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thetriumphantpanda · 6 months

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i saw mommy kissing santa claus | joel miller

Summary | Your daughter catches you kissing santa... or does she?

Word Count | 1.3K

Warnings | Mentions of traditional Christmas (A tree, gift giving ect), Joel dressed as Santa, Joel being a daddy again, Joel AS A HUSBAND, smut but not super explicit - oral sex (f) and unprotected PiV, just general fluff really.

Authors note | Firstly, I have to give a huge shoutout to @wildemaven - the Dave York piece she posted recently definitely inspired this little Drabble, along with being stuck in a car with my bestie for three hours with the Christmas radio blaring. This is just some sweet Christmas fluff for us all!

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

amazing divider by @saradika

The way the snow flurries fall outside are still a wonder to you, even after seven years of winters in Jackson. The warmth you remember from Christmas before the end of the world is a distant memory now, the open windows and the light breeze of December now replaced with the biting cold and the four layers you must wear inside your home to keep as warm as possible. It’s magical though, the way it looks picture perfect, just like the movies you would watch back then. If you could, you’d take a photo of it, use it as the family Christmas card.

Turning around from the window, the room is bathed in the orange glow from the fire you set a few hours earlier. The lamp, on Joel’s side of the couch is also helping, as are the frosty lights wrapped haphazardly around the tree, in making it feel normal. Because really it is. This has been your life for the past five years, putting up a tree, setting small gifts under it like you always had before all of this. The three stockings set above the fireplace, ready to be filled in the next few hours – the precursor of joy the following morning.

Sofia had thankfully gone to bed with little fuss tonight. Finally old enough to understand that the earlier she went to sleep, the earlier she could wake up to find out if Santa had paid her a visit. She hadn’t been planned, but then when were children ever a plan in this new world? You’d been scared, Joel had been terrified, but in the end, she had been the most wonderful thing to happen to the both of you.

You settle on the couch, letting the warmth from the fire soothe the aches that the cold now settles across your bones. You’re almost able to fall asleep, when, with clockwork timing, Joel tears open the front door, a flurry of snow and cold following him in as he closes it behind him. You struggled to stifle a giggle as you turn to look at him.

Dressed head to toe in a Santa costume that is far too big for him, not enough time for the town seamstress to do anything other than pin the sides of the trousers in. The hat on his head is almost covering his eyes, his hand pushing it back to sit properly, as he deposits the sack, once full of tiny gifts but now empty, on the ground. He’s got a fake beard on to cover most of his face so that none of the children that did see him would know it was Joel.

“Wow,” You muse lightly, standing from the couch, “I thought it was customary to wait for everyone to go to sleep before you turned up?”

There’s a slight grumble from under his beard as you step closer to him, watching as he pulls the fake beard down to sit around his neck, his beautiful face finally revealed. You set your back against the closed door, leaning against it, fluttering your eyelashes slightly.

“Did you bring us presents, Santa?” You ask, voice sultry and low.

“Depends,” Joel says, voice just as low, “Have you been a good girl this year?”

That low, southern drawl shoots straight between your legs, thighs rubbing together as you shrug at him, wrinkle your nose a little, “You’d have to ask my husband.”

You watch as he smirks, steps a little closer to you, his gloved hand wrapping around your waist, “What would he say?”

“That I can be a handful,” You bite at your bottom lip, “But ultimately, I always do as I’m told.”

Joel leans down, as slowly as possible, mouth so close you can feel his breath across your lips, your body tugged closely to his own now, “Well then,” He muses, “If you’ve been a good girl, it’s only right you get your gift.”

His mouth is on yours in no time, softly pressed against yours, his hand clutching your body close to his as you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing up on your tiptoes so your mouth is finally flush with his own. You open your mouths at the same time, tongues meeting as Joel groans into your mouth, hands pulled from your body just long enough to tear the gloves off his hands, shoving them straight under the hem of your shirt, resting at your waist to move you gently from the door to the couch.

He sets you down on your back, fumbling his big body to cover yours as those hands of his work to undo your jeans - tearing them down your legs enough so he can put his mouth on you. You feel weirdly like a teenager, fumbling with someone on the couch like this, biting down on your fist in order to keep quiet as Joel’s tongue works across your soaked cunt, drinking you down, tipping you over the edge twice with his mouth - the second, with his fingers buried deep inside you - trying to keep yourself as quiet as you can, you know the other option is waking your daughter and having to spend the rest of the night trying to get her to go back to sleep.

It gets harder to hold that noise in when Joel pulls you onto his lap, trousers pushed down just enough for you to sink down onto his cock, that stupid Santa jacket unbuttoned, pushed off his shoulders, your mouth biting down on his skin as he fucks up into you, his hands gripping the meat of your ass to keep you still.

It’s messy, it lasts probably less than five minutes, Joel spilling himself inside of you, your mouth pulled from his shoulder, bite mark evident as he moves you gently, puts himself right so he can carry you up the stairs, tuck you both into bed, his warm body next to yours as you both drift off to sleep, sated and happy.

Then, the next morning, with Sofia on her knees in front of the tree, you sat on the couch, curled into Joel’s side with a smile on your face at the elation your daughter finds in tearing the paper off her gifts, she says something no-one expects.

“Daddy?” She says, big brown eyes looking up at the two of you.

“Yes, Darlin’?”

“Mommy was kissing Santa last night.”

You almost choke on your coffee, spluttering to try and keep your composure, praying to the Almighty that it was just the kissing she saw. Joel though, is cool as a cucumber.

“Is that right?” He asks, looking down at you with a wink.

“Yeah!” Sofia exclaims, “I saw her last night.”

“You were supposed to be in bed.” You chastise her lightly, “What were you doing up?”

“I heard the door open,” She says, so matter-of-factly that it’s like having a conversation with an adult, “I wanted to meet him.”

“Well, you see,” Joel speaks, “Sometimes, to get your presents from Santa, he’s gotta ask for somethin’ in return, all that travellin’ in one night and he sees your pretty mama?” He shakes his head, “I’d ask her for a kiss too.”

She mulls it over a little, small hands holding onto an unopened gift, then clearly accepts the explanation as she tears into the paper.

“Nicely saved,” You whisper into his ear, lips pressing a kiss to the delicate skin behind it, “Christmas is saved.”

“Oh baby,” He whispers back, taking the lull in Sofia’s attention on the two of you to look down at you, “You can’t think you can kiss Santa and get away with it?” His low voice sends a silver down your spine, “You’re gonna have to make up for that later."

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skbeaumont · 30 days

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Five for Five | Joel x Reader Oneshot

“I ain’t stupid.” His tone is heavy now, words grating out of his throat like rusty razor blades. “Last I checked, we had one hundred and two. There’s ninety-seven here. That’s five missing.”

Summary: It was probably a stupid idea to trade five ration cards for a tiny bottle of perfume, and it's not surprising that Joel is angry, but you think it might just be worth it. Tags/warnings: fem reader, smut, dubcon, spanking, punishment, dom!Joel, sub!reader, first time, oral (m receiving), fingering, pet names, unprotected p in v, aftercare. Word Count: 4k

A/N: Forgive me father for I have sinned. This is pure filth. Please mind the tags/warnings.

“Where are the rest?”

Joel’s voice cuts through you as soon as you step inside the apartment. It’s late, already dark out, and the dangerous edge to his words makes you jump as you step inside, shoulders aching, feet numb from the long walk back home through the QZ.

“Jesus fuck, Joel. What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer, just holds up his hand and shakes the stack of ration cards that are clutched in his fist. The only light is coming from the wonky reading lamp in the corner and it casts an amber glow over the apartment and Joel’s stern face.

“I said,” his voice is steady, clear, but you can already hear the frustration that’s buried underneath it, the anger that’s so quick to rise in him threatening to bubble over, “where are the rest?”

“They should all be there,” you reply, letting your eyes fall down to your boots, toeing them off so that you don’t have to look at his face.

“Well, they ain’t.” He takes a step toward you, his own boots heavy on the worn linoleum floor. “And I wanna know where they are.”

“Did you check under the floor?”

Of course he’s checked under the floor, and of course they aren’t there, because last night you took a handful – five, max – and traded them for a tiny bottle of perfume that’s now stuffed under your mattress. Joel rarely checks the ration cards – he lets you deal with that side of the dodgy business you’ve been running together for the last year and a half – so you’d thought you could get away with it. That he wouldn’t notice. But this is Joel, and he’s noticed.

With this last he slams the pile down on the kitchen side next to you, stepping right up into your space so that you feel his breath – hot and tinged with the scent of cheap bourbon – on the side of your face. You’ve seen him angry so many times, but it’s never been directed at you before, and you’re starting to understand why most people avoid his gaze in corridors, why men cross the street when they see him coming.

“Did you miscount?” You ask, fighting to keep your voice level, light.

“Did I miscount?” He repeats, slow, each word enunciated like it’s a full sentence on its own, and you realise it was probably the worst thing you could have said.

His fingers are hot on your chin when he grabs it, tilting your reluctant face up, dragging your eyeline to meet his. His face is a sight to behold: eyebrows furrowed, deep groves carved out in the lines that surround them, his jaw tense, a muscle twitching as he grinds his teeth. There’s danger in his eyes; a fire behind them that burns as he stares down at you.

“No, I didn’t miscount.” He spits the last word out, eyes tracing the blush that’s crawling up your throat, the way your eyes dart away from his, the flicker of your pulse – fast, rising – in your throat. The trace of the misdirection, the lie, so obvious.

He can read you like a book, always could. But you’re stubborn. You’re not giving anything away if you don’t have to. Those cards are yours as much as they’re his, and this one thing you’ve allowed yourself in eighteen months is worth the way his fingertips are digging into the sides of your face.

“What did you trade ‘em for?” He asks.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs at this, lets your face go and takes a single step back, swings his arm to his side and lets it carry him into a half turn. You slump back against the door, peeling paint sticking uncomfortably to your back. But it’s a short-lived reprieve.

“Fuck me?” He repeats, turning back to you. “After all I’ve done for you, all the shit I’ve taken for you-”

“I didn’t ask you to!” Your voice is shrill compared to his gruff curses, but you continue, adrenaline spiking, “And you’ve been the cause of at least half of that shit, Joel. Don’t make out like you’re some knight in shining armour when we both know the truth!”

The truth: that he’s brutal, feared by almost everyone in the QZ; that people only trade with the two of you because of your hard work and negotiation skills. Joel’s good for enforcing things, for smuggling things in and out, and for sending a message when anything goes wrong, but he’s also a broken man whose anger has got him into more than a few scrapes that you’ve had to get him out of with nothing more than your sharp tongue and quick thinking.

He lets you rally this outburst at him, doesn’t blink in the face of it, until you’ve finished. Then he’s striding back to you, slamming the hand holding the cards hard against the door behind you. It makes you flinch away but his other hand’s back on your jaw, grip tighter this time, forcing you to look up at him.

“Where are the rest?” He repeats, brandishing the ration cards so that they’re inches from your face.

“They’re mine as much as they’re yours.” You say, quietly defiant despite the way your voice shakes.

“You trade them?”

“What does it matter?”

“Nuh-uh,” He twists his hand, turns your face away so that you’re forced to look to the side instead of into his face and he can say the next words into your ear. “This ain’t how this works. I ask the questions, you answer ‘em. Did. You. Trade. Them?”

His face is so close to yours now that you can feel spit landing on your cheek as he speaks, his breath hot in your ear. It shouldn’t turn you on, but it does. You can feel yourself getting wet, slick pooling unbidden between your thighs. It’s hard to ignore a man like Joel, but it’s even harder to get close to him. You don’t think he’s ever been so near to you before, not even when you’ve tended each other’s wounds after a run went south.

You’ve always wanted him to; held a secret flame that’s grown brighter and hotter over the last few months. There’s something undeniably attractive about Joel. The way he moves, the quiet confidence he exudes and the brutal, coiled power of him. You’ve watched him set his fist into another man’s jaw and wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of his temper, his passion.

Now, with his face so close to yours, his thick fingers digging into your jaw, you feel yourself sinking into it, relaxing despite the tension of the situation. You want this, you want his anger and razor-sharp focus. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and you feel tears burning at your lower lashline.

“Yes. I traded them.”

A tear slides down you face and Joel’s eyes trace its path as it glides over your check, pooling in the corner of your mouth, salty and unrepentant.

“What for?”

“Perfume.”

He laughs again, but this laugh is full of derision, not mirth. It’s a punch of a laugh, straight from his chest, catching in his throat and distorting into a growl that sends a shiver up your spine and a bolt of lightning through your cunt.

“Perfume.” He repeats, turning your face in his hand so that you’re looking at him again.

His pupils are blown wide, his face a mask of fury and something else that has you pressing your thighs together, seeking friction. He notices you doing it, lets his eyes follow the movement of your hips, the desperate, needy breaths you’re sucking in. He grins, teeth bared.

“And what, exactly, do you need perfume for?” He asks, not giving you time to answer before he’s bending down and pressing his nose into the side of your neck, inhaling deeply, stubble scratching your throat. “Smell sweet enough to me already.”

“Joel, please,” you say, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, because he’s licking a thick stripe up the side of your throat and you think if he stops you might scream.

“Buy it for those boys I see sniffing around you sometimes? Huh?” He asks, drawing back from you and shaking your face in his hand roughly. “Knew you were nothing but a fucking slut.”

“I just- I wanted something nice.” You try to explain, the words catching in your throat as he slides one thick thigh between yours.

“Something nice? What makes you think you deserve something nice, hmm? Ain’t nothing nice in this place, you should know that as well as I do.”

And you do, God knows you do. The QZ is dark and twisted and fucking soul-crushing, but you’d wanted the perfume, wanted it with a deep yearning that matches the way you want Joel to keep going now, to push you and punish you and take what he wants.

“I think you need to learn a lesson, baby.”

You’re nodding into his hand, tears rolling down your face, splashing onto his thick fingers. He lets go of your jaw, takes you by the wrist and pulls you into the room, toward the sofa, over his knee when he sits. Your stomach is pressed into his thighs, face buried in the dirty sofa cushion and he’s got one hand pressing into your spine, the other searching out the button of your jeans. He undoes it, wastes no time in dragging the worn denim down your shaking thighs.

“You’re gonna lie there and take it, you hear me?” He says, splaying a hand over your bare ass cheek, moving the line of your knickers out of the way so that he can squeeze the meat of you, fingers dipping between your thighs, finding the slick liquid that’s leaking from you.

“Jesus Christ, you’re soaked already. Fuckin’ filthy little thing, aren’t you?” His accent is somehow thickening, vowels lengthening, the twang of his consonants increasing.

“I asked you a question.” He says when you don’t immediately reply, and you nod your head, wipe your wet eyes against the sofa.

“Count for me.” He says, and before you can take a breath to prepare, his hand is coming down sharply on you.

The sting is sharp; delicious.

“Count.” He hisses, and you whisper a faint one, breaking off into a moan when he lets his fingers graze the side of your puffy lips.

You wish you could see his expression, see if this is affecting him as much as its affecting you, if he’s watching with something like ecstasy on his handsome, haunting features.

The second smack is harder than the first, sharper and sweeter for it. It makes you jerk against him but he’s holding you down firmly with one solid hand in the middle of your back, pressing you into his thighs, into his lap. The denim of his jeans is rough against your bare stomach, scratching you skin where your shirt’s risen up. The third slap makes you yelp, harder again, but he soothes it immediately with his palm, rubs the flesh of your ass.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Enjoying being bent over my lap and spanked like the dirty whore y’are, huh?”

You can’t believe the filth that’s dripping from his lips. Sure, he curses plenty, and you’ve heard him cuss out entire rooms full of angry men, but this is something else entirely. This is animalistic and derogatory and indecent. And God help you, its sending rushes of hot liquid practically gushing down your thighs.

“Be so easy to slide myself inside you, you’re so goddamn wet.” He says as he sends another harsh slap onto your ass. “Open you up and press myself inside this soaking cunt, hmm? Bet you’d let me, too, let me do fucking anything to you.”

“Yes, Joel, please, anything.”

His third laugh of the afternoon is throaty and coarse, full of self-indulgence. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, makes you clench your thighs together and grind your teeth to stop you from crying out again.

“You gonna come like this, baby?” He asks, sliding his hand over the meat of your ass, down between your thighs to press at your entrance, slipping beneath your ruined underwear. “Come on my lap like the dirty fucking slut I know you are?”

The sweet sting as he pushes two thick fingers inside you almost pushes you over the edge there and then, but you bite into your lip – probably drawing blood, but you’re too distracted to notice. He curls his fingers, drags the pads of them over the soft flesh inside you, seeking out that spot that makes you almost black out, pleasure ratcheting up so suddenly that you gasp, coming hard in his lap, muscles shaking and contracting, cunt squeezing his fingers tight.

“There she is,” He hisses, curling them again, chasing you as you shift against him, overstimulated.

How is he so good at this? You’ve never seen him with anyone – he’s always given the impression that he has no interest in sex, in relationships, friendships, even. But the expert way that he’s playing your body like an instrument, chasing your moans and gasps like they’re the air he needs to stay alive, tells a completely different story. And when you jerk in his grip and he presses you harder against him, shifting on the sofa, there’s suddenly a very clear indication of just how much of an affect this is having on him, too.

“Shit,” His voice is ragged now: This outburst isn’t controlled in the way that the rest of the curses he’s been spewing into your ears have been. It’s unexpected and bitten back behind a grunt as your hip comes into contact with his cock – a solid, hot weight that fills the front of his jeans, pressing the button of his flies into you, his pocket a line of stitches on your stomach.

The next smack is all the harder for the tiny huff of a giggle you let out, which turns quickly into a hiss of pain when his palm comes down hard against you.

“Concentrate,” He warns when you don’t immediately count the spank aloud. “’m teaching you a fuckin’ lesson, here, remember?”

“Four.” You say, pressing your face harder into the cushion, rolling your hips just slightly so that his cock twitches against your stomach.

“Five for five.” He says, soothing your heated flesh with the palm of his hand before bringing it down one final time. “Five. Think you’ve learnt your lesson?”

You twist round in his lap, eyes dancing when you see the flush that’s tinted his cheeks, the way his gaze is lingering on the swell of your ass cheek in his hand, perspiration beading on his heavy brow.

“I don’t know, Joel, do you?” You say, voice teasing, and he snaps his eyes up to your face as he hisses through clenched teeth.

“Fuckin’ mouth on you, you insolent little slut,” he curses, fisting the collar of your shirt and pulling you upright, opening his legs so that you slide between them onto the cold lino floor.

“Think we can find a better use for it, hmm?” He leans back against the couch, pops the first button on his jeans. Your eyes follow the movement hungrily, unable to look away as he slide the zip down painfully slowly, tooth by tooth, the clicks loud in the silent apartment.

He doesn’t take the jeans off, just pushes them far enough down his thighs that he can fist his cock where it sits, heavy and thick, in his underwear. There’s a dark stain at the tip that makes your mouth water, and when he drags his briefs down, too, you lick your lips greedily.

He’s painfully hard – head flushed a deep red, veins standing out boldly against his thick shaft. There’s a thatch of dark hair at the base, and his balls are heavy and full when he tucks the waistband of his briefs underneath them.

He strokes himself lazily a few times and you let yourself look up to his face. His eyes are dark, pupils eating into the deep brown irises, brows furrowed slightly. The amber light of the lamp is casting his face partly in shadow and it only accentuates the strong, curved line of his nose, the deep creases that lines his eyes and forehead. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that exists, his gaze so sharp and focused it makes you dizzy.

“C’mon then,” he says, running a hot hand up your jaw to grip the back of your neck, pulling you in towards him. “I got no doubt you know exactly what you’re doing here.”

The scent of him is musky and something distinctly masculine, and you bury your nose in the thick hair at the base of him, place a heated kiss to the side of one thigh. This alone make him moan, a deep, throaty sound that lights you up from the inside.

You press your lips to the tip of him, flick your tongue out to kitten lick at the slit.

“Fuck,” he curses.

He’s sensitive. When you wrap a hand around the base of his cock and place your lips around him he hisses, fingers tightening their grip in your hair, free hand fisting the loose cover of the worn couch. You take him further in, suck your cheeks in to caress him, work your tongue over the delicate ridge at the head of his cock. He tastes like salt and sweat and something distinctly Joel, masculine and heady. When he hits the back of your throat you try not to gag, try to swallow him down, throat contracting around him so that he groans and curses.

“Jesus Christ, baby. Your mouth is fuckin’ filthy.”

You grin around his cock, work your hand over the part of him that won’t fit, then pull back and lick one long strip up his shaft, letting your tongue follow one of the thick veins. He presses himself back into your mouth, tightens his grip on the back of your neck and raises his hips off the sofa.

“You want me to fuck that pretty little mouth, baby?” He asks, and you nod, feel hot tears prickling in your eyes when he starts moving, dragging his hips back and then forward, forcing his cock into your mouth, down your throat so that you feel like you’re choking, like all that exists is Joel and his hard cock, his breathy moans and filthy mouth.

“Got such a clever fuckin’ mouth, baby. Just needed to find a way to put it to good use- shit, yeah, that’s it.” He pushes you down once more, groans as he bottoms out on your throat, then releases the back of your neck so that you can pull back.

You’re a mess, tears rolling down your face, saliva pooling in your mouth and joining your lips with Joel’s cock in long strings. Joel’s looking down at you with fire in his eyes, his dark gaze flicking from your mouth to your eyes to the open buttons of your shirt and the swell of your ass.

“Get up,” He says, wrapping his hand around your upper arm and pulling you to your feet.

Before you’ve time to get your balance he’s bending you over, forcing you onto your hands and knees on the sofa. He lines himself up behind you, drags the blunt head of his cock through your soaking folds and presses himself inside your cunt.

The stretch is intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, press yourself back against him as he inches inside. He pauses for a split second when he’s sheathed himself fully inside, then pulls out and begins a punishing pace, fucking you into the sofa, his hands gripping your hips so hard you’re sure he’ll leave marks in the shape of his fingertips.

“Pussy’s gripping me so fuckin’ tight, darlin’” He says, and something in your chest swells at the sound of ‘darlin’’ rolling off his tongue like that, full of something that’s dangerously close to fondness.

