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notjustjavierpena · 25 days ago

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Ofrenda

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Happy Day of the Dead to all of my followers! I hope you’ll take this time to reminisce about the loved ones that you have lost, and smile when you think of them. I thought of my mom the whole time while writing this, and it makes me sad to know that I live in a country where we view death so gloomily when life should be celebrated. I have written this with utmost respect for the Mexican tradition, trying to do endless amounts of research. I have also written this with endless gratitude to be able to express my love for Javier and his family as well as my own mother at the same time. We never get enough time together, so this beautiful holiday is so heartwarming. Hope you like it ❤️!

Summary: You make an altar with your family for Javier’s mother during Día de Los Muertos.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18, depictions of grief, loss of a (grand)parent, family dynamics, so much love in this little family, domestic bliss, non-explicit descriptions of sex, love confessions

Word count: 3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60151243

Ofrenda

You are in the kitchen, cutting the stems of marigolds on an angle into the sink. The scent of the flowers is citrusy and slightly spicy, complimenting the lemon cookies that are in the oven and nearly done. Beside the sink lies several bare stems too because Lucas is holding a bowl of their petals in his small hands.

He shows it to Inés, “You need to take a handful.”

“But I want cookies,” she only looks down into the bowl of orange for a moment before her attention turns to the oven, her little hands reaching out until you manage to stop her. She makes a noise of complaint but the mood of the room makes her dial down on how much she wants to fuss about it.

“The cookies are not for us!” Her brother replies with a serious look in his eye, clearly feeling authoritative in the task at hand, “They’re for Abuela (Grandma).”

“I’m sure you can have a few of them. She won’t mind,” Javier declares with a chuckle as he enters the kitchen too. His presence makes you smile to yourself, another burst of citrus filling the room as you cut yet another collection of flowers. You’ve filled almost two vases with them, have chosen the ones decorated with your favorite patterns, and fluffed them to look like two balls of sunshine.

“But she needs them. If she doesn’t get them, she doesn’t know where to go,” Lucas insists with a pout when his father crouches down between the two of them. He gives a look of concern as if he is the only one taking this seriously. You look over your shoulder and feel a flash of pride at how sensitive a boy you have made, but you don’t intervene because you know Javier has the situation under control.

“Sí, mijo (yes, my son),” he places a hand on the back of his son’s head, pulling him in to kiss his hair, “They’re for her but I am sure she’ll be happy to see you enjoy them too. She liked sharing with whom she loved.”

“Cookies for grandma and Inés,” Inés says proudly as if she finally understands the importance of the baked goods. Lucas’ expression eases a little as he stares at his baby sister’s longing but then he says her name.

When she whips her head around, he shakes the bowl of flower petals, showing them to her again. You can see how much Javier loves how he is taking this to heart.

“Just a little handful, okay?” Lucas encourages.

Inés’ little fingers dig into the petals, bringing up a much larger fistful of the bright orange marigolds than intended. She stares at them with wide eyes, enchanted by the strong color. Her little mouth falls open with a quiet pretty and she nods seriously. Lucas nudges her with his elbow, directing her back to the task, “Come on, we gotta put them on the ofrenda (altar) so Abuela knows we remember her.”

They exit the kitchen and make their way to the small altar you’ve set up in the living room. You check the timer on the oven but there’s still eight minutes to go, so you and Javier take a vase of flowers each and carry them to the table that’s been draped with a bright, woven cloth, and adorned with pictures, candles, and memories of Javier’s mother.

As you set down the vase of marigolds, you spot the tiny figurine that you have come to know so well too; a figurine of La Virgen de Guadalupe. She stands by the picture of Javier’s mother, face tipping towards her as a silent protector. The photograph of her is from when she was young enough to be just a few years out of high school, smiling widely with her dark hair tied back like you have seen so many times in other photos. She looks so much like Javier and how you remember her from the very first photo you saw of her, the one that you sneakily glanced at back at Don Chucho’s ranch on Javier’s desk in his teenage room. The one that the figurine stood guard over. That was before you knew what kind of life awaited with her son but you’re sure it was when you realized what kind of husband he would be.

Javier sets down his vase as well, his eyes lingering on the photo of his mother for a moment before he busies himself with adjusting the flower arrangement, testing out a few angles. You touch his shoulder in silent support and smile gently at him. It earns you a little smile in return, one that seems full of gratitude and love.

“You okay?” You mouth.

Javier nods. He finally lets go of the vase and at the same time, a deep breath of air, suddenly satisfied with his work because his heart feels lighter. Not long after, he leans in to kiss you briefly on the lips, eager to make you giggle as he steals another peck while you complain about being covered in specks of flour and sap from the flowers. It’s messy, you say. He thinks you’re perfect.

As you draw away from each other, Inés and Lucas scrunch up their faces and crinkle their noses at the display of affection. However, even so, you can see the tiny smiles hidden behind the mock outrage. They stand by a little impatiently as they watch you smooch, a drizzle of orange petals trailing Inés due to her getting distracted and forgetting they’re still in her hand.

“Inés!” Lucas has the same exasperated look on his face as earlier when he notices the mess. You said earlier that it would be Inés’ first year of joining in on creating the altar and understanding its purpose, and Lucas has taken his role in it very seriously. He is clearly feeling the responsibility of teaching her the tradition right now.

“Sorry,” she drags out the word, a guilty expression on her face, and tries to bend down to scoop some of the petals into her palm again, only seeming to increase the mess.

Lucas puts down the bowl of petals to help her, coming off as slightly distressed. He has furrowed his brow as he concentrates, acting as if the entire success of this moment is relying on him, “Abuela can only visit if you put the flowers on the table!”

“Luke,” you crouch down after exchanging a look with Javier. You soothe your son by running a hand up and down his back, “Abuela is always with you. This is just to do something extra special for her.”

“But what if she can’t find her way?” Lucas asks with concern on his face as he puts down the bowl and starts gathering marigold petals, “We have to make it special.”

“Mamá’s right, we are making it special, mijo, because of all the care you’re putting into this. That’s what’ll guide her here tonight, not whether the cempasúchiles (marigolds) are perfectly placed on the table,” Javier reassures gently and crouches down beside the two of you, Inés mirroring him immediately. All four of you start picking up the remaining petals from the floor and Lucas visibly relaxes a little more, reassured that things might not be catastrophic after all.

Your husband takes Inés’ small hands in his and guides her through the process of gently scattering the flowers across the table, their vibrant color standing out beautifully against the crisp white cloth. The orange and gold complement the papel picado on the wall behind the altar too.

“Flowers for Abuela,” Inés scans the sight before her and then claps her hands with a big grin. She beams with pride, so much so that even Lucas finds her joy infectious and smiles as well. Inés points her little fingers to her work, “Making it special!”

“She’ll see those flowers and know you put them there for her,” Javier explains, still crouching on the floor next to Inés. She leans into him. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her even closer so he can plant a little kiss on her cheek, tickling her with his mustache until she giggles.

“Did Abuela like flowers, too?” Lucas asks and moves onto his father’s other side, resulting in him also getting dragged closer. From the look on Lucas’ face, you can see that it has been his plan all along

“She loved them,” Javier answers with a reminiscing smile, “You remember how many flowers there are in Abuelo's (Grandpa) garden, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Both Lucas and Inés say right after each other.

“Abuela planted them and she loved them just as much as she loved lemon cookies,” their dad recalls fondly and there’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “Well, almost just as much.”

At the same time, the timer in the kitchen dings. Inés whips her head in your direction expectantly and you laugh softly as she itches to tell you to get a move on,

“I’ll get the cookies,” you say to make Inés sparkle with glee. You give Javier’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before slipping back into the kitchen. You can hear your children chatting softly with their father as they stay by the altar.

In the kitchen, you take the cookies out and place them on a cooling rack, enjoying the familiar scent of sugar and butter that wafts through the kitchen. The cookies are still very hot to the touch but you carefully transfer a bunch of them to a plate.

“Here we go,” you say as you reenter the living room.

“And she had this laugh… Oh, when you really got her going, it would echo through the whole house,” Javier shares.

“Like Mom,” Lucas says and follows you with his eyes.

“Much like Mom, yeah,” Javier agrees and you smile shyly as all eyes land on you. They have shifted to sit down on the floor in front of the altar, moments ago staring up at the colorful display while Javier told stories of his mother. Now, the three of them have stopped talking when they see you place the lemon cookies on the table, anticipation on their faces.

“Hola, esposa (hello, wife),” Javier says with a soft smile, the kind that makes your cheeks warm because you know he loves you.

“There are plenty of Abuela’s favorites left in the kitchen,” you say as you take four cookies from the plate and make sure the rest of them look presentable. Then you kneel down next to your family, handing each of them a still-warm cookie, “Careful, they’re still hot.”

