonable one for trying to escape his own kidnapping. They make him take his meds and eat three meals a day and the kids watch fucking Christmas movies with him while narrating the screen, as if this wasn't a kidnapping. This is insane. They're all insane.

Which is what he eventually tells them, out loud and to their faces.

And then Maria cries.

Stop.

Stop that.

That thing she's doing with her face. Stop that thing.

And Maria's like. Maybe they were over enthusiastic. But, being a mother, she just wants to take care of the nice young man who saved her little angels. And if that makes her a criminal, then she guesses she's a criminal. Because she cares.

Matt: shoving me into a van and handcuffing me to a bed against my will makes you by definition a criminal

maria: *cries harder*

Matt: stop

And Matt's like. Fine. Fine. He'll give into their crazy fucking kidnapping. Saves him the trouble of being homeless. Just. It's only until Christmas, and then he's gone.

maria, tearfully: and new years too?

Matt: don't push your luck

So fuck it. He's doing this now. But he's not going to like it. And he gets to come and go when he wants.

Frank: no.

matt: seriously fuck you

Except Matt's got shit they didn't pack at Fogwells. Shit they didn't realize belonged to him. His dad's shit. And he's absolutely desperate to get his dad's shit before some well-meaning janitor tosses it. So he very reluctantly agrees to let Frank go in his stead. Just. Just don't talk to people. And don't tell anyone he kidnapped matt. matt does not want to deal with that fucking court case.

Fogwell, immediately catching Frank gathering Matt's stuff for him, when he finds out that Matt sent him: are you a Nelson?

Frank, not a Nelson: Guilty.

And Fogs is just. Thrilled. So fucking thrilled that Matt has the Nelsons. Matt needs people like that, you know? People that'll welcome him home.

He's a good kid. And he hasn't had a home in a good long time. And Fogs--he's so fucking sorry that he couldn't give Matt that. And he. He.

Just tell him Merry Christmas from him? He understands why Matt didn't want to spend it with him.

Just tell him ol' Fogs was thinking of him. Tell him he really, really cares and hopes his holidays are good.

Fuck. Tell him he loves him. Just. Just tell him that. Fogs should have done it a long time ago.

What follows from there is a lot of wholesome, family-friendly Christmas activities, like:

making gingerbread houses

ice-skating

having a total mental breakdown when you get the message passed along from your pseudo-grandfather that he wishes he could have given him a home.

drinking cocoa

getting shit-faced drunk out on the town with the somewhat insane mother of those kids you saved, only to both be lugged home by a very exasperated Frank Castle.

watching Christmas movies

Visiting the grave of your dead father whose loss you've never recovered from

drinking eggnog

Confessing about your superpowers to the crazy fuckers who may or may not have given you stockholm syndrome, as well as your lasting trauma around the fact that you were child-soldierified and your soul-crushing terror that it will happen again

Making paper snowflakes

(Matt may not have meant to do all those things.)

I really like having backstories in communication with each other across my fics taking place in the same fandom? And Fogs is a great example of that. He tends to show up in all of my Daredevil fics, and he usually does something that brings Matt in from the cold in his backstory.

But in this world, that Fogs didn't do it.

In this one, he had the chance, and he failed.

Matt came to him. He ran away from the foster care system when he was a teen, and he went to Fogs as a desperate, last ditch effort. He begged Fogs to still love him the way he did when he was a kid. He begged Fogs to take him in the way he once took in Jack Murdock. He'd help Fogs around the gym. He'd do anything Fogs asked. He just wants to go home.

All he's wanted for years was to just go home.

And Fogs hugged him. He held him. He let him sleep on the couch.

And he called the police.

He wanted to do it the right away around, this time. He didn't want Matt to be hiding from the system for the rest of his youth the way his daddy once did. He wanted him to still get to go to school. He wanted him to be a kid. He wanted to adopt him proper, and didn't think of the fact that no one was gonna let him do it.

And he didn't account for how Matt would never trust him again.

He didn't account for Matt ending up on the streets, and he didn't account for matt refusing to come for him for help again, and he didn't account for Matt refusing to have anything to do with him until he hit law school and barely tolerated hanging around the gym at night again, and he didn't account for Matt not being able to stand the idea of spending the holidays with him.

There's a lot Fogs won't ever forgive himself for.

Anyway, Matt's stockholm syndrome was a great success. They fucking did it. They now have a crazy motherfucker with superpowers who's occupying this space as a the kid's new pseudo uncle. Unmitigated success. God, what an addition to the family. He's just as crazy as them.

Except Matt gets a call. From a very upset Foggy Nelson. Who says that they decided to burn the defunct bridge that was their relationship with their torrid bitch of a great aunt after she said something homophobic to Foggy's sister, and they went to go surprise Matt for the holidays, only to find out that he was already supposed to be with them. Matthew.

The thing is, foggy knows who Matt is as a person. He knows who Matt is as a person. There is such a very real chance that his blind best friend has been living under an overpass in subzero weather for the past few weeks and not telling him. He's having a heart attack and needs to come pick him up immediately before Matt starts selling his body or something.

And like, good news is that Matt was kidnapped by a lovely suburban family who have been keeping him warm and fed and dry, and they're going to be baking gingerbread today. The bad news is that Matt will literally have a heart attack if he has to explain to foggy how he got here so he just. Panics.

And hangs up the phone.

And matts panicking about how he hung up the phone, because foggy will absolutely call the police and report him as a missing person, holy shit will he call the police on him, Matt was literally kidnapped but he likes his kidnappers now and doesn't want them to be arrested, they're making gingerbread you see and that would be inconvenient to the gingerbread making. So Maria and Frank and the kids are watching this weird feral law student they forcibly adopted go through every single stage of grief in a two minute span, wonder how he made it through life so far on his own, and Maria wrangles the phone from him and calls Foggy back and politely tells him that this is Maria Castle, matts basically a part of their family and has been staying with them through the holidays, they've heard so much about foggy, won't he come visit? How about tomorrow at two? They're making gingerbread today.

Matt: MARIA

Matt is panicking. Foggy knows he doesn't have a family. Foggy is his family. Foggy has unlocked his tragic backstory. Foggy is going to wonder how he acquired a family in like a two and a half week span.

Foggy is panicking. He knows Matt doesn't have a family. He has unlocked matts tragic backstory. Matt was in their fucking Christmas cards because he has no family's Christmas cards to be in.

Maria is not panicking. They're taking a step back and making gingerbread now. Take deep breaths, Matthew.

FOGGY NELSON'S THEORIES ABOUT WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH HIS BEST FRIEND (ABRIDGED):

Matt has started a polycule with a suburban couple and is raising their children with them now.

Matt was switched at birth and that's his newly discovered real family and he just never told Foggy.

Matt has been kidnapped by a family in the suburbs and they've enslaved him to make gingerbread with their children.

Which is true, weirdly enough.

Matt is having a spiraling panic attack because while he's like, not on deaths door anymore, he's still healing and clearly beat to shit and foggys going to think the castles did it and freak out and he doesn't have a lie for this prepped. And the castles are like "okay okay but, quick point, you've even prattling on about this kid for like, a minimum of four hours per day, you are more likely than not in love with him, have you considered the truth"

And Matt doesn't know what to do with that, is the thing.

Foggy comes by. He is four hours early. He arrived immediately after he got the address. Maria is lovely and kind and welcoming. Frank pumps his arm firmly and is built like a brickshit house and sort of intimidating.

Matt is absolutely beat to shit.

Foggy: AHAHAHA HEY BUDDY IMMA GIVE YOU A HUG BECAUSE I MISSED YOU AND LOVE YOU SO MUCH IN THIS THE SEASON OF GOODWILL AMONG MEN. did they do this to you cough twice for yes

Matt: oh for the love of god.

And the problem is. For a family that commits felonies. They're weirdly open about that fact.

Foggy: how did Matt end up staying with you

Lisa: oh we gave him Stockholm syndrome after kidnapping him

matt: ahahaha kids say the darndest things

Frankie: no really dad kept having to drag him off the windowsill when he tried to climb out and we had to be extra welcoming to him so he'd stop trying to escape

Matt: AHAHAHA KIDS SAY THE DARNDEST THINGS

Foggy told his cop friend Brett to be on standby before he came here and now he's rapidly wondering if he needs to actualize that.

There's a good deal bit more after that, but this is getting long. There's emotional honesty. There's homosexuality. There's confessions about superpowers that Matt may or may not have. There's discussing trauma.

There's the fucking shadow government showing up to recruit Matt.

The thing is that Frank Castle is one of the best military operatives, like. Ever. And SHIELD was interested in recruiting that. And they thought, hey, saving his kids may do that. And they sent Hawkeye to infiltrate the mercenaries that had taken them.

Except they were fuck-off guns there and while he could take them all out if it was just him, he'd have to be 90% crazier of motherfucker than he actually is to try that shit with two kids in the line of fire.