He’s a cacophony of contradictions, greedy hands gripping your hips possessively, then smoothing up your back under your shirt before sliding back down to slap the soft flesh of your ass. His thrusts are hard and intense, cock hitting that spot inside you that makes electricity jolt in your stomach with each movement, but then he bends over you, slows his hips so that he can kiss the skin of your throat. His voice – deep, husky, reverberating in his chest – keeps up a filthy chorus that has you whimpering into the couch, but he’s praising you, offering you gentle encouragement, his words warm and dirty and entirely overwhelming.

Being so good for me, baby, pussy’s so fuckin’ wet and tight around me. Can feel you getting close, you gonna come like this, huh? With my cock buried deep inside this pretty little cunt?

Without waiting for an answer he wraps an arm around you and finds your clit with two of his thick fingers. He starts rubbing confident circles over it, bringing you closer and closer to your inevitable climax. You grip his arm with your fist; fingernails digging into hard muscle.

Then suddenly you’re coming apart, white noise blocking out the sound of his hips slapping into yours and his voice and the low level hubbub of the other apartments, until there’s nothing left but your pleasure and his cock and his clever fingers, his nose pressed into your throat, teeth nipping the tendons there.

The world fades back into existence as you come down, muscles jolting. You feel yourself clenching around him with the aftershocks. Joel gasps into your neck, squeezes your tits over your shirt.

“Fuck, just like that, gonna come in this sweet cunt. Shit, that’s it.” His thrusts falter, hips slamming into yours.

You feel him twitch inside you as he comes, ropes of hot cum painting the inside of you, his stuttering breath at your ear.

You stay as you are for a moment, both gasping for breath, hearts hammering in your chests. His embrace is suddenly tender, muscles shifting as he relaxes against you. You don’t say anything, but he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, and that simple gesture opens a floodgate in your chest.

He pulls out of you but keeps his arm around you, guides you both down to lie on the couch, your back pressed to his front. The light in the apartment feels different than it did earlier, the orange hue warmer, kinder than it was.

Joel peppers kisses along the back of your neck and over each shoulder, his strong arm keeping you firmly against him. He wraps a thick thigh over both of yours and tightens it, anchoring you in place. You sigh in contentment, head quieter than it’s been for months, years, possibly.

“I didn’t hurt you?” He says into your hair, voice low.

“No, Joel.”

“You sure? I’m sorry if I was too rough. I don’t- I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I liked it, Joel.”

He chuckles darkly, hooks his chin over your shoulder and teases the skin under your ear with his teeth.

“Fuckin’ filthy, aren’t you? Always knew you were.” He presses his nose to your neck, inhales deeply. “Perfume’s nice, by the way.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #the last of us fic #joel x you #joel x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction

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night-raven-tattler · 28 days

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First kiss, what bliss... maybe...

Summary: Neither you nor your partner have had your first kiss yet. What kind of shenanigans would that information bring?

Characters: Cater, Jamil, Vil × GN!Reader (separate)

Warnings: misunderstandings

By opening the document, you agree to Mx Tattly's terms of source confidentiality.

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Facing Cater after what happened felt like the hardest challenge you've ever gone through

Curse Magicam and curse couple tags and couple selfies, curse all of it!

The memory was fresh in your mind, making you cringe at the situation

You just wanted to take a cute selfie with your boyfriend, like any normal person

And you thought it would be funny and cute to kiss him on the cheek mid selfie

But he happened to have the same idea...

And your lips unceremoniously clashed over each other

As if the situation wasn't very embarassing already, Cater's reaction made it worse

He awkwardly laughed while scratching the back of his head, then left the room in a hurry

Horrible feedback for your first kiss, really

Were you that bad at kissing? But you didn't even have time to be bad, it was barely anything but his lips landing on yours

Sevens, even thinking about it made you feel like your face was on fire

You cursed all teen rom coms for lying to your poor teenage heart as you buried yourself under your blankets

But soon enough your phone started buzzing like crazy

One, twice, thrice

Twenty times

You picked it up to check what was going on, when you saw none other than your boyfriend spamming you with apology texts

"i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry" "i'm sorry"

His apologies only made you more confused

"wait why"

You could tell he was trying to pick between keysmashing his way to forgiveness and trying to find a coherent response as the loading chat bubble appeared and disappeared on your screen for a few minutes

In the end all he sent back was one text

"nvm i'm coming back to ur dorm stay there"

You undug yourself out of your fluffy pity party and, before you could process properly the situation you were in, Cater knocked at your door

You combed your fingers through your hair before taking a deep breath and opening the door

Just to see a Cater just as frazzled as you were

"I'm so sorry I didn't know what to do I wanted to be cute-"

"I was so stupid, I don't know what came over me, I panicked and-"

You talked over each other, then stopped and sunk into a bit of an awkward silence

Not even your conflict solving skills were on your side today

"Uhm, Let's just... I mean, can I come in?"

"I will let you in... before Riddle hears you used 'can' instead of 'may'."

Cater's eyes widened before he snorted, and a small smile blosommed on his lips

"Alright, don't mind me~"

His sing songy delivery came out slightly tense as he hesitated before stepping into your room and making a bee line to your bed

Another awkward, albeit shorter, silence took over the room before you sighed

"Cater, I'm sorry. I wanted to be cute and kiss you on the cheek, I'm sorry if I overstepped something or-"

"Oh, no no no! That's not it at all!"

Cater's cheeks grew redder than you've ever seen them

"You have nothing to apologise for! It's just..."

His eyes went from your face to the floor, then to the lamp on your nightstand

"It took my by surprise, and I was not prepared at all, and I reacted very poorly... It was so much different than what I thought our first kiss to be."

He reached out to his hair and started playing with a strand, something you noticed he did when he needed something to do with his hands

You took a seat next to him on the bed and sighed

"To be honest... I have no idea how I wanted our... first kiss... to be like... Since that was my first and all."

Cater's eyes widened and he snorted

"Yours too?"

Hearing his words, you turned to face him, and saw an expression hard to read

"Wait, what? Really?"

Cater nodded

You snorted, then burst into laugher

He had no idea why, but Cater also joined in with his own confused giggles

"So both our first kisses kinda sucked. Man...!"

Cater lied on your bed, obviously more relaxed than before

"...Well, at least I know I'm not the only victim of the lies about the romcom first kiss."

"You know what they say about misery loving company!"

You lied next to Cater, thinking about how ridiculous everything was

And you were glad to see Cater back to his more relaxed self

"So... No hard feelings, then?"

His question made you giggle

"None. Only if you promise me a proper redo, though."

Cater turned on his side, prompting his head on his arm

"Totally! Not right now, though. My heart had enough of a workout today."

"Same..."

You spent the rest of the day watching cute videos on his Magicam feed

The atmosphere turned back to normal once again, and you almost forgot about the incident

Until a few weeks later, when Cater was finally ready for the proper redo

『••✎••』

You were leaving Sam's and checking items off of a list, making mental notes to yourself

Ingredients for chakli and shankarpali? Check. Enough paper to make origami jasmines until your hands hurt? Check.

The permission slip from Kalim that allowed you and Jamil to stay out of the dorm for the night? Check. The contracts from Azul binding your friends to the responsibility of keeping Kalim in check while you and Jamil are away? Check

Were your preparations a little extreme? Maybe, but you had a very important goal in mind

Several weeks prior, you were bestowed with a very valuable information: Jamil never had his first kiss

Neither did you, but you wanted to do something about it

After a lot of shifts at the Mostro Lounge, you finally were able to put together the perfect date

A picnic under the stars in the garden of Ramshackle dorm, where you could create the perfect opportunity to give your boyfriend the first kiss he deserves!

You skipped on your way to your dorm from excitement and prepared everything for the special night

But whatever deities ruled over Twisted Wonderland decided that it would be funny to cause an unpredictable downpour on the very night you were planning to be out

All Jamil could do to help your disappointed self was to help you gather your things and resume the "picnic" in your dorm room

Despite him trying to comfort you, you still had a hard time recovering, as the night you were so emotionally invested in was ruined

Jamil sighed as it sunk in that the issue was deeper than he thought, and he made you sit down with him

"This wasn't just a normal date, was it? Talk to me, Reader."

You sighed and grabbed Jamil's hand

"I'm just... really disappointed, I guess. I worked really hard to make this date special! And this stupid rain ruined the night. I'm sorry..."

Jamil raised an eyebrow

"Special? Were you preparing something for a special occasion?"

You hated how perceptive he was sometimes

You looked away, and your reaction to his question was all the confirmation Jamil needed

He still waited for you to tell him, regardless of how embarassed you grew with every second of silence

So eventually you caved after what felt like a whole hour of silence

"...You know how you told me you haven't had your... your first kiss?"

Jamil listened to your explanation with a growing blush on his cheeks

"I wanted to make it memorable! I haven't had my first kiss either so I thought it would be great to make it great for the both of us! But then it started raining, and it made the food all soggy, and I just wasted three weeks of my life for a stupid contract with Azul and my friends to make sure Kalim doesn't accidentally start an international conflict while I'm trying to smooch you!"

Your little rant left Jamil speechless

You were expecting some sort of snort or sarcastic remark, but you heard... nothing

So you turned your face to look at Jamil

And he was deep in thought, eyes not even looking at you

His mouth opened and closed a few times

Jamil's face never settled on an expression for too long, his conflicted feelings coming to the surface

The silence was making your nervous, but it was obvious Jamil was weighting his words very carefully

"Reader, I don't need a special setting for you to show you care about me."

"I know you don't need it, but you deserve it! You work so hard all the time and you never get the praise you deserve, I wanted to spoil you as much as I could and give you an unforgettable memory..."

Jamil was rendered completely speechless

And, when your words finally sunk in, his face started burning like a campfire, and he pulled his hood over his head

"You... You are impossible..."

Your hand was still holding his, and you gave it a squeeze in reassurance

The silence that befell on you was just a bit awkward, but you gave Jamil time to recover emotionally

A few minutes passed when he pulled the hood off and asked you to make a pillow fort with him in your room

"I can't let your efforts go to waste, not after... after everything you've said."

Despite your disappointment, you'd never say no to a night with your boyfriend

So you took the chairs, Jamil took the blankets and pillows, and you set up a pretty nice fort

It wasn't the starry sky you imagined yourself sitting under, but maybe Jamil was right

You didn't need anything fancy to have a special moment

And the way he was clinging to you while you were running your fingers through his hair was even more special to you than anything

You chuckled to yourself at the visage of Jamil Viper, the most tense and closed off teen you know, completely making himself comfortable in your embrace as if your body was made to hold him and cherish him

He raised his head, his attention caught by your chuckle

Maybe it was the way Jamil looked more relaxed than usual or the way that he was simply looking at you, expecting nothing but to satiate a small curiosity

But Jamil looked really beautiful to you in that moment

And kissable...

"This is kind of embarassing... I really wanna kiss you right now..."

Jamil smirked at you

"I thought you needed a meteor shower and a full course meal to get a kiss."

"...Never mind, you ruined it."

You were sure he wouldn't let it die until you actually kissed

A problem you could solve really easily

You started plotting another plan; this one was simpler, and it involved just you making him look at you and leaning in a little closer...

『••✎••』

"Did you have any voice acting roles animated movies and stuff?"

Vil contemplated your question for a few seconds while he applied some skin cleanser on his face

"A few, yes. I prefer when people experience my presence fully when I act, but I don't mind bringing a different type of character to life if I like the project."

You were in Vil's room, using your priviledge of being the partner of a Housewarden to spend the night with your boyfriend without the need of a formal pass

As fair as Vil was, he didn't mind your daring actions as they amused him

To pass the time while Vil prepared himself to go to bed, you decided to play 20 questions

"Do you prefer open ended media or do you like to know what comes out of the fate of the characters?"

Vil was good at asking questions, as they really made you fall deep in thought

"Hmm... I think both are pretty great. It depends on the setting the most. An open ending works well with a thriller movie, but I like a proper ending for a romcom."

Your boyfriend hummed at your response

You watched Vil as he reached for his serum, and you caught a glimpse of a smile on his face

"Smart answer. That's the beauty of media, it allows you to tell different kinds of stories in different ways."

Vil opened the serum bottle and let a few droplets fall on his face

"Have you had your first kiss for a role or in real life?"

"Neither."

"Wait. Really?"

Vil snickered at your reaction as he met your eyes through his mirror

"What, is it really that shocking that I haven't had my first kiss yet?"

He was something else: usually people would be embarassed at the prospect of having to admit they haven't had their first kiss at all

"Kind of? I assumed that... well, I know that people who've been acting for as long as you have been exposed to a lot of things before the proper time."

"I can't deny that. I could say that I had a lot of people making sure I never did anything too... extreme."

Vil grabbed his moisturizer, and you had no idea how to feel about losing count of the products he has used so far

While he applied the product, Vil smiled to himself mischievously

"What about you? Have you had your first kiss?"

Your cheeks warmed up in embarassment

"No..."

Your reply was followed by an awkward laugh, and it drew a chuckle out of Vil

For the first time in a while, Vil got up from his chair and sat on his bed next to you, leaning closer

His closeness to you and your confession made your cheeks grow hot

The floral scent of his freshly applied products and the teasing glint in his eyes made you dizzy

"Oh? Is that so?"

Your confusion suddenly vanished as you realised what Vil was about to do

Were you about to kiss?! Right now?!

Vil leaned in very close to your face while you panicked and tried to figure out what to do

He kept a distance of barely two centimeters for a few seconds

Then he kissed your nose, making you confused

"You've been able to go on this long without your first kiss, you'll be fine waiting a little longer..."

You were shocked as Vil backed away with a smile on his face and cheeks dusted pink

It finally dawned on you: he was only teasing you

He only laughed when you gave him a swat to his thigh, wordlessly accepting your offense as warranted

The audacity of this guy...

"You really though I'd allow our first kiss to be anything less than spectacular? My line of work has been advertising a life changing moment, and I feel it's my duty to... live up to the hype."

Your indignation, as lighthearted as it was, refused to allow your pride to be wounded by such teasing

You raised yourself from your spot and, with a courage fueled only by impulsivity, you put your hand at the back of Vil's neck

You pulled Vil close to your face, action that earned you a gasp from your beloved

Almost all courage left you but you still continued with your plan: you waited a few seconds before pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth

"Your... line of work also has teasers and trailers, right? Consider this one of them."

Vil was more than shocked; to your surprise, he seemed awestruck by your actions

A lovely pink took over his face as a proud smile bloomed on his features

"Maybe I will."

『••✎••』

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #cater diamond #cater diamond x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #i wanted to write 2 more characters with this prompt #but this is already long enough that i think my phone is about to burst into tears

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megalony · 4 months

Text

Get My Husband

This is an Eddie Diaz request, I hope you all will like it I'm happy with how it turned out. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated and thank you all for the requests I'm trying to work my way through them.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @topguncultleader @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts

911 Masterlist

Summary: While Eddie is out on shift during a terrible storm, (Y/n) goes into labour and she has to wait, cut off and alone until she can get a signal to call for help.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raising her hand to her lips, (Y/n) bit down on her thumb nail as her arms crossed over her expanded stomach. Her elbows pressed into her waist and she tilted her head up as she took a step closer to the window.

All day, it had looked like the middle of the night. No trace of sunshine, no speck of light casting down the street. Just bleak, varying shades of grey and black with the occasional hint of blue smeared across the dark sky. Cars blurred past, lights on full beam to shine through the blackness, although there weren't many cars out in this weather.

(Y/n) could hear the forecast blaring from the tv and it was telling people to stay inside unless they urgently had to leave the house. People were advised not to drive in this weather, buses were being delayed and stopped. Emergency services were stretching thin from the amount of accidents being called in.

God, (Y/n) was thankful she wasn't at work now.

From the moment the pregnancy test turned up positive, (Y/n) had been put on restricted duties at the station.

They had to assess each call that came in to determine whether she was allowed to go out on the call or not. She was reduced to a spare, helping hand as a medic. She would go in and help if they were out on little calls such as someone having a fall or a seizure or needing a trip to the hospital.

Fires, collapsing buildings and other high level call outs meant (Y/n) hung back at the station and tidied up, cleaned, re-organised and cooked. Once she hit six and a half months, she couldn't leave the station and at seven months, she was off on maternity leave.

(Y/n) didn't want to be stuck at home. She wanted to be out on calls with her team. Her husband and brother were out there each day and she was waiting around at home, desperate for the baby to arrive now so she had someone else to look after and something to focus on. But it meant there was always someone around to watch and look after Chris. He was pleasantly thrilled at having one parent at home at all times.

She was relieved not to be out in this weather though. (Y/n) didn't dare think about how many car crashes, floods, slips, trips and falls the team were going to be called to for the next two days.

"You okay mi amor?"

A smile tugged at (Y/n)'s lips when she felt a set of familiar arms curve around her waist and a tense chest press up against her back. She shivered and squirmed in his grip when Eddie's cold hands slipped beneath her shirt and pressed against her stomach making her jump.

"We're fine,"

Eddie pressed his lips to the side of her head, grinning into her skin while his eyes darted around the living room.

He quite liked how cosy the house felt with the lamps on and the candles (Y/n) had lit earlier. There were over ten candles spread around the living room, dotted in front of the tv, on the coffee table and along the shelves on the wall. If they experienced a power cut today at least they would be alright and not basked in darkness.

"I'm not looking forward to working this afternoon," Eddie mumbled the words against the side of her head while he smoothed his hands along her lower abdomen. His thumb brushed up and down her skin while his fingertips pressed down a little harder into her stomach to feel the sudden onset of kicking against his hand.

"You will be careful, won't you?" (Y/n) leaned her head to the left, nuzzling into his touch while she lowered her arms to clamp her hands down on his wrists.

"Do I look as reckless as your brother?" He tilted his head down a little more to press a sloppy kiss against (Y/n)'s cheek, grinning into her skin when she rolled her eyes.

It wasn't Eddie she had to worry about. Evan was the one who always acted before he could think things through and although he did it with the best intentions, it wasn't always the right thing to do. Evan was a people pleaser and tended to put himself in harms way to help people when he didn't always have to.

Eddie was calm, rational and careful, much like Bobby. (Y/n) had more reason to worry about her brother in this weather than her husband.

"I'm serious. I don't want a call from Bobby saying you've had some kind of accident-"

"Stop worrying, mi amor. I'll be careful, I promise. Twenty four hours and my work will be done for a month, just you, me and the boys." Eddie kept one arm around her waist while he moved his other hand to cup her jaw. His thumb brushed across her chin as he tilted her head up so he could peck her lips.

This was his last shift and he was clearly going to go out with a bang on a tiresome, drastic shift.

After this shift, Eddie would officially be off on leave because (Y/n) had her due date in two weeks. Eddie needed to be off so he could be there when their baby boy was born. He had been with Shannon when she gave birth to Chris and he wasn't about to miss the birth of his second son. They would have a week, maybe two if they were lucky to relax and get things ready, then their boy would be born and they would have two weeks at home together before Eddie would have to start back at work again.

(Y/n) had a desireable urge to add 'and Buck' onto the end of Eddie's sentence just to watch the way he would roll his eyes and grimace. They hadn't voiced it yet, but both of them knew exactly what Evan was going to be like once (Y/n) had the baby.

Her big brother was going to be round their house even more than he already was now. He would be stealing both their boys away from them, waking the baby up just so he could coo and soothe him back to sleep.

Evan was going to be a menace.

And she didn't dare think what Maddie was going to be like. She was also going to be round to try and snatch some babysitting duties. Her and Evan seemed to have been competing this year to see who could take Chris out more and be his favourite.

"Dad! Yucky."

A grin broke out on Chris's face as he raised his hands to cover his eyes while he moved and flopped down on the sofa.

Eddie brushed his thumb across (Y/n)'s jaw when she leaned forward to tuck her face into his neck. He could feel her smiling into his neck as she pressed a tender kiss there. His arm tightened around her waist and he turned to look over his shoulder, arching a brow as he looked over at Chris.

"Bossy," He muttered with a grin but when he twisted his wrist to check his watch, he clicked his tongue and sighed. "I gotta go. Right, if you need me call me."

(Y/n) nodded. She knew the drill. She knew how busy Eddie was going to be today and the chances were he wasn't going to be able to answer his phone to her even if she did call or text him for anything. But he had some leniency. No one was going to judge or tell him off if, when he got a moment to spare, he checked his phone. His wife was eight months pregnant, he needed his phone on him for emergencies.

And Eddie wanted (Y/n) to know she could message or ring him for anything, he didn't want her sitting and panicking or wallowing on her own. She worked at the station too so she knew how to get hold of him during an emergency.

"I love you."

Her lips curved up into a smile and she reached up to cup Eddie's face in her hands, grinning when she tugged him down for another kiss.

His hands squeezed her hips and he smiled into the kiss, nipping at her lower lip before he eventually pulled back. Eddie leaned down so he could kiss the top of her stomach, whispering a quiet 'be good' because he knew their boy had been moving a lot lately.

"Come here bud," Moving towards the sofa, Eddie leaned down and wrapped his arms around Chris. "Love you, be good for your mum. I'll see you both tomorrow night."

One more day. One more shift, then home for a month.

***

Reaching her hand down, (Y/n) slowly dragged her fingers through Chris's hair, de-tangling the few knots he had in his curls. Her lips formed into a soft smile and she leaned her head back on the sofa, pushing back to click her spine into place.

She tried not to move round too much and disturb Chris, he was nicely settled tucked up into her side. He had his head on her upper chest and an arm draped over her stomach. He had been thrilled at the idea of a baby sibling until he realised it meant (Y/n) would have an expanded stomach. He could no longer properly hug the person he had come to call his mum. The baby was now in the way.

Chris had his knees pulled up on the sofa beneath a blanket and he was almost asleep. It was a Friday night so he could stay up late and watch movies with (Y/n). It was a good coincidence that this storm was happening tonight.

He wasn't keen on storms, little noises always kept Chris awake and right now, the wind was howling and clattering against the windows. The rain was pouring down so fast it felt like they were in a boat in the middle of an ocean storm. And thunder clapped through the air every now and then.

When her stomach twinged, (Y/n) shimmied around and scraped her heels against the coffee table she had propped her ankles up on.

A wince pulled at (Y/n)'s face and distorted her lips when the baby moved and sent a pang jolting down her spine. Why did her baby boy have to wake up now when it was time to sleep?

At this rate, once Chris was tucked up in bed, (Y/n) would be laid in the bath for an hour or so. She wasn't getting very comfy at night now, every time she finally felt like she was about to fall asleep, the baby woke up with glee and (Y/n) found herself awake and angry.

