#can you tell I’m still doing pottery in bed?

[claypigeonpottery]

this time the biting and the words are on the same side. so you can drink from it and people will be able to read it lol

(and no I didn’t just bite it this time lmao)

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Oh my god they were roommates

barbie dolls:lily Evans x you

word: 2.4k ish

summary: your roommate lily had a hard day so you treated her right

warnings: lily has a tongue piercing, you're called Gay by narrator (me), you suck girl dick, lily is trans I said so I'm right you're wrong (/j), noodles mentioned, lily cums in your mouth and you slurp that shit up like a 7/11 slushie, I got sleepily can you tell when, lily uses the toilet while your brushing your teeth idk if that bothers you just check out after they stop banging, I think that it you really just give lily some head and pass out, lily is a ceramic teacher

You had first been a little worried moving in with some rando, but within minutes you lost most of your anxiety. The longer you spent with your lovely roommate, you learned more and more about her. You two quickly became less roommates and more roommate-friends. Her name was Lily Evans. She had fiery red hair, a beautiful laugh, perfect posture, and extremely kissable lips. In a perfectly roommate-y way, you were probably in love with her. She was so kind and so smart. You could go on and on but you were on a time crunch. Less daydreaming, more cooking.

Lily had some particularly pissy clients today. One almost threw a slap of clay at the wall, a couple broke up while she was trying to teach them how to throw a bowl on the pottery wheel, a group of teenage boys asked her if they could make bongs, and someone had the audacity to try to mansplain her own profession.

Lily had called you while she was eating her lunch, telling you everything. You nodded along, giving her all the support. She hung up after her lunch break, you quickly jumped up to your feet and started scittering around the apartment. You did her laundry, folding it gently, and placing it into her dresser. You vacuumed and swept, took out the trash, went out and bought all her snacks, organized them on her bed, and began making her favorite for dinner.

You jumped slightly at the sound of her keys, turning around with the box of pasta like a deer caught in headlights. Lily stared at you, holding onto the strap of her purse. She stared at you blankly, looking between the box and your face. You felt underdressed. Still in your pajamas, while Lily was in her put-together outfit, with a few clay splotches.

“Hi.” You whispered. She jerked her head.

“Hi?” Lily hung her keys in their place, muttering and keeping eye contact as she did. “What are you doing?” You shrugged, glancing back at the boiling pot of water and simmering pan of Alfredo sauce.

“Making your favorite dinner.” Lily jutted her bottom lip out at you.

“That’s sweet,” Lily whispered. She sniffed at the air before turning back to you. “Smells like Clorox?” You nodded.

“I cleaned. And did your laundry, among other things.” Lily stared at you awkwardly.

“Why? Is someone covering over?” You shook your head.

“You had a hard day. I wanted to make you feel better.” Lily whined at you, looking close to tears. She quickly pulled you into a tight hug, crushing the pasta box slightly. You huffed, patting Lily on her back. You heard her sniffle. You tilted your head slightly, gently pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“I think I’m going to go cry in the shower now if you don’t mind,” Lily whispered, pulling back. You nodded. She left toward her room as you turned back to the pot, dumping the noodles in.

“Did you like buy all the snacks I like and drop them on my bed?” Lily asked. You glanced over your shoulder.

“yeah, I did do that.” Lily pressed her lips together. She nodded. Lily disappeared into her bedroom again. You continued making dinner. You glanced up at the sound of her slippers dragging across the floor. Lily had a new outfit and a towel in her arms, all wrapped up in her green robe. She stopped by the oven, placing a kiss on your cheek before leaving to the bathroom. You thought about how most friends didn’t kiss, cheek or otherwise.

You heard the water turn on, stirring the pot. You thought her lips on you more as you continued making dinner. You thought of them lower, on your neck. You thought of them on your shoulder as she pulled your shirt off. You thought them on your hip as she pulled the waistband of your pants down. You thought of them as she pulled your underwear down with her teeth. You thought her painted and chipped nails as she gently pulled your legs apart. You thought of her staring up at you as she kissed your inner thigh. You pulled the pot off the stove, taking it to the sink. You dumped it into the awaiting strainer.

You thought her hands gracing over your bare back with the sun shining through her curtains with small flowers embroidered on them. You thought of her holding onto your hand as you walked through the grocery store, trying to find what you needed to finish a last-minute baking project. You thought of her hands rubbing up to the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades, and back again while you fell asleep on the couch. You thought of bringing her lunch at her studio. You thought of braiding her hair into her nighttime pigtails with her eyes struggling to stay open. You wanted more than just sex with her. You wanted more than just friendship with Lily.

The water turned off, just as you were plating dinner. You were setting down your two plates on the small round table across from each other. You set out two glasses of water in Lily’s favorite cups. Lily came out of the bathroom soon after that in her pretty pj set. You both ate dinner, debriefing about the day. Lily thanked you a million times. You were able to brighten her moods though, her laugh bouncing off the walls. Lily helped you set the plates in the dishwasher. You both moved into the bathroom, brushing your teeth in silence. Stood around a single sink dipping your heads down to spit like the drinking bird toys. You sat on the closed toilet lid, digging in the bottom drawer for Lily’s comb and detangling spray. You ignored whatever she was doing over the sink, focused on trying to find the matching hair tie to the one in your hand. It matched her pj set.

After you found both hair ties, you left to the couch. You sat down, setting out her comb and detangling spray to the side. Lily joined you soon after, sitting down on the floor in front of you. You gently sprayed all her hair, before combing through it. As you moved through the motions, splitting her hair, and braiding the two parts, Lily told you about the conversations she overheard at her work. Just as you finished the second braid, Lily turned around. She smiled at you.

“I switched out my tongue piercing, look.” Lily opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. In the middle of the pink was a pretty little green ball. You nodded. You wanted to run your tongue over hers.

“ ‘s cute.” She nodded.

“Right?”

“We should make out sloppy so I can play with it.” Lily stared at you, a small grin pricking at her lips.

“What?” You shrugged. Lily tilted her head.

“I was just joking. you know, platonic validation and all that.” Lily sat up, leaning against your thighs.

“Cause, you know, if you wanted to-“ She trailed off. Your breath caught. You would’ve exhaled but she would’ve heard the uneasiness.

“Well, I mean if you’re offering.” Lily nodded.

“Oh, I'm offering.” You glanced around the room, now sitting in the silence of two roommates who are most definitely gay for each other. Lily pulled herself up onto the couch next to you. Lily paused a moment, staring into your eyes. Lily asked if you were sure. You couldn’t want something more. You pressed your lips to hers. You were quickly heating up, her tongue slipping past your lips as you pulled her up onto the couch. Lily straddled your lap, holding on to the back of your neck. She nipped at your bottom lip. You ran your hands up her thighs, squeezing at them. Lily seemed to enjoy that, grinding down into your lap. You let out a breathy moan. She muttered your name. You pulled your head back, staring up at her.

“I'm not having couch sex with you, my room is like four steps away.” Lily pecked your lips before standing and sticking her hand out. You latched onto it following her as she led you to her bedroom.

“Four steps too far.” You whispered, not really wanting her to hear you. Lily looked back at you and rolled her eyes. You were shoved onto the bed in seconds, Lily straddling you again. You brought her lips back to yours. Lily pulled at the hem of your shirt, breaking your kiss. She dropped the shirt behind her. You gently pulled at the bottom of her pajama shirt. Lily smiled at you, raising her arms. You pulled the shirt over her head dropping it off the edge of the bed. You trailed your kisses down her neck, leaving behind a few marks on her clavicle. You pulled one of her nipples into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around it as you pinched the other.

Lily whispered your name. You decided you wanted that sound to be engraved into your skull. You slipped your hands under the bottoms of her thighs. You flipped her over, her back hitting the mattress. You pulled yourself over her. Lily smiled up at you as you kissed down her stomach. You met her eyes as you dragged your tongue over the edge of her shorts. She nodded at you. You gently pulled her shorts down her legs before tossing them away. You returned to her stomach, kissing her underneath her bellybutton. When you pulled your face back, you could see her bulge through her thin cotton underwear. You lightly kissed it, feeling her hips jut upwards.

“hurry up with it, don’t tease me,” Lily whispered. You tsked, dipping your fingers into the band of her underwear and pulling.

“Isn’t that half the fun?” Lily quickly grabbed the nearest pillow. She swung her arm and smacked your shoulder. You pulled her underwear past her knees as she set the pillow back. She maneuvered her legs, helping you slip off her last layer. You flung the underwear somewhere over your shoulder as you leaned back down. You lightly blew air between her legs, seeing her stand up more. You gently pressed your lips to her tip, staring up at her. Lily groaned. You pulled her legs over your shoulders. You swiped your tongue over the bottom of her length before pulling her into your mouth fully. Lily moaned as you swirled around her tip. She dropped her hand to the back of your head. As you continued to bob your head, you slid one hand under her leg to massage her balls.

Lily pushed her head back against the mattress as you licked around her tip again. She squeezed her thighs tighter around your head. You moaned around her length. Lily muttered your name as she got closer. You pulled off her, kissing her tip. You dragged your tongue up the side of her dick before drawing her into your mouth again. You moved your head up and down faster, making her breath quicken. You kept your hand between her legs and your mouth on her cock as Lily got closer. She kept one hand on your head as the other trailed to her own nipple.

She tweaked it as she felt herself fastly approaching her climax. Lily jutted her hips up, pushing her length further into your mouth. Lily moaned your name under her breath as she came in your mouth. You swallowed, slowly pulling off her. You licked at her tip, catching the last bit of her cum, before swiping at the corners of your mouth with your thumb. You pressed your thumb into Lily’s mouth. She swirled her tongue around the pad before you pulled her into a kiss. Lily gripped your hips, pressing you against her. You stuck your tongue against hers, feeling her piercing. Lily moaned at the taste of herself. You fiddled at the piercing with the tip of your tongue. Lily pulled back, spit smeared around her mouth.

“Keep kissing me like that and we might have to go again.” You smiled and pecked her lips. You gathered her an outfit from her dresser. You soon after that pulled Lily into the shared bathroom. She used the toilet while you brushed your teeth. She changed into new pajamas before joining you at the sink. She started brushing her teeth as well. By the time you finished, you sat on the toilet lid, watching her. Lily was so beautiful, her moans sounded so beautiful too. As she was rinsing her mouth you felt a craving for something sweet.

“Ice cream is good aftercare right?” Lily spit out her water into the sink, looking over at you. She nodded.

“most definitely. And we could watch another episode of our show.” You excitedly nodded. Lily dropped her toothbrush into the holder.

“Roommates who also give head can cuddle on the couch, right?” you asked as Lily walked with you to the kitchen. She thought about it as she pulled out the ice cream and two bowls.

“Are we still roommates?” She whispered.

“my head game was so bad you're kicking me out?” Lily snorted as she scooped ice cream into the bowls.

“No I just mean, do you want us to be more?” You sighed. You shrugged.

“I think maybe that’s a question that I can decide in the morning when I’m thinking about something other than you.” Lily smiled sweetly at you, handing you your bowl. She gently kissed your lips.

“When are you not thinking of me?” You scoffed, walking behind her to the couch.

“Oh it's practically never, but it might be easier to make important decisions when your moans aren’t ringing my ears.” You whispered as took your first bite of ice cream.

“Are we on episode 7 or 8?” You rolled your eyes at her before informing her you were on episode 9. Eventually, you both finished your ice cream, setting it on the coffee table. You crawled into her arms, laying on top of her as she traced shapes on your back. You both fell asleep in the living room with your show on. In the morning you’d make hard important decisions, tonight you were just doting on Lily.

[changingplumbob]

Nishidake: Chapter 6, Part 2

Guess who's coming to dinner?

The doorbell was Luna!

Charlie: Luna! Hey, what are you doing here?

Luna: We agreed that we would move flat fam catch ups to your Monday so your work shift  didn’t get in the way

Charlie: We did?

Luna: Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re not a phone person. Kaori responded that it was fine

Charlie: Well come in, I guess I better find something to cook

Luna: Where’s Kaori?

Charlie: Did she not put in the… what do you call it

Luna: Group chat

Charlie: Right, that, she’s at work. She’s an astronaut now

Luna and Charlie head inside and Charlie shows Luna their new set up. Sensing it may be a while until food is ready Clover goes and has a nap on the dog bed. Rahul and Cassandra get here only slightly late. Lavina is still refusing to babysit Mercedes, Savannah and Viola at the same time since the three don’t get along so they had to drop Viola with Uncle Alexander. Devin of course was here fashionably early and is super happy about… something. I’m going to guess she’s super happy about her look because I still am.

Charlie: But why get your nails painted if they’re just going to be skin colour?

Luna: It’s about the experience Charlie, some of us prefer pampering to peddling

Charlie: I actually can’t ride a bike

Devin: *sing song voice* I’m here! Please, please, hold your applause

Clover: *barks* Shinny

Devin: Thank you Clover, you’re too kind. Hey Char, love what the watcher has done with the place

Charlie: It was rebate day so I guess Kaori ordered some stuff

Luna: Don’t mind her, she’s on a “let’s all believe in the watcher” crusade

Devin: I just think it’ll be easier for the bambinos if we’re on the same page

Charlie: Wait, did I add that spice already?

Devin: Please tell me this is going to be good, all they had on set today was chocolate cake so I starved

Luna: Schatz! Why didn’t you eat the cake

Devin: *sighs dramatically* If you eat the cake then you get frosting on your face and have to go back to make up and Rudolphus gets mad and gives you a lecture and then you have to recentre to get back into confident “I can totally kick bugs butt” mode. The whole thing is exhausting, far easier to get your sugar from leftover toddler dessert

Luna: I knew it wasn’t Joey who raided the cupboard

Devin: I was just trying some method acting for my pirate role in case this one gets good reviews. Clover gets it, sometime you just have to steal some good food right?

Clover: *barks* Right!

Kaori: How is the pregnancy going

Cassandra: It’s going slowly. I am getting more nauseous than normal though

Kaori: Do you think that could mean a boy? Or maybe triplets?

Rahul: *sighs* Triplets would be great

Cassandra: And how would I feed three babies with two breasts

Rahul: You always get engorged easy, you’d have plenty of milk

Kaori: Engorgement sounds painful

Cassandra: It is for a bit but so long as I don’t stop pumping cold turkey I seem to survive the pain

Devin: So this is… what

Luna: Tajine. Coming from North Africa the word itself comes from Arabic and further back Ancient Greece. Although some scholars believe the word itself is of Persian origin. It’s normally cooked in special pottery with a hat type piece that keeps the moisture in

Devin: *blinks* So this is… what? Cheat tajine?

Charlie: I resent that accusation

Devin: But Char you’ve got no hat piece

Charlie: Our matching hats are enough, trust the process. It’s a simple dish, I promise, it’ll be excellent. Totally befitting your hoity toity taste buds

Devin: *fake coughs* Refined *fake cough*

Charlie: That was the worst acting I have ever seen

Devin: Grazie

Charlie: Done! Now out of my kitchen

Charlie shepherds Devin and Luna to the table where everyone grabs a plate of food and sits down to catch up. They all saw each other recently at the Villareals but there are some topics you can talk about with children around, and others that you can’t talk about.

Rahul: I mean we already have some name ideas from the last pregnancies but we’re waiting for the ultrasound to tell us how many to expect

Devin: Luna and I have news actually. We’re going to look into getting a science baby

Charlie: Yeah? I think my sister is thinking of that to, but she’s not sure how safe it is yet

Devin: Well we can’t exactly use a plain old surrogate, the papers would lampoon me. And news would be bound to get out about Luna’s postpartum being the reason she wasn’t carrying

Cassandra: It wouldn’t get out from us

Devin: Emisia would probably leak it

Luna: You say that but you know if it got out she and Max would likely commit murder

Charlie: I forgot evil runs in both your families, you two are such a match. So Devin, how’d I do

Devin: With the cheat tajine?

Kaori: Cheat tajine?

Rahul: How do you cheat tajine?

Devin: You deny it its hat. But Char I will concede, this does taste excellent

When the meal is finished Kaori clears the plates.

Cassandra: I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t finish

Charlie: Don’t worry about it, I made far too much

Kaori: You’re pregnant so you’re allowed to be weird about food

The group laughs and begins to get up and sort out heading to their own homes. Cassandra is a bit wobbly though so Rahul makes sure to check on her.

Rahul: Are you okay my darling?

Cassandra: I think it was a bit spicy for me at the moment

Rahul: If you want on the way back to Henford we could swing by the donut place with Viola

Cassandra: If we go without them the twins will sulk for days

Rahul: I’m willing to suffer their pouting to keep you well, remember, you’re meant to be eating for at least two

Rahul goes to take another look at the indoor garden and Luna checks in with Cassandra.

Luna: Will you find out the sex of this one

Cassandra: We don’t usually, we like the surprise. Whoever is in here should find no pushback from Viola for sharing a room either

Luna: I mean… were your girls really that bothered by a third kid?

Cassandra: Yes. They hated the idea of her and disliked her when she arrived. Truth be told I'm still not sure if they like her. But that doesn’t mean your twins will be mad! Please don’t change your mind on my account, I couldn’t stand the scolding from Devin

Luna: *laughs* Don’t worry, I think Alfred and Rilian would like a baby sibling, they seem more independent than your girls were

Cassandra: I think I still have bruises on my leg from Mercedes holding on so tight

The women laugh and Charlie and Kaori see everyone out. All in all, a good catch up.

Previous ... Next

[0alanasworld0]

Atay (Hakim Ziyech x reader)

Request: Hi please can you write something for ziyech I missed him and I missed ur writing (it could be something inspired by ziyech making tea w nayef and zouma!)

Warnings: none

“YES!” Hakim exclaims, quickly sitting up as he looks at his phone. That unfortunately brings your tired, cranky morning self up with him and you groan as you lament the fact that you were having a nice, quiet night in until it was rudely interrupted.

“Hakiiiiiiiiiiim!” you whine as you shift yourself so your head is laying on the pillow again. His eyes widen and he quickly turns to look at you, his concern overriding any urge to make fun of your current state.

“Sorry, love.” he says quietly and you huff in contempt.

“What could possibly have caused you to nearly throw me off the bed?!” you ask incredulously with a scowl and he chuckles, flicking your cheek.

“I’ll have you know, I’m not on the lineup!” he cheers, dropping back down to hug you and you can’t help but invite the warmth.

“That’s amazing, love! When does trai- wait what?”

“I’m not playing tomorrow?”

“Is that not a bad thing?” you’re completely baffled by his cheerful tone. These past few weeks, it was this very situation that had been upsetting him beyond heartbreak, he loved to play!

“I’ve got better things to do with my time.” he shrugs, tapping away at his phone with a smile on his face. You narrow your tired eyes, trying to read any signs of upset, even small ones but nothing. His eyes are bright and sparkly, his thumb is twitching in the way that it always does when he gets excited. He’s genuinely happy.

“Hakim…” you repeat yourself, placing a hand on his cheek and you successfully gain his attention.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” he smiles softly at your concern.

“Love, without meaning to sound bitter, this team sucks. There are so many things I could be doing rather than offering myself up as a scapegoat.” he explains.

“What’s brought all this on?” you wonder, a smile appearing on your face and concern melting away.

“When you have every important person in your life telling you the same thing day in and day out, it’s bound to make sense eventually.” he winks and you roll your eyes. He was right, you had all been telling him words to the same effect but none of you believed that he would ever actually take them to heart. But you’re grateful because he deserved to know his worth and not cast it in doubt every time his hard work went unnoticed and unappreciated.

You peer over at his phone out of curiosity and see a familiar name on the screen.

“Oh no…” you smirk, lifting your head to get a better look at his face.

“Okay this is nothing in comparison to my previous ideas.” he reassures you but you remain unconvinced. Free time was a rarity so when he was blessed with it, he just couldn’t help but go all out. He had to find something crazy to do: pottery painting classes, renaissance fairs, escape rooms, you name it. Nothing ever quite beat the balloon ride but he never ceased to find new and outlandish things to do.

“I just think that a day in with a couple of friends will be a worthwhile use of our time.” he shrugs, still looking to your eyes for any protest. He laughs when he sees your somewhat shocked expression. He knew it wasn’t usual behaviour for him but what could he say? He was just feeling a little teamsick and the closest thing he had to that team was a man he saw as a brother.

“It has been a while, would be nice to catch up, I suppose.” you contemplate and you can see his smile growing from the corner of your eye as you look into the distance. Your eyes drift to the frames sitting pretty on top of the dresser. Alongside the many photos of the pair of you on your various excursions lie the team photos. Photos from their field trips around the Qatari malls, the historical sites in Morocco. Of course there were the photos taken after their matches. Their faces all lit up with a mixture of joy and shock and disbelief. Those were his absolute favourites because they captured moments he could never have foreseen at any point in his life before that. He still struggled to believe that it happened.

He’s looking the same way and he immediately starts beating quickly as he relives the memories. He’s zoned out but he comes back to at the sound of his ringtone.

“C’mon! No time to waste!” he claps his hands before leaving the bed, much to your dismay. You groan out, flopping back into the warm sheets, still not ready to move.

“Sweetheart…” he taps your cheek and you roll your eyes, hauling yourself out and shivering at the cold morning air making contact with your skin.

You both hurry to get ready, opting for more comfortable clothes since you were likely spending the night with your friend. It seems that the pair of you aren’t the only ones to be excited because the whole car-ride there, you’ve both been receiving text after text from Nayef asking you what's taking so long.

Hakim doesn’t even have to knock the door before it sings open and the pair of you are engulfed in a bone-crushing hug by the man himself.

“I was starting to think you cancelled on me!” he tuts and Hakim slaps him on the back of the head as Nayef leads you to the living room where you see yet another friend already there and patiently waiting. He looks up from his phone, eyes lighting up at the sight of you and Hakim. He jumps up from his seat, going straight for Hakim for a bear hug that seems to knock the breath right out of your husband.

“It’s been way too long!” Kurt shakes his head and you can’t help but be in awe of the interaction. He simply didn’t get enough of things like this. The crazy adventures were great but sometimes he needed the simpler things that would bring him back down to earth and keep his heart and mind at rest. A reminder that he did have a little bit of back home still with him.

