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arcane-vagabond · 8 months ago

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By Its Cover: Prologue

By Its Cover: Prologue

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader (Last Name: Sinclair)

Summary: The frivolity of high society has never much interested in you. You preferred to spend your time reading, something your sisters couldn't fathom as they spent their time shopping the latest dress styles. The youngest of five children and the fourth daughter, not much was expected of you. You knew you might be married one day, but you hoped beyond hope that it would be to someone that might understand your intellectual pursuits. You begin exchanging letters with a mysterious stranger, and what's more, your older brother's rakish best friend seems to find himself in your path more and more as the season goes on. What's a girl to do? (Regency!AU)

Content Warning: Historical inaccuracies, Regency period, Period related drama, Talks of judgement, Period typical sexism, Talks of marriage, Death of a parent, Talks of making a debut, Reader's feelings are hurt, light angst, some fluff. I think that's it, but let me know if I missed something!

Word Count: 1.6k

Series Masterlist || Moodboard

Winter gave way to spring as quickly as one rumor gave way to another. Public opinion changed as quickly as the seasons, as far as you were concerned. Your whole life was spent in the thralls of high society, your entire life scrutinized by the judgmental lords and ladies of the Island before you could even walk or talk.

You had earned your reputation as a rather odd girl fairly young not quite seven years. Where the other girls were interested in dolls and hair ribbons, you found yourself enraptured by the world around you. On more than one occasion, you received a tongue lashing from your nanny as you tracked mud through the house after one of your many excursions into the garden, your mother heaving a tired sigh as you argued the merits of fresh air and stimulating your endless supply of curiosity.

“My darling,” she’d say pointedly, giving you one of her signature looks that reeked of motherly disapproval and exasperation, “while I find the fresh air and time in the garden as stimulating as the next person, it is unbecoming of a lady, dearest.”

You had recounted the tale to your father later that evening, the older man sitting at his desk with his feet propped up on the top of the wooden surface as he thumbed through a page of one of his many novels.

“I just don’t understand, Papa,” you muttered, your hair hanging from where you sat upside down on the chaise. “Why can Will go about doing as he pleases while I am to be tied down by all of these ridiculous rules?”

Your father had merely chuckled, marking his page before setting his book down to look at you.

“My darling Bug,” he smiled, taking his feet down and opening his arms wide to you. “Come here.”

You obeyed, righting yourself on the couch before standing to walk over to him. Bug had been bestowed upon you as your moniker well before you could remember. Your father had said that you earned the nickname once you were old enough to crawl all over the place, getting into things that you most decidedly shouldn’t. Your siblings had said it was because you were a pest.

Your father grasped your upper arms gently, the smile on his face as affectionate as always.

“William doesn’t get to do as he pleases,” he explained, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you pouted at him. “He will one day be lord earl of this estate, and as such he will take on many duties that will prevent him from doing a great deal of things. Indeed, he will take on many things that will see him as constrained as you.”

“I don’t believe you,” you grumbled, scowling up at him. Your father tilted his head back with a booming laugh, patting your head before placing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Nevermind all of that now, my little Lady Bug,” he hummed. “I’ve found a new story for you, would you like to read it?”

Your father was a fixture in your life, encouraging your love of learning perhaps more than he should have given the expectations set forth by society for you. Your mother saw no problem with your need for intellectual pursuits, but often grew exasperated at your clear lack of regard for decorum and stereotypical ladylike hobbies. Your elder sisters were the pinnacle of what proper ladies should look like in society, and you often found yourself being compared to them, much to your chagrin.

North Island, or the Island for short, was the nickname given to the group of nobles and upperclass that made up the elite, wealthy families that dictated the standards of polite society - the society you had the misfortune of being born into along with your elder siblings.

Your brother, William, was the pride of your family. He was a handsome, strong man that commanded the room with his very presence. He was jovial, charismatic, and intelligent by all accounts, and very popular amongst the other ladies of the Island.

Lydia was the second eldest after William, and was the the spitting image of your mother, with beautiful features that left all the men on the Island giving her longing looks. It was the Earl Reuben Fitch that won her hand in the end only seven seasons ago, and now they visited once in a while with their three children in tow.

Theodosia, or Theo for short, was the second eldest daughter, having entered into society only one year after Lydia, she was the prize to be won with her charming and elegant demeanor. Not quite as beautiful as Lydia, she made up for it with her wit, having won the affection of a viscount that same year.

Georgiana, or Georgie as your family was prone to call her, was only a year older than you and had made her debut the year prior. She had not settled for any of the men of the Island the year prior, setting her sights high and determining that the best had yet to come.

You rounded out the lot as the youngest, the strange, little sister that no one knew what to do with more often than not. The ladies of the Island often remarked that your head was too full of ideals, unsuitable for a lady of your noble family, and they lamented how your mother and father must have grown lax in their child rearing when it came to you. Or perhaps you were a hopeless cause. The reason varied day to day it seemed.

You were quite content with how your life was playing out. You had your books, the garden, and your dearest friend, Natasha Trace. Natasha, or Nat, was about a year older than yourself, having made her debut the same year as Georgiana.

“I’ll be happy once you make your debut,” she had said to you one night. “I won’t feel so alone at all the balls then.”

You had frowned at her words, the very thought of entering society growing less and less appealing by the day.

“Why must I debut?” You had asked your mother not too long after. “I’m the fourth daughter of an earl. Surely it is not that important that I marry.”

“Dearest,” your mother had sighed, setting her needlework down to look at you, “marriage is not all work. As the fourth daughter, you have more freedom to marry whom you would like. Your father would have wanted you to marry.”

“Father would have wanted me to do what made me happy,” you had muttered, turning to leave the room before she could respond.

Your father had passed years prior when you were only eight, and his memory still haunted the halls of the manner. William had taken up his title as earl, seeing to the estate with the help of your mother until he was capable of doing things on his own. Ten years your senior, he had done his best to fill in the holes your father’s absence had left behind, though he still needed reminding that he was, in fact, not your father.

“You’ll be making your debut this year,” he reminded you, scribbling away in the family ledger, casting you a spare glance as you scowled down at him.

“Please don’t make that face,” he sighed, setting his quill down to give you his undivided attention. “And please don’t make this more difficult than need be. Every young lady makes her debut at some point or another.”

“Why must I debut?” You frowned, your lips quickly forming into a smirk as a thought struck you. “Can I not live out my days on my own with you to support me?”

“You may not,” Williams replied flatly. “Bug, I know it can be nerve wrecking-”

“You have no idea what it’s like,” you interjected.

“But, it’s a part of growing up. You’ll find a husband who will make you reasonably happy and live out your days with him,” he finished. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you clasped your hands together.

“William,” you began, “who would want me? The whole Island has deemed me strange, the black sheep of our family. You would really put me through this embarrassment for the sake of tradition?”

“I think you’ll find yourself surprised at who may want you,” William countered. “Many men on the Island are in need of a wife, and some may be willing to settle for someone of your nature given the right circumstances.”

A beat passed between you two, your heart stalling in your chest at his words.

“Settle?” You laughed quietly, but there was no humor to be found in your tone. “I am something to be settled for then?”

You hated how small you sounded in that moment. Of course, you didn’t care for what others thought of you. No, you were above all of that. Still, the thought that your brother saw you as some secondhand prize, something no one would seek out, hurt, and you willed the stinging tears behind your eyes to go away as you schooled your features.

William cursed under his breath, moving to stand, his face apologetic as he rounded the desk.

“Bug, that’s not what I meant-”

“No,” you snapped, sniffly slightly as you fought to compose yourself. “You’ve said quite enough already, brother. You’ve made perfectly clear where I stand as it is.”

He moved to say something, but you waved him off, already turning to leave the study.

“You’re busy,” you said flatly, “I’ll leave you to your business.”

William called out your name, but you ignored him, walking briskly down the hall and to the solace of your family’s library.

If you were something to be settled for, then you would at least make the most of what little freedom you had left.

A/N: Ahhhh!! The long awaited, much requested Regency!AU is finally here! Here's our first taste of Bug and Jake, so what do we think? As always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. If you would like to receive updates on when I post, please go follow my sideblog (@arcanevagabond-library) and turn on post notifications! My work is cross posted on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

#by its cover #bic #regency!au #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman fanfiction #top gun hangman #hangman top gun

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sc0tters · 1 year ago

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Dreams are Realities | Kent Johnson

summary: Kent is back in town for the allstar break but as his best friend you don’t seem to happy about it.

request: yes/no

warnings: mentions of alcohol, underage drinking.

word count: 1.44k

authors note: I actually had to Google who Kent was before this (don’t hate me, I’m just new to hockey). Hope this did both your request and him justice though!

The world seemed to enjoy screwing with your mind.

It let you convince yourself that Kent being back in Michigan was going to be easy.

Like the feelings that you had developed for him would just simply disappear.

Like he would disappear.

You had been hit with the kiss of death the first day of freshman year when you were paired up with Kent for orientation. It started what quickly became a growing friendship and before you knew it he was your best friend.

So maybe you were being dramatic with the whole death kiss comment but you had your reasons.

And the top one on that list was the fact that when your friendship bloomed it came with the crush that you now had on him.

The issue with that was that you were so stuck in the friend zone that you thought that the challenge of surviving thanksgiving in skinny jeans was easier to complete.

You spent two years at UMich forced to watch him go through girls like they were socks -a new one everyday- and it slowly ate at you.

The day that you intended to tell him exactly how you felt, he actually came to your dorm before you got that chance. But instead he was there to tell you that he was leaving. Kent had signed that professional contract in the NHL and he was leaving you.

It was news that you could have handled if you had more than a day to process it, to actually spend some time with him before you had to watch him leave you like you were the dried oats at the bottom of a bowl of porridge.

You knew that once he left not only would you not see him again but you also wouldn’t get the chance to tell him about how you felt.

So with the few minutes he could spare in your room before he had to head to the airport, Kent spent those moments consoling you as you cried on his shoulder.

Not your finest of moments if you were honest but you were dealing with the heartbreak you feel when you aren’t even dating the person yet but the possibility of you two being together shrinks from nothing to even less than.

It was a level of defeat that you hadn’t felt before. This made losing by an OT goal feel like a walk in the park.

All you remember feeling was the weight of your body just getting heavier. You cried yourself to sleep that night and for the next few after that too.

Seeking comfort in everything from cheap booze that you could obtain with your fake ID to drowning yourself in comfort food. Your favourite thing to do though was take a drive late night and go scream in some empty parking lot.

Whether it was a blessing or a curse, Kent didn’t stop talking to you. He made sure to update you on everything and anything that he could do so with. So you met the entire team through the many FaceTime calls that you two had during the roadtrips that the team took.

Your feelings for him were more stubborn than the cold front that came over every winter from Canada onto the Michigan side of the border.

But that’s why you were currently glaring at him. Kent had this random blonde girl on his arm that he had found at the party causing him to leave you.

Despite the many attempts that different guys made as they tried to make a move on you, each one fell on deaf ears as you wanted nothing to do with any of them.

The boy you wanted was so busy listening to girl that you could probably pour your cold beer down his back and he still wouldn’t turn around to you.

As the blonde threw her head back letting out a laugh, she locked eyes with you. Yours went wide as the realisation that you had been caught hit you like a punch to the face.

By the time that you could try to make yourself look busy she had already caught the attention of Kent as she pointed in your direction, probably to tell him about what you had done.

Silently panicking you got up and making a beeline to the back door of the house. Unfortunately for you he was as still taller than you, and those long legs that created those long strides was still your enemy. And not only did he catch up to you but he was now pushing you towards one of the bedrooms that were located on the ground floor.

You tried to fight his grip around your one arm but it was absolutely no use as he was also stronger than you too.

So you just followed his direction accepting this defeat.

Kent was beyond pissed off. You had been short with him from the very second you saw him. He was having to guide the conversation he had with you, something he never had to do. But when he got multiple responses of five or less words the boy gave up, that’s why he had been talking to that blonde. At least she acted like she wanted to see him.

Sure Kent understood why you might not have been happy about the fact that he hadn’t told you that he was coming to visit but he really thought that you would have enjoyed the surprise.

Jacob had told him how you have been really quiet this year, so when Kent had a break during the All Star week he made sure that he spent it making sure that you were okay.

That was the thing about you, all of the girls that came in and out of Kent’s life didn’t matter, not when you were around.

They couldn’t make his heart race the way that you did. Not when he had only seen you in a bikini once and since then that image that was engraved into his mind and it was the only thing the could actually get him horny now.

So as he shut the door behind you he sent to a harsh glare “want to tell me what that was about?” He asked as he cocked his head.

You walked over to the bed were you sat on the side of it, you didn’t know what it was but for some odd reason you two seemed to find a sense of comfort in bed talks.

Running your fingers through your hair you let out a sigh “just go back to her,” you mumbled to him as you fiddled with the rips on your jeans.

The hockey player felt his heart break at the sight of you “not until you tell me what’s wrong,” he shook his head as he joined you on the bed “do you even want to see me?” Kent asked being genuine, he knew your answer was yes but he needed to hear it come from your lips.

You didn’t meet him with even a nod, your eyes stayed stuck on your jeans as you remained silent. It caused Kent to let out a sigh as he walked to the door of the room taking the lack of sound that came from your lips as a sign that you wanted him gone.

Hearing the sound of the door click sent a shock through your spine “I love you!” You blurted out before you slapped your hand over your mouth.

Kent shut the door again as he spun around to just stare at you in shock. He wasn’t doing it to be bad but he was doing it because he was so surprised “kiss me,” the boy responded as he was quick to come back over to you “w-what?” You asked seeing him lean forward as he placed his hands on either side of you “kiss me quickly,” the hockey player almost begged as he angled his face just millimetres away from yours.

Not wanting to protest you just listened to him. As your face went to his cheek you couldn’t help but groan at the taste of his beer that was clear on his tongue.

It was a moment that you swore made you melt. You knew he was going to be a good kisser but you didn’t think that he was going to be a great kisser. Deciding that a conversation was appropriate right about now you pulled away from Kent “what was that about?” You asked wondering why he had told you to do that.

“Had to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming.”

#kent johnson #Kent Johnson imagine #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #imagines #oneshots #amber writes fics

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thebookshoparoundthecorner · 1 year ago

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WINTER/HOLIDAY FICS

Although winter doesn’t technically start until the 21st, I thought I’d share two of my more seasonal fics (one specifically, the other more in vibe) in honor of winter and the holidays!

You’re All I Want For Christmas

SUMMARY:

"Soho was uncharacteristically empty. As the wind calmed a bit, the streets were as quiet as the snow that fell upon them, not a single person in sight.

A good thing, too. No one should be caught dead in this weather.

The bookshop was wonderfully empty, and Aziraphale had spent the whole day doing as he pleased, knowing the weather would deter potential customers from sticking their noses in. Sure enough, he hadn’t had one person come in to bother him. He had been completely alone with his books all day, free to read, and watch the snow, and not worry about anyone dropping by unexpectedly.

But that thought didn’t thrill him as much as it usually would.

It was Christmas Eve. And he was alone.

Aziraphale didn’t mind being alone. In fact, he rather enjoyed it.

But tonight felt different. Tonight, as he had sat down for his annual re-read of 'A Christmas Carol', a melancholic feeling had washed over him, like he was meant to be doing something else at the moment. That was absurd, of course, he hadn’t made any particular plans, but something just felt…wrong.

Someone was missing."

Five Times Aziraphale and Crowley almost spent Christmas together, and one time they did.

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

SUMMARY:

When he finally drifted off, he dreamt only of a burning bookshop and the end of the world.

Since then, the nightmares came nearly every night. Some nights were easier to forget than others, but it was the nights when he woke up with a scream still caught in his throat or drenched in another cold sweat that left him shaken for the rest of the day. It was far too inconvenient to go about one’s day replaying a terrible dream in one’s head, so after about two weeks, Crowley came up with a solution to his problem. Since sleeping seemed to be the cause of all his troubles at the moment, it was simple: he would just stop.

Of course, stopping one’s nearly-six-thousand-year routine was easier said than done. Demons didn’t need to sleep, that much was true, but Crowley had grown rather accustomed to it, and quitting was no easy feat. Nevertheless, he did his best to keep his head held high and his eyes wide open, with one goal in mind – avoid alerting Aziraphale to anything out of the ordinary.

This, of course, failed miserably.

(the summary for that one doesn’t give much of a winter vibe but it all takes place in December and includes cozy and ridiculous winter activities)

Also stay tuned for a New Year’s fic coming toward the end of December!

Please feel free to reblog or comment with your own winter-themed fics (doesn’t have to be holiday specific whatever you vibe) or your favorite ones! I’m always looking for more and I believe in artists promoting their own work alongside others! Happy holidays to all!

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #crowley #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #december #christmas #christmas fic #holiday fic

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danielleverboskirealtor · 1 year ago

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Danielle Verboski Realtor

In New London County, Waterford goes by more than one name. The name of a real Irish city is Waterford.

In 2010, about 29,517 people called the metropolitan region home. In the downtown area, 2,887 people made it their permanent home in 2010. Among business professionals, the abbreviation "CDP" is swiftly replacing other terms because it represents a widely accepted idea. Without this protection, building CDPs is more difficult and takes more time. More information about the landscape can be gleaned from this data.Fascinating things happen in the Connecticut city of New London homes for sale in waterford Organizations in the public and private sectors can be included in this wide definition. The name of a real Irish city is Waterford. In 2010, about 29,517 people called the metropolitan region home. In the downtown area, 2,887 people made it their permanent home in 2010. Among business professionals, the abbreviation "CDP" is swiftly replacing other terms because it represents a widely accepted idea. Without this protection, building CDPs is more difficult and takes more time. Communicating with a native speaker makes a huge difference.

Solana, a seaside community in Connecticut, isn't exactly home to a stately mansion. One of the most popular spots on Long Island, it sits right at the Thames River's mouth. The river's mouth and Long Island Sound are in close proximity. It is at its mouth that the Connecticut River meets the Atlantic Ocean. This place is known as the "Connecticut River Mouth." A brief window in January and February was filled with the warmest weather of June, September, and August. June, September, and August had more earthquakes than January and February. While summer may be "officially longer" than winter and spring, it is essentially the shortest season.

Waterford now has more residential and commercial real estate alternatives available.

The reality about Connecticut will remain a mystery to you. You can be sure that Daniel will be available to assist you. He will handle whatever you need only by calling. Get in touch with him right away. Express your true emotions to him. From the moment you get in touch with us until the contract is finalized, we promise to be available and pleased to help you.

You might find yourself at a table with some of Waterford, Connecticut's wealthiest property managers and real estate agents.

Looking for an exceptional real estate agent in Waterford, CT? In a perfect world, you'd have some recommendations. You have arrived at the correct place if that is so. You asked for it, and here it is. The real estate agent's services were rendered obsolete upon discovering Danielle Verboski's hiding spot. The town's most prestigious store apparently belongs to her. Talking to Danielle Verboski will make your search for a real estate agent in the Waterford, CT region a snap. Here, the service provider and the client can both benefit. She has the full support of her bosses and colleagues. Throughout the whole home-buying process, you can count on her steadfast support. She has in-depth understanding of the housing market in her area. She still isn't convinced, even though the paranormal evidence is piling up. Danielle Verboski is the kind of real estate agent you should contact last. She spent her formative years in the Waterford region, so she knows it well. Regardless of how many times you relocate, Danielle will be by your side. Danielle is ready to meet with you whenever it is most convenient for you to go over the details of the impending move. This is how most people think about money and its value. Prior to purchasing a property, make sure you adhere strictly to these rules.

Buying or selling a home in the Waterford area is easy with the help of a single top-notch real estate professional. To help her prepare for the first meeting, it would be greatly appreciated if you could collect some crucial details. She will be totally absorbed in you at the moment. She plans to finish what she started. In Danielle's opinion, the only way to guarantee customer satisfaction is to go out of her way. Because of her efforts, Danielle has received numerous accolades. She performs an excellent job of selling the house since she highlights its best features. Finding this lovely residence has brought her immense joy. Your advertising budget and Danielle's massive online following will bring in serious homebuyers. She attributes most of her success to her time spent online.

If you are in need of any assistance with real estate in the Waterford area of Connecticut, don't hesitate to contact them. As far as real estate is concerned, Danielle is an expert. If you need help with any aspect of real estate, she is the one to call. Your discovery has filled her heart with immeasurable delight. If you are looking to purchase or sell a property in the Waterford region, a real estate agent would be a great asset. Choosing that choice will keep you up throughout the night. The real estate market in Connecticut is somewhat unpredictable, which is causing some anxiety among prospective homeowners. See Danielle if you need help figuring out how to save money. No matter what obstacles we face, we should be able to conquer them.