Two nights ago she had been awake until four in the morning and Eddie woke up to her sat on the end of the bed, crying that she hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time for three days. Eddie had run the bath and they spent almost two hours laid in the bath because that was the only place their baby boy seemed to settle.

(Y/n) lifted her head up off the sofa, jolting forward when the tv suddenly turned itself off. She thought for a moment that it had just timed itself out and shut down as it had been on for a few hours now. But when she looked to the right and realised the table lamp near the window had also suddenly gone off, her heart sank.

"No… oh no."

The storm had taken out the electrics.

"Baby, I think it's time for bed." She moved her hand down from Chris's arm to brush her fingers up and down his arm to try and wake him up as he was almost falling asleep.

"Can I stay with you?" When he tilted his head up and grinned at her in that tired yet cheeky way, (Y/n) couldn't exactly say no. She didn't sleep well when Eddie worked the nights and Chris didn't like sleeping during storms. Something told (Y/n) she wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight so Chris could stay in her and Eddie's bed if he wanted.

"Sure, baby… go get ready then."

When Chris tiredly shuffled off the sofa and headed down the hall, (Y/n) gripped the edge of the sofa to give herself some momentum to get up. She had gotten far too used to Eddie pulling and giving her pushes to get to her feet.

She could feel an ache burning in her lower back when she tried to straighten up, but it was the twinge in her abdomen that made her groan.

Her hand stayed on her stomach as she rounded the sofa and shuffled towards the hallway.

A gasp burned at the back of (Y/n)'s throat and her hand clutched her abdomen as her body tilted to the left to lean against the wall for support. Her head snapped down to look at her legs and fear bubbled up in the back of her throat and swelled in her lungs.

Her water broke.

She was going into labour. Early. Eddie wasn't home. There was a storm raging outside that had just taken out the power. She was going to have to call the emergency line to get through to her family.

"Mum! Finished."

"O-okay," Rolling her lips together, (Y/n) gritted her teeth and slowly walked down the hall. She would have to put Chris to bed and make sure he was settled before she tried to call anyone.

She followed him when he tiredly wandered out the bathroom and made his way to her and Eddie's room. She couldn't have been more thankful that Chris was tired tonight. On school nights Chris usually wanted a story before he went to bed and if he was very unsettled, he had a minimum of three stories to get him calm and ready to sleep.

Not tonight. He had stayed up late to watch tv and tired himself out, he wouldn't want a story tonight.

"Mum, light's not working." He bashed his hand against the light switch a few times until (Y/n) gently held his hand to make him stop.

"The power's out, baby. Come on, into bed." He wouldn't have noticed in the bathroom, they had an emergency battery light above the mirror.

Chris moved towards the bed while (Y/n) closed the curtains and turned on her reading lamp which was battery operated. When a pain tore through her stomach, she leaned forward and planted her hands down on the mattress, arching her back out to try and relieve the tension.

A little groan slipped past her lips between deep breaths and she switched her weight from foot to foot.

"Shall I l-leave the light on for you?" Her reading lamp gave off a soft orange glow which might comfort Chris because now, (Y/n) couldn't lay in bed and read or watch tv with him while he slept. She was going to have to confine herself to the living room so she didn't scare or unsettle him with her contractions. The light would settle him if the storm became too loud.

He nodded, smiling despite the fact that he couldn't keep his eyes open for long. He snuffled down in the middle of the bed, leaning more on Eddie's pillow because he knew it was a feathered pillow like his.

"I'll be in soon. Goodnight baby, love you."

Reaching across, (Y/n) swiped his glasses from around his neck and put them on the side table before she kissed his temple. She managed a smile when he kissed her cheek and whispered 'love you' before he snuggled down.

Pain radiated throughout her lower back when she shuffled over to the chest of drawers near the window. Her hand curled into a fist around a pair of Eddie's pyjama shorts and she leaned forward like her stomach was weighing her down to the floor as she shuffled out the room.

"Fuck." Tears welled in her eyes and her knees started to wobble as she hobbled across into the bathroom. "Why are you doing this to me now?" She muttered, pain etched into her wobbling voice as she glared daggers into her stomach and shimmied out of her pyjama bottoms and underwear. She kicked them near the bath and tossed her shirt along in the pile before she doubled over.

It took a lot of strain and effort to drag Eddie's shorts up her trembling legs and sit them just beneath her bump. Shorts and a bra was going to have to do for now.

Both her hands moved to her waist and she closed her eyes rubbing in deep, slow motions back and forth over her stomach like Eddie did when he was home. His touch was a natural remedy, he always calmed her down.

When the pain subsided, (Y/n) took it as her chance to move as fast as she could and hobble back down the hall towards the living room. It was a good job she had lit all the candles early in the afternoon or else she wouldn't of had the energy to raid around to find and light them all.

Her phone was exactly where she left it on the arm of the sofa and it made her lips twitch in relief.

"No… no please! Don't do this to me!"

A strangled cry fought against her lips that she snapped closed so Chris wouldn't hear her. Why didn't she have any signal? Not even one bar. How was she supposed to call for help with no signal? She only had twenty percent battery left and there was no power to charge her phone.

Her trembling hands clicked on Eddie's contact and she typed a message. With no signal it wouldn't send, but the moment her signal came back, the message would send through to Eddie. Whether that be in a few minutes or maybe an hour, she still needed him to find out.

My water broke, baby's coming! Now!

With that done, (Y/n) started to pray as she tried the emergency line. Shouldn't it work with no signal? What was the point if in an emergency with no signal, no one could call the emergency line? It didn't work.

Her broken sob squeaked past her lips and (Y/n) slumped her chest forward onto the back of the sofa. Her arms flopped forward, her nails scratching into the cushion as her bum arched out and her knees locked in place.

She was going to have to wait until the storm started to lessen and see if she could find some more signal somewhere else around the house in a little while. She had to be able to call for help somehow.

Chris was in bed, it was past eight o'clock at night and there was no way (Y/n) could drive out in this storm, in this state.

She had to be able to call for help. Somehow. Soon.

***

Agony tore through (Y/n) in waves like the ocean rolling across the sand. Burning her stomach, lighting a fire up her back, tearing each muscle apart as slowly and horrendously as possible.

When another contraction hit, (Y/n) waved a shaking hand out and found the tea towel she had confiscated earlier. She hastily rolled it up and pressed it between her lips, sinking her teeth down so hard her jaw started to tingle and the pain burst up into her ears.

Her hands gripped the arms of the chair she was crouched down in front of. Her knees had gone numb from pushing down into the laminate floor, her lower back felt like it had been broken and disconnected from the rest of her body. And her thighs were burning along with her lower stomach.

Tears drenched her already sodden face that was laced with salt water and sweat and made the loose hairs around her ears stick to her cheeks and forehead. Her body was trembling and going through a cold sweat that contradicted the fever she knew she was burning.

A horrid scream gurgled at the back of her throat and became morphed into the towel stuffed into her mouth to muffle her sounds. She couldn't risk waking Chris up and having him panic about the situation.

Tilting her head down, (Y/n) meshed her forehead into the seat cushion and smothered herself until spots danced behind her eyelids and her head started to fill with air. She could feel her hands losing their grip on the arm rests and she waved forward and let her body flop against the lower part of the chair, sending a different kind of pain pulsing into her stomach.

She wanted Eddie. Where was he?

Why couldn't she get any signal? Why wasn't this storm relenting?

Couldn't their baby have held off for twenty four hours? One measly, little day would have made all the difference. Eddie would have been home with her if this happened at the same time tomorrow night. He would have been by her side, there would have been no raging storm outside and no risk of (Y/n) giving birth alone and Eddie being stuck out on a call somewhere else. One day wasn't too much to ask.

When the contraction subsided, (Y/n) lifted her head and slumped her cheek against her arm.

Deep, wheezing breaths spat through against the towel and her eyes shifted from left to right to try and focus on anything to distract herself. The storm outside was providing a good background noise which partially worked to distract her each time a contraction wore off.

And the candles gave a lovely, calming atmosphere. But it all served to remind (Y/n) that she was isolated, home alone, with no way of reaching out for help.

"Oh, Eddie…" A quiet sob spat past her lips when she dropped the tea towel down on the chair and let go with one hand to reach for her phone. "Ahh!"

(Y/n) choked on her breath and lifted her head up from her arm when she looked at her screen. Even though she was now down to fourteen percent from the amount of times she had been checking her phone over the last few hours, a spark of light lit up the screen.

One bar.

She had one measly, little bar of service in the right hand corner of her screen. Surely that would be enough to get a call through to 911? That had to be enough. (Y/n) wasn't going to get any more than this tonight, she could tell. And if she didn't try now and this signal went, she would be giving birth at home. Alone. She didn't want that.

Her finger punched in the three digits and when she held the phone to her ear, (Y/n) smothered her face down and cried out in relief when it began to ring.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Oh, Maddie! Help!" Tears stained down (Y/n)'s face and a broken sound left her wet, froffing lips when she heard her sister's voice on the other end of the line.

She had gotten through to her big sister. Her eldest sibling. Maddie would be able to help her. And even if the line cut out in a second or a minute, she knew (Y/n)'s address and would be able to get help down to (Y/n). She also knew Eddie was at work and would be able to send a message to him.

"(Y/n)? Where are you, what's happening?"

"Ooh,"

Not again. Not again. She was splitting at the seams, surely her muscles couldn't stretch any further?

Tilting her head to the left, (Y/n) clenched her hand down tighter on the chair and before she could stop herself, she pressed her mouth against her upper arm. Her teeth sank down into the soft flesh of her bicep and she screamed into her skin, focusing on the feeling of her teeth tearing through the first few layers of skin to distract herself from the agony in her abdomen.

Blood welled around her teeth and trickled onto her tongue but she didn't care. She had to stop herself from screaming loud enough to scare or wake Chris. She had to look after her boy and put him first.

"(Y/n), talk to me. Have you had a fall?"

"Oh, the baby- I'm in labour!" Her voice broke as blood and spit dribbled from her lips.

Her head tilted back to look up at the ceiling as she sniffed. Eddie wasn't going to be pleased when he saw her arm. She'd bitten deep enough to bruise the skin and split it apart and something told (Y/n) the wound would get a lot worse if her husband didn't get home soon.

"Please tell me you're at home?"

"Four hours! I- I've been like this for f-four hours. No signal, n-no power- oow- Get my fucking husband!"

"Don't worry sweetie, I'm going to re-route the one-eighteen to you right now and I'll let them know what's going on. Meanwhile, you stay on the line with me and I'll walk you through this. Everything's under control, I've got you now."

Maddie clicked her sister's call onto mute just as her sister's horrid yet somewhat muffled scream tore through her ears. With two clicks, she joined onto the radio feed for the one-eighteen. They were on their way to a car crash but Maddie could redirect them to (Y/n) and get the two-twenty five team to take over the crash. It was only a three car pile up at a junction and no one was in drastic danger.

(Y/n) was a high priority. She was one of the team, one of their own and she was in labour. This was her first baby and she was home alone, she needed someone to be there with her and she needed Eddie by her side.

"Dispatch to one-eighteen?"

"This is Captain Nash, go ahead."

"I'm re-routing you to a high priority call in Park's Close. (Y/n)'s on the line, she's gone into labour."

Eddie's head jerked up from where he had been slumped against the window and a rush of adrenaline fluttered through his stomach. He couldn't be hearing this right. He had left home what, seven hours ago? Seven hours ago (Y/n) had been perfectly fine with him. No twinges, no extra or unusual pains or discomfort and no sign of contractions.

How could she be in labour now?

Why was she in labour now? Why did it have to be now when they were in the middle of a storm and Eddie was on his last shift?

Reaching his hand out, Eddie braced his left hand against the window to try and steady himself and stop the sudden dizziness from taking over. He could feel his breaths wheezing past his lips and tingling sensations sparked in his stomach when his blood started to rush up his neck towards his head. His other hand moved to grip the radio attached to his left shoulder and he tilted his head down.

"Is she okay?!"

"Very distressed, she thinks she's nearly fully dilated."

"Go, go!" Reaching his hand up, Eddie slammed his fist against the roof and pushed back briskly in his seat. His fingers moved to curl in his hair and he closed his eyes, holding his breath for as long as he could to try and regulate his system.

He was supposed to be there when (Y/n) went into labour, from start to finish Eddie was supposed to be at her side. And now he had missed half of her labour by being on shift. He'd left his wife home alone during a storm. They needed to hurry before she gave birth on her own and he missed it.

He could see Evan trying his best not to jump and fidget in his seat and the worried smile on his face gave away everything. He was excited. Evan thought he would be either on shift or at home when Eddie called him to say (Y/n) was going into labour and had had the baby. He didn't think he would get to be there when his little sister had her first baby.

Eddie had never been more relieved that Bobby was the one driving the truck tonight. The captain was by far the best driver during an emergency and bad weather like this and he had gone as fast as safely possible to get to Eddie's address.

The truck didn't come to a stop before Eddie flung off his belt and headset and was jumping down into the street that looked more like a river in these weather conditions.

Water rose up to his ankles around his thick boots and rain pelted down and dampened his hair which stuck to his forehead.

He didn't bother trying to grab a medic bag from the truck, the rest of the team would do that. Eddie bolted up the path to the front door and tore off his gloves so he could trace his hand above the ledge for the spare key. His keys were in his bag back at the station in his locker and he doubted (Y/n) was going to be in any fit state to come unlock the door for them.

"Baby? Baby we're here!" Eddie shrugged off his florescent jacket and dumped it on the floor before he bolted down the hall. He was relieved (Y/n) had lit all those candles earlier. With the power out, the house would have been daunting in the dark and he would of had to rummage through the drawers for lights and torches.

"Eddie!" (Y/n) sobbed his name and let her head slump back onto her left arm, allowing the relief she felt to cloud her head that was about to explode.

Tears blurred her vision and obscured her view of her husband bolting across the floor towards her. Her body shuddered when his knees thumped against the floor as he collapsed down beside her.

In an instant, Eddie's hands cupped her face and he tilted her head back, brushing his thumbs beneath her eyes to clear away her tears. He leaned forward and pressed his lips bruisingly to her temple, reeling her close so he could move his hand to cup the back of her neck and coil her into his chest.

"Oh baby… God, I made it!" He felt her hands scratch at his upper back and her trembling seemed to vibrate through him and make him shake along with her. But it was her sobbing in his neck that made tears well up in his eyes. "It's okay mi amor, you're not alone now. I'm here."

(Y/n) couldn't help the way she cried. She couldn't help sobbing and gasping into Eddie's neck when she finally felt his arms around her. Her phone had lost battery a few minutes ago and cut off her call with her sister. She had been disconnected and isolated again until Eddie burst through the door.

"Cavalry's here sis! How you doing?" Evan came from down the hall with a bundle of towels and flannels in his hands. He knew his way around their house blindfolded from the amount of times he had stayed over and Hen had instructed him to go and get towels ready. He placed them on the chair and crouched down behind (Y/n) as Hen and Bobby hurried over with medic bags on their shoulders.

Evan reached out to rest his hand on (Y/n)'s lower back when she suddenly doubled over. Her head moved down to bury into Eddie's chest and she hunkered down with her stomach tensed and merging into her thighs as she screamed.

"Can someone check on Chris?"

"I'm on it." Chimney jogged down the hall to go and stay with Chris, it was likely that he was awake now and they couldn't have him wandering into the living room and seeing everything.

"Okay (Y/n), how do you want to do this? Shall we sit you down on the floor?"

Pursing her lips, (Y/n) nodded at Hen's question and kept her eyes closed. She wanted to stay hunched over like this but she knew it was going to be easier for them all if she sat down rather than crouched like this. She let Evan hover behind her and Eddie moved her arms to loop them around his neck before he grabbed her hips and started to stand up, pulling her along with him.

Eddie shuffled a few feet from the armchair but when he was about to turn (Y/n) around in his arms, he stopped short. His hand moved from her hip and suddenly grabbed her elbow so he could tug her arm closer to his face.

"Baby what have you done?"

His fingers pinched into her skin and his jaw locked so tightly his teeth felt like they were going to shatter. He inspected her upper arm with anger radiating through him and pain pulsing through his veins. He should have stayed home. He should have been here with her to sort things out and look after her. She might not have taken a chunk out of her arm if he'd of been home.

There was a horrid, deep bite mark into her bicep that was swelling up and had been deep enough to draw blood that was smeared across her arm.

With a growl and a shake of his head, Eddie dropped her arm and went back to holding her hips so he could turn her around and mould his chest into her back. (Y/n) reached out and grabbed her brother's arms to steady herself and when she dared to open her eyes, she found Evan smiling down at her comfortingly as they both helped lower her down to the floor.

She slumped back into Eddie's chest and tipped her head back onto his shoulder while his arms cocooned around her waist. His chin perched on her shoulder and made a shudder run through her skin.

"Let's have a look," Hen grabbed one of the towels and placed it over (Y/n)'s knees that she brought up as close as she could to her stomach.

"Not you!" (Y/n) snapped as she lashed her hand out against Evan's shoulder. Her fingers curled into his shirt and she dragged him until he got the hint and moved to kneel beside her and Eddie rather than next to Hen between her legs. (Y/n) was not having her brother watch her give birth from that angle and she wasn't having him intervine and deliver the baby either. As good as her brother was at delivering children, he was not delivering this one.

"You're crowning already, keep pushing. You've been doing just fine without us."

When a crack of thunder tore through the sky, (Y/n) jumped back into Eddie's chest which seemed to absorb her shock. His arms tightened around her waist and he kissed the side of her head, letting her nails pierce into his wrist while she took Evan's hand in her other one.

"I can't." (Y/n) snapped her eyes closed and tucked her face into Eddie's neck, letting him curl around her like a blanket and smile against her temple.

"You're so close now, mi amor. You've done the worst part, come on, he really wants to meet us, hm?"

Eddie's name tore from her lips, along with a broken scream as she pushed forward and felt Eddie shuffle up behind her to keep her sitting upright and prop her up. He peppered his lips along her neck and over her cheek while he looked over her shoulder, grinning through tears when Hen grabbed a towel for the baby.

"Head's out, one more push."

(Y/n) could see stars twinkling in front of her eyes and all the blood seemed to pool around her head until she was blacking out. Her pupils became unfocused and her head dropped forward as tremors rattled through her body.

"Good girl, you've done it. Come here," Eddie cupped his hand beneath her chin and gently lifted her head and let it fall into the crook of his neck. He pressed his lips against her temple and brushed his thumb up and down her cheek when he felt all the tension leave her body. She slumped down into his chest and the only movement was her trembling frame jerking back and forth in his arms.

Evan kept tight hold of her hand and rubbed his free hand up and down her arm to try and stimulate her and bring her back around.

(Y/n) tried to quirk her lips into a smile when the spots began to fade and she could see everything coming back to her.

She uncurled her trembling hand from her brother's tight grip and flopped both arms out when Hen carefully eased her baby boy onto her chest. She could barely hear his cries from the static pulsing through her ears but she could feel his hands batting down on her chest and his cries vibrating through her chest.

A breathless, wet laugh left her lips as Eddie reached his hand around to brush his fingers over the back of their boy's head.

"He's finally here,"

#eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #imagine #911 imagine #pregnant! reader #pregnancy #eddie diaz

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sleepyangelkami · 6 months

Text

FADE INTO YOU j.todd

☆ WORD COUNT - 1.1K

JASON TODD X FEM!READER

☆ SUMMARY - slow dancing in the kitchen with domestic bf!jason

☆ WARNINGS - tooth rotting fluff, petnames, intended lower case, nothing I write is ever proofread 🩷

jason's days off were rare, but when they actually happened, they were the best. even hero's like him had to take a couple rest days. today was one of those days.

the living room was dull aside from the little lamp to your right, next to the couch you were laid across, head on your boyfriend's chest as he read the words scrawled across the page slowly. his voice was soothing, so much so that you actually found your eyes falling shut, head gone limp against him.

jason would swear on the bible that he was a grinch, that he hated christmas more than anything. but only you would know how big of a lie that was. frost covered the windows, completely blocking your outside view although the curtains did a good enough job anyway. your christmas tree was sat in the corner of your living room, tacky an decorated in different coloured baubles along with the tacky red and silver tinsel and the blue and gold lights that were never turned off.

it was nights like this, you snuggled up in your christmas pijama's, as he was, matching of course, with christmas decorations sprawled across the entire room that he realised just how much he loved it. though, he was sure that there was one thing he'd always hate about this time of year. the goddamn cold.

when he realised you had fallen asleep on him, he placed the book on the side table, standing up and drawing the reindeer blanket over your shoulders to keep you warm.

his feet moved towards the kitchen where there was little to no light. it was attached to the living room, so the only beacon of light was the tree and the lamp.

his eyes glanced towards the clock that wrote half seven. on his days off, you spent every minute together. today, you had both travelled up the country for a little christmas shopping before stopping home to see the christmas lights. you were going to go for dinner too but you both decided you were too cold and you wished to be home as soon as possible.

the fire lit, heating up the entire house. he realised how long it had been since you'd eaten. he himself wasn't too hungry but he knew how you'd be, sleepy or not.

when you did wake, it was to the smell of food and the sound of low music. the music had been on before you'd fallen asleep, low and muffled but even so, you could hear it. you found yourself smiling into the armchair of the couch, eyes strained on your boyfriend's back as he cooked whatever it was he was making.

he was in a red fluffy pijama bottoms with pictures of little christmas trees, presents and ginger bread cookies along with a plain black t-shirt. you wore the same bottoms only with a black crop top, clinging to your skin comfortably. when you first mentioned matching pijama's, he quite literally laughed in your face.

now look.

as good as the food smelled, you were really more bothered on who was standing in front of the frying pan.

jason had sensed you waking up minutes ago so the feeling of arms wrapping around his wide torso didn't frighten him. "hi, sleepy." he grinned, looking down at the food he was stirring.

"hi, jay." your head buried into his back. "what're you doing?" you mumbled sleepily.