After a couple minutes of silent thinking, Nayef opts to get the dreaded uno cards out which had you a little concerned. You knew that despite being some of the loveliest people on earth that they could get a little… passionate about uno. But you decide to stay silent about it this once because it was also some of the best, cheap entertainment you could get your hands out.

The boys don’t disappoint as barely 5 minutes into the game Kurt has to go and change into a different shirt after your dear husband throws a cup of water over him and Nayef almost breaks the buzzer after being dealt some of the worst cards of all time.

“You know what! I’m really feeling some tea right now! How’s about we turn on a movie and I make you all some?” Hakim suggests, the tension in his voice is still very apparent from the game that really couldn’t have gone any worse for him towards the end.

“Please, as if you know the first thing about Atay!” Nayef laughs and Hakim gasps as he notices you giggling at him. You couldn’t help yourself, his cooking left a lot to be desired.

“Is that a challenge?” Hakim raises an eyebrow, while you and Kurt look on at the scene rolling out in front of you.

“Ha! How could it be a challenge when we know who’s going to win?” Nayef laughs mockingly and with that they’re both stomping over to the kitchen. The rest of you remain still for a second to process whatever’s just gone on. From one friendship-breaking event to another. Hakim stomps back in and he looks at the pair of you as if it's obvious what you’re supposed to do.

“We’re gonna need some judges, aren’t we?” He pushes you both into the kitchen with a shake of his head.

“Please try not to murder each other this time!” you sigh and they both look up with surprise.

“This man is my brother! I would never even think of such a thing!” Nayef gasps, placing a hand on his chest in offence. Hakim gives him a little side hug and you would be more convinced by the display if you hadn’t sat through as many of their tantrums as you had already.

At first, things start off well for both of them. No one spills anything, or scalds their hands. There hasn’t been any bickering over utensils and ingredients courtesy of Nayef always keeping a fresh stock of everything he could possibly need. Even before the competition began, you knew who you were going to pick as your winner. It was very simple for you. You’re content with that choice until you see something out of the corner of your eye. You don’t think you believe it so you quickly look up to what Hakim is doing.

As soon as Nayef and Kurt realise, they too break out into a fit of giggles while Hakim smirks, cool as you like. You think you counted 5 cubes of sugar but it could have easily been more, you feared.

The rest of the tea-making session is without any more heart attacks and runs smoothly, albeit the inevitable little spats between Nayef and Hakim. Apparently having the best spoon was a vital part of the experience and it seemed that neither would let up until they found a bunch more of the same spoon tucked away in the back of the cutlery drawer.

Once they are sure they have everything ready, and after a few more minutes of trash-talk between the competitors, they hurry over with the trays with you and Kurt trailing along excitedly. Hakim always flat-out refused to ever order Atay from the restaurants so it was quite rare that you had it, although you were both extremely fond.

You get comfortable as they begin to pour out the tea, the delicate scent of the mint warming up your senses. You get a little too excited before remembering that neither of them are particularly capable culinary wise and your love had a crippling sweet tooth.

As they both attempt to lift the teapot on the pour, their lack of experience becomes all the more apparent as their aim misses the cups and splashes onto the tray. You supposed that they were at least very enthusiastic about the whole thing.

When they finally both manage to fill two cups each, they attempt to show some class by gently placing the cups in front of you both, bowing their heads before taking their own seats.

You would have been more convinced by the display if you hadn’t seen Hakim and Nayef bicker over spoons or the eventful uno game before that. Nonetheless. You decide not to make a comment as you and Kurt grab your tea cups at the same time.

You take a precautionary sip, careful not to burn your tongue as you sample the drink. You’re pleasantly surprised by the taste. It's the perfect strength to warm your body up and the taste of the mint is refreshing on your tongue but not too overpowering. You easily finish the cup before taking Hakim’s cup. Again, you still know who your winner is but you humour the petty contest anyway. You glance up and you can see that he’s nervous. Only slightly, no one else would notice but you had spent far too much time with him to not be able to read him like a book.

You treat his cup the same as Nayef, one small sip to get a feel of it and it goes about as well as expected. You can barely taste the mint over the overwhelming sweetness, much like his coffee. One sip was more than enough but you recall the nerves on his face and remember the task at hand. You can almost feel your teeth hurting but you power through and drink it with the same, if not more enthusiasm. Its taking everything in your power to hold back a grimace because the sweetness was almost sharp.

You don’t get another chance to look up at Hakim as you’re drinking but you best bet that his are dead set on you. And he can see that you’re struggling in spite of your best efforts which causes a wave of irrational nerves to overtake him. He knew this didn't matter at the end of the day but still.

By the time you’re both done, Hakim keeps his eyes on the ground, twiddling his thumbs while Nayef looks up at both of you with a proud smirk on his face. He was within his rights to feel that way since his tea-making skills far surpassed his cooking but you had other plans, not quite ready to give him that satisfaction.

“… so?” Nayef asks expectedly and Kurt takes the opportunity to give his verdict first.

“Yeah its kind of obvious…” he trails off, looking at you expectedly and you shrug nonchalantly.

You both go to give your answers at the same time. One expected and the other… less so.

“Nayef” “Hakim”

“Wait WHAT?!” Nayef exclaims, Kurt and Hakim equally surprised.

“I like my tea sweeter.” You calmly justify, a small smirk painting your face as you take another sip of Hakim’s concoction.

“You may as well eat a whole sugar cube!” Nayef yells, you definitely don’t regret your decision now. You look up at Hakim to see him quietly laughing at the situation unfolding.

“Seriously? That’s your final verdict?!” Kurt clarifies, equally surprised but less hysterical than Nayef who’s currently burning a hole through your temple with his gaze as you look to Kurt, nodding surely.

“Yep.” You assure, making sure to pop the p to further irritate Nayef who rolls his eyes.

“I guess its a tie then!” Kurt sighs, shrugging his shoulders and Nayef goes to argue his case again but is thankfully interrupted by his temporary housemate.

“MOVING ON…” he announces, grabbing the TV remote and opening up Nayef’s endless film catalogue. Of course, still sulking but Nayef is eventually able to move on and Hakim lifts himself off of his seat to take his place next to you. He throws an arm around your shoulders and you lay your head on his and the chosen film begins to play. You decide it's only fair that you let the sore loser take his pick after the robbery that just occurred. No pushback from Hakim either although you had watched the particular movie so many times that you practically had the screenplay memorised but you refrain from making any comment.

By the time the end credits roll, it's completely dark out and you and Hakim take that as your sign to leave. You say your goodbyes and Nayef delivers a particularly firm handshake to you on your way out. Again, expected and perhaps deserved.

The car ride home is fairly quiet because babysitting 3 man children was quite the exercise and you had almost completely ran out of energy. Ever the gentleman, Hakim takes it upon himself to carry you to the house once he’s parked and he somehow manages to get the door open with you tucked safely and comfortably in his arms. He gently places you onto the bed, pulling you to sit upright so he can get you into your night clothes. He allows his fingers to ghost over your most sensitive parts as he goes about it, enjoying the way it sends a shiver down your spine while you scowl at him.

Once he gets into his own nightwear, he hurries to join you under the covers, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you into your chest which you happily cuddle into. One of his hands plays with your hair while the other draws smooth circles on your back and you can’t help but sigh out in relief and pleasure.

You yelp as you suddenly feel a small pinch at your side.

“Hey! What was that for?” You whine and he rolls his eyes, still unable to bite back his smile.

“You’re a little liar.” He puts simply and you look up at him, confusion apparent on your fsce s you gaze into his deep brown ones.

“You and I both know that that amount of sugar in my drinks is barely palatable for you. Why on earth did you pick me?” He wonders out loud and you laugh.

“Eh, who cares.” You shrug.

“You’re my husband, you’ll always be my winner no matter what.” You struggle to hold back a laugh at your cheesy words and he narrows his eyes at you. Within a second you’ve borh broken into a fit of giggles.

“The look on Nayef’s face was too good to miss, you know that.” You say as you attempt to catch your breath.

“I know but at the cost of how many cavities?” He jokes and you tuck your head back under his chin. He can still feel you laughing against the soft skin of his neck and smiles at the tickling sensation.

The exhaustion does finally take you over completely and you let out one last yawn before muttering a soft “I love you,” before falling asleep on his strong chest.

“I love you more, sugar…” he whispers. Barely giggling at his stupid little joke, being careful not to jostle you around too much and eventually the eventful day hits him too. He falls into a content sleep for the first time in ages, you nestled in his warmth and hopefully having dreams as sweet as his own.

Hello, loves! It’s been a hot minute but I’m finally gonna be rolling out my fics and getting back to working on all your requests. Of course I had to start with Hakim because he’s a favourite amongst everyone and I’ve been stalling on this one for the longest. Thank you all for being so kind and understanding about everything and I hope u enjoy!!!

[thatgayash]

Wrote this in google docs (btw I know it won’t make sense so I’ll copy and paste the separate doc that has all the world info n stuff):

      Chapter 1:

    Hizuki looked up into the sky that was littered with stars. Even though the sky always looked like this at Lunes Islands, she never got tired of it. The beautiful stars reflected right back into her eyes. Her mother standing beside her, grinning at her daughter’s childish look, took a sip of her dusk tea before looking back into the sky.  Hizuki’s mother was always busy at her pottery job, so she doesn’t get to have as many moments like this, side by side, grinning at the stars that grinned back. 

    A wild spirit ran across the grass, making it sway with it. It seemed to be an animal spirit, long rabbit ears with a small puffy tail, dancing across the land with its legs.

     “When will I ever grow a bond with one of them…” Hizuki murmurs, turning her gaze to the spirit. 

       “Be patient now, dear, I didn’t fuse with a spirit until I was 19!! No need to rush, and you don’t need a spirit to feel happiness!!” Her mother assures her, ruffling her hair with affection. “So just focus on the present, the stars. We don’t get many moments like this.”

       A sad sigh leaves her mother’s mouth as her grip on her tea cup tightens. Hizuki’s mouth opened to say something, but then shut in frustration. Silence filled the windy air. The two stood there for a good 10-15 minutes before her mother said, “Let’s go inside, love…it’s a bit cold. We could do this another time.”

     She ushered Hizuki inside the wooden house, shutting the door behind them. Another time… She always says that. But she’s the only one making the bucks here, there’s never  another time. 

     “Y’know maybe you can go over to uncle Milo- isn’t it always fun seeing him as a blacksmith?” Her mother tries filling the silence, an empty smile on her face. 

       “I…guess so…” Hizuki mutters, taking her shoes off. “I’m going to bed early, good night…”

        She stares at Hizuki, watching her daughter enter her bedroom, the cracking shut. A small frown appeared on her face. Lola, her spirit, flew up to her, nuzzling her cheek. She lets out a small sigh, petting the small spirit bird’s head.

—— ——

    The sunlight entered Hizuki’s window, peeking through the blinds of her window. Groggy, she sat up, stretching her arms while yawning. She glanced into the window, noticing her mother’s bike was still in the driveway… but wasn’t she supposed to be at work…? Worried, Hizuki got out of bed, walking downstairs. Lola sat, perched on top of the couch before she noticed Hizuki, chirping at her frantically… Hizuki couldn’t understand a thing as certain spirits can be understood verbally only by their user. All she could tell was that something happened, and it wasn’t good…

    “Where did mother go…?” She asked the poor spirit quietly, not wanting to make Lola any more anxious. 

     Lola flew up to the map of Lunes Islands that was hung up on one of the walls in the living room, pecking a certain location on it, Canine Cove. Lola looked like she wanted to say something else, but couldn’t as Hizuki couldn’t understand her. 

[blue-eyed-cutiepatootie]

red knuckles

wc 1800

established destiel, light angst, dean winchester’s birthday

Cas is acting strange.

Cas is always a little odd, but usually Dean loves that about him. And in the last few years they’ve been in a really good place.

Until Dean started noticing Cas coming home with bruises he didn’t have that morning or scrapes he definitely didn’t get from crocheting or working at the library. He’s been coming home from extra pottery classes and immediately jumping in the shower.

And Dean’s glad he’s exploring a new skill. Glad he’s making more friends.

But it feels like he’s hiding something.

keep reading below or on AO3

Cas is always a little odd, but usually Dean loves that about him. And in the last few years they’ve been in a really good place. 

Until Dean started noticing Cas coming home with bruises he didn’t have that morning or scrapes he definitely didn’t get from crocheting or working at the library. He’s been coming home from extra pottery classes and immediately jumping in the shower.

And Dean’s glad he’s exploring a new skill. Glad he’s making more friends. 

But it feels like he’s hiding something. 

Dean notices Cas' red, chafed knuckles as they’re getting ready for bed one night.

He catches Cas' hand. "Hey, what's this? What happened?"

Cas doesn't quite meet his eyes as he simply gets into his side of the bed. He shuts off the light and gets comfortable.

"Oh, I must have just knocked my hand against something. Or maybe it's that new lotion from Sam. It's not as protective as the kind you buy."

Dean softens a bit. "Here, I have some in my drawer," he says, rummaging around for the container. "Aha."

Cas allows Dean to apply the lotion and thanks him with a kiss. They settle in for sleep, Dean pressed against Cas’ front and Cas’ arm curled around Dean. Soon, Dean feels his breathing even out. Once Cas is asleep, he lets the heaviness pull him under, but something still seems off. How do you accidentally knock all of your knuckles red?

In the morning he notices blisters.

“-ean. Dean, it’s your turn!”

Dean looks up from his Fresca at the Catan board, which looks completely different and he has no idea who has what resources and who needs ‘em. Benny, Garth, Ash, and Keven stare at him worriedly. Well, Kevin just stares.

“Sorry, guys. My head’s just not in it tonight.” They usually have a game/movie night on the last Saturday of each month, but two days ago Benny texted and said they were going to move it up to celebrate Dean’s birthday. Dean had protested, saying they didn’t need to rearrange their schedules for him but Benny insisted. So here he is. Cranky and worried, trying not to ruin game night.

With a glance to Benny, Garth decides they should call it and Ash takes the win. Everyone cleans up the game and disperses to get more snacks before reconvening for a movie, Dean’s choice. Benny catches Dean in the kitchen, getting another soda. 

“Dean, I can tell something’s wrong.”

Knowing Benny won’t let him get away with just shrugging it off, Dean explains Cas’ weird behavior. 

“And he’s at another pottery class tonight. He never goes on Saturdays.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.” Benny squeezes his shoulder.

Dean narrows his eyes, “So you agree, it sounds like something is going on?”

“No, no, I didn’t say that!” Benny steers him back towards the living room where Ash has the menu for The Fellowship of the Ring pulled up. Garth and Kevin are already in the two armchairs so Dean settles in one corner of the couch, hugging a throw pillow to his chest. 

“Here we go!” Ash says as he pushes play and flops onto the other end of the couch next to Benny. “Try to stay awake for this, Dean-o!”

Garth tosses some popcorn at Dean, “Aw this is one of his favorites, no way he’s falling asleep.”

Dean can feel Benny’s eyes bore into the side of his head as he resolutely stares at the opening title sequence. 

“Yeah, it’s not even 8 yet,” Kevin chimes in. Dean doesn’t believe the kid even sleeps at all.

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

As Frodo declares he’ll take the ring to Mordor and the fellowship is assembled, the first disc ends and Ash gets up to change it, Dean stands too. “Guys, thanks for all of this, I really appreciate it, but I’m gonna head home.” 

Everyone starts talking at once.

“Dude, you can’t leave mid-movie!”

“I haven’t even brought out the birthday pie and ice cream!”

“We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet, cher.”

“Bess made an apple pie just for you!”

“C’mon, you’re not that old, yet. Benny’s, like, a thousand years old and he’s running circles around you.” They all glare at Kevin, who still hasn’t looked up from his phone.

Dean looks around the room at his friends and can’t help but think the one person he really wants to spend time with is slipping away.

“Sorry, guys. I’m just in a mood today.” He starts moving towards the door as they all call out goodbyes and happy birthdays. Benny follows him and grabs his elbow before he can close the door and hands him the apple pie.

“Dean, I’m sure everything is fine.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it’s Cas.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, grimly. “And it’s me.”

Benny lets him close the door.

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

Dean closes the front door a little harder than he should and shrugs his coat off. He's hanging the car keys up when the floorboards creak down the hall. He swings around, hand reaching for his pocket knife, and sees his husband frozen outside the gaming room that hasn't been used since Jack moved out. Lights on. Another voice softly calling Cas' name.

"Cas?"

Cas flounders, running a hand through his hair before wrapping his arms around his middle protectively. Protective from what? Dean tries to settle the fear rolling through him. Surely he imagined the voice.

"You're home early," Cas says, finally. 

"Yeah, I left before- you said you had a class tonight." 

"I did say that-" 

"Why is the light on in there? You never go in there unless Jack or I drag you."

"Dean-" a sneeze interrupts him.

Dean pales. Cas has someone over. Cas is hiding someone. Then, Dean notices the sweat on Cas' skin. His flushed face. 

“Cas,” Dean gulps, “who else is here?”

Cas looks even more guilty. He turns back towards the game room. “Helen, you can come out.” 

A woman who looks vaguely familiar steps out, dressed in dusty overalls and a flannel. Seems Cas has a type. 

Dean desperately tries to make sense of everything. The sneaking. The lying. The woman clearly dressed in work clothes holding a toolbox. Anything could be in there. 

"Dean, you remember Helen from my pottery class?"

He nods, voice lodged in his throat. He remembers hearing about Helen a lot. Cas was at her house just the other day... and last week… because she has a throwing wheel... and they don't have space for one…

“What’s going on?” Dean can hold it together until she leaves. He can. He will. 

Helen glances between the two men, visibly uncomfortable. “I’m gonna-” she gestures toward the front door.

Cas’ eyes jump to her as if he forgot she was there. “Of course, let me-” Cas leads her to the front door. 

Dean stomps into the kitchen while they have a whispered conversation. He puts a new filter in the coffee pot. Opens the jar of decaf coffee. Wishes he still had that bottle of whiskey hidden behind the baking supplies. Scoops probably too much coffee grounds into the filter. Can feel Cas fidgeting in the entryway while he fills up the carafe with water and pours it into the coffee maker. 

“Dean, it’s not what you think.”

He punches the ON button and spins around. 

“Oh? So you haven’t been lying to me and going over to a woman’s house instead of pottery class?” 

“Well, technically-”

“Technically? I’m thinking some pretty dark things here, Cas, so just explain what the hell is going on.”

Dean hasn’t seen Cas look this small since Jack moved out. It takes some of the wind out of his sails. 

“I think you should just come see.”

Cas starts walking to the back of the house. Dean hesitates before following. He reaches the doorway beside Cas and freezes.

“I’ve been working on this for several weeks, mostly at Helen’s so you wouldn’t see. I asked Benny to plan a game night for your birthday so that I could bring everything over and surprise you.”

Dean steps into the old gaming room and takes in Cas’ handiwork. What used to be a mostly empty room with a tv stand and some old bean bag chairs was now a very cozy… study? 

“Benny was supposed to keep you until nine, at least.” Cas says, hovering in the doorway.

Two comfy looking armchairs sit on either side of the window, both with foot rests. A small table sits between them with one of Cas’ plants and some coasters. Two of Cas’ crocheted blankets cover the backs of the chairs. 

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t really in the party mood.” Dean continues to take in the room. There are two tall bookcases on one side of the room. Deeper shelves for records on the other. Next to that, a record player. 

“Since Jack moved out this room has just been a reminder of what used to be. I wanted to give the space some new life.”

"You did all of this?"

“I brought all of your books and records out of storage. I know you keep your favorites in the living room, but I thought it was a shame to keep everything else shut away. Sam and Eileen bought you this refurbished record player".

Dean turns shining eyes to Cas. “And Helen?”

Cas finally steps inside the room. "Helen also does carpentry. She helped me build all of these shelves."

“So, that’s why you started having all those mystery scratches and bruises.”

Cas nods, “I felt bad misleading you, but I wanted this to be a surprise.”

Relief wells up inside Dean. He’s never been happier to be proved wrong.

"Is this your crochet supplies?" Dean asks, inspecting the last set of shelves.

"I thought it would be nice to have a space we didn't have to tidy or worry about when we have company over or babysit. Mary and Joanna's toys are taking over the living room." Cas pauses, trying to catch Dean’s eyes. “What do you think?”

Dean sinks down into one of the chairs and buries his face in his hands. “I thought you were leaving me.”

Cas takes his face in his calloused hands and gently lifts it, thumbs wiping away tears. “Dean, I’m so sorry.” He pulls Dean into a hug and rubs his back. “I would never.”

“I know. I don’t deserve you.”

“No, but you have me anyway.”

“The room is awesome. I love you.”

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

There are two armchairs, but they’re squeezed into one, giggling as they try not to spill their (decaf) coffee. Dean gently presses a kiss to each of Cas’ red knuckles. Dean gently presses a kiss to each of Cas’ red knuckles. They melt into each other as Like Real People Do by Hozier plays softly across the room.

"I feel bad, we should invite Helen over for dinner to say thank you."

"Yes, and her wife."

A delirious laugh bubbles out of Dean. "And her wife."

[reyesstrand]

weekend wip game

thanks for the tag @welcometololaland (and thanks for thinking up this game lola!) @alrightbuckaroo @strandnreyes @theghostofashton <333

rules: list your wips below (if you only write one fic at a time, feel free to include future wips/ideas!) then answer the following questions. then, tag as many people as you have wips (or more).

1. wip list:

active wips: food fic

future wips: pottery au; aftermath of the solving of gabriel’s murder

2. which of your wips is currently the longest?

food fic, mainly because it’s all i’m working on ajdnskdn

3. which wip do you expect will end up the longest?

food fic will span from 1x05 to tarlos’ honeymoon, so likely this one

4. which wip is your favourite/the most enjoyable to write? why?

when it isn’t giving me a headache, definitely food fic. i love getting to look back at canon and extrapolate on moments we’ve seen (and include scenes we didn’t) focused on the idea of food as a love language. however the pottery au probably has the most little random snippets i’ve deposited into my notes app that bring some serious joy

5. which wip do you find the most intimidating to write? why?

pottery au, simply because full-on alternate universe fics are kind of out of my wheelhouse, even though i love reading them

6. which wip do you experience the most self-doubt about? why?

probably the gabriel murder aftermath fic, because i have a very clear idea of the sort of tone i want to develop through the story and worry about perfecting it

7. which of your wips will you seek out a beta/sensitivity reader for? why?

food fic will have a beta (if they still want to even though they offered truly six months ago 😭😭😭😭😭😭) and i’m grateful because this i’m pretty sure the fic will be 20k+ and having a pair of skilled eyes look it over will be so helpful.

