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narrators-journal · 5 months ago

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Take me for a joyride

I originally wrote this with no sleep while I was up until noon. I did my best to save it with editing when I'd slept, but I've been working on this slut literally all day, so we're posting it without a third draft. Hope you enjoy my half-baked research into motorcycles, and how to fuck on one.

CW: sex on a motorcycle, rimming, Jun's not entirely human, biting

With that year’s graduations out of the way, Sumaru’s population of freshly freed teenagers were quick to take advantage of their last celebratory summer. Either with the company of friends and lovers, parties, or simple endless video games. For Tatsuya Suou, a tall, brown-haired eighteen-year-old with fire-warmed brown eyes, tanned skin, and as minimal clothes as possible to stave off the sluggish heat, he found his company in the form of his boyfriend.

Sprawled across Tatsuya’s bed in a pair of fairly short pajama shorts and one of the brunette’s over-sized shirts, Jun Kurosu seemed content to simply let the room be filled by little else but the thrum of the small AC until, at last, the ravenette put his book down. “Hey Tacchi, can you teach me to ride your motorcycle?” Tatsuya able to feel his dark eyes burn into him as he spoke, but didn’t look up from the brochures on his desk when he responded, “Considering I don’t have a spare helmet that has a functional strap anymore, no.” Which, got a huff from the shaggy-haired witch, “But I’m bored. I want to go do something, Tacchi!” He whined, the brunette able to feel the pitiful look his boyfriend gave him as he continued, “Can we at least go sit on it? You don’t have to, like, start it.” “But you don’t have any real interest in bikes, Jun-bug, what entertainment do you expect to find from learning how mine works?” Tatsuya sighed, but his boyfriend was read for his argument, “At a minimum, I will get out of this room, if all else fails, I’ll find a way to entertain myself while you talk.” Which, got another sigh, and the tall man to cave.

And, before he knew it, Jun had already pulled the taller man downstairs to the kitchen like a kid eager to show off a discovery. Quick to throw open the door that led out to the garage and release a tidal wave of stale, dust-scented heat into the rest of the house.

Only then, did the ebony-haired man let him go in favor of the motorcycle that sat amongst the boxes of christmas décor and forsaken childhood items in the slightly dim light of the old lightbulb Tatsuya had been meaning to change for a while now.

Which, Tatsuya didn’t blame his boyfriend for. Because, despite the speckles and patches of rusty red amongst the chipped black and white paint, and the multiple dents in her body, the brunette was quite proud of his bike. He’d spent every penny on her, he’d spent nearly every free hour of his highschool career with her in that stuffy, cement-floored storage closet him and his brother called a garage.

So, to see Jun sit on her and run his hands over the motorcycle’s uneven body so gently, It somehow managed to stir up the first few embers of heat in the tall man’s belly. “Is this thing even driveable to begin with?” Jun asked, because there was simply no way that Tatsuya could simply stand in the hot air of the garage and drink in how a cute man played with the brake lever of his motorcycle. “Yes she’s rideable, you ass. I’ve ridden her to and from school multiple times.” He huffed, but Jun easily ignored the offense that laced the brunette’s words. “How do you start it? I assume it’s like a car, but then why do the movies all show bikers turning their handlebars?” He asked instead, so Tatsuya tossed the small insult into the untouched boxes and came over to show him the start button on the handlebar. “Turn the key and hold this until it turns over.” “Ohhh, well how would you sit on this thing if we could go for a ride?” the ravenette asked, quick to hop back to his feet so Tatsuya could show him.

Which, was a stupid proposition. Surely Jun had seen a biker ride with someone before, right? He should’ve known how someone rode on a bike. Even if he didn’t, it didn’t take much brain power to figure it out, right? Guess this is his entertaining himself.The brunette thought to himself as he humored his boyfriend and sat on the scratched, peeled leather of the seat. <em.Sure didn’t take long, huh. “If you actually ride with me, I would sit here, and you would- Jun!”