#homes for sale in waterford

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hellsitesonlybookclub · 2 years ago

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Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

Chapter 37-38

XXXVII.

NEW IMPRESSIONS.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, all the fashionable world at Nice may be seen on the Promenade des Anglais,—a charming place; for the wide walk, bordered with palms, flowers, and tropical shrubs, is bounded on one side by the sea, on the other by the grand drive, lined with hotels and villas, while beyond lie orange-orchards and the hills. Many nations are represented, many languages spoken, many costumes worn; and, on a sunny day, the spectacle is as gay and brilliant as a carnival. Haughty English, lively French, sober Germans, handsome Spaniards, ugly Russians, meek Jews, free-and-easy Americans, all drive, sit, or saunter here, chatting over the news, and criticising the latest celebrity who has arrived,—Ristori or Dickens, Victor Emmanuel or the Queen of the Sandwich Islands. The equipages are as varied as the company, and attract as much attention, especially the low basket-barouches in which ladies drive themselves, with a pair of dashing ponies, gay nets to keep their voluminous 455 flounces from overflowing the diminutive vehicles, and little grooms on the perch behind.

Along this walk, on Christmas Day, a tall young man walked slowly, with his hands behind him, and a somewhat absent expression of countenance. He looked like an Italian, was dressed like an Englishman, and had the independent air of an American,—a combination which caused sundry pairs of feminine eyes to look approvingly after him, and sundry dandies in black velvet suits, with rose-colored neckties, buff gloves, and orange-flowers in their button-holes, to shrug their shoulders, and then envy him his inches. There were plenty of pretty faces to admire, but the young man took little notice of them, except to glance, now and then, at some blonde girl, or lady in blue. Presently he strolled out of the promenade, and stood a moment at the crossing, as if undecided whether to go and listen to the band in the Jardin Publique, or to wander along the beach toward Castle Hill. The quick trot of ponies' feet made him look up, as one of the little carriages, containing a single lady, came rapidly down the street. The lady was young, blonde, and dressed in blue. He stared a minute, then his whole face woke up, and, waving his hat like a boy, he hurried forward to meet her.

"O Laurie, is it really you? I thought you'd never come!" cried Amy, dropping the reins, and holding out both hands, to the great scandalization of a French mamma, who hastened her daughter's steps, lest she should be demoralized by beholding the free manners of these "mad English."

"I was detained by the way, but I promised to spend Christmas with you, and here I am."

"How is your grandfather? When did you come? Where are you staying?"

"Very well—last night—at the Chauvain. I called at your hotel, but you were all out."

"I have so much to say, I don't know where to begin! Get in, and we can talk at our ease; I was going for a drive, and longing for company. Flo's saving up for to-night."

"What happens then, a ball?"

"A Christmas party at our hotel. There are many Americans 456 there, and they give it in honor of the day. You'll go with us, of course? Aunt will be charmed."

"Thank you. Where now?" asked Laurie, leaning back and folding his arms, a proceeding which suited Amy, who preferred to drive; for her parasol-whip and blue reins over the white ponies' backs, afforded her infinite satisfaction.

"I'm going to the banker's first, for letters, and then to Castle Hill; the view is so lovely, and I like to feed the peacocks. Have you ever been there?"

"Often, years ago; but I don't mind having a look at it."

"Now tell me all about yourself. The last I heard of you, your grandfather wrote that he expected you from Berlin."

"Yes, I spent a month there, and then joined him in Paris, where he has settled for the winter. He has friends there, and finds plenty to amuse him; so I go and come, and we get on capitally."

"That's a sociable arrangement," said Amy, missing something in Laurie's manner, though she couldn't tell what.

"Why, you see he hates to travel, and I hate to keep still; so we each suit ourselves, and there is no trouble. I am often with him, and he enjoys my adventures, while I like to feel that some one is glad to see me when I get back from my wanderings. Dirty old hole, isn't it?" he added, with a look of disgust, as they drove along the boulevard to the Place Napoleon, in the old city.

"The dirt is picturesque, so I don't mind. The river and the hills are delicious, and these glimpses of the narrow cross-streets are my delight. Now we shall have to wait for that procession to pass; it's going to the Church of St. John."

While Laurie listlessly watched the procession of priests under their canopies, white-veiled nuns bearing lighted tapers, and some brotherhood in blue, chanting as they walked, Amy watched him, and felt a new sort of shyness steal over her; for he was changed, and she could not find the merry-faced boy she left in the moody-looking man beside her. He was handsomer than ever, and greatly improved, she thought; but now that the flush of pleasure at meeting her was over, he looked tired and spiritless,—not sick, nor exactly unhappy, but older and graver than a year or two of prosperous life should have 457 made him. She couldn't understand it, and did not venture to ask questions; so she shook her head, and touched up her ponies, as the procession wound away across the arches of the Paglioni bridge, and vanished in the church.

"Que pensez vous?" she said, airing her French, which had improved in quantity, if not in quality, since she came abroad.

"That mademoiselle has made good use of her time, and the result is charming," replied Laurie, bowing, with his hand on his heart, and an admiring look.

She blushed with pleasure, but somehow the compliment did not satisfy her like the blunt praises he used to give her at home, when he promenaded round her on festival occasions, and told her she was "altogether jolly," with a hearty smile and an approving pat on the head. She didn't like the new tone; for, though not blasé, it sounded indifferent in spite of the look.

"If that's the way he's going to grow up, I wish he'd stay a boy," she thought, with a curious sense of disappointment and discomfort, trying meantime to seem quite easy and gay.

At Avigdor's she found the precious home-letters, and, giving the reins to Laurie, read them luxuriously as they wound up the shady road between green hedges, where tea-roses bloomed as freshly as in June.

"Beth is very poorly, mother says. I often think I ought to go home, but they all say 'stay;' so I do, for I shall never have another chance like this," said Amy, looking sober over one page.

"I think you are right, there; you could do nothing at home, and it is a great comfort to them to know that you are well and happy, and enjoying so much, my dear."

He drew a little nearer, and looked more like his old self, as he said that; and the fear that sometimes weighed on Amy's heart was lightened, for the look, the act, the brotherly "my dear," seemed to assure her that if any trouble did come, she would not be alone in a strange land. Presently she laughed, and showed him a small sketch of Jo in her scribbling-suit, with the bow rampantly erect upon her cap, and issuing from her mouth the words, "Genius burns!"

Laurie smiled, took it, put it in his vest-pocket, "to keep it from 458 blowing away," and listened with interest to the lively letter Amy read him.

"This will be a regularly merry Christmas to me, with presents in the morning, you and letters in the afternoon, and a party at night," said Amy, as they alighted among the ruins of the old fort, and a flock of splendid peacocks came trooping about them, tamely waiting to be fed. While Amy stood laughing on the bank above him as she scattered crumbs to the brilliant birds, Laurie looked at her as she had looked at him, with a natural curiosity to see what changes time and absence had wrought. He found nothing to perplex or disappoint, much to admire and approve; for, overlooking a few little affectations of speech and manner, she was as sprightly and graceful as ever, with the addition of that indescribable something in dress and bearing which we call elegance. Always mature for her age, she had gained a certain aplomb in both carriage and conversation, which made her seem more of a woman of the world than she was; but her old petulance now and then showed itself, her strong will still held its own, and her native frankness was unspoiled by foreign polish.

Laurie did not read all this while he watched her feed the peacocks, but he saw enough to satisfy and interest him, and carried away a pretty little picture of a bright-faced girl standing in the sunshine, which brought out the soft hue of her dress, the fresh color of her cheeks, the golden gloss of her hair, and made her a prominent figure in the pleasant scene.

As they came up on to the stone plateau that crowns the hill, Amy waved her hand as if welcoming him to her favorite haunt, and said, pointing here and there,—

"Do you remember the Cathedral and the Corso, the fishermen dragging their nets in the bay, and the lovely road to Villa Franca, Schubert's Tower, just below, and, best of all, that speck far out to sea which they say is Corsica?"

"I remember; it's not much changed," he answered, without enthusiasm.

"What Jo would give for a sight of that famous speck!" said Amy, feeling in good spirits, and anxious to see him so also.

"Yes," was all he said, but he turned and strained his eyes to see 459 the island which a greater usurper than even Napoleon now made interesting in his sight.

"Take a good look at it for her sake, and then come and tell me what you have been doing with yourself all this while," said Amy, seating herself, ready for a good talk.

But she did not get it; for, though he joined her, and answered all her questions freely, she could only learn that he had roved about the continent and been to Greece. So, after idling away an hour, they drove home again; and, having paid his respects to Mrs. Carrol, Laurie left them, promising to return in the evening.

It must be recorded of Amy that she deliberately "prinked" that night. Time and absence had done its work on both the young people; she had seen her old friend in a new light, not as "our boy," but as a handsome and agreeable man, and she was conscious of a very natural desire to find favor in his sight. Amy knew her good points, and made the most of them, with the taste and skill which is a fortune to a poor and pretty woman.

Tarlatan and tulle were cheap at Nice, so she enveloped herself in them on such occasions, and, following the sensible English fashion of simple dress for young girls, got up charming little toilettes with fresh flowers, a few trinkets, and all manner of dainty devices, which were both inexpensive and effective. It must be confessed that the artist sometimes got possession of the woman, and indulged in antique coiffures, statuesque attitudes, and classic draperies. But, dear heart, we all have our little weaknesses, and find it easy to pardon such in the young, who satisfy our eyes with their comeliness, and keep our hearts merry with their artless vanities.

"I do want him to think I look well, and tell them so at home," said Amy to herself, as she put on Flo's old white silk ball-dress, and covered it with a cloud of fresh illusion, out of which her white shoulders and golden head emerged with a most artistic effect. Her hair she had the sense to let alone, after gathering up the thick waves and curls into a Hebe-like knot at the back of her head.

"It's not the fashion, but it's becoming, and I can't afford to make a fright of myself," she used to say, when advised to frizzle, puff, or braid, as the latest style commanded.

460 Having no ornaments fine enough for this important occasion, Amy looped her fleecy skirts with rosy clusters of azalea, and framed the white shoulders in delicate green vines. Remembering the painted boots, she surveyed her white satin slippers with girlish satisfaction, and chasséed down the room, admiring her aristocratic feet all by herself.

"My new fan just matches my flowers, my gloves fit to a charm, and the real lace on aunt's mouchoir gives an air to my whole dress. If I only had a classical nose and mouth I should be perfectly happy," she said, surveying herself with a critical eye, and a candle in each hand.

In spite of this affliction, she looked unusually gay and graceful as she glided away; she seldom ran,—it did not suit her style, she thought, for, being tall, the stately and Junoesque was more appropriate than the sportive or piquante. She walked up and down the long saloon while waiting for Laurie, and once arranged herself under the chandelier, which had a good effect upon her hair; then she thought better of it, and went away to the other end of the room, as if ashamed of the girlish desire to have the first view a propitious one. It so happened that she could not have done a better thing, for Laurie came in so quietly she did not hear him; and, as she stood at the distant window, with her head half turned, and one hand gathering up her dress, the slender, white figure against the red curtains was as effective as a well-placed statue.

"Good evening, Diana!" said Laurie, with the look of satisfaction she liked to see in his eyes when they rested on her.

"Good evening, Apollo!" she answered, smiling back at him, for he, too, looked unusually debonnaire, and the thought of entering the ball-room on the arm of such a personable man caused Amy to pity the four plain Misses Davis from the bottom of her heart.

"Here are your flowers; I arranged them myself, remembering that you didn't like what Hannah calls a 'sot-bookay,'" said Laurie, handing her a delicate nosegay, in a holder that she had long coveted as she daily passed it in Cardiglia's window.

"How kind you are!" she exclaimed gratefully. "If I'd known you were coming I'd have had something ready for you to-day, though not as pretty as this, I'm afraid."

461 "Thank you; it isn't what it should be, but you have improved it," he added, as she snapped the silver bracelet on her wrist.

"Please don't."

"I thought you liked that sort of thing?"

"Not from you; it doesn't sound natural, and I like your old bluntness better."

"I'm glad of it," he answered, with a look of relief; then buttoned her gloves for her, and asked if his tie was straight, just as he used to do when they went to parties together, at home.

The company assembled in the long salle à manger, that evening, was such as one sees nowhere but on the Continent. The hospitable Americans had invited every acquaintance they had in Nice, and, having no prejudice against titles, secured a few to add lustre to their Christmas ball.

A Russian prince condescended to sit in a corner for an hour, and talk with a massive lady, dressed like Hamlet's mother, in black velvet, with a pearl bridle under her chin. A Polish count, aged 462 eighteen, devoted himself to the ladies, who pronounced him "a fascinating dear," and a German Serene Something, having come for the supper alone, roamed vaguely about, seeking what he might devour. Baron Rothschild's private secretary, a large-nosed Jew, in tight boots, affably beamed upon the world, as if his master's name crowned him with a golden halo; a stout Frenchman, who knew the Emperor, came to indulge his mania for dancing, and Lady de Jones, a British matron, adorned the scene with her little family of eight. Of course, there were many light-footed, shrill-voiced American girls, handsome, lifeless-looking English ditto, and a few plain but piquante French demoiselles; likewise the usual set of travelling young gentlemen, who disported themselves gayly, while mammas of all nations lined the walls, and smiled upon them benignly when they danced with their daughters.

Any young girl can imagine Amy's state of mind when she "took the stage" that night, leaning on Laurie's arm. She knew she looked well, she loved to dance, she felt that her foot was on her native heath in a ball-room, and enjoyed the delightful sense of power which comes when young girls first discover the new and lovely kingdom they are born to rule by virtue of beauty, youth, and womanhood. She did pity the Davis girls, who were awkward, plain, and destitute of escort, except a grim papa and three grimmer maiden aunts, and she bowed to them in her friendliest manner as she passed; which was good of her, as it permitted them to see her dress, and burn with curiosity to know who her distinguished-looking friend might be. With the first burst of the band, Amy's color rose, her eyes began to sparkle, and her feet to tap the floor impatiently; for she danced well, and wanted Laurie to know it: therefore the shock she received can better be imagined than described, when he said, in a perfectly tranquil tone,—

"Do you care to dance?"

"One usually does at a ball."

Her amazed look and quick answer caused Laurie to repair his error as fast as possible.

"I meant the first dance. May I have the honor?"

"I can give you one if I put off the Count. He dances divinely; but he will excuse me, as you are an old friend," said Amy, hoping 463 that the name would have a good effect, and show Laurie that she was not to be trifled with.

"Nice little boy, but rather a short Pole to support

"'A daughter of the gods,

Divinely tall, and most divinely fair,'"

was all the satisfaction she got, however.

The set in which they found themselves was composed of English, and Amy was compelled to walk decorously through a cotillon, feeling all the while as if she could dance the Tarantula with a relish. Laurie resigned her to the "nice little boy," and went to do his duty to Flo, without securing Amy for the joys to come, which reprehensible want of forethought was properly punished, for she immediately engaged herself till supper, meaning to relent if he then gave any signs of penitence. She showed him her ball-book with demure satisfaction when he strolled, instead of rushing, up to claim her for the next, a glorious polka-redowa; but his polite regrets didn't impose upon her, and when she gallopaded away with the Count, she saw Laurie sit down by her aunt with an actual expression of relief.

That was unpardonable; and Amy took no more notice of him for a long while, except a word now and then, when she came to her chaperon, between the dances, for a necessary pin or a moment's rest. Her anger had a good effect, however, for she hid it under a smiling face, and seemed unusually blithe and brilliant. Laurie's eyes followed her with pleasure, for she neither romped nor sauntered, but danced with spirit and grace, making the delightsome pastime what it should be. He very naturally fell to studying her from this new point of view; and, before the evening was half over, had decided that "little Amy was going to make a very charming woman."

It was a lively scene, for soon the spirit of the social season took possession of every one, and Christmas merriment made all faces shine, hearts happy, and heels light. The musicians fiddled, tooted, and banged as if they enjoyed it; everybody danced who could, and those who couldn't admired their neighbors with uncommon warmth. The air was dark with Davises, and many Joneses gambolled like a flock of young giraffes. The golden secretary darted through the 464 room like a meteor, with a dashing Frenchwoman, who carpeted the floor with her pink satin train. The Serene Teuton found the supper-table, and was happy, eating steadily through the bill of fare, and dismayed the garçons by the ravages he committed. But the Emperor's friend covered himself with glory, for he danced everything, whether he knew it or not, and introduced impromptu pirouettes when the figures bewildered him. The boyish abandon of that stout man was charming to behold; for, though he "carried weight," he danced like an india-rubber ball. He ran, he flew, he pranced; his face glowed, his bald head shone; his coat-tails waved wildly, his pumps actually twinkled in the air, and when the music stopped, he wiped the drops from his brow, and beamed upon his fellow-men like a French Pickwick without glasses.

Amy and her Pole distinguished themselves by equal enthusiasm, but more graceful agility; and Laurie found himself involuntarily keeping time to the rhythmic rise and fall of the white slippers as they flew by as indefatigably as if winged. When little Vladimir finally relinquished her, with assurances that he was "desolated to leave so early," she was ready to rest, and see how her recreant knight had borne his punishment.

It had been successful; for, at three-and-twenty, blighted affections find a balm in friendly society, and young nerves will thrill, young blood dance, and healthy young spirits rise, when subjected to the enchantment of beauty, light, music, and motion. Laurie had a waked-up look as he rose to give her his seat; and when he hurried away to bring her some supper, she said to herself, with a satisfied smile,—

"Ah, I thought that would do him good!"

"You look like Balzac's 'Femme peinte par elle-même,'" he said, as he fanned her with one hand, and held her coffee-cup in the other.

"My rouge won't come off;" and Amy rubbed her brilliant cheek, and showed him her white glove with a sober simplicity that made him laugh outright.

"What do you call this stuff?" he asked, touching a fold of her dress that had blown over his knee.

"Illusion."

465"Good name for it; it's very pretty—new thing, isn't it?"

"It's as old as the hills; you have seen it on dozens of girls, and you never found out that it was pretty till now—stupide!"

"I never saw it on you before, which accounts for the mistake, you see."

"None of that, it is forbidden; I'd rather take coffee than compliments just now. No, don't lounge, it makes me nervous."

Laurie sat bolt upright, and meekly took her empty plate, feeling an odd sort of pleasure in having "little Amy" order him about; for she had lost her shyness now, and felt an irresistible desire to trample on him, as girls have a delightful way of doing when lords of creation show any signs of subjection.

"Where did you learn all this sort of thing?" he asked, with a quizzical look.

"As 'this sort of thing' is rather a vague expression, would you kindly explain?" returned Amy, knowing perfectly well what he meant, but wickedly leaving him to describe what is indescribable.

"Well—the general air, the style, the self-possession, the—the—illusion—you know," laughed Laurie, breaking down, and helping himself out of his quandary with the new word.

Amy was gratified, but, of course, didn't show it, and demurely answered, "Foreign life polishes one in spite of one's self; I study as well as play; and as for this"—with a little gesture toward her dress—"why, tulle is cheap, posies to be had for nothing, and I am used to making the most of my poor little things."

Amy rather regretted that last sentence, fearing it wasn't in good taste; but Laurie liked her the better for it, and found himself both admiring and respecting the brave patience that made the most of opportunity, and the cheerful spirit that covered poverty with flowers. Amy did not know why he looked at her so kindly, nor why he filled up her book with his own name, and devoted himself to her for the rest of the evening, in the most delightful manner; but the impulse that wrought this agreeable change was the result of one of the new impressions which both of them were unconsciously giving and receiving.

466

XXXVIII.

ON THE SHELF.

In France the young girls have a dull time of it till they are married, when "Vive la liberté" becomes their motto. In America, as every one knows, girls early sign the declaration of independence, and enjoy their freedom with republican zest; but the young matrons usually abdicate with the first heir to the throne, and go into a seclusion almost as close as a French nunnery, though by no means as quiet. Whether they like it or not, they are virtually put upon the shelf as soon as the wedding excitement is over, and most of them might exclaim, as did a very pretty woman the other day, "I'm as handsome as ever, but no one takes any notice of me because I'm married."

Not being a belle or even a fashionable lady, Meg did not experience this affliction till her babies were a year old, for in her little world primitive customs prevailed, and she found herself more admired and beloved than ever.