And then an absolutely crazy motherfucker showed up and did exactly that. Caught his arrow mid-backflip. Kicked his ass too. It was sort of sick as hell. He hasn't met anyone so good at hand to hand since black widow.

They couldn't not recruit that guy.

And like. They found him. They found him really easily. The castle family kidnapped him. It was kind of obvious.

So Clint and Coulson roll up with the recruitment pitch and Clints like "hey, haha, I'm Clint, you stabbed me, wow you're like, completely insane, I mean that literally and in a figurative impressiveness sense, want to be best friends" and matts a fucking centimeter from launching himself out the window and starting a new life in Mexico.

And coulson's good at what he does. He can tell that matts not at all buying what he's selling, is more than a little freaked out at the idea of being identified as enhanced, and is almost definitely a former child soldier if their background was accurate about who took him from his orphanage for a few months. He also knows that Matt's abilities are too unique and too useful to just walk away from them. Nothing can be hidden from him. And if a fucking nuke is missing and they need someone to sniff it out, they need to be able to set Matt loose on a city for it. So he makes the pitch of "what if I keep you out of all databases, tell no one your name, and have you as a strictly as needed member of the roster," to which Matt replies with something along the line of "you can go and get fucked with you fascist shadow agency bullshit, you fucking totalitarian nightmare freaks, you try and drag me off to your freak show org to be a fucking dog on a leash for your illegal agency and I'll bite your goddamn face off, the world would have to end for me to come within a hundred godforsaken feet of you," which is… a coarse but technically affirmative answer that Coulson takes to mean as "Yes, if the world is ending, I will come to your agency." He honestly tells him that he'll keep matts secret and leaves. And Matt is still considering the Mexico plan but decides that he has a family to keep him here now in foggy and the castles and decides to risk staying. And that's that.

Which leads into my semi-crack fic of Matt being in the original Avengers, which I won't subject you to here. but some highlights:

Matt misses the first day of world-saving because he took off the second the SHIELD guy came by to pick him up. He managed to hide for 27 consecutive hours before they dragged his ass to the helicarrier.

He wasn't briefed at all because they ask him if he read the files they gave him and he just tosses them on the table and asks "does this look like fucking Braille to you." He repeatedly threatens to sue them for a lack of ada compliance.

He keeps getting stuck in rooms because this nightmare space ship only uses screens for everything, including door handles.

The hulk: *is the hulk*

Matt, has a stick: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT

Tony: in a few minutes I'll know every secret SHIELD has ever had

Matt, has listened to at least eight top secret HYDRA meetings since being locked into this fucking hell ship: MHMM

They save the day, he's in a mask, the press asks them all whats next for the avengers and he's like "well I have a day job, I'm going home" and just. Walks away.

Three weeks later he starts fighting crime of his own volition and whenever anyone mentions hey is it maybe that avenger fellow he replies to the official inquiries with "oh no you see I have a day job" which should not work but does

Of course, Matt learning about HYDRA leads into my other semi-crack fic involving Matt simply immediately telling Captain America about the fucking Nazi's, and Cap rediscovering his life's passion, which is punching some fucking Nazi's. Except, he really needs Matt to spy on HYDRA for this to work, and Matt's identity is still almost entirely secret even within SHIELD and he doesn't want to endanger that. So they embark on introducing everyone to Matt Murdock, his totally normal, blind attorney boyfriend who is not at all a superpowered ultimate spy who happens to be secretly a very reluctant Avenger. It is now a fake dating AU.

#daredevil #christmas with the castles

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drconstellation · 4 months

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Goats, Crows and The Flood

Or why Crowley turns the goats into crows in the Job minisode

If you're reading that and thinking "eh, what's the Flood got to do with it?" then read on. It wasn't done just so Crowley got to change his name. It's never as simple as that. C'mon now, this is the GOmens AU, I'm not going to write a meta about something like this and not give you at least three if not four layers as to why, now, am I? Certainly not, and this one won't be any different.

Recently I picked up a book that has been sitting for far too long on a pile near my kitchen that needs sorting through called Parallel Myths* and in it is a section on Flood myths. (It's got lots of other good bits as well, but the Flood myths are what I want to talk about here.) The Flood is a wide-spread myth, with stories all around the world from India, to the Greek myths, to the Incas and Aztecs and in North America as well.

There are four stories that include crows as messengers who are sent to look out for land. The first is our familiar bible story. Oh, did you miss that bit? Yeah, I know, you keep getting told about the dove that represents the holy spirit that came back with the olive branch. Why would they want to tell you about a dirty old crow? And why is that crow dirty anyway? Ah, hold that thought...we'll come back to that shortly.

Another very famous story that include a crow being sent out to look for land after a great Flood is in the epic story of Gilgamesh. While on a journey Gilgamesh meets an old man named Utnaptishtim who tells the hero how he survived a great flood by building a boat after being warned by the gods to do so, and then floating for several days before coming to rest on a mountain top. At first he sent out a dove, but the dove returned. Then he sent out a swallow, but the swallow returned also, so he knew there was no land yet. But the third bird he sent out was a crow, and it didn't come back, so Utnaptishtim knew it was finally safe to leave.

There are also crows mentioned in two North American Flood myths, with the Cree and the Algonquin, and in both stories they are also sent to look out for land.

So why am I telling you this? Because of this:

Which is, as we know, is a bit of a play on words, but it establishes the association between the ungulate offspring and the human offspring when we run into the next occurrence of the innocent being killed on the Almighty's fickle whim in the Job minisode in S2. And we know our favourite demon is just not going to take that lying down that without some kind of protest.

So after delivering his open monologue to the goats, which gives an insight into himself, then being confronted by Aziraphale, and revealing he has a permit, from the Almighty Herself, no less, he turns Job's goats into crows.

(And if you've missed the bit about why the goats, and not the sheep, which the archangels kept going on about, its because sheep were seen as more "Christian" as the rams were considered faithful to their ewes, as good followers should be, but goats were observed to just do it with any-nanny, with no sense of commitment, if you get what I mean, so they were considered more "demonic" in nature.)

The bible seems to have a bit of a love-hate relationship with birds. On hand they can be used for food or sacrifices, on the other hand they are metaphorical demons! There is an association made between "birds of the air" and demons, waiting to pick off the weak (of thought) and young before they can be enfolded into the "safety" of the church.

Even the noble eagle is frowned upon in a way, as it eats carrion, or rotting meat. And that is something ravens and crows are known to do as well. This eating of dead animals, and humans on the field on the ancient battlefield, led crows to be associated with death and the afterlife, and by extension, transformation from one form to another.

(I can't help thinking at this point about the Sandman's assistant crow helper that travels between worlds, but also I've written a couple of metas about both Crowley and the Bentley being facilitators for the crossing of thresholds between different worlds.)

If you've ever had a close association with a crow or two- and I have, over several years, they can be wily opponents! - you come to respect their intelligence and adaptability, no matter how they might be frustrating you! **

The raven is also mentioned in the Book of Job 38:41

Who provideth for the raven his food? when his young ones cry unto God, they wander for lack of meat.

We didn't hear this line delivered to Job during the minisode, though we certainly heard some of the other lines from verses 38 and 39 that come before and after it. God is in the middle of telling Job about the universe, the earth and the creatures upon it, and how She looks after them. The line Jimbriel speaks about the morning stars all singing together is Job 38:7, for example. Just before mentioning this loathsome bird, She mentions that most noble of animals, the lion. But look, She also cares about ugly croaking raven fledglings that seem to get kicked out of the nest as soon as they can fly. How do they fend for themselves? It is seen as the mercy of God that she provides for each of the creatures of the Earth, both the lion and the raven. (Well, there's some interesting metaphorical links riiiight there...I hope I don't need to spell them out....)

So where are we? We've gone from a crow being a messenger for Noah, to kids/goats from the Flood scene in S1E3, to demon-associated goats being transformed into demon-associated crows in the Job minisode in S2E2, just before Job's human kids are saved from destruction by being transformed into geckos - which is also a significant symbolic creature for resurrection (which I explain in another meta.)

You know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if we loop back for a longer look at the Flood in S3. Kids, crows, a transformative experience...

Va-va-voom, here we come!