"makin' you some dinner, baby." your stomach felt empty, hungry but you'd seemingly always forget around him. perhaps it was because he made you feel so... full. "wanna sit by the couch 'n watch a movie while i make it?"

despite the fact he couldn't see your face, you shook your head. "jus' wanna be with you." when you got sleepy like this, he was all you wanted. not food, not a movie, not even your family, you just wanted him, your jay.

he hummed with a smile as he turned around, grasping you in his arms. you let him move so that your head was in his chest, not his back. he allowed the food to cook. he held you like that, moving one hand to turn up the music slightly. it was a slow, pretty song that reminded you a lot of him. it was funny because it reminded him of you too, you were both just too shy to say it. "feelin' okay, princess?" you nodded your head dumbly. "day wore you out?" he could read you like a book. if that was true, you were his favourite storytale.

you hummed this time, allowing him to slightly sway your bodies to the song. he did it slowly, so slow it took you a second to register. "what are you doin'?" you mumbled, lips turning up at the corners.

"me?" he feigned shock. "I'm not doing anything, angel." though as he spoke, he led you away from the oven and stopped between it and the counter. you stood in the middle of the kitchen with him.

with one hand on your waist, he used his other to pick up one of your own, your left one to be exact. you'd danced with him many times at one of the wanye gala's. but this. this was different.

this time, the song was one of your own, one that made you smile and think of him, your jason. this time, there wasn't hundreds of eyes on you, whispers through the crowd about jason todd, bruce wayne's son and his 'date' were you his girlfriend? or just an escourt? how long had you known one another? who were you?

none of that mattered now.

you could breathe in and breathe out. all you could smell was jason's cologne and the cooking off in a distance. the sound of the music was relaxing, slow but your feet moved with jason's. this was slower than you'd ever danced with him before, including the slow dances at the gala.

with your head on his chest, eyes closed shut, you could hear the low humming of jason with the music. the small whisper of his voice as the words of the song began. it was quiet, but enough for you to hear.

as the music slowed to a stop, you moved away slightly, glancing up at the man you called your lover and loved him you did. he smiled down at you, his entire world.

his hand moved to cup your face, other one brushing his fingers against your own, dancing upon your skin as he kissed you slowly. in that moment, you felt your knee's actually go weak. you kissed back, of course, lips slowly moving against his own.

he pulled back, lips in a tight grin. "you up for some dinner?" he mumbled, quietly.

you nodded your head, completely overcome with him. "can we watch the muppets christmas carol while we have it?" you loved that movie, as did he.

he chuckled quietly, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips. "of course, princess, go set up the tv." and that was exactly what you did.

main masterlist/jason's masterlist

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theaceace · 5 months

Text

Hob is woken, not by the shrill cacophony of his alarm or the sunlight hitting his face where they'd forgotten to pull the curtains last night, or even the warmth of Morpheus' hands and mouth, but by the sudden dip in the mattress as another person flops onto the bed with them.

Several lifetimes' worth of instincts see him jolting awake in an instant, heart racing and sweat already beading on his back and brow. Hob may not be able to die, but he's been ambushed in his sleep more than enough times to be getting on with, ta very much, and he's not keen to do it again. Suddenly he's twenty-five, and exhausted after days of marching on Troyes, feet sore and heart sorer, waiting on a battle that never came. He's twenty-eight, and the knife that flashes in the darkness misses his throat only because Herry has ears like a bat and enough blind-foolish loyalty to leap on their attacker's back. He's seventy-three, and lying barely-conscious among the dead that need burying or burning, and he knows that he needs to rouse himself even with the arrow still in his chest, or he'll be burnt or buried with them. He's two-hundred and sixty-four, and they've come to the home he'd made for his family, to drag him from the bed he had shared with his wife some thirty years before, and haul him away as a witch.

He's gripped now by the same fear, and it has him up and moving, one hand fumbling at the bedside table for anything with enough heft to dent a skull before he realises that none of his attackers have ever smelt like peaches.

Beside him, Morpheus shifts just enough to free his face from the clutches of his pillow.

“That key was given to you for use in emergencies, my sibling,” he says, voice thick with sleep and the cotton pillowcase.

Desire stretches luxuriously between them and smiles, fox-sharp, at Morpheus. They roll their head to look at him – beneath the perfume and sweat and wet pavement smell of them, Hob catches a sour waft of alcohol.

“Oh but my dear brother, this is an emergency,” they say, and – look, Hob has been drunk enough to recognise the exquisitely deliberate care at the edges of their words. He huffs a little, pushes himself up so that he can slap a hand on the bedside lamp and blink furiously against the sudden light. It takes a few seconds for his vision to clear, and he rubs his hands over his face in a vain effort to convince himself that this is some new nightmare that Daniel is testing out, before he gives in to the inevitable and turns to examine their guest.

"And what could possibly be so pressing at –" Morpheus snatches Desire's wrist up to stare blearily at their watch "– two thirty-seven in the morning? That could not be expressed in a phone call or wait until a reasonable hour?"

"Do you know, brother mine, how many partners I found to dance with? Whose desire for me, once so integral as to be a given, I had to simply guess at? To read in the curve of a smile or the enticing lull of a question? I didn't know them, not a one, and can you guess, sweet Dream, how many of them took me to their beds?"

And Hob has heard quite enough of that. He stretches and tosses back the sheets, while Morpheus shoots him a filthy glower that softens immediately into a plea for respite with his sole visible eye. Desire either doesn't notice this silent communication, or doesn't care.

“None!” They crow gleefully, clasping their hands, and Morpheus scowls as he's jostled in place.

It's not that Hob wants to leave him to fend for himself against his sibling, only that he doesn’t fancy being in the firing line when Morpheus inevitably snaps and thumps Desire with a pillow.

Doing an admirable job of ignoring Morpheus' wounded expression, Hob groans and lurches himself in the vague direction of the kitchen. Might as well put the kettle on for this.

"Jasmine or apple tea, love?" He calls. No sense having any caffeine now. If they're lucky, Desire will wear themself out quickly and they'll be able to go back to sleep before the alarm goes off.

"Apple, if you would," Morpheus replies.

"Ooh, I'll have jasmine if you're making."

"Didn't ask you!" Hob shouts back, already adding a spoon of sugar to the third mug he'd fetched down for them.

“Oh, so forceful! You know, if you ever get tired of my stick-in-the-mud brother here…” Desire trails off meaningfully, and Hob snorts, smiling a little to himself. They know full well it's not going to happen, however much or little they remember about his desires, and even if he were – impossibly – to change his mind about Morpheus, they'd get bored of him soon enough.

He sets all three mugs on a tray, and grabs a pack of chocolate digestives while he's at it. Morpheus would never admit to being fond of them, but he doesn't need to. Hob's watched him absent-mindedly devour most of a packet while he pecks one-handed at the keyboard. Besides, Desire could probably do with something to line their stomach.

“Is being human always this delightfully contradictory? So baffling and solid and… damp?” Desire asks, lifting their head just enough to peer at Hob as he re-enters the room. It's a moot question, of course. They've been human long enough now to know that the answer is, largely, yes.

“Often. But do you know, my sibling, the very best part of being human?” Desire turns lazily to look at Morpheus, smiling wide. Their lipstick today is dark purple, and smudged at the corners of their mouth.

“Mm, do tell. You know how much I crave your… wisdom,” they say, rolling the words indulgently over their tongue. Hob sighs and nudges Morpheus’ book to one side so he can set the tray down on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“It is that it is no longer against the Old Laws for me to do this,” Morpheus says, planting one foot against their side and shoving hard enough that they topple off the bed with an outraged squawk and undignified thump. There's a blessed moment of stillness, the same kind of breathless anticipation that Hob remembers from the battlefield, before the charge and the mud and the pain. Then they pop back up over the side of the bed with a cry and launch themself at Morpheus. He'd be more worried if he couldn’t hear the laughter in their voice, nor see how their outstretched hands target Morpheus’ ribs and armpits, rather than his eyes.

Hob's sisters have been dead for centuries now, but he remembers this well enough. Maybe if the Endless had ever been anything like children, they might have gotten all of the murderous posturing out of the way before they grew up enough for it to be a problem, he muses. Still. Better late than never.

He takes a sip of his own tea and grabs a biscuit. Lord knows he won't get a look in once Morpheus has finished trying to jam his elbow into Desire's stomach and realises they're there.

“It was never against the Old Laws for you to be a bastard, which is lucky because you always were one!” Desire gasps, writhing away from Morpheus’ pointy limbs. Hob's been at the receiving end of those elbows before, and even when Morpheus is being gentle, they're decently sharp. He wonders idly if either of them'll tire of this before their tea goes cold, and decides not to intervene either way. Serve them both right if they have to drink cold tea.

“You tried to kill me!”

“Don't tell me you're still hung up on that?”

“I am, because you tried to kill me!”

“Well it's not like it worked!”

Not really the point, Hob reckons, but then again he's had plenty of mates that have tried to kill him.

“More by good fortune than good judgment,” Morpheus hisses.

“Oh, so you admit to your poor judgment?”

Hob snorts, and the wounded look Morpheus swings towards him would fell a lesser man. Hob takes another biscuit.

“Ha!” Desire takes advantage of his momentary distraction to lock their arms around his shoulders and blow a loud raspberry against his cheek. Hob doesn’t think he's entirely successful in hiding his smile. Morpheus doesn't even try to hide his look of disgust.

Well, he had to learn the downsides of being an older brother at some point, Hob supposes.

Judging that the worst of the scrapping is over, he perches on the edge of the bed and pats Morpheus’ flank idly. Desire, loose-limbed with alcohol and triumph, flops over him to reach for their tea. Morpheus magnanimously doesn't jab his fingers into their exposed side.

“Thank you, Robert darling,” Desire says, eyes half-lidded as they drink. It comes out far less coquettish than Hob imagines they intended; too genuinely content. Morpheus sighs, and frowns, and doesn't quite do a good enough job of hiding his own ease as he sits up and leans against Hob.

“I suppose you intend to stay the night?” Morpheus asks. There's nothing of the dignified dreamlord about him now, with his hair flattened on one side and just a little lank, and pillow creases on his cheek. He peers at Desire, half of his weight still supported by Hob, who takes another slurp of tea and polishes off the last of his biscuit. It's still unbelievable, sometimes, that he may see his dour and distant old stranger like this. Something tangible, something grounded, something he can hold. Unbelievable, too, after the way they had almost parted, after the way Morpheus had almost –

Well. Doesn't bear thinking about, really.

“Mm, yes, if you'll have me.” Do they have to work to make everything they say sound like a double entendre, Hob wonders, or does it come naturally? He's not entirely sure they even notice they're doing it.

“You're always welcome,” Hob says. “Guest room's all made up, and there's a spare toothbrush under the sink you can have.”

“How very kind. Dream, dear, isn't your man kind?”

“Unreasonably so.”

“Ta, love,” Hob says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Desire rolls their eyes theatrically, as though that might mask how their expression softens. “Now drink your tea, I'd like to get a few more hours’ sleep before I need to get up.”

Morpheus grumbles but straightens up, plucking his mug from the nightstand and cradling it in one hand while he reaches for a biscuit with the other.

“Should we expect any of our other siblings to join us tonight?” He asks, managing somehow not to spray crumbs everywhere as he does so, which is a bit unfair. Hob has centuries more experience talking through mouthfuls of crumbly biscuits, and he still can't do as good a job of it. “I take it you did not venture out alone this night.”

“No I didn't, but don't worry,” Desire says, tilting their head back as they drain their mug, a neat ring of purple left behind on the ceramic. “My sweet twin is unlikely to make an appearance. I certainly hope, at least – she went home with that little exorcist friend of yours. If she comes here, then something’s gone dreadfully wrong.”

They grin, cat with the cream pleased at the expression on Morpheus’ face, and flick their hand in something like a wave. “Well, goodnight brother! Robert.”

They flounce away towards the spare room, and Hob presses his smile into the curve of Morpheus’ shoulder.

“I hate them,” Morpheus grumbles. Hob kisses the bony jut of skin where his t-shirt has slipped, once, twice.

“No you don't,” he says. Morpheus sighs, sets his mug down, and returns to hold Hob's face still for a proper kiss. Not that Hob would try to get out of it.

“No,” he agrees softly, pulling Hob down with him for a cuddle onto pillows that still smell a little of peaches. “No. I do not.”

#dreamling #dream of the endless #desire of the endless #hob gadling #This was originally going to be part of 'Em's retirement home for wayward Endless'#in which Dream retired and all of the other Endless followed (except destruction who didn't want someone else saddled with the job)#A sort of 5+1 thing with each of the ex-endless siblings interacting with dream and hob #and 1 of the current endless #But unfortunately my brain isn't up to that so you guys get this instead #Anyway I think a lot of problems would have been solved if Dream and Desire had gone through developmental stages like regular siblings #Here we see the 'toddler' phase. Hob is lucky they're not biting each other #Not exactly a writing tag

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rolling-storm-writing · 1 year

Text

-Ghost/top!M reader: “I’m right here, baby”

Reader was put into a nasty coma and ghost hasn’t been the same. Still desperately trying to make you happy even through this long slumber.

A/N: im not one to write sad or dark things and this one really is not to heavy but still beware just in case. I hope y’all enjoy!

edit: this fic includes suicidal elements so please read with caution

“To grieve deeply is to have loved fully.”

But you weren’t even gone your lungs still filled with air, eyes watching through closed lids, and ears perking when you heard his choked sobs.

“Babe, Baby, (y/n).” The sound of his voice drowned out by the hammering of gun fire and ringing in the air. Sulfur and smoldering flesh danced along the ground, covering the both of you in its dark loving embrace.

You couldn’t move only watch through blurred eyes the frantic ones staring right back at you. Simon had cold eyes, deadly sharp shark eyes. Eyes that loved you and softened so sweetly when you were in his focus. “I’m right here, baby,” Simon murmured the rain of his tears dotting your face as you were carried up to the light. Safe and secured in these trembling arms of your Angel.

“He’s been like that since we got here…” Price whispered to Gaz as the rest of the team watched their crumbling comrade. The surgery was over but the doors remained shut and the curtain drawn shut, The Ghost never prayed to God for his mercy but today he did. Not as a monster of the 141 but as Simon Riley, still stained in his blood dried gear curled up on the floor just outside your door. His trembling hand pressed against the wall almost trying to push through the concrete to reach you.

The next morning nothing had changed, you wouldn't open your eyes and Simon tried to keep hope. And as days turned to weeks he continued to stay, living off the cold hospital food and you, your liquids.

Your muscles started to fade and your face sunk in a little bit almost like how you looked before meeting the 141. A scrawny guy would never had the pleasure of eating los vaqueros cooking, raiding Alex’s snack stash, or wolfing down a plate of ribs with ghost for a free meal.

“You look beautiful” he whispered pressing a kiss to your forehead brining the blanket up a bit higher. A heavy thing Farah had made and sent over to make sure you didn’t “freeze to death”.

Weeks passed and the ghost was starting to grow weary of this room you were trapped in. Books stacked high and puzzles glued and hung up for decoration of the room. Plants grew with flowers blooming just for you, a heating lamp to mimic the sun on your greying skin.

His lips pressing soft kisses to your own and everywhere you always liked him to.

Sometimes pacing, screaming at you when he halted his steps or begging you to just wake up when the days got particularly hard. The rage whispering, and sweltering river of tears of his begging apologies. Curled up to you wrapping your arms around him as if you’re still truly awake to soothe him.

Seven months, long and and quiet without your laughter to bring his own. Simon had grown smaller lost weight and shoulders no longer strong enough to carry the world. You had grown thinner almost sinking into the bed and lost in the sheets until the nurses would roll you over, keeping the bed sores away so the long stillness wasn’t to obvious.

Even then the sores still bloomed and Simon ran another bursting dam of tears into the already overflowing river.

A year passed and when the January dreariness started he brought you crisp mangos that Rudy had grown. Doting the slices with sweet chili lime and holding the mixture to your nose, letting the juices run down to your cracked dry lips.

“It’s spi-“

It was a deafening sound like a bursting bubble or shattering glass. Your weary eyes a shocked glaze as they stared at the widened ones of your lover. The smell of gun powder filled your nose with familiar smell of iron. The warm trickle and crimson droplets ran down your pretty face, mouth open and agape in a permanent disbelief.

Simons trembling hands steadying as he crawled into bed next to you, the barrel soft under his chin and burning with the heat of it previous discharge. The fire of it leaving a crisp edge at the new hole in his face, a perfect pair with yours…

——————————————————————-

A/N: i don’t even know why I wrote this tbh- imma go write that Price one to make myself feel better

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impala-dreamer · 7 months

Text

Every Inch Of You

A Supernatural Story

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

1537 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Romance and Fluff and Fucking

A/N: I can't even give this a summary. It's just romantic and lovely.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

It started with a kiss.

Wet and warm, Dean slid his lips against yours so softly that it stole your breath and left you needing more. You wanted him in the worst way, needed him to ram you into the wall and knock away the day, erase the frustrations, ease the pain.

When he pulled back, he looked down with a smile; green eyes bright and focused on your face. The beauty of Dean Winchester in the soft glow of the Library lights was something you’d never get used to, and here it was again, slapping you in the face. Each freckle stood out begging to be kissed, every eyelash fanned out like they were made of thick silk, screaming for your fingertips.

He laughed softly at your look of shock. “What’s wrong?”

You hummed up at him, a little dizzy and unsure as lust clouded your brain. “Hmm?”

“You almost look sick. Usually I don’t cause that kinda reaction with a kiss.”

His grin was impossibly cute, horribly innocent, and you reached for him, cupping your hand around the nape of his neck and tugging him back down.

You licked at his lips and your shock transferred over to him. His brows raised, his breath hitched. His eyes fluttered closed and he pushed himself into you, wrapping his arms around your back. You moaned into his mouth, licking in deep and Dean bucked his hips unconsciously, his entire being reaching out for you.

Stepping back, you drug him along, curling your fingers through the short hairs at the back of his head until the table hit your ass. You bit down on his plump bottom lip and Dean’s hands slid beneath your arms, lifting you up to perch on the edge of the table.

The glow from the lamps danced across his face, shadows and light moving to darken his gaze and drive you crazy. He bent to nip at your pulse, hands trailing down your spine. You hooked your fingers into his jeans and tugged, pulling him between your thighs where he belonged. The heat was growing between you; the damp, throbbing desire calling to you.

“Dean…”

The tip of his tongue traced the shell of your ear. “Yeah, baby?”

Your nails dug into his hips, scraping, begging. Your teeth plunged deep into your lip, your pulse raced beneath his lips.

“Take me to bed?”

An earthy growl rumbled up from his gut and he exhaled hard against your cheek. “Abso-fucking-lutely”

The trip down the hallway was difficult.

Dean carried you up the steps, refusing to let you go until you kissed him so hard that he had no choice but to brace you against the tiled wall and drop your feet.

He lost his flannel there, tugged roughly from his broad shoulders and left carelessly behind.

Around the first turn, he grabbed your hand and spun you to him, licking at your lips and grinding his knee between your thighs. His big hands splayed across your lower back and between your shoulder blades, giving you no room for escape.

Your tshirt was cast aside, abandoned in a dusty corner and forgotten about.

The trek seemed endless. Around mile thirty-seven, you gasped as Dean attacked, coming up behind you and sinking his teeth into the crook of your neck. He sucked a tiny mark as his hands groped and pinched at your tits, adding gasoline to your pyre.

“My place or yours?” he asked, breath like fire on your skin.

Spinning, you took a little payback, reaching up beneath his dark gray tee to tweak his nipples. His jaw dropped and his eyes rolled; his hips jerked forward and your back hit the door on the left. Your door.

“This works,” you laughed, kicking a foot back to open the door.

Antique hinges creaked and heavy boots thudded to the floor.

“God, I wanna fuck you so bad,” he breathed, staring hard as you slipped the denim from your hips.

Teasing, you batted your eyes and ran your fingers through the tiny elastic hem of your panties. “Yeah?”

Hypnotized, he struggled to open his belt. “Yeah… Goddamn, baby- so fucking hot…”

Helping out, you danced up next to him and whipped the leather from its buckle, popped the brass button, and tucked your hand inside, palming his erection.

“Oh, you do wanna fuck me, don’t you?”

He hissed and nodded, lost in the motion of your hand as it slid up and down his shaft.

“How bad do you want me?”

Like a switch had been flipped, Dean’s eyes snapped open and his jaw set tight. He looked down and grabbed at your waist, yanking you to him as he took a step towards the bed.

“Bad.” His teeth grit, his eyes narrowed.

Your heart skipped. “Really bad?”

His fingers tightened on your flesh, near to bruising as he growled, “More than anything.”

Dean pushed you down and you were weightless for a moment, airborne as you flopped down onto the mattress. He was right there with you, covering you with his full weight as he pounced down and nipped at your lips. He was hungry, hot, and rough. His cock pushed through the slit of his boxers and rubbed hard against your covered cunt. Damp heat dripped down, softening the fabric and egging him on.

“Please, Dean…”

The prayer fell from your lips without a thought and Dean drank it down, sucking at your mouth as if he meant to suffocate you.

He nipped at your jaw, kissed his way down your chest, nipping at each breast, suckling and teasing.

His touch swirled in your mind, clearing everything else away. The struggles of life faded as Dean’s hands traveled your curves, the worries you carried vanished when his fingers tucked deep inside.

“Oh fuck-”

He smiled at your cry and sank his teeth into your hip. “Mine.”

Your pussy throbbed around his fingers. “Fuck. Yes.”

He twisted his wrist and crooked his fingers, thumb running circles over your swollen clit. “And you know the best part?” he asked, sliding up to tease his breath across your lips.

“W-what?”

Green eyes bore into yours and he smiled. “I’m yours.”

His voice flooded through you and the sweetness was overwhelming. The pleasure broke as he kissed your lips and you came with a deep shudder. A rush of warmth pushed from your cunt and Dean scooped it up, rubbed himself down with it and pushed between your hips.

Your knees spread around him as he sank inside, thrusting hard and deep while his eyes stayed locked on yours.

You clawed at his arms, raking your nails across his shoulders and down. “Mmm, you feel so good, Dean.”

His head dropped, chin resting on his chin as his pace kicked up. “So tight, baby, fuck.” He shifted his arms at your sides and his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips. “So fucking tight…”

You held on, clenching around him. “All for you, Dean… God, you fuck me so good…”

His breath was ragged, eyes wide, brow pebbled with sweat. “You gonna cum with me?”

Lifting your hips, you jerked back as he bottomed out, and your thighs quaked around him. “Fuck. Yes. Please!”

