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rileyslibrary · 8 months

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The Log Cabin: Wish and Hope

Synopsis: You go on a vacation with the Lieutenant at his log cabin.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2,617

A/N:

Wholesome fluff.

This is the final part of the story, but you can also read it as a one-shot. (Part 1 & Part 2 if you’re interested)

The inspiration behind the exterior/interior of the cabin.

Also, writing this chapter was quite the journey.

———————————————————————

The sun has almost set by the time you reach your destination.

Simon parks the car at the bottom of the hill, where the road ends, marking the boundary between civilisation and the wilderness. He retrieves his balaclava from the back seat’s pocket and scans the surroundings before getting out of the car.

“Get the axe and Bourbon from the backseat,” he instructs as he steps out.

You follow his directive, picking up the well-worn axe and a bottle of amber liquid from the backseat.

Simon slings his rucksack over his shoulder and tucks his mask into one of the front pockets. He takes your bag with one hand and a red toolbox from the car’s floor with the other.

You show him the axe and Bourbon from across the car, shaking both in your hands. With your supplies gathered, you exchange a nod—a habit you picked up from the field—and begin your way up the hill, leaving the car behind.

———————————————————————

You walk beside him, but he’s gaining ground quickly. He looks unfazed by the long journey—as if he hadn’t spent the entire day driving.

You, on the other hand, are exhausted. Each stride feels heavier on your legs, and the uneven path doesn’t help. The moss cushions your steps, making it difficult to gauge the depth of the ground beneath you.

Sometimes, you stumble, and he glances back to check on you. He looks you up and down, assessing you, before returning his attention to the trail ahead.

“Tired?” he asks, which feels more like a rhetorical question—an observation, a statement—than as a genuine concern.

You shake your head. Fatigue clouds your thoughts, and you fail to register that he can’t perceive your nonverbal response. He turns around once more, waiting for an answer.

“Nope,” you reply, forcing yourself to stand a bit taller. “Not tired at all.”

His gaze shifts forward, and you slump.

You try to focus on your senses, hoping to distract your mind until you reach the cabin. You look up at the tree branches, outlined by the fading light, casting a dark shadow above you. You listen to the birds calling, the insects responding, and a stream nearby. You take a deep breath, smelling the pine and wet ground. It seems like it rained not long ago. It’s a bit chilly. You wonder why you didn’t bring your jacket, only to recall that it’s August. Then you realise it’s August but in the Scottish woodlands.

———————————————————————

You must have walked for another fifteen minutes before the cabin finally reveals itself. It’s almost dark now, but you can see the worn wood that graces it. The hut is tiny, way smaller than you imagined, with a triangular roof and a chimney. How does one fit a fireplace in there? How does he fit in there? How are you both going to fit in there?

A small front porch extends from the cabin’s entrance, complete with a lone chair and a lantern hung next to the door. A serene pond reflects the darkening sky nearby, its surface motionless, still, mimicking the night.

As you approach the cabin, you notice a smaller room that you assume to be the toilet—a logical consideration given the cabin’s size. An open shower is nearby, next to a tree, shielded by strategically placed vertical logs for privacy.

Simon places your bags on the porch and retrieves the lantern. He fills it with fuel, lights it up, and hands it to you. He unlocks the cabin door, pushes it open, and motions with his head for you to take the first step inside.

It’s cosy. Intimate. How will he handle such closeness?

A two-seater brown leather sofa invites you to relax while a small fireplace stands against the wall. A compact table with a lone chair marks the boundary between the living room and the kitchen, which consists of a fire stove, a single counter, and exposed cabinets stocked with plates, cups, and utensils.

You concentrate on a nook at the far end of the kitchen, where a double bed is placed. It’s so snug it looks like the room was built around it. A small window in the bed’s headboard frames a view of the outside shower.

“Did you build this by yourself?” You ask, placing the axe and the Bourbon on the table.

Simon’s head pops in from the doorway at the sound of your voice.

“What?” he asks.

“This,” you gesture to the cabin. “Did you build it on your own?”

He seems surprised by your question. “Me?” he points to himself. “Nah, I found it like this.”

“You found it like this,” you echo, raising your eyebrows.

“I bought it that way and made a few tweaks,” he explains as he places your bags on the sofa and proceeds to get into the details of his modifications.

You focus again on the interior, capturing the nuances he points out. The stove, the sofa, the solitary chair beside the table – they all reflect his choices. That’s him; you’ve never seen him like this. Or, at least, this side of him.

“Also installed a couple of solar panels; I’ll go check on ’em,” he concludes, grabbing a flashlight from the toolbox. “We eat when I come back, yeah?”

You nod, but he’s already heading out, leaving you alone in the cabin. You set the lantern on the kitchen table.

You want to rest, but the sofa is covered with bags and equipment, and you’re too weary to clear them away. The lone chair by the table doesn’t look like it would do any favours for your achy back. Instead, you opt for the bed. You sit on its edge and pat the mattress.

Thoughts bubble to the surface, and your mind focuses on a particular issue—the sleeping arrangements. Yes, you’re comrades who shared a bed out of necessity before, but that was a different scenario—now, sleeping together in a bed while on vacation? A shared vacation? That’s an entirely different matter.

As you reflect, your fingers graze the sheets. They’re soft—inviting. Leaning back, you sink into the mattress, its comfort drawing you in. The hiss of the lantern, paired with your breath, becomes a lullaby in the cabin’s silence. As the emotional strain and the tension in your body eases, the bed cradles you, its comfort pulling you deeper into its embrace. The day’s worries fade away with each breath. You close your eyes one last time for the day.

———————————————————————

The morning sun filters in through the bedroom window, gently nudging you awake. You blink, focusing on the wooden wall that stands inches away from your nose. You sit up slowly. Strange—your body isn’t positioned the way it was when you drifted off to sleep.

You turn at the empty space beside you; he is not there, yet the slightly flattened pillow and the tousled sheets hint that he has occupied that spot. There’s also a subtle change in your clothing; while you’re still dressed the same as yesterday, your shoes are missing. You wiggle your toes.

The sounds of the outdoors seep into the cabin, and you look out the window. Yesterday must have drained you completely. Sliding to the edge of the bed, you plant your bare feet onto the cool wooden floor, spying your shoes near the cabin entrance. As you approach them, you instinctively reach for Simon’s jacket, hanging over the chair. Wrapping yourself in it, you inhale deeply at its collar.

You slip into your shoes and open the cabin door. The brisk morning air greets you first, biting at your skin, and you hug Simon’s jacket tighter around you. A weird sound is coming from somewhere nearby that feels out of place from its surroundings.

Your eyes narrow toward the source—something by the pond. You shield your eyes from the sun’s glare, and the source becomes clearer. Simon stands at the pond’s edge, wearing a grey shirt that clings to his sweat-dampened chest. Gripping the axe with both hands, he raises it overhead, the blade briefly shining before descending with a solid thud. It bites into the wood and splits it in half with an audible crack. Then again. And again. And again.

Occasionally, he lets out a soft grunt as he swings the axe, releasing the tension from his body until he repeats the same movement. The sweat glistens on his skin, and his biceps flex with every lift, then relaxing with each hatch.

“Morning,” you finally say.

He pauses mid-swing and looks up. He sets the axe down against a log and wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Dark patches are spreading from his underarms. He’s breathless, so he nods at you instead.

“What happened in there?” you ask, motioning towards the bed.

Simon’s lips curl up. A single droplet drips from the tip of his nose as he bends and picks up the axe again.

“You confused sleeping with dying; that’s what happened.”

You chuckle. “You couldn’t wake me up, huh?”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “For someone who claims to be ‘not tired at all,’ you sure fell asleep like a rock,” he says, swinging the axe once more to split another log.

“Tea?” you offer.

“Please.”

You grin. “Beg a little, will you?”

He lets out a chuckle. “Careful now,” he warns you jokingly, giving the axe a casual twirl in his hand and keeping on working.

You roll your eyes and make your way to the kitchen. You grab a kettle, fill it with water, and place it on the stove. Opening the tea box, you browse the selection with your finger, then turn to search for Simon outside, thinking of asking him about his tea preference. However, he’s nowhere to be found. Redirecting your focus to the options, you speculate he’d be content with whatever you choose; he wouldn’t bring them here if he didn’t like them. You settle on Earl Grey.

As the water heats up, you ready the teapot with the tea blend and look out the window above the bed. There’s movement. You take a closer look.

Simon stands right by the shower. He slowly peels off his shirt, revealing his upper body inch by inch, and drapes it over the partition as he steps into the shower. His jeans and boxers follow suit, finding their place next to his shirt. He lifts his hand and turns on the shower head, finally releasing the water he yearns for after his hard work. His eyes shut as he lets the water flow down his body, starting from his head, tracing the line of his neck, and continuing down to his shoulders.

Did you lose your ability to breathe, or did time slow down? Does it matter? And, close your gaping mouth; you’ve seen nothing extraordinary. I, on the other hand, have seen every inch of him. Pathetic.

At least, that’s what the kettle appears to be screaming at you as it whistles for your attention. You remove it from the heat, pour it into the teapot and set it aside. You return to the window above the bed; Simon is no longer there.

You curse at the kettle.

———————————————————————

With the soothing warmth of tea inside you, you set out on a hiking adventure into the forest. It’s a familiar trail to Simon, yet the landscape seems untouched—whispering leaves, twittering birds, the distant murmur of a nearby stream. Sunlight filters through the foliage, draping the ground with a delicate pattern of golden lace. Moss and decomposing leaves mingle with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers to create a unique scent.

As you continue on the trail, you get captivated by an ancient tree standing alone, gnarled and weathered by time. Its roots grip the earth like they were there before your kind began to call this place home, and its branches reach for the sky as if praying to the gods. You touch its trunk and feel unworthy.

“Naychuh.” Simon’s voice breaks the silence. It takes a few seconds for you to register what he just said.

“Indeed,” you add. “Nature.”

“It’s amazing how they can withstand everything and remain so strong,” he observes, tracing the tree’s bark with his fingers. “Resilient.”

“I wish I were like that.” You murmur.

He averts his gaze, releasing his grip on the trunk. “The environment definitely helps,” he comments, shrugging. “Plant this tree in the Caribbean, and it’ll be dead in a week, but here?” He taps the trunk. “It flourishes.”

“Our environment isn’t very… flourishing, Lieutenant.”

“Simon,” he corrects you with a smile and motions towards the path ahead. “This way.”

The walk continues, each step leading you deeper into the woods. Neither of you utters another word. The nearby stream does all of the talking for you.

———————————————————————

The journey back to the cabin is easy; you both seem relaxed, no matter the distance you have walked. The forest’s inhabitants appear to switch shifts, preparing for the night; birds cease to chirp, and owls take their positions. Shadows lengthen, and the air carries a gentle chill, hinting at the approaching evening.

You’re filthy but content. Happy. You light the lantern and pull out fresh clothes from your bag.

Simon squats in front of the fire pit outside, preparing it for grilling. He piles the logs he cut earlier into the pit, tosses in some dried pine needles, and lights them up.

Two very different ways of getting burned stand before you. You step closer to him.

“Mind if I hit the showers?” you ask.

“Go ahead,” he says, nodding towards the enclosure.

“Promise you won’t look?”

“Not a fucking pervert like you are,” he jokes with a playful smile on his lips as he pokes the fire. “Spying from the windows.”

“I beg your pardon,” you snap, your face slowly turning red. “I wasn’t spying!”

“Sure, you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t!” You retort and smile. “I was simply enjoying what nature had to offer.”

He stifles a chuckle and shakes his head. “We eat in 20,” he announces. “Go.”

———————————————————————

With the sun now entirely gone, the fire glows brighter against the darkness.

You sit side by side, close to the fire, content from the shared meal. Each of you holds a glass of Bourbon and looks up at the sky, admiring the shooting stars.