*Parallel Myths by J. F. Beirlein (1994) A Fascinating look at the common threads woven through the world's greatest myths - and the central role they have played through time. ISBN 0-345-38146-7

**I know there are corvids all around the world, and they can be shy, important birds in the ecosystem but here in Australia they can also be big bullies who know they are bigger than the other birds and throw their weight around accordingly and then do gross stuff like dirty up the backyard bird bath by finding discarded sandwiches and dog bones or even Lego blocks and drop them in to "soften" them for later consumption and just leave a filthy mess there for everybird else. yyyiikkk.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens theory #crowley #good omens s3 #goats #crows #not the kids #the flood

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wordsofnoconsequence · 8 months

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The Sweetness of Growing Older

Tell me the light is fading, And the wells won't run dry. Tell me stillness will still enfold me, Its arms unyielding, faithful As the turning of the sea, And the sea in turn, boundless, unending. Tell me that the sky is full to the brim With dust that looks like stars if you squint. Tell me a story that pins me, holding me To what I want to be faithful to at all costs. Tell me the house is still standing, That there is still a place for me. Tell me I'll live past the wishing to be wanted, Past the fear of no longer being haunted, I'll wake up to the days growing longer. Tell me of the beckoning pull of new months, The heedless, beaming motion of my growing up. That wherever I go in this world, I am loved. All there is left to do is everything else. There is no chain, the door is unlocked, My life is mine for the best part of all- Finding it out.

#poetry #blatant there it goes plagiarism but you know what's a girl to do but a blank page a rewrite an open door???#i do feel like this probably should be two different poems but the funny thing is i don't want to separate them they're buddies now

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hathorneheiress · 2 months

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Alright, so I think we found, (Or more @riddles-n-games found) the surprise for tomorrow.

I am so thrilled I can't tell you how happy I am. I was not expecting this. I thought the next book for TGG not a complete book for the original characters?! It's a dream come true.

Anyways, we have information that we are going to get 5 stories and 2 novellas in the book! Like wow!!

It seems to suggest each story is for one couple. (Which is lovely) So, here is what I think each story will enfold and for what TIG couple.

A night in Prague. Definitely Avery and Jameson. No questions asked. This is going to be a novella so I expect it to have quite a bit. We know in TBH that Avery and Jameson were travelling together, but what made him come back like that? We know at the beginning of TBH they seemed to be having some couple trouble. Is it possible they had a fight and Jameson left in his anger? Is that why he didn't come back late? Not sure, but I'm sure it will be answered in the book.

The same backwards and forwards. Toby and Hannah. Another novella. We know a little bit of how it was for them through the letters, but I hope we can see more of their romance. Personally, I hope it's through Hannah's POV. I think it would be more special and Toby doesn't remember much anyways. We know Hannah hated him, but when did she start to love him and when did he start to love her?

The cowboy and the goth. Nash and Libby. And the one I am most excited for. I don't think it's going to be their wedding. I really hope that is in TGG. maybe it will be some sweet moments between them we hardly ever got to see.

Five times Xander tackled someone. (And one he didn't) Xander and Max. I'm guessing it's going to be a fun little read of Xander being Xander. I feel like the one person he doesn't tackle is Max. But why didn't he? What led up to it? Who else did he tackle? Probably each of his brothers, but was the fifth another person? All questions running through my mind.

One Hawthorne night and What happens in the tree house is most likely from the other books so I won't go into my theories on that. I will say there might be some additions JB could add to it, but I highly doubt it.

Secret Santa. Okay, this is really tricky. I think it could either be Grayson and Lyra OR maybe Alice and Tobias. I'm leaning toward the latter. BUT... we have no idea if we are going to even get that, but the theme seems to be for this book is about how a Hawthorne loves is like no other. We have each brother and their girls. Toby and Hannah's love story. So maybe this could be about how the great Tobias met his future wife. Maybe he was her secret Santa and they hit it off. Him realizing how much he loved her? Maybe, but I'm not positive.

Pain in the right gun. Possibly Grayson and Lyra. Partial credit to @riddles-n-games for this idea. Not exactly sure what it will entail, but maybe some sweet moments between Gray and Lyra. Maybe they talk about their rough lives and how they want to make it better. As I said, I'm not too sure so if you have ideas feel free to let me know.

Thanks for listening. I enjoyed writing it out and I'm so excited for tomorrow!!! Really hoping we are right. (Even though I'm positive we are) Maybe Jb will give us more information on the book. That would be lovely.

#the inheritance games #the brothers hawthorne #the grandest game #the hawthorne legacy #the final gambit #Games untold #jennifer lynn barnes #grayson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #nash hawthorne #xander hawthorne #avery grambs #libby grambs #tobias hawthorne #Alice #Lyra

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unabashegirl · 2 months

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Enticing 41 || Harry Styles

Summary: Harry is a young billionaire and CEO of his own company. He mostly keeps to himself, he is stern and very meticulous when it comes to business. He also likes to keep his personal life very private for the sake of his newly born son Oliver Styles. It isn't until he meets Y/N Y/L/N that everything changes. She becomes his new nanny after his previous one quits due to personal reasons. She is young, caring, and sweet. Will they ignore their feelings? Will Harry's girlfriend accept their love and leave them? Will she be able to cope with his busy agenda? What about Oliver's mother? Where is she? Who is she?

masterlist

word count: 2.0K

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The clock had ticked past midnight, and Y/N had gathered her belongings, ready to make the short journey back to her apartment. She had spent a wonderful evening with Harry and Oliver, and the bond between them had grown stronger with every passing moment.

As she prepared to say her goodbyes, Harry's expression turned somber, and a hint of desperation crept into his voice. "Y/N," he began, his words tinged with raw emotion, "please, stay."

Y/N turned to face him, her heart aching at the sincerity in his eyes. She could see the yearning there, the desire to keep her close, even if it was just for one night.

"Harry," Y/N responded, her voice gentle but conflicted, "I really should go home."

But Harry wasn't ready to let her leave. He took a step closer, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and vulnerability. "Please, Y/N. I don't want to spend the night without you. I want to wake up with you here. With me”

His plea cut through her resolve, and her heart wavered. She knew the depth of his feelings, and she felt it too – the magnetic pull that had drawn them back together, the warmth of his embrace, the shared laughter, and the connection that seemed to transcend everything else.

With a soft sigh and a loving smile, Y/N gave in to her own desires and to the undeniable connection they shared. "Alright”

Harry's face lit up with gratitude and relief, and he couldn't help but rush over to her, enfolding her in a warm and tender embrace. It was a moment filled with an unspoken understanding, a testament to the profound connection that had brought them back into each other's lives, stronger than ever.

As Y/N settled into Harry's spacious bedroom, she couldn't help but feel a sense of being a stranger in her surroundings. It had been a while since she had slept in this room, and the familiarity she once had was replaced with a feeling of rediscovery.

Feeling the need for something comfortable to wear to bed, Y/N looked at Harry with a hint of hesitation in her eyes. "Harry, do you have something I could wear to bed?”

Harry's understanding smile put her at ease. He knew that his bedroom could be overwhelming, and he wanted her to feel as comfortable as possible. "Let me find you something."

He walked over to the closet, where his clothes were neatly hung and organized. After a moment, he returned with one of his oversized shirts, a soft and worn-in piece that would provide her with the comfort she sought.

Handing the shirt to Y/N, Harry's eyes were filled with warmth and affection. "Here you go." He didn’t offer her pants. He knew too well that she hated them and preferred to sleep only with a big shirt and underwear. Y/N would say something along the lines that they made her feel trapped.

Y/N's heart swelled with gratitude as she took the shirt from him. She had missed these small gestures of care and consideration, and they served as a reminder of the intimacy they had shared in the past and were now rekindling.

"Thank you," she said softly, her fingers brushing against his as she accepted the shirt.

With a gentle kiss to her forehead, Harry whispered, "I just want you to feel at home here."

As she changed into the oversized shirt, Y/N couldn't help but smile. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about the connection they were rebuilding. In Harry's big bedroom, amidst the uncertainty of the future, she felt a sense of comfort and belonging that reassured her that they were on the right path.

Harry turned off the lights in his spacious bedroom, the room was enveloped in darkness, save for the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. The night had settled around them, and he knew that Y/N was somewhere in the room, finding her way amidst the shadows.

He had taken a moment to prepare the bed for them, ensuring it was warm and inviting. The sheets were cold from the room's temperature, but he knew that together, they would generate warmth that would chase away the chill.

In the quiet of the room, Harry's senses heightened. He listened intently for any sign of Y/N, the soft rustle of fabric or the faintest sound of her breath. He wanted to find her, to be close to her, to share this intimate moment.

As they settled into Harry's bed, their feelings of contentment and completeness washed over them. They knew that this was where they belonged – in each other's arms, finding solace and love in the shared warmth of the night.

Then, he felt it – a gentle touch against his hand, a tender caress in the darkness. Y/N had found him, her fingers seeking him out in the night. Their hands intertwined, fingers fitting perfectly together, a silent reassurance of their connection.

With a soft sigh, Y/N nestled closer to him, seeking refuge from the cold sheets in the warmth of his embrace. Harry wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

Harry’s hand gently found their way to the front of her body. They came across the small bump that was evidence of the life that grew inside of her. His hands caressed the bump over the shirt a few times as he pressed his chest against her back. His hands suddenly sneaked up her shirt and met her warm skin.

“So beautiful” he whispered as he felt her bare, soft skin under his fingertips.