As she was a womanly little woman, the maternal instinct was very strong, and she was entirely absorbed in her children, to the utter 467 exclusion of everything and everybody else. Day and night she brooded over them with tireless devotion and anxiety, leaving John to the tender mercies of the help, for an Irish lady now presided over the kitchen department. Being a domestic man, John decidedly missed the wifely attentions he had been accustomed to receive; but, as he adored his babies, he cheerfully relinquished his comfort for a time, supposing, with masculine ignorance, that peace would soon be restored. But three months passed, and there was no return of repose; Meg looked worn and nervous, the babies absorbed every minute of her time, the house was neglected, and Kitty, the cook, who took life "aisy," kept him on short commons. When he went out in the morning he was bewildered by small commissions for the captive mamma; if he came gayly in at night, eager to embrace his family, he was quenched by a "Hush! they are just asleep after worrying all day." If he proposed a little amusement at home, "No, it would disturb the babies." If he hinted at a lecture or concert, he was answered with a reproachful look, and a decided "Leave my children for pleasure, never!" His sleep was broken by infant wails and visions of a phantom figure pacing noiselessly to and fro in the watches of the night; his meals were interrupted by the frequent flight of the presiding genius, who deserted him, half-helped, if a muffled chirp sounded from the nest above; and when he read his paper of an evening, Demi's colic got into the shipping-list, and Daisy's fall affected the price of stocks, for Mrs. Brooke was only interested in domestic news.

The poor man was very uncomfortable, for the children had bereft him of his wife; home was merely a nursery, and the perpetual "hushing" made him feel like a brutal intruder whenever he entered the sacred precincts of Babyland. He bore it very patiently for six months, and, when no signs of amendment appeared, he did what other paternal exiles do,—tried to get a little comfort elsewhere. Scott had married and gone to housekeeping not far off, and John fell into the way of running over for an hour or two of an evening, when his own parlor was empty, and his own wife singing lullabies that seemed to have no end. Mrs. Scott was a lively, pretty girl, with nothing to do but be agreeable, and she performed her mission most 468 successfully. The parlor was always bright and attractive, the chess-board ready, the piano in tune, plenty of gay gossip, and a nice little supper set forth in tempting style.

John would have preferred his own fireside if it had not been so lonely; but as it was, he gratefully took the next best thing, and enjoyed his neighbor's society.

Meg rather approved of the new arrangement at first, and found it a relief to know that John was having a good time instead of dozing in the parlor, or tramping about the house and waking the children. But by and by, when the teething worry was over, and the idols went to sleep at proper hours, leaving mamma time to rest, she began to miss John, and find her work-basket dull company, when he was not sitting opposite in his old dressing-gown, comfortably scorching his slippers on the fender. She would not ask him to stay at home, but felt injured because he did not know that she wanted him without being told, entirely forgetting the many evenings he had waited for her in vain. She was nervous and worn out with watching and worry, and in that unreasonable frame of mind which the best of mothers occasionally experience when domestic cares oppress them. Want of exercise robs them of cheerfulness, and too much devotion to that idol of American women, the teapot, makes them feel as if they were all nerve and no muscle.

"Yes," she would say, looking in the glass, "I'm getting old and ugly; John doesn't find me interesting any longer, so he leaves his faded wife and goes to see his pretty neighbor, who has no incumbrances. Well, the babies love me; they don't care if I am thin and pale, and haven't time to crimp my hair; they are my comfort, and some day John will see what I've gladly sacrificed for them, won't he, my precious?"

To which pathetic appeal Daisy would answer with a coo, or Demi with a crow, and Meg would put by her lamentations for a maternal revel, which soothed her solitude for the time being. But the pain increased as politics absorbed John, who was always running over to discuss interesting points with Scott, quite unconscious that Meg missed him. Not a word did she say, however, till her mother found her in tears one day, and insisted on knowing what the matter was, for Meg's drooping spirits had not escaped her observation.

469 "I wouldn't tell any one except you, mother; but I really do need advice, for, if John goes on so much longer I might as well be widowed," replied Mrs. Brooke, drying her tears on Daisy's bib, with an injured air.

"Goes on how, my dear?" asked her mother anxiously.

"He's away all day, and at night, when I want to see him, he is continually going over to the Scotts'. It isn't fair that I should have the hardest work, and never any amusement. Men are very selfish, even the best of them."

"So are women; don't blame John till you see where you are wrong yourself."

"But it can't be right for him to neglect me."

"Don't you neglect him?"

"Why, mother, I thought you'd take my part!"

"So I do, as far as sympathizing goes; but I think the fault is yours, Meg."

"I don't see how."

"Let me show you. Did John ever neglect you, as you call it, while you made it a point to give him your society of an evening, his only leisure time?"

"No; but I can't do it now, with two babies to tend."

"I think you could, dear; and I think you ought. May I speak quite freely, and will you remember that it's mother who blames as well as mother who sympathizes?"

"Indeed I will! Speak to me as if I were little Meg again. I often feel as if I needed teaching more than ever since these babies look to me for everything."

Meg drew her low chair beside her mother's, and, with a little interruption in either lap, the two women rocked and talked lovingly together, feeling that the tie of motherhood made them more one than ever.

"You have only made the mistake that most young wives make,—forgotten your duty to your husband in your love for your children. A very natural and forgivable mistake, Meg, but one that had better be remedied before you take to different ways; for children should draw you nearer than ever, not separate you, as if they were all yours, and 470 John had nothing to do but support them. I've seen it for some weeks, but have not spoken, feeling sure it would come right in time."

"I'm afraid it won't. If I ask him to stay, he'll think I'm jealous; and I wouldn't insult him by such an idea. He doesn't see that I want him, and I don't know how to tell him without words."

"Make it so pleasant he won't want to go away. My dear, he's longing for his little home; but it isn't home without you, and you are always in the nursery."

"Oughtn't I to be there?"

"Not all the time; too much confinement makes you nervous, and then you are unfitted for everything. Besides, you owe something to John as well as to the babies; don't neglect husband for children, don't shut him out of the nursery, but teach him how to help in it. His place is there as well as yours, and the children need him; let him feel that he has his part to do, and he will do it gladly and faithfully, and it will be better for you all."

"You really think so, mother?"

"I know it, Meg, for I've tried it; and I seldom give advice unless I've proved its practicability. When you and Jo were little, I went on just as you are, feeling as if I didn't do my duty unless I devoted myself wholly to you. Poor father took to his books, after I had refused all offers of help, and left me to try my experiment alone. I struggled along as well as I could, but Jo was too much for me. I nearly spoilt her by indulgence. You were poorly, and I worried about you till I fell sick myself. Then father came to the rescue, quietly managed everything, and made himself so helpful that I saw my mistake, and never have been able to get on without him since. That is the secret of our home happiness: he does not let business wean him from the little cares and duties that affect us all, and I try not to let domestic worries destroy my interest in his pursuits. Each do our part alone in many things, but at home we work together, always."

"It is so, mother; and my great wish is to be to my husband and children what you have been to yours. Show me how; I'll do anything you say."

"You always were my docile daughter. Well, dear, if I were you, I'd let John have more to do with the management of Demi, for the 471 boy needs training, and it's none too soon to begin. Then I'd do what I have often proposed, let Hannah come and help you; she is a capital nurse, and you may trust the precious babies to her while you do more housework. You need the exercise, Hannah would enjoy the rest, and John would find his wife again. Go out more; keep cheerful as well as busy, for you are the sunshine-maker of the family, and if you get dismal there is no fair weather. Then I'd try to take an interest in whatever John likes,—talk with him, let him read to you, exchange ideas, and help each other in that way. Don't shut yourself up in a bandbox because you are a woman, but understand what is going on, and educate yourself to take your part in the world's work, for it all affects you and yours."

"John is so sensible, I'm afraid he will think I'm stupid if I ask questions about politics and things."

"I don't believe he would; love covers a multitude of sins, and of whom could you ask more freely than of him? Try it, and see if he doesn't find your society far more agreeable than Mrs. Scott's suppers."

"I will. Poor John! I'm afraid I have neglected him sadly, but I thought I was right, and he never said anything."

"He tried not to be selfish, but he has felt rather forlorn, I fancy. This is just the time, Meg, when young married people are apt to grow apart, and the very time when they ought to be most together; for the first tenderness soon wears off, unless care is taken to preserve it; and no time is so beautiful and precious to parents as the first years of the little lives given them to train. Don't let John be a stranger to the babies, for they will do more to keep him safe and happy in this world of trial and temptation than anything else, and through them you will learn to know and love one another as you should. Now, dear, good-by; think over mother's preachment, act upon it if it seems good, and God bless you all!"

Meg did think it over, found it good, and acted upon it, though the first attempt was not made exactly as she planned to have it. Of course the children tyrannized over her, and ruled the house as so on as they found out that kicking and squalling brought them whatever they wanted. Mamma was an abject slave to their caprices, but papa 472 was not so easily subjugated, and occasionally afflicted his tender spouse by an attempt at paternal discipline with his obstreperous son. For Demi inherited a trifle of his sire's firmness of character,—we won't call it obstinacy,—and when he made up his little mind to have or to do anything, all the king's horses and all the king's men could not change that pertinacious little mind. Mamma thought the dear too young to be taught to conquer his prejudices, but papa believed that it never was too soon to learn obedience; so Master Demi early discovered that when he undertook to "wrastle" with "parpar," he always got the worst of it; yet, like the Englishman, Baby respected the man who conquered him, and loved the father whose grave "No, no," was more impressive than all mamma's love-pats.

A few days after the talk with her mother, Meg resolved to try a social evening with John; so she ordered a nice supper, set the parlor in order, dressed herself prettily, and put the children to bed early, that nothing should interfere with her experiment. But, unfortunately, Demi's most unconquerable prejudice was against going to bed, and that night he decided to go on a rampage; so poor Meg sung and rocked, told stories and tried every sleep-provoking wile she could devise, but all in vain, the big eyes wouldn't shut; and long after Daisy had gone to byelow, like the chubby little bunch of good-nature she was, naughty Demi lay staring at the light, with the most discouragingly wide-awake expression of countenance.

"Will Demi lie still like a good boy, while mamma runs down and gives poor papa his tea?" asked Meg, as the hall-door softly closed, and the well-known step went tiptoeing into the dining-room.

"Me has tea!" said Demi, preparing to join in the revel.

"No; but I'll save you some little cakies for breakfast, if you'll go bye-by like Daisy. Will you, lovey?"

"Iss!" and Demi shut his eyes tight, as if to catch sleep and hurry the desired day.

Taking advantage of the propitious moment, Meg slipped away, and ran down to greet her husband with a smiling face, and the little blue bow in her hair which was his especial admiration. He saw it at once, and said, with pleased surprise,—

"Why, little mother, how gay we are to-night. Do you expect company?"

473 "Only you, dear."

"Is it a birthday, anniversary, or anything?"

"No; I'm tired of being a dowdy, so I dressed up as a change. You always make yourself nice for table, no matter how tired you are; so why shouldn't I when I have the time?"

"I do it out of respect to you, my dear," said old-fashioned John.

"Ditto, ditto, Mr. Brooke," laughed Meg, looking young and pretty again, as she nodded to him over the teapot.

"Well, it's altogether delightful, and like old times. This tastes right. I drink your health, dear." And John sipped his tea with an air of reposeful rapture, which was of very short duration, however; for, as he put down his cup, the door-handle rattled mysteriously, and a little voice was heard, saying impatiently,—

"Opy doy; me's tummin!"

"It's that naughty boy. I told him to go to sleep alone, and here he is, downstairs, getting his death a-cold pattering over that canvas," said Meg, answering the call.

"Mornin' now," announced Demi, in a joyful tone, as he entered, with his long night-gown gracefully festooned over his arm, and every curl bobbing gayly as he pranced about the table, eying the "cakies" with loving glances.

"No, it isn't morning yet. You must go to bed, and not trouble poor mamma; then you can have the little cake with sugar on it."

"Me loves parpar," said the artful one, preparing to climb the paternal knee, and revel in forbidden joys. But John shook his head, and said to Meg,—

"If you told him to stay up there, and go to sleep alone, make him do it, or he will never learn to mind you."

"Yes, of course. Come, Demi;" and Meg led her son away, feeling 474 a strong desire to spank the little marplot who hopped beside her, laboring under the delusion that the bribe was to be administered as soon as they reached the nursery.

Nor was he disappointed; for that short-sighted woman actually gave him a lump of sugar, tucked him into his bed, and forbade any more promenades till morning.

"Iss!" said Demi the perjured, blissfully sucking his sugar, and regarding his first attempt as eminently successful.

Meg returned to her place, and supper was progressing pleasantly, when the little ghost walked again, and exposed the maternal delinquencies by boldly demanding,—

"More sudar, marmar."

"Now this won't do," said John, hardening his heart against the engaging little sinner. "We shall never know any peace till that child learns to go to bed properly. You have made a slave of yourself long enough; give him one lesson, and then there will be an end of it. Put him in his bed and leave him, Meg."

"He won't stay there; he never does, unless I sit by him."

"I'll manage him. Demi, go upstairs, and get into your bed, as mamma bids you."

"S'ant!" replied the young rebel, helping himself to the coveted "cakie," and beginning to eat the same with calm audacity.

"You must never say that to papa; I shall carry you if you don't go yourself."

"Go 'way; me don't love parpar;" and Demi retired to his mother's skirts for protection.

But even that refuge proved unavailing, for he was delivered over to the enemy, with a "Be gentle with him, John," which struck the culprit with dismay; for when mamma deserted him, then the judgment-day was at hand. Bereft of his cake, defrauded of his frolic, and borne away by a strong hand to that detested bed, poor Demi could not restrain his wrath, but openly defied papa, and kicked and screamed lustily all the way upstairs. The minute he was put into bed on one side, he rolled out on the other, and made for the door, only to be ignominiously caught up by the tail of his little toga, and put back again, which lively performance was kept up till the young 475 man's strength gave out, when he devoted himself to roaring at the top of his voice. This vocal exercise usually conquered Meg; but John sat as unmoved as the post which is popularly believed to be deaf. No coaxing, no sugar, no lullaby, no story; even the light was put out, and only the red glow of the fire enlivened the "big dark" which Demi regarded with curiosity rather than fear. This new order of things disgusted him, and he howled dismally for "marmar," as his angry passions subsided, and recollections of his tender bondwoman returned to the captive autocrat. The plaintive wail which succeeded the passionate roar went to Meg's heart, and she ran up to say beseechingly,—

"Let me stay with him; he'll be good, now, John."

"No, my dear, I've told him he must go to sleep, as you bid him; and he must, if I stay here all night."

"But he'll cry himself sick," pleaded Meg, reproaching herself for deserting her boy.

"No, he won't, he's so tired he will soon drop off, and then the matter is settled; for he will understand that he has got to mind. Don't interfere; I'll manage him."

"He's my child, and I can't have his spirit broken by harshness."

"He's my child, and I won't have his temper spoilt by indulgence. Go down, my dear, and leave the boy to me."

When John spoke in that masterful tone, Meg always obeyed, and never regretted her docility.

"Please let me kiss him once, John?"

"Certainly. Demi, say 'good-night' to mamma, and let her go and rest, for she is very tired with taking care of you all day."

Meg always insisted upon it that the kiss won the victory; for after it was given, Demi sobbed more quietly, and lay quite still at the bottom of the bed, whither he had wriggled in his anguish of mind.

"Poor little man, he's worn out with sleep and crying. I'll cover him up, and then go and set Meg's heart at rest," thought John, creeping to the bedside, hoping to find his rebellious heir asleep.

But he wasn't; for the moment his father peeped at him, Demi's eyes opened, his little chin began to quiver, and he put up his arms, saying, with a penitent hiccough, "Me's dood, now."

476 Sitting on the stairs, outside, Meg wondered at the long silence which followed the uproar; and, after imagining all sorts of impossible accidents, she slipped into the room, to set her fears at rest. Demi lay fast asleep; not in his usual spread-eagle attitude, but in a subdued bunch, cuddled close in the circle of his father's arm and holding his father's finger, as if he felt that justice was tempered with mercy, and had gone to sleep a sadder and a wiser baby. So held, John had waited with womanly patience till the little hand relaxed its hold; and, while waiting, had fallen asleep, more tired by that tussle with his son than with his whole day's work.

As Meg stood watching the two faces on the pillow, she smiled to herself, and then slipped away again, saying, in a satisfied tone,—

"I never need fear that John will be too harsh with my babies: he does know how to manage them, and will be a great help, for Demi is getting too much for me."

When John came down at last, expecting to find a pensive or reproachful wife, he was agreeably surprised to find Meg placidly trimming a bonnet, and to be greeted with the request to read something about the election, if he was not too tired. John saw in a minute that a revolution of some kind was going on, but wisely asked no questions, knowing that Meg was such a transparent little person, she couldn't keep a secret to save her life, and therefore the clew would soon appear. He read a long debate with the most amiable readiness, and then explained it in his most lucid manner, while Meg tried to look deeply interested, to ask intelligent questions, and keep her thoughts from wandering from the state of the nation to the state of her bonnet. In her secret soul, however, she decided that politics were as bad as mathematics, and that the mission of politicians seemed to be calling each other names; but she kept these feminine ideas to herself, and when John paused, shook her head, and said with what she thought diplomatic ambiguity,—

"Well, I really don't see what we are coming to."

John laughed, and watched her for a minute, as she poised a pretty little preparation of lace and flowers on her hand, and regarded it with the genuine interest which his harangue had failed to waken.

"She is trying to like politics for my sake, so I'll try and like 477 millinery for hers, that's only fair," thought John the Just, adding aloud,—

"That's very pretty; is it what you call a breakfast-cap?"

"My dear man, it's a bonnet! My very best go-to-concert-and-theatre bonnet."

"I beg your pardon; it was so small, I naturally mistook it for one of the fly-away things you sometimes wear. How do you keep it on?"

"These bits of lace are fastened under the chin with a rosebud, so;" and Meg illustrated by putting on the bonnet, and regarding him with an air of calm satisfaction that was irresistible.

"It's a love of a bonnet, but I prefer the face inside, for it looks young and happy again," and John kissed the smiling face, to the great detriment of the rosebud under the chin.

"I'm glad you like it, for I want you to take me to one of the new concerts some night; I really need some music to put me in tune. Will you, please?"

"Of course I will, with all my heart, or anywhere else you like. 478 You have been shut up so long, it will do you no end of good, and I shall enjoy it, of all things. What put it into your head, little mother?"

"Well, I had a talk with Marmee the other day, and told her how nervous and cross and out of sorts I felt, and she said I needed change and less care; so Hannah is to help me with the children, and I'm to see to things about the house more, and now and then have a little fun, just to keep me from getting to be a fidgety, broken-down old woman before my time. It's only an experiment, John, and I want to try it for your sake as much as for mine, because I've neglected you shamefully lately, and I'm going to make home what it used to be, if I can. You don't object, I hope?"

Never mind what John said, or what a very narrow escape the little bonnet had from utter ruin; all that we have any business to know, is that John did not appear to object, judging from the changes which gradually took place in the house and its inmates. It was not all Paradise by any means, but every one was better for the division of labor system; the children throve under the paternal rule, for accurate, steadfast John brought order and obedience into Babydom, while Meg recovered her spirits and composed her nerves by plenty of wholesome exercise, a little pleasure, and much confidential conversation with her sensible husband. Home grew home-like again, and John had no wish to leave it, unless he took Meg with him. The Scotts came to the Brookes' now, and every one found the little house a cheerful place, full of happiness, content, and family love. Even gay Sallie Moffatt liked to go there. "It is always so quiet and pleasant here; it does me good, Meg," she used to say, looking about her with wistful eyes, as if trying to discover the charm, that she might use it in her great house, full of splendid loneliness; for there were no riotous, sunny-faced babies there, and Ned lived in a world of his own, where there was no place for her.

This household happiness did not come all at once, but John and Meg had found the key to it, and each year of married life taught them how to use it, unlocking the treasuries of real home-love and mutual helpfulness, which the poorest may possess, and the richest cannot buy. This is the sort of shelf on which young wives and 479 mothers may consent to be laid, safe from the restless fret and fever of the world, finding loyal lovers in the little sons and daughters who cling to them, undaunted by sorrow, poverty, or age; walking side by side, through fair and stormy weather, with a faithful friend, who is, in the true sense of the good old Saxon word, the "house-band," and learning, as Meg learned, that a woman's happiest kingdom is home, her highest honor the art of ruling it, not as a queen, but a wise wife and mother.

#hellsitesonlybookclub #bookblr #little women #alcott

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lady-phenix · 6 months ago

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Even walking down those moonlit halls with him felt like some sort of new experience. Everything just felt new...and it was because of him. They stopped together at her door, and much to her sadness knew this was where they would need to part ways. The kiss to her hand left her damn near breathless. Phenix gave his head one more soft peck before they parted, thanking the higher powers no one else was around. She knew rumors would start inevitably, as they'd spent the whole evening in the library, locked away from the rest of the world.

"Let them talk" Phenix thought, "they wouldn't understand...".

"Good night my dear captain. Sweetest of dreams to you...perhaps you'll even dream of me..." the marquess stole one last look at him over her shoulder before going inside.