With the altar complete, the four of you sit together on the floor, a quietness settling over you. Between the picture of your mother-in-law, the lit candles flicker and cast soft, dancing shadows. The combined scent of the marigolds and the lemon treats makes the room smell lemony and spicy, and small decorative butterflies catch the eye between the paper banners.

Inés nibbles on her cookie, looking deep in thought, so you reach out to brush her hair out of her face. Her soft voice finally asks, “Do you miss her, Papá?”

Javier stops right as he is about to take another bite of his cookie. He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, his expression unreadable for a moment. It seems like a gut punch but one that he has learned to expect from having small children. He thinks for a second then nods. When he speaks, his eyes are shiny as they prick with tears and you can hear a slight trembling in his voice, “I do, baby. I miss her every day.”

Inés looks shocked at having caused her father to cry. She puts her cookie down on the floor and you quickly scoop it up. She crawls to sit in front of him on her knees, wiping away a tear that has made its way down his cheek after reluctantly escaping the corner of his eye, “Are you sad?”

“Yes, sometimes,” he breathes and looks down, sniffs, “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to say sorry,” Lucas argues, looking to you for reassurance.

You nod and move to sit closer to Javier, pulling him into an embrace which he returns by holding your arm. You look at your son while resting your chin on top of Javier’s head, “Go on, Luke.”

Lucas takes a moment to find the right words, visibly skimming through the lessons you have taught him to find the one that applies here. He joins the hug, “Mom says that it's okay to feel sad when we miss someone because it means you really love them… It makes me feel good to miss Mom when I am at school because then I remember her.”

Inés, who has been quietly observing, joins as well. She rests her head against his shoulder, "We love you, Papá."

“I love you too,” he says and the words seem to give him a little courage, “Of course, it makes me sad, mija (my daughter). But having you, your brother, and Mamá here. It helps.”

“I know I say it all the time but I wish I could have met her,” you chime in and kiss the top of his head repeatedly, trying to keep it together yourself, “She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“Inés and I wish that too!” Lucas adds, “We can do this every year!”

“Make cookies!” Inés exclaims excitedly. They both eventually pull back after remembering the baked goods. Returning to lemon cookies laid out near the ofrenda, they chew happily. You snicker at Inés' excuses to eat anything sugary and squeeze Javier tightly before drawing back too.

“I think she’d like that,” Javier sighs with a little smile, taking in the picturesque view of his family.

A few more minutes pass and you gently remind your children of the time, “Alright, it’s getting late. Let’s say goodnight to Daddy and Abuela.”

They exchange hugs and kisses with their father, and then - while she is perched on your hip - you hold Inés near the altar. Both of your kids lay their palms on the table, talking gently.

“Goodnight, Abuela,” Inés says and pats the cloth.

“We love you,” Lucas adds tenderly.

They follow you upstairs to brush their teeth, wash up, and get into their pajamas. You finish bedtime routines with much more hugs and kisses, tucking the both of them in and thanking them for a nice day. Inés still has questions about her grandmother but you tell her that it’ll need to wait for tomorrow. When she seems restless, you trace your finger over her face until she dozes off.

When both kids are asleep, you return downstairs dressed in your own sleepwear. You find that Javier has cleaned the kitchen and is sitting on the couch in the living room. He glances at the ofrenda out of the corner of his eye, looking thoughtful and melancholic. You can see how much Inés resembles him in the evening light.

You silently go to sit down beside him, holding his hand between the two of you.

"Thank you for today," he says softly, leaned back into the sofa and his head turned towards you, "For helping the kids understand."

“You are so wonderful with them,” you reply with a gentle smile, "They love her because you love her, and because she's a part of who you are."

“Still, I couldn’t do this without you, mi vida (my life),” he stresses and inches closer, slowly removing the gap between the two of you. You lean in and rest your forehead against his, a sigh of relief escaping him at being so close to you, “You make everything better.”

You don’t respond with words. Instead, you close the remaining distance between you and your husband, kissing him lovingly in the glow of the altar and the moonlight shining in through the window.

Yet Javier seems to have more in mind when he reaches up to cradle your cheek with his large hand. He rubs his thumb along your cheekbone, eager as he deepens the kiss. It earns him a chuckle from you as you draw back slightly.

“Not in front of your mother,” you whisper to tease playfully.

“She’d probably tell me to make sure I’m treating you right,” he laughs quietly, thumb still caressing your face, “Keeping you happy.”

“Then you are succeeding,” you tell him with sincerity, keeping all the playfulness he has ignited at bay to show love instead. He responds by getting up from his seat and pulling you by your hand, making you giggle girlishly as he brings you to blow out the candles for the night while whispering in your ear.

Then he leads you upstairs and makes love to you, slowly and passionately. It’s all long, slow kisses and quiet gasps as you arch your back when he touches you to orgasm. He knows you inside and out, what you need, and what you feel. You’d like to say that it’s the same the other way around, that you know him just as deeply.

In the afterglow, you rest your head on his chest and feel his hand caressing your hair. His heartbeat is slow, his breathing almost steady again. You look up at him and feel so much affection that your head swims. An idea pops into your head in the beautiful clarity that follows being with him like this, “Tomorrow we could go to the cemetery if you like. We could take your dad too and get him to bring some flowers from his garden.”

“I’d like that,” he replies, his fingers playing with and brushing your hair to the side absentmindedly, “Pop would appreciate that. It’s been a while since we all went together during Día de Muertos. Yeah, let’s do that.”

“That’s settled then,” you kiss his chest.

“Fuck, I love you, esposita (my little wife),” he says happily, absolutely in disbelief at your perfection.

“I love you too,” you respond with a shy grin.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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yuellii · 1 year ago

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“ ooo, you wanna kiss me so bad! ” — furina / gn reader

There was something about the way this was easily the happiest she’s felt since she left the Palais.

It was mostly endearing, really (at least, she hoped it was), that you brought her mouthfuls of macarons and cake to stuff into her face like a woman starved of such a delicacy; though, she can’t help but plead a tad of gracelessness from the way she lived her life nowadays, barren of luxury in this small apartment.

She squealed happily, even so. “Oh, how I miss the Palais’ cooking!” she reveled in delight.

“Well, when you’ve been consuming nothing but macaroni these days, Lady Furina…”

“What?” she almost snarls defensively. Her cheeks flare red in embarrassment. Perhaps you didn’t fancy the bare basic, messy life she was showing you now… “Macaroni is good!”

You moved carefully, her eyes following your hands as they poured her more tea. “It is, my lady,” you didn’t deny. “But I can’t imagine you going a day, much less weeks, without something sweet for dessert.”

She almost crumbles from humiliation from that. Though you ( probably, she once again hopes ) did not mean your words in any insulting magnitude, there was no denying the shame she felt prickling at the corners of her eyes, nor the sharpness welling at the back of her throat. It was purely mortifying to have someone as special you think of her that way—her, as some spoiled, immature, strictly-sweet dieted bratty archon.

“Well…” she stutters out. She notices as your movements suddenly hesitate—perhaps there was something in her voice you’ve never heard before.

( And there was, truthfully so. There was a inkling of disappointment stemmed from a certain sadness you’d never imagine to hear from the all-magnificent, all-showcasing Furina de Fontaine. )

“Well, what you’re imagining is the archon you once knew,” she simply concluded, albeit quietly so. “Not me.”

There is a silence that ensues for just a moment; and curse her tendency to overthink, for now she was sweating over the way you thought of her. Perhaps it will finally hit that you pretty much knew nothing of her at all, and maybe then, you’d leave her alone. But she prayed that didn’t happen—once she’s gotten a taste of your company, she couldn’t quite let that feeling of companionship go. And… whatever other feelings came alongside it. But she could ignore that part of it, for now.

“That’s…” you started, and she tensed visibly, “true.” You pick up a red colored macaroon. It’s raspberry flavored. “I don’t know you, but I’d like to think that Furina also has a liking for sweets, if that is correct?”

She almost shivers when you say her name. No title, no formalities, just… her name. It sounds sweeter than the treat in your hand.

What more when you lift up the macaroon so delicately between your fingertips, and when your body leaned in. Her breath is practically caught in her throat when you press the edge of the macaroon gently between her lips, and it takes all of her brainpower just to open her mouth to bite it. Oh Archons, you just fed her… so improperly, too, like as a friend rather than a servant. She can feel her heart hammering painfully at her chest as her mind is screaming when her lips accidentally brush against your thumb—why is the surface area of this macaroon so small?!

Feeling embarrassed once more, she quickly snatches the rest of the bitten macaroon out of your hands so she can take the second and final bite on her own.

“Just Furina who still likes sweets…” she pondered aloud after chewing. “That’s… That’s right!” She brightly smiles to herself, “As I am a common civilian of society now, I know not to waste food on the table!” She talks quickly to attempt at quelling the redness on her face, though she does not know how well that is working. Her eyes frantically scan the table for any hopes of a conversation diversion, and they land on the plated cookies right in front of you. “And in any case, you look like you aren’t interested in eating, anyways—can I have your cookies?”