It was pitch black, but Y/N had never experienced such an intimate moment with Harry. It was more intimate than the time that they had seen each other naked in broad daylight.

Feeling a surge of affection and emotion, Y/N turned around to face Harry in the darkness and quietness of his bedroom. She could make out the outline of his face, his features softened by the dim light filtering in from the window. Without a word, she leaned in and pressed her lips against his, pouring all her love and longing into that kiss.

Their lips met in a sweet, lingering embrace, a silent exchange of love and reassurance. In that moment, they spoke volumes without uttering a single word. Harry responded to her kiss with equal tenderness, his hands moving from her pregnancy bump to cradle her face, deepening their connection.

As they kissed, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the promise of the future they were building together. In the quiet of the night, their love shone brightly, a beacon of warmth and comfort in the darkness.

Their kiss deepened, becoming more passionate as their love for each other surged. Y/N's hands found their way to Harry's hair, tangling in its soft strands as she pulled him closer. His heartbeat quickened in response, and he pulled her gently closer to him, their bodies pressed together in an intimate embrace.

Harry's lips moved in perfect unison with Y/N's, as if they were two halves of the same whole. Their connection was palpable, and the electricity between them was undeniable. Y/N's hands found their way to Harry's hair, tangling in its soft strands as she pulled him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him pressed against her. Harry's hands roamed across her back, tracing every curve and dip of her body as he explored her with a sense of wonder and awe. As their embrace intensified, their breathing became ragged, and they broke apart briefly, gasping for air before diving back in for another round of passion and desire. Their lips met again, each kiss deeper and more intense than the last. Harry's hands found their way to Y/N's waist, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, their tongues dancing together in a fiery embrace. Y/N's heart was pounding in her chest, and she could feel the heat radiating from Harry's body as their embrace grew tighter.

In that moment, they were lost in each other, their love and desire for one another consuming them completely. All of their worries and fears melted away, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of being together, truly together in every sense of the word.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, each touch and caress igniting a fire within them that burned brighter and hotter with each passing moment. They were lost in the moment, a moment that felt timeless and eternal, as if nothing else in the world mattered except for the two of them and the bond they shared.

In that moment, they knew that they would always be there for each other, through thick and thin, through the ups and downs of life. They were partners in every sense of the word, and their love would always be the glue that held them together through it all.

In the stillness of the night, their desires and emotions ran wild. Their lips moved in perfect harmony, a dance of love and longing. Harry's hands traveled down from Y/N's face to her back, pulling her even closer, as if he wanted to merge their souls in that single, beautiful moment.

Their kiss slowly evolved into a dance of longing and affection, a symphony of unspoken words. It was as if they were making a silent promise to each other and to their unborn child. A promise of love, support, and unwavering devotion as they embarked on this remarkable adventure of parenthood together.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths coming in sync. They exchanged a soft, knowing smile, filled with love and understanding. In the quietude of the room, surrounded by the shadows of the night, they were reminded once again of the strength of their bond and the depth of their love.

Y/N whispered, "I love you," her words barely audible in the stillness of the night.

Harry smiled, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings. "I love you to pieces" he replied, his voice filled with sincerity.

Y/N felt the gentle rise and fall of her pregnancy bump as they held each other close, a constant reminder of the new life they were bringing into the world. It was a reminder of their love's incredible journey, from the moment they first met to this beautiful, intimate moment in the darkness.

As the night deepened, they found solace in each other's arms, the cold sheets now a distant memory, replaced by the comforting embrace of the person who had always held a special place in their hearts.

With Y/N beside him, Harry felt a profound sense of peace. Despite the challenges and uncertainties ahead, they would face them together, and that knowledge filled their hearts as they drifted off to sleep. In that moment, their dreams were filled with the promise of the life they were building – a life rooted in love, family, and the enduring bond that had reunited them.

TAGLIST: @0oolookitsme, @happycupcakeenthusiast, @kennedywxlsh, @hsfics, @stylesbrock, @sucker4angstt, @bluemoonedwings, @cherriesrae, @vornilla, @mellamolayla, @harryscurls21, @stilesissaved, @be-with-me-so-happily, @harryssattelitestomper, @jerseygirlinca, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @lomlolivia, @stylesfever, @daphnesutton, @n0vaj3an, @breezykpop, @kathb59, @sassamanda77

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clavissionary-position · 11 months

Text

Summary of Leon's Sexy Scandal Story

Luke's summary here (I'm not summarizing Keith since a certain mutual probably has him covered ^^ I love you Ellen!)

Tags: suggestive content, scent kink

I read using a translator and I've added embellishments here and there so take this recap with a huge grain of salt

MINORS DNI

One day Emma overhears a pair of palace servants gossiping about how lately the palace seems to smell of a different perfume everyday. Almost as if it's a different perfume from a different woman each time.

"What's Prince Leon thinking when he has Lady Emma right here?"

Emma freezes in place. Because now it's clear that she hasn't just been imagining things. Even though Leon smells perfectly normal in the mornings before he heads out, he'd been returning to his room smelling of different perfumes almost every night.

Naturally Emma wonders if something's up. She certainly can't think of any normal reason why Leon would come back every day smelling the way he has. So she decides she'll ask him about these rumors this evening.

Or so she had planned, except come nightfall after Leon comes to her room, she finds herself sitting restless beside him, unsure of how to even broach the topic.

"What's wrong, Emma?" asks Leon.

"Huh?"

His raises his brows. "You've been on-edge this whole time, so I figured you had something you wanted to ask me. Am I wrong?"

Of course Leon would notice.

But since Leon himself is the one asking, Emma finds she has no choice but to proceed. So she takes a deep breath to calm her nerves.

"Yeah, you're right on the money. There is something I want to ask you." She continues. "You've been coming home wearing different perfumes lately, right? At first I figured it was just the scent of someone who'd been with you during official business. Then I started to wonder if you'd been wearing the fragrances yourself. The scents were just so vivid."

Leon smiles. "You're exactly right. I've been applying the perfumes myself."

Emma's curious now. "Why all these different kinds all of a sudden?"

With a sultry smile in place, Leon slowly begins to close the distance between them. "Why do you think?"

Emma's heart begins to pound. The scent of perfume in the air makes him seem even sexier than usual. "I've tried to think of reasons, and I have no idea. But..."

"But?"

"...I overheard the servants gossiping about how the fragrances match those worn by the women you meet."

Leon smile never leaves his lips. "And is that what you think too?"

"No, I don't." Emma believes in him. "Even if there are women involved, I figure there has to be something about the situation that makes it unavoidable."

For some reason her answer only makes Leon's smile deepen. "So in other words, my first attempt was a success."

Emma stares at him. "Wait, what are you talking about?"

Leon explains. "I started wearing perfume because I wanted you to be more conscious of me."

Emma is taken aback by this reveal. She hadn't imagined this whole thing had to do with her.

"But I'm conscious of you even if you don't wear perfume?" And that's why she'd been particularly worried about this change in Leon in the first place.

"You always say the most adorable things." And with a sensual air Leon presses his lips to her forehead.

Then pulling back he tells her: "I know how you are, but it just makes me want even more."

He kisses the tip of her nose this time, and Emma's cheeks slowly fill with heat from just how easily he sees through her. Still, she tries to hide her embarrassment so she can ask him again, just to confirm. "Leon, was there any other reason for this so-called 'first-attempt'?"

To which Leon just grins. "Yeah. What do you think of today's fragrance?" And then as if messing with her heart, he places a hand on her waist and draws her in close.

Emma finds herself enfolded in a scent that seems stronger than the ones up until now. Each breath she takes only serves to send her pulse racing faster and faster. After a moment, she speaks. "Oh... it feels sweet and refreshing, but like it's also got a solid base." She looks at him. "It totally suits you."

With her honest response, Leon loosens his grip and gazes at her with satisfaction. "Then of all the scents I've worn so far, which is your favorite?"

Emma falls into thought as she walks back through the memories of each scent from the past few days. One that was sweet. One that was reminiscent of the gentle night air. One that gave the feel of warm sunlight. The scents come alive in her lungs once more, and she can't help but think that each one brings out Leon's charms. "Hmm... I can't decide because they all suit you."

Leon closes his eyes. "I'm happy to hear that, but it kinda puts me in a bind. Because I was thinking of marking you with your favorite one."

"Marking!?"

"Yep." He looks at her again. "If you decide on a fragrance for me and I keep wearing it whenever we're together, it'll naturally transfer over to you, right? And that'll make the people around us understand when they smell it." His smile turns mischievous. "That you're mine."

"Leon..." Emma's whole body grows hot as she looks into the possessiveness flickering behind Leon's gaze. She can only imagine how much more of her heart he'll steal away. "I'd love to be coated in your scent. That way I'll always be able to feel you with me."

Leon's smile softens. "You keep saying adorable things. It just makes me want to make you even more aware of me, beyond just my scent."