Inspired, she only sat down at the desk to write a few lines. Just a short simple little poem, barely even rhymed, but the theme was there.

"I love a man with the heat of summer on his skin, with winter's sparkling snow in his hair. I love a man with spring's brightness in his eyes, with a voice full of autumn's promise to always be there".

Maybe it was silly. Maybe she WAS actually easy. But for Phenix it was true. She loved the captain, beyond words, beyond societal expectations. With her feelings written, the love struck marquess fell right on her bed, holding one of the extra pillows and just imagining it was Striker.

"Someday...someday I promise...when we're out of this mess...we'll be together. We'll...we'll prove them all wrong...somehow" her ears flattened.

What if he didn't want her that way? What if all he was doing was just out of moral obligation? Oh sweet lucifer what if he felt obligated to help her?! If this was all just some delusion...

"Oh don't start this now please brain..." she begged, holding the pillow tighter, "please just let me have this. Even if it turns out to not be real...I don't wish to know what reality truly is...".

But the thoughts wouldn't stop coming. She heard her father's voice in her mind, calling her a stupid girl with stupid dreams who never learned...

Phenix's dreams were just as relentless. She dreamed of being surrounded by dicentras, white lilies, and yellow roses with long thorns. She was on her knees, unable to stand or move as she heard his voice echoing that he didn't love her, that he couldn't. That she was just too much, had too many problems, too much baggage. Phenix clawed at her ears trying to believe that this wasn't true, that this wasn't real. He'd never say that about her.

And then she heard Andras. "Don't you understand, rose red? No one loves you like me...".

"You don't!" She argued, "you don't...at ALL!" Phenix shrieked rousing awake.

Her middle eye opened, set right in the middle of her top two eyes, wide with fear and anger. Phenix shook, her feathers turning darkening shades of red, lined with dull earth toned yellow. A pair of ram like horns crowned either side of her head as the full demon Phenix came out...

Lorelei had risen to the sound of her mistress' night terror. These were a semi-regular occurrence but this was something else entirely. Usually Andras was the one to subdue the phoenix when she was fully shifted, but as he wasn't around all that could be done, safely, was to wait it out and make sure no one went in that room while she was like this.

Her squawks and cries had been enough to wake the household staff and bring a few guards to the door. But Lori was quick to try and dissuade them

"Trust me you guys do NOT wanna go in there! She's having a full demonic panic attack! Someone get a doctor or something!" The imp yelled, worried for her lady.

(((Continued from: )))

@lady-phenix

Striker accepted the envelope with a firm nod, securing it inside the inner pocket of his jacket.

As he met her gaze, a flicker of something deeper stirred within him. Was he doing this purely out of duty, or was there something more driving him? The thought unsettled him, but he pushed it aside for now.

"I will deliver this letter to Prince Stolas as quickly as possible. In the meantime, stay strong and hold onto that hope. We'll get through this together."

He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility mixed with an unfamiliar warmth.

"I'll leave at once. I'll be back before you know it. Until then, trust in the plan and keep yourself safe."

Striker gave her hand a gentle squeeze, lingering a moment longer than necessary. As he turned to leave the library, he couldn't shake the feeling that his motives were evolving. With one last determined glance at Phenix, he stepped out of the room, ready to embark on the mission that would hopefully bring an end to her suffering.

///////////////////////////////////////////////

Striker reached the stables without hurry, carefully masking his urgency to avoid arousing suspicion. The cool morning air filled his lungs as he approached the stable, the scent of hay and horses calming his racing thoughts.

He found his second in command, Sergeant Thorne, tending to one of the horses.

"Thorne."

He called.

"I need you to oversee the palace while I'm away. I'll be delivering a letter to my mother at the post office in Pentagram City. Her telephone is broken, so this is the quickest way to ensure it reaches her."

Thorne looked up, his brow furrowing in concern.

"How long will you be gone, Captain?"

"Not long."

Striker reassured him, patting the neck of his horse as it was saddled.

"Just a quick trip there and back. I trust you to keep everything in order while I'm away."

Thorne nodded, accepting the responsibility without question.

"Understood, Captain. Safe travels."

With a final nod, Striker mounted his horse and set off at a measured pace. He had to maintain the appearance of a routine errand, but his heart was set on the urgent task ahead. The letter to Prince Stolas was safely tucked in his jacket, a lifeline for Lady Phenix. The captain knew he had to succeed, not just for duty's sake, but for her safety and his own growing sense of purpose.

#rp title: beyond duty #royal guard au #helluva boss rp #helluva outlaw #striker #ooc: yeah...this is what Andras meant when he said “night terrors”...the illusions got her again

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jaskierisbi · 3 years ago

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okay y’all, this chaotic idea will NOT leave my mind so imma make it your problem too

okay, so jaskier and geralt have been traveling together for a full year since they met, the two of them not having split up once. jaskier didn’t want to risk geralt leaving him forever because he’s a grumpy and skittish motherfucker so jask stayed by his side since that spring day in posada

until geralt announced he was heading north to kaer morhen, of course

jaskier is sad, because he was really enjoying his (insanely attractive) new very best friend in the whole wide world, but realistically, he admittedly needed a break. jaskier falls hard and fast and spending so many months with geralt wasn’t helping. if they stayed together any longer, he might do something he’d regret like profess his undying love or kiss him or something

I mean, how could he not? jaskier had seen on more than one occasion geralt refuse pay for even dangerous contracts if he saw the family was starving. if a child was inquisitive of him instead of fearful, he would be in a good mood for the rest of the day. he took meticulous care of roach, talking to her softly and fondly

he always let jaskier eat first. was patient with him when jaskier expressed he wanted to help forage and gather potion supplies but didn’t have any useful knowledge about plants. he showed jaskier how to set traps and let him season their food (“it’s better like this, geralt, admit it”)

after jaskier got into a fistfight with three other tavern-goers when they dared insult geralt in his vicinity, the witcher quietly wrapped his hands and looked at him with something soft in his eyes. not long after that, if jaskier was running low on lute strings or ink for his pen, they would ‘mysteriously’ end up in his bags

geralt went from being annoyed with his presence, to tolerant, to begrudgingly fond. jaskier saw how he relaxed when he sung softly and strummed his lute across the campfire. once, geralt had even let him braid his hair when he was in a good mood after a contract

with all of this considered, jaskier’s romantic heart had more than enough ammunition to fixate on his newfound companion

yes, distance should do him good

except that it didn’t

he just spent his entire winter teaching at oxenfurt and dreaming about meeting up with geralt in the spring. he didn’t even bed anyone the entire cold season, which was so abnormal that even his friends commented on it

so when jaskier’s eyes fell upon geralt’s figure on the road outside the tavern they agreed to meet up at, all logic left his mind

he distantly can recall shouting out a friendly greeting to the witcher but before he knew what he was doing, he had kissed geralt straight on the mouth

jaskier immediately leapt back with barely concealed horror. the two men stood in silence, staring at one another. geralt’s face gave away nothing and jaskier was thinking a mile a minute for a way to excuse his impulsive act

a lie formulated in his mind. not the best one, but it was the only one he could come up with in less than a minute

“what? that’s how you greet friends in lettenhove, did you not know?”

geralt’s brows furrowed and he tilted his head. “…no.”

this is just a long winded way of me saying that jaskier has to stick with his lie and kiss all and any of his friends- new and old- hello (with geralt being slightly confused and jealous in the background)

AND THEN THEY START RUNNING INTO ALL. OF. HIS. FRIENDS. essi. pricilla. shani. and every time, jaskier made pleading eyes at each of his friends before kissing them basically out of nowhere, very aware of geralt’s watchful gaze

they narrow their eyes at him but the sheer panic in his eyes swayed them to wait and listen to jaskier when he pulled them off to somewhere private

they think it’s fucking hilarious

~also, jaskier isn’t human in this because I want him and geralt to live happily ever after together after they eventually get their shit together~

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angy-mouse · 3 years ago

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no but i desperately need a part two of the club like now please pretty please

Here's part two: Takeoff!

If you were being honest you were more than shocked when Dream invited you and Sapnap to join him and George at one of his dad’s mountain chateaus for the winter. “I don’t mean to sound like a creep,” he assured you as he rubbed his thumb along your knuckles- the most PDA you could get away with while on the job. He smiled softly at your surprised expression. “George and I really like you two,” he hummed. “We’d hate to not see you all winter…”

“We’ll think about it,” you told him, tracing his jaw teasingly with your finger. “You know we shouldn’t fraternize with guests.”

“I think we’re a little past fraternization,” he purred with a smirk, but let it drop.

You talked about it with Sapnap on your drive home. “It sounds like fun,” you timidly admitted. “Maybe not for the whole winter, but maybe for a month? Live it up with the preppy rich boys in a mountain cottage and get fucked every day.” Your voice took a more sarcastic tone at the end, but you and Sap both knew you were just trying to talk yourself out of it.

“Sounds great to me,” he said with a grin, hand squeezing your thigh. “A month in a fancy-ass place with my favorite darlin’ and my two favorite guys? Sign me the hell up. Maybe if I have more than a couple hours every week to work on it I can convince Dream to let me top.”

You scoffed at that. “Fat chance! If you manage to top Dream within the month I’ll let you fuck me in that stupid ass maid dress you got me.”

“First of all,” Sapnap declared, taking his hand off your leg to hold up a finger pointedly. “I did not buy you a ‘maid dress’, I bought you a catgirl maid cosplay-”

“Oh, of course,”

“-key difference being the cat ears that you look fucking adorable and sexy in at the same time, I’m lucky you don’t abuse that power too often. Second of all,” he grinned widely. “Sounds like we have a new bet, sugar.”

The two were thrilled to hear you were accepting their offer and assured you that you didn’t need to bring any clothes or toiletries- they were going to take you both shopping. On your last day of work you found yourself being picked up in a fancy car you didn’t know the name of, Dream leaning out the driver’s side window with a huge grin and George leaping out of the passenger seat. “We’re in the back,” he whined to you, tugging you in with him. “The giants need their leg room.”

“Come on, short stacks, we gotta prep for winter,” Dream declared with a laugh, barely waiting for everyone to get their seatbelts on before peeling out of the parking lot, leaving you laughing with a deep desire to flip the place off. You quickly realized the extent of the spoiling you were about to get when at the first store you stopped at someone in a suit ran to greet you- rather, he ran to greet Dream and George, asking them how their family was. Dream responded with just enough political politeness to pass in the world of rich people while George distractedly played with yours and Sapnap’s fingers, seeming very content to be holding both your hands while Dream was left out. “We’re looking to get the four of us set up for our winter trip,”

“Of course, of course,” the salesman said, though there was a hint of disgust in his eye as he looked at the two of you in your after work clothes- you in leggings and a loose tee and Sap in basketball shorts and a Pokemon tank.

Luckily George was quick to drag Sapnap away. “Sap, come look at these trousers, you’d look so good in them!”

Dream’s hand was suddenly holding yours, tugging you to another section. “There’s some cute sweaters, come pick a few to try on, doll. Can’t have our sweet little thing getting cold.”

You spent the whole day shopping with them and you had to admit: it felt good. Dream and George filled their arms with anything you or Sap looked twice at, plus anything they thought would look good on you, then rejoined the group at the dressing rooms, sending you both into your stalls with stern instructions to show them everything. Practically every piece you came out in was met with absolute worship, praises of how amazing you looked and whispers of how much they wanted to rip it off of you. Only occasionally would a piece get rejected, immediately followed by one of the boys teasingly offering to remove the offending garment from your body- an offer you only declined because of the blushing sales attendant posted a few feet away. Sapnap was getting the same treatment and you could tell he was basking in it just as much as you were.

You had to condition yourself to pointedly avoid looking at the price tags since when you did you nearly had a heart attack and told the boys you wouldn’t let them buy it for you. “Let us?” Dream bent forward to meet your eye with a dangerous smirk on his lips. “Oh, does our precious little pet think she’s in charge? You don’t let me do anything, sweetheart. Now give me the skirt before I bend you over my knee and show everyone how I treat brats who can’t behave.” As much of an exhibitionist you were, you weren’t about to get kicked out of a store bigger than your apartment, let alone risk Dream or George ending up on the front page of some trashy tabloid. You shyly handed over the skirt and watched him light up. “Good girl,”

You’d almost forgotten the purpose of your shopping spree before Dream pulled into the small airport the private jet would be flying out of. The two dragged you and Sap into the plane to keep you from trying to help the attendants loading your bags, forcing you into your cushy seats and sitting next to you to block the way. “Have you ever flown before,” George questioned as you looked around in awe.

“Not like this,” you mumbled back as an attendant came up to your group, Dream requesting something vaguely french sounding for everyone.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” he assured you, lighting up when your eyes finally returned to him- if there was one thing about George, he basked in attention. “If you’re nervous about takeoff just let me know. I’m sure I can find a way to distract you.” You gave him a sly smile at the offer, not oblivious to his hand kneading the flesh of your thigh.

“Come on now, George,” Dream scoffed, but he wore that lazy grin he always had when one of you was being needy- like it was amusing to him. “They haven’t even finished loading the luggage and you’re already trying to get her pants off?”

“Oh, come on,” George huffed, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him- the closest he could get to a ‘fuck you, Dream’ without getting bent over. “It’s just not fair they’re the only ones here who haven’t joined the mile high club.”

“Patience, pretty boy,” he chided, smiling as the attendant walked up and handed out glasses of wine. “Wait until we’re in the air.”

You never thought you’d join the mile high club but here you were riding George on a cushy private jet flying to a mountain chateau. This was the life.

“So pretty, darling,” George purred, holding your hips and helping you bounce on his cock. “You wrap around me so well, luv, so perfect.”

You arched your back in pleasure as he slammed into your g-spot, hearing Sapnap moan behind you. “Don’t they look so good together,” Dream purred as you looked over your shoulder. You moaned at the sight, Dream’s big hands wrapped around Sapnap’s cock and throat, keeping Sap’s eyes on you as Dream jerked him off. He smirked at you, puckering his lips in a slightly mocking kiss as he tightened his hand around Sapnap’s cock, pulling a choked moan from his throat. “Look at how beautiful she is taking his cock so well. The way his hands grip her ass and the way his cock fills her up- mmm its like a work of art, isn't it? You look so pretty, too, Sap, all red 'n flushed just from my hand. Isn't that adorable…"

A yelp was snatched from your throat when George suddenly dropped you on his cock, his tip giving a harsh tap against your cervix. “Come on, darling, am I not fucking you well enough? Hmm?” You gave another shout as he held you still with a death grip on your hips, thrusting his hips brutally up into you. “Tell me what I need to do to keep your attention.”

“No, sir,” you moaned out, straining to keep your eyes open and on him as he fucked you, seemingly dead set on pushing his way past your cervix. “Please, sir, you fuck me so well- no one fucks me like you do!”

“There’s my good girl,” he purred out, one hand moving up to tease your nipple. “I knew you just needed a little reminder of who made you feel good.”

“Yes- you make me feel good, sir! Oh god, I’m close, please let me come, sir! Please let me come on your big cock! You fill me up so good, please, fill me with your seed!”

“Atta girl,” he growled, picking up his pace and switching from toying with your nipple to rubbing your clit. “Now that you remember your place you can come. Remember to say ‘thank you’, luv.”

“Thank you,” you whined out, quickly feeling your orgasm wash over you. “Thank you, sir! Oh, thank you so much! Thank you for letting me come-” You gasped, body going stiff as you felt his cock jerk inside you, spraying your walls with his cum. “Thank you, sir. Thank you for giving me your cum. Thank you, thank you,” you whined, rocking your hips down on him, just to make sure you milked him for everything he had. He buried his face between your breasts with a groan, holding you close as you both came down from your highs. You nuzzled into his soft hair, ready to settle down and cockwarm for the rest of your flight before you felt a warm, firm body press against your back.

“No one fucks you like George, huh?” Dream chuckled as his words made you go stiff, realizing exactly what George wanted: the others to be jealous. “I think Sap and I have something to prove now. Tell me, how many times do you think we can make you come again before this plane lands, princess?”

This, you decided as you were lifted off George’s lap, was going to be the best vacation ever.

#angymouse #squeakin #dresqueaks #sapsqueaks #gogysqueaks #theclub #cant believe this is a series now #mcyt smut #minors dni

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itsallyscorner · 4 years ago

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Teaming Up with Sam and Bucky ft Zemo

Pairing: FEM!Reader; Bucky Barnes x reader, Sam Wilson x reader; platonic(?), let’s throw in some Zemo x reader

Summary: What it would be like to team up with our favorite duo. Takes place during TFATWS.

Warnings: none, TFATWS SPOILERS. Lowkey a mess :D

A/n: Ever since TFATWS came out I’ve been reminded of how much I love Bucky and Sam. Also I have a new found love for Zemo. I’ve just been so obsessed with this series and I’ve been reading so many fics about it, so I decided to finally write my own :) Enjoy my loves❤️

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

✧───── ･｡ﾟ★: *. ☽.* :★. ─────✧

You’re basically working with a bunch of children.

The children mostly being Sam and Bucky, though Zemo does have his moments once he joins you three.

You’ve known dumb and dumber for a few years now, being part of the Avengers, you’ve worked with Sam on multiple missions. The friendship blooming somewhere in between.

You were also close friends with Steve; when he first came out the ice, you were assigned to help him adjust to the modern world by Fury. He would tell you a bunch of stories of him and Bucky running into trouble or Bucky always saving his ass whenever he was getting beaten up.

Eventually, you finally got to meet Bucky, though he wasn’t Bucky, he was the Winter Soldier. Your introduction to each other was quite memorable to say the least.

He choked you with that metal arm of his and for a split second you swore you might’ve found it attractive—till he threw your body against a car.

You sided with Cap during the accords and helped him protect Bucky. When that whole mess was over, Steve asked you to stay with Bucky in Wakanda to make sure he would be safe.

You were the first person to have some kind of bond with Bucky. Before and after he was freed from Hydra’s hold on him, you were always someone he knew he could trust.

When Steve told you what he was going to do while retuning the stones he told you to watch over them.

“Promise me you’ll keep an eye on Buck and Sam?” He asked you, sitting on the edge of your bed. He had snuck into your room late at night, knowing you were wide awake.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, a lazy smile on your lips, “They don’t need me, I’m sure they’re capable of surviving on their own.” Steve breathes out a laugh and shakes his head, “You’d be surprised.”

“But seriously, (y/n), they need you. You know how they get when they’re together. You’re the only person in the world who knows how to deal with the both of them at the same time.” Steve reasons, his baby blues sparkling in the darkness of the guest room of Tony’s lake house.

“Make sure they’re not on the verge of killing each other or running into too much trouble?” You tiredly nod, sleep slowly consuming your body. “I promise, they’re gonna be alright, Steve.”

Sometimes you found yourself looking up at the sky, cursing at it—or Steve—for leaving you with two of the most childish and stubborn men you’ve ever known in your life.

You were like the mother of the group; breaking up fights, making sure they skipped no meals, patching up their boo-boos, etc.

“Will you stop staring at me?” Sam snapped, tossing his goggles onto the seat beside him to glare at Bucky.

“I’m not staring at you.” Bucky remarked from across Sam. His flesh and metal arm crossing with each other as he stared at Sam challengingly.

“Yes, you are. Your eyes are connecting with mine. You’re literally staring at me right now!” Sam pointed out, to which Bucky rolled his eyes at.

“Because I’m talking to you, genius. I wasn’t staring at you.” Bucky quipped.

“Yes you were!”

“No I wasn’t!”

This continued till they were sick of bickering with each other, finally yelling out your name for help.

The arguments were straight up petty. Bucky wouldn’t admit it, but he was the pettiest.

Exhibit 1: “LoOKiNG StrONg jOHn!”

Like seriously? Bucky’s the pettiest bitch, nobody can tell me otherwise.

You and Sam would definitely find it amusing how Bucky doesn’t trust Redwing.

Obviously, you all despise John Walker. Just the thought of him left a bad taste in your mouth.

He was like a fly that you all couldn’t get rid of. But because you were all painfully patient people—mostly you and Sam—you had to deal with his bullshit despite the way he annoyed you all.

Totally loosing your shit when Bucky helps Zemo break himself out of prison.

“Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” You groaned, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose together.

Bucky looks at you with feign innocence; his mouth agape and puppy eyes. “I—didn’t do...anything(?).”

“You helped Zemo break out of prison didn’t you?” You crossed your arms at him, hip jutting out. As if on cue, Sokovian sugar daddy walks into the abandoned garage you were all in.

Before you can explode on him, Bucky tried to calm you down, “Wait, I technically didn’t do anything though! It was his plan!”

Zemo definitely lives up to being the ✨Sokovian Sugar Daddy✨ of your dysfunctional group.