A chuckle escapes you, catching Simon’s attention.

“What?” he asks, his brows knitted together.

You look down at the glass in your hand, then back up at the sky.

“Nothing,” you mutter. “I just find it funny how trees stay resilient while stars fall.”

He follows your line of sight to the night sky.

“Trees fall, just like stars,” he says, swaying his glass. “And just like us.”

“Interesting perspective, Lieut—”

“Simon,”

“Interesting perspective, Simon.”

He nods. “We all fall when the time comes.” He whispers.

You tilt your head, studying his profile. He’s aware of your gaze, yet he doesn’t shy away.

“But every fall serves a purpose,” he continues. “Trees offer us warmth, for example.”

“And what about us?” You ask.

“We put ourselves on the line to protect others.”

“Is that what you think we do? Protect?”

“I try to find some reasoning behind it,” he admits, shrugging.

Your focus shifts back to the night sky.

“And what about stars?” you wonder. “What purpose do shooting stars hold? Creating a spectacle for us, the protectors?”

He takes a sip from his glass, a soft smile on his lips.

“They make us wish,” he murmurs. “They make us wish and hope.”

———————————————————————

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somekindofpoet · 1 year

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La Petite Mort - La Drague

Summary: Reader and Lorraine take a ride into the woods for a picnic...and other things.

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language

A/N: The angst is coming....enjoy this while you can

LPM Part I LPM Part III LPM Part IV LPM Part V LPM Part VI

LPM - La Drague

Somehow, the day after your barnyard tryst is even hotter than the day before. Waves of heat roll off of the dusty hills, the sun sweltering above your head, making your skin burn. The cattle in the field gather together under the batches of hickory trees, their wispy branches providing thin strips of coveted shade. Getting them moving in this weather will require significant effort on your part and your grizzled veteran of a horse.

You pat his dappled gray neck and sigh, “Well, CB, the faster we get these ladies back to the barn, the faster we can get to the pond.”

CB nudges you with his nose as if to tell you he’s been ready long before you were. You ruffle his black bangs and reach up to the horn of your saddle, hiking your leg into the stirrup and swinging yourself onto his back. You lean forward and give him another pat on his shoulder, and he picks his head up, ears high, ready to work. If he does well, you’ll be done in enough time to catch Lorraine before lunch, a thought that sends a tingle from the tips of your ears down to your toes. With the proper motivation (yours being the possible opportunity to see her naked again), one could accomplish wonders.

You nudge CB in the sides, getting him to move toward the handful of cattle lounging in the shade. They pick their heads up lazily, watching you with bored eyes. They were so used to you and CB by now you hardly had to herd them. They had their routine. You just had to get them moving into it.

“Alright, ladies,” you yell, clapping your hands above your head, “let’s get those derrières movin'!”

They gaze at you, their jaws moving in slow circles as they chew their cud. You give them grace, understanding they don’t want to return to the heat. But they need to get moving or you won’t make it back to the house before Mr. Day returns from his trip into town. You glance down at your saddlebag, weighing your options. The fastest route is the one you decide to take, reaching over into the leather bag to pull out your revolver. You sling the cylinder open, checking for bullets in the chambers.

You slap the cylinder back in and point the barrel into the sky, “Now listen up, heifers! There’s a real pretty lady waitin' on me right now, so I need you to get your asses in gear! I’ll even line up a date with a bull if you save me the money of wasting a bullet on the sky right now.”

The cows shuffle further from you but make no effort to move back to the path that will take them home. They’re going to scramble when you fire the gun, and it’ll take more effort to herd them in the right direction, but at least they’ll be moving.

You sigh, shaking your head, “Well, girls, you’ve given me no choice. Desperate times and all.”

You pull the trigger, the gun in your hand sending a familiar shockwave down your wrist. The chemical reaction in the barrel sets off a bang that immediately earns a reaction from the cattle. CB doesn’t flinch, well accustomed to gunfire. You spur him as the cows scramble, working their space bubbles until you have them all in a group and lumbering back toward the barn. You push them a little harder than normal, in a hurry to get your job done for the morning.

When you come into view of the barn and the house, the driveway is still empty. A wide grin spreads across your face at the sight. You lock the cattle into their pasture and tie CB to one of the posts, making your way toward the house. A curtain swinging closed catches your attention, and seconds later, Lorraine is flying out the back door. You stop walking and watch her, your hands on your hips. She doesn’t slow when she gets closer to you, instead crashing into you, her lips immediately finding yours. She shoves your hat off your head in her haste, her hands and lips frantically taking you in. You respond immediately, but your shock makes your hands slow, and she’s already pushing you back against the barn wall, her fingers working at the buttons on your shirt.

You laugh into her lips, your hands coming up to stop hers, “Woah woah, Raine, slow down.”

She stops long enough to look into your eyes and pushes into you again, her lips on your neck this time. “I dreamt about you last night,” she says, her words coming out muffled against your skin.

You let her continue as you mull over your surprise. You knew you were good, damn good in bed. But you hadn’t expected to find her so wild so quickly. You had half worried she might be awkward or embarrassed about yesterday’s activities, but she’s nearing on barbaric the way she’s pulling at you. You realize you’re lost in thought, and she’s already got your shirt unbuttoned. You shake your head, trying to clear the haze that had settled over you. The excitement building in your stomach makes you feel like you’re buzzing, her hands running across your ribs amplifying the feeling. You glance around the open yard and begin to feel too exposed. Her father could come home at any moment and find you in a compromising situation.

You gently hold her shoulders, pushing her back, “Wait,” you say as she reaches up to kiss you again, “Wait, Lorraine. I have an idea.”

She sighs in frustration, “Daddy is gonna be back any time now.”

You huff out a laugh at how cute she looks, her eyes wide and dark, her nose scrunched with impatience. Her hands are still on your sides, her thumbs running back and forth over your skin.

“I know,” you say, looking down at her, “that’s what I’m worried about. Come with me.”

You pry her fingers from around your waist and take her hand, pulling her toward CB. She follows willingly, only a slight pull of confusion on her face. You scoop up your hat and drop it on her head, the brim sinking over her eyebrows. She laughs softly and pushes it back, letting you lead her along the fence posts. Her fingers fall from your grip as you untie the reins from the post, and she stands up on her tiptoes to hug CB’s neck.

“Hey, handsome,” she says, and he glances at her, then back to you.

You pull yourself onto his back and offer your hand to her, but she frowns up at you, your hat sliding down into her eyes again.

“I can ride on my own, you know.”

You shake your head and laugh, “I know that, but we’re in a bit of a hurry at the moment. Are we not?”

CB stomps and shakes his head to accentuate your point, ever the wingman. Lorraine shrugs and reaches up, letting you pull her up onto his back in front of you. You pluck your hat from her head and place it back on your own, and she leans back into your chest. With her body flush against yours, you feel the heat in your belly begin to glow, every nerve standing at attention. The reins gathered in one hand, you pull to the side, telling CB to turn and begin walking down the fence, away from the house. Lorraine drops her head back to rest on your collarbone, and you can’t help but kiss just below her ear, making her shiver despite the blazing sun.

“I hope you’re takin me where I think you’re takin me,” she mumbles, closing her eyes, her body gently rocking side to side with CB’s steps.

You smirk, already knowing where she’s thinking, “I am.”

You guide CB through a thick line of trees, picking your way along a trail you’ve all walked many times before. You hardly have to tell him where to go; he knows his destination now that you’ve pointed him in its direction. He slowly makes his way through the trees and underbrush, plodding along obediently. Lorraine is quiet and relaxed, every few minutes, she runs her palms up and down your legs, giving you goosebumps under the denim. You break through into a clearing, and Lorraine sits up, knowing this is your stop. A large pond is hidden away there, only accessible through the clearing. You pull CB to a halt, and she slides off his back with you just behind her.

You turn back to him to pull the blanket roll off the saddle and a small bundle out of the saddle bag. Lorraine scratches his nose and plants a kiss between his nostrils when he drops his head to her.

You pat his rump, “Alright, buddy, go do horse stuff, I’ll see ya soon.”

He sidles through the clearing to the grass near the pond and ducks his head down to snack. You unroll the blanket and lay it in the grass, the trees around the clearing providing shade in the shapes of branches and leaves. You set the bundle from your saddlebag on the corner of the blanket and start to pull your boots off. Lorraine watches you curiously, until she understands what you’re doing and follows suit. You’re down to your underwear by the time she gets the picture. Her eyes are trained on you as she unties her shoes, watching you closely as you strip out of your remaining clothes. She licks her lips, hurrying her hands.

You grow impatient and sprint to the water bank, striding in knee-deep and diving in, the cool water washing over your head. When you resurface, Lorraine is in her underwear at the edge of the water, chewing on her cheek.

“Well, now is a weird time to get shy,” you call out, smiling wide.

She shrugs and shakes her head, sighing. She glances around into the surrounding trees, stretching up on her toes to see further into the dense brush.

“You just tried to strip me down in front of your house not thirty minutes ago, and you’re worried now?” You tease her, backstroking further out into the water.

She throws her hands up in defeat and strips down, tossing her clothes back toward the blanket, and wades in.

“It’s cold!” She yelps, hesitating ankle-deep.

You swim up to a point where you can stand with your shoulders just breaking the water, wind back, and swing your arm, splashing her in a wave. She squeals and tries to retreat, but you’re already grabbing her around the waist, pulling her into the water. You fall backward, dunking both of your heads under, and let go of her. When you surface, she’s spluttering and pushing her hair out of her face, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. You expect to be chastised, but instead, she opens her eyes and lunges at you, splashing your face and giggling.

She stays a few feet closer to the shore, unable to stand with her head above water at your depth. You watch her for a moment, committing to memory the way the water droplets run down from her hair over her cheekbones and her faint tan lines around the collar of her neck. She stops laughing as you take her in, biting her lip and moving toward you. She has to swim to you, and when she reaches you, she wraps her arms around your neck to keep herself above water. You hold her waist as her legs wrap around your torso, and you quickly remember why you’d trekked all the way out here. This time when she kisses you, you don’t stop her.

You carry her a few steps closer to the shore, your hands sliding down to hold her weight. The water ripples around your bodies as you grow more frenzied, her hips rolling into your stomach, her hands on your jaw. For a split second, you worry that you could get used to this, having her like this, and lose her. The thought flits through your mind, making you falter, but when she sighs into your mouth, the sentiment dissolves like sugar under your tongue. You stay there a bit longer, enjoying her tongue on yours, your skin relishing in the cool dark water, the sun drying your hair and shoulders. It can’t last long because you want more from her, and she’s demanding more from you. You carry her out of the water and over to the blanket, where she unwinds herself from you and lays down, pulling you on top of her. You kiss her lips again, groaning at the feeling of her against your stomach.

You dip your head to her neck, licking at her skin, and her hands slide over your back, exploring your body, familiarizing herself with the valleys and canyons between your bones. She’s calmed a bit now that you’re pressed into her, her breathing slowing and her eyes less wild. You, on the other hand, are growing in intensity, starving for more of her, inching your way down her body, tracing the constellation of bruises you’d left on her the day before, ensuring they stay another day. You make a brief stop at her breasts, biting and sucking at each nipple before moving on, kissing your way down to her hip bones. You take your time making your way across her body, intent to learn more of her triggers, commit them to memory to recall any time she beckons you to her.

She likes it when you bite, but not hard. Just enough to leave a light imprint of your teeth, and she likes it when you soothe the mark with your tongue and lips. She responds to your hands wandering over her skin, positive feedback in the form of a caught breath when you reach up to her breasts as your mouth makes its way to her belly button. Her nails dig into your skin, but when yours press into her, she gasps, and her hips stop, telling you to be more gentle. She likes to see you glance up at her as you make your descent, her hand pushing your hair out of your eyes so she can see you kissing the insides of her thighs. She’s especially fond of you pressing a kiss to her center, your lips pushing gently around her clit, your hands running up her legs to hold her hips in place.