Emma bites back a small moan as Leon strengthens his embrace and begins to lightly nibble on her neck. Then onto her shoulder, her chest, placing deliciously audible kisses as they sink into sheets together with his guiding hand.

"Maybe we could even change up the way we make love," he muses, "depending on the scent of the day."

And Emma's picking up what he's putting down. Because if they do that she'll have no choice but to recall the respective night's activities whenever she smells that scent. It's a flustering thought but she finds her body trembling with need and betraying her true desire.

Emma gives in, and just as the lion declared, the two of them share a passionate night together. One that Emma could never divert from her awareness of Leon.

fin

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri jp #ikemen ouji #ikepri leon #leon dompteur

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slowlydifferentbluebird · 2 years

Text

Le Sserafim headcanon: Sakura as your crush, girlfriend and wife

Requests are open

So, I presume these two requests were made by the same persone, because they arrived to me just minutes away. If not, that's not important, they are the basically the same request, so I'm going to write these together. However, thank you for requesting and enjoy it 😄

And btw, y'all better stream antifragile, because that song is a certified bop!

Le Sserafim Sakura X GN!Reader

SFW Content

As your crush

In the past only in two occasions you keep your mouth shout

The first when you parents scolded you for breaking an old vase while playing

And the second was when you met Sakura for the first time

Like you couldn't believe your eyes, she was so beautiful

And your brain was not helping: every time you was around her you panicked and went silent

At the time she was already an Idol in Japan and maybe your being quiet got her attention

Other persons before you have tried to impresse her, but it was always the same story: a giant ego with an enourmous collection of red flag

You, instead, were timid and tongue-tied

And yet, her eyes were pointed on you

Even because you were very sweet and gentle too

So, before leaving Japan, you two started dating

And the dates went so well that you moved in Korea together

As your girlfriend

So when you moved in Korea, you were both lucky and unlucky.

Lucky because you knew someone, and that someone was your girlfriend

Unlucky because she was so involved to become in Idol in Korea too

However she knew that she couldn't ignore you and focus on the training only

Even because over time she was more and more in love with you

The way you never complained about sometimes you didn't see each other for days

Or about when you two met each other she was often tired, so you two had to spent the time at your or her house

But truthfully it never really bothered you

You were just happy about her being your girlfriend and you knew since the beginning that she would have been busy very frequently

Reason why she was even more grateful about your support

The moment when she understood that you were the one for the life was during her period in Produce 48

She told about the program and that she would have understood if you'd wanted to break up with her

But in response you laughed and said to her: "Go there, win and come back to me"

Before kissing her in the most sweet way

Your words gave her the courage and the strenght to arrive in final and win

During these months your support never missed, you always cheered for her as if your life depended on it

So when came back to you as on official member of the Iz*One, the first thing she said to you was

"Marry me, Y/N! Marry me because I need your support all my life. I need your cheers and kisses. I know that I'm egoist, but I really need you. So, please, marry me"

And after that she got on her knee and gave you the ring

As your wife

And that's you two became the beautiful married couple you are nowdays

The fact that after the marriage she always wants stay with you

Like to recover the lost time

Endless dates

Like at least once a week she needs to take you out in who knows what place

And you know that for her, who loves to stay at home, is a big gesture of love

Always showing off her ring

Not for for an economic aspect or a flex

But because she's so proud that you accepted to be her partner for life

Now that she's in Le Sserafim your relationship is public

It was one of her request before signing the contract with Hybe

And all her members adore you

Especially Chaewon who knows you for years

So often you invite them all to your house to have dinner together

Or you bring them handmade snacks during the training

Yunjin always jokes about being unlucky because she should have been the Produce 48 partecipant who should have married you

When she says that, Sakura became immediately more touchy and affectionate

Basically she enfolds you in an embrace

And starts kissing you for like half an hour

And everytime Chaewon scream "Not in front of the kid" pointing to Eunchae

NSFW Content

She's like her song: antifragile

That means that it doesn't matter how hard you go

And how rough you are in bed

She will never complain

Instead she asks you for more

Luckily you now are used to it

But the first times you were always drained at the end

And better not to talk about the first fuck after Produce 48

That was your record: you basically spent an entire day in bed

Remember when I said Chaewon scream when she starts kissing you?

That's because once she entered in your room while you two were having sex

She left the room traumatized and even a bit horny

You know that you're gonna have a good time when she start kissing your neck

It's like a lioness tasting her prey

Bonus point to her because when she's satisfying you with her mouth, she always look you into your eyes

Once she winked and you cum instantly

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fiftysevenacademics · 1 year

Text

Someone suggested we should revive the tradition of telling ghost stories at Christmas and I thought that sounded fun, so here's my (not very creatively titled) contribution.

A Christmas Ghost Story

Mama moved to the little white cottage at the edge of a derelict lemon grove about twenty years ago, trading dust and howling coyotes for a fresh breeze and sea lions barking in the distance. She learned as a child how to pull cholla from the dog’s long hair and to read every constellation in the immense, pitch black sky as easily as neon signs. She grew up taciturn, her words sparse and sharp like the desert flora she loved. To this day, the scent of creosote still clings faintly to her skin, or maybe it just seems that way.

I’ve never quite understood what happened to make her suddenly pull up the stakes and land in this mild world, never far from the laughter of gulls or waves crashing against the sand.

I lived there, too, though I don’t remember it well. I was born on the winter solstice in the crowded emergency room of the only hospital for a hundred miles.

“Dropped you right on the floor like a loaf of bread,” Mama laughs.

She loves to tell me about the time she looked through the kitchen window and saw me in the garden, wearing diapers, tiny cowboy boots, and a tie-dye t-shirt, pulling up a carrot to feed a wild burro.

“I wish I remembered that,” I say each time.

“You were so little, I’m not surprised you don’t,” she replies.

My only memory of that place is the lonely owl calling for a mate through long winter nights, and the time I looked out to see its inscrutable face staring at me from the low sycamore branch outside my window. It hooted in surprise and flew away on soft, silent wings.

I also can’t even remember the last time Mama slept through the night. I first noticed her insomnia when I awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep to her crying into her hands at the foot of my bed, the mattress creaking with each heave of her chest.

“Mama?”

“Nicole!”

Her face radiated shock. She looked around the room, filled with carefully labeled unopened boxes, and felt for my face on the pillow.

“Nicole? Baby, I’m so sorry,” she sobbed.

“That’s OK Mama, I wasn’t tired anyhow.”

I threw my arms around her until her sorrow was spent and she collapsed into sleep by my side.

The next night, wailing from the kitchen woke me. I glided barefoot down the hallway to the kitchen doorway. Mama spun around to face me, screamed, and dropped the glass of water she had just filled into the sink.

“Nicky, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

I’d never seen her so rattled, and after that, left her to comfort herself. She went to work in the day, unpacked boxes in the evening, and most nights wandered forlornly around the house while I listened to her muffled footsteps and moans from my bed. Her life settled into a rhythm. She planted flowers and tended a few of the spindly lemon trees. On days when she swam in the surf, Mama returned smelling of citrus and kelp.

I think, after a time, she was happy enough because she began coming into my room sometimes when she couldn’t sleep, telling me stories of her childhood or poring over a photo album where she holds me, wrapped tightly in a blue and pink blanket, triumphantly on a hospital bed, or kisses me on the cheek on my first day of school. We laugh at the one where I’m barking back at the dog, and she caresses my chubby little baby legs in a bathtub photo. I always want her to tell me about the picture of me sitting on Santa’s lap, but she turns the page so fast I only catch a glimpse. I enfold her in my love, sure that nothing can breach such a formidable barrier, but her eyes are always hollow.

She baked me beautiful birthday cakes, fluffy pink frosting and sprinkles giving way to smooth ganache or fondant as the years passed. When I tired of my window’s unicorn and rainbow curtains, Mama redid my whole bedroom in sophisticated shades of blue and green, and replaced my wardrobe with the latest fashions.

At the heart of our domestic bliss, however, lay the mysterious sadness that tinged Mama’s speech and forced careful, measured movements from her always-tired limbs, as if the weight of even so slight a body as hers was more than she could bear. Something heavy flattened happiness and unhappiness alike and she trudged deliberately through her days.

“What’s wrong, Mama?” I would ask. She met my longing gaze with her own, then turned her head away.

Christmas came especially hard for her, and frequent calls from her sister only made her more despondent.

“Justine, you need to do something good for yourself. If you can’t make it for Christmas, please come visit for New Year’s. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you,” Aunt Susan implored over voicemail. “I love you and am here if you need me.”

We decorated a tree each year and Mama sang carols as she mopped the floor or baked cookies for her office but the closer we got to Christmas the quieter she became and she spent most nights curled up in her bed alone as soon as it got dark.

For some reason, I never seem to remember Christmas. I can remember the weeks before but as the date gets closer, it’s like I fall into a void within myself sometime around Christmas Eve and remain there until Mama’s sobbing drags me back and life goes on as usual.