“All yours,” you wave off, and she visibly grows excited as her hand darts out in front of you. “Just don’t take the shortbread— Furina!”

She grabs the only shortbread cookie left on the platter with a force so strong it almost breaks it in half. And all the while, there is a sparkling mischief in her eyes. She knew this brand of shortbread cookies were your favorite—and she watched as they were the only thing you’ve been eating this whole time. And to make matters more infuriating? You knew she didn’t even like them!

Now, Furina definitely did not expect you to be so passionate about your shortbread to the point where you would dive forward to collide with her body, and reach your hand to grab the cookie before she put it in her mouth. Even as she sat up, there was a certain childish silliness in your expression that you’d never shown her before—one that made her heart throb so painfully hard she… accidentally comepletely ate the cookie she was supposed to only tease you with.

Oops.

“Furina!” you whined, visibly pouting as you leaned back. “I was saving that one!”

And here she was, sitting completely flustered ( and maybe a little lovestruck ) at your exchange. So, she does the only thing she knows how to: she talks.

“First you feed me,” she begins to blabber. “Then you try to steal a cookie that was already in my mouth—” Where was she going with this again? She thinks she might be staring at your lips a little too long right now; she lost her train of thought. “Your fixation on my lips means you want to kiss me, oh my Archons!”

She looks away once your expression changes, not wanting to deal with that just yet.

“You want to kiss me sooo bad, you look stupid trying to—”

…

“If you could just shut. Up.”

…You just kissed her. The words you just said, so deeply mean and informal, did not even register; because before you even said them, you just kissed her. Mouth agape, she feels sick—Did that really just happen? Did you really just—?

“Furina?” you called, shaking her shoulder from the side. “Furina, are you okay?”

“You idiot!” she yelled, turning and grabbing both your hands in hers. The color red was washed all over her face, coating her entire expression in flushed embarrassment as she stuffed the warmth of her face in your balled hands. “That was my first kiss, you’re so mean!”

She couldn’t even think right now, heart pounding wildly against her lungs as her mind searched—searched to remember the feeling of your lips against hers. Oh good Gods, she felt sick. Sick, and starved, and desperate, and delusional, and downright drowned in her own doom. This was so humiliating. She kind of just wanted to die in front of your hands right now.

“You’re the one who stole my cookie, and then kept teasing me!” you exclaimed back, freeing your hands to gently grab her face between them. She pouted into your hold, eyes closed before they could brim with tears from embarrassment. “If kissing you made you stop—?!”

Two could play at that game when Furina herself leaned in now to kiss you, leaving your hands hanging in the air behind her as her own hands moved to secure your face against hers, not letting you move.

A muffled “Furina—!” draws from your lips before she dives back in to her kiss, shutting you up completely just as how you did to her.

It’s pretty effective. She thinks she likes this way of getting you to be quiet.

this is my girlfriend she loves mac and cheese 👍 i’m really not the best with silly funny stuff like this but i tried </3 in the future, i really want to write furina in my style ! // not proofread

🕰️ // @definitelynotaneulasimp @ryuryuryuyurboat @naraven <3

#furina x reader #furina x you #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin women x reader #furina x y/n #genshin fluff #genshin x gender neutral reader #furina

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walnutcookie · 10 months ago

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"You're losing it all

You've been blinded by stardom!"

bnb!langue de chat in pain lol

rbs appreciated!

#langue de chat cookie #cookie run #cookie run fanart #cookie run au #art #my art #tw blood #blood #tw bruises #bruises #tw bright colors #bright colors

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cera-writes · 5 months ago

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Omg, I love your blog! 👁️👁️✨ I really love how you write for X-MEN characters. Today, I’m requesting a song fic for either Remy or Kurt. I think they would both fit Too Sweet (By Hozier). I’ve been obsessed with this song ever since it came out. Thank you! ✨

A/N: THANK YOU <333 I too, am obsessed with this song lol Pairing: Gambit x F!Reader Tags: songfic, Hozier, fluff, mutual pining

Too Sweet - A Hozier Song-Fic

The insistent chirping of birds filtered through the blinds, a jarring intrusion into Remy LeBeau's slumber. Ten o'clock. Ten o'clock before Remy would ever say a word and none earlier. Unlike him, you were a symphony of pre-dawn energy. Your voice, a melodic counterpoint to the morning symphony, cut through his haze.

"Remy! Rise and shine, sleepyhead! I've already been out on my mile run this morning before the sun rose."

He peeked from beneath the covers, your silhouette bathed in the golden morning light. Even in your active wear, you possessed an ethereal quality. It couldn't be said I'm an early bird, Remy thought, a wry smile playing on his lips. You were the quintessential early riser, a stark contrast to his nocturnal rhythm.

"Don' you jus' wanna wake up, dark as a lake, cher? Smellin' like a bonfire, lost in a haze?" he mumbled, the words tumbling out unbidden. You paused mid-stretch, concern clouding your bright eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" Your worry was a balm to his soul, a secret he wouldn't readily admit. You cared about him, the man who thrived in the shadows, a stark contrast to your rose colored glasses. You were too sweet for him, a melody in his whiskey-soaked symphony of existence.

"Peachy, cher," he lied with a lazy drawl, forcing himself upright. You were right. The allure of being the thief in the night seemed to pale in comparison to experiencing a sunrise with you. He joined you on the cool floor, his movements stiff compared to your effortless grace.

"You know you don't gotta pretend," he propped up softly, voice laced with amusement. A heat crawled up your neck. He saw through you, your carefully constructed facade. Perhaps, it was this very quality that drew you to him like a moth to a flame.

As the day unfolded, the contrast between you became even more apparent. Your afternoon was spent enveloped in the warm aroma of chocolate and sugar, your hands weaving magic with the ingredients. Remy, however, sharpened his fighting skills with his staff, the rhythmic clang a stark counterpoint to your gentle symphony.

You offered him a hot cup of joe, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I remembered you liked your coffee black. Oh, and I just made cookies. Help yourself to a few."

He chuckled, taking a tentative bite. The sweetness exploded on his tongue, a stark contrast to the life he led. "You're too sweet for de likes of Gambit, cher," he teased, a pull in his chest that wasn't from the charged cards strapped to his thigh.

"What does that make you then?" you countered, a playful comeback escaping your lips. But beneath the surface, Remy saw a flicker – a spark of attraction mirrored in his own gaze.

Later that night, when the moon replaced the sun, casting familiar, cool shadows, he found you on the balcony, gazing at the starlit canvas above. This was his domain, the time he craved.

"Couldn't sleep, cher?" he drawled, leaning against the railing, whiskey in hand as he took a sip from the glass.

You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips. "Just thinking."

He joined you, a comfortable silence settling between them. "Maybe," he started, feeling uncharacteristically hesitant, "maybe we don' have to pretend or play dis lil' game anymore. Maybe we can share de sky for a while."

You turned to him, your eyes twinkling like distant stars. "Maybe we can, Remy."

He leaned closer, the scent of tobacco mingling with the cool night air. In that twilight space between light and dark, he found himself lost in the sweetness of your kiss, a perfect counterpoint to his world of shadows.

#xmen #remy lebeau #x men 97 #gambit #gambit x reader #cera writes #remy lebeau x reader #f!reader

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does-it-introject · 5 days ago

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QUEUE CHECKLIST

[pt: Queue Checklist /end pt]

... will get updated every once in a while! Also hidden below the cut due to the amount of requests!

In the queue waiting is:

17776 / 20020 (by Jon Bois)

Minecraft (Game)

Chicory: A Colorful Tale

Murder Drones

Subnautica (Franchise)

Danganronpa

Jujutsu Kaisen

Dungeon Meshi

Mass Effect (Series)

Danger Days: The True Life Of Fabulous Killjoys

Lord Of The Rings

Fallout 4

QSMP

Transformers

Amphibia

Sk8 The Infinity

Hermitcraft

Owl House

Creepypasta

Life Series

Once Human

Star Trek (Franchise)

Bluey

My Hero Academia

VTubers

Skibidi Toilet

Demon Slayer

Ride The Cyclone

Dandy's World

Robert De Niro

Neon Genesis Evangelion

Poppy Playtime

How To Train Your Dragon

Komi Can't Communicate

Madoka Magica

Deadlock

Full Metal Alchemist (2003)

Mandela Catalogue

Overwatch

Voltron Legendary Defenders

Good Omens

The Walten Files

Chainsaw Man

Outlast

Spookys Jumpscare Mansion

SCP Universe

Class Of 09

Remnant: From The Ashes

Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood

Arcane

Hiveswap

Warcraft Universe (WOW, Warcraft, ...)