As if to prove his assumption, Jun showed no real interest in how he’d be positioned for a ride, but instead seemed more interested in what reactions he could get if he squirmed and wiggled his way into Tatsuya’s lap. “Y’know, this wouldn’t be very efficient for any joyrides, Tacchi. You’re taking up most of the actual seat.” He pointed out, as if his plump ass wasn’t sat in the brunette’s lap with nothing between him and his boyfriend’s groin but the thin material of their bottoms. As if the simple fact that the ravenette was sat between him and the unmoving metal of the bike hadn’t already stirred up so many daydreams. Until, finally, the tall man finally managed, “Y-yeah, that’s why a backpack usually sits on, y’know, the back.” Only for the witch to, again, brush aside his words in favor of torment.

Is this on purpose? Surely there’s no way this isn’t planned. Tatsuya thought while Jun shifted and wiggled in his lap. Jun’s not stupid, he should realize he shouldn’t be sat there. He should’ve gotten up by now if he really wanted to go for a ride. But, the measured friction of the thin fabric over Tatsuya’s cock was a clear enough sign, he didn’t need to truly question Jun’s intentions. The witch knew damned well what fantasies he stirred up when he ground his ass down against Tatsuya’s growing hard-on. “-Are you listening, Tacchi?” The brunette blinked at that, “Huh?…” “I asked how stable this thing is on its kickstand. Could I put my feet on the foot thingies and it stay up, or would I tip it over?” Jun asked again, a blue-tinted glance thrown over his shoulder so he could watch as Tatsuya scrambled to wrangle his composure from the fires that threatened to barbecue him alive. “Um, s-she’s pretty stable. Y’know, so long as you don’t bounce and wiggle around like a dumbass, the kickstand would keep her up p-pretty well.” <em.There is no damned way that’s an innocent question. I know your ass can feel my boner you ass. “So…” Jun mused as he blatantly stroked one of the textured rubber grips of his motorcycle’s handlebar. Unphased by the waves of heat that Tatsuya oozed at his back as he continued, “If I were to, say, ride you on this thing?…” “I’ll eat your ass.”

It was quick. A hopelessly horny thought that fell out of the brunette’s mouth and brought Jun’s wiggles to an abrupt stop. Oh fuck, “I-I mean, if you want me to! If-If you want to fuck on my bike- Because, y’know, I-I-I don’t have lube out here, Jun-bug-” Once again, he was cut off by the raven-haired witch’s movements. Though, this time, he was on his feet instead of Tatsuya’s lap. “Jun-bug, I’m sorry!-” “Well, come on. I’m not gonna wait for you to go fetch some lube, Tacchi.”

The brunette blinked dumbly at the shorter man for a long moment after that. His words rattled around his head along with the question of where did his shorts go.while Jun simply leaned on one of the handlebars of the brunette’s bike, his cute ass now bare, his dark eyes now lit by a familiar, mad blue. Tatsuya didn’t need another prod.

Just as quickly as Jun had gotten up, the tall brunette was on his feet behind the dark-haired man. And, while his dick ached for more attention, Tatsuya paused to drink in the sight before him. The sight of Jun’s round ass offered up to him, his own erection allowed to freely twitch and drip between his thick thighs, the way he braced himself against the sturdy body of his bike. It was enough to drive the pyrokenetic insane before he’d laid a finger on his boyfriend. Which, he didn’t hesitate any further on doing.

Knelt down behind his lover, Tatsuya was quick to get to throw the remainder of his prudish thoughts into the fire. One hand on the soft flesh of Jun’s ass, the other on the back of his leg so he didn’t squirm too much, the brunette was free to leave a trail of kisses along the inside of Jun’s thighs, his taint, and finally, his hole. Which, he pressed the flat of his tongue to and swiped a slow, firm stripe of warm salive over to earn a small moan and shudder from Jun. Yet, he didn’t focus on his ass just yet, that would be too nice. Instead, he trailed more kisses back to Jun’s groin to return the favor from earlier. With kisses and small licks to the tender skin of Jun’s inner thigh, nuts, or eager hole. But, he didn’t push into the man until the impatient tension Tatsuya could feel beneath his lover’s skin finally manifested into a long, thin, snake-scaled tail that ended in a violet bloom to wrap around the tanned man’s throat in a clear threat. Which, was the cue he took to finally dip his tongue into Jun.