“I would so love to see you, Justine, and it would be good for you to get away,” Aunt Susan said yesterday over the phone. Mama sighed and looked me up and down, as if noticing for the first time how adult I had become.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

We spent the night looking at the old photos and telling the old stories, and some new ones about our life in the cottage, and as the weak Christmas Eve day sun struggled over the mountains to the east, Mama took my hand and rose.

“Nicky, come. I want to show you something.”

We got into the car and blasted through a maze of freeways until the air became dry and sharp and ragged mountains rose pink and grey to our right. We turned onto a smaller highway, and finally, a single-lane road. It felt both new and as familiar as my room, an uneasy sensation that made me nervous.

Mama parked the car in front of a shady, grassy park. We entered and strolled through what turned out to be gravestones. Mama clutched my hand and strode toward a slab of pink granite on the far end of the field. Her pulse pounded in the vein of her neck and she swallowed back tears.

“It’s OK, Mama, I’m here,” I said bravely, squeezing her hand.

“Nicole, I need you to just watch and listen for a moment,” she whispered. “Look.”

Engraved on the stone in tidy Gothic font it said:

NICOLE SUSAN BRISCOE

DECEMBER 21, 1994 - DECEMBER 24, 2000

Beloved daughter, forever young

The tattered remains of several stuffed animals and plastic flowers sat at the base and glass candleholders with printed dates lay scattered over the grave: 2021, 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017. Fragments of broken glass hinted at even older candles.

Mama took a new candleholder and lighter from her purse. I saw a label with “2022” on it as the flame leaped onto the wick. I felt as if my guts were being torn out through my feet.

Mama cleared a space and set the candle down with the others, then faced me with both my hands in hers.

“Nicky, I need you to really listen this time. This is your home. I suppose it has been for 22 years.”

“I don’t understand, Mama!”

She smoothed the panic off my face with the back of her hand.

“We were coming home from the mall. You had sat for the first time on Santa’s lap and you were so scared at first! But he told you a joke and asked what you wanted for Christmas and when you smiled, that’s when the photographer took your picture. We had hot cocoa and started on the way home.”

I felt dizzy and had a sudden sensation of speed as images and sounds came back in a blur. Metal crunching. Pain. Oblivion. Then Mama sobbing on my bed.

“But we never made it. Or, rather, I eventually did but you did not. A drunk driver going the wrong way hit us head on. The airbag saved my life but not yours.”

I crumpled as if struck by lightning. Mama knelt and cradled my face in her hands.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I swerved but it was too late. I wish it had been me.”

I heard the most piteous wailing come out of my open mouth and could not make it stop.

“You are grown now, and have been for years,” Mama said gently. “It’s time for you to move on, and for me to move on too. This time, I’m begging you to please stay.”

We huddled on the grave, Mama stroking my hair and wiping away my tears, while the candle sputtered out and coyotes seranaded the twilight. I inhaled her scent, which was that of the desert itself, and pressed my ravaged face against her breast as lethargy seeped into me and my vision began to fade.

“This gets harder every year, Nicky,” Mama murmured. “I can’t do it anymore. You can't keep coming back."

She kissed my cheek but I barely felt it because my face was starting to dissolve.

“Mama! Help!” I shrieked, but she heard only agonized moans.

“I love you, Nicole. Goodbye,” Mama said as the earth absorbed me in a mist.

Mama dried her own tears and reached for her phone.

“Hi, Susan?” she said wearily. “Can you pick me up at the airport tomorrow?”

#ghost story #christmas ghost stories #original fiction #my stuff #myfic

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tathrin · 10 months

Note

Ehehe, hello, I am here to feed the procrastination gremlin! Those prompts all sound fun, but 21 and 28 are speaking to my heart rn.

Maybe 36 to if you feel up for it but it's your writing and you decide how many you wanna do<3

The procrastination gremlin thanks your mightily! Because I tend to Get Too Long when I write thing, I'm going to preemptively separate these out into their own posts and just assume that I'll ramble too much for it to make sense to do them all in one lmao. Also I will definitely do all three because yes more gimleaf yes. This is an ask meme that I will literally always be accepting prompts for (although if somebody sees this in the tag in like a month or so and wants to send one in, maybe include some context so that I know what that random number I just got in my inbox means? lmao). So, prompt taken from this; anyone can feel free to send other numbers in at any time. Literally.

#21....on a place of insecurity.

Gimli stared at his reflection in the round silver mirror, his hands paused even though his braids were still half-undone. "Do you ever wish that we had crossed the Sea sooner?" he asked.

Legolas blinked at him, cocking his head in that familiar birdlike tilt of confusion that Gimli knew so well.

"Sooner?" Legolas repeated. "How could we have come sooner?" A frown furrowed his smooth, beardless face; a temporary crinkling of skin that would never show the faintest wrinkle. "You mean before Aragorn died?"

"You're right," Gimli sighed. He tugged at his braids, their once-bright copper laced so heavily with strands of silver that he sometimes felt like he had just walked out of a snowfall. "We could not have, of course. But...do you ever wish..."

"Leaving sooner would not have spared us the pain of his death," Legolas said quietly. "It would only have meant that we would not have been there for him when it happened; only have meant that we would not have been there for Arwen or their children either. Knowing of his death only from stories brought by later travelers would not have spared us anything, I do not think; knowing of his death without having been there ourselves would, I think, have only made it hurt the worse, my dear."

"Yes," Gimli said, "yes, of course. I did not mean—"

He stopped. Legolas had walked up behind him and bent down to look over Gimli's shoulder into the mirror. It should have looked awkward, the sight of Legolas's long spine arced at such an angle, but elves were spindly, lithesome creatures. Wood-elves in particular seemed to be as supple and spritely as saplings, and Gimli had yet to witness Legolas contort himself into a position that strained his pliant bones.

"Gimli," Legolas said, "what is wrong?"

"Nothing," Gimli said. He lowered his eyes and his fingers both, twisting his remaining braids into place as quickly as he could without mussing the pattern of the plaits or dropping strands. He scowled, even though he knew that doing so would only deepen the wrinkles that already lined his eyes. "Nothing is wrong."

Long, smooth fingers pressed gently on his own calloused ones until they stilled. Gimli looked down at the overlap of those long digits across his own, the one set brown and spindly as twigs yet unblemished by time or strife; the other pale as underground mushrooms and gnarled by both time and heavy forge-work.

"Gimli," Legolas said. "Tell me."

Gimli turned his hand so that he could enfold those long brown fingers in his own and gave Legolas's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Nothing is wrong, my love," he said again. "I am only feeling melancholy this morning, it seems. Think no more upon it."

He raised the elf's ageless hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to those smooth knuckles, then released it so that he could continue with his braids.

Legolas did not rise. Instead he dropped lower to fold his arms across the back of Gimli's chair, his bright eyes studying the sight of the dwarf before him in the mirror. Gimli avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the intricate plaits that hung from his chin, but he could feel the weight of Legolas's eyes passing over his face, searching for the answers that Gimli would not give him.

He did not find them.

"Will you not tell me?" Legolas asked at last. His voice was soft, his eyes full of sorrow. "Please?"

Gimli sighed and let the braid in his hands droop loose and unfinished down his chest.

He looked up into the mirror again at last and met Legolas's searching, worried eyes there. He looked at that smooth, beardless, beloved face waiting there behind him; unchanging and unchanged from the day they had first met so long ago and far away in Rivendell.

His eyes flicked sideways to his own reflection, to the wrinkles that time had carved beneath his beard; to the strands of silver that wove through the bright copper braids that hung before him. He reached out and pressed his fingers to the mirror, to the sight of the lines around his eyes, and sighed.

"I would not be so old," Gimli said quietly, "if we had come sooner; that is all. I only wonder if you wish, sometimes, that we had. That is all."

Time did not pass in Aman the way it did in other places; or if it did, then it did not feel as though it did, and it carried no trace of decay with it. Gimli had not aged a day since they had first set foot upon these white shores—but he had aged two hundred and sixty-two years before that.

He was still hale and hearty, for dwarves—especially the dwarves of Durin's line—often lived many years longer than that, and rarely weakened before the very ending of their days came upon them. But he was no spritely youngster of sixty-two, either, moping because his father had deemed him too young to go along on a Quest; nor was he a mature youth of not quite one hundred and forty, boldly striding forward at last upon a Quest of his own, all bright brown eyes and ruddy copper beard.

Gimli was old, now, and he looked it. He could see it every morning when he looked in the mirror to do his braids, or every afternoon when he caught sight of his reflection in the cooling barrels at the forge or in some clear, still pool that held Aman's crystal waters. He could see it, and he knew Legolas could as well; how could he not, when he was surrounded by the contrast of all the smooth, beardless, ageless faces of his people?