8. have any of your wips been struck by the curse of writer’s block?

…….have i mentioned i started food fic six months ago 🧍‍♂️

9. which wip has your favourite oc? tell us about them?

i’m very boring and unfortunately don’t have any at the moment!! hopefully some will come to fruition with pottery au once i actually try tackling it

10. which wip is the sexiest?

food fic, because cooking is sexy and tk and carlos agree and also because it has the only real “explicit” sex i’ve written. HOWEVER….i would be amiss not to mention pottery au, where the moodboard centred around this photo:

11. which wip is the angstiest?

probably will be the gabriel murder aftermath fic….shes gonna be moody!!! but also food fic has a lot of the boys and their unhealthy coping mechanisms. so both?

12. which wip has the best characterization (in your humble opinion)?

i’m going to say food fic only because i’m writing from a place of knowing the entirety of canon so far, and can use that to go back and write them as their baby season one selves. also, since it’s fairly introspective for both of them, i think this is my clear answer

13. which wip has the best scene setting (in your humble opinion)?

i’m….going to say all three, in their varying states of completion. it’s something i feel most comfortable with as a writer and i think it’s something i tap into easily, and i think each has examples of this

14. which wip have you worked the hardest on?

food fic. it’s kind of become my baby

15. which wip do you have the highest expectations for? why?

….food fic, only because i’ve been working on it for so long and it’ll be the first thing i post since may. so. i feel a lot of pressure to make it “right”

16. do you dream about any of your wips?

only if i’ve been writing/plotting right before bed

17. do any of your wips have particular complexities that your other fics don’t?

hm….i guess food fic only since it’s truly following the whole development of a relationship, and trying to capture where they’d be emotionally at a certain moment in the grand scheme of things is complex. pottery au also fits here, though, since i know it’ll need some planning that i don’t always think about, since i tend to write canon compliant as opposed to au fics

18. which wip is the funniest or has the most humour?

i don’t think i’m very good at humour 😭😭😭 but i think most light-hearted, maybe, would be pottery au? food fic has some bright spots too, though

19. do any of your wips contain outside povs or a deep dive on a character other than the main ship? how are you finding that process?

ooh okay, so there’s at least one instance of this in food fic where we see owen observing the boys, and it’s something i love tapping into because thinking about owen with his boys always makes me 🥺🥺🥺 like he’s just so happy for them and sees their love for what it is and i enjoy whenever i can explore that, even if only for a few paragraphs. i think gabriel aftermath will explore more of gabriel/his relationship with carlos in SOME capacity, though i truly haven’t even explored it yet. it makes me excited though!! introspection is my favourite <3

20. tell us one thing we don’t know about one or more of your wips.

hmmmmmm i’d say that food fic was originally a 5+1, then a 7+1, but i couldn’t figure out what the “+1” would be/how i would phrase it, and i decided i liked connected vignettes following the trajectory of their relationship better. also that seeing a singular photo of ceramics on pinterest inspired the pottery au….tarlos brainrot will always take over at the most random times!

((sorry for not following the rules here)) i’m no pressure tagging @carlos-in-glasses @birdclowns @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @paperstorm @heartstringsduet @rmd-writes @louis-ii-reyes-strand @carlos-tk @redshirt2 @tailoredshirt @beautifulhigh and open tagging whoever would like to play <333

[casitafallz]

LTRL AU | New Pathway Arise

“Go away.” Isabela groaned as she heard a knocking on her blinds. “I’m tired.”

“Bullshit.” Fran’s voice echoed, “Can I come in?”

Isabela sighed deeply, wondering why Fran was coming to see her now…surely she had work to do: at the clinic. “Fine. The chains off the hook.”

She had about a minute before she heard the door go and the creaking of her bedroom door hinge, her head rose, peeking above her pillows to see Fran in the doorway, a shawl over her shoulders and looking well for the day.

“You look like crap.” She spoke, “Get dressed, freshen up and let's go back to my place and tell me all about it.” and just like that, Fran swooped away like a boss which left Isa staring after her for a moment.

Isa groaned into her pillow. Going to Fran’s house meant Mateo… but that also meant going out in public. This was just as bad as before after the town found out about what happened; the stares and whispers crawled up her spine. She had been kicked out of her place with the looms… and had been laughed out of trying to get back into pottery to fill her day to replace her lost work and so far…hated life.

Not to mention her breasts had gotten sore again so staying in bed was really, really nice and gave her a good reason not to get out of it. Fran wouldn’t take no for an answer if she was already here and clearly motivated about something.

Begrudgingly, Isabela forced herself out of bed, groaning at the sensations across her delicate chest as her dress fabric settled. Her hair was loose but messy, so she quickly crushed it through and put it back into a braided bun, pulling a few strands loose though she paused as she grabbed her bag and found her potato in it, cooing happily before she opted to take it—just to freak Fran out.

Fran was outside, leaning against the wall though straightened up when she saw her though her face fell at the moment, her gaze dropping low. “You know what, wear this.” She shrugged off her shawl. “You’re looking a little tight around the middle.”

“I’m barely showing.” Isa hissed, her voice quiet but Fran already had the fabric around her shoulders.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not.” Fran fired back, “You’re seven and a half months at this point.” She reminded.

Isa huffed, though gently adjusted the shawl to cover her mid-section at the very least, and followed as Fran lead on. Though she felt the prickling feelings of eyes and voices but she kept her focus on her friend as she led the way down the familiar streets and thankfully, into the Lopez home which it was otherwise empty.

She dropped the shawl over the arm of the chair as Fran vanished off to the kitchen. Mateo seemed to resting on the top of Fran’s bed, a few crib sketches bedside him and he looked to be writing something out by the time Isa entered the room.

“Is your house usually this empty?” Isa called, her hand coming to Mateo’s shoulder, smiling softly at him as he went and hugged her middle.

“Yep, Most of the family is out during the day, Mateo here is able to have more freedom to go to the shower, loo, or get a glass of water.”

“She has to feed me otherwise missing food in an empty house brings up questions.” Mateo sighed, “Still, could be worse.” He patted her near-flat belly, “How’s the baby?”

“Fine, aside from giving me sore breasts again.” She made a note of disgust, sinking carefully into his side. “I’m not happy about that.”

“I am,” Fran called, appearing with a tray of juice and a plate of snacks that she set down then took the biggest cup of juice and the biggest cake slice which seemed to be another power-move for being the third wheel here.                                                                          

“Thanks.” Isabela couldn’t help the dry response.

“It means your body’s preparing for milk for the baby. In some cases with your type of baby-growing, some women can’t produce milk and have to rely on others to provide.” Fran shrugged, licking off the ice cream top of her cake.

Isa’s displeased face didn’t change much; she still didn’t like it. She accepted the cake slice though tucked in with some reservation to not let anything drop onto her shirt. Mateo was less dignified

“So, Mateo has an idea and he wants your input,” Fran decided to announce after a moment.

“You couldn’t wait until we finished?” Mateo asked in exasperation.

“I could. I didn’t.” Fran shrugged, not looking up as she drove the spoon into her pudding. “You know I love to get to the fucking point.” Her spoon clicked against the ceramic to add to her statement.

Mateo’s hand rubbed at Isa’s belly, coaxing the slight movement of the baby—at least, Isa thought so; it all still felt so fluttery. “I’ve just been thinking about…my situation. Be being found isn’t an ‘if’, it’s a case of ‘when’.”

Isabela hummed. That was a good point; after that, news of him being found would no doubt spread. “Maybe I could try and get a house downtown? We could live there? I was thinking about moving out of Abuelita’s house after the baby’s born anyway. They’re not young so I don’t want to keep them up at night and there’s no way I’m going back to Casita.”

Mateo hummed, the tone turning a little off. “I was thinking that… maybe we could…head out of Encanto entirely for a new place to settle?”

Isabela paused. “You mean… leave the Encanto?” She was hearing that correctly?

Mateo nodded, his face morphed into something more concerned, “I’m not safe in the town. I could be safer in Casita but you’re not. The baby…isn’t safe in Encanto either as well when my sister finds out about him.”

Isa couldn’t help but stare at him for a long moment; her mind churning over the news though she could see the logic in it perfectly and there was little to nothing holding him back if he wanted to leave; the paper he was writing on, she could see he was writing a list of things he would need…. He was well into planning.

But…she wasn’t entirely unchained to be free to leave.

Her…family, as a mess as it was still…still there. Abuelita had passed along a gift from Abuela but she had shoved that into her sock draw because… she didn’t want to feel tempted to open it; to see what Abuela could have given her.

Isa wasn’t blind to see it was Abuela attempting to reach out but…she just wasn’t ready. Nine, almost ten months of hell, that what was in the most part deserved for what she did to Mirabel.  Her parents… well they looked to be pulling their shit together but again, Isa felt very disconnected from her mother. A mother who only seemed to care about at her getting hurt and the baby. Sure, she could tolerate her presence but… she wasn’t sure. She probably could trust her father and Mirabel more about the baby but… well, she could guess all the focus was to the baby than mending bridge with her. Same with Luisa no doubt. Mirabel, she…could trust with the baby.

Leaving meant cutting off of those ties. They wouldn’t get to see him born or hold him when he cried or…spat up on them. She…couldn’t seek support from Abuelita or her father when the baby wasn’t sleeping and kept crying…. Could she do that to Abuelita and Abuelito?

“You okay?” A soft nudge brought her back. Mateo’s healing, bruised face swimming into her line of vision.

Isabela swallowed thickly. “You’re…asking me to leave my family behind?”

“They’re not much of a family if they’re setting a jaguar on you,” Fran spoke, “I know you said bridges are still there and I respect that that is happening but…you need to think on what you need and what your baby needs. They’ve had weeks to get their asses into gear and they’re too slow about it.”

Isabela looked worried still. It was a huge commitment.

“Just… I’m asking right now for you to think about it, Isa.” Mateo spoke, “It’s harder for you but… I can’t stay.”

Isabela grasped his hand, “I know.”

“I… just give at least two days to think about this but I’m planning on leaving in three day’s time.” Mateo continued, “You don’t have to come with me and we don’t have to go away forever but… right now I need to get out of here. I want our son to grow up safe and away from my sister.”

“He doesn’t say that to guilt you,” Fran pointed out, breaking a little more of the mood, “but if you chose to go, then I want to tag along.”

Isa looked up at her in surprise. “You?”

“Why are you two so surprised?” Fran scoffed into her juice with a light-hearted edge. “I want a little more excitement in my life than just to be a receptionist and a housewife popping out babies. If anything, I bet my family will be glad to rid of me given I’m hard work and don’t follow their rules for women” There was a lingering sour edge to her tone.

Isa exhaled deeply, “I can’t… I need to—I’ll talk to my Tio.” Surely he would be able to see if she had a good future or bad if she left or stayed; there was too much to...consider now.

“Take your time, Isa.” Mateo lifted her hand from her plate edge, kissing her knuckles. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

 -

 Pepa felt oddly calm and assured as she headed through the town through the little flower pot of Hydrangeas and geraniums Sara had given her that she was sure would brighten up her room. Her winds had knocked over her last one off the side after getting into a minor argument with Felix about Camilo’s punishment ending times.

He was still pushing for 6 months, but that was too long. Pepa knew her boy would see some error in his actions sooner than later but she just had to help him see. Jumping straight into punishments wouldn’t help him see that and the longer he was put under them, then he’d think they wouldn’t love him.

While the whole family was all… bustling with happiness about Isa’s baby, she could see that the attention needed for the rest of the family wasn’t spared. She knew it wasn’t the baby’s fault for that but… Camilo needed the family’s support to show him the right way. Certainly not using his brother’s jaguar and more spatial awareness.

Still, perhaps she was thinking too insincere; the idea of a new baby in her arms made her feel warm; something so small and innocent. She felt like that way when she first held Isabela as a newborn, then her own children… how could she not?

But a baby from this situation should never have happened.

Pepa could feel the cloud crackling over her head with mixed emotions but she paid little heed as she stepped through the doors of Casita.

“Where did you get those?”

Pepa jumped with a flash of lightning, turning around to see her mother standing by the steps, a quizzical expression on her face as she eyes the pots.

“I bought them.” Pepa lied, “I broke the last ones last night,” which wasn’t a lie so she shouldn’t be called out on that. “Since Isa’s not doing flowers, there are very few places that actually sell them now.” She expanded, moving forwards to pass her and go to her room now that her morning rain was done.

Abuela didn’t move. “Which family?”

Pepa side-stepped her without an answer and carried on past her.

“Is it from Marquez, Pepa?”

Pepa sighed heavily, “Why does it matter where I bought these from? They’re beautiful flowers and I want my room to smell nice.”

Fortunately, her mother didn’t say much else before Pepa slipped it into her room and set it down beside her bed. However, Pepa didn’t linger in her room, her steps guiding her back out before her knuckles knocked onto the familiar door.

“Camilo?” Nothing echoed back. Pepa opened the door a little to peek her head through before she realized it was empty.

There were few places he could go at the moment so she scurried downstairs, glad to not run into her mother again on her way, and stepped into the kitchen where she saw her husband, Agustín and Camilo with all the cold-room food spread over the surfaces and all three working in cleaning it down.

“Ah, Camilo, there you are.” Pepa smiled at her son, “I see you’re busy.”

“I hate cleaning,” Camilo grumbled, from his place inside. “It takes so long!”

“We’re halfway through,” Felix spoke, clapping lightly on his shoulders. “There was a milk spillage that dried everywhere.” He added to her for more context.

“I don’t mind washing up and organizing but do I really have to get on my knees and do this? It doesn’t need three people to scrub our moldy milk juice” Camilo wrinkled his nose. “Ma, can’t I do the laundry instead?”

“Isabela had to do this as well, and so do you,” Agustín spoke up. “You’re not getting out of it because you don’t like this particular part.”

“Laundry does need to be done,” Pepa interjected with some consideration, “I still have to show you effective ways to clean out particular stains.”

“No,” Felix spoke, appearing fully out of the cold room’s door with a firm expression. “You’re not pulling him away when he’s busy here.”

“There’s a lot to go through, I could do with the help.”

“You know what, I think I can leave this in your capable hands,” Agustín spoke, pulling off his cleaning apron and handing the sponge to Camilo who wrinkled his nose, begrudgingly getting back to it.  Agustín carried on with a high head towards the washrooms without looking back

Pepa inhaled deeply but she supposed she had asked for that.

Agustín was already unpacking the light washing into one of the large bowls by the time she entered, though one was empty aside from some blue fabric soaking which was unusual; she fully expected to see it full of darks soaking. Her eyes searched around before he held out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide to her.

“Here, you know how to wash blood out of cotton better than I do. You can clean what’s been soaking for the last hour.” He said, pushing it into her hands.

Pepa eyed the material for a moment before she set it down on the side and reached for the fabric. The water was cool though the skirt she pulled out was heavy as she laid it out; the blood stains stood out against one side which…didn’t look like menstrual blood like she expected.

Her eyes lingered over the fabric, though she knew this wasn’t Mirabel’s skirt; that was a different shade of blue, nor was it Luisa’s; this was far too slim around the waist despite feeling very similar. Certainly wasn’t Julieta’s….

“Agustín, is this Isabela’s?” Pepa asked confused, why would they have her washing? She lived in town.

“Si.” His answer was short, folding up his sleeves with a sense of surprising sureness for simply washing clothes.

“Why is it here?”

Agustín didn’t answer as he stirred the fabrics around.

Pepa thundered a little in annoyance but slipped her hand underneath to spread out the gaps before suddenly her hand seemed to reappear through a tear. A few claw-like tears, she quickly spotted.

“What the—“ she paused as she realized what skirt this was. “Seriously?” She pulled her hand free, turning to her brother-in-law. “That skirt?”

Agustín looked back to her but was not unphased as she felt the clouds roll in more intently above her. Her glare was not without reason. Why was Agustín doing this to her? What was there to gain? Was this a guilting tactic? Vera Rojas was far better at getting blood out of material if Mirabel’s shirt was anything to go by the last couple of weeks; he had purposely got this for her.

“What’s the problem?” Agustín asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Why am I to wash this and not your mother?”

Agustín gave her a long look, “My mother is busy trying to support her work and making sure Isabela doesn’t open up her wounds or risk her unborn child. Our timetables are far more open than hers.”

“No, it looks like you’re trying to tell me something,” Pepa spoke back, her hands coming to her hips. “Passive aggressively, might I add? Which is a weird look on you, Agustín.”

“We tell you directly and you’re not listening.” Agustín spoke, “So now, you have to see the evidence of the damage your son inflicted on my daughter.”

“Oh!” Pepa thundered in outrage, “It wasn’t meant like that, Agustín, He didn’t know what was happening! He acted in self-defense”

“and almost killed my daughter and grandson in the process,” Agustín spoke, his voice raising which shocked Pepa into silence as he straightened up off the washing tub side. He had never raised his voice like that; not to her. Not like this. “I know you have your reasons and excuses but I’m not in the mood for hearing them again. If you don’t clean the shirt and skirt, I will have Camilo do it. Your choice.”

Pepa stared at him, gobsmacked for a moment before she felt the rain. “That’s hardly fair. Isabela did far worse—”

“Oh? You’re going there, I see.” He folded his arms across his chest, “At least she had the decency to know where the line was with what she did! You think Isabela got off lightly in all of this?” Agustín closed the gap between them with a dark look. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation. You’re being a hypocrite for favoring Camilo and being there for him when you abandoned Isabela for what she did.”

Pepa thundered again, her eyes burning with tears but she felt the flicking of the winds pick up through the room at the very targeted sting of his words.

“This is not a competition of whose kids hurt the other the worse. It never was but at the end of the day, those in the wrong need to understand that lives could have been lost. Mirabel could have died that day…. Isabela could have died. Her unborn son could have died.”

“C-Camilo could have died,” Pepa spoke, if a little weakly.

“Yes, he could have.” Agustín agreed, “but she saved him. She didn’t deserve to be mauled… but she’s well aware of the dangers that live in Casita.”

Pepa swallowed thickly, “It’s not dangerous here!”

“I won’t explain why you’re wrong, but don’t be surprised if the closest thing you get to see of that baby is that vision. She sure as hell won’t let Camilo around him….why should she allow him with you?” Agustín raised his eyebrows at her once before he dropped his arms and left towards the kitchen again, leaving her fuming after him before a crack of lightning hit his former spot.

  -

Bruno eyed the latest vision with a light frown, not discontent but with some relief as he was glad to see the more stable future come more into fruition but… he knew it wasn’t going to be well received by his family.

Still, he knew this was their best-case scenario right now

The tablet showed a donkey-driven wagon, three figures masked by hoods and darkness with a torch through the dense jungle with a map on one hand of the figure in the front of the wagon. The wagon was loaded with supplies, mostly cloth covered, but there were plants and small barrels that looked to be full of food and fruits. A familiar spinning wheel was caught in the light behind the driver. Isabela’s spinning wheel.

Leaving the Encanto.

[thegreatobsesso]

sleep, scatter, urge, paint, & involve

sleep

Callie POV

Peter shrugged off his sweater jacket thing and held it behind her, leading her hands toward the holes. Then she let him put one of her freshly-sweatered arms around his waist to steady herself as they stumbled back to her room.

“I have a secret,” she sang as he helped her get her key in the magic-hole. “And I’m not gonna tell you what it is, no - matter - what.”

She pinched her fingers and pulled them across her lips, like a zipper.

“That’s fine,” he said, smiling at her as the wards pulled back. Why was he smiling at her? She was a hot mess, all smudged make-up and unsteady feet. “Tomorrow you can tell me all about the secrets you’re not gonna tell me.”

He came in just far enough to supervise her descent into bed, and she fell asleep without taking off her shoes.

scatter

Callie POV

Peter had mastered this, the mounting pressure screaming inside her. He was strong.

She was nothing but a loaded gun in a shaking hand.

She let it go.

For a single, glorious second, she became magic and she was sure it killed her. She was the white-hot center of a nuclear blast that flattened the foliage in every direction. Birds screamed and scattered.

She was alive. Still in pain. Slumped over in the ruined grass, staring at her cold hands, still crackling.

If dad was right, then she’d surely go to hell, but it would also mean Peter was already in heaven.

urge

Callie POV

This, the small room at the end of an undecorated hall, must be the spare room Riley told her she’d be using. It was an afterthought of a space, containing only what was needed for someone to sleep there and be reasonably comfortable - a small bed with a khaki-colored comforter, a night stand, and a dresser Callie knew was empty without checking.

The whole place had the look of a model home, inoffensive to all and interesting to absolutely no one, so long as you stayed out of the basement.

She resisted the urge to pull up the carpet and check for trap doors. It was hard to believe they were going to break the preconceived notions of magic and science here, in some partially assembled page of a Pottery Barn catalog.

paint

Riley POV

When the glass above their heads shatters, Riley is one with every shard. She catches them before they hit the ground, the dewey night air rushing into the room while the hooded Swordsmen shield their heads. She wastes no time demonstrating her control, spinning the broken glass into an impressive whirlwind, finally settling it into the same shape she sees pinned onto their robes.

It almost makes her nauseous, the massive sword hovering underneath the vaulted remnants of a ceiling - it’s predictable, melodramatic, and worthy of Callie Ray.

It pays off. Their awed stares, the way she hears his name scattered across their whispers, confirm she’s done her job well. Her hands sting as she flexes them, holding her sculpture in place; she’s moving like she’s finger painting and every flutter is agony. Beneath the magic, she’s irritating her burns. She keeps her expression even.

Adrian’s hands come down on her shoulders, steady, proud.