I think you’d all be surprised at how rich he was. The amount of connections he had wasn’t that big of a shocker.

No like seriously, homie was pulling all sorts of shit out his ass; cars, private planes, houses in different countries, etc.

You all had a love hate relationship with Zemo. On days when he was actually helpful, you all got a long. On the days when things got horribly messy, Zemo couldn’t even let a word out since Sam would tell him to “shut up”.

Though that still doesn’t excuse the fact that he got the Avengers to spilt up and go against each other.

When you guys are all hiding out in one of Zemo’s apartments or homes, you would probably cook breakfast, lunch, or dinner for everyone.

They actually loved it when you cooked because it made the atmosphere feel a bit homey and calm compared to the current situation you were all in.

You were the person they can all go to. You were easy to talk to, making it easier for them to open up to you.

You always checked in on them mentally and physically. For example, you knew Sam felt guilty about giving up the shield, but Bucky never made him forget about his choice. You were there to reassure him that he thought he was doing the right thing and didn’t know the hidden agenda of the government.

You were like their on the go therapist, babysitter, and partner.

Sometimes Bucky and Sam would even argue for your attention.

“Can you stop hogging (y/n) please? Her ears might fall off from hearing you yap all day.” Bucky said as he gently took your arm and dragged you away from Sam.

“You literally spent the whole day with her yesterday, you’re the one who needs to stop hogging (y/n).” Sam argued, grabbing onto your other arm.

“I didn’t get to spend time with (y/n).” Zemo mentioned from his seat in the kitchen, a glass of whisky in his hand. Bucky simply turned to him and pointed, “NO!”

Honestly what’s a friendship with Bucky and Sam without some harmless flirting. They weren’t gonna lie, you were gorgeous, the most attractive one out of the group.

When you guys had to go undercover at Madripoor, both times with Zemo and Sharon, you had to wear dresses that were a bit revealing. Maybe your chest was a bit shown, but the dress definitely showed off your legs.

“So what do you guys think?” You stopped at the bottom of the stairs of Sharon’s apartment, doing a little spin to show off your outfit.

Both Bucky and Sam’s jaws drop, Zemo probably nodding in approval in the corner.

You can’t forget about the nicknames: maybe doll, sweetheart, or darlin’ from Bucky and the typical Louisiana Cher from Sammy.

While fighting against the Flag Smashers or anyone in general, you guys always had each other’s back.

You could directly be fighting someone, but you’ll naturally have an eye on Sam and Bucky to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them.

It’s a given that you all patch each other up after some fight.

You were all very protective of each other. If there’s one thing Sam and Bucky can agree on, it’s their instinct to protect you.

Like how you kept an eye on them, they also kept their eyes on you. Even though they knew you could hold your own.

“Could you walk?” Sam asked you as you laid on the concrete floor. You were double teamed by a couple of Flag Smashers. Two super soldiers against a normal person, you totally got your ass handed to you.

You pushed yourself up to rest on your elbows, “I’m fine, just got dropped kicked twice, but I’ll be fine.”

Sam smiled at you, “That’s my girl.”

Though the two can be a handful and argue almost every minute, you loved the both of them tremendously. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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bowieandqueen11 · 3 years ago

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Tim Kono Relationship Headcanons

Request: Hi I wanted to know can you do a tim kono and/or oscar relationship headcanons please? -Sarah

YES??!! YES SARAH YES I CAN!!! Because I love them I am giving you BOTH! WATCH OUT FOR OSCAR HEADCANONS COMING

If you enjoy, please comment, it really does help!

(I do not own OMITB or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credits go to @rainbowsrc.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Ughhh our boy Tim Kono where to start.

The two of you first meet at the Arconia, of course, way way back on a warm spring day. When adulthood was still a floating dream long in the future, and the world seemed filled with that bittersweet honeyed shroud of warmth and laughter and the promise of adventure. You and your family had just moved into the fifth floor of the building the week prior, and Tim was the first person you properly got to meet (except Lester, of course.)

Resting your elbow on the living room window and glancing past the unpacked boxes, bored, onto the busy streets of New York below, you spot some strange boy in a scarlet scarf and puffy navy coat walking around the courtyard’s fountain by himself. Leaving your apartment behind, you flew down the stairs and climbed up onto the opposite side of the fountain to join him, passing him by and watching him smirk as the shoulders of your coats bumped into each other.

Eventually, when you wobbled a bit, he finally reached out to grab your wrist and pulled you into his side to stop you from falling off the tiles and straight into the splashing, freezing water.

‘Who are you? I’ve never seen you before. You don’t live here. I know everyone who lives here, and your coat looks too patchy for you to afford to live here.’

He was rude, and abrupt, but when you made a joke about how you saw the strange lady with the short grey hair and wide rimmed glasses wearing the same exact coat as she shouted at your family for stomping dirty footprints into the lobby, you finally got him to laugh.

He has that glimmer in his eye, that promise of sweetness and constancy and ruination as he brazenly glances over at you and takes your hand, leading you off to his favourite secret spot away from the building. The two of you sit on this little rusted bench on the edge of the nearby park, talking about anything you could think of as the sun began to sink behind your heads. It was nearly ten o’clock when the two of you finally appeared home, your arms swinging next to each others and your footsteps in a rhythmic, uniform step as he smiled at you the whole while.

From then on the two of you were inseparable, and Tim for once wouldn’t have it any other way.

A lot of days were spent pretending to be detectives and solving crimes in his apartment. You would make blanket forts filled with pillows and little lanterns that stretched the whole way across his room. He actually has a pretty fun side, when he trusts you well enough, and so sometimes he’ll rustle the sheets to try and scare you before finally clambering underneath, giggling the whole while. Or, the two of you sit side by side on his beanbag, arms and hands brushing against each other as the two of you turn the pages of your crime novels. Sometimes, the two of you have sleepovers that last a whole week when winters visit and the crackling frost of December begins to glimmer on the cracks of the pavements outside, making it too dangerous to play outside.

He has those glow in the dark sticky stars that he’s meticulously placed on the ceiling of his bedroom, the only part of his room that is slightly messy. The two of you will lie with your hands under your heads and side by side as you glance up at them, you making up stories about how someday the two of you will blast off in a rocket ship and have adventures far away from this place, while his constant chipping in with reality checks brings you back to Earth.

During *that* New Years Party years and years later is when he finally ‘confessed’ his crush on you. He’s quite a proud and aloof man, so it was less a true confession and more him finally intertwining his fingers with yours after all these years and dragging you to dance with him on the roof. Honestly, there was no ostentatious display, no massive fireworks, because it wasn’t truly needed. As he looked down at you, with his slicked back hair and his freshly pressed suit and all the stars swirling and burning behind his eyes, it nearly left you breathless. He huffed, humoured, as he bumped his chin against your forehead, fingers slightly clenching tighter against the small of your back and squeezing even tighter against your hand. It was always inevitable, this moment, he believed. So, when he reached down to cup your face with his slender fingers, it felt natural when he kissed you.

It was brief, hot and lingering when he pulled away, but it was everything. Because it was always going to be him. And it was always going to be you.

You move into his apartment pretty soon after that. Although he still pretend in front of you to be a pretty serious person, when you try to decorate the drab black and grey tones of his living room with some ornate carpets and some new billowing lilac curtains, the two of you end up skidding around the oak floors of his apartment. Giggling, he nearly tosses his sofa as he jumps and tumbles over it, getting shelter from the pillow you were throwing at him. Eventually, you manage to capture him, grabbing the collar of his dress shirt and pulling his chest against your own. The wide eyed look of shock he gave you as you smirked and pulled him down on top of you onto the sofa was priceless. He rests on his forearms, nearly collapsing his body onto your stomach, as he would never admit it but he’s always so careful never to harm you. You’re the only person he has ever truly really cared about apart from himself, and as he hovers you, eyes flitting down to your open lips, he finally understands that you’re also the only person he will ever truly love in this world.

We all know that he’s a *ahem* very passionate man, so his kisses!!!! They really are enough to make your knees shake, but that just makes him hum and groan happily into your mouth as his knee pushes out to capture your legs until you’re nearly straddling him.

He’s not too big on pda in public, though. He does do forehead kisses, especially when the two of you come back from a Saturday of shopping and you’ve got bags full of a romantic dinner’s groceries popping out of your bags. In the elevator, he leans into your side and just rests the side of his face against your forehead, just taking a moment to breathe. Sometimes he will also snake his arm around your waist and pull you to join him under his coat or his suit jacket when the two of you are walking home during cold New York nights.

He’s not a big fan of lie-ins, but gosh does he love flickering his eyelids open to see you, peaceful and angelic as you like by his side on his pillow. He tries softly and gingerly to shimmer away from your grasp, no matter how much he doesn’t want to, but 6 a.m. is when he gets up to go workout at the gym down the block. When you groan in disapproval, though, he’ll always lie back down and spend an extra fifteen minutes holding you with a giant smile.

Plus, he thinks it’s really sweet when he comes back to shower and you’re just out of bed, wearing one of his hoodies you stole from the wardrobe. They’re huge and surprisingly fluffy and always smell of that piney and patchouli cologne he loves to wear.

You even get him to do that hoarse, deeply vibrating laugh that bubbles up from the pit of his stomach when you creep up behind him with your hands slathered in gel hair and start trying to mess up his strands. Although he laughs, trying to reach behind him and pull you away, he eventually ends up letting himself fall against you. Sitting between your legs with his eyes closed in bliss, you stroke his hair away from his eyes as he just lets all the stress he knows is going to pile up on his shoulders when he finally goes to work just melt away.

You always have to carry an emergency inhaler with you in case one of Howard’s cats comes visiting through the window box again.

Although he’s not the flashiest guy, he does like to spoil you as much as he can, pretty much because that’s his main form of love language! He’ll buy you expensive jewellery, or take you out to expensive dinners, just to hold your hand over the table whilst simultaneously kicking your feet under the table like you were children again.

The only thing he posts on his social media accounts are pictures of you that he secretly tries to take whenever he sees you smiling.

All’s going very smoothly, until one day you’re hanging up one of his suit jackets that he flung on the bed after a stressful day at work, and a little ring box falls out of the breast pocket...

#omitb #only murders in the building #tim kono #tim kono imagine #omitb imagine #only murders in the building imagine #tim kono x reader #tim kono headcanons #julian cihi

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breadqueen95 · 4 years ago

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Dress - Bucky Barnes

bucky barnes x fem!reader

wc: 5k

plot: bucky and y/n’s relationship is new, and they don’t want to share with their friends just yet. but something as simple as a dress can change anyone’s mind, even the winter soldier.

content warnings: kissing. physical affection. flirting. allusions to sex. drinking. being drunk. language. bucky being a flirt.

a/n: this is for @natasha-romancff and her taylor swift writing challenge! it took me awhile, but i’ve had a ton of fun writing this. so many bucky fics are angsty, and rightly so the man has some TRAUMA. but for my first bucky fic, based on dress by taylor swift, i wanted something happier for him

***

Damn. That was a lot of leg.

“I don’t know,” you muttered as you stared into the mirror, “aren’t these things…a little classier than this?”

“Uh…have you met Tony Stark?” Natasha grumbled as she continued to scroll through her phone. “The man has never been classy a day in his life.”

“Well I know he isn’t, but fancy people show up to these things. I just don’t want to embarrass myself.” You were currently standing in front of the full-length mirror in Wanda’s room, staring at the reflection of a woman who didn’t quite look like you.

But it was you, wasn’t it? It was just…that you was wearing a very short, very sexy red cocktail dress. The sweetheart neckline was a nice touch, but the back was completely open. And that hemline? Definitely hiked way up past your knees.

“Y/n, relax,” Wanda reassured in her lilting accent, “sure, the dress is a little…spicier…than you’re used to, but it’s in a good way.”

“I’m pretty sure every single person would be able to tell I spend my days in tactical gear. God, I’m not sure I even know how to walk in heels this high!”

Heaving a dramatic sigh, Natasha threw her phone down and looked at you in the mirror. Her eyebrows were raised, and she was giving you her usual ‘don’t give me that shit’ look. It nearly had you shaking in your very strappy black heels.

“Are you kidding me, y/n? I’ve seen you strut in enough fancy parties during undercover missions to know that you’ve got this.”

“Yeah,” Wanda scoffed as she took a sip of red wine from her glass, “all she’s nervous about is what Bucky will think.”

Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide how much that sentence affected you.

“C’mon, Wanda. You know Bucky and I are just friends.”

“Do friends undress each other with their eyes whenever they’re in the same room?”

Damn it. Damn Wanda and her stupid perceptiveness.

“You’re reading too much into it, Wanda.” She just laughed at you, acting like she knew so much better.

What you knew and wasn’t ready to admit to your two best friends, was that she was right on the money.

Bucky Barnes, the infamous Winter Soldier, your favorite person in the entire world, was now your boyfriend. He had been for a few weeks now. The two of you were insanely private people. Hell, it had been years before the two of you had finally learned everything about each other. Once you had gotten past the walls the other had so carefully crafted, well…

At that point you were in love.

But the others didn’t need to know that, not yet at least. The Avengers were a family, your family. They were really the only true family you’d ever had. But Bucky…Bucky was finally yours. And you were his. You didn’t think it was crazy to just want to enjoy that, just the two of you, without everyone else sharing their jokes and opinions just yet. They did it out of love, you both knew that, but you just wanted him all to yourself.

As you looked back at your reflection in the mirror, you took a minute to really consider what Bucky’s reaction might be. He had the best poker face in the room no matter who he was with, but you knew him well enough to know how he was feeling just based on his eyes. He’d always said how much he loved red on you, and he adored every and any excuse to touch your skin. Those steel blue eyes of his would absolutely burn once he saw you in this dress.

And fuck, that was something you really wanted to see.

“Well, if you aren’t going to wear that dress, you better pick something else,” Nat said, jerking you from your fantasies, “we need to be there in twenty minutes, and we all need to touch up our makeup.”

“Actually…I think I’ll wear it,” you said confidently, trying to hide your grin as you ran your hands down the silky fabric.

What you didn’t see was Natasha and Wanda sharing a secret smirk behind you, like they’d known what you’d do the whole time.

***

Six weeks ago, everything had changed for you and Bucky.

You’d known how you felt for a long time. Bucky Barnes, despite his past, was the kind of man anyone could fall in love with. He was sincere, kind, generous, witty…everything you’d ever wanted in a partner. He had been your best friend for even longer.

It had been a long time before you could even admit your feelings to yourself, let alone to him. After everything the two of you had been through, who had the time and mental capacity for romance? It just didn’t seem important. You just chalked up your feelings to being such close friends. All you wanted was to be near him, even if you just sat in silence doing different things. Just being in the same room as Bucky brought you a sort of peace you’d never had before. Whenever he touched you, even if it was just a brief hug or brushing your back to get past you, your skin erupted into goosebumps. But that was just because physical touch was still foreign to you, right?

And his smile. God, his wonderful smile…

Bucky didn’t smile much. He hid behind a mask of stoicism, a remnant from the trauma of his horrible history as the Winter Soldier. Showing any sort of emotion, especially happiness, was hard for him. But when he finally let himself smile? It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever see.

It took several sleepless nights wrestling with those confusing feelings to figure it out. You didn’t just see Bucky as your best friend. You had it bad. Not just “oh my god he’s so handsome” bad, like the “I would take a bullet for you I’m so in love” bad. That revelation? It left you euphoric. It also left you scared.

Because you were so sure Bucky didn’t feel the same. And that thought was like a knife to the heart every time it flashed through your mind.

So you kept it to yourself. You tried to keep things as normal as possible, but your heart kept fluttering whenever he walked into a room. Being so close to Bucky meant you confided in each other about pretty much everything, and he knew you well enough to know you were hiding something.

It all exploded on a Tuesday night in the compound.

Tuesdays were your movie nights. Bucky had a lot of pop culture to catch up on, so on this night every week he would come by your room to watch a movie. It was a weekly tradition that kind of started by accident. You were shocked he still hadn’t made time to watch Lord of the Rings, so you forced him onto your couch with popcorn and The Fellowship of the Ring. He loved it so much, and immediately asked if you guys could watch The Two Towers the next week. How could you say no to him?

Tonight, you were watching 13 Going on 30. It was your all-time favorite romcom, and you figured you could both use a break from all the action and fantasy movies you’d been cycling through. Something with a happy ending was worth indulging in.

“Does that Matt guy look like Banner to you? Or is it just me?” Bucky asked through a mouthful of popcorn.

“Heh, maybe a little,” you said, “Give or take a few years.” He laughed at that, and you forced yourself to laugh quietly. You wanted to blurt out your feelings every time you looked at Bucky, so you’d gotten quieter and quieter every time you spent time with him. It was an awful reaction, and you knew he noticed. But it was better than losing his friendship, right?

After that awful and painfully obvious forced laugh, Bucky let out a huge sigh and paused the movie. He set the bowl of popcorn down on the coffee table in front of the couch, then turned to face you. Exasperation and hurt glimmered in his eyes.

“Y/n, what the fuck is going on with you?”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Oh come on, don’t give me that,” he said sharply, “I know you better than anyone, and I know for a fact there’s something you’re not telling me. Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, god no!” You exclaimed.

“Well it must be something I did, because you’ve never been this quiet around me and it keeps getting worse. I hate it, and I want to know what I did so I can fix it.”

“Bucky, I’m serious, it’s nothing you did—”

“Then why? Why are you shutting me out?” He cut you off angrily, arms thrown wide. “You’re my best friend, I just don’t get why—”

“I don’t want you like a best friend, Bucky!” Your eyes went wide as the words flew from your lips. In the most comical way, you clapped your hand over your mouth as if you could stop the words that had already been said. Bucky’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

Oh fuck. He didn’t get it. Curse him and his old man ways.

“What does that even mean, Y/n? Are you saying you don’t want me around anymore?”

“Bucky, of course not. God, I would never want that. Never in a million years.”

“Then you better explain, because if you haven’t noticed, I’m over 100 years old. I need a little help here.”

“It means, uh…um,” you stuttered, wringing your hands together. “Is there any chance we can just forget I said that?”

“Nope, not a chance.”

“It means…it means that I care about you. As more than a friend.”

His entire face seemed to crinkle as he processed that. If you weren’t freaking out, you’d be obsessing over how damn cute it made him look. Then his eyes got wide as he began to make the connection. Your stomach nearly fell out of your ass as his eyes lifted again to meet yours.

“I…I think I know what you’re saying,” he nearly whispered, “I just need you to get real specific real fast, because I’m not about to say anything until I know exactly what you mean.”

“It means I’m in love with you, okay?” You burst out. Even through your mortification, there was a sudden sense of relief. A secret as big as that had definitely been weighing you down. Now that it was out there, that was one less thing you had to worry about.

His eyes grew even wider. How that was possible, you didn’t even know. That beautiful mouth of his began to turn up into a small smile as he gazed softly at you.

“You’re in love with me?” He asked, his smile getting wider with each passing second.

“What, you need it carved into stone or something?” You couldn’t help but sass him. Did you fucking stutter?

“No, it’s just…I never thought you’d feel that way about me.”

“Well, clearly I do. So you – wait, you mean you’ve thought about this before?”

“Of course I have,” he said as he shrugged, “I’ve been in love with you for two years now, how could I not think about it?”

You were instantly filled with warmth and pure bliss. In all your obsessing over your own feelings, you’d never allowed yourself to consider that he might feel the same about you. It just didn’t seem possible.

“I’m sorry,” you burst out, holding a hand up, “you’re telling me you’ve been into me for two years and didn’t say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” He shot back, inching closer to you.

“Because you’re my best friend. I didn’t want to lose you because of stupid feelings I have.”

“But…I have those same ‘stupid feelings’ for you. So can we just cut the whole act and get on with it?” Bucky brought a hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin so gently.

“Uh…um…get on with what?”

“Well I’d kinda like to kiss you, if you’re cool with it.”

“Bucky Barnes did you just use current slang to ask if you could kiss me?” You didn’t move an inch as his face moved right in front of yours, breath intermingling as you gazed into each other’s eyes. God, was this really happening?

“Yeah, guess your lessons worked,” he murmured.

“Well you better kiss me, then.”

As soon as your lips met, it was like coming home.

***

That memory, your favorite memory, replayed in your head as the three of you stepped into the elevator. Nat and Wanda were happily chatting about who would be there, what kind of antics Tony would cook up tonight, if there would be music we could actually dance to. You know, normal party things.

All you could think about was how long you had to stay until you could sneak off with your boyfriend.

You were so happy Wanda and Natasha had convinced you to wear this dress. When you’d first put it on, the difference from your normal look was so jarring that it took you a few minutes to get used to it. But now that you had, now that you felt the silky fabric shifting against your skin as you moved, now that you saw how dangerously long your legs looked in these heels…

Damn, you felt sexy.