When your tongue runs through her, you lose her eye contact and focus on the more immediate part of her body. You push your tongue inside of her, exploring her sensitivities you hadn’t had the time to reach last time. She responds with a groan, one arm slung over her eyes, closing out one sense to heighten another. You dip your tongue in a few more times, then drag it up to her clit, lapping over it. Her feedback is loud and immediate, her hand reaching down to anchor you there as she rolls her hips up. She likes a flat tongue, light pressure, and consistent speed, whining when you try to change it up. You take note, learning her as she learns herself. You watch for the landmarks, what sounds she makes when she’s getting close, how her body writhes under you, and which muscles tense in what order.

When she cums, her breath catches in her throat, and her eyes flutter closed, her body freezes, her breathing stops altogether for a moment, and then she’s falling apart at the seams. She rolls her hips and rides it out, looking to elongate the moment of bliss as far as she can. She pushes your head back when it becomes too much and falls limp as a wet leaf on the blanket, shivering with aftershocks running down her spine. You kiss lightly at her again, making her jump and shy away from your lips. You crawl up her body and kiss her jugular, feeling her blood pounding under your lips.

You roll off of her and sit at her side, content to watch her regain her senses. It’s another piece of her that you tuck away for future reference; she needs time to come back around after an orgasm. Her eyes are glassy and far off, her hand absently stroking your knee. You turn and unfurl the bundle on the corner of the blanket, revealing a chunk of bread and strawberry jam. Lorraine turns her head at the sound of the jar opening, and her eyes light up. You tear a piece of bread and dip it into the jar, pretend to offer it to her, then pop it into your mouth when she eagerly reaches for it.

Her brows furrow over her eyes, and her lip curls as she sits up, snatching the jar from your open palm before you can hold it out of her reach.

“Hah!” She shouts triumphantly, smirking at you.

You tear another piece of bread and hand it to her, keeping the larger piece for yourself. She rolls her eyes at you and dips her piece into the jar, closing her eyes and humming when the jam hits her tongue. You laugh and shake your head. This girl and strawberries were going to be the death of you. You reach for the jar, but she holds it away from you, motioning to the bread in your hand. You sigh and hand over the piece. She dips it and gives you back the jar, a self-satisfied smile on her lips accompanying the jam. You quirk an eyebrow, you don’t need the bread. You dip two fingers in and suck them into your mouth, maintaining eye contact with her while you lick the sugary preserves from them. Her jaw drops, and her eyes never leave your mouth until you’re smirking back at her.

She leans over and pushes you onto your back, her lips crashing into yours again, her tongue running over yours. She tastes like strawberries, sugar, and something so uniquely Lorraine you can’t place your finger on it. You sit up and push her down your lap, her legs wrapping around your waist as you sit her back on the blanket. You lean forward to kiss her again, nipping at her bottom lip as your hand slides down the front of her body. You’re met with eager anticipation when she realizes what happens next, her hands running around to the nape of your neck. You slide two fingers inside of her, the cum from her previous orgasm lubricating them easily. She pulls your body as close as she can to herself, leaving you very little space to move your arm, but you’re letting her do it, a slave to her every whim.

It doesn’t take much to have her trembling again, already sensitive and still turned on. She drops her head into your shoulder, panting on your collarbone as you curl your fingers, hitting that spot you learned she liked. She’s whimpering in your ear, and you’re fully committed to immersing yourself in the symphony of noises pouring out of her, but a sound in the distance snaps you out of your trance. You don’t stop moving, continuing to build her up, but your eyes are scanning the trees, quickly checking your surroundings before diving back into lips. She throws her head back, her eyes squeezed shut as she turns her face to the sun, and you kiss her throat, taking her in savoringly.

You can see CB out of the corner of your eye, just aware enough to see him pick his head up and look into the trees. Your instincts are torn in half, wanting to continue reveling in Lorraine’s soft moans, slick skin, and tight grip around your shoulders. The other half of you is screaming something is off, and CB is watching the woods far too intensely. Lorraine is too intoxicating to really allow you to think straight, but when she cums, tightening around your fingers and slumping into your shoulder, your head finally clears. CB whinnies, and another horse in the distance answers him, making you go rigid.

You don’t have time to get dressed, or to bring Lorraine back to earth, so you do the only thing you can think of in your lust fogged brain. You wrap your arms under her hips, stand with her and hurdle into the water. She screams as soon as the cold hits her skin, and you push her off of you.

“What the fuck y/n?!” She shouts, her eyes full of confused fury.

You slap your hand over her mouth, your eyes wide. Watching over her shoulder, you can see a shadow approaching through the trees, and you let go of her again, gesturing with your head for her to look. She frowns and turns, then turns back to you, her eyes bulging.

She slaps you on the shoulder and whispers, “Shit,” her face is washed in fear, “it’s my dad.”

You nod, unable to speak as your mind races, trying to come up with any excuse to give Mr. Day when he inevitably breaks into the clearing. You can’t think of a single thing, the haze from Lorraine’s body still making your brain sluggish and dumb. She bites her lip, her eyes racing over you, thinking quickly. Just when the chestnut head of Mr. Days' horse breaks through the trees, Lorraine splashes you and begins to laugh louder than her natural laugh, putting on a show. You pause, confused for a second, and realization dawns on you. You swim back from her a few feet and splash her back, your acting nearly as poor as hers.

“Girls!” You wince as his voice rings out over your head from the shore.

You turn slowly toward him, pretending to be shocked seeing him there. Lorraine giggles and yells, “Hi, Daddy!”

Her tone and face are the picture of innocence, and you thank the heavens she’s found some inner actress now. You wave your arm above the water, careful not to expose yourself. “Howdy, Mr. Day!”

For an agonizing moment, everything goes quiet. His eyes are sweeping over the scene you’ve left, the blanket, the bundle of bread and jam, your clothes strewn through the clearing. You think there’s absolutely no way you’re getting out of here without getting shot at. Then, by the grace of some holy entity, he laughs. When he laughs, you laugh too, the hysteria built up so high you nearly cry. He walks his horse right up to the water and turns her, his belly shaking with his humor.

“Ah, to be young again! You two don’t stay out there too long. There’s still work to be done today.”

You salute him with a deviant grin, “You got it boss! Just coolin off.”

Lorraine rolls her eyes and sinks under the water, air bubbling up where she disappeared. Mr. Day chuckles again, shaking his head.

“Y/n! Mrs. Day wants you to stay for dinner tonight, she says you’re gettin' too skinny workin' out here. I’ll see you both this evening, don’t ruin your appetite.”

“You got it, sir, I will not eat anything else until supper!” You yell back.

Lorraine slaps your shoulder when he turns his back, scrunching up her face at you, silently telling you that your joke is not funny. You giggle; the double entendre was funny, and you didn’t care what she thought. When Mr. Day is out of earshot, you relax, letting out your breath and sinking yourself under the water. When your head breaks out of the water again, she jumps on you, laughing.

“Today I learned somethin new about you,” she giggles as your arms wrap around her back.

“Well, I learned lots about you, so we’re even.”

She tsks, “What could you possibly have learned about me today?”

You raise your eyebrows, “I already knew you were a terrible actress, what with your performance yesterday in front of your dad.”

She slaps your chest and gasps, “I am a perfectly acceptable actress, thank you very much. Plus, I learned you crumble under pressure.”

“I do not!”

Lorraine makes an over-exaggerated shocked face, mimicking yours. “Howdy, Mr. Day,” she deepens her voice, mocking you.

You laugh, having to admit the situation would have been worse had she not thought so quickly to save you. “Alright, that’s fair. But I got your naked ass into the water before he saw us, so I get points for that.”

She nods, “You did. But it was only to save your own skin. You know daddy keeps a magnum on his hip all day.”

“I am well aware, Raine. Which is why we’re in the water right now.”

“Did you mean what you said about not eatin again until supper?”

You scoff at her, “I have created an insatiable monster.”

She shrugs and leans down to kiss you.

——

The days that follow end up being much like the day at the pond. You and Lorraine wound up in increasingly risky positions, and Mr. Day nearly caught you almost every time. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he knew what he was doing, but you thought you’d be dead if he knew.

On Wednesday, Lorraine had snuck you into her room, and after watching her write at her desk for less than five minutes, you were crawling under it to hike her skirt up and taste her. Luckily, when her dad swung the door open, you were completely hidden under the desk, and Lorraine told him she might have a fever when he’d asked why she looked so flushed.

On Thursday, he nearly caught you knuckle deep inside of her. The only thing saving you was the backfire of the tractor you had been working on before she’d come calling. When it burped black smoke, you pulled out of her, hiding her behind the tire and leaning on it so he couldn’t see.

On Friday, you thought you’d be clever and drive off somewhere in your truck. You set a bed of blankets in the back and watched the sunset before she climbed on top of you. Her dad somehow passed by, saw your truck, and, thinking you were stuck in the mud, drove over to check on you, only to find Lorraine sitting in the back. Your body was hidden by the truck bed walls. She convinced him you had run off to pee in the woods, and he’d moved on.

Saturday was the day your blissful little existence was slapped into reality. You were hauling hay bales into the barn again, reminiscing on the first day you’d finally kissed Lorraine. Exactly like that day, she was sitting on the side of the tailgate, flirting with you openly and watching you do the manual labor. It took you twice as long to unload the truck because you would push your way between her knees and kiss her, making her giggle before you’d move another bale.

When you saw the dirt cloud down the driveway, you’d assumed it was her dad coming home from the auction, but as the vehicle grew nearer, you realized it was a van, not a truck. The driver parks it in front of your truck, and the back doors are thrown open. You glance up at Lorraine and watch as she pales when she sees who steps out. You turn back to them and realize what caused her reaction.

RJ was grinning ear to ear, his camera in one hand, the other stretched out to his side, “Rainey, baby! I’m home.”

Hearing your nickname for her coming from him turned your jaws into a vice grip. You stared at him as he approached, ignoring you completely. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Lorraine stiffen and slide off the tailgate. She lightly brushes you as she walks past, her pinky hooking yours for a split second. It would have been comforting if she hadn’t fallen straight into his arms like she was made to be there. You feel sick to your stomach. You feel naive, stupid to believe that what you had was more than just a temporary thing. You can’t look at him when he leans down to kiss her, so you turn back to the truck, pull another hay ream down, and haul it into the barn.

You come back out to grab another bale, but a woman is sitting on your tailgate now, a suggestive smile painted across her features.

“Who’s this RJ? You didn’t tell me you had such a pretty thing hidden away out here.” She drawls, her eyes running over you.

Your step falters as she flirts with you, and against your better judgment, you glance at Lorraine. She’s not looking at you. Her eyes are burning into the woman’s head, her jealousy only evident to you. It’s comforting to know she’s jealous because it means she cares, but seeing her still under RJs arm makes you feel petty.

You offer the woman your hand, “I’m y/n. I work for the Days.”

“Oooh, a gentleman,” she coos, taking your hand and holding it instead of shaking it, “I’m Maxine. Pleased to meet you, handsome.”

“Pleasures mine, ma’am,” you grin at her, kissing her knuckles.

You drop her hand and look to Lorraine again, and it makes you regret what you’ve done, at least a little. There’s anger in her eyes, and she’s still under RJs arm, but you can see hurt there too. This situation had become volatile and delicate all at once, and it was going to take a gargantuan effort to get out of it intact.

#lorraine day x reader #lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n

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chiropteracupola · 22 days

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"Sleepers in the Peat," 2022.

two years ago I wrote a short story. finally got around to posting it.

The water was bitter here. Beneath thick layers of branching sphagnum moss, it rose from the earth in drips and drenches, pooling in little reed-ringed ponds and lying smooth as glass. A faint curtain of mist drifted across the bogland, obscuring the far-off tree-line and rendering the world somewhat distant from the clear light of the morning.