“The heir of Nauxial,” he says, his voice cutting through the electrified din.

involve

Simon POV

“The obelisk,” Wayland managed, reading between the lines. “We need to destroy it.”

And he understood - the obelisk had their scent now and Adrian could use it to send his power out across miles.

But what could they do? He’d like nothing more than to destroy the godforsaken thing but they didn’t have the strength. Callie was straining, her arms trembling as she held the plant’s arms around too many assailants to count and Fallowhyde wouldn’t be down for long. Every one of their guards was trained to resist his control and he was most certainly not trained to break through when someone was trying to fight him off. Wayland had overextended, Janan was injured, and Lucinda was in such a shaken state he knew she wouldn’t get involved in the fray if her own life depended on it.

“We need to run,” he breathed, pulling himself up and reaching out to Janan. “Now.”

I have been consumed by work stress lately, but today is Saturday and I feel like myself again. Doing this was really fun. :)

Tagging @fearofahumanplanet, @winterandwords, @avrablake, @chauceryfairytales, and @jamieanovels with the new words sing, home, name, wild and blink 🥰

[worldsover]

Like a Trifling Little Thing ft. Jiu

words ✦ 5565

genres ✧ if The Curse of the Spider weren’t so cursed (maybe a little bit); praise kink; ruined orgasm; trying new positions; rough, exhausting, blindfolded, tied-up breeding; crazy, needy mommy!Jiu

Thanks to @ggidolsmuts, @v1ntrix, @panchatea, and @existslikepristin for your feedback. Happy birthday to Mommy—I meant Mommy—I meant Mommy—I meant...

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Minji had this pillow that wasn’t very unusual. Normal. Rectangular. Soft. There are certainly more sentimental souvenirs scattered throughout the house. Picture books, pottery projects, paintings you made together.

That she doesn’t use the pillow for sleeping wouldn’t even be that notable for most others; everyone has an aunt who’s gifted them a bland throw pillow, never used except as decoration.

A smidgen of specialness still existed in Minji’s pillow, however, when you consider the number of times she masturbated on it. She made the pillowcase wet with various juices: a stream of drool from her lips whenever she edged herself, a profane clear spray whenever she drank a bit too much water but prioritized her climax first, a lewd cream whenever her womb was feeling warm and tingly. The pillow doesn’t just smell like her the way her sweaters, her sheets, her plushies do; it’s absolutely infused with her carnal scent, and you wouldn’t trade it for any other pillow in this world or the next. You washed it thoroughly (after you smelled it thoroughly), but after enough misapplication, the stains became permanent though subtle.

Sure, you could fuck Minji any number of times in a row but she was like one of those small mammals with the big ears that multiplied like crazy—that is, no amount of dicking down could really satisfy the sex rabbit. So she rubbed her needy pussy on every surface, from pillows to doorknobs and the corners of desks, as well as fucked it with every toy and non-toy. You expected to have to wash the cucumbers regardless. The difference is that none of the phallic objects Minji found or bought amounted to your size and warmth and virile payload.

Everywhere else, Minji was truly the loveliest woman on Earth. One might even mistake her for wholly wholesome, and it’s a fair mistake to make if one were to catch you and Minji out on a sweet picnic date in the park, out shopping for more dog toys for Cherry with a buoyant smile, or out making colorful macarons at a bakery.

On this bed, Minji had her adorable moments of playfulness. But with your hands happily tied behind your back by that ruined pillowcase, your eyes happily blindfolded by her used panties, she doesn’t seem so cute. You’re just like her pillow—a tool to use.

“Baby boy,” Minji says cutesily, “Mommy is going to make your cock extra hard with a show. That way you can last longer for Mommy and keep unloading your seed inside my hungry womb until I’m done. Okay?”

Your reply is “mnphgrblh.” While one pair of panties is around your eyes, the other pair is stuffed in your mouth. That one is fresher; you can tell because a couple moments ago, even though you had your eyes blocked, you could hear the slick noises of Minji’s pussy. Plus, the pristine flavor of her nectar is too obvious. Not as if Minji was trying to hide it. 

There are a couple flaws in her plan. 

First, as Minji was fingerfucking her cunt, her lips were wrapped around your soft dick, and the self-made pleasure turned Minji into her usual drooling disarray; that unending flow of saliva combined with the incipient blissful hum around your erection already solidifies you to a throbbing extent. You’re not certain you can get any harder.

Second, you spit out the panties in your mouth.

“Mommy, I can’t watch you with—”

“Oh, right!” The arrhythmic clicks of a person running in heels when they don’t have that much experience with it. Minji pulls the makeshift blindfold off of you. “I’m sorry, I’m so…”

“No, no, it’s okay.” You want to pat Minji’s head. She’s the mommy in the relationship but sometimes, she can be a bit dim and clumsy—that makes you want to fill her womb even harder. To take care of her. To tell her how good of a mommy she is. Minji is still cute here. But then your words fill Minji’s eyes with a fiery determination and the last layers of sweetness are peeled away. 

Minji goes to her phone and plays Something by Girl’s Day. She’s in the right attire for it too. You’re in your birthday suit—well, it’s her birthday suit now given that you don’t even own yourself, let alone your clothes, for her special day. (In fairness, that’s most days.) Meanwhile, both her black long-sleeve top and her long black skirt hug her body’s luscious form too well. A slit in the skirt shows off one of her svelte legs, then your eyes trail down to her tall heels, maybe three or four inches. So that’s what’s making her waist so shapely. Your jaw drops, your breath stolen. Minji is absolutely ecstatic at your desire for her, but again, she refocuses as the music starts, sitting on the floor.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Then, when the song goes “Drop it”, Minji does just that. She’s on her hands and knees, bending her back into a familiar arch. That’s usually how her body writhes in the middle of a doggystyle orgasm—you have the many climaxes of Minji cataloged in your mind from all the times your cock has made her cum. None of the moves of the song stray you away from the dirtiest memories you’ve made with her. Every sway of her hips side to side, each downward bend tracing the length of her leg with her finger, that iconic bounce in the chorus, they all remind you of the diverse intimate activities you've done with Minji.

Minji’s wrung your cum out of your cock with her hands in a movie theater; she’s drained your balls with her lips in a back alley; she’s clenched your shaft with her cunt at a beach. Now that you think back on it, was there any public place you haven’t defiled? There was that bar, the airport, your car, a café—hell, she gave her own parents an innocent smile on Christmas day as if you didn’t just anally creampie her a few minutes ago in their bathroom. She has fucked you in every position her fit and flexible body could manage, used you in every room of your house, yet inexplicably, a simple seductive dance is all it takes to do exactly as Minji foretold. Your best hypothesis is that this performance is distilling all those memories into a mouth-watering event.

Even if you can’t measure it, what feels like a lack of blood flowing in your brain must be going to your erection—with a swing of your dick, you could cut a skyscraper’s steel beams. Your whole body is wound tight. Your head is spinning.

Near the end of the song, as Minji does the chorus choreography one final time, she trips over herself. You get up from the bed immediately, but Minji shakes her head and waves.

“No, no, stay there.” After Minji catches her breath, she’s pouting. "I'm sorry, baby boy. Mommy's not used to heels."

You try your best to let go of the tension in your muscles. "It's okay. You look so sexy anyway, Mommy. You’re always right. That got me so hard.”

She stands up, but her heels snag on the floor yet again, making Minji wobble as she rises.

“Do you need help balancing, Mommy? I could give you somewhere to sit if you'd like."

Sometimes, you can’t tell when Minji is faux mad or mad mad; the same growl that comes out of her mouth either way. “You’re always trying to get Mommy hot and bothered. It’s supposed to be the other way around!”

You gulp.

This is all part of the choreography. Not the dance, but the overall choreography of sex. The foreplay, the tension. You have to make mistakes. 

How else would Minji punish you?

That doesn’t stop you from gulping.

Minji pushes you onto the mattress, making you feel fully trapped with your hands behind your back. She takes off her skirt, still keeping on the long-sleeved top.

“You want to get Mommy all wet and needy to cum? Fine then.” Minji starts by straddling on your lap, but she drags her ass up your torso. She weighs down on your chest, knocking a puff of air out of you. “Make me cum with that pesky mouth.”

Your gasping naturally leaves your lips wide open, your tongue out to receive the oxygen it needs.

Minji deems that perfect. She doesn’t need to say it; you can see the mischief on her face. As if you didn’t expect Minji to wrap her thighs around your head and nudge her pussy against your face. Regardless, despite the exhaustion in your breaths, you keep your welcome mouth open and push your tongue against her slick slit as she begins to ride you.

“Mmph! Mmm! Mm!” You’re not a singer, but you know Minji adores the hummed notes against her core. You’re not a dancer, but your tongue’s moves in Minji’s pussy are certainly up to par with her own deftness. While she grinds her crotch into your face, you work your mouth like a vacuum cleaner, sucking up every bit of juice. Her thighs rub against your cheek while her breasts jiggle under the black top. 

“Mommy doesn’t care if you can’t breathe. You don’t need to breathe anyway. I know you. You just need to slurp up all of Mommy’s yummy juices.”

Minji’s hands wander from tugging at your hair to groping the muscles in your arms before curiosity gets the better of her: She grasps your cock tight with one hand. With how her digits knead and massage your cock, it’s inevitable that she twists her torso and looks back. Her legs follow in rotation until your only sight is the full extent of the roundness of her ass. If you’re deprived of the impeccable sight of Minji’s face heated with lust, you can find solace in the supple flesh suffocating you.

The manual clasp of your cock never ceases; in fact, now you feel both of her hands stroking, one on the top half of your shaft focused on your cockhead, and one on the bottom half rolling around. If only you can watch her elegant fingers performing their magic, but again, you’ll settle for the blissful sensations. 

When you feel Minji shifting around once again, you’re not entirely sure exactly what she’s doing—apart from riding your face and drowning you in nectar—but then the ambiguity diminishes as her familiar hot breath bounces off your dick. To confirm that she’s leaning down in a sixty-nine position, she lifts her ass for a moment, giving you a show of her pouty lips an inch from your cock.

“Fuuck, your cock is twitching like crazy. No, no, I have to, I need to, just, just lemme taste your pre-cum again.”

Not that Minji needed or ever cared about your response. She was going to take a greedy lick of the slight flow of pearly beads from your tip no matter what.

“Should I give it another lick? Ahh.” Minji’s tongue knows you far too well. That she knows the perfect spot, the perfect swiping motion, drives you mad. That she only does it once before she rolls over giggling turns your brain into coarse mush.

You can only stare at her catatonically as Minji bites her fingers.

“Aww, baby. Am I messing with you too much?” Minji sticks out her lower lip in mockery. “How sad.”

Minji sits up and returns to her spot on your thighs. Your house is only a second home for Minji; your lap is her true home with how often she’s on it. However, instead of her usual frantic aligning of your cock toward her cunt, she patiently grinds her pussy lips against your thigh and your shaft. You can’t believe it. When Minji’s hole is this creamy, when she’s worked herself up this much, your dick is inside of her before you can blink and it isn’t outside of her until you’re both asleep. Yet here she is, one deliberate roll of her hips up, dragging herself a glistening trail along your length, then back down.

The particulars of how Minji stimulates you don’t worry you too much. Even without your hands bound, you’re bound anyway by her blazing gaze. While you’re near motionless save for the shuddering sighs, Minji reaches behind herself, and you feel that experimental hand seeking your ballsack underneath. She rolls your balls between your fingers, taps on them, lets her fingernails rake against the skin.

“Ngh. So heavy, so tense, so full,” Minji says. “I can just imagine them twitching around in my mouth while my tongue swirls around the bottom of your beautiful cock.”

By their very nature, your testicles are sensitive, so you can’t help but moan at her grip, just a touch rougher than you can handle.

“Mhm, I feel that. The sack is pulled tight, all that sperm backed up in there. Just begging to shoot out. Begging. Beg. Beg for me.”

“Mommy, please. I need to cum, I need to cum so bad, please Mommy, your pussy lips feel so good on my cock, your hands so good on my balls. Mommy, you’re so perfect and so good at milking all my load, I need it so bad, I’m just a needy little boy for Mommy, please!”

And the choreography continues in words. No practice needed when Minji pulls the raw truth out of you with her constricting warmth, brain optional for the automatic response. As desperate as your voice can get, it can’t possibly be as desperate as your body, every part of you imploring to let you climax. You’re trembling. Opening your eyes is an impossible burden. Your dick is spasming. 

Minji scoots up to your stomach, knocking some wind out of you, from her weight and from the sudden revocation of her touch. 

“Ha. Too bad,” Minji says. The only consolation you get is the coarse sensation of her fingernails scraping from your tense chest to the edge of your jaw, and you want to say something, anything because you just need her touch and you’re so sorry but you need to—slap!

You’re cumming and while you know exactly when that started to happen, you’re not sure when (or if) that’ll ever end. All over her asscheeks and her back, you spurt pathetically. Despite the lack of any actual physical stimulation, your fresh load keeps shooting, your cock throbbing on its own.

Scooting back down to your thighs, she cleans up the seed from your crotch, from her sticky back with her hands.

Minji’s hearty laugh unnerves you, especially when it becomes a frown.

“Tsk. Wasting this precious semen when it could’ve been going in my womb. Just because you creamed my pussy yesterday doesn’t mean you get a break, mister.”

Minji licks up all the semen from her hands, looking more like a little pet than your mommy.

“You always give me the biggest loads when you know your delicious cum is going straight into my cervix. Maybe you can turn my torso into a canvas, or maybe you can feed me enough yummy seed to quench my thirst for a week, but none of that is ever going to compare to a beautiful creampie.”

Already, her words retrieve some hardness from your cock again. Minji does the cutest little clap when she notices.

“Are you sensitive, baby boy? Should we just stop this and go to sleep?”

You don’t hesitate. “No, Mommy. I want to feel your soaking wet pussy embrace my dick.”

“Really?” Minji strokes your cheek.

Nod.

“Okay. If you say. Mommy will be really careful with your cock,” she says but she can’t even hold back the dumb smile on her face in the middle of her sentence.

You’re about to be ruined.

Perfect.

“I saw this position that I had to try out.” Minji turns around. You wish you could knead her buttcheeks, but your hands are yet restricted behind your back. You could even do nothing but stare at her ass all day long; however, Minji springs into action, pulling your right knee up to bend your leg. “See, I really like grinding on your thigh. B-but, I neeeed your cock inside of me too, and I saw this position and it was just perfect!”

“Is there anything I have to do, Mommy?”

“Just stay right there and let Mommy do the work.” 

Minji straddles your raised leg with a thigh on either side. Again, she’s grinding against your thigh, but this time, your cockhead threatens to penetrate her. She’s holding onto your knee for support as she starts to rock up and down, pressing her vulva against your upper thigh. With each up and down, she dips lower and lower, swathing more and more of your cock inside of her. You’re not even fully hard yet. Just the tip alone is enough to make you reel, but then she drops. Half your length disappearing becomes most of your length gone—and then her ass is planted on your crotch while she’s glossing your thigh shiny with her juices.

“Oh, yes!” Minji exclaims.

You want to express your own contentment—the plush grip of Minji’s pussy will do that—but her other hand, which was on your chest for leverage, moves to your mouth to cover it. Your body protests instinctually, your tongue lashing out, but you take a quiet breath through your nose before holding it in—that’s just what Mommy would want. In addition, it’s this lack of air that instantly brings your erection to rock solidity inside Minji again.

“You came first before Mommy? Bad boy.” Minji pulls her hand away from your mouth, and you’re almost forlorn that you can breathe instead of asphyxiating for her. Fortune has it that her hand is idle, not that you ever doubted. A strike to your left cheek opens your half-lidded eyes.

"Mommy, sorry. Sorry, Mommy."

“See? You’re the one who should be the silly whore here. Dumb slut. It fits you so well, baby boy. Just like how my pussy fits your cock so well.” She’s still thinking about one little trip?

“I, ah, I-I never called you that and I was just making sure you were okay, Mommy, and you’re not, you’re not, you’re—”

No slaps, no scratching, no choking. She growls, and you’re silenced. More than silenced. You’re in a state of limbo, a low ambient high brought about by Minji’s thick thighs squeezing your helpless dick inside her warm folds, by her ass bouncing down into your waist which coaxes virtually empty grunts, all while you feel sore from your orgasm just moments ago. Sometimes, her ride on your cock isn’t so reckless, though that’s only because she’s dragging her pussy against your upraised thigh.

“Or maybe you are gonna fuck Mommy brainless, aren’t you? This cock is gonna turn Mommy into a bumbling slut like you.” She giggles.

You’re never sure how to fathom Minji’s bedroom personality. But you’ve learned by now that the uncertainty was principal to your steadfast love of the woman in all aspects. One moment, you’d be thrown around with a definite momentum as if you didn’t tower over her in stature; the next, you’d pin her down in some compromising fixed position while she begs for your cock to go deeper. The more energy that Minji would exhaust, the closer the session would tend toward the latter. But right now, you’re both flagging. You want to respond to her, anything other than the pathetic whimpers, to ask her for a moment of respite.

When you don’t know what to say… “I love you, Mommy.”

After Minji shudders, her grin grows. Her smile that turns her eyes to precious crescents is jarring, admittedly even crazy considering she's being drilled by dick, but the ecstasy must be getting straight to her brain. Still, you can't get used to the unusual juxtaposition of wholesome felicity painted on her face against her ass rippling, her tits bouncing, her pussy leaking thoroughly around your cock. 

Minji turns around into cowgirl, the twisting sensation impossibly pleasurable for your shaft, wet and soft insides shrouding you with perfection. She leans down to suck at your neck, and your head whips back into the mattress. With a touch of pressure from her teeth, she leaves sharper marks in addition to the bruises on your sensitive skin.

Despite all the times you've fucked Minji, you've learned there's no such thing as the right rhythm. Not that she’s altogether arrhythmic, but she'll ride faster than her heart can beat for a minute, then slowly shake her hips and snuggle your cock the next minute. Even on a good day, she can be fickle with the amount of force, the speed, or the exact position of her limbs. Her complete control of riding you cowgirl becomes a fifty-fifty split: half the time, Minji is doing her usual unbridled jackhammering down into your cock, though the other half of the time when she needs some air, you gain some upward momentum. As it turns out, this is one of those days where the only material priority for Minji is getting dicked so hard that her own name is a distant memory.

Your memory is fading too. All but Mommy in your mind is masked.

“Sss, so gh—ahh, good.” You can barely breathe the words out, even if she isn’t blocking your mouth anymore. “F-fffuuck. Good, good, so, god, damn, good.”

Every word of praise makes Mommy—Minji—clamp around your cock harder. Her mouth lets go of your neck, and she looks up at you with beady eyes while her ass slams down into your crotch. "Is Mommy good enough to breed?"

"Yes. Mommy, you're perfect, every part of you. The way you fuck me and use me like I’m your toy, I want to fill your womb so badly.”

“Every part of me?”

“Of course, Mommy.” You’re resolute. Easy. It’s just pure honesty.

“Tell me, baby boy, tell me exactly what you mean.” One hand grabs your neck like fragile porcelain, as if Minji doesn’t hold fast, you’ll shatter. The other is handy at your red cheek, already marked by her many slaps.

You don’t need the threat of the slap to continue; no, quite the opposite, your words are animated by her fingers tightening around your throat.

“Your body's so perfect. I could drool over you, worship your tits, your ass, your waist, your muscles, your abs. Your pussy especially is the tightest, wettest, prettiest thing. I love you so much Mommy. Treat me like your fuck doll, like your dildo, I don’t care. I don’t need anything else. I don’t need my hands, I don’t need porn. And above all that, you’re the sweetest—” 

Another strike.

“Ow! Fwgh, mmm, M-Mommy, please… you're too rough, hhngh. More."

Minji keeps slapping you, her nails dragging along your face. Each slap is accompanied by a couple downwards thrusts of her butt, enveloping your cock in slickness as she rides you. "Tell me I’m good! That I’m the best Mommy!"

"You are… you're the best Mommy… the best, please."

"Mhmm, that's my good boy. I love you so much."

More scratches on your body as Minji’s fingers lower to your chest. You could watch the action of her hands all day or even masturbate just to the sight of her hands, remembering every passionate (and impassioned) handjob she’s given you. Sometimes, you wish she’d just get this over with, your cock tender in its replete stiffness, and you wouldn’t mind if Minji would just give you that perfect stimulation with her hands—maybe you would blast all over her face. (She’d love that; she'd love to just walk outside proudly with her badge of honor for all to see.) Your muscles are fatigued too. You’re more limp body than man. 

Minji is fucking you so hard that you’re being shoved around the mattress. You could easily free yourself—the knot binding your wrists isn’t that tight—but then you’d be missing the point. True freedom is the absolute lack of control afforded by Minji’s severity. She’s not just grinding against your crotch anymore; she’s pushing you around, shoving sheets and pillows to the floor. You note one particularly stained pillow falling; your cock is coated the same way.

Precariously near the edge of the bed, your head follows. 

She removes your restraint, and you want to grab her waist, hold her hands, feel her tits—anything to touch your woman again—but Minji swats your hand away while nudging forward and forward with each thrust into your cock.

Your head dangles off the bed, and again, you bring your hands to hold onto her hips, onto her ass, even onto the sheets—Minji swats them away again. 

So this is by design.

With another push, you half fall off, your back bending against the edge of the mattress. You realize why you need your hands now: to stop your head from hitting the floor. You feel silly, emasculated, with your legs flat on the bed, your ass on the edge, while you’re holding yourself up trying to look at Minji. 

“Wh-what?” Though you have some vague idea of what's happening, you can't stop your flabbergastation.

“See, look! This is actually another position I saw! Seriously.” Upon a more serious inspection of your compromising position, Minji giggles.

Her feet are at her sides while her arms are behind her, pushing her breasts out. Her crotch is held just so your tip is kissed by her labia. It's almost her usual cowgirl ride if you weren't struggling with your head and shoulders floor-bound.

“Doesn’t this feel good?" Minji asks. "All the blood rushing to your head?”

The strain on your neck and your back is nothing compared to the spinning heights of pleasure, but you don't answer her, catching a breath.

“Please tell me you’re okay.” Minji sounds worried for a second. 