Teeth bared, he grunted; body tense with effort, eyes dark with lust and determination. “Give it to me… Come on…”

Every thrust shredded your mind, each slap of his thighs against you sent you reeling. Once more floating, you hovered above yourself, lost in his eyes and his movements. When the pleasure broke, you slammed back into yourself, tears springing to your eyes and a cry splitting free from your lips.

“Fuck!”

He fell down over you and buried his face in your neck, panting and fighting against the rapid beat of his heart. Still tucked inside, you felt the gush of heat as it dribbled down your ass and you hugged him close, soaking in the warmth and weight of him.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, laying lazy kisses on your throat.

“Nah, it’s all you, Dean.”

He grumbled something into your shoulder but gave up, sighing happily and rolling over onto his side. You shifted, turning away, but he reached for you.

“Where ya goin’?”

“Nowhere?” You laughed at the pathetic look on his face. “Over here?”

He shook his head and wrapped his hand around your arm, pulling you back. “No. Stay with me.”

“I’m right here…”

“Not close enough,” he said, shifting to open both arms to you. “I want every inch of you against me.”

Your heart swelled and you rolled your eyes at him. “You’re a mush.”

He grinned, eyes falling closed as you snuggled up against him. “Yes ma’am, I am.”

His knees kicked up behind yours, his chin settled on your shoulder. His big arm hung in the curve of your waist and he held on tight, keeping you secure and warm, breathing for you both.

The smell of him, the heat flowing from him into you, it was all too peaceful and the sweet pull of sleep tugged at your brain. Your muscles relaxed, your aches eased, your troubles cleared. You exhaled deeply and drifted, calmed and loved by Dean and the safety of his strong arms.

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@aditimukul @agirlwithdemonblood @amanda-teaches @akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @b3autyfuldisast3r @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @because-imma-lady-assface @bloodline1632 @charred-angelwings @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @djs8891 @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @deansyahtzee @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @iamsapphine @idreamofdeanie @ilsawasanacrobat @impalaspixie @iprobablyshipit91 @jawritter @justcallmeasmodeus @kazsrm67 @kittenofdoomage @leigh70 @lovealways-j @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @maggiegirl17 @mistressofallthingsgeeky @pandaxo79 @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @roseblue373 @sacriceria @samwellwinchesterthebrave @sexyvixen7 @spideysimpossiblegirl @spnexploration @stevekempscocktails @the-wounded-healer05 @thoughts-and-funnies @vulgar-library

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean/you #romance #spn fanfic

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shattersstar · 10 months

Text

secrets.

pairing: jason todd x reader

prompt: say my name (cover) by hozier

a/n: 1/3 :) enjoy <3

—

He had come home through the front door, black duffel bag slung over his shoulder despite the ache starting to spread across his body. He shuffled in with a low sigh, the pain from falling off a fire escape finally settled in as he crossed the threshold. He let his bag slip off his shoulder, catching it seconds before it slapped the hardwood as Jason remembered he wasn’t home. Well he was, your apartment was more a home than his or even the manor ever was, but it wasn’t a place to be loud without a care. Not at this hour at least. Jason set it down carefully instead, trying to ignore the pain shooting up his back as he kneeled to unlace his boots.

He heard your door creak open, soft shuffling as your silhouette appeared in the hallway. He hadn’t even looked up yet and your presence soothed something wild in him instantly. “Hey baby.” Jason grinned, surprised you were awake, but happy to see you nonetheless. “How come you’re up, thought you worked in the morning?” You stayed unmoved and Jason looked back up at you, fingers stilling on his laces.

He opened his mouth to speak, throat starting to feel thick at the cold demeanour rolling off of you, but you replied before he could, “Someone wanted my shift so…” Your voice was above a whisper, unsteady and it had Jason standing at his full height. He reached over to flick on the hallway light, letting the yellow light fill the space more than the one lamp in the living room could. You looked tired, face tear stained and your massive comfort hoodie on. He remained unmoved, swallowing the dry and bloody taste in his mouth while you shifted your weight.

Jason knew he had been distant lately, but a new dealer had popped up and was causing him problems, ones that left marks too unexplainable. He called you most afternoons when he could, but it had been almost a month since you two hung out properly, let alone went on a date. You had always taken Jason’s life in stride even if you didn’t know the details, you knew it would demand more of him than you could ever have, but what you got was enough so you didn’t care. It was what you had told him, so sincerely and earnestly when he finally agreed to go out with you again. It had been a good decision—great even—but it wasn’t easy. And Jason wasn’t stupid, he’s cancelled your Tuesday date nights twice this month and the fact he left your apartment after being there for two hours last week were stupid choices that lead to more violence Jason had to keep you from. He should have apologized then, but he was just so relieved to be able to spend a night with you.

He didn’t have to lie today, Jason wanted to tell you that so badly. That he did fall off a fire escape, slipping in the rain and landing smack on his back in a dark alleyway. And while he was in his gear, fell from seven stories up and had a helmet to protect what could have been a lethal mistake into just a stupid one. Yet, as you let out a breathy shuddering sigh, Jason wondered if half of the truth would be enough. It seemed as if you were after much more.

“Are…are you okay?” He found himself asking, voice betraying him as the nervousness he was trying to hide poured out. And he knew you weren’t okay, it was a stupid thing to ask and Jason was angry at himself for not being able to understand more.

“Just…are you—“ You stifled a sob, taking half a step back which made his veins run colder, “Are you cheating on me?” Jason’s face fell at your words, they were so far from the truth, but hurt deeper than he could have ever imagined. They scathed something raw in his heart, and he was crossing the small space in a handful of strides.

“Fuck no—no, never. I would never do anything like that to you baby, never. There is no one else, but you. You’re—fuck you’re everything okay? Just no, no, I’m not fucking cheating, no, not on you.” He was angry, stammering and tripping over his words, but held your face in his hands so gently. Jason’s capacity for tenderness even at his angriest never ceased to make your heart flutter. Tears spilled over your eyes at his words, you wanted to badly to believe him.

“But you’re so far away, distracted and carrying that bag I can’t fucking stand the sight of. And I get shit is gonna come up, but three date nights in a row? Seriously? You didn’t even say anything about Friday either Jay! I was outside my apartment for an hour and waited inside for two more.”

His eyes fell closed, Jason had completely forgot he was supposed to take you on his bike around the outskirts of the city for a picnic. It was to makeup the fact he’d miss your date on Tuesday, instead he was following a lead to Bludhaven that had him there till last night. He had been so caught up in work he didn’t even realize that Friday had came and went.

“Fuck I forgot about that.” He muttered in explanation, eyes dropping from yours.

“Yeah I kinda figured,” You sniffled, letting a moment of silence pass before as your anger simmered more into desperation. “God, its like I know you’re keeping things from me, and I accepted the secrets around your life when we first started dating, but this? This is another level. Jason, I know you’re hiding something intrinsic and meaningful to you—from me—and now you’ve just…left me in the dust.” You couldn’t tell if you had said all of that, or if it stayed locked inside your throat, until regret started to flash across Jason’s face at your words. You couldn’t stop the sob that escaped your throat, wanting to collapse into the floor while he still held you so close.

“I know, I know.” He whispered, teeth tugging on his bottom lip. He wanted to be able to say anything to break the tension, to make you smile or slap him, but you had been more than gracious. Jason had known that, it ate him alive most nights, and he couldn’t even find anger towards you within himself. Couldn’t force himself to lash out and push you away because it made it digestible and easy to leave. “I’m not cheating on you, I cant even look at anyone else–but I can’t tell you everything, I just can’t. Because Gotham, this city? It’s dangerous, and I am…close to that danger. You know me and what I would or wouldn’t do, so know I’m doing what’s right. I just can’t let you into this world, its not safe and I can’t lose you to it.” You urged his eyes back to yours, only stray tears escaping as you searched his gaze for the truth. It was so sincere, which should’ve been horrifying, but it brought peace to your chest. Something violent enraptured this man you loved, and yet it settled something in your core.

“And I’m, uh, I’m sorry. For keeping you in the dark.” He added, averting your gaze at his apology. Jason was never good with faults, with accepting them gracefully and apologizing for them, but you knew he meant it. Meant the words that often struggled to escape his lips. He only looked back when he felt your hands nudge his sides, your head moving from his hands and tipping into his chest. Jason let his arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close as you let your last few tears stain the front of his shirt. He smelled clean, like his body wash and gasoline.

“Did you ride your bike over?” You mumbled into him, feeling the vibrations of his voice as he spoke.

“Yeah, why? Wanna go on a drive?” You nodded against Jason’s chest, but held him tighter first. He got the message, and kept holding you, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. When you untangled yourselves, he dried your face with the sleeve of his shirt, a watery laugh bubbling from you.

“Fuck that bag though.” You suddenly said, nodding over his shoulder. It made him laugh in turn.

“I’ll keep it out of the apartment.”

“Out of sight works fine for me.” You replied, before Jason pulled you in for another embrace, a beat of silence before he lead you towards your bedroom. You sat down as he rummaged around your closet, finding the helmet he gave you on the highest shelf. He passed it to you before slinking out of his brown leather jacket and tossing it your way. Jason couldn’t help the grin that pulled at his lips as your eyes lit up once the fabric landed in your lap. You had always loved his jacket, it smelled like him and was worn down to the point of being one of the most comfortable things you got to wear. Jason instead slipped on the black leather jacket you had gotten him on your first anniversary, yanking it out of the front hall closest before sliding his hand into yours.

You walked to the parking garbage hand in hand, Jason keeping you pressed close while stealing glances down at you every few seconds. He was searching for a moment of hesitation—regret—in your eyes. His heart was still raw from it all, as was yours, but the idea Jason could even entertain being with someone else made his skin crawl. He had always felt a shade too possessive over you—you both knew that—he was trying to work on it, but god if he didn’t want to double down now. Jason wanted to show you the darkest sides of himself, to let how you made him feel consume him whole until he was an ugly, unrecognizable thing built only for violence and loving you.

An unholy beast whimpering in the dark of night.

But it wasn’t the time, not when your hands snaked around his waist and your helmet rested on his back. It made it hard to wallow in his own pity with your hands burning a hole through his torso. Instead, Jason peeled off into the Gotham night.

It was late enough the streets were quiet, the long stretching and twisting highways that connected the sprawled out city were empty save a few cars. City lights streamed by and Jason felt your head left to watch them in their neon haze. You both let the truth wash over you, you knew he wasn’t seeing anyone else, you believed him despite how daunting the truth may be. It seemed graspable, aligned with the splintered edges of his past and personality you had been exposed too. You still loved him all the same, you told Jason that enough, but as you rode through the city, you couldn’t help how your mind began to swirl. How well did you truly know the love of your life?

Jason sensed it, how your grip faltered and you suddenly felt so far off. Like you’d float away both in body and mind.

He slowed down after a turn, pulling off before a bridge and down to those small area of greenery hidden amongst exits and signs. Jason shut off his bike, letting you shuffle back as he clambered off carefully. He pulled his helmet off and helped you out of yours before setting them aside. “You okay?”

“Yeah, its just a lot of think about and I thought my head would be clearer now.” You admitted with a shrug.

“Well tanks full so we can keep riding till your head is clear.” He said, half teasing, but it sounded appealing. Jason noticed your contemplation, and smiled at you, spending a night roaming Gotham on his bike with you till sun up was nothing short of perfect for Jason, and you shouldn’t have been surprised at the suggestion let alone his silent agreement to do so. He handed you back your helmet and slouched against the side of his bike for a sec. You stared into the visor before one of Jason’s knuckles knocked your chin, pulling your attention to him. “It’s always gonna be you y’know? You’re the only one allowed this close.”

You leaned into Jason’s touch, kissing the palm of his hand before he pushed himself up and grabbed his helmet. You slipped yours on and smiled wildly underneath it. Things were going to change, but he was still the man you loved, and you were happy to share him with the grittier parts of this city if he was coming home to you. And as Jason flipped up the kickstand and started his bike to ride on through the remaining hours of dark till sunrise for you, you both knew it would be your bed he fell into every night. Or so help Gotham.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #dc x reader #dc imagine #writing

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tkachuktkaching · 21 days

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Some of the Matthew Quotes from his recent Interview

Fresh off eliminating the Tampa Bay Lightning in the first round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, Panthers forward Matthew Tkachuk joined The Pat McAfee Show on ESPN to talk all things puck on Wednesday.

Still in amazement of Tkachuk’s toughness to play with a broken sternum during last year’s Stanley Cup Final, McAfee and his energetic band of co-hosts started the show talking about playing through pain.

“In the Stanley Cup Playoffs all bets are off and you do whatever you can to play,”

“He was fired up to see us beat Tampa the other day,” (talking of his dad)

“Growing up having him as a voice, as a role model, my brother and I were not forced to play hockey, but we had everything around us to help us grow into it and love the game. We had him around every day to ask about anything, help coach us, teach us, but I’d say the biggest thing that allowed my brother and I to make it to this level was each other. Having that unbelievably close relationship, being each other’s best friends, biggest supporters, and competitors as well.”

“One thing that I’m super grateful that my parents did, and my mom deserves so much credit because she was mainly the one getting up at 5 a.m. to take us to the 6 a.m. practices while my dad was on the road, was that we were never allowed to play hockey 24/7, 365 days like some of these kids do now,” said Tkachuk. “My parents were all about playing every sport you can. I think that’s what allowed me to not get burnt out and my love for the game kept growing and growing more.”

“Don’t touch Bob and there won’t be any problems,” When asked about Tampa Bay and the two goalie interference calls against the Lightning in Game 5.

“We are really excited to get a few days of rest and get rejuvenated, but it’s the playoffs and you just want to be out there playing,”

“Some of the best parts of playoffs are just hanging out with the boys in the lounges on the road and watching other games throughout the league.”

With three first-round matchups still ongoing, Tkachuk spoke on how hard it is to close things out.

“The fourth game in a playoff series is always the hardest to win because no matter what you are in the series, the other team is so desperate playing for their lives you have to find a way to match that or exceed that,” said Tkachuk.

Something that can help with closing out a series is playing in front of a home crowd.

“It’s a tough question because last year in playoffs are team was lights out on the road and it didn’t matter where we played,”

“When playing in Florida, we have such great fans and the building is so loud, I think home ice is important for us, having the extra potential game seven at home, you always want to have that at home. I think our fans are so loud and we’ve made this rink here in Florida a tough place to play, so I think home ice is important for our team, it’s an extra layer you can add to the series. I think we have great fans, so it’s important for us.”

Among the recent sellout crowds at Amerant Bank Arena, Miami Dolphins Jalen Ramsey and Jaylen Waddle have come out to support and hype up the crowd with the banging of the pre-game drum.

Knowing Waddle was there, Tkachuk told the show he was planning on a big goal celebration in salute of the fellow local superstar.

“If I scored I was going to do the ‘Waddle’ because he was there,” said Tkachuk. “He’s my favorite football player.”

While it didn’t happen that game, McAfee called for Tkachuk to bring in the dance celebration next time he lights the lamp.

#matthew tkachuk #florida panthers #nhl #nhl.com #nhl playoffs #curls #chucky quotes

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absolutelynotmate-archive · 1 year

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this one and the next- I'VE MOVED BLOGS! if you enjoy this and are looking for more, follow me @formulaforza

c.leclerc x female reader (no y/n, soulmates au) word count: 4.3k a/n: my first f1 fic 🫣 be gentle i'm new here

Can we talk later?

You mill over the text, shaken, unprepared for the what are we conversation just yet, planning on living in the climate-controlled artificial relationship ecosystem for just a while longer. You write out an answer, delete, rewrite until the words don’t look like words and your fingers tap the wrong keys, delete again, set your phone face down on the arm of the couch. Chewing on it for a few more minutes, you attempt to play out the conversation in your mind, pausing here, clipping that short, slowing that down, and then your phone is in your hand again.

You wonder if his phone sits deep in his pocket, buried somewhere in a bag, in his hand while he anxiously watches the typing bubbles appear, disappear, appear again. Maybe he’s as anxious as you, horrified, mortified, all the other -fieds at the thought of a label corrupting this, at the thought of rules and expectations and external opinions.

You can plan it out as many times as you want, you’re always going to get stumped, because, well, you have no fucking idea what you and he are. You’re friends, best friends, the exchange of knowing glances, soulmates, a familiar laughter, strangers, a fading fire, nobody knows. Why, why must this conversation be had? You’re having fun, it’s fact, unwavering and unrelenting fun. Keep on, keeping on, just for now, until things aren’t so fun, and then the serious conversations can be had.

You can’t tell him no, refusing to have the talk would be worse than anything that could possibly come from actually sorting this situation out, from deciding whether or not this version of you will live on, or if it’s time they get buried, locked away far from your mind, replaced by someone new.

Yes, you eventually reply. Dinner, my place?

There’s a pit in your stomach because you still don’t know what you’re going to do, what you’ll say, what your relationship is. His career, his lifestyle, it’s so, so different from yours. He’s home now, but he'll be gone soon, gone a lot, and you can’t just drop everything to follow him around, and you wouldn’t want to. You have no interest in every single move you make being talked about, photographed and scandalized. When you have a bad day, you don’t need the world to know, and when you have a good day, you don’t want to feel obligated to share it with anyone you don’t want to.

He makes you happy, there’s no denying that, and you’re pretty sure he feels the same way, but you’ve been happy before. You’d be happy again, a simple happy, a regular happy. Is he really worth all that?

He’s knocking on the door at seven sharp, bottle of red in one hand, flowers in the other. You blush, because it’s the first time he’s personally delivered you flowers, and he makes fun of you for it, says you’re too easy to please with a cocky grin on his smug face. He asks you to be his girlfriend over the pasta dinner. You say yes, pretend you never had a single doubt, kiss him in the lamp lit living room.

You meet his family in Monaco. It’s your first time on the paddock, first time at an F1 race, and you pick anxiously at your cuticles the entire walk there. You’ve been planning your outfit out for a week, and yet still changed five times this morning. You would’ve kept going, but you were going to be late. You check your purse a million times, terrified that you’re going to forget something. They come up to you in Ferrari hospitality and introduce themselves. His mom is kind and respectful, and hugs you tight. His brothers remind you of him, same laugh, same mannerisms, same sense of humor. “She’s a keeper.” Arthur tells Charles that evening as you all leave the track. He nods, agrees, pulls you a little closer.

You move in together a few months after that, and find yourself explaining the intimate details of the past situationship to your mother over the phone. She’s just looking out for you, curious as to the stranger from another country that will be living with her daughter after only a few months of dating. She was expecting to hear that you’d been fucking for six and a half months before making the jump to boyfriend and girlfriend, but you weren’t expecting her to be so incredibly investigative. “He’s famous, Ma.” You’d told her.

“So if he kills you, I’ll see it on the news before I hear it from the police.” You laughed. She didn’t, and you promised to be out to meet her as soon as you could. You and Charles booked the flights over FaceTime that night.

Your parents had always held out hope you’d move back home, get tired of Monaco and all its pomp and circumstance and come crawling back to a twin bed in the land of dull beige apartments and gray skies. Charles impressing them was going to be twice as hard as it should’ve been, because the mere existence of your relationship was crushing their dreams for their little girl. He is an anchor, holding you steady in Monaco, stationary and happy and far, far away from them.

He’s him, though, so all he had to do was flash those endearing eyes and that charming smile and they were calling him their son-in-law by the time we were eating dinner in the swankiest restaurant your hometown had to offer. You didn’t know it then, but he sat on the porch with your dad one morning and said he wanted to marry you. “Of course, you do.” Your Dad had said. “For your sake, I hope she wants to marry you.”

You did–want to marry him, and you danced with your friends and family into the morning on that summer evening, the air perfectly warm, the sun perfectly shining, a wedding band perfectly sat on your finger. It was the single most fun evening you’d ever had, celebrating the love you have for your husband.

It takes a while to get used to that. Your husband, Charles.

“We’re not, not trying.” He told your grandchildren hungry parents at Christmas. You were mortified, wishing you could curl up into your own skin at the thought of your parents, especially your father, knowing exactly what’s happening in your sex life. It’s a year and three months to the day when they’re at your house in Monaco. You’re on the couch, raggedy pajamas and hair that hasn’t been brushed in three days, minimum, watching Charles carefully place your Mother’s littlest grandchild into her arms. He’s a month old, your son, and it seems like he’s already so big, but when you see him in your Mom’s arms, tiny wool socks slipping off his feet, you’re reminded just how small and dependant he is on you, both of you, to keep him safe from even his own fingernails.

If you thought keeping mittens on the kid or waking up in the middle of the night to make sure his chest is still rising and falling was touch, nothing could’ve prepared you for that little shit learning how to open the babyproofed kitchen cabinets. The terrible twos were indeed, terrible. So terrible, that you’d decided hey, let’s do this again. Dragging yourself to those home races was anxious then, but now you’re chasing around a two year old, hoping and praying he doesn’t say anything or eat anything or, God forbid, break anything.

Somewhere in the mess of it all, Charles was having his best season. The championship was so close he could taste it, and you made sure you were there, front and center, cheering him on when he finally achieved his dream. ‘It’s for my Father, and for Jules, and for my kids.” He’d said, teary eyed. He didn’t need to dedicate it to you, he never needed to prove anything to you, to show you his greatness. You loved him as he was, world champion or not, but you still hugged him with all your might in the middle of the track, still kissed him like there were no cameras and no people watching, because, for that immortalized moment in time, nobody was there but you and him.

He smelled like champagne for three days, and you’re not sure you’ll ever bounce back from the celebrations that night, a permanent hangover and a queasy stomach at the mere mention of a top shelf tequila that shall not be named lingers on for years to come. Everything was perfect, though, and it was all so worth it. Two parents in love, chasing their dreams, a big house on a hill, a little boy and a tiny girl with the world at their fingertips. Your little family was so cliché it hurt.

Before you knew it, you’re dropping your boy off at his first day of school, and you’re pretending not to cry while Charles laughs sweetly, wiping the salt from your face with the pads of his thumbs. He’s gone racing, and you’re splitting your already short time between this afterschool activity and that. When he’s home, he tries to shoulder as much of it as he can, and sometimes it feels like you kiss each other goodmorning and don’t see the other until you kiss again goodnight.

Charles retires when the kids are eleven and eight. They understand, but they don’t. Their father is just their father to them, they can’t yet wrap their heads around the true passion he has for racing, the way it courses through his veins and occupies any free space in his mind, They don’t understand what it’s like to love something so purely, to know it’s what you were put on this Earth to do, not yet.