"Are you tired?" Legolas asked, and his light voice was a dry croak. Shadows as thick as Mordor's fogs filled his eyes, and Gimli turned from the mirror with a cry and caught Legolas's hands with his own.

"No!" he cried. He knew that Legolas was not asking after Gimli's slumber, or weariness from working the forge; was not asking about anything as simple as a day's ordinary exhaustion. He was asking if Gimli was tired of life; if he was tired of eternity. If he was ready, at long last, to claim the gift of his own mortality.

"Legolas, no," Gimli said, squeezing those spindly fingers so tightly that had they been the frail twigs they seemed they would have snapped beneath the pressure of his grip—but elvish flesh was strong, so much stronger than it looked. So were dwarven spirits, and Gimli had no intention of ever growing weary of the world, not so long as Legolas was in it. "I promise," he assured his elf, raising first one hand and then the other to his lips. "Never, Legolas. I am here with you, and I always will be."

Legolas's smile trembled, but it was a smile. Gimli counted it as a victory, and pulled the elf up out of his crouch and into Gimli's lap. He had too much leg to fit on such a short chair, of course, but the two of them were used to that problem; it was no effort at all to fall into the long habits that had his ankles curling sideways under the chair, his elvish flexibility making easy work of the awkward position.

"Then what troubles you?" Legolas asked. He snaked his long arms around Gimli's shoulders and leaned his beardless cheek down to rest upon Gimli's head. "My love, please. Tell me."

"I am old, Legolas," Gimli said. He unwrapped one hand from the elf's slender waist to press his fingers to the cobweb of wrinkles beside his eyes. "You can see it plainly on my face. Old, as no one else in Aman ever will be."

"Bilbo is old," said Legolas.

Gimli rolled his eyes. "Yes, all right," he said. "And Sam, too. But aside from them, everyone else here is an elf—"

"Or a maia," Legolas interrupted. "Or one of the Valar. Or—"

"My point," Gimli cut him off loudly, "is that age is writ across my face in ways that elvish faces do not age. I am only sorry, my dear, that I can do nothing to erase those lines, these streaks of silver; only sorry that you cannot spend eternity beside a dwarf in his prime of life, but must instead contend with these wearisome wrinkles."

Legolas drew away far enough that he could gape down at Gimli. "Wearisome?" he repeated. "Sorry? Gimli!"

"I know, I know," Gimli soothed, "it is a little enough thing, I suppose, and I am not ungrateful; I am only sorry for your sake, my dear—"

"Sorry!" Legolas said again. "Gimli, you everlasting fool of a dwarf! Is this what you've been fretting over all this time?

"...Yes?"

"Gimli!" Legolas squawked. "Oh, my beloved idiot! I feared you were growing tired of forever, and were going to have to leave me! Instead you've just been pouting over how handsome you are?"

"Handsome!" Gimli exclaimed. "Legolas, enough. I am sorry beyond words that I made you worry, but that is no call to mock me—"

"I do not mock," Legolas said. His lilting voice for once was as firm as stones. "I adore every inch of you, Gimli. Yes, even the wrinkles; yes, even the silver in your beard!" He shook his head, scowling down at his dwarf. "Perhaps especially the silver in your beard, for it gleams like mithril in the moonlight, even as the ancient lights of lost Trees are said to still gleam in the locks of the Lady Galadriel, oh Lockbearer!"

Gimli sputtered, heat rising fast in his cheeks. He tried to push the elf away, but Legolas tightened his grip upon his shoulders and refused to be budged from Gimli's knees.

"And your wrinkles," he continued in a softer voice, "are the signs that our years together have etched upon your face, even as your clever hands carve beauty into simple metal and plain rocks. How could I help but love them, when they trace our story out upon your face for all to see?" Legolas leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the sparkle of crows-feet that framed first one eye and then the other, then traced the deep tracks that lines Gimli's mouth and nose beneath his beard. Finally he raised Gimli's hand and pressed a long kiss to those ruddy, wrinkled fingers.

"Legolas, I...I feel I've been a fool," Gimli murmured. He found himself once again unable to meet Legolas's eyes, this time because of the blush that darkened his cheeks with a blaze of hot mortification.

"You have been," Legolas agreed, "but fortunately I knew you for a fool long before I knew you for anything else, my love, and so I am not bothered overmuch."

A watery laugh spilled from Gimli's lips, and he could not help but smile. "And you are as irritating and irreverent as ever," he retorted.

"Of course I am," Legolas agreed, and hopped up off Gimli's lap and the low chair upon which he sat and grinned down at his dwarf with a twinkling smile. "Some things do not change with the passage of time—but even though my face does not show it, I have very much been changed by knowing you, my dear Gimli, and I would not trade a second of it in exchange for a single lifted wrinkle or silvered hair."

"Well," Gimli said, "I am glad to hear it, and sorry now that I did not voice my concerns sooner."

"So am I!" said Legolas. "But I cannot hold it against you when I did not voice mine either, although in my case it was because I feared to pressure you into extending your time in life beyond your own comfort for my sake alone."

Gimli stood and took his elf's hands in his and held them tight. "Forever is only barely enough time to spend at your side, Legolas," he said, "but as it is all the time the world will give us, I will take it; but I will accept not a second less than that, and would not see that time shortened for any reason even if it was only for your own comfort, and not my own. I can think of no greater purpose for one's life than to bring comfort to one whom I so love."

Legolas beamed down at him, his pale eyes bright with unshed tears. "Well!" he said. "That is all sorted, then!"

"Indeed it is," Gimli agreed. He knew that the smile spreading behind his beard was the sort of soft, misty-eyed grin that Peregrin Took had always labeled "absurdly sappy," but he could not help himself; he felt as though he was fairly brimming-over with love, and he could not contain himself from letting it show upon his face, erstwhile sappiness be damned.

"In that case," Legolas said, his damp gaze dancing suddenly with dry mischief, "let me get you out of that tunic and into our bed and I will find all your other wrinkles and properly express my love for them, too."

Gimli decided he could finish his braids later.

#first thought on this one was actually going to be legolas being insecure about his ''naked'' chin when visiting erebor or aglarond #and gimli reassuring him that he thinks legolas is beautiful even without a beard and he doesn't care what any other dwarf thinks #but then my fingers started writing this one instead so. here we are in aman again whoops.#also you should know that around about paragraph three or four i was SURE that this one was going to be short #and i was going to eat my ''oh gosh my stuff always gets too long tee hee!'' words on this one #NOPE!#lmaooooo #these fucking idiots just do not know when to shut up! (and neither do i)#gimleaf #gigolas #gimli #legolas #ask meme #send a kiss meme #lotr fanfiction #my writing #my stuff #aman #lotr #anyway fair warning this one gets a little sad but then it's happy again in the end #because these two are so relentlessly untragic they cannot help but have a happy ending always no matter what #and anyway isn't that just the elvish experience in a nutshell? (except happier because it's them and they're Like That)#this ship sails itself all the way to valinor

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chroniclesofamber · 9 months

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Zelazny's 'Shadows', NyCon 3, The Statler Hilton, September, 1967

"Literature, of necessity, contains shadows"

[O]ne of his most crucial self-critiques was [Zelazny's] decision that he was “overexplaining” to the reader and should instead “avoid the unnecessarily explicit” and not “go on talking once a thing had been shown.” In a speech given at a 1967 science fiction convention he elaborated on this insight, declaring, “Literature, of necessity, contains shadows … A writer never writes an entire story … You live part of it yourself.” He went on to identify these shadows, gaps that the reader fills in, with the fabled “sense of wonder” that, to science fiction readers, defines the texts they love:

“Writing involves your taking everything in through those little cryptic bugs that crawl across the page and construct things around them. This is where that strange thing called ‘sense of wonder’ comes into play … It sort of enfolds this shadow area. Into those shadows you project those things you are looking for.”

Krulik considers this determination to avoid overelaboration “a central philosophy” of Zelazny’s writing. But what Zelazny posits in his speech, and what remains foregrounded even in a linear, plot-heavy work such as The Chronicles of Amber, is that readers experience the magic of shadow, and thus the sense of wonder, through language. Readers can imagine the streets, the plumbing, the business models of Amber as they see fit; the “emotional archetype” of the fantasy novel derives from Corwin’s story and how he tells it — both the worlds themselves and the ellipses that lie between.

Just as the reader experiences Amber through Corwin’s voice, the fate of Amber lies in Corwin’s hands, even after he decides he doesn’t want to be in charge any more. The outcome of the first half of The Chronicles of Amber comes down to learning who among the scheming, self-involved members of the royal family can master the Pattern — can, that is, control and focus their actions to execute a careful plan in order to achieve a goal.

"...the Pattern I drew to the sound of pigeons on the Champs-Elysées..."