“I am. I’m more than okay, Mommy. This feels really good.”

“Really?”

“Mmm, mhm.” Admittedly, you sound as okay as you feel. Whatever. Flip it 180 degrees and you're looking at an average day of gaming anyway.

"Okay." Minji nods, directed more to herself in reassurance than to you. "Okay. Okay, okay, ohh, kay, ohh, kht, ohh, fuck."

And she's back to her bouncing, whatever irreverent rhythm that may hold.

You're looking at the ceiling, dark and bright or the lights are funny or the two lights-receivers in your head are funnier, and even funnier still is that you've been fucking Minji since the sundown or maybe the sun's coming up or that's the comedy playing with you again but in any of those cases the creamy and velvety sensations of her folds clinging on your cock are magnified tenfold to fold you into folding.

You're not okay, or at least at one hundred percent, and that's the best part.

"Are you gonna be a good boy and give me your thick load? Yeah? Are you gonna make a mess inside Mommy's pussy?" Minji’s voice is a soft rasp through the heavy moans.

Somehow, despite the lightheadedness, a flash of inspiration hits you. “Of course, I would never waste my cum on anything except for Mommy. I'm all yours because you're so gorgeous and sweet and wild and adorable. You deserve the stars, this world and the world's over. I love you, Mommy. Use me.”

At your genuine tone, she clenches harder—too easy. “Mmm fuck, good boy. H-how are you so good too? I'm gonna have to fuck the goodness out of you!”

Minji's eyes roll back; she doesn't even know what she's saying, but she's saying it with such cute, gleeful confidence. 

You guess that being dicked down (up?) silly will do that. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck everything out of me, Mommy.” To ram your dick up into Minji, you have to lock your waist, getting no actual leverage from the floor. Therefore, your request is more of an inevitability. Everything will be fucked out of you. Every drop of semen from your balls—that much is obvious—but so too does your mind fly away on command.

“Everything. Everything. Ggh, god, yes. You, you know, that cum would spray my whole body if it weren’t inside me. It’d make Mommy all sticky and messy. Not this time. All the way down your cock, all, all the way until all your seed’s drained. Nowhere, ffh, there’s nowhere for your cum to go but my womb.”

The motion of Minji’s waist is a dance you can’t keep up with, and the position makes your muscles burn, nearly cramp. Her bouncing is getting shallower yet deeper simultaneously: her pussy lips refuse to lift further than an inch off the root of your length, giving you fast yet steadfast grinding.

“You’re so deep in me,” Minji says, the pained expression on her face concerning you—but there’s nothing you can do to stop her, “fucking hitting me because your cock is so perfect for Mommy’s hole, fuck, fuck. Your tip’s kissing my cervix, fh, ahh, ow. That’s where it belongs though. Snug against me, getting your good boy cum all for me, all for me, it’s all mine, all mine.”

Hot, wet, soft, all-engulfing, ever-milking. With all those pleasurable sensations, you realize the blindfold and restraints were optional, more for Minji’s enjoyment than yours, because you’re trapped in her cunt regardless of the makeshift implements. Like the sparks in a dark and massive cloud ready to jump out, you feel a deep tingle in your balls.

“Drain your cum into Mommy’s ovaries, plant your seed, flood me until I’m fucking coated. Don’t, kh, hold, kh, back.”

Given her appetite—see her eyes, never losing their singular focus on you—you’re not surprised that she can maintain her lewd language for this long. Meanwhile, you can only grunt out primal noises, though they sound weakened, more akin to near-defeated prey.

“Cum for Mommy, cum hard for Mommy, give me everything. I love you so much.”

And thus, defeat. You’ve never been dizzier. Your whole body is throbbing and your head is throbbing and your head is throbbing too, and that throbbing becomes a full-bodied high in which your blood doesn’t know where to go, but your cum only has one place to be and it needs to get there fast because your balls are too full. The eruption is geologic, incomparable even though you have countless other Minji-induced—Minji-impelled—orgasms to compare.

Since she’s milking➠

every⥬

drop⹃

out┈

till it⤐

shuts╍

lights⤎

It’s supposed to be this one— 

You’re coming back.

You’re back.

Almost.

She’s still going—still—

Not still. Not still. Not—Up, down.

Ah. There it is.

What happened?

Your mind is catching up with the present where you understand more and more that the abrupt severance of your thoughts is caused by Minji slamming into your spent cock somehow still erect, still spurting into her womb. That must surely ache for her as it does for you if her claims about her physiology are anything to be—ah, who the fuck cares; her pussy is home for your pulsating shaft no matter how she moves it.

You’re left as a slumped husk of a man, feebly moaning. Your jelly legs sag to join what remains of you on the floor, and your breathing is fitful.

“Nhh, baaaby.” Minji plays with her clit in paradise while the other hand rubs her sweaty tummy in adoration of the load. Her labia is all creamy, but she does not let an ounce escape her. “Thick and warm and sloshing in my womb.”

After Minji deems herself satisfied, she crawls down next to you on the floor and cuddles. 

“Uh. Noona.”

Her head fits perfectly in the crook of your neck, her lips greedy for touch. “Hm?”

“So. Uh. The bed? Instead?” Each breath of yours is a labored ordeal. Lights flicker.

“Oh.”

Whether or not you got to the bed without passing out remains a question unanswered.

Then again, a pillow, no matter its specialness, isn’t exactly a breathing thing.

You’re more…

So indeed, the lights go out.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

No, it’s not directly related to The Curse of the Spider. I just wanted to write for Minji in the same vein (but not fucked up), especially with that Something performance. And look how timely this is! Right in time for her birthday.

[jasontoddiefor]

A gift for @thenegoteator :D

It took a Temple to raise a child, and Mace Windu was very much aware of this. However, it did not explain what Ahsoka Tano was doing at his door in the middle of the night. Ahsoka had deep bags under her eyes, which wasn’t too much of a surprise considering the current living arrangements of her lineage. While little Luke and Leia were relatively well-behaved newborns, they were still only a few weeks old. If their human caretakers didn’t wake up at every single little whimper, then the togruta with the superior hearing certainly would.

“Do you want to come inside?” Mace asked, not letting his confusion show. He was used to people coming to his door at the oddest hours.

“If—if I can?” Ahsoka replied as if only now becoming aware of her actions. In this, she reminded Mace of her Grandmaster and the many nights Mace had found Obi-Wan coming to his doorstep during the first months of Anakin’s stay at the Temple.

“My door is always open, Padawan,” Mace said – and watched her wince.

Ah.

So there was the problem.

“Caleb is currently sleeping in my bed as Depa is away,” Mace explained. “So please keep your voice down. I don’t want to wake him unnecessarily.”

The boy had already had a hellish enough month behind him, he needed all the rest he could get. Even though the war was officially over, enough planets refused to surrender, drawing out the battles until they had nothing but children left to sacrifice. It weighed on Mace’s shoulders, making him wonder whether he wasn’t too old to carry such burdens still.

Ahsoka nodded and followed Mace inside. He couldn’t recall whether Ahsoka had been in his room before, but from the way she eagerly looked around his quarters, taking in the sight of old instruments, books, and holos, he guessed she hadn’t. Well, at one point in their life, every Jedi had set a foot inside Mace’s quarters, so this was bound to happen sooner or later.

“Do you want a cup of tea?”

Ahsoka tore herself away from the sight and looked at him with surprise. “I—yes? That would be nice.”

“Then I will make a cup. Do you have any preferences? I believe I even have Obi-Wan’s favorite blend here.”

Mace had no idea whether he had bought it or if Obi-Wan had just left it here from himself when he came over. Knowing the other man, it was likely that the latter was the case. For a man claiming to be so very polite, Obi-Wan could be a right brat.

Mace’s kitchen was small, with only a few cabinets and one shelf, two cooking tiles, and an oven. He wasn’t much of a cook himself and preferred to eat in the cafeteria with everyone, frequently taste-tasting what the Initiates had prepared. He selected two uneven cups Depa had made for him when she’d been young from the shelf. Why she had decided to pick up pottery of all hobbies was beside him, but he supposed that she found the motion soothing. Devan did enjoy parkouring through the lower levels and Echuu was quite content playing the guitar to calm himself.

Perhaps Mace should focus less on why all three of his Padawans had decided they wouldn’t follow him into theatre so they could continue to make fun of him. Setting the water to boil, Mace searched through his cabinets until he found Obi-Wan’s favorite blend. The fruity tea was far from the blend he preferred, but Mace prided himself on being a good host. While he waited for the tea to finish steeping, Mace enjoyed the quiet of the night. For all that there were few sounds as dear to him as that of people walking, or in the case of some younglings and few selected Knights, running, down their large hallways, Mace could appreciate the quiet when the world came to rest.

With two finished cups in hand, he returned to the living room, where he found Ahsoka curled up on the sofa, no longer studying his quarters for any hidden secrets.

“Thank you,” she said when she accepted the cup from him. She held it in her hands as if to warm them, letting the steam hit her face. She breathed in once, twice, finding her rhythm again. Mace waited until she’d calmed enough to speak up.

“What brings you to my door, Padawan Tano?”

Ahsoka flinched and appeared to make herself even smaller as if attempting to vanish. When it became apparent that it didn’t work, that silence hadn’t been what she had sought him out for, she let out a sigh. “You keep calling that.”

“Calling you what?” Mace asked, his brow raised, playing oblivious.

“… Padawan.”

“Are you not? I was under the impression that you had returned to the Temple.”

“I did, but I still left,” Ahsoka replied. “I left and I was convinced that I had to leave and that it was good that I did. I still think I had to leave the Temple behind.”

“Then why are you torn?”

Ahsoka’s hold on her cup tightened and so, perhaps in wise anticipation, she set it on the table and buried her hands in her robes instead, hiding their twitching from view. Mace could trace all her mannerisms to her teachers and couldn’t imagine what it must be like to purposefully rip all those pieces from yourself when they had become so ingrained in your very being. Even Dooku, who’d fallen so far from their beliefs, had been unable to fully rid himself of Yoda’s lessons. Maybe it was for the best. Hope had become a scarce commodity during the war, yet Mace considered the possibility that in a decade, they wouldn’t be imprisoning a Sith anymore.

“But am I still a Padawan? A member of this Order?” Ahsoka asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she shook like the leaves on the trees in the courtyard.

“Has your Master told you anything different?”

Ahsoka paused. “…. No.”

Seeing that realization was settling within her, Mace nodded. “Then you should not doubt him. You are a Jedi, Ahsoka Tano, and you will remain one as long as you live by our tenets.”

That teased a startled laugh from her. “Compassion for all except people who cheat at push-n-pull?”

As if transported back ten years, hearing Anakin say the same, Mace snorted. “The similarities between you and your Master astonish me every time. Yes, Padawan Tano, compassion for all.”

This seemed to calm the youth as she reached for her cup again and emptied it slowly. “It’s good.”

Mace smiled into his own cup. “I’d be insulted if it wasn’t. Obi-Wan forced me to memorize all the steps for making it.”

The then young Knight had been frazzled, and Mace honestly couldn’t tell what it had been about and had forced Mace to learn how to make this tea until he’d more or less collapsed on Mace’s sofa, completely knocked out until morning when Anakin had picked him up.

“He does do that,” Ahsoka agreed. “I think this is the only thing anyone can make reliably now.”

“Sleep-deprived much?” Mace inquired.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I love Luke and Leia dearly, but they are demanding and need a lot of attention.”

That was honestly kinder than Mace would have described newborns at her age.

“There is a reason why we usually don’t have children this young in the Temple,” Mace said. “They are very handful. Do you get enlisted to help very often?”

Ahsoka shook her head. “No, Obi-Wan, Skyguy, and Padmé got it covered, and I’m mostly just helping out somewhere else.”

She trailed off a little. This, perhaps, was another issue, but one that could be equally easily dealt with.

“Thank you then for going where you are needed,” Mace told her.

Ahsoka blinked. “Huh?”

“You will grow into a specific role someday, Ahsoka, and that needs time. Do not feel as if you need to earn back your place in the Temple. You don’t need to earn yourself a home you have always had. For now, trust me when I say that everyone you’ve helped is glad that you were there. It is an admirable quality to have a sense of where you are needed. Do not see it as being the odd one out.”

This was the hardest lesson to teach and learn, the fact that there was a path out there for you, but that it took time to see where it would lead. Too many of their Padawans now felt utterly lost without the structure the war had provided them with.

“Oh. I guess if you say so.”

“Yes, I do say so,” Mace agreed. Then, eyeing Ahsoka’s empty cup, he added on, “do you want another?”

“No.” Ahsoka yawned. “I think I might best head back.”

“You can also sleep here if you want, and don’t mind Caleb hogging the blanket. I won’t go to bed tonight anyway.”

Ahsoka squinted at him as if attempting to discern whether he was lying. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really—”

“Ahsoka, go to bed.”

Clearly feeling better already, she saluted and, after Mace showed her his bedroom, made herself comfortable in it. She took off her shoes and tossed her robe over a chair before climbing into the bed. Ahsoka had barely laid down when Caleb already turned around to curl around her, clinging like a little monkey. After a moment’s apprehension, she relaxed and was fast asleep. Stealing one last glance at the two Padawan, Mace returned to his living room, looking through the incoming reports.

Hectic as the aftermath of the war was, as much effort as caring for their children was, Mace wouldn’t trade it for a single thing in the world.

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xviii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, obnoxious flirting, mention of death, injuries, hospitals, weapons, etc

Word count: 7.6k

A/N: this chapter was supposed to be short. anyway, happy 6 months to this disaster fic! thank you to the anon who suggested the idea for the beginning of this chapter. my anon who sent me the tiktok about the funny lil vacuum cleaner and the other anon and @rivercocytus for mackie’s steel blue eyes line that’s used here

also im not very sure if this is a good chapter. if i disappoint anyone, just know that i didn't mean to fkjghfkjgh

If you want more nonsense, you can head on over to Harmless Mini Drabbles :))

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

This was quite possibly the biggest, stupidest decision he had ever made and hoo boy, was that list hard to top.

“Wanda-” Bucky shuts his eyes tightly, pressing his fingers to his temples to alleviate his growing stress headache -”what the fuck are we doing?”

“Planning a date.” She pops a piece of caramel popcorn into her mouth, considerably less stressed. Why would she be? She didn’t have a date in less than 10 hours that she was grossly unprepared for. 

“No, I mean-” he begins but it just ends in an exhale. “What the fuck am I doing?”

“Growing a stress ulcer.”

Entirely unhelpful, thanks.

“What’s got you so worked up? Do you regret asking her out?” She rattles the bowl in front of him. He turns it down with a quick sigh.

“Fuck no.” His answer comes back immediately.

“Okay, if that’s not the problem, then this is something we can solve.” Wanda brushes off her hands, setting the pencil down before sitting upright. “Look at the list.”

Bucky bolts up. “Don’t read out the list.”

“Skydiving?” she questions when he's too late to stop her, eyebrows knitted together. “When did we add skydiving?”

“After an escape room and dinner at that waterfront place.” He groans, voice drowned out by the pillow pressed against his face.

“There’s also pottery lessons.”

He doesn't even remember writing that.

“Wanda, what was I thinking?”

“Too much.” She hums, still pouring over the bullet points. “Stop overthinking this. You know what she’d like, you’re just freaking out.”

“I don’t know anything at this point," he mumbles to himself.

“Okay, how about we remove things she won’t like?” Wanda suggests, quiet scratches against paper as she begins to strike out multiple options. “We can start with fishing.”

“We wrote fishing?” Bucky lifts his head off the pillow to frown.

“And Walmart.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know, it just says Walmart.”

He wants to die.

“Shoulda just left this up to her, she’s the creative one,” he grumbles. Bucky’s just the muscle. The next time you asked him out jokingly he should have agreed and gone with it.

But here he was with fucking Walmart on his list.

“Just ask her then,” Wanda’s face is sympathetic, given that it's hours since they've been at this, “or maybe her friend. It’d narrow things down.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” he says instantly. “Where’s my phone?”

She tosses it towards him before picking up her popcorn again.

He doesn't even have to fully unlock his phone to see a string of texts populating his notification bar, frown growing deeper with each one.

From T

Just in case she doesn’t decide to tell you: she’s at Mercy West General

From Villain(ish)

Whatever T’s saying, ignore it

From T

She’s at the ER

From Villain(ish)

I’m fine

From Villain(ish)

Sort of

From T

She needs constant adult supervision

From Villain(ish)

See you at 7 for our date

“How the fuck,” Bucky says the second he finds you in the emergency room, talking animatedly with your best friend.

“I can explain-” you begin, holding your hands up.

“She was building, it backfired, she got her leg fucked up,” T does it instead, disappointment clear as day on her face as she stands beside your bed with her arms across her chest.

“First of all, it’s a sprain.” You roll your eyes. “Second of all, it didn’t backfire. I tripped.”

“On what?”

You look like struggling to control yourself. “While… while I was falling for yo-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Bucky cuts in, saving you the trouble.

“Some cable that was just lying around." Your expression turns half-mad, which isn't a look he sees very often. “It usually never happens.”

Bucky stares at you. “Why do I find that so hard to believe?”

“You’re not supposed to be bullying me, I’m hurt.” You glare back at him. "I'm in a hospital and everything."

“You should get bullied.”

“I can feel my sprain physically getting worse," you deadpan. “Ow.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “What’d the doc say?”

“Ice it, don’t strain and meds,” T pipes up before you have a chance to make things worse.

“I’ll be back on my feet in no time," you offer in condolence. "Like a sexy kangaroo or something.”

“I’m gonna get your prescription and then you’re going straight home." T, ignores you with ease. After many years, her ability to fine-tune her ears against most of the garbage that came from you is a valuable skill.

“But I already have an inator in mind.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs the piece of paper left beside you.

“Don’t,” she warns before turning on her heel and leaving in search of the pharmacy.

“Will you drop me off at the lair?” You peer up at Bucky hopefully.

“No.”

“Traitor.” You huff. “I’ve left all the lights on, my electricity bill’s gonna be-”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Damn it," you swear. "Okay, I'm out of excuses. You can relax now."

Bucky lets his arms fall to his sides, a small smile taking over his face.

“You couldn’t not invent for one day?” he asks, gently sitting down on the bed.

"I was nervous," you mumble, eyes downcast. "Tried to keep myself distracted."

His gaze softens. It helped, in a strange sort of way, to know that it wasn't just him.

"You're an idiot."

"I'm well aware of that."

Bucky slips his fingers over yours. “Hurts bad?”

“Not so much now.” You swing the bandaged foot lightly as if to prove your point.

He watches you do it, wondering how long till you hit your leg on the bedpost. “Sexy kangaroo, huh?”

“You into that kinda thing?”

“You shouldn’t be allowed to talk.”

You crack a smile and it's easy to tell that you’re in slight disarray. He wonders if the pain’s already gotten to your head. Wonders if he should maybe cancel his mission tomorrow, even though practically he knows it isn't possible.

“Of all the damn days-” you start in mild annoyance. He lets out a small laugh. “I’m serious. And now you’re running off for two weeks to save the world while I die alone.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You have Jake and the cat.”

“Alpine doesn’t care about me.” You fiddle with Bucky’s fingers lightly. “Jake’s still at yoga camp. I'm pretty sure he accidentally joined a cult, so we can say goodbye to that story.”

Bucky hums lightly. “What flowers d’you want at your funeral?”

It elicits a chuckle from you. “Fuck you.”

You rock your leg again. The bedpost looks awfully close this time around, but he makes no comment. 

“‘S okay.” You bump his shoulder with yours. “We can always reschedule for when you’re back.”

He just gives a distant noise in acknowledgement.

“Once you’re all bruised up, we can pretend like we’re in one of those boxing movies.” Your eyes gleam. “You stumble into my apartment with blood on your knuckles.”

“I have super healing.”

“I tend to your wounds, we share a moment.”

“Why would I come to your apartment when I have a med bay at the Tower?”

“Because of romance.”

“Do you have any medical experience?” Bucky scoffs. “And I don’t do romance.”

“Bold claim coming from you while we’re literally sharing a bed right now.”

“That’s not the sa-” he blows a breath out. “Jesus Christ, even when you’re injured you won’t give up.”

The place smells like disinfectant. He’s almost too used to it. The sting of alcohol doesn’t even burn anymore. 

“Stop swinging your leg around so much, you’re gonna hit something,” he says finally. 

You don’t break your intense gaze with him as you swing it harder. He rolls his eyes.

“If I die before you’re back, would you speak at my memorial?”

He flicks your shoulder. “Stop being morbid.”

You laugh. “I’m serious. I need you to go up there and look like you’ve been cryin’ for days.”

“No.”

“Fine, then at least stand far away with an umbrella, sunglasses and a trench coat. We can make it look like I died under mysterious circumstances.”

“That I can do.”

“Great, it’s settled then.” You grin at him. “I’m gonna look so cool.”

“Right.” He snorts. 

“Teamwork, bestie.”

“Glad I could help.”

Your leg hits the bedpost with a resounding clang. 

Bucky tries and fails to hide a laugh when you curse loudly, his only saving grace being that he had the common decency to not say that he told you so.

Either way, he knows he has to prepare to deal with your whining for the next ten minutes till T came back.

But your head drops onto his shoulder, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t mind if you bitch and blame for all eternity as long as you stayed like that.

Turns out there’s only so much inventing and watching trash TV can get you on a night that was destined to be a lot more interesting. 

Your anti-gravity boot... inator definitely enables you to move around a lot easier- no pain if its military grade protective material and insulated padding prevents you from feeling anything you could possibly bump into. 

The only downside was that its balance was still definitely off. The anti-gravity part aided in making sure you weren’t exerting too much pressure on it as you hopped around, but the stupid thing kept rising like a helium balloon. Still, it wasn’t too bad for a few hours worth of effort. 

With nothing much to do and all candy demolished, Alpine goes through a series of costume changes. She isn’t too bothered, God knows she’s put up with worse. Little assistant looks like she enjoys some of them. 

The group chat, in a great show of solidarity, rates each outfit out of ten. Her as a wizard is unsurprisingly the highest scoring one of the night. Bucky, however, picks her little cowboy costume as his choice. 