It gets easier, for a while. There’s an adjustment period, and then you slip into a new routine, one where he tells the kids goodnight, and goes to sleep a few hours later rather than calling from somewhere else in the world and still having a million hours left in his day.

The kids only get older, though, and their lives just get bigger, there’s more responsibility to shoulder, more things that need to get done. They develop new hobbies, add new sports practices and clubs and events to your already chaotic schedule. You’re tired, like, all of the time, and fight more than you ever did before. “I didn’t even want to be with you in the first place.” You said once, in the middle of your messiest argument. You two didn’t speak for three days, no hello, no goodbye, no tired small talk about your days or arguments about spending time with certain kids. On the third night, he slept on the couch and it felt like he had never been farther away. You made up the next morning.

At least, you told yourselves you made up. It only took a few days to slide back into the same stuff, hanging on by a single thread until a new fight came along to be the messiest one. You both tried to keep it quiet, hide it from the kids and your family and your friends, let everyone go on believing you were this perfect couple with this perfect life and perfect family. Nobody needed to know your relationship was going through the wringer each and every day, and you were convinced nobody was the wiser. “Are you and Dad going to divorce?” Your sweet little boy, the one who was now three inches taller than you, asked as you dropped him off for his first day at a new school.

You called off work and went straight home, waited for Charles to get back from dropping off the younger one, and were crying on the couch when he got home. The two of you talked until it was time to pick them up, and then you talked some more in the privacy of your room when you got back. It was the first time in a long time you actually talked to each other. You’d spent years speaking at each other, losing yourselves, losing each other, losing everything that mattered.

“Your parents are so in love,” Your boy’s girlfriend–yes, he has a girlfriend now–said at his little sister’s graduation party. In a few short months, you’re going to be empty nesters, and Charles is taking it particularly hard. He feels like he’s missed out on too much, that his relationship with the kids will never be what yours is. You try your best to comfort him, but you both know he’s right. You weren’t the only ones who made sacrifices for Charles to chase his dream, the kids were forced to share their father with the world, whether they liked it or not.

Charles was an emotional wreck the weekend of your little girl’s wedding. From start to finish, he was moments away from shedding a swimming pool’s worth of tears. He was so happy to see her so happy, and it was bittersweet for him, giving his little girl away, knowing that she didn’t need him anymore. He understood now what your father had meant all those years ago, that it was impossible not to love her, and that anybody lucky enough to be loved should never take advantage of it for even a moment. You danced together at the reception, laughing and reminiscing about your own. You’d asked, jokingly, if he regretted marrying you. “Never.” He said, without elaboration or grand gesture, and you knew he meant it, despite the challenges you’d faced together.

Before you knew it, there was another Charles running around the house, laughing that sweet belly laugh and harboring all the innocence of the world in his big doe eyes. You’ll never be able to explain to anyone how much that meant for Charles, a grandson named after him. It was as if every doubt and insecurity he’d had about raising your kids was silenced. As if you son was telling him, you built me, Dad, thank you

The years faded into each other, both of you graying and aging with an optimistic grace. Your kids threw you a surprise 40th anniversary party, and you thought it was impossible to feel so surrounded by love. You danced to your wedding song, resting your head on his shoulder like you had all those years ago, laughing at his stupid jokes and silently reflecting on everything that got you here. It was never easy, it was never going to be, but it was so worth it, to love him and be loved by him.

And when your memory started to escape you, when you searched for a younger version of him in every room, he stayed by your side as a stranger. In a moment of clarity, ones that were becoming fewer and further between, you’d asked him to promise you something. “Let me go first.” You pleaded, feeling all the weight of a life without him, knowing that if he dies before you, you’ll forget he was gone and be forced to relive the sorrow over and over again.

As your breathing slowed and the sounds of the world faced away, his hand stayed on yours. It’s only a matter of time, now. You’ll be gone soon, leaving behind the wonderful life you’ve created. “Wait for me wherever you go, mon ange.” He whispers in the stillness of the hospital room. “I will find you again.”

– – – –

You see him for the first time at a café. You’re sixteen and don’t even like coffee, but your best friend is dragging you in. He’s working behind the counter, flustered and busy, running around mixing drinks and taking orders. "Que voulez-vous commander madame?” He asked your friend, and she ordered. “Et vous?” I don’t drink coffee, you told him. He smiled, goofy, something familiar in his eyes. You noted his nametag, carefully drawn on with a chalk marker. Charles.

He calls out your friend's name a few minutes after, and sets two drinks down on the counter. Her name is written messily on one, his phone number on the other.

You spend the next month stopping by the shop randomly. Sometimes he isn’t there, but when he is, he makes you a different drink every time, his number scribbled on the side without fail. It takes the whole month before you’re convinced to actually call him, and he doesn’t answer. You leave a message.

Your first date is the weekend, coffee in the morning. Because, of course it is. He pulls out your chair on the patio of the small shop and the first date turns into a second, lunch in the park, and then a third, dinner at your favorite restaurant. Not once do you run out of things to talk about, something vast and unfamiliar and welcoming about him. In the silent moments there is solace, warm and comfortable, like you’ve known each other your whole lives.

Nobody believes in your relationship, not really. You’re fighting the odds from the time you decide you’re not going to break up before going to university. Everytime you catch up with friends from home, they seem surprised to learn you’re still together. Family whispers, tells you it’s not going to last, that you should prepare yourself. But you and he know something nobody else does, acutely aware of the draw and connection you share. A once in a lifetime, once in a millenia, once upon a time love story written just for the two of you.

When you graduated, a cheap, shiny engagement ring on your finger, he was watching with a proud smile and a bouquet of flowers. You went home together, to your dumpy little apartment, paid for by your waitress shifts and his hours at the café. He cooked dinner, you ate off paper plates in the living room and made infinite, optimistic plans for your futures.

You could dream far and wide, but when it came down to it, anything would be heaven if he was there. Cheap dingy apartment and barely paying jobs felt like the lap of luxury with him by your side.

This time though, your story is much more tragic. Lovers fated for a John Green novel, a manic pixie dream girl to live on in montages on tiny phone screens, destined to be someone he thinks of in dark lonely rooms or when someone doesn’t answer his call.

He realizes a year and a half after the abrupt end to your story that he can’t remember your voice, your laugh, your smell. He spends the day watching videos of you, re-memorizing the way you spoke, your mannerisms, you. He’s moved out of the apartment, and your parents have all your things in boxes in their attic. He drives into the early morning, stopping once to use the bathroom, nothing more. When your Dad opens the door in the middle of the night, he gives Charles a heavy hug and leads him to the attic. It’s there, under the A-frame roof, amongst the humid air and cobwebs that you are immortalized. Beyond the dust is everything that made you, you. Forever young and hopeful and in love.

In a cardboard box labeled your room, corners dark and misshapen, he finds a stack of disposable coffee cups, familiar label printed on the cleaned cups, familiar number scribbled on each one with the haste of a seventeen year old boy’s black sharpie. He had no idea you’d kept them, the stupid advances of a shy boy enamored with the pretty girl.

He moved forward, somehow, sometime later. But, he never moved on, looking for your smile, your sense of humor, your heart, in everyone who followed.

– – – –

The next lifetime is spent platonically, a lifelong companionship that nobody else could ever fully understand. You were old souls, cherishing the minute details of the world and longing for something simpler. There was no longing, or waiting to meet. You’d known him for as long as you could remember.

He was a brother, without the blood. Charles the comedic protector, walking on the outside of the sidewalk and then promising to use you as a human shield, a plus one to a wedding when your boyfriend dumped you the night before then did the chicken dance in front of strangers just to get an embarrassed laugh out of you. Charles, who walked so you could run, who jumped to make sure you wouldn’t fall, who held you back so he could throw the punches.

When you met his wife for the first time, then barely his girlfriend, you’d made him promise not to fuck it up. “She’s too good for you, Cha.” You’d told him, because it was true.

When she put you in a purple chiffon cupcake dress at their wedding, he struggled to bite back laughter while you walked down the aisle. You flipped him off with your eyes and he looked to Arthur, who was cracking up beside him.

“He looks just like his Dad,” She said, holding your son in the hospital. Thank God for that, Charles said, and she smacked his arm.

“We can only hope yours doesn’t suffer the same fate.” You said, a smug expression on your tired face.

He went first this time, a million years later. You held her hand at the funeral and kissed the boys’ cheeks, tears pricking your nose when their grip on you tightened.

There was comfort in the grief, something sure and steady in you, this wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last.

– – – –

Yes. Dinner, my place?

He gets there at seven, wine and flowers in hand. Your heart sinks and you’re ready to have a panic attack. You can’t do this to him, he’s too sweet, too kind. He leaves your apartment an hour and a half later, and you cry for what feels like the entire night. The flowers are in the trash the next morning, because you can’t bear to look at them.

“Do we have to watch this?” You asked, sitting on the couch next to your boyfriend. I thought you liked it, he’d said. There was nothing you wanted to watch less than Charles winning his first World Championship, watching him celebrate on the podium, kissing his girlfriend for the whole world to see. You didn’t know how you were supposed to feel, it was a combination of ache, longing, joy, and pride. None of which were your place to be feeling. “Just, turn it off, please?”

You threw up three times on your wedding day. Something was wrong, you knew deep down that you were making a mistake, but you didn’t have the resources or the balls to do anything about it. You knew you’d be happy, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something better was out there somewhere, that your soulmate was walking–or driving–around somewhere in the world. You went through with it though, never knowing for sure the reason behind your tears at the altar.

Things were good, until they weren’t anymore, and you find yourself in the aftermath of a messy divorce and a messier custody battle. You live back in your hometown, the one you swore you’d never live in again, in a beige apartment that doesn’t belong to you. It’s all you can afford, and you need your parents' help with the kids. Not that you found yourself with much time to look back on your life, but when you did, it wasn’t the sunshine, roses, and simple happiness you’d aimed for when you opted down this path years ago. You found yourself wondering, more often than you’d like to admit, about what could have been, about what almost was.

Your son, because the universe is sick and twisted and determined, decides he wants to be a Formula One driver. He must get it from his father, the drive to chase his dreams, because it certainly didn’t come from you and your desire to settle for something simple and regular.

You don’t know how you manage it, the financial aspect of what feels like the most expensive dream in the world, but you do. Before you know it, your leg is anxiously bouncing for what feels like nine straight months. Watching him drive horrifies you, leaves you shaky and exhausted even when everything goes right, but especially when anything at all goes wrong.

Your name on his lips is startling. You vaguely recognize it, turning to a familiar face that matches the maturity of the voice. It’s him, because who else would it be? “Charles?” You say, and you feel twenty-something and insanely vulnerable again.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“My boy.” You explained.

“And, his father?” He asked, something strained in his voice. Hope, maybe. Or boredom. You don’t know him the way you once did, and he’s even more closed off than before.

“What about him?”

“Is he here?” He said, hanging, something unsaid stuck on his tongue. You gave him the room to speak. “With you?”

You shook your head. “He’s here, but. We’re. I’m divorced.” You admit, something about it still sounds so taboo, so scandalous. Like it’s something you should be ashamed of. “You?”

“Widowed.” He said, and you inhaled sharply.

“What was her name?” You don’t know why you said it, but it was coming out of your mouth before you could catch yourself, before you could express your sympathy. He told you. You’d never heard a name sound so sad. “I’m so sorry, Charles.” He swatted your words away, shook his head. “What was she like?” His face brightened, like nobody had ever asked what she was like. It was as if he had been desperately waiting to tell someone about her.

He smiled, thought about it for what felt like a hundred laps. Quietly, practically under his breath, he spoke something you were completely unprepared to hear. “You,” He said. “She was a lot like you.”

<3, mack. hope you enjoyed, if you did, please don't be a ghost reader!

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princess-ibri · 7 months

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Darkside Disney Princesses: Jasmine

This story features another twist in the tale with a loved one lost to the snow, this time Aladdin, who is unable to make it back to Agrabah from the frozen ends of the earth. Leaving Jasmine, the Sultan, and the people of Agrabah to the torments of Jafar.

Jafar discovers soon enough that the Genie can’t force anyone to fall in love, and Jasmine is more then willing to claw his eyes out if he tries anything.

But Jafar, more interested in seeing her humiliated, then actually possessing her in such a way, knows that while Jasmine might not be willing to be his ‘Queen’, he can still bring her low in other equally cruel ways.

He also knows she’s definitely going to be plotting to get the lamp away from him as soon as she possibly can, and wishing away all his ill gained power.

So he takes her voice.

“I’ve always thought it best that a woman should be seen and not heard, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jasmine is kept as an ornament, adorned with jewels, in mockery of her status, and kept chained to Jafar’s throne; a pretty face to be shown off to those who come to try and treat with Jafar, a warning of what could happen to their own wives and daughters should they not comply. Just as the puppet Sultan serves to show their potential fate.

And trapped by chains of steel and scilence, Jasmine seethes. Every day she stands, forced to hold Jafar’s food and wine and watch as he plays with people’s lives like toys, and every night she dreams her dreams of vengeance, of all the things she would do to him if she was free.

A possiblity that seems farther and farther away as Jafar extends his reach out into the rest of the Seven Deserts. He is the most powerful sorcerer in the world after all, why not rule it then?

There are those who fight back of course. Both mortal and magic users alike. Jafar might be the most powerful but he is far from the only one. Their magic might not be enough to overcome him, but working together they can at least hold him back for a time.

But there are also many who choose to fall in with the sorcerer king, either to try and escape his wrath, gain some of his power, or both.

Tribute pours in, gold and jewels, slaves and sacrifices. All to try and appease Jafar, to keep his capricious temper in check. Jafar of course has never been one to excercise moderation, and demands more and more. The palace is awash with treasure from across the Seven Deserts and even beyond.

And this is what eventually turns the tables.

For one day, Jafar, glutted on drink and reveling in the newest swathes of tribute, slips a ruby ring onto Jasmine’s ring finger, another mocking ‘gift’ to remind her of her fallen state.

Had he been less drunk on fine wine and stolen power, he might have noticed the tinge of magic on the ring. But he is the most powerful sorcerer in the world after all, who holds one of the cosmically powerful genies at heel, magic flows through the palace like water,who would notice a drop in an ocean?

As it happens, it is not until nightfall, when Jafar has left Jasmine alone in the darkened throne room to once more dream her dark vengeance, that the ring’s power is discovered.

Jasmine had thought herself long since grown used to Jafar’s cruelty. But today he has been particularly vile, plotting new tourtures for a city he has managed to subdue. Jasmine feels a tear course down her cheek at the memory of it, and quickly brushes it away, for she has long since learned that tears avail nothing.

But in doing so, she rubs the ring, infusing in with the tears of her sorrow.

And the ring awakens

What pours out of it, wreathed in crimson smoke, is another genie, yet one as unlike the poor gentle souled slave of Jafar’s as can be. Eyes like burning coals, licks of fire dance across its skin, two long spiraling horns bursting from a head of flaming hair.

The genie turns it’s fiery gaze on Jasmine, taking in her shackles, both the physical ones around her wrists and ankles, and the magical one that binds her tongue.

“Oh princessss, I sssee we have both been bound by the magicsss of men. This sssorcerer has bound you, as accurssed Sssolomon sought to bind all jinn across time and ssspaccce.”

The genie’s voice is like the hissing of steam, and the crackling of flame.

“You cannot sssspeak, and ssso you cannot wisssh for your voice, your freedom, your vengeance, just as I cannot be freed from my chainsss, cannot kill—Unlesss…”

The genie reaches out to Jasmine, tracing the track of the tear that freed it from it’s ring, and steam rises up from its touch.

“There isss one thing we could do, to gain freedom for us both.”

“ Grant me the ussse of your body, your bonesss and blood and breath. And I will grant you in turn my ssstrength, my ssskill, my voiccce. I ssshall make it ssso that none can ever ssscilence you ever again. Do you accept thisss exchange, thisss bargain? You need only nod to accept…”

Jasmine stares up at the fiery being before her, at this one chance in a thousand for freedom that has come to her, through chance or destiny, she knows not what, nor does she care. For she knows that if she does not take this chance now, another may never come.

She nods.

Flames and smoke swirl around her, a whirlwind of fire, with her directly in the eye of the storm. The fire rises up and up, and then comes pouring down, a burning wave, down into her throat, scorching her from the inside as the genie burns itself into her bone marrow and blood, sinking into every space within her.

Jasmine spasms, choking, shaking, falling to the floor. For a moment she lies still as death

And then she rises, takes a breath, and rips the manacles from her wrists as if they were made from paper.

The ring on her finger glows in unison with the fire that now glows behind her eyes.

As she stalks through the palace, her steps are so silent they don’t even raise an echo—and yet she leaves the floor beneath her shattered with each step.

Jafar has long since thought himself secure within the chambers of his stolen palace, protected by the wards he’s set that should imolate any mortal who attempts to break them. Wards that the princess now walks through as though they were nothing more than spider webs.

For Jafar’s power was granted by a genie, and one greater than that being now stands above his sleeping form, one that has no fear of fire.

She reaches out with one hand towards his slumbering parrot familiar, and with the other for the lamp that sits on his bedside.

Jafar wakes to the sound of a crunch, but has less than a moment to wonder at the cause before one of the jeweled swords that he’d hung in his chambers is sinking into his heart down to the hilt.

The spells he set crumble and fall within an instant. All those ensorcelled by the mad vizier return to their original forms; the people who are brave enough rush to the palace to see who it is who has freed them; the Sultan freed from his puppet strings races to find his daughter, to see if she too is now freed from their horrid imprisonment.

He finds her sitting upon his throne, the lamp resting in her lap as she cleans a long knife, a strange ring casting a red glow upon her face as she looks up to see him.

“Father”, the princess says calmly, her voice echoing strangely around the room. “We sssee you are well. We do hope you weren’t looking too forward to taking this throne back. After all, it was you who let Jafar in at the door. And We really can’t have anything like that happening again. Rivalsss for power make things ssso complicated after all.”

She strokes the lamp as she speaks, and the blue genie pours out, looking down at the princess with utter horror, more than he’d even shown to Jafar. The princess just smiles up at him.

“Dear cousin, We hope you know this is nothing personal. It’s sssimply good business sssense. Neither of us wish to be bound again ssshould your lamp fall into the wrong hands. And ssso for our first, and final wish, We wish that you, would no longer exist.”

Reality itself seems to bend together for a moment, as the lamp in the princess’s hands crumbles into itself before crumbling into dust, the genie tied to it fading away like mist beneath the morning sun.

“And now,” the princess says, with a wide, gleaming smile “We can truly start to get to work…”

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ultra-violet-heart · 3 months

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7th Time Loop Volume 6: A Story About When It's Sweeter to Sleep Together

This is a canon short story written by Touko Amekawa as a Bookwalker bonus for Volume 6 of 7th Time Loop!

Based on how they have been adding bonuses sometimes, it might be added when Volume 6 gets translated by Seven Seas someday, but for now, I've translated it in English!

PLEASE DON'T REPOST OR RE-UPLOAD THIS TRANSLATION ANYWHERE.

Contains spoilers for Volume 6.

Bonus Side Story for 7th Time Loop Volume 6

A Story About When It's Sweeter to Sleep Together

Around a day has passed since the fire onboard the ship, and it was now bedtime. After taking a bath and helping with disinfecting Arnold's bedroom, Rishe planned to sleep with him again today. Arnold had this blank look on his face and seemingly planned to say something, but in the end he just went with Rishe's wishes.

Once again, Rishe would become his body pillow.

(Although...)

"What's the matter...?"

Sitting on the middle of the bed, Rishe's face showed a mysterious expression.

Arnold, who also sat on the middle of the bed, sensed her being troubled and asked her that question.

Raising her face, Rishe stared intently at Arnold, who just finished taking a bath just like Rishe.

Arnold, who usually wore tight collars to hide his scars, apparently wore comfortable clothes for bedtime. His neck, chest and collarbone could be seen from his shirt. Hugging one of the many pillows around them, Rishe then tugged on Arnold's sleeve and asked.

"Your Highness, you always use soaps with less scents, right?"

"It's less of a nuisance, you see."

Arnold made it clear he hated excessive fragrances.

Rishe raised the back of her hand to the tip of her nose and sniffed.

"Hmm."

"Rishe."

He stopped asking further questions and instead called her name, while Rishe timidly replied.

"Actually, um. Master Joel pointed it out to me this morning."

"Pointed what out?"

"..."

She looked so embarrassed, she looked down while continuing.

"He told me I have the same scent as yours, Prince Arnold..."

"..."

Arnold could probably guess how red Rishe's face was with embarrassment right now.

Thinking about it made her more embarrassed, so Rishe tried to excuse herself while clutching her nightgown hem.

"So, tonight, after my bath, I reduced the amount of lotion I put on my body, but the scent still overpowered yours, so..."

"..."

"So before I sleep here with you, I'll just wipe myself. I'll remove that scent away as much as possible, so feel free to sleep first, Your Highness... BWAAAAAAAAAH?!"

Rishe screamed as Arnold's arms reached out to her. He placed a large hand on her back, bringing her closer. Arnold then nuzzled Rishe's nape closely.

"Mmm..."

His black hair tickled Rishe's skin.

Arnold went still in that position while muttering to himself.

"...You smell sweet."

"I-is that so? I apologize, I can wipe off that scent away..."

"But."

Arnold finally pulled away, speaking composedly as if nothing happened.

"I think of it as nothing but your scent."

Before she could ponder the meaning of his words, Rishe's eyes went spinning.

"It's not uncomfortable. You don't need to do anything unnecessary like wiping anything, go to bed soon."

"B-but."

"Here. I'll snuff out the lamp soon."

Being prompted like that, Rishe hurried under the covers.

Arnold didn't seem to mind and didn't say anything as Rishe laid down next to him.

(The meaning of those words... there shouldn't be any deeper meaning on those words...)

Her body now turning warmer wasn't due to her just finishing her bath moments ago. Realizing this, Rishe turned her back away from Arnold.

(As the body temperature rises, the sweet scent on the skin from the lotion turns stronger...!)

"....?"

Of course, tonight, she planned to still be a body pillow to him, but things needed to cool down a bit.

When she asked him to not snuff out the lamp yet, Arnold respected her wish and put off from snuffing it out for some moments.