Friendsim

Inscryption

Starcraft (Franchise)

Vocaloid

Still Wakes The Deep

Roblox

Riverdale

Hazbin Hotel

Red Dead Redeption 2 (RDR2)

Monster High

Doom 64

Into The Spiderverse

Spider Gang (Music Collective)

Silent Hill (Universe)

Helldivers 2

The Magnus Archives

Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU)

DC Cinematic Universe

My Demon (Kdrama)

Needy Streamer Overload

Stardew Valley

Honkai Star Rail

Hellpoint

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#Do you guys understand my pain?#Do you understand what ita like to sort through 500 asks?#KIDDING #I'm glad people enjoy this blog #The stuff in (brackets) is more for me then it is for you #Stuff gets put randomly sometimes though I try to stick in order unless its BIG asks #or you mention my SPINs #;#this was requested by an anon - i hope this helps you somehow!#a lot of work #;;;;;;#queue checklist

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shirefantasies · 2 months ago

Note

Hi!

Once you feel up to it, could you please write a oneshot of Fílí meeting a hobbit girl on his way to the Bag End and falling helplessly in love with her?

I have always imagined that Fílí and Kílí had arrived to Hobbiton a whole day early and spent it walking around - that, given how lost their uncle always was, Dís had sent them on the road earlier than necessary to ensure that they arrived in time.

So when they arrive to Hobbiton, the brothers are left to explore the market - and that’s when the coup de foudre happens - Fílí sees a hobbit (with strawberry blonde hair, please, if you don’t want to do reader-insert) selling all kinds of flour and has very short conversation with her. To his utter disappointment and annoyance, Kílí is responsible enough to talk him out of buying the huge bag of flour.

And, to be honest, that’s the reason behind Kílí’s grin and Fílí’s smirk we see when Bilbo opens the door.

Thank you soo much!

Please, take your time and care!

🪻🌸🪻🌸🪻

‘Cuz’ of Death- Fili x F!Hobbit!Reader

This is so long in the making 😅 but yay, brain finally brained! Enjoy some Fili fluff 🥰

Warnings: one suggestive comment

Hobbiton’s rolling hills are green as ever as you struggle to pull the wheelbarrow along the path to the market. Your wares are your charge, of course, but that does not stop you in the slightest from wishing you had someone to share in your burdens. And your victories. Not that some great many victories are won in the illustrious world of flour salesmanship, but the thought still stood.

Thoughts. Such are yours for the remaining duration of the trip, flitting about your mind in fancy until you enter the bustle of tents being raised and tables being lain with all manner of honeys, meats, fishers' catches, freshly baked bread, and so many more colorful and tantalizing offerings of your great land. A smile fills your face at the sight. For some, they are overwhelming. For you? Your livelihood. Livelihood and the secret charm of possibility that you might meet someone you do not know, someone from some far reaches of the Shire. Or beyond.

Snorting at that particular notion, you heft bags of flour onto the table your neighbor was kind enough to set up for you, sorting them once all of them are up there for a moment of muscle rest. You hang your sign, a wooden piece carved for you by your father, and take up your helm of sale.

Sunlight has fallen such that it casts into your eyes; cursing your short form, you shade yourself with an arm as two shapes enter your line of vision. Tall shapes. Men? Dwarves? Dwarves, judging by their garb, which appears to be that of mountain folk. Heavy tunics, fur linings, heavy boots and beaded braids. They also are not so towering as the men you’d met on a trip to Bree once.

The blonde one's eyes slide between your wares and you, alternating until you break into a smile.

"Could I interest you in any of these fine flours, sirs?"

"Sirs," the black-haired one snickers, though completely without malice, only humor.

"What's this one?" Pushing his neighbor aside, Blonde points at a medium-sized sack.

“Buckwheat flour,” you answer with a smile, “Good way to make your cookies tender if you don’t use too much. That is, if you make cookies much. I’m not sure what you like.”

“I have been wanting to get into baking.”

“What are you doing?” Black Hair hisses, a whisper just loud enough for you to hear. “We’ve got the party!”

“Yes,” Blonde agrees jovially, glancing back to you, “It is prudent to bring a gift, isn’t it? What about a nice bag of-”

“We’ve got a while yet! I’m not carrying that around for an hour! Are you?”

“Well-”

“Come on, Brother.”

“Brother?” You burst out before you could stop yourself. The pair doesn't look so much alike- perhaps they each look like one parent.

“Oh, my apologies, madam,” Blonde whips around and gives a bow, spinning his hand as he folds, “Fili, at your service, alongside my little brother here.”

Giving your name, you accept Fili’s proffered hand and giggle as he presses a kiss to the back of yours.

"Kili," the little brother pushes in, offering his hand, too, "And we were just leaving."

"What about the buckwheat?" Fili turns from Kili back to you, leaning on your table. "I'm quite interested in the...tender cookies? What on earth does that mean? Does that make them firmer or less firm? Or more...chewy?"

"You don't bake." Kili again, this time with less urgency and a great deal more amusement.

Fili must have made some disastrous attempts, you think, unable to stop the amusement that begins creeping across your lips. You picture him hunched with a look of dramatized defeat over a pan of crumbled, blackened cookies with smoke spiraling off them.

"I could learn," the elder retorts in a surprisingly determined tone.

Something about it moves your heart, loosens it further, speeds it even. These dwarves are nothing like you expected- not in appearance, manner, or of course location there at your table traveling some humble Shire market.

"I could teach you," you tell him, running a hand through your hair.

"I'd like that," he replies, "We aren't here much longer, but this place is very beautiful. I think we'll be back."

Kili looks between you two, jiggling his eyebrows up and down as Fili suddenly kneels to the ground, rising again with a little pink flower pinched gingerly between his thumb and index finger.

"At least I will be for those baking lessons. Speaking of which..." He chuckles to himself. "A flower for a flour?"

After you accept the flower, Fili reaches for your sack of buckwheat flower yet again, only for Kili to knock his hand away, initiating a comical skirmish of slaps that finally cements in your eyes that these two are undoubtedly brothers. Your gaze bounces between each volley as you twirl your baby bloom, heart leaping at the feeling of it, at the imprint of Fili's mischievous smile and gleaming blue eyes upon the back of your brain.

"Ignore him," Kili finally says, breaking you from your flower-induced, pollen-dusted golden reverie, "He's looking for an entirely different set of goodies."

The confusion you feel at that last comment as you watch the younger dwarf physically drag his brother away from your flour assortment lasts all the way through the rest of the market, all your actual purchases, and even up to your trip to your cousin's house to deliver a loaf of bread your mother had made him.

The hearth is warm and the kitchen scented of the herbs he's preparing for supper and calming tea. He welcomes your steaming parcel of sourdough with open arms and puts a second fish and helping of vegetables on to roast while you chat about your day. Your unusual day.

A tale of your dwarf-filled day...interrupted by a dwarf. This one exactly what you've always pictured, even taller than the brothers and more imposing, complete with a long beard, tattoos, and an intimidating stare. He is quite blunt about the fact that he isn't familiar with you or Bilbo, but gracious as your cousin is he shoots you a look of sympathy and quickly slides you his other helping. His look quickly melts into frustration the more the dwarf goes on and takes from him and rearranges, sharing with you an exasperated glare that has you giggling.

"Dwarves," he shakes his head before opening the door to another, older one, "What is it with today and dwarves?"

"I don't know," you reply quietly, reaching up to gently caress Fili's flower, which you have tucked behind your ear.

The second dwarf, Balin, is surprised to see you there, but then, so are you to see him. He chuckles at that and asks you for direction, which you shyly give; when he asks about chairs, you lead him around the corner into Bag End's larger dining room, where the long table rests under a chandelier's cozy yellow light. Bilbo follows soon behind, peering skeptically at your little congregation with furrowed brows and muttered questions. The sound of the bell ringing yet again, however, distracts you from the hearty laughter of this new set of dwarf brothers. Tapping across Bag End's hardwood floor, you cross your cousin's home once more, slowly opening the great round door. Voices sound behind it, voices that increase in volume as Bag End opens wider to welcome them.

"I can't stop thinking about her. I tell you, Kee, she's going to be the death of me-"

"Ah!"

Perking up with a wide smile that quickly melts into more of a smirk and gets directed at his brother, there stands Kili before you.

“Well now, brother, look who it is!” Kili exclaims your name, still looking right at his elder sibling as he sticks a hand out your way. “Can you believe our good fortune?”

“No,” Fili answers with a smile, blue eyes never falling upon his brother from their gaze into yours, “I cannot.”

His eyes trace over from yours, catch sight of his flower still tucked up by your tresses, and he stumbles into your cousin’s home with parted, wordless lips. He stands so close to you you’d collide with a single step from either of you, finally darting his eyes away and surveying the warm light of Bag End.

“So this is the fabled hobbits’ home?”

“It is,” you agree.

“I love it,” he breathes, a glow of awe coloring his expression, “It suits you just like that flower. It’s cozy. Sweet. I can definitely foresee myself upon many a return visit here.”

“So are you Mister Boggins’s wife?” Kili interrupts, tone bordering on urgent.

“No,” you shake your head, “He’s my cousin. I’ve come to deliver him a loaf of bread, but what of travelers like yourselves? Why have you come to a party Bilbo was not even aware of hosting?”