You almost consider wearing the stupid, makeshift cast you’ve conjured up that evening and dragging him along on a new adventure, just for the hell of it.

You even go as far as sending him a text, asking him what he’s up to before you show up outside his bedroom. 

He sends you a picture of his half-packed backpack. A granola bar sits unfinished on top of it.

Fuckin’ superheroes.

You never thought it’d come to this... but maybe it was time to start the cheese business. The plan B. The backup.

From what you knew, Drusselsteinien Limburger took 58 years to age. No better time than the present-

A knock on the door drags you out of your boredom induced near-crisis.

You hobble over to it, almost immediately your arms wildly and grabbing onto the nearest bookshelf to keep yourself from falling over. You shove your foot down before pulling it open, braving a grin and smoothing out your clothes.

“Hey, Agent J,” you greet calmly as if the last minute or two didn’t just happen. “What’s up?”

“Just checking if everything is alright, miss,” Agent J says courteously. You know for a fact that his name is Jordan- it’s easy to get to know anyone after offering them lunch three times in a vain effort to gain any kind of company. Out of politeness, you still refer to him as Agent.

“Everything’s all good. Did you grab a bite to eat?” You’re about to ask the first out of many times if he would like slice of pizza and to watch Project Runway. 

“My shift ends in thirty minutes.” He casts a glance at his watch. “I’ll get some food then.” 

“Okay.” You nod, “but if you need anything, you can always ask.”

He flashes you a quick smile and excuses himself.

There goes that plan. 

S.H.I.E.L.D.’s appointed security detail was… proficient at what they did. Constant patrol, regular check in’s- any time there was so much as a car that drove down the street twice, details were noted down.

The clown brigade didn’t get too far, unfortunately. Last you heard they were detained for questioning in SHIELD’s Jersey unit. Which probably meant it was the last you were gonna see of Nico. 

Poor guy. He deserved better.

You’re back to trying to walk and failing miserably at it in an attempt to make it to your bedroom. 

It barely takes a minute for you to stumble magnificently. With the grace of a newborn deer, your one leg goes up the air and hand sticks out to break your fall, dragging down a vase with you. 

You cringe as it crashes noisily to the floor, meanwhile your body stuck in a half-split. 

You’re only thankful it’s not Jake’s stupid fruit bowl. You’d rather break your other foot than have to hear his shriek when he realises his Home Depot masterpiece had disappeared in the few days he wasn’t here. 

There’s a knock on the door again. Not even halfway through your journey you’re forced to turn around and tend to it before Agent J breaks it down in a desperate attempt to save you from yourself. 

“Hello again.” You smile easily, opening the door only as much would allow your head to show through. 

“Did you hear that noise?” Agent J tries not to peek over your shoulder, even though you can’t quite see through his dark glasses. 

Behind the door, you force your leg down again. “My fault, I just tripped over something.”

Look, it wasn’t like you weren’t able to protect yourself. You were fully prepared. Extra prepared, in fact, for any intruders. It’s just that he was catching you at your less fine moments. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am. Thank you.” You cast him a grateful look. “I’ll let you know if there’s an issue.”

Agent J hesitantly takes a step back, eyes flickering behind you. You wait for him to turn around before shutting the door as gently as you could, trying not to rouse any more suspicions. 

“Okay,” you say under your breath. “It’s just a few feet away. You got this.” 

You gingerly limp over to the cupboard, holding onto anything sturdy along the way to ensure you make it there in one piece. 

It’s more or less successful- only one photo frame lost in the process- and you pull out a broom and your vacuum. The latter of the two was a bright yellow, accented in purple and handheld, cartoonishly large letters branding its name on the side. 

Probably the best EvilCon purchase you’d ever made, second only to the laser pointer for Alpine.

The smile on your face is devilish when it roars to life with an obnoxiously loud ‘pew’ sound. You point it towards the mess on the floor, proper due process be damned, and watch it suck the glass towards it.  

The glass rattles around in its body rather delightfully the joy soon gives way to a string of curses when you realise what any loud, unnatural sound from your house invited these days. 

You give it three seconds before there’s a knock on the door.

“Fucking-” you mumble to yourself before dragging yourself to the door. 

With a defeated sigh, you begin, “Agent J, I promise-”

“Heard there’s been suspicious noises reported here tonight. Thought I’d come check it out.”

Oh.

You blink. “Bucky.”

“Hi,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Hi,” you’re a little dazed but you lean against the doorframe. “A little too early to be stumblin’ into my apartment with blood on your knuckles. Don’t even have the supplies yet.”

“I’ll just leave then.” He gestures backwards with his shoulder.

You take note of the large paper bags he managed to balance in his arms, leaning his chin over them to look at you. Fuck, he looked adorable. 

You smile wide, shoving your foot down. “I didn’t know you were showing up here.”

“Yeah, neither did I, but then you went and broke your foot.”

“Sprained, and I’ll have it fixed by next week.” You cross your arms over your chest. “I’m inventing as we speak.”

“What, a Fix-Your-Foot-inator?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Or a cure for your dumbass disease?”

“Rude.”

Bucky raises the bags up. “Can I come in?”

“No, you’re staying out there tonight. Hope you brought a sleeping bag,” you say, moving aside to make space for him, pressing your cast foot firmly only the ground and using it to pivot. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He stops for a second to look you up and down before walking in. “You look real pretty.”

The heat that spread through your face was annoyingly intense. “You into painkiller-high chic now?”

“Nah, just you in general.” This motherfucker’s gradual increase in smoothness was unprecedented. “Why do you have your leg in the air?”

You follow his line of sight, landing on your foot that was suspended off the ground like a damn burlesque dancer. 

“Oh, you know. The usual.” You don’t bother explaining any further, forcing your leg down and locking the door behind you as you tried to follow him as normally as possible. “What’s with all the groceries? We finally moving in together?“ 

“I’m pretty sure you were the one who told me I should cook for you.” He sets the bag down on the kitchen counter. “It ain’t expensive wine and cheap burgers but I figured it’d do. But I got those too, just in case.”

He points to the bag where the logo of a fast-food company presses against the plastic. 

“Mr Barnes,” you pipe up, a dopey smile on your face, “you are a closeted romantic.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

You hobble your way over to where he was, almost falling over but not quite. “How do I help?”

“You don’t. I’m cooking.”

You figure the safest bet you have right now is to hop onto the kitchen counter as he begins to unload things carefully from the bag. A lot of vegetables, bread, pasta sheets- the man was actually well prepared.

“I wanna help.”

“Just sit there.” He glances up at you. “You’re hurt and dyin’, remember?”

“Boo.” You cross your leg over your cast to keep it from rising. 

Bucky does a quick survey of his surroundings before setting his eyes on something. 

He drops Jake’s fruit bowl right beside you. 

“You’re in charge of keeping that safe.”

Maybe you should have broken that shit after all.

You scoff out a laugh. “You’re terrible.”

“You’re a liability.” His eyes have the familiar glint that let you know he’s not being serious. “And no inators this evening. Don’t wanna be responsible for a house fire.”

“None,” you swear, leaning on your hands for support and pressing your foot down harder. “I thought you were supposed to be packing.”

“I’ll finish it tomorrow.” He does a quick recount of everything he’s laid out so far on your counter. 

“I could have just shown up at your place. Would have been easier for you.” Would have been a trip and a half for you but he didn’t have to know that. 

“I considered that,” he divulges, “but the team’s being annoying. Wouldn’t leave the Tower so I changed plans and shifted here.”

“You’re telling me they wouldn’t evacuate their house for you to cook your date dinner?” You snort. “Pretty selfish of them, if you ask me.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” He lets a smile slip past his lips. It leaves you a little star struck. 

“On a more serious note,” your voice is more solemn, “shouldn’t you be resting? Aren’t you leaving tomorrow?”

Bucky hums. “Who cares?”

“I do,” you press. “You need energy.”

“D’you like lasagna?” he asks, looking up at you.

“Yeah, but-”

“Garlic bread?”

“Buck-”

“What?”

“I’m not kidding, you don’t have to do all this.” You press your lips together in a straight line. “We could just wait till you’re back.”

“I think we’ve waited long enough.” He shrugs. “So unless you want me out of your house, is that a ‘yes’ on the garlic bread?”

A smile makes its way onto your face. “Fuckin’ love garlic bread.”

“Good.” Bucky nods. “Your foot’s in the air again.”

You shove it back down.

Once he’s done a headcount and made sure everything he needs is there, he locks his phone and sets it back in his pocket. 

He opens his mouth to ask you something, only to find you staring at him intently and with a slight crease between your boy like you’re contemplating something really hard. 

“You good?”

It snaps you out of your internal debate of trying to decide what you like better- the navy blue sweater he has on that looks sinfully good on him or the little apron he’s secured around his waist.

“Never been better,” you reply honestly.

“Okay.” The corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Where are your knives?”

“What, you didn’t bring your own?” You point them out, watching him tie his hair into a little bun. You want to cry, really. 

“Those aren’t exactly used for vegetables.”

“Knife is knife.”

Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Smart.”

“Top of my class.” You watch him pull one of the knives out by its hilt, his sweater sleeves pull upto his elbows. The plates in his metal arm shift silently. 

Balancing it on his finger, the knife stays perfectly straight, not tilted towards any side. 

“Show off.”

“Force of habit.” Bucky shrugs, doing a little flip before catching it firmly.  

“Show off.”

“Yeah, okay, that was.” He chuckles, and you’re about to join in with another teasing remark until you remember something.

Your smile drops.

Fuck.

“Chopping board’s over there,” you say quickly, “and put that knife down before you hurt yourself.”

He looks at you in surprise. “The knife?”

You know how ridiculous it sounds. One of the best assassins in the world, who you had on more than one occasion caught throwing, juggling and flipping blades like they were made of rubber as a way to pass time.

“Yes, the knife,” you insist regardless.

“I can handle a knife,” he says slowly, deliberately, like a reminder.

Not when it turns into a fucking sword if he presses the wrong button, he can’t.

“My knives are special.” You tap the counter. “Official rules state that we do not move while holding knives in this kitchen.”

He stares at you, trying to gauge your reaction. You stare back, cracking a smile in hopes that he’d take it as a dumb joke and just go with it. 

In a unlikely moment of victory, he complies, and you know it’s because under the rock hard exterior and abs, he is a kind soul. 

He leaves the knife next you, albeit while looking at you like you’ve grown three heads. That you can deal with. Accidental stabbing, you can’t. 

You wait until he walks over to the cutting board. It only gives you a few seconds to grab the knife he set down, swiftly pressing down on the three rivets securing the handle to the blade in a pattern only you were aware of. You sigh when a soft click comes through.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“Nothing.” You flash him a quick smile. “Just checking to see if it was clean.”

You hold out the knife gingerly and he takes it. You watch it closely, hoping that it doesn’t blow up into a sword, possibly driving a hole through your kitchen wall.

“Good grip,” he notes.

“It’s custom made,” you say weakly.

How are you supposed to think in advance when he’s standing in your kitchen looking like a domestic husband with no frown for once.

True to his word, he definitely can handle a knife- and he’s surprisingly adept at cutting vegetables with it too. Not like you’d expect any less from him.

“Did you get through to Jake finally?”

“Oh, yeah.” You watch him shove the chopped ones all to one side before moving onto the others. “He called me a moron, and then said he’s on his way back.”

“I guess he’s joining in then,” Bucky says, hint of humour in his voice. “I’ll make extra.”

“Obviously. You’re the third wheel here.” However, the idea of dating Jake isn’t one that you can stomach for too long leading to a quick shudder. “No, I told him to stay where he was and that I’d be fine.”

“He okay with that?” Despite the tumultuous conversations you shared with the guy, he cared deeply about whether you lived or died. Under dire circumstances, he would even so far as to call you an acquaintance. 

“I told him I wouldn’t let him in the apartment.” You shrug. “He doesn’t get a lot of time off, he shouldn’t have to come back just because of a little sprain.”

Bucky’s gaze shifts between your cast and you. “How long till it heals?”

“Doc says three weeks, but with my intellect, I’d say a week and a half.”

He stops cutting for a moment, shoulders still hunched over the board. You look at him in slight confusion.

“You’re gonna do something stupid and I’m not gonna know about it till I’m back,” he mumbles.

“Nonsense, I save all the stupid for when I’m with you.” You grin. “Say, what are your thoughts on paper cuts?”

“Not a fan.”

“Great, I have my next idea.”

“Papercut Inator?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Seems mild.”

“Can’t go big all the time, Bucky. I have a budget, you know.”

“And you spend it all on confetti guns.”

“That’s important.”

He hums but says nothing further. “Skillet?”

“There.” You point to the cabinet it rests in.

He picks it up, pausing for a second before holding it up in front of you.

“You got a problem with me using this or…” he trails off, “because I’m pretty sure I can handle a pan.”

It takes a quick second to wonder whether you’ve actually fucked with the pan or not before deciding on a probably not.

“We’re gonna have wait and see.”

Thankfully, things are fine for a while. Non-lethal, at the very least. 

The potential death trap you’ve set out is quickly evaded by switching out a few salt shakers and spice jars when he’s not looking to prevent potential explosions.

Everything smells pretty darn great, and in an impressive show of skills, he’s not burnt anything yet.

“Geez, you weren’t kidding about the whole cooking stuff, huh?”

“Don’t do it often.” He looks down at the garlic butter he’s spreading on the loaf. “‘S more of a coping mechanism than anything.”

“How good are you at baking?” Your foot hits the counter lightly when you shove it down again. It was getting harder to remember that it had a tendency to float. 

“Stop swinging your leg,” he says absentmindedly. “I’m okay at it.”

You have to remember to keep your leg crossed over it, even if it was getting sore. 

“What if I call you the next time the school has a bake sale?”

“I’m not selling cookies at your school.”

“Fine, you bake and I’ll sell ‘em.” You wiggle your eyebrows.

You hear a small crash in the background. He quirks an eyebrow at it before you dismiss it as probably being Alpine. Things like that were normal around here; it’d be weirder if there wasn’t an unexplained noise every once and a while.  

“You’re gonna exploit me for your bake sale?”

“We’ll split the profit.”

“I’m putting in all the work.”

“It takes a good face to market, and I got the best face.”

He doesn’t put forth an opposing argument, instead turning around to grab something else from his ingredients.

There’s another crash, and fortunately he elects to ignore it. 

Unfortunately for you, the unmistakable whir of wheels accompanies it in the distance and dread instantly fills your stomach when it you’re hit with the realisation of what the source actually is. 

It enters the room, slowly and sticking to the wall like the trained little menace it was. 

Your intruder preventer droid stares up at you with pixelated heart eyes. It looks fucking adorable but you wave your hand around furiously to get it to go away.

Blasphemous thing takes it as a sign to enter, almost immediately bumping into the trashcan in the corner of the room. You internally scream.

“Hey!” you call out to Bucky, startling him with the sudden raise in volume. 

“Why are you yelling?” he asks, slightly baffled. 

To mask the fucking noise of the droid beeping while it backed up like a garbage truck, what else-

“I’m just so excited you’re here,” you cover-up pathetically, giving him a wide toothed smile, more nervous than anything. 

His eyebrows furrow. “You’re bein’ weirder than usual.”

“Ah, well, you know-” you wave your hand around vaguely. “Pain meds or something.”

He doesn’t look entirely convinced, lips pursued inwards and eyes alight in barely-there humour. “Mhm.”

The intruder droid rolls up behind him curiously, scaling his size with a scan.

“D’you want some grapes?” you ask hastily, reaching for them from Jake’s bowl because tragically, they are the only weapons you have on hand. 

The swords weren’t exactly subtle and you din’t want to kill a perfectly good droid before you had to. It was cute. Sometimes it sang ABBA.

Bucky glances towards at the bowl of fruit. “I’m good.”

“Your pasta’s done.” You point to the pot of boiling water, not actually sure if it was, but hell it’d been there long enough. 

He wipes at his brow and goes to tend to that, and you take advantage of his momentary distraction to launch a grape at the droid.

It veers backwards, turning around and shooting out a laser to eliminate the threat. You wanted to cheer at the fact that it worked rather well, but you genuinely wish it didn’t right now. 

“Was this always the idea?” Hopefully, if you could keep his attention on you, he’d miss the stupid bot. “Ending up at my place on our first night out?”

“Nah, was probably gonna go with a trapeze class.”

“That’s more of a third date kinda thing.” You throw another piece but it misses, bouncing off on the floor somewhere. A second and a third shot similarly doesn’t reach the target.

It tilts its head up at Bucky.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The droid wouldn’t do much damage but you knew for a fact that Bucky appreciated having both his ankles intact for his job.

You curse at it, kicking your anti-gravity cast in its direction. 

“Jesus, Y/N, you’re gonna make your sprain worse,” he groans, stopping his layering of the sauce and sheets alternatively.

You snap your head up. “Did you hear someone at the door?”

The suddenness of the topic change works to distract him temporarily. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s Agent J.” You keep your eyes on him despite the fact that you can see the droid steadily advance towards him from the corner of your eye. “He usually knocks to check if I’m okay.”

“Are you?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. “Those painkillers gettin’ to you?”

“I’m all good, Buck.” You look past him to the stupid droid, hoping it runs into a stray grape along the way. “But could you tell him that? He’s probably just here to let me know his shift’s done.”

The concern is apparent on his face but he drags out a slow ‘okay’, setting the glass dish away from the edge of the counter. The bot, by a miracle, runs into the same trash can as before, leaving it completely unnoticed by Bucky as. he walks out of the kitchen.

The second he's out of sight, you jump off the counter, one strong step towards the stupid droid. Anything more than that and your date would find you sprawled on the floor. 

“Intruder detected. Attack.” Its default message rings.

“No intruder.” You want to cry at how cute its little voice is but instead you put it on silent.

“There’s no one here.” You hear Bucky gently close the door. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Swear I am, I think it’s just the meds.” In a flash you scoop it up by its head before pulling open the oven door and throwing it inside.

You hop back onto the counter, settling back in your position and regain your breathing. The droid bangs against the door. You kick it with your foot.

“Do you want me to get our doc to take a look at you?” Bucky’s voice gets louder as he gets closer. 

“Nope.” You swing your legs casually as he reappears. “Unless your doc has a cure for my dumbass disease.”

“That’s incurable.” He stops in his path, eyes slowly dropping down. “There are grapes on the floor.”

“Huh,” you say stupidly, “guess there are. Musta dropped them.”

He narrows his eyes at you. You smile back awkwardly.

“You need sleep,” he says, lifting up the glass dish to place it in the oven. “You’re eating dinner and that’s it for today.” 

You nod lazily before it suddenly hits you.

"No, wait!" You grab his face, kicking your foot against the oven door to keep it shut. You can feel the droid push at the door in an attempt to get out. 

Bucky freezes, looking at you slightly wide-eyed. "...what?"

Your eyes flicker down for just a second and it's like time slows down. You instinctively brush his cheekbone with your thumb and his breath hitches. 

"You, uh-" you swallow the lump in your throat. “You're very pretty."

"Thank you?" He blinks.

There’s a thick silence that ensues. Bucky’s chest rises and falls steadily, grip on the glass dish tightening. The laugh lines around his eyes were more prominent up close. 

“Yeah." You let go of his face slowly, clearing your throat when you feel the droid give up. “Those steel blue eyes let you know where home is.”

He snorts, recovering rather quickly. “Alright.”

“It's my safe place,” you continue, trying to get rid of the image out of him so close to your face out of your mind.

“You done?”

“Not yet.” You grin. “I’ll put it in the oven, you go open the wine. We got plenty more to go.”

“You’re not supposed to be on your feet.”

It’s late in the evening and you’ve had damn near enough of your Home Alone style traps, and it shows when you say, “Trust me when I say it’s easier for both of us if I just help with this one thing.”

He looks at you sceptically. You bat your eyelashes innocently in return.

“Fuckin’ knew I shoulda bought two bottles.” He leaves the tray on the countertop, taking the plates and cutlery with him. 

You breathe out a little sigh once he’s out of the way before hopping off the counter and yanking open the oven door.

The droid launches itself past you with pent up ferocity and you tug it backwards.

“Bad droid,” you whisper. “Bad, bad droid.”

“Attack,” it says robotically. “Intruder detected. Attack.”

“Not him.” You fumble for the kill-switch as it struggled against your grip. “Why don’t you ever do this to Jake?”

“Intruder detected. Attack.”

“What’d you say?” Bucky calls out from the dining table. 

“Timer’s at twenty minutes, right?” you deflect loudly.

“Intruder voice detected.”

“Shut up, please.” You finally push the button, watching it die down in your hands. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

“Yeah, twenty minutes.”

“Okay.” You open the nearest cabinet and shove it inside carelessly, hoping it stays there without any more drama. 

It sputters in defiance. You gave a sharp thud against the door with your hand and it doesn’t make any more noise, at least not for the time being. 

“You good?” Bucky appears at the doorway, his apron now swung over his shoulder like a towel.

“Perfect.” You smile up at him, smoothly sliding the dish into the oven like nothing happened. “If this recipe works, it’s because I was so good at setting the timer.”

There’s a serving of the most amazing smelling lasagna, probably the best-looking garlic bread you’d ever seen and a good bottle of wine on the coffee table in front of your couch. Bucky was busy scrolling through Netflix for a movie to watch, occasionally stopping to ask for your input. 

And though this was probably the most ideal situation, given the circumstances, you can’t stop glancing towards the kitchen for any new surprises that may come your way.

“Did you forget something there?” Bucky asks after you look over his shoulder for the tenth time.

“No, no,” you mumble. “Just checkin’ to see if Alpine’s alright.”

“I thought she went to bed.” She did, after scarfing down the little treat Bucky bought for her. You told him he spoiled her. He brandished another treat from his pocket in retaliation. 

“Thought I heard her walkin’ about.” 

“You know,” he says casually, pausing at the ‘horror’ section of the catalogue, “your murder bot’s not gonna get out of that cabinet.”

“You don’t know that yet-” you say distractedly before reeling back. “Wait, what murder bot?”

“The one that’s been rolling around the kitchen all evening.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Almost stepped on it a few times.”

“You fuckin’ knew?” Your jaw drops unceremoniously. 