It was beside one of these little wells of peaty water that she crouched, clipboard and pencil in hand, the raincoat drawn over her broad shoulders a green only a shade less saturated than the moss. Her name, scribed in graphite across the top of her sheet of notes, was Theo-short-for-Theodora, a fact that she had had to explain nearly every time she introduced herself. She had shaped it better to fit herself, although out in the silence of the marshes, there was very little need for such a thing as a name.

Kneeling now, Theo dipped a gloved hand into the water, pressed the acid-tangy water to her lips. She breathed in, and breathed in bitterness. Fibers of moss crept into her nostrils, taking root in her lungs like branching alveoli. This, then, was the culmination of all her work, all her study, the taste of it at last on her tongue.

The faces of the ancient dead had always fascinated her. Their empty eyes, skin smoothed by ice or desert to touch the contours of the skull, lips drawn back from ground-down teeth. It was not the frozen explorers with their eyes still wide and dove-blue that captivated her, nor the ancient kings with their desiccated, dead-lizard hands, nor yet the strange distorted faces of those preserved beneath honey until even their bones took on a sweetness. Theo, young, had traced the crisply-printed pictures set on slick photo-paper in the centers of her books, memorizing the images of those gone down and buried in the peat. She became something of an expert in names that her schoolmates did not recognize, Tollund and Lindow, Windeby and Old-Croghan. They lay still in black-and-white against their backgrounds of sand, so unlike the living people that walked just beyond her windows, and Theo, in her way, preferred that stillness.

Still, she watched the living move all the same. There was a casual grace to them that fascinated Theo, the way in which hips shifted as the feet fell one in front of the other, how hands settled in close at the waist. She herself stood with her hands apart, her thumbs tucked into the loops of a belt.

Just as other children had run in gleeful circles on the blacktop while she stayed inside, book in hand, they kissed and laughed now in dizzy blue-dawn hours. Theo preferred to sleep instead, lazing curled in bed while the world spun by outdoors. Dressed in pajama trousers with torn-out knees and rolled-up hems, she drew layer after layer of blanket over herself, sinking deeper into the quiet dark. In those solitary nights, though, she sought nonetheless, and dreamed of moss beneath her fingers, of the strange faces of the mire-mummified dead. She would see them sure and true one day, Theo knew, and know the taste of the same tannin that so preserved them.

The North, that was where they were to be found, where ancient peat tracked patchily across Europe and left the dead preserved in its wake. Her grandmother had called that place homeland, and Theo had scoffed behind her hand. What connection had she, really, to that place? Without invitation, she could not walk on that soil with the sort of fierce pride that her grandmother held onto so tightly.

“You’ll see one day, Theodora,” her grandmother said, and nudged back the crooked postcards of green, green hills that had slipped slightly from their places on the refrigerator. The words sat sourly around Theo’s shoulders, and with time, refused to rot away.

They clung, sticky and leaden, and Theo would have liked to scream at the feeling of them. What did her grandmother know, she with her good marriage to her good man, her ticking, soap-sweet house, her fine bed in the back bedroom where she slept as contentedly as a cat? Her grandmother’s hair was short in the fashion of old women, cut so that it hid how pale and thin it had become. Theo’s own hair was just as short, cropped by hand in a dim mirror with a sort of ferocity intended to put the viewer in mind of steel-toed boots and hard-wearing canvas. No use putting them back to back and calling them the same. And so, Theo shut her mouth, dragged her hand down the side of her face as if to tie shut her jaw. For all that she railed against those words, the postcards pinned against the refrigerator door were green, green, green.

Try as she might, Theo never slept well in her grandmother’s house. The air was hot and resolutely mint-sweet, the blankets thin against the heaviness of summer. Time was just as heavy there, a clock always ticking away beside the cabinets in the kitchen, machinery humming uselessly within the walls.

Theo crept from the house and settled in the still-warm chair on her grandmother’s far-too-neat lawn. It had been cut to within an inch of its life just that morning, the first of those two precise twice-a-week rounds of mower and rake and clippers that kept the street-facing yard perfect. All the same, in the warm night, Theo’s skin stuck, sweaty, to the plastic slats of the chair, and the heat of it felt far too alive for her liking. She peeled her arms away from it, drew her knees to her chest, sat folded up in herself like an Andean king of old. Behind her eyes, all was green, the green of hollow hills and deep water.

So she thought on it, and so she laid her plans. She did her work with a tired slowness, her motions static and mechanical even as the tasks, somehow, managed to get done. The grinding stasis of daily life dragged forward, every sample of moss and spreadsheet of data creeping closer to the proper work in the field she sought. And then, all in a maze of mist, there she was in the North of the world, the treads of her boots sinking into wet sedge as the fog drew itself in close around her.

There were other sorts of bogs than the sort that made a face into such a bitter ambrotype as those that so fascinated her. Theo had seen the ones where cranberries were grown before, red as all love in the dark water, crisscrossed with boards to serve as footpaths. This was not such a bog, and made no such deceptions about its helpfulness or its safety. This was peat all the way down, heavy and wet and certain. In another thousand thousands of years, pressure would render that peat down to coal, and in another circling of time, perhaps diamond. All carbon, just as she was, and no light. Cool, static, stable, deep, the water still as it filtered slow and soft through the moss. Not so kind, no, but all the same it might hold her gently in the wide green palm of its hand.

So she knelt down into it, uncaring of the stains it would leave on the knees of her trousers, twined her fingers in among the curls of sphagnum. Pulling it away in fraying chunks, as perhaps the ancestors her grandmother had spoken of had done, Theo dug, watching water rise, grey and changeable as the sky, to fill the opening she had made in the peat. Down below, she knew she would find what she had searched for for so long. And oh — her hand met slick solidity, not peat at all.

The girl in the bog was unchangeable, frozen in amber. She was no body behind museum-glass, lying in state as if to be awoken by a kiss, but sleeping fast in untouchable earth. Her face, leathery and smooth, was unwrinkled despite the years. She could have been born the very same day as Theo, for all that the centuries showed upon her skin. Her hair, falling wispy about her face, had been reddened by hundreds of years of tannins. The sun caught upon it and turned it to the gold of autumn-dried acorns, sharp as straw. There would be grit in her mouth, dust from the rough millstone that had ground down grain, hardly noticeable behind the rich green smell of the bog.

Gloved hands scraped away wet threads of moss, smoothing over skin with as light a touch as Theo could manage. Under her fingers, the girl shifted, drawing up her shoulders as she yawned. Her eyes stayed closed, but all the same, Theo felt that she was seen.

The girl raised herself up languidly on one elbow, water sloughing off in trickles and streams from every seam and crevice of her body. Her ribs stood out in perfect parallel, still wrapped tightly by the skin of her sides.

“Hello,” said Theo, not knowing what else to say. The girl in the bog smiled at her with crooked, blackened teeth, and reached out to her. Her hands were small, round, doll-like, but still soft as burnished leather, the fingernails as neatly trimmed as if she had cut them the day before the peat closed over her.

She stroked the buzzed-short ends of the hair at the back of Theo’s neck as she leant closer, drifts of wet soil sloughing from her skin, and frowned.

“Why did they cut your hair?”

“I cut it myself. I liked it better that way — it felt right to do it before I came here.” Then, pausing, seeing the wind flick at her rust-red, blunt-hacked locks, “Did you—“

“They cut it before they sent me here. But it fits, doesn’t it? It was you that made yourself ready for me.”

“I suppose it was,” said Theo, and meant it. There was a rightness to it, a reason that she had not put words to before.

“Come down with me,” she said, and Theo could not help but follow. Half-laughing, she thought of the promises of the red-haired rusalki she’d read of in her books of tales. To walk down into the sweet water and meet a maiden there, and hear her speak words just as sweet of eternal youth in her kingdom down beneath the riverbed, was an old story, and one that she might find herself believing now. But the water of a peat bog is bitter, as are all things that keep memories safe, and it wasn’t youth, but eternity only, that the girl in the bog had promised her.

To be preserved, young arms entwined with ones that centuries ago were young, was all that she’d receive. But what more had she desired to begin with? The choice had been made long before she had ever set foot there. Theo extended a hand, stripped off its pale blue latex glove like a snake shedding its skin. Placing it atop her clipboard, she set aside the plastic barrier as if laying out an altar’s worth of grave-goods. She shucked the green raincoat and heavy backpack from her shoulders — she’d have another coat of that same verdant color where she was going, once the moss had closed over the both of them. Then, lowering herself feet-first into the open space amid the moss, Theo leaned down and met the girl’s mouth with her own.

The kiss was thick with pollen, and Theo inhaled it without any of the fear she had previously associated with such things. There was a sweetness to it, a choking flavor of juniper and sap as it poured like sand into her throat. Theo wondered, a little, that she could breathe through it, but it was no longer a time for wondering. Instead, her eyes slid softly shut, and the cool, deep darkness was all that remained. It was not the iron-red dark of closed eyes in sunlight, but a bitter and at the same time refreshing green-dark, a soft sort of shadow that spoke of nothing at all but the faintest edges of dreams.

Drawing the peat back over them, the girl curled herself fast around Theo’s back, cradling her in earth as if in the palm of a hand. Twining together beneath the moss, the water crept up over them both one more. As Theo sank, her eyelids slipped closed, and her head drifted downwards all the while. It twisted sideways on Theo’s neck, slipping bonelessly forwards, and down with it she went into dreamless sleep, bog water growing ever sweeter in her mouth.

#em writes stuff #oc time again hehe #bogstory #there are some things that I would do differently if I was writing this now. however this one is going to be what it is.#look! they are posting an original ghost story on a day Other than halloween! what a rare occurrence!

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pepsiboyy · 2 months

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beyond the contract - part 3

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8

pairing: matt sturniolo x reader summary: where the sturniolo triplets are part of an organization known as the eclipse alliance, matt has constantly failed to pull through with pulling the trigger on a target. fed up, their boss gives matt one last chance, where he is sent to northside high school to get some answers out of a girl. warnings: just cursing! author's note: THIS CHAPTER IS SO IMPORTANT u guiys dont even KNOW YET ok enjoy <3 lov u all WC: 1631 lowercase intentional !!

to tell the truth, matt had no idea what he was doing.

"why don't you just distance yourself?"

"you signed up for it, no?"

nick's words echoed in his head as he bit his lip and sat up, raising his hand to run through his hair rather than picking at his fingernails.

"wanna get out of here?"

"where are we going?" i questioned after a few moments of silence. "you're not gonna like... i don't know, murder me?" i joked, lightening the mood a bit. i felt relief washed over me when i saw matt smile softly.

"of course not," he responded softly, as i continued to follow him. we had walked through the streets and into a foresty area with many trees and some hills. matt would step over everything expertly and mutter a soft, "watch your step," to me each time. i could tell he had taken this route on multiple occasions.

"i thought you said you knew a spot," i breathed, checking my phone to see fifteen minutes had gone by.

"i promise it's worth it," he responded as he smiled and pulled a few bush branches out of the way, making sure i got through before letting them go. "here," he breathed and turned to me.

i shifted my gaze from matt to the sight in front of me, my eyes widening. it didn't even look real.

the way the trees perfectly aligned across the soft pond, where the water ran slowly and fireflies danced across the muggy water. there were logs along the edges, one was propped in a nice spot. matt headed towards that specific log.

"i come here a lot when i have to think, or when i get bored." he mumbled as he sat down on the log and patted beside him, motioning for me to sit with him.

i took his offer and slowly sat beside him, looking around before letting out a soft, breathy chuckle. "what, so my tutoring bored you?" i joked.

"yeah, a little bit," he responded as he smiled softly and i smacked his arm.

we sat in silence for a moment as we listened to the water run through the pond, before a question came to my mind. i turned to matt and tilted my head slightly.