Inching a wee bit closer, just a tad, Fili extends his hand just like before. Just like before you take it. Instead of pressing a kiss to it, though, this time he holds it fast, his grip strong and warm and sure. The hearth’s warmth feels much closer despite you standing at a door open to the night on the end farthest from it you could be.

“Could I interest you,” Fili asks, leaning so close as to almost whisper in your ear, “In an adventure?”

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#the hobbit #the hobbit imagines #the hobbit x reader #fili #fili x reader #fili x female reader #female reader #hobbit reader #baggins reader #fluff #ask #lelapine #requested

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therealslimshakespeare · 9 months ago

Text

🍸 Harry Crosby headcanons

18+ -helluva lot of nsfw under the cut but interspersed with a lotta fluff and domesticity…to me that’s the appeal of this man, cannot be separated one from the other: the unassuming sweater wearing vet at the block party is also a man of hidden depths.

Long promised and woefully incomplete, the word count was getting out of hand so I’m tossing it out, there’s more where this came from. Not edited so, apologies

Entirely co-written by myself and my comrogue @crazymadpassionatelove , enhanced and bedazzled by chats with @ab4eva including special additions from other guests who commented under my announcement post, credit is given at each specific point for their contributions

|screencap cred grabbed from: @hawkinsfuller

First off let me say it’s been ages since I read A Wing and A Prayer. I remember loving it, loving him and I cannot stress how much I respect and admire the real Harry Crosby and his Jean, the Missus of our dreams.

This is purely for fun, a heavy mix of both Boyle’s portrayal and a tad of Crosby’s real life vibes as taken from his accounts by me. Sometimes you gotta take historical figures’ virtues in one area -say navigation and math- and translate it to the more suggestive aspects of life -say, how to find a clitori- *gunshot*

Because this man’s biography is the most oral-leaning, drink-your-respect-women-juice book ever. Ok, almost ever. For a wwii book at least. Uhem so -I am prejudiced, sue me.

See, sometimes it’s the quiet, stressed ones with a self consuming desire to please who have the cozy sweaters and the attentive appreciation for your interests and the stubby fat schlongs and the propensity to keep you in suburban comfort all your days

The compulsive drive to call you “button” and be on time for church and thank you for your scrambled eggs each morning with eager kitchen countertop oral before waking you children up with annoyingly soft catchphrases they’ll recite fondly at his funeral: “rise and shine” etc

Also back to the perfectly respectable schlong for just a moment -This is a Thing! Justice for the perfectly adequate plug stoppers, not everyone needs a rolling pin, who can resist giving head when the head is the same gorgeous color as his lips?!

Mr Crosby is skipping off to lecture college kids about literature post-war with a pep in his step that you put there without fail, you can’t help it, it’s as essential as the matching “his and hers” coffee mugs you bought during your honeymoon

Cookies slightly burned cuz you’re busy as bunnies in the bathroom while the kids ride bikes in the cul-de-sac is a Crosby staple

This is a man who as husband keeps you well supplied with mixers and microwaves and cute little nighties and also loves your brain -SCORE.

Loves to gift you with bath oil and fun stuff to smell good. He's into lavender. It benefits him in the end, loves to sit on the edge of the tub and just talk with you for ages

Croz’s go-to distresser is to have Jean sit on his face until his vision spots

She knows as soon as he walks in the door. Fixes him a Shirley Temple, takes him by the hand to the bedroom and …..boom.

De—stressed

As for the ptsd nightmares? He just barely starts to thrash in his sleep and Jean is rolling that man over and taking matters into her own hands

You’re Jean now, you do realize that don’t you? It was never ever going to be anyone but Jean

This man leaves love letters on your pillow, in your apron pocket, in the dash of your car anywhere at all that you’re likely to be. All of this even though he’s gonna be home by six that evening.

Also, hear me out: lots of evenings he just lays down next to you for ages, facing each other on your sides, absentmindedly mapping your body with his calloused palms and fingering you for ages while talking about Persuasion.

Actually gives a shit about your opinions too, and not in the way of wanting to argue them. When you make a good point his eyes get even droopier and he grabs your neck and…

“You're one smart cookie Mrs Crosby”

“My clever, wise, beloved…”

Honestly though, deep connections and the ability to go vulnerable, and if those moments are often concluded with little laughs to shake off the moment -it doesn’t diminish it

Can actually talk about dying to you, not in a morbidly preoccupied way, but he can face it and admit it and be vulnerable enough to acknowledge the likelihood

Then get on with what needs doing

He appreciates how well you grow to know him, and he in turn makes a lifelong study of you

Also, this man is so highly attuned to your well being.

Yes you have to put up with his stress but for you? He will man-up repeatedly and without thought. He doesn’t even think twice about just up and leaving whatever situation is tiring you. did you see him hop up to get the fuck outta that bar fight? Yeah so, you’re bored? Tired? Stressed? It’s not even machismo it’s just a homebody not giving a fuck with the subtext of “my wife and I would like to go home and read and cockwarm”

Often gives the shiftiest excuses to army buddies and coworkers just to go home and hang with you, swears he has to repair that squirrel feeder -or that an alligator is in his swimming pool, “sorry guys maybe drinks next week”

Don’t tell the guys but…HE PAINTS YOUR TOENAILS

Maybe some of your high school friends snickered about Harry Crosby way back when. Making googly eyes at you and barely getting out the most stammered greetings? Bookish and a little clumsy at times?

Ha, you won in the end

He comes home in one piece, that beautiful schlong still intact

you prayed for that ok?

“Lord keep my husband safe -- and his girthy manhood in tact as well” …for the babies you’re hoping for of course...just that… kneeling in silk pajamas each night, adding this addendum with a blush but was always faithful to keep it in your prayers

Sometimes you have that thought in church as well...so you has to take a couple deep breaths and calm yourself...it's because you want children...not because you’re already so sprung off this man's dick after only a couple weeks of married life.

weeks that feels like a lifetime ago now, by the way

Prim and lovely Jean Crosby staring off into stained glass worlds thinking of having her tight little hole tugged open and her guts rearranged, it’s even worse than her thoughts prior to the wedding, because she’s had the experience, then suddenly it was ripped away

And she’s empty and scared to death for him

She gets asked to sing at the funeral of a lieutenant who never even got off the ground during a training flight,

work and church and such are hopeless distractions

Wanders through the department store wondering if every other wife misses this way, does everyone feel the same primal ache?

Dear Jean Crosby terribly worried she’s a freak yet entirely unrepentant for it

But ya know what’s probably funny? Across the ocean Harry Crosby is sometimes so direly missing his wife in the carnal way that he just about spaces out too, and god knows there’s zero privacy anywhere and the showers are the showers but like???? it’s just a no-go most times and everyone gets very confused when he’s in this mood?? Not at all suspecting baser distractions are what’s at play. Somehow someone figured it out, maybe he actually snapped a little about having five seconds to himself while reading a letter and they’re like

And somehow there seems to suddenly be five minutes or so when NO ONE but Crosby is in the showers?!

It only takes him two minutes to get there but he needs to stand there catching his breath and clutching at his heart while he thinks of Jean sprawled beneath him

This is probably Douglass’ doing? Because he’s a good dude, he doesn’t underestimate Croz AND he’s a dirty little bastard himself

“Fellas, the man got himself a wife while half of you guys are virgins? Of course he has urges?”

In a quiet, rare moment, Gale bends his ear -Harry is so modest and low key...unlike some folks *looking at you Bucky*- “So, uh, where'd ya say you and the missus went off to before ya came here?“

Gale’s gotta casually open the door for this conversation “Lots of good sights to see? I, um, haven't done much traveling myself”

It takes Croz a few conversations until he realizes just what Gale means, until then there’s a lot bewildered eyebrows at the inquiry and bashful appreciation for the interest: “Major Cleven I-I already told you, sir, we had a little cabin in the Alleghenies for a week?“

He's been telling Jean about Major Gale Cleven, about how she'd really like him. Gale is a good fella. He tells her about all their "travel talk"

Until one day Jean writes back: “Oh honey, that Cleven of yours is a virgin”

Whether Harry divulges to Gale anything he learned about ladies in that little cabin in the mountains writhing before a fire on a bearskin rug, that first time Harry actually didn’t stop and ask if Jean was dying every time she made a noise but instead, kept going until her cried properly built and she screamed…

well, it was probably an abbreviated account that mostly consisted of “wives are just wonderful people, Major Cleven” with a far off look in his eyes

Gale leaves him to it after all- Harry was married for like 3 seconds before he left, It's literally either playback of the last horrific mission or thinking of the curve of her spine

He gets the dreamiest look on his face, eyes all shiny, mouth a little slack

Somehow these two can be so passionate and yet it’s so wholesome and good and angelic?!!! It’s the allure of them

Because it’s all in these gentle and safe and good boundaries? Like it isn’t complicated and yet it’s not simple and it’s neither settling nor is it turbulent. something to be said for “doing it right”

They genuinely thank God for each other, they’re so sure it was always intended to be just them

I have 1k of headcanons just for the homecoming ok? Y’all will have to request those separate

But once home:

The eye contact they make at social events?? It’s a whole language, the most loving and adorable thing ever

He may not be a real gem of a singer but he’s an excellent hummer. so much gentle humming around the house while he’s fixing the stove light or rocking a baby to sleep or-

You know what I mean don’t you? Some men can just humm and you’re instantly wet? No I don’t mean humming a Billie Holliday tune

I mean humming when you make a new reaction to his incessant fingering while he’s reading, makes him look away from the page and arch a brow, highly inquisitive puppy dog look on his face, reading glasses pulled down.