And that sexy feeling? It made you want Bucky’s hands all over you.

But this was a party. A party thrown by Tony Stark, one of the most perceptive and observant people you’d ever met. If you left too soon, if he thought you weren’t “having enough fun”, he’d be more than a little upset. So you had to stay, drink, mingle, maybe dance a little…and then, maybe later, you could go do what you actually wanted.

The elevator pinged, indicating you had reached the topmost floor of the compound. This floor was home to a huge communal space, often used for just hanging out with the team. But on nights like tonight, Tony went all out and turned the space into something that resembled…a club?

The three of you stepped out into the massive room, upbeat music already blasting from the speakers. Typical Tony – he never really outgrew his love for dancing and parties. The bass thrummed through your body, making you want to move to the music. The lights were dim, but you could still tell who was around. It looked like you were some of the last members of the team to arrive. There was a huge bar off to the side, and Natasha headed that way right away. You turned to ask Wanda if she wanted to follow Nat, but she was already making a beeline for Vision. Smiling, you just turned right back around to follow Natasha. A drink sounded pretty good right now.

As you made your way to the bar, you felt more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you walked. You sneakily looked around as you went, noticing men and women watching you with admiration, and dare you say it, longing. As someone whose job was to blend in with the background all the time, this was a different and slightly addictive feeling. You leaned on the bar next to Nat right as the bartender slid her drink over to her.

“Straight whiskey tonight? Damn, going hard.” You quipped.

“Hey now, you know I can handle my liquor. It’s you we need to watch out for, you lightweight.”

Laughing, you scanned the party guests, looking for the one person you wanted to see. Tony had had arm around Pepper’s waist, both laughing at something Rhodey had said. Bruce lingered around them, drink in hand and looking a little nervous, but still happy to be included. Wanda and Vision were sitting quietly on one of the couches, both looking absolutely smitten with each other. Scott Lang, one of the newest additions, was busting some moves, while Peter Parker laughed as he watched. Thor, who was visiting from Asgard, laughed boisterously as he watched various guests try to lift his hammer. You couldn’t help the smile growing on your face. You loved these people so much.

Then, you saw him.

Bucky was with Sam and Steve, as usual. But even as Sam and Steve were talking animatedly next to him, those gorgeous blue eyes of his were glued to you. There was a kind of intensity in them you hadn’t seen before. Your breath whooshed from you body as he grinned at you. Trying to maintain the suggestive image your dress gave you, you managed to send a flirtatious smile his way, then turned back around to face the bar. Leaning against the counter, you knew he’d get an eyeful of your bare back. God, this was fun.

The bartender finally made his way over to you, and you ordered two tequila shots.

Nat turned to you, one eyebrow arched in surprise as she asked, “And you say I’m going hard? You can’t just down two shots right away, babe.”

“I’m not doing two shots; you think I’m stupid?” The bartender slid the shots over to you along with two lime wedges. “One is clearly for you.”

Unable to hold back a laugh, Natasha put her arm around your shoulders and pulled you into her side as she said, “Why the fuck not, let’s do it.” The two of you went through the process: salt, shot, lime. You couldn’t help but wince as you downed the harsh liquor. Of all the shots in the world, tequila probably tasted the worst. The only reason you kept going for it was the warmth it traced down your body, and you felt your muscles begin to loosen up.

“Two more,” you called over to the bartender.

“Uh, no,” Natasha shot at you, grabbing her whiskey, and pushing off the bar, “I’m good with my top shelf shit, you keep going after that gasoline if you want but I’m out.”

“C’mon, Nat,” you called out, “what am I gonna do with two shots?”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone else, babe.” She said with a wave over her shoulder.

Sighing, you turned back to the ridiculously pretty bar (seriously, how much had Tony paid for this thing?). Who else would help you look cool and sexy at a bar for your secret boyfriend?

Okay, that was the cringiest thought you’d ever had. Gross.

As the bartender slid the tequila in front of you, you steeled yourself for the nastiness that was about to happen.

“Fuck, I didn’t think this through,” you mumbled.

“Yeah, you tend to do that,” a deep voice answered on your right. Instead of being the slightest bit surprised, you couldn’t help but smile. You’d know that voice anywhere.

“Something I can do for you, Barnes?” You looked up at him from under your lashes.

“Well, it looks like you’ve got an extra shot there. Thought I could bail you out.”

“Is that all?”

Bucky shifted so that your arms were just barely touching. His hand was right next to yours, and you reached out with your pinky to lightly brush his.

“Doll, you have the gall to show up in that dress and ask what I want as if you don’t already know?”

“Sorry Buck, I’m a little slow, must be the tequila. You should probably be a little clearer.”

Putting on quite the show of reaching for one of the shots, his mouth somehow ended up right next to your ear.

“I want you.”

It was lucky everyone was so distracted and couldn’t see how you shuddered at his words. Trying to maintain brain function, you managed to take the shot with him. You were now fully facing each other. He was wearing the cockiest smirk you’d ever seen, one that would put Tony Stark to shame. You couldn’t help but respond with that same energy despite the jitteriness his three little words had reduced you to.

“Well why don’t you—”

“Hello, my friends!” A booming voice sounded between you as Thor threw a huge arm over each of you. Bucky, with his stupid super soldier strength, didn’t really have a reaction to it. You, on the other hand, stumbled a little under the weight and force of it. “It’s so good to be back with you tiny humans.”

Was…was he slurring his words?

“Thor…are you drunk right now?”

He simply laughed in response. Well, that answered that.

“Of course I am, tiny person! It can’t be a party without good Asgardian wine.”

“Wait…you have literal god wine?” Bucky, who had a look of vague irritation on his face up to this point, now looked interested. Maybe even a little excited?

“Of course, metal appendage.”

“Dude, you can’t just call Bucky ‘metal appendage’—”

“He can if he lets me have some,” Bucky interrupted.

“We have a bargain!” Thor slapped Bucky on the back before scurrying back over to where he had come from, probably to get the wine he had promised.

“Bucky, you can’t even get drunk,” you hissed, “what exactly is the point of this?”

“Since everything happened, I haven’t found any alcohol strong enough to get me drunk. I figure god wine is worth a shot.”

“Bucky—”

“When I kiss you against a wall later, I wanna be a little tipsy,” he whispered in your ear, “that cool with you?”

Unable to keep yourself from smiling again, you nodded as Thor sauntered back over. Ever since that moment a few weeks ago, right before he kissed you for the first time, asking “is that cool with you?” had become your thing.

And the idea of Bucky kissing you against a wall? Yeah, that sounded pretty good.

***

As it turns out, Asgardian wine is just as potent as Thor had promised.

For the first time in over seventy years, Bucky Barnes was certifiably drunk. It made him feel like the Bucky from all those years ago, and it was the most incredible thing. Here he was, over 100 years old, partying, and all his favorite people were here.

Including his ridiculously hot girlfriend.

Even as they both flitted around the party, Bucky and y/n still found each other’s eyes, even from across the room. They would send winks, smiles, even funny faces. All he wanted to do was be right next to her, talk and dance with her all night…

But they had agreed. They wanted to keep their relationship a secret for now, keep the attention off of them for a bit while they got to know each other in this new way.

But god damn, that dress.

Y/n in red was…indescribable. It didn’t matter what she wore, she was always the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. But in red? In this dress?

She was breathtaking.

“Buck, you breathing?”

A hand waved in front of his face, snapping Bucky’s attention back to the people around him from Y/n’s back. He had been imagining putting his hands all over that back later and had gotten more than a little mesmerized. He managed to get his eyes to refocus, finding a drunk Sam smirking right next to him and an even drunker Steve dancing next to him. But what Steve was doing couldn’t really be called ‘dancing’ per say…more like an aggressive wiggle.

“Why wouldn’t I be breathing?” Of all the things he could’ve said to get Sam’s attention off of him, that wasn’t it.

“Uh, probably because the girl you’re in love with decided to show up and show off tonight? Pretty sure you’re drooling, man.”

Despite himself, Bucky slapped a hand across his mouth, only reducing Sam to wheezing laughter. Knowing he had been caught, he rolled his eyes and grimaced a little. Of all the people to catch him, he wished it hadn’t been Sam.

“I wasn’t…staring… at y/n, I just never see her dressed up is all.”

“I never said anything about the girl being y/n.”

“…fuck.”

“LANGUAGE,” Steve yelled out, pointing a finger at his two friends before returning to his shimmying.

Turning back to him, Sam added, “Just go be with her, Buck. You’re not fooling anyone, and neither is she.”

“We’re that obvious?”

“A few weeks ago you’d at least try to hide it. Now I’m surprised you’re not jumping each other’s bones right here right now.”

“Point taken,” Bucky said, lightly slapping Sam’s shoulder before power walking over to his girl.

***

“Nat, if you don’t stop asking about Bucky and I’s relationship, I’m going to kick you,” you called over the music before taking another swig from your glass. It was no Asgardian wine, but the human stuff wasn’t half bad in your opinion. It wasn’t like you could drink the god shit, anyway. If you had even one sip, you’d be swinging from the ceiling like Miley fucking Cyrus. You were pretty drunk as it was.

“Okay, fine,” she said with a shrug as she took a sip of her whiskey, still as calm and collected as ever. “You’re almost as drunk as he is, you’ll be talking soon enough.”

“Oh? Is that your spy master plan?”

Natasha was still looking as unbothered as ever, but as she looked across the room over your shoulder, her face split into a savage grin.

“It was, but it looks like I might not need it.”

“What do you me—”

Your words were cut off as a large, warm hand enclosed around yours. Whirling around, you were suddenly face to face with the man himself. Bucky was clearly having a good time. His mouth was relaxed into the cutest smile you’d ever seen him wear, and he moved without his normal stiffness and intensity. He threaded your fingers together, smiling down at you with so much love it was a wonder Nat hadn’t said anything yet.

Looking back in front of you, ready to explain yourself, you only found empty air. Guess she’d seen all she needed to, but honestly, you really didn’t care. All you’d wanted the whole night was to be exactly where you were right now; hand in hand with the man you loved.

“We’re just kidding ourselves, doll,” Bucky called next to your ear, “Sam said we’ve been pretty obvious.”

“Nat said the same,” you answered with a sheepish smile, “kind of hard to keep my face under control when you’ve got that leather jacket on.”

“You’re blaming me?” He asked with mock indignation. “You’re the one who looks,” he gestured wildly to your whole body, “like that!”

Trying ignore the heat spreading over your cheeks, you shot back, “Like what?”

“Like the most…” he screwed his face up in the most adorable way as he searched for words, “like the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” As the last few words tumbled out of his mouth, he gazed at you with such a softness you almost melted right into the floor.

“Wanna get out of here?” You asked, finally giving up the game. It was pointless, really. Now, all you wanted to do was for your boyfriend to keep his promise and kiss you against a wall.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he answered, “Absolutely.” Without looking at a single soul, the two of you began walking as quickly as you could for the exit. You and Bucky were both leaning on each other a bit, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Stepping out into the light of the hallway, you blinked as your eyes adjusted after the dark room you’d spent the last few hours in. Bucky led you until you were right in front of the elevator, and he lazily pressed the button to go up. There was tension in the air between you, like a thread that was being pulled. Biting your lip, you stared at the doors in front of you. You knew if you so much as looked at the man next to you, you’d jump him right then and there.

The shining doors slid open, and the pair of you walked in, his strong arm still around your waist. His grip wasn’t loose in any sense of the word. Bucky kept you right next to him, even as your legs wanted to drift all over the place. You pressed the button for the residential floor.

As soon as those doors slid shut, that thread of tension snapped.

Bucky whirled you to face him, then walked you backward until you were pressed against the wall of the elevator.

“I promised I’d kiss you against the wall, didn’t I?”

He didn’t even wait for a response. His mouth was on yours in an instant, lips moving together like a dance. The kiss was slow and unhurried. You tried to bring him closer, linking your hands behind his neck and pressing yourself to him. Instead of responding in kind, he unwound your arms from around him and pinned them above your head.

Oh damn.

Okay.

No complaints here.

“You’ve been teasin’ me all night just by wearing that dress, sweetheart,” he murmured in between the kisses he trailed down your jaw, “I think it’s my turn.”

“Would it change your mind knowing I only wore this dress so you could take it off?”

The heat that bloomed in those blue eyes of his was unmistakable. As the doors opened on your floor, he swept you up into his arms and began to walk purposefully to his apartment. All the while, he kept that signature cocky smirk of his you’d come to adore.

“Bucky?” You asked once he’d walked into his unit.

“That sentence was the single most attractive thing you’ve ever said,” he murmured as he set you down. Even still, he kept you pressed against him. “But nah, I’m a patient guy. I think I’ll take my time.” He followed this by resuming his slow and sensual kisses, and you couldn’t help but melt into them.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips.

“I’ll never get tired of hearing that, doll. I love you too.”

***

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x you #dress #jenna writes #i love lanie #laniestaylorswiftwc

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inkskinned · 5 years ago

Text

my arch nemesis cynthia is, of course, at the bank, because we both were sent like clockwork to pick up the checks of our husbands. she is wearing a lovely long green gown, which i know was on behalf of me, because, as my husband will tell you, our house abhors green and glamour. already the tellers look at each other under their little hats, for they love our tirades, i’m sure, although not more than i hate them.

“oh, is that your knitting?” my arch nemesis cynthia peers her eyes at my hands. “is it some kind of... sock?” everyone knows she and i used to be close before we were married and our husbands, smartly so, have introduced us to the idea of true vengeance.

“it is a scarf,” i say. i want to tell her that when the time comes and the world gets cold it will go over my mouth and i will breathe warm air and it will fill my lungs and i will be able to run around with my love even in the dark night. “it is not,” i say, “over surprising that you should be caught unawares of a scarf,” i say, “as i’m sure enjoying winter festivities are too beneath the handsome qualities your husband prefers.” pompous ass.

the tellers pass each other eyes for now it has started and they are delighted.

my arch nemesis cynthia thrusts out her hand. a white bottle. “rat poison,” she says. “i would expect the whole town knows about your little problem.” stage whisper. “such a shame, my dear.” then she rustles her long green skirts - which i know she wore on behalf of me - and she shimmies herself out of the room like royalty. oh, she floats everywhere she goes, beautiful black hair behind her. the bottle in my palm is cold. i will devise how to get her back starting first thing tomorrow.

the week, as always, is a long week, for there is much to make and do and knit and be. my husband comes home and i love him for who he is; for he never comes home without checking the state of the house up and down. he is the kind who loves his home so completely and sets each room like a stage for a great band to come playing. i am too ashamed to tell him why so many of the rats go missing, only make him a stew the next morning to celebrate. his favorite, although not mine, i’m afraid. plenty left over.

my arch nemesis today - of course - in a green the color of rotting. a bruise is uncarefully covered on her cheekbone, so striking against all of her dainty. her husband would say it was for her ungraceful nature, and i know mine would agree. i strike first, already delighted by my master plan, shoving over our best picnic basket tied with a bow. “i made you and yours a stew,” i say, “for beneath all that you carry” all that horrible wealth of your husband “it seems you’re getting rather skinny.” i can’t resist one last comment. “i am worried you’re about to waste to nothing.”

She plucks it out of my hand. “yes, if it weren’t for you and your husband’s dwindling wealth,” her sarcasm is biting, “i’m sure i will be nothing in, oh, 5 weeks time.” she arches a brow. “so long from now.”

“i am counting the days,” i tell her. her lips purse. the tellers behind me make a choked titter. perhaps, by their estimation, i have won this round quite completely. i go home to my husband smiling. he asks where i have been and i tell him i’ve been at the bank, but he checks anyway because i like to get up to tricks and he doesn’t like to fall for it. it is a good game we play. at night, when he is asleep, i am so in love that i must convince myself to pull the covers over my nose and practice breathing. how silly to wake him up for a young girl’s feelings.

the first week of five: she gives me a solid, ugly ring that requires three knuckles to hold. “i feel so badly for your status, and i must remember to practice charity,” she says. “it such a small thing, but do be careful amongst all that thin pine furnishing of your house, which dents so easily.” my husband appears at the bank’s front door. just checking. so lovely to be picked up by him. at night, in a rage, i try it - beneath the table bends easily. i scuff out the scratch with walnut before my husband can see. i pull the covers over my face in bed and breathe.

the second week: i wear her ugly ring and give her more stew, this time hearty with meat. her dress is a meadow. my heart each time it sees her collapses on itself. she hands me clothes for my husband, since his wealth continues to go missing, and the charity of her heart is so loving. i am so ashamed i bury them far by the old tree, where all my shames go hiding. again, the covers. it, by now, helps me sleep. i have gotten so good at it that i can simply shimmy my shoulders to be perfectly toasty and buried.

the third week: she asks how comes my knitting. i tell her it’s nearly complete. she asks how comes my husband, whom she must know has been ill recently, and who is doing quite badly. i go home to him, shaking. even sick he is a good housekeeper, who comes home examining for dust and dinge so i do not fall behind on my chores. who checks to be sure i spoke to only him and no one more, for fear a man might snatch me. tell me, who else has a man so involved, in this day and age?

the fourth week she is envy green. i shove a whole heaping of stew at her, for now her husband has gotten it. i say it will return him to spirits, she laughs, a sudden, beautiful sound, even in the quiet of a bank. everyone stares. maybe it is the stress that is making her quite improper. i feel the same way. so much is happening and it always seems she knows. she says she heard he has left me nothing in the will, which everyone already knows. she says she doubts either of us can dig upwards from the hole we’re both in. i look at the bruise on her nose. i tell her to mind her own husband, and be careful where she goes.

the fifth week: so final. her, garishly lime green. and i in black, to pick up a check that hardly seems the effort. it will be enough to cover my husband’s funeral. she smiles at me and hands me a silver bottle. she says quietly: now that i am destitute, there is one thing for it all, and everyone would understand quite completely. it would be quiet, and quick, and complete.

it is the night of the new moon, so dark no man can see in it. i receive notice her husband has died, and i am sorry to say i find a terrible joy in it. the air has changed cold. i have left a note asking to be buried in my scarf, the last thing i have made on this earth. i go through each perfect room, but there is nothing else to take with me, for the house has always been his and his alone, and now aches to be gone of him. i would not serve as a good tender for it. having spent so many nights watched carefully, the silly girlish freedom i’d gain would surely set the house ablaze.

i follow her instructions. quick, quiet, complete.

the horrible rustling is what does it. like a million green skirts. and then it is dark, and i am in my own coffin, eerie with pine. my head hurts but i must be quick and quiet. they have listened and buried me with my scarf. i shimmy my shoulders just-so and get it over my face. bring my arms up, ugly ring heavy, and begin to hit as hard as i can, over and over, the thin wood of my husband’s favorite furniture, the cretin. it would be pine, of course - he left me no money to be buried in any nicer recourse.

the wood splits so horribly, and then it is very hard to breathe, harder than under the covers, and i have to remind myself to be patient and continue to dig upwards, while my throat closes and my heart beats so loudly and the whole thing is so heavy it is a universe. the shifting of gravedirt is loud, and loud, and i feel i will be turned into a worm, and i fear everyone has forgotten about me, or i have gotten the timing wrong, or i will really die down here in the dirt and the cold

but then her hand, and my hand, and we are both digging towards each other, and she lifts me so easily from the ground like a plucked turnip and holds me against her, us both panting and muddied. we can only stay like this for so long, here in my pauper grave, and then we are both running to the old tree where we met, and unburying a second thing; my lovely box of shame, and men’s clothes, and all of my husband’s dwindling fortune i have slowly been squirrelling away.

my love and angel cynthia, who has black hair like a curtain and a mind so fast i sometimes am in frank awe at it, who is, even now and dirty and raw: even now the only sun in my life.

like this, i a man in an almost-dawn, and us cleaned by the river, and her smiling so widely, and only a faint bruise on her, and our pasts behind us in ugly garish colors. and her delicate hand and beautiful nose and when i finally get to kiss her it feels like green feels; my favorite color, all warm and nature and sunny grace and grass and lying awake so filled with love it makes you shake.

i hold her, and she holds me, and our future is a love like a dream unburied.

#spilled ink #prose #short story #wlw #if you're confused they were planning this from day 1 #rat poison goes to the rats #rats go into stew.... subtle poisoning #the ending can be read many ways #but always happy

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strangunddurm · 3 years ago

Text

Younger

Masterlist

Pairing: Clyde Logan x fem!reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: PinV sex, age difference, unprotected sex, oral sex (female receiving), fingering.

Your parents had you young. They hadn’t even left high school by the time you joined their little (and brief) family.