#7th time loop: the villainess enjoys a carefree life married to her worst enemy!#7th time loop #rishe irmgard weitzner #arnold hein #rishe x arnold #arnold #ArRishe #ルプなな #loop 7 kaime no akuyaku reijou wa #ループ7回目の悪役令嬢は、元敵国で自由気ままな花嫁生活を満喫する

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stalkerofthegods · 6 months

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Hestia Deep Divs

Herbs • Chaste trees, Rosemary, Parsley, Basil, Sorrel, vanilla, Cinnamon, coriander, Marjoram, Mint, Lemon balm, cloves, clary sage, Allspice, Angelica, Coriander, poppy seed, chamomile, Angelica, Bay, garlic, mint, peppermint, pepper, marjoram, The lavender, the chaste tree, the datura, the California poppy, the goldenrod, the hollyhock, the yarrow, the purple coneflower, all white flowers, Lavender, White roses, angel’s trumpet, goldenrod, hollyhock, and yarrow, pine, Wildflowers & sunflowers, raspberry leaves, sage, pearly everlasting, yellow rose

Animals• pigs, donkeys, one-year-old cows, a Crane.

Zodiac & scared number • unknown, I cannot find out what month she was born on, or the day. But I would associate numbers 1, and 6 because she is the oldest and the youngest (and etc, but who even likes my rambles?)

Colors •Gold, yellow, orange, red, White, Gold, Lavender, light purple, black, silver, and dark red

Crystal•Carnelian, Garnet, Goldstone, Calcite, Topaz, garnet, amethyst, lapis lazuli, green tourmaline, Vanadinite, Quartz, gold, silver, and brass, Amber colored crystals, citrine, clear quartz, sunstone.

Symbols• a kettle, the hearth (fireplace), torch, candle

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• friendship bracelets

Diety of• the virgin goddess of the home and hearth fire, cooking of meals, and sacrificial food for feasts, architecture, domesticity, family, and the state, and sacrificial flame

Patron of where the families ate and congregated, hospitality, family.

Offerings• give her prayer beads that remind you of her that are not Christian (or make one, which is better), wooden beads, Oil Lamps, Seven Day Candles (because they burn for 7 days), LED Candles, A Candle that reminds you of home, White or red candles, Apple juice, cider, Wine, Baked goods, keys to the home (preferably not stolen(looking at Hermes devotees))), Small kitchen antiques/objects, pottery/cups/bowls, artwork of homey things, a meal, your favorite things, poetry, books, items you made, fall-themed stuff, spring-themed stuff, First/last foods & libations from a meal, Candles/flame, Honey, Pork, Cakes or Cookies made to look like one of Her symbols,), Keeping a candle/hearth fire or lamp constantly burning, Pictures of homes you want to live in one day, pictures of homes you have lived in, Pictures of architecture that you like, Teacups, teaspoons, tea towels, Childhood memories (ex- stuffed toys, baby clothes, old photos), Homegrown herbs, Toys or art of donkeys and pigs, Leaves or blooms from a chaste tree, Tea light candles (real or fake), Your favorite poetry or poetry you have written for Her, Your favorite books, Stories you have written, Art of flames, fire, candles, Garmets that you have made such as clothing, blankets, beanies, Homemade lotions, bath bombs, shower gel, bubble bath (You can ask Her to bless them then use them she probably won't say no), Beeswax products, honey, olive oil, pumpkin pie

Devotional• Pick up rubbish in communal areas, Offer the first or last bites/portions of food your to her, Cooking/baking for yourself or others, Having a candle lit whenever possible (electric or real), playing a video of a fire place, Volunteerring at homeless or DV shelters, donating to homeless or DV shelters, Setting healthy boundaries with friends and family, reading about Tea/Coffee magick, Getting involved with your local community, Advocating for policies you believe will better the community Allowing yourself to rest, Do a chore you've been putting off for a long time, organize to hang out with some loved ones, Veil or bind your hair, Wear something red or orange, Make a devotional playlist for her, make a Pinterest board or a mood board for her, Learn about kitchen witchery, Cook a meal in her name, Clean the House, Put together a puzzle, Eat popcorn and watch a movie, do Knitting, read about knitting, donate yarn and

knitting supply’s, prepare food for family, make the table before eating, garden, Harvest berries, pick flowers, Donate to food charity/drives, Support people who lost their homes to natural disasters, Welcoming others into your home, Keeping the peace (especially in the home), Donations of time & money to Habitat for Humanity, Do little (or big) acts of kindness, If you have a fireplace light it for Her or build Her altar around it, Meditate next to a fire, Read poetry or a book, play a playlist for Her and play it while you clean or cooks, Clean your house/room and keep it nice and tidy, Take a cooking or baking class, Collect recipes and keep a recipe book, Host celebrations at your home, Remember your ancestors and learn more about them, Spend time with your pets, Take care of yourself and your mental and physical health (Your body is a home for you), Take a hot bath, eat some ice cream, chill at home for a day, Pray to Her( ex- for protection, inspiration, happiness, guidance, and help getting rid of negative entities in the home, peace in the home, good food, an abundance of food, independence), help to start/tending to the hearth, work on having strong family bonds, Open your curtains and let the sunlight warm the room, Make a potful of tea and keep it in a large thermos, Watch movies that make you feel nostalgic and cozy, Say goodnight and good morning to her, Get an electric blanket and feel the warmth connect you to her, Cuddle a stuffed animal, Make a blog/journal filled with cozy homely things, Keep a few locally baked goodies nearby for when you need them, String up fairy lights and use them as your only light source, Whisper prayers and devotional pieces before you go to sleep, Use a Himalayan salt lamp to connect to feeling of a fire, Invest in little things (ex- pillowcases, photos, curtains) that make your room feel welcoming and peaceful, Make a little bottle filled with herbs and crystals and other things that remind you of her, Listen to music that makes your soul happy and your heart content, Take care of yourself (ex- Brush your hair, use a wet cloth on your face), Keep a tealight on you, Clean one small area of your house, Savor a hot drink, Do small, unnoticed acts of kindness, Always greet animals (both big and small), Do anything by candlelight, Wear colors you associate with her, Practice your patience (both external and internal), Be a listening ear or shoulder to cry on for those who need it, Make compromises when it is healthiest for both parties, always have a lighter or matches, Listen to music that reminds you of her, Spend time tending to your body, Leave a big tip the next time you have a chance, Practice kindness in all areas of your life (including driving), Take a hot bath or shower with no time limit, Decorate a space, Build a fire, Compliment people (both strangers and loloved ones), Donate something (ex-clothes, money, or your time), Look at photos and embrace the happy nostalgia, Wear makeup or jewelry that reminds you of her, Wake up early to see the sunrise - or watch the sunset, Watch/read about acts of kindness to be inspired, wear prayer beads that are for her, go to a high school reunion, do a family reunion, do budgeting in her honor, do meal planning, set healthy boundaries, have a household notebook, do seasonal cleaning, try home remedies,As you light your gas stove, say a prayer to Hestia, Spend quiet quality time at home, Gather your family (including your chosen family) for a festive candlelit meal, Commit to spending more time with children and old people.

Ephithets•Äídios - eternal, Aïdius – See Äídios., Basileia - See Vasíleia, Bulaea - See Voulaia., Chloömorphus – See Khlöómorphos, Daughter of lovely-haired Rǽa, Khlöómorphos - verdan, Polýmorphos - multi-formed, Polyolbus – See Polýolvos, Polýolvos - rich in blessings, Potheinotáti - beloved, Prutaneia – See Prytaneia, Prytanei, Vasíleia - queen, Voulaia - of the council, Prytaneia -”of the Prytanis.”

Equivalents• Vesta (Roman), loki (Norse), Brigid (Celtic), Hathor (Egyptian)

Signs they are reaching out• having a strong urge to Vail in her honor, seeing her animals and symbols in your dreams, and seeing her imagery a lot, everything at home suddenly going well.

Vows/omans• that she “would be a maiden all her days”

Morals• morally light/pure

Courting• None

Past lovers/crushes• None

Personality• She avoids drama, and is generous, but her temper is volcanic in nature, she is slow to anger, but when she gets angry her rage is a force of nature. She is modest, tranquil, and industrious

Home• Mount Olympus

Mortal or immortal • immortal

Fact• Historically she is supposed to be the first deity offered to in a ritual due to being the goddess of fire, she's the oldest Olympian, She is spat out last by Kronos so she is also the youngest, she shares her seat with Diyonisus, she did not give it up, she receives a share of every sacrifice/prayer to the gods, and she is commonly seen alongside with Hermes, I would recommend putting their alters close together.

Element• fire

Curses• a bad family life, food being burnt, having not enough food, being turned away at restaurants, being homeless, your house catching on fire

Blessings• all domestic happiness and blessings

Roots• Greek mythology….and she was raised in her father's stomach, and at the first years of theogony era.

Friends• all of the gods, but most notably Hermes, but is not friends with Priapus, she dislikes him (he tried to rape her.)

Parentage• Cronus and Rhea

Siblings• Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, Demeter, Hera

Pet• she has no pets.

Children • she has no children.

Appearance in astral or gen• she was typically represented wearing a veil and robe. In some images, she held a flowering branch or kettle as well.

Festivals • None, at every feast and meal a liberation was made to her name first and last, but I associate Thanksgiving with her, but her Roman counter part Vesta has 1-15 June of each year, an then another festival celebrated on 8-9 July. Hestia is also mentioned on 8 June. But a neo-pagan sets aside 26 December – 22 January as a month devoted to Hestia.

Status• Virgin theoi goddess.

What disrespects her turning away people at your home (she is a goddess of hospitality and it was seen as disrespectful to her to do so.)

Planet• unknown

Her Tarot cards• the Temperance, the fourteenth Major Arcana card.

Remind me of• Hot cocoa, and Thanksgiving.

Scents/Inscene • Lavender, Rose, spring water, rain, Pumpkin, Apple pie, cinnamon, fall leaves, Chamomile, Myrrh, Frankincense, Iris, Angelica, Peony, Angelica, iris, Sandalwood

My opinion • I like her, but I'm scared of her too. (what a shocker!)

Prayers•

Historical-

Holy Queen of Sanctity, we hymn you, Hestia, whose abiding realm is Olympus and the middle point of earth and the Delphic laurel tree! You dance around Apollo’s towering temple rejoicing both in the tripod’s mantic voices and when Apollo sounds the seven strings of his golden phorminx and, with you, sings the praises of the feasting gods. We salute you, daughter of Kronos and Rhea, who alone brings firelight to the sacred altars of the gods; Hestia, reward our prayer, grant wealth obtained in honesty; then we shall always, dance around your glistening throne.

For the lost -

Blessed Hestia, the first and the last, and the always flame. May your light burn bright and strong, May your prayers be those of respect and love, May you guide the lost, And give to those who have nothing. I give thanks to you, Hestia, for all that you have done And continue to do.

For people with intrusive thoughts -

I ask Hestia, the kind goddess, to help those who feel down. May they find comfort and peace inside of their homes and inside their own minds. Protect them for their destructive thoughts, and be the safe place they need so much

A prayer for homeles—

In Hestia’s name, may you always have a home and a roof over your head. May you always be comfortable and warm with a full belly. May you always be in good spirits and good company, never knowing the pervading loneliness that envelopes the soul.

Morning

Blessed Hestia, Fill this home with your light and bounty, As the day fills it with golden sunshine.

Evening

Glorious Hestia, Let your hearth fire warm this house, As night draws her shadowed cloak over it now.

Blessings of the kitchen-

Hestia bless my little kitchen, I love it’s every nook And bless me as I do my work, Wash pots and pans and cook. May the meals that I prepare, Be seasoned from above, With thy blessings and thy grace, But most of all thy love

Links/websites/sources •

ts-witchy-archive, constantly-disheveled, saryoak, eldritchhorror06, https://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/625205765818515456/hestia-offerings/amp, https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/179727039352/offerings-to-hestiahttps://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/625205765818515456/hestia-offerings/amphttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/179727039352/offerings-to-hestiahttps://www.learnreligions.com/hestia-greek-goddess-of-the-hearth-2561993#:~:text=Keep%20a%20candle%20dedicated%20to,prayers%2C%20songs%2C%20or%20hymns.https://www.theoi.com/Ouranios/Hestia.html#:~:text=In%20myth%20Hestia%20was%20the,youngest%20of%20the%20six%20Kronides.https://www.theoi.com/Ouranios/Hestia.htmlhttps://greekmythology.fandom.com/wiki/Hestia#google_vignettehttps://greekmythology.fandom.com/wiki/Hestiahttps://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/hestia/https://www.hellenicgods.org/festivals-of-hellenismos---eortai https://hestiasservant.wordpress.com/2018/05/27/honoring-hestia-a-festival-every-day/https://www.elissos.com/the-family-goddess-hestia-mother-of-all-gods/#:~:text=The%20birth%20of%20Hestia%20dates,to%20his%20throne%2C%20his%20children.https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhea_(mythology)#:~:text=According%20to%20Hesiod%2C%20Rhea%20had,and%20Zeus%20in%20that%20order.https://www.reddit.com/r/pagan/comments/14sy8cj/is_hestia_reaching_out_to_me/https://mythopedia.com/topics/hestia

http://persephoneandhecate.blogspot.com/2011/06/exploring-archetypes-hestia.html?m=1https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/170063420188/bedridden-devotion-to-hestiahttps://honeyandhestia.tumblr.com/post/170063420188/bedridden-devotion-to-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/heatherwitch/160613514230/hestiavesta https://constantly-disheveled.tumblr.com/post/156636591525/can-a-hearth-fire-just-be-a-candle-that-you-lighthttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/169551188078/devotional-activities-for-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/167758105763/jar-to-help-me-connect-to-hestia-chamomilehttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/171225676313/burn-herbs-and-spices-as-an-offering-to-hestia-i https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/183383795283/what-kind-of-crystals-would-yall-associate-with https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/171208375440/a-historical-prayer-to-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/169394109439/i-ask-hestia-the-kind-goddess-to-help-those-who https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/166938581678/if-youre-still-doing-prayer-requests-may-you-be https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/178225408393/lady-hestia-goddess-of-comfort-and-warmth-to https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/183772520921/a-little-kitchen-prayer-for-hestia https://www.hellenicgods.org/festivals-of-hellenismos---eortai

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coffehbeans · 3 months

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Gt WAC Day 23

"A story with a nonhuman/ monstrous character"

THIS, this was a challenge to write ahsushus I'm so nervous cause it took me SO long and as per usual I'm still unsure about it.

This story is based on a dream I had a month ago, I was writing it since then so i could post it on day 23 of gtwac. So yep, new character. It's different from what I've wrote so far, but I hope you guys enjoy it!

Depending on the reception of this story I will continue it, but fair warning that it'll not be a happy one (IF I continue it).

I'm not sure if I'll rate this chapter in particular as above PG-13, but general warning for overall spooky, unsettling vibes.

Enjoy!

........................................................................................

Edward Becker has not seen his wife in seven years.

People called him crazy for waiting for her return. "She's done for", someone mentioned. "Why don't you find another one?", someone suggested, all falling in deaf ears as every single day, he'd go back from work, sit by the porch, and wait for her until the sun went down. A useless effort, as they said, a delusional hope, or the sign of going mad. But for Edward, it was his strength. The only support for his failed attempts at finding her. His last pillar of sanity that made him get up every morning and wait for her until nightfall. His wife would come back, like she always did. She would come back to his open arms, embrace him gently like she used to, cover him with kisses as he pulled her close. They would giggle and enter their home, enjoy a nice meal they cooked together, talking about their day during dinner, about plans for rebuilding their house, plans for a new job he wanted to get, plans about their future children. When night falls, they would sleep holding each other tight, relishing in their shared warmth.

All he had to do was wait for her by the porch.

...

One day, she did comeback.

It was past midnight. So dark and cold outside, most animals have gone to sleep, making the woods around his remote home dead silent. The cows and chickens of his small farm uttered no sound as they slept, and the wind billowed the wheat fields outside, his plain wooden house colored pitch black by the late-night sky. It was a weathered home, well kept indoors but in need of repairs, with ripped, dingy furniture and leaks on the roof. It was protected by a measly three-feet-tall fence that threatened to fall apart, and over the backyard, where the overgrown grass was blown by the wind, laid a simple wooden shed meant for storing farming equipment. Tossing and turning on his bed, Edward sat up with a jolt, sweat dripping on his face as anxiety threatened to eat him whole. He sighed, holding his face in his trembling hands, and letting out a shaky breath. He couldn't fall asleep in those nights, where the memory of Cordelia haunted his mind in his dreams, ones where she wore desperate expressions as she's dragged away from him by detached, withered hands, and no matter how much he ran, he didn't reach her. Nightmares where he found her dead body, pale and laying limp, lifeless eyes staring at him. Nightmares where he found her hurt, bleeding and beaten up, face covered by bruises – in most nights, those visions would plague him.

With a shiver, Edward got up, lighting up the oil lantern. He trudged for the kitchen, on his way to do the same as usual: put some water over the wood burning stove, boil it, try this new tea his friend had brought for him, and drink it aimlessly, hoping in vain for sleep to come back.

He sluggishly put wood pieces inside the firebox, reaching a hand for the lighter on the table. A flicker, two, and the fire was lit. He put the kettle over the stove with a clank, and stared at it blankly, waiting for bubbles to form. The house was pitch black, only the flickering flames of the stove and the lamp’s dim glow illuminated the room.

A loud sizzling of the kettle snapped Edward out of his torpor as the water boiled. He picked the hot handle, feeling its heat burning his skin, lifted it from the fire and — THUMP. A loud thud by the window behind him sent him jumping, fumbling with the kettle in his hands, heartbeat skyrocketing. He banged it on the table. Hot droplets prickled his hand. He turned around with rapid breaths. A blurred shadow dashed away from the window, sending a cold chill down his spine, the wind howling and heavy thuds echoing outside the house’s walls. Rhythmical and constant. Pounding on the ground. Edward sucked in a breath, head ringing against his skull. He stomped towards the cabinet containing his shotgun. There were thieves? In the middle of the night? Were they finally coming to steal a poor and mad man's house? He wouldn't allow it.

He can’t die yet. Not until Cordelia comes back to him.

Loading the gun with precise clicks, Edward aimed it at the window, darting his aim from window to window until he reached the door, the last place he heard the strange sound. With trembling hands over the trigger, his eyes focused on an invisible target. He held his breath, standing still. Not a single sound. Ears trained on any disturbance. THUMP. THUMP. A shadow passed by the window to his right. BANG!

He twisted his body and shot, missing the shadow by an inch.

"W-who's there!?" He shouted in a trepid tone.

No answer. Not even a sound. Maybe the sound of breathing. He couldn't tell. He couldn't tell if it was someone's breathing or his own.

The “sshhhs” and “thuds” echoed around him, heading towards the backyard. Edward adjusted the position of the gun in his arms.

He took a deep breath.

Edward ran to the back door and slammed it open with a kick, pointing the trembling shotgun towards the field. The sky was pitch-black outside, engulfing the horizon with its inky tint, and the stars didn't dare approach the darkness. The faint moonlight was partially obscured by the clouds, its glow too weak to lighten the outdoors. He huffed, feeling the weight of his gun, and headed further into the backyard with measured steps. His shoes crunched the grass below, the dry air amplifying the sound of his stride. Deadly silence filled the field. A puff of smoke left his nostrils as warm exhale met with the frigid air. Tightening the grip around the gun, he aimed it at the decrepit shed. Waiting for movement. Eyes trained forward. The dark blur of a large silhouette shifted behind it.

BANG.

He shot. Once. Twice. The sound of the bullets making his ears ring, metal creating holes in the aged wood. A loud, high-pitched, and definitely human scream cried behind it.

He stopped shooting, heart leaping to his throat. A weight plunked in his insides, making him loose the tight grip on his gun. Behind the shed, he heard it. A gasp. A whimper. A sob. Clearly feminine. Edward lowered the gun, furrowing his brows as the cries made a lump form inside his throat. A trick to let his guard down? A trap? It must be a trick for sure. No way an innocent person would show up in the middle of the night. No, there's no way. Goosebumps trailed down his back as the cries reached his ears. Why was there even someonehere?

The sobbing got louder, echoing in the cold, dark night. He shivered when the shrill voice reverberated in his ears, an uncomfortable knot twisting in his stomach at the thought he could have shot an innocent woman.

"Who... Who's there?" He repeated, cautious this time, as if talking to a cowering animal.

The sobs dwindled little by little. He didn't dare move. The figure was hidden behind the shed, not even the faint moonlight giving a glimpse of its appearance.

Finally, he heard it: that feminine voice. Frail, faint, and so utterly scared.

Its familiarity so potent, something clogged in his throat.

"... Ed..."

That voice. The voice he waited for so many years by the porch. The voice he dreamed of in his sleep. Screaming. Crying for help. Calling for his name.

"... Edward..."

The same voice that recited sweet words of so much care, so much love and adoration to him every day. The voice that followed a gentle embrace, the smell of perfume and a prolonged kiss. The same voice that said "I do" by the altar over 12 years ago, that whispered close to his ear, giggling with joy. The voice that chatted to him relentlessly, which he couldn't get enough of. The voice that laughed, cried, shouted, only to say sweet words of gentle love again. That melodic yet striking voice. Edward didn't notice the tears falling from his face. Didn't notice the gun falling to the ground. Didn't notice his feet moving on his own, towards the shed, towards the faint possibility that she was behind it. He stumbled faster towards it, raising a trembling hand. "C-Cordelia?!" "NO! DON'T COME CLOSER!" The powerful shout made him stop dead on his tracks, ears complaining from its sheer force. He never heard his wife sound so... Desperate. In panic. "... H-honey...?" "Pl-please... D-don't come closer yet." She said, her voice returning to its normal pitch, but shaking with trepidation.

"W-what's wrong...? Did I –"

Then he remembered it. The gun. The shootings. The fact he almost killed his own wife. His heart sank, face turning pale, his voice hoarse.

"Oh God. It's - it's really you, it was you and I almost, I-I a-almost... A-are you hurt? Are you bleeding? I –"

Edward took more shaking steps towards it, the nightmare of his dead wife still clear in his mind.

"NO!" - He stopped again. - "I-I'm fine! I'm not hurt, you d-didn’t hit me."

Edward covered his face with a hand and stopped himself from wanting to vomit.