“I’m a stealth agent. I’ve been trained for decades.” He snorts. “And you’re terrible at being subtle. If you were even trying.”

Guess you weren’t.

Your nose scrunches up. “You said no inators.”

“I didn’t think you’d take it that seriously.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I dunno.” You shrug. “Figured we deserved a night off from them.”

He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “Listen, you like them. They’re important to you.” He looks ahead again. “You know I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

“We’re a package deal.” 

“I’m aware.”

You conceal a smile. “A closeted romantic.”

“Shut up.” He grunts, exhaling out a laugh shortly after. “Pick a damn movie.”

You were already on a different tangent, the whole evening replaying in your head viscerally. 

“I spent so long trying to stop that thing from getting rid of your ankles,” you whine. “Do you even care about your ankles?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“And my cast won’t stop floating and the knives are swords.” Maybe you should get rid of a few of them. It seemed like overkill. “What would I have done if you stabbed yourself?”

Bucky shakes his head at you in disbelief. “How the fuck do you live here?”

“They’re not always around. I just work around them, usually,” you mumble. “Woulda evil-proofed the apartment if I knew you were showing up.”

Bucky points to a handheld inator that’s propped up against the corner of the room, a bright yellow in colour and accentuated in purple. “What’s that?”

“Oh, that’s just a vacuum cleaner.” You forgot to put it away after the earlier fiasco.

He looks at you, unamused.

“I’m not kidding.” You laugh. “I swear, it makes a ‘pew pew’ sound and everythin’ but it’s just a regular vacuum cleaner. I could show you if you want.”

The one thing he thinks could be a weapon and it turns out not to be.

“What are we watching?” He reverts his attention back to something he could predict.

“I don’t know.” You watch him flip through channels. “We started watching Breaking Bad the last time you were here.”

“There’s been more than enough drugs for one night.”

“Fair point,” you concede. “The rest of this date’s just us scrolling through Netflix’s catalogue.”

“Who said this was a date? This is for security puposes.”

To be fair, he forgot it was a date. It just seemed like any other day of hanging out with you which, he now supposes, were mini-dates. Turns out Clint was right about one thing after all, even though it was months ago. 

“You’re in too deep, buddy.” You shuffle closer to him. “Security or not, you’re here eating dinner with me.”

“I’m here on duty.”

“Fine, answer me this.” You sit up straight, twisting your body to look at him. “You’re supposed to do your duty.”

He waits for you to continue, nodding slowly.

“And if I’m your duty,” you begin, “then you should be doing me.”

He stares at you. “Pick a damn movie.”

“Sure.” You flop back, a little too easily.

He’s this close to asking how you agreed that easily.

Until he notices a sinister smile on your face and he already dreads what you’re about to start playing.

The wine glass was discarded a long time ago, the bottle finding its way into his grip halfway through the movie along with a prayer that he could get drunk again. He had the same reaction the first time around, too. 

Your anti-gravity military grade cast came off 15 minutes into the movie after it blocked his view. He insisted you keep it on, more for his sanity than anything. You immediately took threw it off, leaving only the bandage around it. 

“Wish I could actually get drunk,” he mumbles. “Get this shit-for-brains movie out of my head.”

“Kissing Booth 2-” you start but he already starts protesting “-is amazing. It’s got two guys.”

“They look the same.”

“And what’s the problem with that?”

“They’re both idiots.”

“You just don’t get it.”

By the time the credits start rolling, Bucky wants to commit arson.

“Never again,” he announces. “I’m never watching a movie with you again.”

“But the third one-”

“Never again,” he repeats, more determination in his voice than earlier. 

“How are you fine with horror movies and not this?”

“I don’t mind good ones, this is just garbage,” he argues. “Horror movies are fine, I see worse shit on a daily basis.”

“New plan, listen to this.” You hold up a finger. “So kiss me if I’m wrong, but-”

“Okay.”

You blink at him. “You didn’t even let me finish.”

He shrugs, looking you straight in the eye. “Heard what I had to.”

Whatever reply you have dies down in your throat.

You bite your lip when his stare doesn’t shift. 

The doorbell drags you out of it.

Both of your heads snap towards the door.

Bucky lets out a small noise as he pushes himself off the couch. “You expecting anyone?”

“Yeah, my boyfriend.” You shake your head to get yourself under control, before getting up yourself to follow him. 

“I’ll warm up the leftovers.” 

The door opens to another agent, dressed in all black from head to toe, including night-vision goggles. It reminds you of the time when that was all Bucky wore to meet you, his blue sweater a stark contrast to what used to be. 

“Hey, Agent P.” You give him a smile.

“Ma’am.” He nods. “Just a regular reporting and check in.”

“Everything’s good here.” You steal a glance at Bucky.  

“You know what to do if you need any assistance.”

“Scream bloody murder and bust out the ol’ baseball bat.”

He doesn’t move a muscle.

“And hit the safety switch y’all gave me twice,” you murmur in a follow-up. “Have a safe patrol.”

“Thank you.” He sends Bucky a curt acknowledgement before turning on his heel and leaving.

Bucky doesn’t bother closing the door behind him, instead, watching him leave. “Your boyfriend didn’t take any leftovers.”

“Ah, it’s okay. He’ll be back.” You cross your arms over your chest.

He leans against the door frame with a small smile. “It’s late.”

“Uh huh.” If Agent P was here for his shift, it meant that it was close to midnight.

“I should get going.”

“Guess you do.”

“Gotta pack,” he feels like he should explain even though he doesn’t really need to.

“Those guns aren’t gonna pack themselves.” You tap his bicep.

“Terrible.”

“I aim to please.”

Bucky laughs, and maybe you wanna tug him by the collar of his stupid sweater and kiss him against the door. 

“I had a good time,” you admit rather.

“Me too.” It was just as chaotic as he imagined it would be.

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Don’t know.” He exhales, hooking his thumbs into the pocket of his jeans. “Depends on what time Barton wakes up from his hangover.”

“Don’t miss me too much,” you tease, face falling into an easy smirk.

“No chance.” He scoffs. Maybe the sweltering heat of Qatar would be enough of a distraction.

“Liar.”

“Some fuckin’ peace and quiet for two weeks.”

“You’re annoying,” It’s definitely an inside joke at this point, “and I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”

Still, there’s a bright smile on his face and the makings of an evening well spent in his eyes. You love it. 

Bucky takes a calm step towards you.

You take a step right back.

“If you whisper in my ear again, I will attack you,” you warn from experience, “sprained foot and all.”

Bucky laughs. “No, not this time.”

Instead, his lips are warm against your cheek. He lets it linger there for a slow second before pulling back, and you find it hard to stop smiling.

“You should get some rest,” he says softly, returning back to his original place at the doorway.

“Mhm.” As much as you hate it, there’s a small sense of disappointment, even though the heat that spread through your face screamed otherwise.

“I know what you’re thinkin’.”

You look at him, mouth quirking upwards.

“Not like this.” He gives you a half-smile. “Maybe next time, when you’re not jacked up on meds.”

You could live with that.

if you like this series, please do consider supporting my ko-fi <3

Next part

[sluttywonwoo]

3 nights || jw x reader

summary: a one-night hookup turns into three (based off of the song 3 nights by dominic fike )

warnings: swearing, smut (18+), unprotected sex (uh yeah don’t do that)

word count: 2.2k

a/n: this is an old tom holland piece of mine that i thought would fit wonwoo (my tom holland blog is @wazzupmrstark if you wanna check it out)

masterlist

A hellish smirk tugged at Wonwoo’s lips as he gazed down at his phone in the midst of a pitch meeting. He glanced at the image he’d been sent for a second more before sliding his phone back in his pocket and lifting his head to indicate he was paying attention. But he was distracted. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for Jeon Wonwoo to receive nude pictures from unsaved numbers, but he was pretty sure he knew who this one was from. At least he hoped. You had cropped your face out of it, but from the expanse of your collarbone to the curve of your hip he could recognize the freckles under your breasts and the small scar just below your belly button.

He waited until he was dismissed from the meeting to respond. Didn’t want to seem too eager.  

What did I do to deserve this out of the blue, darling?

You didn’t respond right away. He shouldn’t have been surprised, he hadn’t responded right away, so why would you? You had better things to be doing than sit around waiting for him to text back, but a selfish part of him wished that you were.

You were a bit different from Wonwoo’s other lays, but he didn’t mean that in the nauseating ‘you’re not like other girls’ way that men liked to use to get into a girl’s pants. He didn’t really need to use cheesy, comparative shit like that if he was being honest. All he had to do was send a wyd text at 2am to get a girl to come over. Unless that girl was you.

Of course, you were beautiful, and incredible in bed, but something about you always left him wanting more. Maybe it was the fact that your presence was fleeting, you never stayed very long afterwards. Maybe your elusiveness tugged at a deeper curiosity in the back of his mind that he was unaware of. He was already familiar with every inch of your body, but truthfully he knew very little else about you. and maybe that’s what intrigued him.

Or maybe it was the simplicity. Routine hookups, no strings attached- regardless of how many times you came… over.

Whatever it was that kept you on his mind, Wonwoo didn’t dwell. He pushed all questions and logic away when he was with you. And when he wasn’t… he tried not to think about it. But it was difficult not to when you sent him pictures like that out of nowhere, no context, not even a response.

Ding!

Never mind.

Oops wrong person ;)

Wonwoo let out a low chuckle and shook his head. Of course, there was a small part of him that wondered if you had actually meant to send that to someone else, but he shook it off. If he knew you at all, which granted he really didn’t, he knew this game.

He didn’t hesitate to respond this time.

Shame… was gonna ask if you were busy tonight.

Only a few seconds passed before his phone buzzed again.

What did you have in mind??

You.

It was corny, sure, but effective.

I think I can make something work.

He grinned at the screen and sighed, licking his lips.

9pm. Our place.

-

You hadn’t even taken off your coat by the time he had you up against the door with his mouth on your neck, pressing breathy kisses to your skin. You gasped as he sucked a hickey just under your jaw, closing your eyes and moaning his name.

A seedy motel in the middle of the city wasn’t the… most ideal spot for late night booty calls. The sunset-colored wallpaper was peeling and the showers only worked sometimes, but in the grand scheme of things, location wasn’t important. It was still the best sex of your life, and they had cheap vending machine snacks.

The bed creaked and choked out a cloud of dust when Wonwoo pushed you onto it, but you just laughed and pulled at the waistband of his jeans for him to join you.

He smiled into a kiss that turned desperate. His hands were on your zipper, your bra clasp, your panties, anything to get you undressed faster. You held in a whimper when he sat up to undo his belt, something about the way he did that always drove you crazy. He smirked knowingly as he did and took his time.

You whined impatiently and nudged at him with a knee to hurry up. Thankfully, Wonwoo wasn’t one to leave you hanging and was back on you instantly. He pressed a thigh in between your legs and licked a stripe up the valley of your breasts, choosing the left, his favorite, to nip at.

“Fuck, Wonwoo,” you groaned, grinding up against him.

He paused and lifted himself so that he was hovering above you. “How was your day?”

You rolled your eyes and threw your head back in frustration. “Can we not?”

“I can’t ask you how your day was?”

“That’s not what I’m here for, and you know it.”

“Then what are you here for?” he asked, wanting you to say it out loud. You kissed him instead and took the distraction as an opportunity to pull him by the collar and flip him so that you were on his lap.

You tugged at his jeans and boxers playfully. “This.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Good one.”

“I know.”

He lifted his head to kiss you and you gave in with a quick peck on the lips. As often as you were with Wonwoo, you never took the time to notice how pretty he was. You knew he was hot. You could write an entire dissertation on how fucking fit he was, but as you gazed down at him underneath you you realized just how lovely this boy really was, especially like this. His dark hair was soft and wavy without all the product in it, and god his lips were so pink, and the way he looked at you…

You kissed him again, fiercely this time, and slid a hand down his pants just to feel him. He groaned, already needy.

“Wait-” he pulled back and sat up on his elbows.

“What?” You were worried you’d done something wrong, stared at him like you were in love with him for a second too long and he’d caught on.

“Do you want me to go down on you?”

You sighed in relief and laughed. “No need, I’m already soaked.”

“I can tell,” he quipped back and quirked an eyebrow.

You were a little embarrassed he could feel your arousal through his jeans and cursed. “Fuck you!”

“I believe you were just about to.”

“You’re lucky I’m horny, Wonwoo,” you growled.

“Tell me about it.” He smirked and laid back with an arm over his head.

Sometimes you wondered if the sex was really worth it, even if he was the best you’d ever had…

Of all the ways Wonwoo could fuck you, this had to be one of his favorites. There was just something about you on top of him that he couldn’t handle. The way your delicate gold necklace dangled in his face as you rode him, the way his hands fit so perfectly on your ass, the way your hair hung around your shoulders. He never lasted long.

To be fair, neither did you. And the way Wonwoo was saying your name wasn’t helping. Every time you lowered yourself back on him and his cock hit that spot inside you that burning intensity in your stomach grew a little stronger.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t out of breath and your thighs weren’t starting to get sore, but Wonwoo was begging you not to stop and you’d be damned if you let him down.

“Y/n, I’m close,” he warned and brought his fingers to your clit to make sure you were right there with him.

You just nodded, too far gone to say much else as you chased the high that was just out of reach. Wonwoo thrust up into you a final time and finished with a moan of your name tumbling from his lips.

Even as he was coming down he continued to massage your clit.

“Cum for me, love.” His voice was spent and gravelly and his eyes were pleading and fuck, who were you to deny him? You gripped his shoulders hard as your whole body tensed and you tipped over the edge.

And for a moment the world stopped spinning and time stopped moving as electricity surged through your body and you forgot your own name.

Wonwoo was still whispering words of quiet praise when you collapsed on his chest seconds later, trembling.

“That’s it, darling. That’s good.”

You let him rub your back like that until you caught your breath enough to sit up and roll off of him. You immediately started collecting your clothes from around the room and putting them back on as Wonwoo did the same.

“Two cherry cokes?” he asked and you nodded.

“And powdered donuts?”

“Give me some credit, how could I forget?”

It was something of a tradition to share a snack and a soda after you hooked up. It had started on a night when both of you were too drunk to drive anywhere afterwards so you passed the time sitting in bed eating stale powdered donuts and drinking soda to sober up. Logically, you could have slept it off and went home the next morning, but it was a rule you had to never sleep over at a one-night-stand’s place. Even neutral territory like this was off limits.

Wonwoo could’ve gone to bed without you and left you to fend for yourself but instead he made the trek out to the vending machines in his boxers to get you both some food. Turns out cherry coke was the only soda they had, and there was no telling how old it was, but it was better than nothing.

That night was so long ago, but you still remembered how he stayed up with you until four in the morning watching shitty reality shows on the fuzzy tv, talking about exes and weird dreams and hobbies you both wanted to learn. You wondered if he ever ended up teaching himself pottery.

Wonwoo was back with the goods before you could blink and handed you your respective share of the stash. You held your can up and clinked it against his before taking a sip. You’d grown to like the syrupy sweet taste of it by now, and even found yourself craving it when you weren’t with Wonwoo.

“Same time tomorrow?” Wonwoo asked as you buttoned your pants.

“You’ll still be in town?”

Usually he didn’t stay for long unless he was working on his music so you didn’t let yourself get hopeful just in case he was kidding.

“And the next day,” he confirmed. It was an invitation.

“You’re not one for planning ahead,” you pointed out, gathering the rest of your belongings in your arms.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

-

Wonwoo didn’t sleep well that night. He never did when he wasn’t in his own bed, but this was different. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened just hours ago in that run-down motel by the highway and what might happen tomorrow.

His members had been confused when he moved his flight back home two days and he hadn’t given them any other explanation than ‘catching up with friends’ for them to go off of. He had those days off anyway. Seoul would be fine without him until then.  

But uncertainty lingered in his mind. What if you didn’t call? What if you were busy? He knew your world didn’t revolve around him, but he was starting to wish it did. It was stupid, and there were dozens of other people he could call for a quick fuck in this town if you stood him up, but suddenly none of them sounded interesting.

He circled back to that picture you’d sent him earlier and found himself wishing he could see your face.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he muttered out loud to no one in particular and forced himself to turn his phone off to try and sleep again.

-

The second night was much like the first. Quick sex, donuts, cherry coke. You didn’t even finish your half of the donuts before you were out the door. You expected the third night to be the same, along with that awkward ‘we might never see each other again’ interaction that happens at the end of every fling, but what you got was far from it.

“You should stay.”

You already had one shoe on when he dropped that out of nowhere and-

“What?” was all you could say.

“It’s late, you should stay over. We could get breakfast in the morning or something.”

“Wonwoo, I-”

“You don’t sleep over after one-night-stands, I know.”

“Then why are you asking me?”

“Well, it’s been three nights…” he trailed off.

“But it’s the same arrangement,” you argued.

“What if it wasn’t?”

You put down your other shoe and stood up. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“I have those rules for a reason. I didn’t just make them up for fun. Without them… feelings get hurt. Hearts get broken. Things get complicated.”

“I know.” Wonwoo sighed softly and took a tentative step towards you. “But-”

“But what?”

“But it doesn’t have to be like that,” he finished. “It won’t be like that.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t,” he said honestly. “But there’s a first time for everything.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I'm sorry but i'm addicted to our boy Spamton- I have a little unique request here. So this takes place where Spamton just moves in the Queen's mansion, he meets the reader and immediately falls for their kind words and gestures. Weeks pass, and he goes to see them, but catches them talking and hanging out with Swatch.. He gets really jealous to the point of changing his style to match Swatch's

"Oh [y/n]! Have You Met Our Newest Guest?"

"Uh, I don't believe-"

"He's An Interesting Addison Who Made A Big Name For Himself! Ohohoho!" Queen laughed joyously, pausing to sip her glass of battery acid. "I Wonder How He Got So Rich...No Matter. As My Peon, I Order You Greet Him......Whenever It's Convenient For You."

"Sure thing. I'll go now." With a respectful nod, you set off to the mansion's guest chambers to meet this newcomer. You've lived here for a long time--and somewhat reluctantly since Queen decided to make you one of her peons one day. But life was actually pretty good.

It wasn't like you had anything better to do, so if she needed someone to help her with plans that..didn't seem all-that urgent, you'll offer your assistance. She let you stay in the mansion for free and never made you do anything if you weren't feeling up to it.

For a tyrannical ruler she was rather kind.

Yet you didn't wanna take advantage of her hospitality, so you'd just listen to whatever she says. And if she wants you to meet this celebrity as part of her endless lists of requests, then you'll happily oblige. But you were eager too since you've seen his face on TV a lot. It felt like an honor.

After wandering the corridors of deactivated puzzles, Mona Lisa-esque portraits, and meticulously-placed pottery, you finally arrived at the guest rooms. You hummed a small tune as you passed by each one, stopping when you noticed one door was open.

Peeking inside, you saw the Addison still setting up things. A phone was tucked between his shoulder and ear as he moved a box whilst rambling to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"Yea! I promise I won't let you down, okay? Soon I'll be bigger than ever before! I know I'm already a big shot but....haha, yeah, I shouldn't get carried away. Okay. Right..we'll discuss more of this tomorrow. Thanks!"

After hanging up the phone and returning it to the receiver, he finally noticed you and smiled. "Hey, hey! Haven't seen your face around here yet. But surely you know mine, right?"

"Yeah." You smiled, not wanting to shy away from talking with him. "Spamton, right?"

"Everybody's favorite number-one rated salesman!!" He laughed. "It's good you know me..'cuz soon ALL of Cyber World will know my name! It's a pleasure to meet you...?"

"[Y/n]. I'm one of Queen's peons." You shook his hand politely. The energy that radiated from him was so bright. Just as much as his pearly smile was.

Stepping inside, you glanced around at the luxurious furniture. He definitely got the higher-class rooms, with the addition of a large window that showed the neon green meridians that stretched across the night sky. It was certainly a beautiful view to fall asleep to. "Need help unpacking?"

"Oh--sure!!" At first Spamton seemed surprised by your offer, but he nodded. "If you want, be my guest. And while we unpack, I gotta ask you..how's it being Queen's peon?"

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

Weeks passed, and you've gotten to know Spamton more and more. You realized he was actually a sweet down-to-earth guy all around. Although he was on the phone a lot, he'd make time to hang out with you, so you two became fast friends.

He was truly living the best life. Posters of his car advertisements were littered all over the city, and the Swatchlings attended to his every need. Though one thing was hard to admit, even when it seemed like he had it all:

You were his only friend now that everyone else is intimidated by his status--as they would shy away from conversing with him--and the Addisons, well, abandoned him out of jealousy.

Obviously that made him worry about driving you away, especially when he's on the phone nonstop. But...the fact you've been so kind to him in every word and gesture, treating him like a regular person and not some untouchable celebrity, was quite endearing. Most admired him for his products, not his personality.

Your kindness made him fall for you hard and fast, ever since day one. He wasn't sure if this was a good idea; to let it get in the way of his business.

But what the hell? He was a big shot! He can afford to go a bit bigger and take more risks. Living in this mansion with someone who loved him would be the perfect dream.

There was a much bigger dream that his valued caller insisted he focused on, but that can come later.

So this morning, Spamton set out to find you to address these feelings once and for all. Yet he was rather nervous. Addisons were most confident in selling products, not so much...everything else. But he didn't wanna back down. He kept smiling no matter what.

As he checked inside the color café that he usually frequented, he saw you eating at the table. He noticed you weren't alone but with Swatch, talking and...

Laughing with them?

And just like that, his smile faded much like his hope.

Of course, the head butler had their ways to swoon people. He tried not to think of it as anything more than just their personality. It's just their way to entice returning customers.

That's all...right?

Spamton ducked behind one of the displays, listening in on your conversation to determine if he should proceed or not.

"By the way, we've known each other for a while and..I've always wanted to ask you something.."

"Yes? What is your inquiry?"

He held his breath. This is exactly what he feared. Knowing that you've been here longer, it's obvious you'd be closer to that damn bird-

"Your outfit."

Then he exhaled shakily, relieved. 'What are you getting so worked up for, idiot?' He thought in the back of his mind, but he continued eavesdropping.