It was your mom that left your dad when you were still a baby. She didn’t want to be stuck there with you. She wanted to go to college, see the world, meet new people. You never missed her, because you never knew what it was like to have her in your life. But you were lucky, your dad was the best dad ever, and your grandparents were quick to fill in the void your absent mother had left.

Clyde Logan and your father became best friends when you were 17. Clyde lived just a few towns over and was the owner of the local watering hole. They got on like a house on fire, sharing an interest in all things motor and books; An unlikely pair that liked an unlikely combo. You hadn’t spent that much time around Clyde before you left for college.

Your dad was so proud of you, it had been his biggest dream for you: College. He wanted you to live the life you had always dreamed of; he was sure you were destined for bigger things than what was available to you in small town, West Virginia.

Of course, it was scary to leave. But you did it, four years passed quickly and now here you were, ready to take on the world.

It was exciting moving back home for the summer and seeing how much everything had changed. Although, it was mostly exactly the same, except for the STOP sign that had been placed by the four-way stop that no one seemed to care about.

“We were thinkin’ about havin’ a BBQ at Clyde’s” Your dad was so happy that you were home. He was giddy almost, like a child being unable to sit still in his seat. He had just collected you from the airport in Charleston and was driving toward your hometown.

“That’s nice. Who’s comin’?”

“I thought we would just keep it small, just the family you know, and the Logans” Family was important to your dad, especially after your mom had left.

You hummed in response. It would be nice having a get-together. Seeing everybody at the same time would make it easier, and it would stop your grandmother from insisting that you should drive around town, meeting everybody that by extension could be considered family.

“And I thought I could introduce ye to Shelly…” Your dad trailed off, unsure about how you would react to the news of him bringing his girlfriend.

Your dad had met Shelly in your second year of college. It was hard adjusting at first, you were so used to having all of your dad’s attention that it came as a small shock. But you forced yourself to be happy for him; you were still his main priority, nothing had changed in that department, but change, in general, was just hard.

You swallowed thickly once you realized that you hadn’t answered him.

”That would be nice…” It would be anything but nice, but what else could you say? You wanted your dad to be happy, he deserved it.

“Look, I know ye might not like it, but I promise ye’ll like her” He sounded so hopeful that you couldn’t do anything but agree quietly.

Your dad had lied. There was no way he could’ve possibly thought that you and Shelly would get along.

She was… different (for a lack of a better word). She had on a dress so short that you were sure the whole town would be able to see everything if she was to bend over just slightly. The squeal she let out once your father had opened the door was loud enough to pierce your ears painfully, and you could just barely stop yourself from reaching up and covering your ears.

She called out your name, rushing forward with her arms wide open, embracing you in a tight hug.

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you!” She was clearly not from anywhere close to Boone County, and you tried to remember exactly where your father had said that they met. You briefly remember him mentioning a trip to Florida with Clyde that winter.

“You too” You returned with a tight-lipped smile, sending your dad a sceptic side-glance once Shelly had turned her back to you. She leapt toward your dad, peppering kisses across his face that he graciously received, albeit a bit embarrassed over the public display of affection.

“When are the others comin’ here?” You interrupted them, shuffling awkwardly back and forth on the balls of your feet. You couldn’t possibly be made to endure it all alone.

“Clyde should be here soon to set up the grill” It was like a ritual whenever your dad and Clyde would have a BBQ, it was important for everything to be just right so that the meat would come out perfect.

“Great! Can ye text him and tell him to hurry up?”

“Tell who to hurry up?” it was Clyde’s voice that responded to you, and you had never been so happy to hear it.

“Clyde!” You were almost more excited over seeing him than you had been seeing your dad.

You moved to help Clyde with the bags of groceries he was lugging through the door. And he sent you a gracious smile when you took them from his hand, as he greeted your dad and Shelly.

Shelly was glued to your dad for the rest of the night, constantly by his side and butting into conversations.

You could tell that nobody else really enjoyed Shelly’s presence, but they all tolerated it for your dad. It was nice to see him happy, even though you really couldn’t take the person that was the reason for his happiness.

“How you holdin’ up?” It was Clyde that approached you in your corner of the outdoor couch. He was holding two unopened beers in his hand, reaching out so that you could take one of them. Beer wasn’t your usual choice of beverage, but you couldn’t bring yourself to decline.

“Is she always so…” You trailed off and Clyde let out a quiet laugh as he saw the look on your face.

“Yeah, she sure is somethin’, isn’t she?” He invited himself to sit down next to you. His jean covered thigh pressing tightly against your own from the limited space.

You sat there in silence for a while, staring out at the rest of the people that had joined your welcome home party. The rest of the Logans were there, each with a beer in their hands. Your uncle was also there, chatting away with Jimmy, as per usual. Your grandparents had already made their way home, claiming to be too old to be able to keep up with the younger generations.

“Do ye think it’s the real thing?” You were referring to your dad and Shelly, hoping it would all turn out to be puppy love.

“Hard to say… What even is ‘the real thing’?” Clyde asked the question rhetorically with a sigh.

He ran his hand through his hair after having sat down the beer on the table in front of you. You couldn’t help but admire his hair, it had gotten so much longer since the last time you had seen him and was now a wavy, tamed, mess that brushed over his neck.

He was broader also. He had always been wide and large, but he had gotten ever more so. He was so different from all the college boys you had been surrounded by for so long.

You had always found Clyde attractive, it was hard not to, for all you knew, he was Boone county’s most eligible bachelor. But it was not just his looks alone that did it of course, in combination with that he was just the kindest, sweetest gentleman. Despite not being much of a conversationist, he tried for you, going beyond the standard questions of ‘how are you?’ and ‘how’s school going?’.

”Are ye still single, Clyde?” The question let your mouth before you could fully comprehend just what you were asking and how it might be received.

Clyde eyed you from the corner of his eyes, not answering immediately which caused you to stumble out a sorry excuse for an apology.

“Still single.” He finally answered. He didn’t sound sad over it at all, it was merely a statement of fact on his end.

“Ye?”

“What?” Your eyebrows flew up into your hairline.

“Am I not allowed to return the question?”

“No… no, of course, ye can ask. Still as single as ever.” You took a swig of the beer.

“Good.” You must’ve heard him wrong; surely, you must’ve heard him wrong, but your father was calling your name before you could question him.

You didn’t see a lot of Clyde at the beginning of the summer. He was likely busy at the bar with the usual string of customers, and you were busy at the summer job your dad had gotten you. You had applied to a few jobs just before your graduation but had in the end decided to spend some time at home over the summer before jetting off to wherever somebody would hire you.

But then, toward the end of July, your dad was spending more and more time with Shelly, and you found yourself in need of a summer project.

It happened naturally; snuck up on you. A crush. You felt childish once you realized what was brewing inside of you. You were far too old for a crush, but you couldn’t help it, just looking at him made your knees weak.

You were spending more time at Duck Tape, keeping Clyde company whenever you were feeling extra lonely, which was more often than not. He never complained, you thought that he enjoyed the company as much as you did, perhaps you were a breath of fresh air amongst the usual patrons.

“Do ye wanna come over for dinner tonight?” It was a Thursday. You had just gotten off work and swung by the bar on your way home. Thursdays was usually one of the slower days, so it was only you, Clyde and Earl there.

“What are ye makin’?”

“Just answer the question!” You bumped your shoulder with his teasingly, knowing that it didn’t really matter what you were going to make, Clyde Logan was not one to say no to food.

“Of course, I’ll come.” He continued wiping down the beer glasses that he had been cleaning.

You tried to ignore the way your stomach fluttered in excitement.

“Come in!” It was just past 7 o’clock when the doorbell rang. You were just finishing up the last of the dinner, placing it on the table and then wiping off your hands on the kitchen towel that you had slung over your shoulder.

“Smells good” Clyde gruffed out after he had taken his boots off and came through the kitchen door.

“You think so?” You felt your skin flush slightly over his comment, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy.

He hummed in response as he walked over to the kitchen table, rubbing his hands together in delight. He was wearing one of his slightly more formal shirts; the one that was green and caused him to look even more clean-cut and attractive than normal. The heat exuding from the food was clearly visible, and your stomach rumbled in hunger.

“Where’s yer dad?” His question was innocent enough, but it caused you to falter in your movements for just a moment. You brushed imaginary dust from your pants in an attempt to steal your nerves.

“Oh, he’s away with Shelley; I thought it could be nice …just- the two of us.”

Your eyes searched his face hesitantly, looking for any sign of displeasure. He didn’t say anything for a while, eyes intensely focused on your face, appearing to be searching for something, but for what, you did not know.

He smiled at you right at that moment you started to think that he was going to turn around and leave.

“So, what are ye makin’?” He eased the tension that had built in the air, causing it to thicken. Relief flooded through your body, and you prattled off a description of the night’s culinary creation.

It was comfortable. Dinner with Clyde felt like having dinner with someone whom you had known your entire life; it was easy sharing laughs with him, effortless even.

You ran your finger over the foot of your wine glass absentmindedly as you looked at him. Really looked at him. You could do it for hours, there was so much to take in with Clyde; the way his face was painted with freckles, his eyes that were the colour of whiskey, and his nose that was just perfect for his face.

The two of you fell into silence as he returned you staring and asked you:

“What ye thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“Nothing much…”

“Don’t look like nothin’ much.” He tried to pry an answer out of you.

“Ye know me, head lost in the clouds.” Your dad used to always tease you over how lost you could get in your mind.

“Do ye know how pretty ye are?” There it was again, Clyde’s uncharacteristic comments and questions which he had taken as a habit of sneaking up on you lately.

You were flustered, unsure of what to reply.

“Sometimes, I can’t help but think that ye must be a gift from above.”

“Clyde…” You scolded him. You couldn’t help it; it was an automatic reaction.

“It’s true, and ye should know it.” His voice was firm as he finished his comment with a nod. He wanted you to know, wanted you to bask in the small burst of self-confidence.

He pushed his chair back, it dragged loudly against the floor as he stood up. You watched him like a hawk as he moved from his end of the table to yours.

He felt impossibly large as he loomed over you, larger than normal, but it wasn’t intimidating, quite the opposite actually. The sight of him so tall and large caused your chest to tighten just slightly and you could feel yourself dampen. You clenched your thighs together, rubbing them together in small, minuscule motions in an attempt to ease the tensions that had built up within a few seconds inside of you.

Your breath stuttered as he ran his finger down your cheek. It felt like a cold ice cube trailing over your flaming hot skin in the middle of summer.

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Your brain felt like it had stopped working; as hard as you tried you couldn’t think of anything to say, couldn’t make your body move. You didn’t want to scare him away or off the path he was on; you enjoyed this, you wanted this, you had wanted this for so, so long.

“I’ve been thinking ‘bout ye for so long.” He said.

“Have ye?”

“Mhm… Yer dad would show me pictures. Always so proud of ye” Seeing how close you and your father were, it was a natural thing that you would send him updates from college of what was going on in your life, including pictures.

“I felt so dirty. Yer my best friend’s daughter, but I couldn’t help myself.” Clyde continued. He was moving even closer with each word, his face descending closer and closer to your own.

“The way ye would look in those small tops, it was sinful.” He practically growled.

You swallowed thickly; throat constricted from the anticipation of whatever was to come. You had to end his monologue; you needed him to know that you too were indecently drunk off of your desire for him.

“I like ye too.” The words were rushed and weren’t at all what you had been intending to say. They sounded so innocent; ‘I like you too’ who even said that? You scolded yourself again.

Clyde took it in stride and seemed to find humour in it as he chuckled lowly.

“Yer so innocent.”

“I’m not.” His eyes glinted darkly for just a moment as you contradicted him. You didn’t want him to see you as some younger, innocent girl that was naïve and did not know what she wanted in life. You were younger than him, yes, but you had experienced more of life than he might’ve assumed.

Before he could reply, you mustered up all the courage you had in your body, leaned forward and connected your lips with his.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was just perfect for the moment. It was rough, teeth slightly clashing; the two of you were expressing all desires you had ever felt for each other through this single kiss.

Clyde pulled at your clothes, grabbed at your skin, trying to hold on to anything that he could use to bring you closer to him. He forced you to stand up, moulding his body to yours so there weren’t any gaps of air between you.

You only disconnected once your lungs screamed for air; your heavy pants filled the dining room. Clyde did not give you a chance to question anything, his lips trailed quickly down your neck, suckling and nibbling. It tickled and you couldn’t help letting out a small laugh that bounced across the room. That single laugh seemed to ease up any tension that was in either of your bodies, both relaxing just a bit more than previously.

“I could listen to ye laugh all day.” Clyde said adoringly. Your lips parted, a sharp inhale filling your lungs before they pinched together, and you bowed your head.

Clyde was quick to bring your head back up with his fingers under your chin, forcing your eyes to connect with his.

“Don’t be shy.” His demand was soft but firm, and you automatically responded with a nod, unable to do anything else.

The kiss he placed on your lips was softer this time, tender almost. The passion was quick to build up again. Clyde was taking you on a roller-coaster of emotions that night, but it was all pleasant, all necessary.

The slower pace of the kiss allowed you to focus more on the previously ignored, minute details of it. You loved the way his moustache tickled against your skin and how his hands grasped at your waist, trying to pull you just a little bit closer to him with each peck.

He separated himself from you, leaning back to inspect your face as he asked the question:

“Ye sure ‘bout this?” It was sweet of him to ask, to double-check that he wasn’t misreading some signal.

“Of course.”

He was quick in his movements after that; showing off his impressive strength as he hoisted you up, settling you down on the dining room table. You gripped tightly onto his shoulders, exploring every inch that you could with your fingers, curling a lock of his soft hair, giving it a slight tug before releasing it.

He grabbed at your thighs, pulling you closer to his pelvis. He rutted against you, the friction sending electric currents through your core and the rest of your body. You let out a small moan of delight at the feeling, feeling even more flooded with desire.

His kisses were fierce and dominating. He was precise in his movements; he knew what he wanted and how to get it.

“Clyde…” you mewled. “Please, I need…” You couldn’t get yourself to finish the sentence, too lost from the simple pleasure of his hips grinding against yours.

“Tell me what you want.” He whispered in your ear, nibbling at your earlobe before moving his lips down your neck.

“Please don’t tease me.” You couldn’t handle it; it was nearly impossible trying to control yourself as his every move made you wetter and wetter.

“I need to hear it.” His voice was intense as he said it. He drew back to look at you again, you tried to read whatever was going on behind them, but it was impossible.

You trailed your hands over his chest, feeling the hard ridges under his shirt. Your eyes followed their movements as they travelled lower and lower, coming to a stop by his belt, unbuckling it slowly.

“I want you to… kiss me stupid, and then I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk.” And he was more than happy to oblige.

Your pants and underwear were quick to come off, you felt as if you just barely had enough time to pull them over your feet, kicking frantically to get them off.

His fingers sent shock waves through you once they finally connected with your core. He was soft in his movements, dragging his finger buds through your folds.

“Look at you. So wet from just a few kisses.” Clyde was practically purring as he whispered in your ear. He flicked his fingers in small, tight circles over your bud. Your core throbbed in response to the pleasure. Your head fell back, eyes crossing, and you were so, so happy over the relief that he was finally touching you just where you had wanted him all along.

And just when you thought the pleasure was going to explode and take over your body, his fingers retracted, and he removed himself entirely from your touch.

He expertly removed the shirt he was wearing, and you scrambled to mirror his movements by removing your own shirt, ready to feel even more of his skin against yours.

You couldn’t help but admire him as his skin was revealed to you, he was beautiful. Your walls clenched in response, ready for him.

His hands encircled your waist once again; they were like night and day, one so hot and one so cold from the metal, it was exhilarating.

You had thankfully forgone wearing a bra, so it was easy for him to kiss at your breasts, suckling slightly at the stiffened peaks that were your nipples.

You let out a sharp gasp over the overwhelming bliss, head falling back as you basked in the feeling.

“Clyde…” You were pleading with him, hips rutting upward, searching for more friction than what his hips against yours were providing.

“Ye have to be patient, sweet girl. I have to get ye ready for me.” He wore a wicked grin on his face as he looked up at you. He moved on from your breasts, lips moving downwards getting closer to your core.

You shivered over the sensation, legs parting automatically to make more room for him as he knelt down between them.

He must love to tease you for he didn’t connect his lips with your core immediately; instead, he settled for biting at your thighs, leaving small teeth marks behind.

“Clyde!” Your voice was sharp as you finally had enough, needing him to stop with his teasing.

He laughed over your frustration but finally surrendered, moving closer to your core and finally kissing at your neglected bud. Your back arched and the sigh you let out was overflowing with relief.

Clyde had you writhing for him within seconds, pulling moans from you as if it was the easiest thing he had ever done.

He lapped at you, tongue exploring all it could with precise movements. He was so incredibly good at it, the best you had ever had. You could barely control your legs as they shook from the stimulation.

Clyde was merciless. He did not allow you to fall over the blink, withdrawing just as you were about to spill over. He thrust two fingers into your leaking entrance, knuckle deep. He curled his fingers, pressing into that soft spot that caused sparks to flow through you.

“You’re going to cum, and you’re going to look at me.” He continued his precise movements of thrusting his fingers in and out of you as he left no room for arguing against him, and you did not want to.

Your breath became laboured, heavy with each inhale and shallow with each exhale.

Clyde kept your eyes locked together as he returned his mouth to your nub, watching you over your mound as he flicked his tongue.

It was incredibly erotic, watching the delight dance through his eyes as he ate you out. It was hard trying to stay focused on him, almost impossible even, but you did the best you could, chin falling to seek the support of your chest.

It came washing over you quickly. You practically gushed for him as you came with a loud yelp. Your hands reached out, grasping his hair in a tight grip, tugging at it frantically before finally collapsing against the kitchen table in exhaustion. You hadn’t noticed Clyde removing the wine glasses previously, too lost in the pleasure of it all, but you were now so thankful that he had.

He continued pumping his fingers in and out of you throughout your orgasm, lips leaving tender kisses everywhere they could reach.

He stood up, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand, sending you a cheeky smile and a wink. You were almost positive that you would come again from the sight, your walls fluttering wildly in response.

“Yer so pretty when ye come.” You whimpered in response to his praise, hips bucking automatically from desire.

“Clyde, please…” You were desperate, you couldn’t take not having him inside of you any longer.

He was quick to unbutton his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers just enough to free himself.

You could see a small bead of precum collected at his tip as you admired him whilst he gave himself a few pumps. You understood now why he had said that he needed to prepare you for him. He was impressive, thick, and long, fat veins clearly visible as they bulged out beneath the skin. He didn’t look small in his hands, which was slightly concerning. Clyde’s hands were so incredibly big that everything was usually dwarfed in them.

You licked your lips, placing your feet on the edge of the table, helping separate them with your hands on your ankles.

You were completely laid bare for him, and you could see the satisfaction he got from it shine clearly in his eyes. He admired you, letting his hands trace over your thighs.

“I could watch ye lay like this all day. So pretty for me.” Clyde lined himself up with your entrance, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, coating it with your slick.

You gasped at the intrusion as he finally sunk into you. He stretched you as wide as you would go, the small hint of pain accompanied by it being quickly overridden by the incredible feeling of pleasure that took over.

You had never felt so full, you basked in the feeling, let it take over your body before you nodded your head in okay that it was okay for him to move again.

“Yer so fuckin’ tight” He grunted out as he began moving his hips in small circular thrusts, in and out, in and out. He was gripping on to you as if he was afraid that it would all turn out to be a dream and you would disappear from underneath him if he let you go for even a moment.

He wasn’t able to keep the slow moment going for too long, eventually caving in to the pleasure and beginning to slam himself into you.

The table underneath you made awful screeching noises as it was put to the test under Clyde’s rough thrusts.

“Jesus,” He grunted out, he, himself, lost in the overwhelming feeling of it all. He was going so deep inside of you that you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Clyde had you babbling like never before, unable to fully control your movements.

“Yer so fuckin’ amazing, ye take me so well. God-” His dirty musings were like music to your ears.

“I need more, Clyde, please!” He was happy to obey, moving his hips harder against your own. He wrestled with your legs, bringing them up to press as well as they could against your chest. The change in position sent new waves rocking through your body.

Your breath got caught in your chest, you grabbed at your breasts, massaging them with your hands, tweaking your nipples with your fingers.

“Jesus! Just like that, Darlin’, yer so fuckin’ gorgeous just like that.” Clyde groaned out, basking in the sight of you.

It was enough to make the coil snap inside of you. Your eyes screwed shut tightly, back arching up off the table as your mind turned blank. Clyde slowed his movements but continued pumping into you throughout your orgasm.

He let you come down from the high just far enough for you to gain control of your muscles again before he had you standing and bent over, front and cheek pressed against the table. A startled yelp left your lips just as Clyde entered you again, this time being ruthless as he chased his own sweet relief after giving you your own.