"why did you transfer to northside high?"

matt seemed to let out a hefty sigh, biting his lip. he turned away as he began to pick at his fingernails a bit again. "uhh, i dropped out at one point and decided to go back to school," he mumbled, a little bit faster than most of his statements.

i nodded as i smiled and turned back to the water. "i see. i'm proud of you for trying again," i breathed, and matt turned to me. "i mean, as much as people shit on school, i've met a lot of amazing people and learned some awesome things, even if it means i have to learn that the estimated number of moves possible in a single game of chess is greater than the amount of atoms in the universe." i mumbled, shrugging.

"where in the hell did you learn that?" matt mumbled, smiling softly and seeming to loosen up a bit.

i shrugged and stared in front of me. "chemistry."

a bit of silence washed over us both as we sat peacefully and stared at the water.

"would you wanna go out sometime?" matt shifted slightly where he sat as he spoke.

i turned my head to matt and blinked a few times, a bit of shock running over me.

"i mean, i know we just met-" he defends, but you quickly cut him off, smiling at him.

"yeah, i'd love to." i responded, and matt smiled softly at me, nodding as he turned his head back to the water.

a few more moments of silence went on, and matt gently moved his hand to rest on top of mine, not making eye contact.

i turned to him and smiled warmly, scooting a bit closer to him and resting my head against his shoulder.

"you asked her out?" chris blurted, as nick stood beside him and pressed his fingers to his forehead while shaking his head.

"i- i don't know, it was just in the moment, and-"

"you're so fucked, matt." nick stated calmly as he took a seat beside him and gently set a hand on his back.

matt shrugged and sighed. "it's bad, i tried to distance myself and i folded. i really did. you guys should see her, she's really sweet.. and pretty, too.." he whispered, intertwining his hands together and resting them on his forehead as he leaned his elbows against the counter. he was kind of freaking out.

"what's her insta," chris pressed, pulling out his phone.

matt turned to him with a look of disbelief. "dude," he breathed and turned to nick, who just shrugged.

"well, what is it?" the older questioned, making matt groan.

after a few moments of looking, chris found your instagram and blinked a few times. "oh yeah, you're fucked dude." he mumbled as he turned the phone to nick.

nick let out a long, exasperated sigh. "i'll see what i can do, matt, but your options are extremely limited."

"maybe i'm not cut out for this," matt replied coldly, standing up from his seat. "i really can't see myself harming someone, i don't understand how-"

"matt," nick mumbled as he stood in front of him and set his hands on either of his shoulders. he looked into his eyes before sighing.

"no, i'm serious, nick," he gently pushed his arm away from him and stepped back, looking at chris, who had a concerned expression on his face.

matt took in a deep breath. "i can't do this, not to her.." he mumbled as he stood up and left the kitchen, going straight to his room.

nick let out a deep sigh as he buried his face in his hands.

chris moved to him and gently rubbed his shoulder. "give him some time, nick. he'll come around." he breathed before heading down the stairs to his own room.

matt scrunched up his nose as he looked at the papers being taped onto the walls in the hallway before scoffing. "what're they doing, remodeling the place?"

i scoffed and shook my head, walking closely beside him as i held my backpack straps closely in my hands. "no, advertising.. prom is coming up," i breathed, and smiled softly.

matt shrugged and hummed softly to himself. "loud music, lots of people dry humping each other.. i'm good." he chuckled, and i smirked and lightly hit his arm.

"come on, matt.. you know you wanna go," i giggled as i stopped at my locker, and matt leaned on the one beside me as he watched me, the corners of his lips upturned slightly.

"not really, parties and stuff aren't really my thing." he shrugged, watching me as i went through my books within the locker. i felt my cheeks heat up at the feeling of his gaze resting on me.

"i guess i can see that," i mumbled in response before shutting my locker. "but think about it.. after going back to school and whatnot.. it's your senior year too, right? why not give it a shot?"

matt watched me as i spoke, and after a few moments once i was done, he let out a breathy chuckle as he looked down and shook his head, arms crossed as he leaned against the locker. "i'll think about it," he responded softly, before lifting himself off of the locker and beginning to walk in the direction of our class, where i closely followed beside him.

footsteps echoed against the tile in the large and empty room.

"sir, i feel that matt should be excluded from the eclipse alliance corporation," chris's voice rang as he swallowed, clearly a bit nervous to be speaking with their coordinator. he kept his arms at his sides as he looked at the man. "he cares a lot.. about people around him," chris started, but he was quickly cut off.

"does he not care about his family within the corporation?" he breathed, his voice calm.

chris swallowed as he looked down as his feet. he took in a deep breath. "uhh, i think he-"

"look at me when you speak to me." the man stated firmly, and chris immediately lifted his head.

"right, sorry sir," he started, before clearing his throat and biting his lip. "i think matt cares a lot, too much even, and it's making it hard for him to act on the tasks he's given. nick and i wanted to ask you if there's anything we can do, or any advice we should give him?" he stated, the last part flowing a lot quicker than the rest. chris was practically shaking in his boots, to put it simply.

"matthew has a deadline. april 25th. if his task is not finished, he is cut." he started, before cocking an eyebrow. "have you and nicolas... told him yet?" he questioned.

chris looked down at his feet and took in a deep breath as he looked up at their coordinator. "nick and i are waiting for the right time." he stated, almost with confidence, as he knew they were doing the right thing.

"very well. is this all?" the man spoke, and chris nodded softly.

"yes, thank you for your time," he breathed as he waved and began to walk in the other direction. he let out a shaky breath of relief as he continued to walk, his forehead now dripping in sweat. "he has no idea," chris whispered as he let out a shaky sigh.

"i'm so sorry, matt."

taglist;; @star-saturn-xx @sturniolo-girl @p1xieswrld @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @sweetbabydoe

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #sturniolo smut

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giorno-plays-piano · 1 year

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What the Forest Gave Me

Pairing: fae!Peter Parker x reader

Warnings: threat of noncon, some very soft yandere vibes, allusion to kidnapping, minor violence, sort of fluff.

Words: 1.8k

Summary: When you are making a wish by the silver pond, the fairy wood answers to you and sends a fae your way. But why aren't you welcoming him with open arms?

P.S. Just a short drabble with an angry insecure fae boy 👀

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He hates the chase. Hates seeing your back as you run away from him like a wounded animal when he didn't as much as touch you. Why do you run? He did nothing to hurt you. You asked him to come, to embrace you, and he came.

And you ran.

His long, pointed fingers elongate further as he growls in frustration, leaving angry marks on the trees he clutches not to fall: the forest is his abode, but it loves innocent human women and guards those who ask for help like some sort of a fairytale dragon. Why are you doing this? Why making his home his enemy? He only did what you've asked of him. You called him, and he came, and you abandoned him that very minute.

Heartless human. They say fae are treacherous, but you are hardly different. You lied, didn't you? You didn't want a lover. You asked the forest to send you one, to give you a mate, but when the young fae stepped out of the woods in his shiny flower crown, his hands full of fruits and berries to appease you, you screamed and ran away. You want a lover, but you don't want him.

It makes him mad.

Abandoning sweet fairy fruit on the meadow, he bolted after you, confused, ashamed, and unhappy. What did he do wrong? Did he look hideous in that flower crown of his? Did you dislike the fruits he brought? Did you think him ugly, unlikable because of his face? His scrawny body? His too-long limbs? Perhaps he wasn't a beauty, but he was a fae. They all looked somewhat alike. Surely, you knew that! You came to a fairy forest and asked for a lover, clearly knowing it would be someone of his kind. If you wanted a human lover, you would choose one in a village nearby. No human lived in his abode.

So why the chase? Why the horrified expression? What was it that made him so unwanted in your eyes? Why did you need to hurt him when he only sought to make your wish come true?

Unfair. You are unfair. Wicked. Unworthy of the forest protection. You deserve to be punished for hurting him.

The moment he thinks of it, you cry out, falling and rolling down a hill: it's in fae's nature to create magic anywhere they go, and if they aren't careful, magic seeps out of their thoughts seamlessly. Your cries are muffled as you collapse under an old oak tree, your back hitting its mighty trunk with a thud, and you curl up into a ball, wailing from pain. Your arms and legs are bruised by branches and thorns, twigs in your hair, and you are trembling like a beaten dog, shielding yourself from him with your arms.

"Please don't hurt me", you plead in a weak voice, crying, blood slowly seeping out of the little cuts along your leg the way magic drips from the pointed tips of his fingers.

He didn't want to do it. He didn't, he swears in his head as if it matters. Yes, he thought you were cruel, but he didn't want to hurt you.

Or did he?

No, no, not like that, he didn't want you hurt and crying on the cold ground. He wants you to say you were wrong when you abandoned him the moment he stepped on a meadow, but he doesn't want to hear your moans of pain or see you trembling at the sight of him, afraid he would break you.

"Please, please don't hurt me", you shake badly, your face puffy from tears, hands still up to prevent him from hurting you more.

He feels rotten. He's not a vicious fae. He doesn't hunt human women for sport. Abusing you for abandoning him was a heartless thing to do, nonetheless.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, raising his hands up so you'd see he isn't going to struck you.

You shiver when you look at him through your fingers, still crying from pain, and he swears silently at himself. Nasty creature. Why did he do it to you? You are defenseless, almost bare in front of him.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he whispers, the sight of you, miserable, forcing a lump in his throat.

When his hands start to shine, you let out a scream, afraid he would harm you again, but the soft glow he emits gently spreads to your cuts and bruises, and your body gets warm as he works his magic, closing broken skin. He isn't the vicious sort, no. He finds no pleasure in cries and pleading. He is just a forest fae, a creature born under the moonlight to nurture the soil and everything that grows out of it, a shepherd of the fairy woods. Perhaps he is a little tricky like all fae are, but he isn't malicious. It hurts him to see you cry.

Minutes pass, and soon your body looks flawless again, your skin smooth and unmarked, your tears drying out as you stare at him, unsure to either thank him or run out of fear. He wouldn't blame you if you preferred the latter, feeling sorry one careless thought brought you so much pain. Maybe you hurt him first, but he shouldn't have held it against you.

"I'm sorry," he repeats again, careful not to make any sudden movements. "You asked me to come, and I came. And you ran."

He hates the way it sounds. Like it is your fault you fell. Why did he say it? It didn't sound like that in his head.

"But I..." you struggle to find the right words, looking at him from the ground, still a little afraid, and the fae lowers himself right onto the pile of dry leaves. "I didn't call for anyone."

"But you made a wish."

Yes, you did. You wished for a lover. A mate. You asked the forest send him to you, and it did.

He watches you slowly assembling pieces of a puzzle, dumbstruck your wish was granted in a matter of seconds. But aren't you one of a fair folk, you ask, choosing your words carefully not to upset him, but he gets frustrated, nonetheless.

"So what?" He grunts, shaking his head, and his disheveled flower wreath, finally knocked over, is falling on his lap. "Didn't you want a fae lover? No human lives in the fairy wood."

You are perplexed: you didn't think the forest would listen to your plea. It was just a silly wish, a few careless words dropped in a wrong place, you say, embarrassed he heard you. You wanted a lover, but it was a wish in a well of sorts. You didn't think the forest would hear and send you your betrothed. You thought he was a fae guardian who came to punish a mortal for breaking the fairy grounds.

"Are you... him?" You whisper, hugging your knees, staring at him so intently he suddenly blushes, his eyes on his feet.

"Yes," he says quietly when just mere minutes ago he was ready to scream it into your face. But how could he now? You were innocent. You didn't hurt him on purpose, not even thinking he was your fated lover. Surely, if he were in a strange place, meeting a strange creature out of nowhere, he would be scared, too. How could he hold it against you?