*a new spot? After all this time? Must investigate further*

This man, when in his element, is a goddamn tease, he’s impossible, he’s goofy, he makes sex the joyous sacrament its supposed to be every damn time and he ain’t shy to remain stark naked for ages

Praise kink for miles in that, once you’ve praised him, he will keep doing whatever earned it for the next two hours. Brace yourself

He can recite your favorite literature passages (he knows them and took pains to memorize them by your tenth anniversary) when he’s gently plowing you from the back with his hand on your neck and your ear lob in between his teeth

He’s a biter my friends -gotta keep quiet somehow, can’t scar the passel of children y’all made, after all

So many excuses given to kids about “mama and I need to talk about the mortgage” -very rarely is mortgage even thought of once the door is closed and locked

But that brings us back to the early days, it’s one thing to know someone so well after all those years but the early days?

Two Virgins named Jean and Harry went straight from the chapel to fucking like Bunnies before he went to war

Harry had done his research tho. All that reading…

Harry Crosby totally ate his wife out on their wedding night.

even though he’d never really seen a full vagina before

he’s a bit methodical, yeah? At first? with a hint of overly flustered and terribly delighted

So I’m just picturing him like hunkering down there, tentative but firm hands on your thighs: “to get my bearings, honey pie” as he takes in the lay of the land

because there’s a lot happening down there on a lady, ok? -there’s petals and more petals and slippery slopes and little buttons and a tiny hole that has to be for pee, no way he’s supposed to go in that one?! but, but she doesn’t have another? Well the backdoo- no can’t even think of that. Oh god ok, ok, vaginal opening, -I guess that’s a vaginal opening?! and due north, a little button that makes her squeak when I touch it. ok ok, might as well start there…

I can see him with a metaphorical pencil behind his ear, ready to jot down notes

Jeanie finally sighs and grips him by the ears and hauls him up for a kiss and just grinds against him and insists it’s lovely

“just kiss me, silly.” she says to him after awhile.

“Mmm, I do like kissing you, Jean” he grins back

he’s naturally kissing his way to her boobs and staying there a lovely long time but she starts pushing at his dark head, *hint hint* lower down her belly and lower, and lower and he’s so caught up he doesn’t even realize it until there’s a sweet little patch of curls under his chin and he looks up with the oddest expression of curiosity and doubt on his face only to be met with Jean’s expectant eyebrow

She wouldn’t want me to?—-*ah, she just face planted me in pussy, ok then*

Lapping at it with the biggest grin, there may or may not have been some noise complaints

the whole apartment complex just knows he’s a good husband, never would peg him as a stud if you met him in the hallway but, Jean sure takes forever to say goodbye to him in the mornings so he must do something right

All the neighbors just can't help but be happy for those two kids

They cook them food and leave the casserole dishes on the landing so they can savor each other for as long as possible before he leaves

Next Sunday they show up at church like dutiful little Americans and they’ve got hickies everywhere and his cheeks are a permanent pink, Her knees are red and raw under her church dress

I feel like maybe they get a little adventurous as their time together draws to a close? Maybe they break a dining room chair? She's too mortified to put it out on the curb

*saves it for 50 years*

Some of those wedding china ends up in pieces on the floor. Can't explain to her aunts why they don't have a full set all of a sudden

i really hope he never loses that occasional hair trigger premature ejaculation tendency.

Sometimes it even shocks him, “O-Oh...shoot”

The last day together is a dismal and precious night

The poor man probably laid there on her sweaty boobs after blowing his last load with the saddest *fml* face on as he processed it being, indeed, his last

But HOMECOMING!

and now the war is over they can set up house and make babies

A small breeding kink, after all, these men marched home from war and basically were told "get a job and let's repopulate for all the boys we lost!"

It’s so damn primal when you think about it but under the veneer of the starched and polished 50’s

Croz can't think straight in that tight little hole, let alone think of the ramifications of another baby

“Give it to me, give me another, come on Harry, we've got an empty space in the Christmas card anyway, think of it!! fill me up baby oh godddd Jesus bless your pretty dick-*

it’s the most mundane reasons and he still busts a nut like she’s some filthy vixen and not his sweet and slightly too optimistic wife

frantic love making with a sweater and socks still on, too

Jean is a writher because the longer they are married the longer he lasts and soon she’s come and he just keeps going and she cannot keep quiet then and he’s too big to ignore or calm down between, just thick enough to always be tugging just right and she fully sobs from it sometimes

Often she’s trying to cup herself?!? Fully spasming and shaking and curling in but his strong forearm is over her belly and his lips on her ear

This man is a god at spooning sex

she is so cock feral when she falls pregnant it almost alarms him

The books didn't say anything about this?! He's exhausted and dehydrated and his classes are suffering as a result

Wants to ask Egan if he encountered this phenomenon

His war buddies become a new father support group

"Hang in there pal, only three more months"

They’ll be in the kitchen just chatting before dinner, she wants to tease him. Scoops a little cherry pie filling onto her finger. He licks it and sucks it off -- bites the finger too, in the background dogs are barking and kids are running amuck

As the Crosbys you’re in for a life of very benign but nauseatingly idyllic Christmas parties.

Snow globes, y’all

Sweaters, spiked eggnog and very well thought out gifts

Harry is the sort to carry Jean's purse when they are out shopping and she is trying on clothes. He also has no problem going and buying her sanitary napkins at the drugstore when she's on her period, because it's completely normal and there's nothing for anyone to be embarrassed about. Basically, he is just stupidly in love with her. He's like a puppy who will always follow, but she doesn't take advantage of that fact (credit to:@noneedtoamputate)

He is Harry “Have You Met My Wife?” Crosby back home, too, it’s even worse when he gets tipsy and his confidence grows and good luck shutting him up about how beautiful she is

This is the sorta man whose kids only learn Daddy was a goddamn boss during the war when they’re outta college, a very casual “oh yeah, that was sort of a thing, pass the salt.”

It’s canon this man cut his own son’s hair all his little life, propped him up on a little stool in the back yard and got to trimming -some of the only times the boy ever heard of those devastating missions

Imagine? Same man who used to take you out on the porch into the night air and rock against his sweater when you were a baby and wouldn’t settle is the same man who bombed the hell outta Fortress Europe

He’s the kind of man whose kids are so enamored over how both sides of the coin could settle in the same man, they end up making a documentary about him

Now I also need you to think of this man at bath time in the early 50’s -Shirt sleeves rolled up, top two buttons on his pristine white button up shirt popped with a peak of chest hair showing through, his curls getting steamed by his kids bubble baths

He’s got the prettiest slightly hairy forearms, y’all -according to Jean at least

Gives himself a bubble beard to make his kids laugh, will stay on his knees watching them play for ages, fully participating

His white shirt gets fully transparent with all this splashing and Jean has to really keep her mind on what’s next when she can so easily see his hair and pretty little nipples pebbled in a chill under them. Stops her whining about water on the floor in seconds.

Harry’s already hushing her and mopping it up with a towel anyway

The Crosby kids will have memories of their idiotically in love and enthralled parents who loved being parents, wrapping their baby selves snuggly into towels and setting them on the counter and just cracking up over how cute they looked with their chubby and shiny widdle faces poking out of terry cloth

Jean and Harry spend a lotta time doing that, they just love their kids, ok?

Brushing their cute little Croz curls

Jean can’t say no to a single one with their sad puppy eyes their daddy gave them

Sometimes they sit the kids in front of the fireplace (they obviously needed a house with a fireplace after that honeymoon) and line them up. Talk about them as if they aren't sitting right there. "Honey, look at those gorgeous eyes -- and his smile! Oh my, who do these cuties belong to?"

But it’s not all placid domesticity. Picture this:

Crosby with a mega phone, organizes a neighborhood Easter egg hunt. He's in charge, his aviators on, taking this so seriously

There are maps, he’s planned this for weeks, some of those traits and skills he picked up during the war come back at the oddest times

this gets even more intense if any of the war buddies are there

Harry writes letters to them strategizing, they all come and bring their own kids

It makes the local paper for being one of the biggest Easter egg hunts the state has ever seen

Night falls, children fall asleep and there are still some eggs left. Armed with booze and flashlights, the boys go out to collect the rest

Harry and Jean don't collect any though, they end up in a bush necking somewhere

Bucky gets very adamant about finding them and Brady is just as adamantly begging him not to

But Major Egan cannot be stopped, he rallies his men, hopping on the kids’ bikes and scooters

Everyone heckling each other in the dark suburban neighborhood

"Ya lost your touch Buck, keep up will ya?"