"Cordelia I'm- ... I-I'm so, so sorry I thought it was a thief, I..."

He lowered his head, and took a shaky breath.

"Am I going crazy? Is – is it r-really you?! I, I waited for s-so long – I thought you were dead —!"

Tears poured desperately from Edward's eyes, his attempts to stop his sobs coming in vain. He hiccupped under his cries, breathing rapidly as reality came crashing down and years of restrained emotion leaked out. The voice sounded just like her. The voice could really be her.

‘Then, if it’s her, why is she hiding?’

"Please, d-dear, if it's really you..." - he whispered, his voice croaky and dry. Tears continued to fall.

"Please let me see you..." The shed grew eerily silent. Cold air made him quiver. A silent second spread throughout the night, the sounds of his sobs echoing through the pitch-black darkness. "I... I can't."

She whispered back in a shaky voice. Unsure. Afraid. Edward raised his head, glancing to the fallen gun on the grass, a realization hitting deep inside his stomach. "Are you scared of me...?" A pause. He heard her sucking in a breath. A long, deep exhale was carried by the wind. Her voice faint and trembling. "N-no... Dear, I... I'm not scared of you." The shed's wood creaked, like something was gripping it and scratching it down. "...I'm scared of myself." Edward's guilty expression changed to confusion. He furrowed his brows. A part of him wanted to giggle. His adorable wife, scared of herself? Why? She always had some impatience and anger she was discontent about, but even so... That made no sense. The way she acted, hiding from him, made no sense. Another part of Edward felt an odd sense of dread. As if something was not right. "Honey, why are you hiding from me? I... I waited for so long... I-I searched everywhere for you, and when I couldn't find anything, I waited. And when I couldn't wait anymore, I prayed. I hoped. I-I never paid attention to what the others said, even if they called me crazy." He took a step towards the shed. She sucked in a breath. Edward didn't notice more tears started to pour from his face. "And it's you, r-right? It's you who's behind here, right? Alive and well? Please dear... Don't let me think I've gone crazy!" He took another step closer. Then another. She whimpered behind the decrepit barn. Edward's vision was blurry from his own tears, but he didn't care anymore. He just needed to see her, even if it wasn't true. Even if he died.

Gosh, he just wanted to see her.

"Honey, DON'T!" The sheer loudness of her rigid voice made him stop dead on his tracks again. He opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Cordelia interrupted him.

"It's n-not... It's not that I'm not alive and well, Edward..." "So why are y-"

"...I-it's that I don't know what I am anymore..." He paused. That uneasy sense of dread sank heavier inside him. "What...? Cordelia, what do you mean-" "If I," – She interrupted, taking a deep breath. – "If I really come out of this shed, Will you promise, promise me that you will not run?" A shiver ran down his spine. Heartbeat rocked harder against his chest. Something's not right. Something's clearly not right. But Edward planted his feet firmly on the ground. It was his wife's voice. He lost her seven years ago. He doesn't know what happened to her in that time. She could be different from how she looked back then, hurt and bruised from whatever abuse they inflicted on her. Rage bubbled up inside him. Whoever did anything to her, he would kill them in cold blood. They would pay for taking her away from him. Being hurt and disfigured by her captors… That was probably what Cordelia meant.

There was no need for him to feel so nervous.

"You know I love you, dear... No matter what. You know I'd never run away from you... So why would you even ask that?"

"Please, Edward." She said louder than he expected. Desperate. Too desperate. "Please promise you won't run." The moonlight cast over the shed, the little gaps between the wooden plates showing a faint shadow behind it. A hulking mass, piled up like a bundle of hay, a head peeking out of the lump as if there was no body attached to it. Edward's eyes widened, heart drumming faster in his chest. Cold sweat scurried down his forehead. 'What is that?' And yet, he couldn't deny the pleading voice of his wife, sounding exactly as she did seven years ago. It couldn't possibly not be her. Something grave must have happened when she was gone, and that's why she was so afraid. Yes, that's most likely it.

So Edward gulped his nervousness down, and wiped the sweat from his face.

"Honey... I promise I won't run away from you... I would never run away from you."

A light, quiet wail whispered in the cold night, slowly dwindling down. A sniff sounded behind the shed. A long inhale and exhale belonging to powerful lungs.

Silence.

"... Alright."

And the heavy sound of something dragging over the earth.

A form encased in shadow peeked from the wooden walls over fourteen feet above him. Edward took a while to notice the large silhouette was a head. His wife's head. It was truly, truly her! Looking just like he remembered and – pale. So sickeningly pale. A dark and somber expression covered her face. Her eyes were baggy and downcast, white lips trembling. But more importantly, he couldn't understand why she has so high up.

"P-please..." - she uttered, almost to herself. - Please don't run..." Gargantuan claws appeared next to her, black, sharp nails curling over the creaking wood. A long, bony hand covered by charcoal scales. His wife pressed her eyes firmly shut. Edward took a step back, his mouth going dry. The sinking feeling in his stomach cut deeper. And then he saw why she was so high up.

The rest of her appeared under the pale moonlight, her form triple of a human size. A gigantic torso loomed over him like a small tree, covering him in her shadow. She wore nothing on her, long, mahogany hair covering her chest.

Then he looked down.

Black and yellow scales jutted out of her skin, covering her lower half, legs attached together in a single, cylindrical body that twitched and writhed as it came closer. The thick tail uncoiled behind the shed, extending further and further to Edward's right, so much so it could envelop around him if it moved. With loud thumps, Cordelia's massive form fell on the ground, hair obscuring her downcast face. Black talons gripped the soil as she pushed herself forward. Rough and coarse scales scraping against the earth as the hulking, round tail crunched the grass and lugged over it like a corpse dragging on the dirt. Rocks broke with a sickening "crunch" under its weight.

Edward's face contorted in shock. He took one, two steps back, eyes widening in horror, shaken to the core as his heart jumped in his throat. Pounding harder against his ribcage.

It was a gargantuan something, half snake, half something that resembled human. Resembled his wife. He mumbled incomprehensibly. Primal fear took over him. A crying, shaky voice resounded from the creature's mouth. A clawed hand the size of his head reaching out to him. "P-please... Edward..." He ran. He screamed bloody murder and dashed back towards his house, hearing it holler back his name. Tears fell from his eyes, desperation taking hold of his body. A deafening sound of thumps and scratches came from behind him, growing closer, coming for him.

"WAIT–!" Tha thing can’t be his wife. Whatever it was it could not be his wife. It shouldn't be his wife. It shouldn't be human. He ran through the house's corridors, left became right and up became down and the crunches behind him grew louder and louder and he had to hide, he had to hide but there was nothing in his room aside from the cold, old bed so he bolted, ran and ducked under it, mumbling shaky prayers, begging to heavens for his life. Begging that he was hallucinating. To not die to someone who looked so much like her.

That couldn't be real. He heaved. It can't be real, can't be real can't be real it can’t – He's gone crazy. Yes, that must be it. He's finally gone mad and that’s why.

But the cracks of the floorboards under the creature's weight sounded far too real for him to doubt. The scratching of the claws over the ground as it dragged its gargantuan body caused a fear too intense for him to doubt. The cracking of the walls as it squeezed itself inside felt too real for him to doubt. Edward clamped his mouth shut with a shaking hand, curling up under the bed and closing his eyes tight. If he remained immovable, if he remained silent, maybe it wouldn't find him. Maybe he wouldn't die. He gulped down a whimper that threatened to escape from his throat. Cordelia's voice resonated from the creature's mouth again. Weak, raspy, and grieving. It was a strategy to lure him out. Yes. That was probably it. It couldn't possibly be something else. Because that huge monster with crude scales couldn't be his wife, with soft skin and flowing hair, with her dress that billowed in the wind when they walked over green fields together. No. That thing could not be her. "Edward... Please, I-I..." She whispered under her heavy sobs. Loud thumps echoed outside the room. "I won't hurt you... Please believe me!"

The sobs that sounded so much like her broke his heart in half. But he remembered to what it belonged to. He would not fall for it. Even if he wanted to scream for help, knowing that no one would come. Even if a part of him wanted nothing more than believe it was all true and run towards its scaly arms. He gulped down his screams of fear, and remained silent. Frozen. Unmoving. He would not fall for it

The scrapes and scratches got louder. Scales hissed over the floorboards that chirred in protest.

"I'm not a monster. I'm not –" A claw unhinged itself from the floor and the creature raised itself up. A loud bump thundered on the ceiling, a shocked gasp echoed in the dry air. Edward clutched his eyes shut. Dust and debris fell on the ground. The monster laid down again, a heavy bang thundering in the silent house. The floorboards groaned as it settled on the ground.

"If you... If you look at me like that again, I-I think I'll go crazy... I can't stand it!"

Loud sobs filled the house. Edward flinched and clutched his eyes shut, breathing heavily, curling further inside himself. He resisted the urge to break down into tears.

The dragging and shuffling got heavier. The floorboards of his bedroom, the ones he was currently laid over, creaked in complaint of the weight being placed upon them. The sound got louder. Closer.

It was entering his room.

He sucked in a quivering gasp. Heart threatening to escape his throat, he shook as if the room was freezing cold, tears cascading down his face at the thought that he really could die now. He would die. He would die. Maybe he should. Maybe she should just end him.

He saw it. The black and yellow scales, shimmering as it moved. The snake body crawling as it reached the door, so massive it got stuck in the door frame. A push or two and it got free, the walls around it cracked, dust fell around him and a crunching sound reverberated in the room. Black claws scraped the ground, wood screeching in the deafening silence. A towering human body, pale torso as tall as him, laid down, auburn locks of hair trailing on the floor. The face obscured by its raised head.

It stopped moving. He looked at its skin with heaving breaths and widened eyes.

They remained still for what felt like an eternity. The only sound was his own heartbeat, his breathing and the creature's. The tail twitched and thumped against the walls with a loud noise. He flinched as his eyes darted back and forth, hearing the friction of scales against wood.

Silence.

She sniffed. And spoke first. "... When the civil war happened, we hid here once. You would wrap your arms around me, and we'd curl up together under the bed, praying that it'd protect us." �� she whispered.

"– But even when I cried, even when we thought we would die, I still felt safe with you. Do you remember that, dear…?"

The sorrowful voice spoke of memories that a monster should not have. Edward felt cold. So cold, alone under that bed.

He closed his eyes tightly shut. Maybe, after a while, he wouldn't see her when he opened them. Hugging himself, Edward shuddered as a shiver crawled up his spine. Maybe he could still return to a normal life, where he didn’t hallucinate. Maybe he could still pretend none of this happened.

There was a shifting sound, and he sucked in a trepid breath. A thud, right in front of him. With his lips trembling, and teeth grinding against each other, Edward wondered if his death would be quick. But time stretched as the room fell into stifling silence, the monster's breathing ruffling on his face. It was right in front of him. He knew. He knew that he should just keep his eyes closed, waiting for his death. He knew that. His heart hurt inside his ribcage from pounding so hard, and his stomach sank lower with fear. He should close his eyes more firmly. He should just wait a while longer.

But instead, he opened them.

Her face. Her same crying face, if not for the magnified size and its greyish blue eyes with slitted pupils. A shadow of what once was her. His wife. The one he waited for so long. The one he imagined walking back to him as he sat by that porch every day. It did come back, as a monster, a ghost ready to haunt him, blame him for the pathetic man that he was, for not being able to prevent her from going missing. A reflection of what he lost. Evidence of his cowardice. A sign that he has gone mad.

That's what he wanted to believe.

But the face that resembled his wife so faithfully mirrored his expression of dread and grief. It covered itself in such humanity, with the exhausted eyes dripping with tears. With the mouth, when its pale lips parted as it sucked in a shaky breath, even if it revealed sharp teeth underneath. With its thick, auburn hair as it clung to her sweating face. It looked so distinctly human. So distinctly real. Not at all like a ghost. Not at all like a monster out to hunt him.

In that closeup by the gap under the bed, it just looked like his wife.

Edward’s breathing got less exasperated. His heart rocked less inside his chest. His tears dried as his widened eyes remained frozen on the figure before him. He glared at its mouth, as it opened to speak.

"Edward..." It whispered. So silently, so tender yet certain, just like the time when he had her by his side.

"... I am real."

The tears resurfaced, a mix of fear, hope and despair turned into quiet, then loud sobs, then muffled screams as Edward cried and curled up further under the bed, letting out years of frustration. Years of guilt as it made his chest hurt and his breathing to narrow. He couldn't hear her, who was sobbing on her own, as he drowned in the sorrows that leaked out of his weathered body like a dam that has been broken. Did he have her back? Could he really put a stop to this? He felt guilty. So guilty. Was that his fault? If he found her, would she have turned out like this? No, she wouldn’t. He knew she wouldn’t and that was why the tears wouldn’t stop. If the monster wanted to hurt him, Edward wouldn’t blame it, not even a little.

When he started to calm down, he didn't realize the creature was still there, in front of him, with tears gathered on its enlarged face. He regained his breath, steadily and gradually, refocusing his eyes on the grey blue irises. Her gaze softened, just like when she greeted him home after a tiring day, eyes inviting him for peaceful rest.

He needed that rest. More so than any other day.

"If I... If I move away, will you come out?"

She whispered so quietly Edward struggled to hear it. But it still sounded the same, that sweet, honeyed voice that said “I love you” with so much earnest and ease. But a part of him still doubted. His body still trembled under her alien gaze. Doubts echoed in his mind, and adrenaline pumped in his veins. If this was her, then how? Why? What kind of degenerate devil would do this to her?

But still, he wanted to believe... He did, but... He didn't want to die.

"Dear... If I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I'd already done so?"

There it was, her bolder side, the one that always made her win an argument, that scolded him sometimes but he always loved it when she did. The one that now made him snap out of it, and helped Edward realize that he didn't have any power in this situation from the very beginning. The creature was huge and could see him. Indeed, if it wanted it would have hurt him long ago. Edward repeated this in his head over and over until it was enough to clear his mind.

In a glimpse of calmness, he managed to speak in what was left of his hoarse voice. "Yes... You're right, honey." And she smiled. A relieved, sad smile, one that did not have any hope in it, but that was glad he at least spoke to her like a person. Like his wife. Even if it was only for a little bit.

She got up, the long claws visible for a second in Edward's field of vision. They recoiled towards the snake creature's chest as if it had touched a burning kettle, knowing he had seen its intimidating appendage. It shifted its body away and the scales glistened as it slithered towards the door. After a while, it stopped. The area in front of Edward was free to move now.

His heartbeat rocked louder. What if the moment he leaves it slices him open with those claws... – No. 'Snap out of it. Snap out of it.' he repeated in his head, recalling the events and the fact that if it was a predator after its prey, he was already too difficult to be bothered with. He would be fine, Edward assumed. He had to be.

And if all of that was a lie, then it was better that he died anyway, granting the sweet release of death instead of sinking into his madness.

Because if all that he saw this night was not real, then he really has gone mad.

Edward took a deep breath. One... Two... The snake creature remained still.

Three.

He scrambled away from the bed and sat up in a hurry, heaving like he had run a marathon. Eyes closed. Waiting for the inevitable.

It never came.

So he opened his eyes, coming face to face with the creature's scales stretching in the distance. His heart throbbed.

"I-it's okay, honey... You're doing great." She whispered, voice clogged by her own desire to break down into tears.

Edward took another deep breath. In… And out. No closing his eyes now. And slowly, he raised his head up, searching for the face of his beloved. Even if he was shaking from head to toe.

His eyes trailed up her body. Nervous and slim hands, covered by black scales, interlaced over her lap. The scales of her tail became thinner and thinner as he looked up, their color contrasting against the ivory skin of her human upper body. It was ashen, slim, the torso alone was as tall as he was. He looked to the chest concealed by her hair, mahogany and wavy, just like he remembered, although the strands were much longer and thicker than before. And finally, he reached it. The same sweet, tender face, looking down at him. The trembling lips struggled to show a reassuring smile, forcing her mouth shut in order to cover the fangs underneath it. Those elongated eyes, with thick eyelashes that fluttered, blinking away tears. The same straight nose. Those previously beautiful blue eyes, now a greyer shade and with pupils like a reptile's, yet with that human, longing glance, darting around Edward's face as she analyzed his every expression.

It was her. No doubt about that now.

Edward opened his mouth and closed it, struggling to form words. Thoughts spiraled inside his mind. Feelings of guilt, frustration, anger, indignation. Fear. Sorrow. Pain.

Yet hope. Above all it was hope.

Edward got up, not taking his eyes off hers.

That was no monster. It was, indeed, his wife.

"Oh, Cordelia, what have they done to you?"

His voice whispered, thick with sorrow. He looked up to see pools of tears splashing from Cordelia's face, a clear expression of relief. She sobbed, burying her face in her clawed hands, relieved that her husband called her by her name again. Relieved that he was here. Relieved that he didn't see her as a monster, at least for that moment. A piece of humanity she lost, a piece of her previous life that she missed, a piece of hope that was snatched away from her seven years ago and that she never thought she'd have again. It was returning for her.

He was returning for her.

Cordelia was surprised by a warm touch over her scaled lap. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the rough back of her hand, looking down with a gasp. Her husband was rubbing his hand over it, tiny and shaking, comforting her. An attempt to reach out.

"D-don't. They are hideous..." Tears flowed on her face.

‘Indeed, they were’, Edward thought. He never liked snakes, their scales always making his skin crawl whenever he found one in the farm. The feeling wasn't any different as he trailed his hands over her, goosebumps raised the hairs on his skin and he shuddered with each motion. Edward exhaled shakily. No matter how much he looked at it, even if everything felt unreal at the moment, he couldn’t deny who was in front of him.

"They are still you." He said.

Cordelia widened her eyes and Edward looked up at her with compassion on his face. Love, longing. They both yearned for that. For the same feeling to return to them. For the same life, that was so cruelly snatched away from them, to return as if nothing had gotten between them in the first place. Even if it was a pointless dream.

They fumbled awkwardly at what to do.

Edward wasn't sure how to proceed. His mind conjured images of him holding her tightly, back to her human form, like a dream manifesting. Yet the reality loomed over him and the long tail that filled his bedroom in multiple coils covered his skin with goosebumps, a knot tightening on his throat.

He looked up and confirmed it, Cordelia's unsure face was there. He’s not crazy. All of that was still her.

She looked away under his apprehensive gaze, turning deep red and ashamed of herself. Edward took a deep breath; she didn’t feel well and he needed to fix this. He looked down. Then looked up again.

"Can I hold you?"

The question took Cordelia aback. She backed away from him and widened her eyes. Her tail bumped on the cabinet and he twisted his neck towards the source of the sound, clearly flinching from the movement.

He was still terrified of her. Then, why...?

"You don't need to do this, Edward. You did great already –“

"No. I want to do this. If you're really you, I want to do this."

Cordelia looked down and saw Edward's determined face. Her heart broke silently inside her. Why he was so adamant in dealing with her, Cordelia didn't know. But gosh, if it wasn't for his fear and for her disgusting claws, she'd have held him close a long time ago. She missed it so much. How much she missed his strong embrace.

So she nodded, and he came closer.

Edward couldn't quite contain how much he was shaking. Couldn't contain his jolt when he touched her frigid skin, chills crawling down his spine. But despite this, he pushed on forward, kneeling over her scaled lap, glancing at how they shone even in the partial darkness. With silent fascination, Cordelia let her arms hover around him.

A moment hung between them.

And Edward latched onto her. He rested on her torso and enveloped his arms around her, as much as he could, as they barely reached her back. Cold. She was cold like a corpse. He rested his cheek against her stomach, shivering upon contact. Gosh, it was so cold. He wanted to pull away. He wanted to hold her closer. Cordelia didn't remember the last time she sensed so much warmth. She felt herself getting hot inside even when she thought she was not capable of feeling warm anymore. Edward snuggled closer to her chest, and she sighed, relishing in his contact. Gently, like she was cradling an injured bird, Cordelia enveloped her arms around him, careful not to hold him too tight or not to loom over him, either. Gosh, the way her arms completely engulfed him... She felt monstrous. Edward shrank upon contact and she started to let him go, fearing this was a bad decision, but the feeling of his hug getting tighter made her arms remain still.

They stayed like this for an amount of time, taking in each other’s presence. Edward heard his wife's strong heartbeat against him, which grounded him in his current predicament, but still... Maybe he'd blink and she'd be gone, or maybe something would finally reveal that he'd made all of that up. Cordelia's embrace got a little tighter, not in a way that was hurting him, but she shifted around and her shadow loomed over as she curled around him. Her arms closed the hug in, and his heart skipped a beat.

"I missed you." she croaked.

She leaned over Edward, pulling him closer. He sighed in sweet relief upon hearing her melodic voice, feeling exhaustion weighing down on him as his body relaxed. He sank in her gentle embrace, kissing the surface of the freezing cold skin.

"I missed you too, dear."

...

They were laying on their backs under the early morning light, on the floor of the same bedroom where everything happened. Cordelia's tail stretched way further outside the room, disappearing through the door. Edward rested on top of her, not after much insistence that he wrapped a warm blanket around him. He ran his fingers through her hair, dazed, letting the reality of the situation sink in. He wasn't exactly afraid now, but the memories of the night made his heart twist with a mix of dread and guilt. Edward needed to know. How bad was everything that happened to her? Too much happened, she was gone, and now he had her back. It felt unreal and too real at the same time. And yet, Edward needed answers. Maybe, just for a few minutes, he thought, they could stay like this, and pretend that nothing had happened, but he knew that curiosity would get the best of him. Cordelia looked down at her husband with tenderness, watching as he caressed her hair, as she avoided touching him with her claws. She noticed his pensive expression and frowned.

“Is something wrong?

Edward hesitated, looking for ways to phrase his question. "What happened that made you turn into this?" He asked finally, tone even, yet with seething rage building up inside his chest. "Who did this to you?"

Cordelia sighed, closing her eyes. All the memories surfaced in her head like a messy conjecture of disfigured images and sounds. She took a shuddering breath, and spoke.

"I regained memories of you first before I remembered my own name..."

#this was my attempt at suspense #giant/tiny #g/t #hope y'all like it!#I've got some goosebumps while writing this so I hope y'all get some too lol #coffeh writes #story #writing #sfw g/t #g/t story #g/t writing #oc: cordelia #oc: edward #g/t angst #g/t hurt and comfort #gtwac #wacprompts

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