But he would if you rejected him. And he was afraid to ask you again. He hurt you badly, didn't he? He hurt and scared you. Would you take him now? No fae law prohibited him from whisking you away from mortal realm, but he thought of you, curled up under the mighty oak like a wounded animal, pleading him not to hurt you, and he couldn't make himself go with it. He dreamed of making flower wreaths and swimming in the silver pond and collecting wolfberries together, not coming home to you terrified of the sight of him, scared of his touch.

You clear your throat, abashed, your gaze directed at your feet, "Isn't it prohibited? A human and a fairy?"

His cheeks heat up as he mumbles, "After a High Lord married a human girl ages ago, nobody cares anymore."

He tries not to get his hopes up too much, but he already dreams of kissing your hands when you feed him wolfberries, making you a dress from sirenspider's web and moonlight, and teaching you how to make a wreath for every season and occasion. Bluebells for witching hours in spring, bramble and violets for early summer nights, parsley and cowslip when sleeping on the meadows...

"You asked me to come, and I came," he whispers, looking up to find you watching him. "Will you take me?"

Your silence is suffocating, and it hurts, it hurts him so much to look at you and see you twisting the fabric of your dress in your hands as if you want to refuse him but don't know how.

"Promise not to hurt me," you say, tiny droplets of sweat forming on your forehead from fear.

"I swear to never hurt you again," the fae proclaims obediently, his eyes on his feet again.

Oh, it hurts, it hurts so much to hear the hesitation in your voice. It feels like there is a burning hole in his chest, and you are adding oil to fire.

You take so long to say more. He knows he shouldn't blame you, not when he made you a prey to his anger, chasing you like a rabbit he was going to put on a skewer, but he is angry and frustrated and spiteful again, rejected by his fated lover. If you don't take him, nobody would.

When he hears your voice, he almost jumps. "I... uh... you- you scare me a little. I know you didn't mean to, but... and you're a fae. And I... uh... can I think a little more?.." your voice quivers a little as you stare at the heap of old red and brownish leaves on the ground. "What does it even mean to be a fae's lover? Would it only last a season? Or would you... well... take me to be your own?"

Unlike you, it doesn't take him long to give you an answer.

He scoops you up in his arms fervently, his almost black hair a lovely chesnut brown again, the wreath shining back on his head, his pointed fingers no longer clawed. "I take you to be mine own!" He screams at the top of his voice as you tremble in his arms, bewildered, when he lifts you up in the air above his head. "I SWEAR I TAKE YOU TO BE MINE OWN!"

His chant makes his flower crown glow, and so does the autumn foliage of an old aok. You can't see your own body starting to emit the same golden glow, but you feel warm and light, staring at the orange sunset sky as the fae holds you for the whole forest to see.

You don't know it accepts young fairy's claim.

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Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @biiskuitx @stupendouslovegardener @melodierin @yeolliedokai @what-is-your-wish @lou-la-lou @gachawipes133 @eralen

#yandere #dark peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader #dark peter parker #peter parker #spider man #spiderman #mcu fanfiction

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head-in-the-shrouds · 5 months

Text

366 Prompts For 2024:

One word prompts for 2024 (all 12 months) and some alternatives. These are mostly horror / fantasy aimed.

January (31):

Behold

Justice

Oak

Weave

Hook

Waggon

Torch

Jinx

Prey

Must

Lit

Keep

Vanquish

Yarrow

Intended

Tomb

Marsh

Leather

Blanket

Kin

Lordling

Promises

Heath

Rot

West

Under

Sworn

Rusted

Transformation

Quest

Pond

February (29):

Midwinter

Oath

Croak

Blush

Nimble

Malady

Deal

Roots

Willow

Orders

Moss

Lantern

Portent

Lovelock

Mourning

Horned

Keys

Earn

Remedy

Bog

Yearning

Lace

Trunk

Coiled

Linger

Soothsayer

Revenge

Oleander

Revered

March (31):

Metal

Pride

Gunpowder

Inheritance

Master

Brandish

Enchanted

Path

Sacrifice

Tailor

Crypt

Remain

Toad

Understanding

Legacy

Archway

Mirror

Omen

Home

Fur

Dust

Bow

Necklace

Sly

Permanent

Grin

Aim

Nest

Hex

Church

Valour

April (30):

Masonry

Inquiry

Ledge

Years

Hospitality

Clay

Priestess

Sunken

Lavender

Trust

Waters

Guilt

Dusk

Protection

Musket

Castle

Flee

Ancient

Value

Charm

Fever

Penance

Silk

Foxhole

Ornament

Tradition

Meld

Hare

Well

Pest

May (31):

Moonrise

Sea

Wander

Absolution

Bark

Ridge

Crackle

Sacred

Bind

Frozen

Thatch

Naming

Elder

Wealth

Dappled

Reading

Father

Cathedral

Tent

Grey

Payment

Enshrine

Tales

Velvet

Cell

Guide

Dawn

Mines

Riddle

Falling

Clock

June (30):

Vixen

Stolen

Worth

Tar

Alchemy

Fickle

Barrell

Harrow

Pyre

Chest

Worship

Steps

Armoury

Tear

Den

Ladder

Ruins

Bargain

Snake-leaves

Corn-doll

Garnet

Eccentric

Telescope

Antler

Stone

Break

Laden

Tower

Chain

Rook

July (31):

Masquerade

Pines

Mother

Herbs

Limb

Prize

Rescue

Scales

Melody

Shore

Tempest

Appease

Queen

Hermit

Separated

Bear

Righteous

Chimney

Storm

Manipulate

Boots

Apple

Rings

Crafted

Trail

Bleak

Dear-heart

Sanctify

Feast

Gathering

Door

August (31):

Luck

Display

Greed

Autumn

Found

Wildfire

Sleep

Grandfather

Watch

Hidden

Lookalike

Whimsey

Thicket

Runes

Horseshoe

Smoke

Awaken

Gargoyle

Wig

Poison

Thousand-fur

Shatter

Barrow

Tempt

Flag

Mercy

Web

Beast

Candle

Hunt

Serpent

September (30):

Belladonna

Magician

Birch

Reflection

Sight

Elaborate

Captive

Rope

Glass

Decades

Blade

Sorrow

Finickity

Carving

Stag

Fairy-tale

Spark

Blackthorn

Mountain

Century

Fury

Question

Claws

Fangs

Decay

Gift

Shipwreck

Blessed

Harvest

Crown

October (31):

Troll

Vines

Scattered

Prayer

Hatchet

Coat

Fireside

Grim

Sealed

Walled

Healing

Cobbled

Secure

Forest

Blind

Constellation

Shroud

Regal

Helm

Shadowed

Ward

Sinking

Hills

Goldsmith

Silver

Entwining

Soldier

Courtship

Guest

Defy

Crone

November (30):

Bones

Fear

Talisman

Song

Witness

Cloak

Plague

Hearth

Returned

Testament

Ceremonial

Yearning

Written

Silhouette

Gilded

Boundary

Hunger

Stranger

Fiend

Dungeon

Huntsman

Want

Birdsong

Wish

Hierophant

Favour

Dreaming

Coal

Brother

Fields

December (31):

Bottles

Curse

Horizon

Supplies

Wallowing

Hodge-podge

Thorns

Wisdom

Trinket

Warmth

Timber

Honest

Ritual

Welcome

Branches

Disguise

Bound

Gallows

Shield

Window

Finality

Tinder

Starlight

Winds

Bridge

Fortune

Tracks

River

Guardian

Summon

Warmth

Alternative Prompts:

Cunning

Puppet

Hound

Brambles

Eldritch

Garden

Eldritch

Cosmic

Bells

Tainted

Sleigh

Sect

Glowing

Coven

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dduane · 1 year

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For the Solstice: “Invictus”

In the dimness he woke and knew it was too late. Morning never came so late unless the world was ending.

Fortunately, he knew what to do about that.

He blinked and ruffled his feathers, looking around. This was his place. Surrounding a patch of grass were two holly trees, a pine, a cypress whose branches all went the wrong way, and much shrubbery, mostly beech and thorn. The shelter was good here, even on nights like last night. And in the holly, food appeared hung up: good food that tasted of fat and meat. It was all his. Later, when it was time for sex, there would be someone else who’d get some of it. But right now, he owned it.

This cold white stuff on the ground did complicate matters. It came and went without warning, and here it was again. Now, others who might have spent the morning scratching around the ground instead of stuffing themselves full up here would be turning up in his territory, eating his food. His feathers ruffled up again, this time with rage at the thought. Bastards. Bastards. Kill them all.

He hopped up onto the branch that had the best view across the patch of grass and into the bushes, and sang. Bastards! Who wants a piece of me? Come and get it! Because this was when it had to be said, no matter how much you might have preferred to sit quiet with your feathers fluffed up, conserving your heat. The dim sky was already paling toward that too-cold blue. It would be a bad day, cold, everybody and his family would turn up here trying to get at the tree food, which was what you needed this time of year if you meant to stay alive until dusk —

And suddenly he heard the harsh dark cawing coming from across the hardened path, across the wall, in the wood full of tall starved pines. He shivered. Not so early! he thought. What are you doing up at this hour? But he knew. That one wanted the tree-food too. It had come for it before. Now, in the silence before the morning wind, he heard the flapping of its huge wings.

Hastily he turned to the food cage, ate a few mouthfuls, felt the fat melt down his throat like blood, like life. Almost before he finished, the darkness had landed with a noisy thrash of leaves and branches up in the holly. A great expressionless black eye gazed down at him.

He sang. It was almost all he could do. It’s mine! Stay away, or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! But the outcome was hardly so simple. The black-headed, white-backed shape with the axe-like beak bounced down another branch, and another, its eye on that tree food, that meat. It liked meat too. He’d once seen it zoom down onto the pond and simply pick up a baby duck and fly off with it. I’ll kill you if you get any closer! Don't push me! I will!

It came closer. It was winter, it was death, the shape now only one branch of holly away. He sang as if life depended on it: because it did. If he had enough to eat, the sun came up. If the sun came up, the world was safe. It was as simple as that. Go away! I have to eat the food or the world will end! I’ll kill you to keep that from happening! Monster, go away, don’t make me rip you up—! He fluttered at the monstrous gaping head, enraged, desperate.

A clacketing, rattling noise came from behind. The black eye went wide. The awful pale-backed bulk roused its wings and flapped clumsily out of the holly tree. Desperate with relief, he flung himself at the food-cage again, and ate with frantic speed as the sky paled brighter, toward day-blue: and between mouthfuls, he sang at the top of his lungs, shuddering with relief and triumph. Bastard! I warned you not to mess with me! Victory! Victory!

The sun peered up over the far hill. The shadows fled. He gorged himself as the black bird flew off, and stopped, and shouted again, Victory!

...She stood there with her tea mug in one hand, looking out across the backyard snow at the dot of red breast deep in among the holly branches, pecking furiously at the suet in its little cage. “Wow,” she said to the husband, back in the kitchen, “listen to that little guy. You’d think he’d just won World War Three.”

“Yeah. ...Where’s the milk?”

The door closed. On the snow, the sun of the shortest day shone.

Victory!

#winter solstice #in the northern hemisphere #fiction

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cluuny · 5 days

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LeshyFish (Part one)

an inscryption fic

Leshy had been God of Beasts for a long long time. Since roughly around the time humans crawled on land, maybe a bit earlier. He knew all of the beasts in the Ancient Woods by name, knew the birds who flew overhead and insects that scurried underfoot. He could turn into anything, any sort of beast he wanted. He could kill a man with a snap of his fingers, rip them to shreds in seconds. He was the God of Beasts, and that made him a Beast of his own right.

He wasn’t sure, really, what compelled him to watch this particular fisherman. There were several lakes in the Woods, and a few ponds, and fishermen- bold ones- would come in all the time. Leshy never bothered with them. But this one.