They all end up in a schnapps induced heap in the Crosby's backyard, long limbs all folded up on too small equipment

Jean and Harry leisurely stroll back up the street under lamp glow to their house where everyone is feral and collapsed and calling loudly for their hosts

Sharing soft little smiles and picking twigs out of each others hair

They tuck these idiot men in on the couches and floor, blankets, sleeping bags and dogs

Hear me out: Jean is the only human able to talk a belligerent Bucky out of his thirtieth beer

She has that sweet way about her that makes every person wanna be a better man for her

When he finally gives in and throws his arm over her little shoulders and swears she’s a good woman, Harry is there with the pan and the aspirin and the blanket

She makes them all the most perfect hangover breakfast the next morning, gingham checked apron stretched over swollen belly

Harry nuzzles her belly when she stops at his plate to dish up the eggs

Everyone wants to gag over how perfectly content these two are but that would be a waste of the best breakfast in the USA

And if Jean happens to make the best baked goods on the block - Croz is making sure everyone knows just who’s muffins those are on the bake sale table. Or if she wants to pursue a career or education? Harry is her biggest cheerleader, doing anything and everything to support her and being sure that everyone knows how incredible she is at what she does. (Credit @blurredcolour)

They may be the sweater wearing, block party and Sunday school couple but don’t think anybody gets away with being snide to Mrs. Jean Crosby -there will be comeuppance, even if it’s just an exquisitely literate verbal evisceration.

There's even more often a roaming band of local kids who kick the shins of everyone who's mean to Mrs. Crosby, because she gives them sweets and feeds them when they're hungry and cleans up their scrapes when play gets too rough and -if Mr. Crosby hands out a comic or two to the boys that "accidentally" tripped some bloke who was harassing his wife, well. All is fair in love and war. (Credit to @promptedwordsmith)

When in the summer of 49 the Crosbies get a swimming pool dug? It might as well be considered public property.

not just the kids who are attached to the crosbies, though. your home is a constant revolving door of visitors - including a bunch of ex-servicemen. if it's not bucky lounging in the pool, or rosie painting the fence in his shirtsleeves because he wanted to be helpful, then douglass is smoking a cigarette in the yard while trying to make you laugh. ev is asking harry to show him how to read this goddamn map bc they're supposed to be taking a trip to the grand canyon in a month, and bubbles is over for dinner every other night. even brady sometimes shows his face, if only to carp at harry for getting them lost over france that one time while working the barbecue because you asked him to. when you and harry bought the house with an extra room you weren't sure you would ever use, you didn't expect it to be occupied as often as a popular hotel. if anyone ever had any bad intentions toward the crosbies, they're definitely rethinking it. those that don't...well. being in the air corps teaches one all sorts of creative ways of getting back at people. (Credit to @fidelias)

Imagine all the different skills the Crosby kids (_and their neighbor friends who never seem to leave_) learn from these guys?

“Oh yeah, Bucky Egan taught me how to swim while wearing his aviators…”

In other words:

Harry Crosby went home and built himself a little Norman Rockwell Camelot and then opened the doors of the kingdom to his buddies and -that’s as it should be.

And that’s not even mentioning how the Air Force and the CIA walked up to his front porch and interrupted a backyard ballgame to ask him for his help

It sucks to be super smart and needed when all ya wanna do is teach literature, go camping and help keep the church life going

But still

Jean sure looked good in Pakistan, the kids enjoyed a new culture and Harry likes to say he may have done some good

#mota fanfic #masters of the air #harry crosby #Harry Crosby fanfic #Harry Crosby x reader #mota headcanons #masters of the air fanfiction #anthony boyle #hbo war fanfic

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followmybadreligion · 9 months ago

Text

"Je te laisserai des mot"

a valentine’s day date with your sweet, sweet boyfriend.

“Hyunjin, come here.” You called as you dusted your hands free of the white, cakey flour that’d made a thin coat over them. Your voice bounced off the tall walls of your apartment and played back in your head like a loud, jarring record that disturbed the once quiet, peaceful atmosphere, and you immediately regret not just going to get him.

In front of you sat a large bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough, which you’d spent the better half of the morning preparing– from scratch. On the side of that lay two pink, heart-shaped baking trays, one for you and one for him. You’d already coated them in butter (The only non-stick agent you had) and sprinkled a thin layer of brown sugar across them, and now all that was left for you to do was preheat the oven.

“Three seventy-five,” you whispered to yourself, spinning away from your work to assess the settings on your oven. It was brand new, much like the rest of the place, but the controls were easy enough to work with the typical dials traded for a sleek screen. You tapped it once and waited for it to illuminate before pressing the “Bake” option promoted on its right side and setting it properly.

A small smile spread across your lips as you looked at the cute, white fixture nestled among brown cabinets with tops of beige wood. Its once-dark interior lit up with an orange hue, courtesy of the heating panel built into the bottom, and you could just barely feel the heat begin to radiate from it. Just a few minutes before you’d be able to get your treats in there and baking— that was if Hyun were to hurry.

You moved over a few feet to an empty counter space, lifting yourself onto it and crossing your legs over one another as you waited. The wood was warm underneath your exposed thighs, pressing into you firmly enough to leave marks for sure. You giggled as you thought of his reaction to seeing you like this. More than likely, he’d be a little surprised at the sight— you, in his Dear Daniel tee, your panties and socks, and virtually nothing else, lightly dusted with flour and sugar— it’d be a trip for sure. But knowing him, he’d love it. He always loved seeing you in his clothes, and he loved seeing you work on your hobbies even more.

From your spot on the counter, you had the perfect view from one of the living room windows to the incoming sunrise. The sky swirled with beautiful shades of orange and pink, contrasted with the masses of gray and yellow underneath it. Skyscrapers, hoards of cars, lively apartment units— all of it did little to dull the beauty of the new day, and you took a few minutes to bask in it.

You could faintly make out the sound of beeping, rushing cars, even from how high up your flat was, but somehow that only added to the ambiance— warmth enveloping you at all sides, a show of such pretty colors, and the sound of what felt the most like home— Seoul.

But oh, this moment would be so much better with your boy.

You sighed deeply, realizing it’d been a good few minutes since you’d called his name and he still hadn’t answered. You turned towards the oven again, catching sight of the pink, square-shaped clock resting above it on the spice rack. It read 6:34, which was no surprise to you with the sunrise and all. What was a surprise, however, was that Hyunjin still wasn’t up. Normally, he’d already be at the window with his sketch pad, drawing whatever subject had come to mind (It was almost always you) while he sipped away on his coffee or tea of the morning.

You pushed yourself to the edge of the counter, allowing yourself to slide over the edge and onto your feet before you took off towards the stairs of your loft. The railing– a black, thin fixture– was crisp and loud under your touch, prompting you to let go of it as you climbed the remainder of the stairs. You wanted to wake him as softly and sweetly as possible, especially today.

A soft smile adorned your lips as you approached your bedroom, eyes locking on the adorable sight that was your boyfriend. He was sprawled out over the bed, arms clutching your pillow to his chest in his sleep. His face rested on your other one, buried under a mess of long, dark hair, but from what you could make out— his pink, swollen lips and red, flushed cheeks— he was sleeping peacefully. Several large windows fixed across the space poured in more of that golden hue, making him seem even more angelic than he was, and for a moment, you just wished you could draw as well as him.

“Honey,” you called, this time a lot softer as you approached his resting figure. He hummed softly in response, but his eyes still didn’t open.

Crawling into bed next to him, you grabbed the pillow he clung to and pulled it away to catch his attention. He whined at your antics, stirring more as he reached for something else to hold.

“You gotta wake up now.” You said through a smile of pure admiration. He looked so cute to you like this, and there was little you could do to stop your hands from coming up and fanning through his pretty locks. You started at the front, lightly combing away the strands that obscured his pretty face— a face sculpted by some Greek god whom you’d thank every day for the rest of your life. Then, you brought your hands back to gently fluff up the rest of his mane, giggling at how he whined more under your touch.

“I have a surprise for you.”

He blew out a deep breath, eyes clamping shut for a few seconds as he struggled to wake up fully. After a few more moments of silence, his eyes opened in a squint, dark brown irises magnified by light tears. He didn’t speak and opened his mouth in a wide “O” shape, letting out a soft yawn that only made your heart grow softer.

“What surprise?” he whispered, hands coming up to wipe the sleep out of his face.

“You’ll have to come with me to see.” You whispered back, beginning to raise yourself from the bed.