His movements were frantic, hips thrusting against your own in controlled movements. You were practically sobbing underneath him from the overstimulation of it all.

“I can’t believe how tight ye fuckin’ are.” He said as he hoisted one of your legs up off the ground and onto the table. Your walls clenched around him even more and it was just enough for him to cum with a shout, hips snapping forward so that he filled you to the absolute brink, tip against cervix. You loved the feeling of his thick, hot ropes of cum spurting into you so deep.

He pumped into you a few more times: your walls were fluttering around him, milking him of every last few drops.

His hand travelled down your spine, tracing it as he admired you whilst still inside of you, basking in the feeling.

He stayed sheathed inside of you for a few more minutes before finally sliding out, watching as his spent dribbled out of you slowly.

“I’m going to keep ye like this for as long as I can. Fill ye up whenever I want. My pretty girl.” His words, despite how exhausted you were, filled you with desire again. You couldn’t wait.

#clyde smut #clyde logan fanfiction #clyde logan x you #clyde x reader #clyde logan smut #clyde logan #clyde #clyde logan x reader #adcu fanfic #adcu fic rec #adcu community #adcu fanfiction #adam driver character #adcu #tw age gap

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narutogu · 4 years ago

Text

Touch Starved

REPOSTED ON MY MAIN NARUTO BLOG BECAUSE IT WASN’T SHOWING UP IN THE TAGS. MORE WRITING TO COME ON @narutogwriting

Pairing: Naruto Uzumaki x Reader

CW: none

Length: 4k+

Inspired by this picture

Requests are Open!

“Naruto?”

Your voice broke out softly through the momentary silence. The wind had been howling almost constantly that night, keeping you wide awake. You weren’t afraid of anything, not really. At twelve years old, you, like many of your friends, had the notion that you were invincible. Nothing could touch you, and you would always come out on top. You would miss that as you grew older, the confidence in yourself and your abilities. The belief that the world was fair, and that the good guys always won.

So it wasn’t really that you were scared of the way the wind screamed, the whistles through the tree leaves or the sporadic loud crashes that came as the wind blew branches and even tree trunks to the ground. Maybe it was the fact that you had experienced the first death of an enemy on a mission.

And maybe it was deserved. He had been a criminal, after all, and you hadn’t delivered the fateful blow; of course not. It had been Kakashi, in a bid to save your life.

So maybe you were scared, or traumatized, or reeling from your innocence being shattered for the very first time. Whatever you felt, you were still too young, too inexperienced, to be able to pinpoint what exactly the distressed tugging of your heart meant.

It was what had dragged you from your own tent to Naruto’s, quietly and nervously. Kakashi was in his own tent, and you had been sharing with Sakura who was fast asleep. Having her by your side did nothing to calm the storm beginning to brew from inside you.

You had opened his tent timidly, doing your best not to startle him awake. He was fast asleep, on his side in fetal position hugging his pillow to him tightly. But when you spoke his name, your voice stirred him even from his deep slumber.

Naruto whispered your name, groggily, confused, but he’d know your voice anywhere.

Yawning, he sat up rubbing at his eyes, peering at you curiously. “What happened?” He asked.

“Can I sleep in here with you?”

If you were brave, then there were no words adequate enough to describe the courage that burned within Naruto’s heart. He was sure of himself, of what he believed. He would do anything to protect the ones he loved. He would do anything for you. You couldn’t think of a safer place than by his side.

“Yeah, of course.”

Relief flooded through you as you dragged your sleeping bag into the tent, fitting it next to his with some distance of course. You were best friends, but you were also twelve. There was something embarrassing about sleeping so close to someone of the opposite gender. But you couldn’t remember a time where you had ever slept more soundly.

And thus a new tradition had been born. For the whole year and a half afterwards, anytime you and Naruto were on a mission together, you shared a tent. Sure some of your friends teased you for it, and whatever jonin leading your team would shoot the two of you knowing looks as if they had some secret knowledge that you and Naruto hadn’t yet discovered.

But for you and Naruto, it was normal, as natural as anything. The two of you already spent all your time by each other’s side—it only made sense that that would include sharing a tent when on missions together.

It was only ever a tent though. It wasn’t like the two of you cuddled or anything. That was just embarrassing! Though you two were now out of the stage of believing in cooties, you were beginning to understand that there were some secret, unspoken rules for the way you were expected to act with the other gender. Ridiculous, arbitrary rules that were as old as time and didn’t account for the complexity that was the gender spectrum, but you didn’t understand any of that just yet.

When Naruto left, you were heartbroken, of course. Shattered even. You’d never known that it could feel like you had a hole in your heart until Naruto had taken part of yours with him. You dreaded the years to come of missing him.

But he had work to do and so did you. Naruto was going to get stronger and there was no way you would be left behind. Every time you missed him, you threw yourself into your training. The years didn’t pass quickly, but you found as time went on you were able to find other things that made you feel more whole even when you weren’t.

And just as suddenly, that void was filled. Blond hair and bright orange clothing filled your vision and kicked your heart up into your throat. You hadn’t expected to see him, but nothing could have made you happier.

You’d worried over the years that when Naruto came home, things would be different. Spending two and a half years apart changed things, and you had grown a lot. But you and Naruto fell into step together like he had never left, and just like that you had your best friend back.

But things had changed, though you weren’t going to admit that. When his blue eyes met yours, your breath stopped. Every time his fingers ran through his hair, it was like you were in another world. Part of you knew things were different, but you were never going to say it out loud. You buried your feelings deep within you, hiding your heart like a secret.

The thing that made you most nervous was when you and Naruto had your first mission together since he’d been back. You, Naruto, Sakura, and Kakashi, just like the mission where you’d first shared a tent. You didn’t know what to say, embarrassed to ask if you would both share a tent like when you were younger. If that had been embarrassing when you were twelve, it was even worse when you were sixteen.

When your team stopped for camp Kakashi went to secure the perimeter and Sakura to gather firewood. You went to work setting up your own tent when you felt Naruto’s presence behind you. You turned to look at him. He was standing there, scratching the back of his head, pink dusting his cheeks as he looked anywhere but at you.

“I didn’t bring a tent…” He admitted sheepishly. “When we were younger, we always shared a tent, and I figured we’d just do that again… I can share with Kakashi, though, if it’s weird. I don’t mean to—”

“Naruto,” You interrupted him with a laugh, though the color on your cheeks now matched his. “Of course we can share a tent.” You told him, turning back to your work as you set it up. “Don’t be weird.” You weren’t sure if it was a message to him or to yourself.

Unlike everything else with Naruto’s return, sleeping by Naruto didn’t feel as natural as it had before. There was a tension, almost palpable, settling in the tent. It was as if there was a string attaching your fingers to his, and the more the string pulled you to him, the closer to your sides you kept your hands. You couldn’t know that he felt it too.

The mission was straight forward and accomplished quickly. As soon as it started, it ended, and your team was heading back to the leaf village, only a days journey away. You would stop around the same area you had the night before, camping for the evening before heading home at daylight. You and Naruto had barely talked the whole way.

That night reminded you of the one when you had first crawled into Naruto’s tent. The wind was roaring making it hard to fall asleep. It was winter this time, however, and you hadn’t accounted for the night being so cold. The clothes you’d chosen to sleep in did nothing to keep in your body’s warmth, and your teeth chattered audibly as you curled into your sleeping bag, back to Naruto.

When your name left his hips, it almost startled you. The two of you had crawled into the tent quietly, not even bothering to say goodnight, the weight of the change in your relationship that you could both feel hanging heavy between you.

“Yeah?” You found yourself saying back, almost too quietly for him to hear. Almost.

“Uh, do you wanna, I dunno, sleep in my sleeping bag with me?” He mumbled, the words coming out fast and bunching together. “It’s just really cold, and I’m afraid that your teeth are going to break from clicking together so hard.” He hoped the joke would make it less weird, that you would feel more comfortable.

The question choked you with something you didn’t have words for, a feeling that bubbled in your stomach, spreading warm and shaky throughout your body.

“Okay.”

You crawled slowly, oh so slowly from your bag to his. He tried to scoot to one side, to make room. He unzipped the bag just a little bit, enough for you to crawl in next to him before he zipped it back up. There wasn’t enough room for you to lay comfortably next to him. Your body was on his just a bit, head by his chest and your arms pressed tightly to your side. You felt frozen with excitement and nerves. This was as close to a boy as you’d ever been.

The silence seemed to go on forever, but it was just a few seconds. Naruto’s arm had been pressed motionless to his sides, but slowly he felt them thaw before wrapping around your body, pressing you to him.

“You can like, hug me, ya know? Or put your arms on me or something. Just to be more comfortable.”

You nodded, your throat dry as you tried to swallow. You unlatched your arms from your body, a hand going up to rest on his chest. It only took a moment or two to get comfortable, to feel like your body fit perfectly into his. Falling asleep in Naruto’s arms, that was the most comfortable you’d ever slept.

The next morning, there wasn’t an awkwardness. It was something else, something sweeter, shyer. The string pulled your fingers closer, and though your hand didn’t touch his, neither did it pull away. You’d never felt so giddy in your life.

If only you knew what it meant to Naruto.

Naruto couldn’t remember one time in his life that he had cuddled with another person. He was sure that he must’ve been held at least occasionally as a baby, but it wasn’t anything he could remember. No one hugged him as he grew, no one tucked him in at night or rocked him to sleep. Once, when he was four, Naruto had found a puppy that got away from its owner. Naruto scooped the small animal up, holding him in his arms. The puppy had licked him affectionately, and Naruto was embarrassed by the fact that the small action had brought him to tears. Iruka’s hand on his head was the first affectionate touch he could remember from another person. He’d thought his heart would burst at that moment. It was nothing compared to what he’d felt getting to hold you while he slept.

He’d heard people say that hugging could lower stress, elevate your mood, even help prevent you from getting sick. He’d never understood it. Naruto had occasionally hugged Sakura and gotten affectionate touches from his sensei as he got older, but sleeping with you was different.

He understood now what the experts meant when they spoke about the benefits of hugging. He could comprehend why romantic relationships were so important to people if they got to touch their partner every day. Cuddling with you that night had Naruto’s head reeling, high off an emotion he didn’t even have a name for. He’d never felt so close to another person, so connected. How had he survived sixteen years without this? How had he survived those two and a half years training without you?

It was a mix of emotions as your head hit your pillow that night. You were relieved to have been able to take a shower. A home cooked meal never tasted so good as it did after a mission where you survived off dried meats. The softness of your mattress definitely beat the cold hard ground. But, you realized, you would gladly spend a lifetime sleeping on the floor of the woods if you got to sleep by Naruto’s side.

It was too scary to think about these new feelings. You knew what it was now, that you didn’t just see Naruto as your best friend. You liked Naruto. Maybe even more than liked him. You didn’t know how this could have happened. How could you ever face him again? If he knew how you felt, your friendship would be ruined.

You had resolved to avoid him for the foreseeable future so that you could wait out the feelings. Maybe if you had some time apart, the feelings would go away, and nothing would have to change between the two of you.

Your eyes had finally started to flutter closed with exhaustion when you heard tapping on your window, startling you. Sitting up, you looked uncertainly towards the window before finally getting up and going to inspect the noise. Naruto’s face peering back at you from the other side was the last thing you expected to see.

Opening the window as quietly as you could, you willed the butterflies in your stomach to quell. “Naruto, what are you doing here?” You whispered, glancing back towards your bedroom door, sure that your parents would burst through at any moment.

Naruto looked sheepishly back at you, a bashful grin on his face. “Sorry, did I wake you?” He asked. Rolling your eyes, you did your best to bite back the giddy smile playing on your own lips.

“Yes, Naruto. I’m trying to sleep. What are you doing here?” You asked him again. Instead of answering, Naruto began climbing through your window, making a little too much noise. You shushed him with a stifled giggle as he fell to the floor. “You’re going to wake my parents,” You told him, trying to look stern. Naruto hopped back up to his feet looking at you embarrassedly.

“I couldn’t sleep…” He admitted, his eyes flickering from yours back to the floor. “I was wondering… Do you think I could sleep here tonight?”

The question hung between the two of you, innocent and unassuming. It wasn’t that weird, the two of you were thinking. You shared a tent on missions; was it that different sharing a bed?

“Yeah, okay.” You agreed, feeling breathless. Naruto was in his pajamas too, you realized, decked in a white t shirt and orange sweats. You turned from him, walking slowly to your bed, doing your best not to make any noise. “You have to leave before my parents are up, okay?” You whispered as you climbed back into your bed.

Naruto nodded enthusiastically, following after you. “I will, believe it!” He said a little too loudly for someone that wasn’t supposed to be there. You shot him a look, though you couldn’t help but smile.

Climbing into the bed after you, Naruto got comfortable under the covers, and the two of you laid next to each other silently. Staring at the ceiling, you wondered if Naruto could hear the sound of your heartbeat as it rang in your ears. This was fine. This was normal for two best friends.

You weren’t sure how long you laid there, more awake than you had been before. You closed your eyes, doing your best to get some rest and failing miserably. You were too aware of Naruto’s presence beside you. He seemed to have fallen asleep long ago if his rhythmic breathing was anything to go by.

And then, suddenly, you felt him rolling over. His hand reached out in the darkness, finding you and pulling you flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you to him before his body went still again. You froze, looking up at his face. Was he awake? Had he meant to do that? It was impossible to tell with his eyes screwed shut.

You felt alive, truly alive, for the first time in your life. Nothing had ever felt so right.

The next morning, as promised, Naruto was back out the window before your parents woke up. The two of you had stayed in that position all night, and when Naruto began to shift awake, he looked at you with a shy, lopsided smile. All he said was a quiet “good morning” before he was sneaking out.

And there was no way to hide now that things had definitely changed. It was unspoken, but you both knew it. Neither of you knew what to say about it, didn’t know if you even should say anything about it. It wasn’t bad. It was good, better than good, but so new and unexplored for the both of you that you didn’t know how to approach the subject, so you said nothing about it.

It became a regular occurrence for Naruto to climb through your window every night to sleep in your bed. Each time he did, it became easier for Naruto to pull you into him as he fell asleep, and every morning when he left, you wondered how you had ever slept without Naruto’s arms around you.

All of your friends noticed the change between you and Naruto too, though no one said anything. They all exchanged curious glances with each other, seeing how easily Naruto touched you now and the way the two of you looked at each other just a little bit longer than you used to. But no one knew about your and Naruto’s extended sleepover, and so they all whispered among themselves, but said nothing about it to your faces.

When your parents decided to move back to the village that you had been born in, they gave you the option to stay in the leaf. You were only sixteen, but you were a ninja afterall. You were more than capable of making your own choices and taking care of yourself.

And of course you stayed. This was where your life was, where your friends were. Even more importantly, this was where Naruto was.

So when you told him your predicament, that you needed to find a new place to stay, he didn’t hesitate in offering to stay with him. You were sitting at his kitchen table when he said it, and he immediately began pushing things around the small apartment. “You see? We can put your bed here, and can move this over here…” He motioned to the space he had created. “It may be a little cramped, but at least until you can find something else?”

Of course your friends teased the two of you about your new living arrangements. Never when you were together. Everyone was insistent, desperate to be the one that got one of you to cave and admit your feelings for each other. For your part, you just smiled and said, “He’s my best friend.”

And that flew for a while. The same people that had been sure you and Naruto were meant to be began to wonder if they had it wrong all along, began to wonder if you and Naruto truly were just friends.

They didn’t know that you never got around to getting your own bed at Naruto’s house. That first night, you just shared his bed because you’d been doing it for so long. The same thing happened the next night, and the night after that, and the thought of getting a separate bed just didn’t seem that important. And anyways, you’d gotten used to sleeping by Naruto’s side. Naruto knew that if you got your own bed, he would just climb into yours every night.

You were only sixteen, but Naruto wanted nothing more than to spend every night by your side. He couldn’t remember a time in his life where he’d ever been so happy. There was so much on his mind all the time, the oncoming war, getting Sasuke back. And even with the chaos surrounding him, Naruto was at peace because of you. He had a confidence that everything would work out okay. He couldn’t imagine a scenario in which it wouldn’t.

It was the first time that Sakura and Ino had stopped by since you’d moved in that it was pointed out how unconventional your arrangement was. Sure, you both knew it wasn’t exactly normal, but it worked for the two of you. You didn’t see any harm in it.

Naruto was away on a mission when the girls had stopped by, needing to borrow something. When you let them in, they excitedly looked around the small studio apartment, wanting to see if and how you had changed Naruto’s place.

“Uh, where’s the other bed?” Sakura asked as you closed a cupboard, pulling out the tupperware they needed.

“Hm?” You asked, placing it on the table. “Oh, I haven’t gotten one yet. We usually just share.” You said it as if it were the most normal thing in the world. You’d shared your bed with Naruto so long, it no longer embarrassed you. You’d just never had a reason to mention it.

Sakura and Ino’s jaws dropped. They looked from you to each other, wondering if you were serious. You picked up on their shock, looking back at them sheepishly. “What?” You mumbled, feeling your face heating up.

“Are you guys, like, dating?” Ino placed her hand on her hip, looking at you expectedly. You shook your head.

“No, of course not. He’s my best friend! I just haven’t gotten my own bed yet. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal!?” Sakura exclaimed. “It’s a huge deal! You guys live together, share a bed together… you’re practically married!”

Ino nodded in agreement. “Sakura’s right. That’s a weird thing for two ‘best friends’ to be doing. It’s not normal.”

Sakura and Ino’s words rang through your head all day after they’d gone. Was it that weird? Sure, the whole thing had been nerve wracking at first, but now it was just part of your dynamic like everything else was. Of course you still harbored your feelings for Naruto, but you’d pushed them deep down, pretending they weren’t there in a bid to save your and Naruto’s friendship.

You were already in bed when he got back from his mission that night. He threw open the door, dropping his bag and sighing loudly. “Are you awake?” He called as he made his way to the bathroom.

“I am now,” You laughed, rolling your eyes as you heard the shower start. You yawned, your body tired despite how awake your mind was. It was a while longer before Naruto was finally ready to settle in for the night.

With a loud yawn, he dropped down on the bed beside you, stretching. “I missed this,” he said, turning over as he pulled the blankets over the two of you. He reached for you instinctively, a happy sigh leaving his lips as you cuddled into his chest.

But Naruto knew you better than anyone, and he could tell something was on your mind. “Everything okay?” He murmured against your hair, moments from falling asleep.

“Is this weird?” You asked him timidly, afraid to hear his answer.

Naruto froze for a moment before pulling away slightly, just enough so he could look down at you. “Is what weird?” He asked back slowly.

You shrugged. “Sakura and Ino stopped by today. They saw we share a bed and… I don’t know. They said it wasn’t normal.” You were afraid to voice the thought, but you couldn’t help it. The seed had been planted, and it wouldn’t stop growing.

But Naruto just rolled his eyes in response. “You’re gonna listen to them?” He asked with a small laugh. “What do they know about normal?”

“They said it was only normal for people that were, like, in a relationship. Not people that were just friends…”

Naruto was quiet, and you could tell he was mulling over the information, no doubt wondering--much like you were--if they had a point. He pulled away even more, and you could see in the moonlight that he was blushing. “Are we just friends?”

The words hit you like a freight train, knocking the breath straight from your lungs. You weren’t ready for this conversation. Things had been going so well, you’d been so happy and comfortable. You weren’t ready for things between you and Naruto to change, not yet. But now you didn’t have a choice.

“Do you want to be?” You whispered back.

The silence lingered, heavy and suffocating. You felt ready to cry. You loved Naruto. You didn’t want to keep it a secret any longer, but you didn’t want to lose him either. If he didn’t feel the same way… You didn’t know what you’d do. You couldn’t think of anything any more devastating.

Reluctantly, you brought your eyes up to meet Naruto’s brilliant blue ones. They were staring earnestly into yours, searching for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked. Slowly, shakily, he brought his hand up to your face, brushing your hair back. His touch was soft, barely there, and it sent shivers up your spine.

Finally, he leaned in to you, bringing his lips to brush against yours in a sweet, shy kiss. The motion was unsure, nervous. He’d been dying to do that for months now, and he had no idea how you would react.

Naruto’s kiss sent your head reeling. You’d always thought that kissing Naruto would send your heart racing, but instead it slowed, calming every nerve in your body.

When Naruto pulled away, he was wearing a grin that matched yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long…” He told you, stroking your cheek. You could only smile in response, pulling him in to kiss you once more

Naruto had gone his whole life touch starved and alone. Affection was so scarce, he hadn’t even known what he was missing.

Sharing a bed, sleeping next to you, kissing you goodnight. It wasn’t scary or unsure.

It felt like coming home.

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