The man was a hulking mountain of a human, with a smooth hairless head and a fleshy, loose face. He sat, hunched, over his rod, beady black eyes stuck on a point across the water. Suddenly, he sniffed, glancing to the side, directly at where Leshy stood on the bank of the lake. And then, to Leshy’s surprise, he lifted a hand in a wave.

The God fought the urge to glance behind him, instead slowly raising a hand of his own. He wasn’t used to people just… casually waving to him. He was an ninefoot tall deer god with moss and branches growing from him.

Oh, now his curiosity was really peaked. He trotted closer, tail swishing around his hooves, leaning forward slightly.

The man’s bucket was… empty. Completely and totally empty, despite the fact the angler had been here for nearly two hours. How bizarre.

“Hello,” Leshy called. The man didn’t turn. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

The man’s voice was impossibly low, rumbling through Leshy’s chest, making him shudder. Odd.

“Do you… come here often?” Leshy asked, knowing he didn’t.

The man chuckled. “I am… how you say… new to this place.”

“Ah,” Leshy nodded. The man still hadn’t looked up. “Where are you from?”

“Far away,” The man said. “Swamplands.”

“Hm,” Leshy said. He felt very out of his element, so he sat gingerly at the edge of the pier, his feet dangling just off the water. Fish immediately began crowding to investigate, eyeing his hooves curiously. He bit back a grin. “Well, welcome to the Ancient Wood.”

The man didn’t respond for a while, leaving Leshy feeling just a little ridiculous, before he hummed. “Thank you.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while longer, until the man suddenly pulled in his line. Leshy craned his neck to see around the man’s monstrous body, watching him pull a large bass off the line, examine it, and then toss it back. Leshy’s jaw dropped.

“Why’d you throw it back?”

The man snorted, shrugging. “I do not need the food. My friend, trapper. Lots of meat there.”

“Then why fish?”

The man started to stare out over the water, his jaw clenching, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Why not?”

Leshy hummed, tilting his head. “You’re… strange.”

The man laughed, hard, glancing briefly at Leshy, but didn’t look startled or bothered by the glowing white eyes or the wood face or the fur. Leshy was starting to think he was blind, although how he was fishing remained a mystery.

“So…” Leshy hummed. “Your friend, the trapper… are they around here too?”

“Yes. Live in cabin. Over hill.” The man jerked his head toward a steep hill not far away. Leshy did know of the cabin he spoke of, a shoddily built thing that looked like it was falling apart. “Live there with other friends.”

“Hm.”

The man chuckled, twitching the line slightly. “You are strange man, are you not?”

“I don’t know what you mean?” Leshy said, somehow nervously. For some reason, he didn’t want to be recognized for what he was. He didn’t want to be revered, didn’t want to be feared by this man. He just wanted to keep talking.

“It okay.”

Leshy exhaled. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, why he was so concerned with being seen as… what, a human? He’d never wanted to be human before, why did this man change that?

Suddenly, the man shifted, rising to his feet. “Come. Dinner done- rabbit stew.”

Leshy paused, before rising. The man was impossibly tall, nearly reaching his chin. It made Leshy feel almost small, for once in his life. The man gathered his pole, his bucket, his box of bait, and without a second glance, headed into the woods. Leshy paused, glancing at where he had been sitting, and paused. A small fish hook was imbedded in the wood of the dock, shining in the low light. Leshy knelt, pulling it out, and slipping it in the pouch at his belt.

“Coming?” The man called, his deep voice hardly raising above a rasp, but still carrying across the distance just fine.

“Yes,” Leshy trotted after him, his hooves soundless against the ground. “I’m coming.”

The cabin was full of people, Leshy could see it from the top of the hill. He paused, hesitating. It’s not that he’d never approached humans, but he avoided doing it in this form. He found himself wondering if he could become… less beastly. Humans were animals too, were they not?

And just like that, he was a man.

The fisher didn’t glance at him once while they walked down the hill, and when they reached the cabin and he looked at him properly for the first time, there was no surprise in his eyes. He simply opened the door for him, his fleshy, massive lips twitching into what may have been a smile. If he noticed any difference, he said not a word.

Inside were four people, gathered around a low table, arguing and chatting between themselves. They did not look up as the two entered the room, but one raised a hand in greeting.

“Friends,” The fisher grunted calmly to Leshy. “Safe.”

“Well hello there, stranger,” A man creaked, his voice high and grating. He looked familiar- yes, he was the prospector. Leshy knew his dog, a beautiful hound that lay sleeping under the table. “And who are you?”

“I am Leshy,” Leshy said, grateful his true name was not known. “I am here with…”

“Angeles,” The prospector smiled. “Yaww, I knew he’d make a friend one a’ these days.”

“No,” Another muttered, peering through their dirty goggles. “Angeles with a friend? Couldn’t be.”

“Be nice, Amani,” The prospector said, swatting at him. “Well, we all should introduce ourselves, shouldn’t we? I’m Geoffrey, but my friends call me Clank. This ‘ere is Amani, they’re a mycologist- study mushrooms and the such. Also a fine surgeon, if ye ever need one.”

Amani ducked their head sheepishly, but nodded.

“This is Sela,” Clank gestured at a small wiry figure whose lower face was covered in a scarf. “She shares a body wi’ Hunt, the trapper. They take turns, you know?”

Leshy did not know, but he guessed this must be some sort of human thing, so he nodded.

“And that there is Verona,” Clank gestured to the final figure, a small old woman who was huddled in the corner, gazing at Leshy with knowing eyes. “She don’t talk much, but she knows everythin’ there is to know ‘bout anything.”

“Leshy,” Verona murmured. “Of the woods.”

Leshy paused, before nodding. He knew in that moment that she was something powerful. Not as powerful as him, no, not even close, but far more than a mere human.

“Dinner is ready.” Sela rasped, pulling the pot off the fire.

No one seemed bothered as Leshy took a seat at the table, or as Angeles served him a bowl of stew. He rarely ate cooked meat- preferring his raw, but he dared not complain.

As he ate the over-seasoned food, he glanced around the cabin. A ram’s skull hung on the wall, gazing at him with empty sockets. He shuddered and looked away.

After they were done eating, the people began to disperse. The sun had long since set, and the firelight cast long shadows through the cabin.

“I must be going, now.” Leshy said to Angeles, who looked neither surprised nor disappointed, but merely nodded.

“Will see you,” Angeles said, not as a farewell, but as a promise, clapping his broad hand upon Leshy’s shoulder. “Good bye, Leshy-fish.”

“Goodbye.”

#leshyfish #kenan's writing #inscryption #leshy inscryption #angler inscryption

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teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps · 7 months

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xenaforevermore · 7 months

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October 1 There's this shape, black as the entrance to a cave. A longing wells up in its throat like a blossom as it breathes slowly. What does the world mean to you if you can't trust it to go on shining when you're not there? And there's a tree, long-fallen; once the bees flew to it, like a procession of messengers, and filled it with honey. 2 I said to the chickadee, singing his heart out in the green pine tree: little dazzler, little song, little mouthful. 3 The shape climbs up out of the curled grass. It grunts into view. There is no measure for the confidence at the bottom of its eyes— there is no telling the suppleness of its shoulders as it turns and yawns. Near the fallen tree something—a leaf snapped loose from the branch and fluttering down—tries to pull me into its trap of attention. 4 It pulls me into its trap of attention. And when I turn again, the bear is gone. 5 Look, hasn't my body already felt like the body of a flower? 6 Look, I want to love this world as though it's the last chance I'm ever going to get to be alive and know it. 7 Sometimes in late summer I won't touch anything, not the flowers, not the blackberries brimming in the thickets; I won't drink from the pond; I won't name the birds or the trees; I won't whisper my own name. One morning the fox came down the hill, glittering and confident, and didn't see me—and I thought: so this is the world. I'm not in it. It is beautiful. -Mary Oliver

#a poem for you #poetry #mary oliver #october

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corner-stories · 2 months

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wildflowers in every direction

Mikasa Ackerman. Jean Kirschtein. Cottages. Flowers. Beautiful Dreams. 830 words. (ao3.)

On the edge of the forest is their little corner of the world, a rugged cottage surrounded by fields of green, a stream that leads into a pond, and trees of every size. The life it gives its inhabitants is quiet, but after a previous existence filled with blood, warfare, and battles of heaven and earth, a little bit of peace is the least they can ask for.

At the back of the cottage is a slope covered in grass and wildflowers of every color. At the top is a tree older than the structure in front of it, one with branches so vast that it often casts shadows on sunny days.

And here Mikasa lies, hidden under the shade in the midst of early spring, an afternoon characterized by the shining sun and the final throes of winter having melted away. She sleeps in peace, entangled in the arms of her lover as the only sound that fills her ears is that of a breeze, a gentle force that sways the leaves on the branches, creating a noise that is beyond soothing. The aroma of wildflowers in every direction combined with Jean’s clean, soapy scent and suddenly she feels like she’s living a life she never deserved.

A life of tranquility, nature, and not the neverending nightmares that had plagued her first nineteen years.

She wrestles with survivor’s guilt more often than she would like — images of those she has lost slipping into her mind in moments that should be full of bliss. Why has she been spared? Why is she allowed happiness when they are not? Why is she given the chance of life when some deserve it more?

The remorse never truly leaves, but in the last few years it’s been growing with her, becoming more refined and palpable as she ages.

Because on occasion she’ll get a day where she feels free, a day where she feels like she deserves the life granted to her.

Her existence now lies in the forest, where she splits wood before dinner while the dog basks in the sun, or watches Jean as he sits on the porch and sketches to his heart’s desire. On warmer months he’ll cool off in the pond at the bottom of the hill while she hides under the shade of the tree, and in the colder ones they’ll huddle close by the roaring fire. Sometimes he’ll kiss her hair or she’ll nuzzle her face against his chest, where she always likes to be, then make a quip or two about the unruly state of his beard, to which he might laugh and kiss her even more.

On really good days she knows that this is what she’s earned. She’s spent far too many years in agony, and who’s to say that after all of that she isn’t entitled to just a sliver of joy? Who is to say a forest cannot grow back after being devastated? It just needs a little time.

So Mikasa lets herself rest in Jean’s embrace, basking in the warmth of him and the sun as the afternoon goes on.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed since she fell asleep, but after a few moments she opens her eyes. Her head is against Jean’s chest and one of his arms is around her shoulder, holding her close like she can slip away at any moment, but she knows she won’t. She could never.

She looks up very slightly to see Jean awake. In his free hand he is holding an open book, which he reads as she rests. He does this often and sometimes she swears that the position he’s in cannot possibly be comfortable, but he has yet to utter a single complaint.

Mikasa takes him in, the light hitting his sun-kissed hair and making the hue of his hazel eyes shine.

Near their feet is the dog — a pointy-eared canine named Hugo who sports a mix of black and brown, but mostly black fur. Despite his jaws and wolf-like appearance, he’s a lot more comfortable napping with his masters as opposed to doing anything else. Fortunately, neither Jean nor Mikasa seem to mind. In fact, they prefer him this way.

After a few moments Jean glances down and catches Mikasa staring at him. A smirk tugs at his pretty lips.

“Sleep well?” he asks. The arm around her shoulder moves to play with the strands of her hair.

“I did.” She then proceeds to nuzzle her face against his chest again, pressing a kiss to where his beating heart is.

Five more minutes, she could whisper like she does in the morning, when slumber has been too kind to her and all she wants is a few more moments of peace. Nowadays Jean can read her like a book, so she never really has to say it anymore.

“I had a beautiful dream,” she says instead before closing her eyes and letting herself fall asleep again.