His touch against your thigh immediately halted your actions, the warm sensation sending a small jolt of electricity up your body. It was jarring— the feeling of his hand squeezing into you— but it was also incredibly welcomed, and you immediately allowed yourself to sink back into the plush surface beneath you.

“Wait,” his voice was soft but raspy, still stale from the lack of use overnight, “Will you lay here with me for a few more seconds, please?”

“Baby, I-” but before you could finish your sentence, he was pulling you into his bare, broad chest and laying back down with you.

“Just a few more minutes.”

You weren’t sure how long you spent nestled in Hyunjin’s arms before you realized you’d still had that oven on. While the boy rested peacefully above you, you slid out of his grasp as swiftly as possible, as you knew he’d only pull you back if he were to wake.

Then, you were back downstairs, without your boy, right at square one.

You sighed as you glanced around at the setting you’d created for the two of you: mugs of hot chocolate (That’d long gone cold) with heart-shaped marshmallows floating in it, festive cookware, pink and white candles, your Polaroid loaded with red and white film; a cute baking date for the two of you to bring in Valentine’s day, and yet you couldn’t get him down here.

Sunrise had long since passed, and now, a pale, white light poured into your kitchen, adding a lighter feel to the scene you’d set. It still looked just as pretty to you, even though you hadn’t envisioned it like this, and you were itching for Hyunjin to see it as well.

You racked your brain for what to do, contemplating going up and trying to get him a second time before your eyes ghosted over the light pink vinyl player you’d set up when you were decorating. You immediately walked over to it, looking through the few records you sat out. Most were by Lana Del Rey, a guilty pleasure of Hyunjin’s, though he never seemed too guilty. The only one that was different was one with a brown and beige cover, depicting a man and woman who you could only assume were from the Victorian age. The man was on his knees, facing away from an unknown woman who used his capped head as an armrest or a leaning post. The image of the two was encased by dark, interlinking tiles, snaking from one end of the vinyl to the other, leaving a space at the bottom where you’d penned in a simple titled: “Je te laisserai des mot.”

After lifting the needle, you slid the vinyl from its casing and delicately placed it on the player, taking a second to wipe away any dust that’d settled on it. Then, you dropped the needle to its proper position, lifted the volume slider to its maximum setting, and pressed play.

The melodic humming of a man filled your mind immediately, accompanied by the few keys of a piano. The feeling fluttering through your heart was hard to explain; it was lovely, like a mix of bliss and happiness that possessed you as you melted into the chords, but there was also a sense of pain and longing etched into it.

Your eyes clamped shut as the song forged on, his humming growing quiet as a symphony of strings and piano overtook him. When you first saw the record, you thought that perhaps you’d left it out by mistake. You’d always found it to be a particularly romantic song, and it did remind you of Hyun, but part of you felt as if it were too sad to play at a moment like this. However, now you could see why you’d chosen to leave it out.

When you listened to it, moments that you and he had shared flashed through your mind like pretty scenes from a movie: driving in the rain with your hands intertwined, slow dancing in the living room as the city lights shined on you, staring at each other until you both got shy and laughed the feeling away: all those beautiful things that the two of you had done moving by like a montage. But you didn’t want the moment you two were about to share to be a part of that; you wanted it to be the scene itself.

Just as the symphony faded and the man’s voice bled back in, you began to hear shuffling from upstairs, which snapped you from your sudden idleness.

You turned to the two mugs of cocoa and put them into the microwave to heat for a few minutes, excitement coursing through you.

The song continued to lull in the background, the man’s words echoing through your head.

Je te laisserai des mot

“I will leave you with notes,” you translated out in your head. You didn’t speak French, no, but you’d listened to the song so often that you made it a point to look up translations of the lyrics, and you now knew just about everything he sang by heart.

En-dessous de ta porte

“Underneath your door.”

En-dessous de les murs qui chantent

“Underneath the singing walls.”

You began to sing along with the lyrics lowly, admiring the way your voice seemed to blend in with the silkiness of the singers. At the same time, you could hear how Hyunjin shuffled out of bed, taking a few seconds before he walked towards the stairs. He paused at the top of the case for a few beats, almost as if to get a better listen, before hurriedly skipping down them two steps at a time.

You looked his way, smile gleaming as you took note of his disheveled state. Despite your smoothing earlier, his hair was back to being a mess, some of it making a curtain over his eyes while the rest swooped and curled about. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the several love bites you’d given him the night before were very visible, making your cheeks heat a bit. The most amusing part of it all, though, was the boy’s face. Even with his tired appearance, his eyes were wide with shock and excitement, and his lips formed a small circle as he analyzed the kitchen for himself.

“You did all of this, baby?” He finally quipped after a few seconds of staring. You couldn’t suppress your giggle as you moved to stop the microwave, gently grabbing the handles of the mugs and placing them on the counter.

“Of course I did.” You replied, walking towards him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my boy.”

A soft smile spread across his face at your words, and he began to walk towards you, meeting you in the middle and wrapping you up in his arms without a second thought. You could feel how fast his heart was beating against you, the beat so clear with your head against his chest. Even after dating for so long, being that close to you never failed to make him nervous.

“I love you.” He whispered, breaking the brief silence that’d settled between you. His hands squeezed your waist tighter at his statement, and you could feel how bated his breath was as the words left his mouth– almost like he was scared.

You paused for a second, giving yourself the time to pour over his words. He’d told you that so many times. So, so many times, yet it caught you by surprise each one.

You pulled back for a second and ran your hands down from his neck to his bare chest, allowing them to rest there as you looked up at him.

The song still hummed in the background, a soft, melodic humming drifting through the air as the two of you gazed upon each other. You fought against yourself, wanting nothing more but to press your lips against his and pour as much of your love into as him could, but you knew that you couldn’t. He knew what it felt like. He needed to hear it now.

“Hyunjin,” you started, watching as his eyes widened a bit as he became more eager to hear what you’d say, “there aren’t words strong enough to describe the way I feel about you.”

“I mean…I need you.” You continued, tilting your head slightly as you moved your hands up to play in his hair. His eyes blinked closed a few times at the sensation of your fingers against his scalp, causing you to giggle a bit, before he diverted his attention back towards you.

“I adore you.” A blissful smile crossed his face at that, eyes crinkling at the sides.

You inched your face closer to his, standing up on your tippy toes in an effort to level with him more.

“I love you, baby.” You finally whispered, voice as smooth as honey. “I love you so much.”

And with that, your lips were against his.

“What’d you write on yours?” You questioned, looking over only for him to shield his pan with his arm.

“Not yet!” He exclaimed, lowering his face closer to his work as he moved the piping bag along as slowly and carefully as he could.

“Hyunjin…” you whined, tapping his arm slightly to his panic. You’d long been done with decorating and were now standing off to the side, sipping on your second mug of hot cocoa of the morning.

You knew how particular Hyun was when it came to his art, and it was always something that you admired, but it was killing you that he was being so secretive, especially because you hadn’t expected him to take it that seriously. It was food coloring and frosting after all. Not oil canvases and watercolors. What was taking him so long?

You shifted away for a second towards the record player again, noticing how Lana’s dreamy voice had faded out and the record was starting from the beginning once again. You flicked the pause button and lifted the needle, bringing your finger down onto the vinyl and letting it scape against its surface as it came to a stop.

“Do me a favor, please.” Hyunjin pipped up.

You paused, looking back at him as you waited for him to continue.

“Play our song.” This time he looked back, piping bag in hand as he met your gaze.

You threw him a soft smile before you turned back, putting the first vinyl away and grabbing the all-too-familiar beige cover.

For the fourth time that morning, you loaded it onto the player and began to play it, humming softly as you did so. Hyunjin joined in, voice softer than yours, but still there. He always did that when you sang– joined in with you, softly enough to hear you, but loud enough to let you know he was there.

Just as the man’s voice began to fade in, Hyunjin broke away from the song, and whispered a simple, “Come here, baby.”

You did as he asked, sitting your mug down on the counter in front of you and turning to approach him. You rested your head against his shoulder, one arm draping across his shoulder as you peered down at the pink, heart-shaped pan that rested right next to yours.

In his, lay a heart-shaped cookie cake, covered from top to bottom in light brown frosting. It was perfectly smooth, not a single dip or line in its foundation, and you just knew that Hyunjin had gone over it time and time again to make sure of that. Around the edges of the cookie were white, interwebbing vines that crawled up the sides and stopped just shy of the upper edge. The most captivating part, however, was the top that was particularly bare, away from thirteen, white cursive words.

“I will always leave you notes if you will always pick them up.”

Je te laisserai des mot.

A/N: Hey y'all! This was meant to come out on Valentine's Day (I'm a day late and a dollar short, I know🥲) but I've been swamped and had to push it back. Still, I hope you guys enjoy having a late V-day with this sweet boy. Thanks for reading! -M'k <3

#happy valentine's day #skz fluff #skz hyunjin #skz scenarios #skz imagines #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #domestic fluff

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