By walking the Pattern, Corwin regains his memory and Dara assumes her true form; by failing to master the Pattern, Brand is defeated; by failing to repair the Pattern, the patriarch Oberon is doomed. And when Corwin gains access to the Courts of Chaos, enabling his ultimate victory, he does so not through the old, broken Pattern but by making a new one, a process that calls forth memories of a happy interlude in his past — on Earth in 1905 Paris — even as it demands an excruciating precision:

“I did not meet with the physical resistance that I did on the Pattern … a peculiar deliberation had come over all my movements, slowing them, ritualizing them. I seemed to expend more energy in preparing for each step — perceiving it, realizing it and ordering my mind for its execution — than I did in the physical performance of the act. Yet the slowness seemed to require itself, was exacted of me by some unknown agency which determined precision and an adagio tempo for all my movements.” (542)

Could there be a better description of the act of writing? If Zelazny began The Chronicles of Amber struggling to find his preferred artistic path, he ended the series’ first half with a reminder of the difficult requirements of both creative process and practical accommodation, and, arguably, a more mature vision of both. For Corwin, if Amber is not what you thought it was, it is well worth preserving. If the Pattern you thought was your legacy no longer works, the only thing to do — the only way to defeat the forces of Chaos — is to draw a new Pattern of your own.

— Cox, F. Brett, “A Series of Different Endeavors 1972-1979”, Roger Zelazny: Modern Masters of Science Fiction, 99-101, Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2021

#chronicles of amber #roger zelazny #the chronicles of amber

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16ruedelaverrerie · 10 months

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Anon I love you passionately, never change. I want you to have this:

WE AS A SOCIETY KEEP CASTING NEIL NEWBON IN ROLES WHERE HE INEVITABLY, SOMEHOW, EVEN WHEN HE IS A CHARACTER IN A FUTURISTIC STORY ABOUT ANDROIDS SET IN A MAJOR METROPOLITAN CITY, GETS FUCKED BY A BEAR

You must be mistaking me for someone else... I never made anything of the sort.......... Thank you very much for sticking around, and for being so kind 🥹💓

There is NOTHING SWEETER TO MY EARS THAN THE RALLYING CRY OF "CANON DOESN'T EXIST"! COME LOVE RESTAURANTS WITH ME, ANON. JOIN THE COMMERCIAL KITCHEN FANDOM. BE IN THE FANDOM OF COOKING AS A CONCEPT. Gavin having a minor knife accident and the entire kitchen being thrown into an overblown frenzy of panic... Going on the road with a food truck as the restaurant gets renovated to put in wine storage... Nines realizing that he needs to study mixology and contacting a very confused Allen to demand tutoring... Gavin being hired out for a private catering gig in a mansion and getting run so ragged by the end of it that he just takes a three-hour nap on the parlor couch halfway in Nines's lap... Gavin later being mortified to discover that he has done so... R E S T A U R A N T S

💕💕💕I'm sorry for putting such a lovely message behind the cut, @bumblee-bee! But this is what comes of being so kind that looking upon you is like looking directly into the sun. I am too embarrassed to face you out in the open. I'm so so SO so glad that you are enjoying Les Mignardises! I don't think I'm even capable of truly conveying the full extent of my gratitude, but that fic means a lot to me (too much to me, really) and it genuinely moves me to hear that you are having fun with it. I still think of myself as someone who primarily contributes to fandom through fic; with each passing day, this becomes more and more untenable a self-concept -- if that's true, where the fuck is the writing to show for it? WHY DO YOUR FIC UPDATES TAKE LITERAL YEARS, NAT? -- but still, some stubborn part of me wants the fics to matter, you know. Thank you so much.

And of course it's fantastic that you've made your way back to the fandom!!! YISSSS BE ENFOLDED BACK INTO THE LOVING CLAWED EMBRACE OF THIS HELLPIT

#askbox #les mignardises

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ainyan · 8 months

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FFXIVWrite Day #11: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

once bitten, twice shy

idiom

a person who has failed or been hurt when trying to do something and is now careful or fearful about doing it again

They wanted to be his friends. They acted more like a family. But he needed neither. He wanted neither. Friends walked away. Family disappeared. No one ever stuck around, so it was simply better to let no one close enough to abandon you.

But they were persistent.

“Is it a miqo’te thing, or do you just really like heights?”

Szah’li hadn’t expected to be found, but reflexes honed among the Black Shroud kept him from starting off the peaked roof of the building. Slowly he rose from his crouch, turning to face the elegantly-clothed man who stood before him, as sure-footed as any Keeper. He met that single dark eye, saw the concern swirling beneath the false cheer, and turned away again, uncomfortable. “I think better up high,” he replied shortly.

The hyur stepped closer, booted feet soundless and sure on the icy tiles, and the miqo’te found himself impressed at Thancred’s absolute faith in his own abilities. A faith well-founded, he had to admit. “I admit to a certain fondness,” the rogue was saying as Szah’li mused, “of heights, but I think I prefer shadowy corners for my contemplations. Still,” he murmured, that single eye gazing out over the snowy streets of Ishgard, “the view is incredible.”

Szah’li detested small talk. “What do you want, Thancred?”

The hyur’s attention slid back to him and he realized it had never truly left. “I’m concerned about you,” he replied just as bluntly. “I know from hints dropped by you, by Alphinaud, by Tataru and Y’shtola that you have just about been through the hells and back while I’ve been playing hermit in the forest. And as standoffish as you were before, ‘tis naught but a patch on how reclusive you have become. You need not stand alone, Szah’li. We are here.”

Anger warred with pain, ripped at his belly. His ears went back, his tail lashed as he shot back, youthful temper erupting. “Like you were here when I was being hunted as a regicide?” he spat, and saw Thancred wince, his features tighten. “Like you were here when I was all but alone in a foreign land, reviled by most? Where were you when I was shorn of the Light’s blessing, when I was hunted by the Heavens’ Ward, when Haurchefant…” He trailed off, choking on his own bile and tears. “Where were you?”

When he collapsed into a crouch, wrapping his arms around his knees and fighting for control, Thancred stepped forward and knelt down beside him, reaching out to stroke a sure hand over his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I never stopped thinking of you, of all of you, but I was… I was not at my best.”

Szah’li lifted his head, then jerked it away from Thancred’s hand. “So?” he asked bitterly. “Neither was I.”

So Thancred knew all too well, story after story poured into his ear by a remorseful Alphinaud, detailing the trials which Szah’li had faced over the past several months, mostly by himself, with only nominal support from the skeleton team of Scions left after their betrayal. “Your worst is better than my best,” he said simply, without the resentment he’d felt during those first few months after the events at the Praetorium.

Szah’li turned and stared at him. “I fucked up by the numbers, Thancred, in so many ways. Alphinaud tried - gods know he tried. But I needed you. I needed Y’shtola. I needed Yda and Papalymo and gods I needed Minfilia. I’m not a leader. I’m not a hero. I’m just a kid. A kid nobody wants,” he finished, choking on a bitter sob.

Thancred acted without thought for once, dropping down beside the young man and enfolding him in his arms. Though Szah’li fought against him, his struggles were half-hearted at best and soon ended with him collapsed against the rogue’s slim chest. “You are a kid, a kid who’s been through far too much in your short life, who has lost more than most adults ten times your age. But you are wanted,” he added fiercely.

“The Warrior of Light is wanted,” came Szah’li’s muffled retort.

“The Warrior of Light is needed,” Thancred corrected, his arms strong and warm around the young man, “but Szah’li Khiyanto, Scion, friend, brother - he is wanted. I would rather have you as you are, without the Blessing, without the power, than I would a hundred Warriors of Light when all is said and done.”

“You went away,” Szah’li sobbed.

Thancred closed his eyes and buried his face in the boy’s dark hair. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s not enough, but I’m sorry. I came back as soon as I could.”

Szah’li’s inner demons struggled with one another. He wanted to pull away, to reject Thancred’s compassion, his pity, his affection. He wanted to reject any who would insinuate themselves into the barren wasteland of his heart and risk a rejuvenation of the life that once lived within, that died in the fire, in the screams, in the blood.

And he wanted to burrow into that brotherly embrace and never let go. He wanted to cling to the offered friendship, the offered family, to replace that which had been lost with something new but equally as important, equally as welcome.

But he had been once bitten. He had loved. He had lost, most horribly, most terribly.

And so he was twice shy, and though he yearned to accept the comfort of Thancred’s embrace, even its warmth could not thaw that core of cold that kept him isolated and alone.

Kept him safe.

So he held himself back, and when the hyur finally released him, he kept his face turned from the man. Finally, Thancred sighed. "Think about it," he advised, and Szah'li winced inwardly at the hurt in his voice. But he did not look at him, even as he walked away.

Leaving him alone.

FFXIVWrite2023 Day #11: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

OCs: Szah'li Khiyanto

NPCs: Thancred Waters

AU: Szah'li's Saga

[ -- Master Post: FFXIVWrite2023 -- ]

#ffxivwrite2023 #szah'li khiyanto #thancred waters #au: szah'li's saga

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