#jeankasa #jeanmika #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein #mikasa ackerman #mikasa ackermann #snk #future fic #hugo ackerman-kirschtein #Siri play Ashitaka and San for 8 hours straight

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batgirlsay · 4 months

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Clinically Distracted

A Playlist for Obiyuki Do-Si-Do 2023 by @snowwhite-andtheknight

This is my first playlist directly based on a fanfic (by my partner @claudeng80) so I decided to focus on songs from my favorite Obiyuki feels band! The playlist title from “Counting Song” fits perfectly for apothecary assistant Obi’s daily thoughts and I also reused some songs from my original Obiyuki playlist that represent all those hours sitting on the roof watching her.

Clinically Distracted

All songs below by Matt Pond PA:

Several Arrows Later The Hollows The Trees And The Wild A Part of the Woods Scars and Stars Closer Counting Song Flying Through The Scenery Hunter

Summary lyrics are cited after the cut:

Several Arrows Later

Orange streetlight picks up when the summer sun goes On tops of buildings red remains It's the differences in light that gets our minds, that gets our minds Give waking up for never fading My intentions proved I thought I would go further Several arrows later will be fine I am listening I'm hearing every single word I see breath and sighs and changing minds I told myself not to remind me of the things I could've been

The Hollows

Erasers impress me everyday They have a way of forgetting easily Hide the hollows from me I'm there, I am all around I am spread out, the wide transparency

The Trees And The Wild

Even without sense You stick to plans I look back to the trees and the wild I look back to see you smile My street is ambivalent It makes sure to tell me Doesn't have to know If I come or go

A Part of the Woods

I got lost in a part of the woods Far from another Cut the line between light and the good Out of color Understand though I can't see what's sound Got branches waving Deep in the dark woods To stand where no one's stood That was you in a part of the woods Now we act like strangers

Scars and Stars

Stars and scars are shining upon the snow that's hiding What's underneath and rotten should be forgotten Though inside it's warmer the cold is good for keeping All the secrets that slept are better off left sleeping Stars and scars are shining they're not about revealing They've covered up what's better, what's better off left keeping Though your breath is speaking through the clouds are breathing It's like they're trying to tell me that everything is seeing Didn't want to go Stayed out in the cold I'm always at a loss Ten times out of ten I don't know where to start

Closer

It was the rocks you liked So much you'd throw them Down into the river's darkness Closer and closer The beam's width that's between us Gets just a little leaner We ought to fail to see it Between the banks that roll The glass hidden motion Above we go on without knowing The pines control the wild sarcasm To hold us up And time was held Well worth the holding Waste it when you try to save Save it and it ends up wasted You know these words

Counting Song

Counting lines in the poplar I got lost about the thousandth time Begin again - don't let anything get your mind Clinically distracted Wondered how the light broke through If it's more than numbers Then on comes the thoughts of truth I was lying on my back outside Below the shade of poplar leaves The moss, grass and brown needles of the evergreen Let's put it aside one last time for desire After enough nights every thought will disappear

Flying Through The Scenery

The orange of the fire – the catch of the barbed wire Running through the woods can cost – across your chest your breath you've lost We got here by back roads – the turns the breaks the hills that roll Seconds I would realize I never want to close my eyes And here we are – we're flying through the scenery I hope you turn your head – to see the moon has set Miss it every time it goes – the further on the less I know

Hunter

Of all the breath laid on me Yours seems sincere Of all the thoughts incomplete Yours seems so clear Hunter do what you want to Hunter do what you please Though you had a big idea Of what it was it isn't clear

#akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #obiyuki #playlist #matt pond pa #oops all matt pond again #new year same playlist feels #hope you like it!

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georgiapeach30513 · 2 years

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Kinktober 2021, Day 31: Double Vaginal Pentration

Summary: You and Hall were just innocently chasing each other

Pairings: Hal Carter X Reader X Jimmy Dobyne

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut, PIV sex, unprotected sex, fingering, double fingering, double vaginal penetration, spit, a tiny bit of degradation, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1.5K

Series Masterlist

You sit on the tree limb next to Hal. Leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder. The forbidden love that your mother had warned you about right at your finger tips, and you couldn’t get enough. If the two of you were ever caught, you know the talk of the town would be severe. But neither of you cared.

He playfully pushes you off of him, before jumping off the branch. His long toned legs racing through the field, and his unbuttoned shirt billows through the wind. Neither of you had taken the time to fully dress after a quick skinny dip in the pond.

Followed by the sweetest love making on the dock. His disheveled hair dripping down on you, only caused you to moan even louder up at him.

“If you catch me, I’ve got a big surprise for you,” he yells out behind him. His bare feet taking him in the direction of the barn.

“That’s not fair! You got a head start, Hal! Wait up.”

He stops a moment, feigning the need to catch his breath. Making sure his shirt is spread wide so you can see the deep hills and valleys of his sculpted stomach. “Come on, Mouse. You can do better than,” he screeches, as you reach out to almost grab him. His body jolts towards the barn, and he slinks in towards the door.

Standing there mocking you almost catching him, “Since you didn’t succeed, I think you need to give me a surprise.”

“What did you have in mind, stud,” placing your hand on his shoulder, you run it down the expanse of his abs. Feather light touches heating his skin up. You cup his bulge; leaning forward to bite on his puffy bottom lip when you see another step out of the shadows.

Normally Hal would have jumped in front of your body to shield you, but instead he has a devilish grin, as his friend, Jimmy Dobyne, steps closer. “Well, well, well. Didn’t imagine seeing the preacher’s daughter caught in a compromising position with the farmhand. Howdy do, Miss Mosley. How’s Pastor Mosley’s sermon coming along for tomorrow?”

“Jimmy, maybe,” you begin biting your lip. “Maybe we don’t mention this?”

His gaze sweeps down your body, making note of your hardened peaks shining through your damp shirt, “I think you might have forgotten some of your clothes, miss.”

“Hal?” you plead up at him. While Hal skipped the service typically, Jimmy was always present. He could easily tell your secret. “If my father finds out…I’ll be sent away. Impure. I won’t be suitable for marriage.”

“Oh, sweet Mouse, I’m sure Jimmy will keep our secret.”

“It’ll come at a cost,” your eyes go misty as he steps closer to you. His hand skimming down your side, before he pulls your hip into him. “I just think I deserve a taste of that sweet nectar that Hal can’t stop talking about. Said that you’re more delectable than any fruit.”

Looking up at your lover he gives you a nod, but you shake your head clinging tighter to Hal, “What if it’s a joint thing. It’s not wrong if you’re fucking me, too. Didn’t you tell me that your light once burned for Jimmy Dobyne? Look at him, his cock is twitching in his trousers. It could be fun. And daddy doesn’t have to know.”

Jimmy’s hand moves up your body, settling on your tit as his thumb circles over your buds. Leaning forward, his lips ghost open mouth kisses all down the expanse of your neck, and you feel your hips start to grind into him. “She’s responsive,” he hums, taking a moment to admire you desperate need for friction.

“Mouse, you gonna let Jimmy fuck you, too?”

“No one knows about this?” you genuinely ask, because this could ruin your family.

“Not a soul,” the both of them promise as Jimmy walks to board the barn up from the inside. “Of course,” the other boy begins, “I can’t promise people won’t hear you scream.”

“Stop it, Dobyne. My little Mousie is just a sweet girl. But in time, you’ve molded your cunt to my cock haven’t you?”

You give him a nod as his hands remove your dress, and Jimmy lets out a soft moan when your body gets exposed to him. His hands explore your soft curves, while Hal captures his mouth with yours. Immediately dominating your mouth, pushing his tongue into yours to taste your sweet sounds.

Randomly he looks down at Jimmy who continues his study of your body. Leaning forward before circling your nipple with his mouth. Yipping into Hal’s mouth with the sensation, but your body again, reacts.

Arching your back into him. Hal’s hand travels down your front, dipping under you panties, and you chirp at the sensation.

“Uh-uh, I wanna feel,” Jimmy coos, his own hand slipping down with Hal’s.

Already feeling full with your boyfriend’s two fingers, but Jimmy doesn’t care, he slips in two of his own, and your body bucks at the sensation. Yelping and pulling yourself back, to stare down at the two of them.

“You wanna see don’t cha, sweet Mouse. You gotta watch those sweet preacher’s daughters,” with one swift movement, he has your panties ripped off of you, and you gaze at the two of their fingers pumping into you. Jimmy grabs at your leg, urging Hal to do the same. And everyone stares at those four thick digits cramming into your cunt.

“I’ve got the best idea,” Jimmy states, his mouth starting to kiss on your face, and you like it. The both of their hands soaked with your juices. “Have you ever taken two cocks?” you shake your head rapidly, leaning over on Hal.

“Come on, let’s see how much this pretty pussy will stretch. Add another finger.”

The both of them enter in a third finger, leaving you spread eagle, and your walls stretched tight. “Fuck, you can take it. I know you can, Mouse. Do this for me, and not only will I not say what you and Hal have been doing, but I promise you’ll be begging to do this again.”

“Mouse, it’ll be fun, baby. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you,” his curiosity gets the best of him, and he wants to feel and see this.

“Hal, lay down. This sweet Mousey is going to lay on your back, so I can fuck her from the front.”

Hal does as he’s told, and you sink down over him. Giving a quick show to Jimmy as you bounce over top of him. With a smirk up to him, you lean back, and he sees your glorious hole take all of Hal. His hips pushing him up into you. “What’re your waiting for Jimmy?” your voice sultry and now just as ready as the men.

He pushes you to fully lay back on Hal’s hard chest, his arms circling your body. The pressure of his embrace comforting you. Jimmy moves to stand in between your legs, and he watches your wet heat suck his best friend in, and he spits a line of salvia to your entrance.

He slaps his angry cock on your clit, the three of your arousal mixing together, and he spits at your spread pussy again. “Jimmy, baby, just do it.”

“Such a needy little whore, isn’t she?” he smirks. His blunt head poking at your tight little hole. Hal stills his moments as Jimmy tries to stretch you out. Pushing through your entrance, when he finally breaks through.

Your whimper echos in the barn, but both you and Hal nod, coaxing him to go deeper. Jimmy doesn’t stop his descent until he’s balls deep, and you lose all sense of reality. Cunt stretched impossibly tight, but the feeling of a warm fullness overwhelms you.

Jimmy waits until your breathing evens out, and he stabs into you. Slow steady thrusts, and you speak in a nonsensical tongue. Just relishing in the feeling of being used. The feeling of having two men take you apart, and still your body accommodates both of them.

Jimmy’s eyes never leave where the three of you become one. Your juices making a sloppy mess as it leaks onto Hal’s ball sack, and you can’t wait to clean him off with your sinful mouth.

“Grab her hips, and fuck her,” Hal grunts. “I don’t want to cum until I see how tight these walls clench around us. Mouse, you look beautiful like this. Animalistic,” he stops when your sweet sounds ring out into the barn. Sobbing out their names, and your fingers grip down on Jimmy’s forearms as he barrels into you.

Those desperate mewls a symphony to the two of them. Eyes rolling into the back of your head as you see stars in your vision. Your orgasm jolting you like a strike of lighting. And you don’t know who came with you, and who was shortly after, but the added warmth and fullness makes you cry. Feeling the three of your cream ooze out of your womb, but no one wants to pull out. “Well, that was unexpected,” Jimmy sighs.

“I told you, he’d fall for it, Mouse. How’d that pussy feel, buddy? Like I said, she is the nastiest little thing.”

“Mouse? More like a minx, you filthy little slut,” he pulls out of you, helping you to sit up on your knees.

Hal’s softening cock flops out of you, as their seed drops out. Not one to waste it, you gather some up with your fingers only to suck each one dry. “I think I need a repeat. My brain just forgot what happened.”

“Maybe next time someone gets my ass.”

Masterlist

taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @peaches1958 @donutloverxo @thedarkplume @johndeaconshands @xoxabs88xox @harrysthiccthighss @duuhrayliegh @rebekahdawkins @autumnrose40 @terry2227 @delilahjamesevans @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

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