"Did the Queen make it or give it to you? It's very stylish and really makes you stand out from the other Swatchlings."

"Ah, in fact I decided this look for myself." Swatch chuckled softly, raising a wing to adjust their glasses. "The tailor did marvelous work with my vision: black suit, tinted glasses. Very fashionable, is it not?"

"It is. I like it a lot."

"Why thank you. I see why our Lady Grace admires you. Just for that compliment, I'll give you a discount on any of our products in the gift shop."

"Should be every day if you ask me." You joked, earning another chuckle from them.

Seeing all of this and the way you two spoke like close friends was a jab in Spamton's heart-shaped object. 'So [y/n] likes people who stand out? Well I can stand out, too..' He thought bitterly as he stormed out of the shop without either of you knowing he was there.

Why should he settle with being a blank-slate Addison like the rest of them? He didn't consider himself one anymore.

Today, he told his valued caller, he was gonna be a whole new person.

It would help him get closer to both of his dreams, but there was only one on his mind now.

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

Later that night as you were getting ready for bed, you heard a knock at the door. You huffed in annoyance, assuming Queen needed you for something.

She had a knack for disturbing you at ungodly hours. But knowing better than to ignore her, you went to answer the door anyways-

To some strange black-haired guy in a black suit and white turtleneck sweater.

"Hi, um...can I help you?"

"[Y/n]? It's me."

"....wait....Spamton?"

"Yeah!" The salesman laughed, throwing his arms out and making a pose. "Whatdya think of me now?"

Perplexed, you looked him up and down. He ditched the lime-green pants, instead wearing white trousers. And his hair was slicked back. But what was most peculiar about him were his glasses, tinted with pink and yellow lenses.

Had you not known any better, you would've thought Swatch suddenly shrunk and became robotized.

"Cool but..you kinda look like Swatch a little bit. Was that on purpose?" You mused.

"...haha....yeah uh..funny story. Um.." He dropped the act, losing his trademark grin as he wondered how to explain himself and this sudden transformation. You could tell he wanted to talk inside the room, so you let him in and shut the door.

"I don't recall Queen mentioning any costume contest-"

"It's not a costume." He muttered, uncomfortably rubbing his hands together as he looked at you with sadness. "This is who I am now. The new me."

"..huh? You serious?" When he nodded, you frowned slightly. "I'm confused. You don't look like an Addison anymore-"

"That's the point...! I...I don't wanna be associated with them anymore. I decided to stand out, y'know? If you're gonna be a big shot, ya gotta stand out from the crowd!" He forced a laugh that sounded rather glitchy.

You didn't buy it. It wasn't like him to do this out of the blue.

"Spamton, why imitate Swatch of all people? And why out of the blue like this? I mean..I don't mind if you like their style. But I didn't even recognize you until you spoke."

Try as he might, he couldn't make any better excuses. So seeing that he was cornered made him finally admit his jealousy, overhearing your conversation with Swatch while he was browsing--when he really wasn't, but he didn't wanna come off as creepy.

His voice glitched further due to stress, accidentally blurting out some kind of...flirtatious term as he explained how much you meant to him since day one.

You weren't sure if he meant to say "hot single" on purpose. Though you were flattered that such a famous guy like him...actually had a crush on you, an ordinary Darkner who just fetched the Queen's stick wherever she threw it.

You found it hard to believe he thought of you that way..so you kept your own feelings buried. So to see that it's mutual was a relief, and it made you smile.

Spamton, on the other hand, was stressing the hell out. So much so he didn't even see your smile. He just saw himself being stupid the more he rambled on.

It was such a stupid, stupid reason to get insecure--to the point of changing his entire appearance without warning. All because you were friends with a butler who was doing their job???

How selfish can he get when he already had everything he wanted and more?

When he did acknowledge your small smile, he thought you were holding yourself back from laughing. But you had every right to laugh and call him a joke for thinking this will get your attention.

As he finished talking, he could see your smile fade and huffed. He waited for you to tell him how stupid he looks and to go back to being the plain old Addison you met.

Instead of ridiculing him you...hugged him?

At this point you were sitting on the bed together. Of course yours wasn't as massive as his was, but it was big enough for you two to share.

"Spammy, I'm flattered you like me in that way but...you didn't have to do all of this to get my attention. I promise there's nothing going on between Swatch and I. We're just friends. They're not replacing you or anything."

"I know, it's just.." Taking off the glasses, he set them aside before hugging you tightly, head buried in your chest. "I don't wanna lose the only person in this damn place who makes me feel like myself. Who loves me for me, not my success. And...I-I felt like I had to change something about myself to make sure of that."

"Well..you don't need to change anymore. I love you no matter what you look like."

He blinked, his face turning as red as his cheeks.

You could sense his embarrassment from the way he tensed up in your arms and chuckled, patting his hair softly. "Just..don't feel pressured to change for me..or anybody for that matter, okay? Or at least let me know if you're gonna change things up again."

"You don't think..I look stupid or creepy like this?"

"No. Honestly you look pretty handsome. Black hair suits you well."

Hearing those words made him breathe a small sigh of relief. He nodded and hugged you tighter.

His new looks were staying for good.

[writingfromkitchenator]

Home Is Where Your Love Is

Christmas Fic

Masterlist

Fili x Female Reader

Requested by @florachy

Words: 1,637

Warnings: Lost Fili, suggested magic at work, implied soul mates

Snow crunched under Fili's boots and he couldn’t help but sigh heavily.  Of all the times that he could’ve gone wandering and gotten himself lost, he had to choose this close to Yule to do so.  All he had wanted to do was to get out of the hustle and bustle for a whole. Now, he was utterly and helplessly lost.

Fresh snow had fallen as he walked and rested, and he honestly hadn’t though much of it at the time, but now he was regretting it.  It made everything look...otherworldly, even more so as the sun began to set, and he honestly couldn’t recognise a thing that would get him home.  He knew how to survive out here if he needed too, but it was something he was particularly keen on doing.

He knew he had to go the way he was going, but he honestly thought that he would’ve seen something by now, he didn’t remember walking for that long.  There just seemed to be trees and snow and rocks for as far he could see.

Fili sighed.  It was going to be a long night.

Suddenly, singing seemed to whisper through the trees, making Fili’s head tilt.  It seemed strange that someone else was out here, especially at this time, but like a siren call, he followed it.

He tried to tell himself that singing was a good sign, that he was probably closer to home than he thought, but there was something else telling him that this was strange.  There was a pull to the song, despite how cheerful it sounded, and his feet carried him onward almost against his will.

Fili stopped when saw the cottage.  It was small, but homely, a fire brightly burning within. A small garden bed was out the front, somehow growing flowers, despite the time of year.  The strangest thing though, was he’d never heard any mention of someone living out here before, and considering how close a watch they kept on their borders, this was very strange indeed.

Yet, he still wanted to go inside.

Almost at that thought, the door opened and you stepped out, still singing away as you poured some water over your garden.  You only trailed off when you saw him standing there, but it took you only a moment to greet him with a warm smile.

“Would you like to come in?”  You asked.  “You look rather cold standing out here?”

Fili nodded before he thought about, and before he knew it, he was stepping inside your home.

Inside was even stranger than the out.  Everything in the room was hand made, either carved or sewn or stitched, plants seem to be in every free corner, and if it was plants, it was pottery.  Somehow, he knew that all these things had been made by you.  The only thing that did stand out as unusual, was the pot and kettle currently near the fireplace.

“Please, take a seat by the fire,” You said cheerfully.  “No need to be shy.  We can’t have a dwarves prince getting ill now, can we?”

Fili blinked and stared at you.  “You know who I am?”

“Anybody who is anyone knows who you are,” You chuckled. “You must forgive my informalities of course, I am not used to dealing with royalty.”

“I’m hardly royalty, in fact, sometimes I’d much prefer not to be,” he had no idea why he was telling you this, but he continued anyway. “I’m Fili, at your service.”

You smiled so brightly, that Fili could’ve sworn that it lit up the room even more.  “I am Y/N, at yours.  Please, take a seat Fili, you look rather tired.”

He did, and soon a large mug of tea was sitting in front of him, and you continued to hum away as you worked on something.  Fili watched you, fascinated, and not even knowing where to start with questions.

“You’ve wondered a bit too far south, if you were wondering,” You said casually.  “There is a storm brewing tonight, but you are more than welcome to stay, I have plenty of room.”

“I do not wish to impose,” Fili said quietly, his eyes not leaving you, as if you’d suddenly reveal your secrets.  “I’m sure I could make it back before night truly falls if you would but point me in the right direction?”

You pointed in the general direction the fireplace.  “You may go if you wish, of course, your people are that way.  I would recommend staying, however, this storm is going to be particularly bad.”

Fili made no effort to move, bit he continued as if he was still trying to convince himself.  “Yule is soon, I do not wish to worry everyone.”

“I think you would worry everyone more of they knew you were out in the storm,” there was a sparkle in your eye, one that told him that you knew what you were talking about, although still none of it made sense to him.  “It should only last until the morning, and you’ll have a pretty easy walk home.”

He nodded, but still made no effort to move, he wasn’t even sure why, but something told him to stay put.  “Are they not your people too?”

For the first time he had stepped in your door, he watched you hesitate.  “Yes...and no.  I think many have forgotten that I am out here.”

Fili tilted his head.  “Why?”

You smiled a little sadly at him.  “Because some tales have been forgotten, that shouldn’t have been. Just know you are safe here, nothing can cross here unless I allow it.”

This confused him even more.  “Are you keeping me here?”

You frowned a little.  “No?  You may come and go as you please?”

“Then why do I feel compelled to stay?”  He asked quietly.  “Why do I feel so at peace here?”

“There could be any reasons,” You looked away though, not meeting his gaze.  “Or none. Some things are never meant to be explained Fili.  Perhaps you are just weary.”

“I’ve felt this before, haven’t I?” He asked suddenly, the memory returning to him as if out of a dream.  “As I was laying, dying on the battlefield.  You were there, weren’t you?”

You sighed heavily and let a silence fill the room for a moment. Fili waited, knowing you would answer, but that time was necessary.

The memory was so clear now, he had thought that he had reached the end, that Azog had finally won and destroyed the line of Durin. Then, a warmth had surrounded him, filled with comfort, and what he could only describe as love.  Whatever it was, he felt his strength returning, enough to get back to his feet off the ice, and suddenly, his wounds didn’t feel so bad, he was able to return and help fight alongside his brother and uncle and win the war.

It was you, it had to have been you, and perhaps this was why he felt he knew you?  It sounded right, but something also told him that there was more to it than that.

“It’s...not easy to explain,” You said slowly.  “I’m not even sure you would believe me if I did tell you. Just know that I am here for you, whenever you need me, and whereas you have only known me now...I have known you far longer.”

Fili wanted to question it, he did, but right now, he thought that maybe it was best to wait on answers.  Somehow, he knew that things would become clearer down the line.

“Will you join me tomorrow?”  He asked.  “The Yule feast is not one to be missed, and I’m sure there would be more than a few that would like to thank you for rescuing me.”

Your eyes were wide when you looked back at him, surprised. “You...want me to come back with you?”

Fili smiled.  “Of course. For some reason I have a feeling that you have been missed at home.  It would be nice to...I don’t even know.”

A soft laugh left you, and Fili felt that emotion again, one that was like love, like he had felt that day.  “Oh Fili...I would like that.  Very much.  Are you sure no one will mind?”

He shook his head.  “No, they won’t, and there is always too much food. If you feel too uncomfortable, I can always walk you back here of course, and stay as long as you need me too.”

Your mouth opened, then closed, your smile shy.  “For someone you barely know, you are very generous Fili.”

“But I feel like I do know you,” he said, getting to his feet and taking your hands in his.  “And, I can’t explain it, but I feel like I should know you more.  I feel at home here, with you, and I feel like that would follow me wherever you or I go."

The two of you held each others gaze, both understanding, and yet not, and while he knew you knew something more to all this, he knew you would explain when you were ready.

"Will you come back with me?” He asked.

"Yes." You said without hesitation.

Fili smiled.  "Good, then let us get some rest.  We should get in early so we don’t get drowned in questions.”

You laughed and let his hands go.  "How about some supper first?  I'd hate to sleep on an empty stomach.”

He nodded, only now realising just how hungry he was. "Is there anything I can do?”

As you gave him a couple of tasks, Fili couldn’t help but smile to himself, the memory of being lost long forgotten.  Here, he felt more at home than he ever did, and while he still didn't entirely understand, he couldn't find it in himself to care.

[wri0thesley]

Hello Nat! It's me! The same anon who sent the Househusband Risotto asks a few weeks ago. Could I request a fic of Risotto with no.21(a Househusband au) and some pregnancy fluff? Congrats on 5k (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

brand new - risotto x reader

you have something to tell your husband. 

warnings: soft fluff, sfw. afab reader, no pronouns. pregnancy, talk of children, brief allusions to risotto’s past life. 

You’re surprised by just how easily Risotto falls into a domestic life.

You’d thought that his past would haunt him more; the fallen comrades, the Mafia business, the blood on his hands – but he’s surprisingly pragmatic about it, when you hesitantly bring it up.

“It happened,” he says. “I miss them. But I’ve been given a chance that they didn’t get, and I intend to take it.”

It’s more than your stoic, quiet husband usually says at once, and you feel it pierce your heart like an arrow. Your hand brushes over his broad shoulder in as much comfort as you can give him, and Risotto looks at you with the lightest smile on his lips that makes you feel like the luckiest person in the whole universe.

Risotto becomes the house-husband as if he’s been waiting to be able to do it for his whole life.

Oh, he makes some mistakes – some little things, like washing a pair of your red underwear in with some shirts that you wear for work. Planting the wrong kind of seedlings at the wrong time of year – trying to fix the plumbing himself instead of calling a plumber.

You two muddle along, but as a whole Risotto seems to be thriving, and that makes your heart leap in your chest like a prima ballerina.

Your heart thumps double when you come home after a long day of work and he already has dinner simmering on the stove, an apron wrapped around his broad frame – it’s emblazoned with the legend; “Hot Stuff Coming Through (and I don’t mean the food)”. You breathe in the scent of his cooking; something deep and rich.

You come up behind him and wrap your arms about him, resting your cheek on the centre of his back.

His muscle has gone a little soft now that he’s not working out so often or in as many life-or-death situations, but he’s still broad and amazing and perfect for holding onto.

“Smells great,” you say, sighing, kicking off your heels in kitchen to be put away later. Risotto’s eyes stray to them all higgledy-piggledy on the floor, and he frowns;

“Nonna’s recipe,” he says. “Aren’t you going to put those in the shoe rack?”

“I’ve only just gotten home,” you pout at him, but your pout quickly breaks into a smile as you see the exhaustedly fond expression on his face.

Now that he’s not an assassin – now that he doesn’t need to hide everything he’s feeling under the guise of being cool and cold and collected – Risotto’s face seems to move more. He finds it easier to express his emotions. It’s still little things; twitches and furrows, instead of his entire face transforming – but it’s more than before.

He’s comfortable. He’s happy.

You, and him, and the little world that you’ve build all around you two.

You bend over to pick up your heels, opening your mouth to say something over-dramatic about his newfound house pride – but you’re stopped by an ache that shoots down to the centre of your back, a noise of pain escaping you before Risotto can turn lightning quick and wrap a strong arm around you.

“Are you alright?” He’s asking, brow creasing slightly in concern. Panic flares in your stomach – you don’t want to tell him like this.

“Y-yeah,” you laugh it off, straightening up with your shoes in your hand, the other going to massage your back where you can reach. “Guess I was just sat in the wrong position at work for too long, huh?”

Risotto looks sceptical, but he can’t leave his boiling pots for too long. With a searching look at you, he returns to the stove, murmuring low;

“I’ll give you a massage later.”

You smile at his back as you walk towards the shoe rack in the hallway. You know that saying that will have made him blush; despite how long the two of you have been married now, he’s still nervous about things like that. His hands still shake a little when he goes to hold you. He still licks his lips before he kisses you, murmuring in a deep voice;

“Is it really alright?”

You always wind your arms around his neck and pull him in as your way of reassuring him that it’s perfectly fine. It’s hard, you think, for him to accept that he deserves all of this – but you’re eternally glad that the two of you get to share it together.

Little reminders of your shared home and life are scattered all about your home. A picture of you and Risotto at your wedding, framed and hung in the hallway; his suit is a little too tight, because he left it too long and it couldn’t be tailored properly to address the fact that he’s built like a superhero.

A bookshelf that has your romantic novels next to his own gothic horrors; a skull candle that burns red from its eyes as it melts perched on top. Also perched on top is a trinket dish that he made and painted for you at a pottery class he attended to try and get him out of the house whilst you were at work – you use it to dump your keys in.

It’s supposed to be a heart shape, but it’s more of a very uneven kidney.

The carpet you two had chosen together; you’d wanted something cheaper, but Risotto had insisted you could afford this one – he’d been right, and it’s soft beneath your stockinged feet.

You love him so much.

Your hand cups your stomach protectively now that you’re out of Risotto’s sight. You think of the tiny life inside of you; half Risotto, half you, already loved more than they’ll ever know even without Risotto knowing that it’s there. You can’t wait to tell him.

His hands are gentle on your shoulders, big and warm and softer than they once were. They’re still a little calloused from the garden work he enjoys doing, but he no longer handles weapons and you buy him sandalwood-scented hand cream instead.

They feel so good as they slide down your shoulder blades, brushing the notches of your spine, soothing circles pressed into your skin with his thumb. You sigh, relaxing into him. The feel of the palm flat against the small of your back – where the ache is the most pronounced – makes you relax even further into him, toes curling, a sigh escaping your mouth of relief.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He asks you, his voice measured. Your eyes flicker open from where they’ve closed in comfort.

“W-what’s wrong?” You ask him, nervously, and Risotto makes an ‘mm’ noise in the back of his throat. His hands do not stop the massage as he goes.

“You’ve been out of it for days,” he tells you.

(He’s right. You’ve been out of it since Monday, and it’s now Thursday; Monday is the day you’d woken up with your stomach heaving, remembered how long it had been since your last period, and bought a pregnancy test on your way to work. You’ve done three more since then, and all of them have showed the exact same result.)

“Have I?”

His hands move to your shoulders, gently twisting you around.

“You have,” he says, his red-and-dark eyes fixed firmly on you. “If there’s something wrong, I’d like to fix it.”

“It’s nothing you’ve done!” You say, all in a rush, but Risotto has successfully caught you nonetheless; his eyes narrow.

“So it is something?”

Heat rushes to your face. You forget, sometimes, because he cooks dinner and does the gardening and goes to his pottery class, that he was a battle-hardened mafia assassin who has done more interrogations than you will probably ever know (you never bring up his former employ unless he brings it up first). He’s an expert at gently needling the truth out of people.

“It’s not something that’s wrong,” you say, weakly, but his eyes are still pinning you in place.

“Tell me,” is all he says.

You think, in the back of your head, you’d had some kind of grand plans to reveal your secret – maybe involving balloons, and a cake, and a little party hat perched on top of Risotto’s silvery pale hair. You think you wanted to make a big deal out of it; one more reminder that the world he left behind is well and truly in his past now. But now you’re on the bed with him and he’s looking at you so tenderly in a soft grey shirt for sleeping and a pair of loose boxer shorts, all ruffled and sleepy and domestic . . . Now feels like a good time too.

“I’m pregnant,” you tell him.

You swear that you could hear a pin drop.

He blinks at you, as if he can’t properly process the statement.

“You’re—”

“We’re having a baby.”

“Oh my God.” His voice is very small. He reaches out, hesitantly, eyes wide – big hand hovering over your stomach. “Can I . . .?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless as his hand rests on it. It’s not curving, yet; the fancy test you’d bought today and done in the bathroom at work had said it thought you were well past three weeks, but that’s still early days. Your eyes stare down at Risotto’s scarred, huge fingers – so careful with you, despite what he’s had to do to survive.

“I can’t believe it,” he tells you, and your throat feels tight.

“Me neither,” you admit. “But . . . I’m happy.”

He meets your eyes. There are tears brimming in his – you have never seen Risotto Nero cry. You’ve seen him sad, of course (a sad downturn to his mouth when a dog dies in a movie, or when the rosebush he’d been carefully cultivating had failed to achieve a single bloom) – but there’s an actual tear rolling down his cheek, sparkling in the bedroom light.

“Me too,” he says, and it seems entirely natural. Entirely true. Your heart aches with how much you love him.

You two don’t say anything for a few minutes, content to just look at each other, the warm knowledge of what you’re sharing making the air seem hazy and unreal.

You think about the pitter patter of little feet. The spare room you can turn into a nursery. Going to pre-natal classes with Risotto, choosing baby clothes, seeing him out and about pushing a fancy perambulator (you’ve always wanted one of those tacky, over the top ones that look like a Victorian nanny’s contraption, and you know that Risotto will agree to it--).

You think about him in the delivery room, your nails making crescent moon cuts in his palm. You think about his encouraging tone; you think about the hand-grown flowers he’ll no doubt bring you.

You imagine him cradling a little bundle of joy; tiny in his huge arms. His lips leaving gentle kisses on tiny foreheads. Him reading to your baby, him tending to scrapes, him and you and your child and the life that neither of you ever thought you’d get to live together.

His face is shining, fully transformed. He sees you looking at him with droplets shimmering in your tear ducts and he wipes them away with one big, warm thumb.

“I know,” he says. “It’s not just for me. It’s for all of them, too.”

“Yes,” you say to him. Your voice breaks, pitches, as you manage to get out: “I’m so happy we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”

He looks at you, so tender you feel like you’ll come apart under his gaze.

This moment is going to shimmer in your memory forever, you think. You’re glad that this was how the reveal went. This is much more like the two of you than any fancy reveal or ribbon or cake (you might still get a cake, anyway – Risotto has a sweet tooth).

“I love you,” he says, like warmth that wraps about your heart. And then; “What about naming it Formaggio?”

There’s a beat. You stare at him.

Both of your mouths stretch into a smile, a soft huff of laughter escaping his lips that makes you feel like you’re listening to a symphony.

“Maybe we should workshop names a bit more,” you tell him.

He agrees.