That was also the point where the brunette was happy that his brother was off on a case, and that his garage, while suffocatingly warm, was also filled with enough boxes to keep nosey neighbors drawn by the witch’s cries of pleasure, out. Because, while Tatsuya thrust and flexed his tongue against his lover’s sensitive walls, he didn’t bother to muffle the needy moans, curses, and pants of the shaggy-haired demon. All the while, Jun’s smooth tail squeezed his neck as if Jun really would strangle his boyfriend with it if he dared to stop the way he prepped his ass in all of the ways he liked.

Yet, Tatsuya knew he wouldn’t. So, he stopped whenever he pleased, and bit back an evil grin when the ravenette whined at him for it. “Well, do you want me to fuck you properly, or just toy with you all night?” He asked with amusement, his only reply the way Jun’s tail let him go to instead smack his chest, “I don’t know, are you going to fuck me on the bike, or make me wait to get back in your room?” Jun huffed, his brown eyes now alight with cerulean flames of spoiled impatience as he watched Tatsuya radiate heat like a stove despite the summer summer night. But, in lieu of a proper answer, the witch only got to watch as the tall brunette discarded his pajama pants and sat back on his bike with his cock casually erect as it twitched against his belly.

And, after that, there was no more need for words. With their history, Tatsuya didn’t need to do more than gently guide Jun to face away from him when he climbed back onto the bike. The dark-haired man quick to listen when Tatsuya put one of his feet on the bike and positioned him so that he could actually push into the shaggy-haired man. The lack of space in the motorcycle seat an easy excuse for the brunette to bury his cock as deeply as he could in Jun’s ass. Something to blame that wasn’t the feral urges that fogged up Tatsuya’s thoughts more and more with each shallow thrust he gave.

After all, the sight of the ravenette bent over in front of him with a death grip on the handle bars while his walls squeezed the brunette’s thick cock so desperately? It was a repeated fantasy for the persona user. Almost too good to be true.

Yet, the heavy stench of sweat and motor oil in the too-hot air, and the squeeze of Jun’s tail as it coiled itself around his palm, reminded him with each quiet schlick and plap of skin on sweat-covered skin that this time, it was real. The friction on Tatsuya’s cock wasn’t his hand, but instead Jun doing his best to get some more friction. Those needy pants and whines weren’t guesstimations from recollections, but it was the real deal. Scrambling for a hold on his bike when the tall brunette pet and gently pulled at his flower-tipped demon tail. Shallow, a bit quick, but also expertly targeted to give Jun a taste of the lightning that zipped through his lover’s body every time his slick walls clenched around his length. “Fuck, baby…” Tatsuya growled while he mindlessly pulled at his lover’s tail a bit harsher to hear his pleasured cries and tighten his walls around him even more. That, paired with the shameless moans and oppressive heat of the garage...God, it was enough to finally break a man down.

Yet, he knew that if he wanted to actually complete his entire fantasy, he had to accept the fact that he couldn’t entirely lose himself to the smoke and flames that filled his blood. For the sake of his bike, at least, he had to swallow down the desire to sink his teeth into Jun’s neck like a cat in heat and make him squeal.

Instead, the brunette shook Jun’s flower-tipped tail from around his palm to channel that feral energy into further torment. Though, this time, that torment was in the form of Jun’s snake-scaled tail being trapped between his jaws and bitten on when the itch to claw into Jun’s hips and jack hammer into the needy demon resurfaced. The dark-haired man’s gasps and whines just as ignored as that fog that dulled every sense but the delicious friction and pleasure in favor of a shift to a slower, but farrougherpace. Each minimal inch Tatsuya could pull out, slammed back in as hard as he could in such an awkward stance. “T-tatsuya!” Jun whimpered with whatever breath the tall brunette’s thrusts left in his lungs, “Not s-so- ah!” But, whatever complaint or request the demon had was silenced when Tatsuya bit down harder on his captive tail.

And another small chomp all it took to unravel them both. The needy whine of Tatsuya’s name upon Jun’s climax mixed with the way his walls squeezed and milked his cock for every drop of cum. The warmth of his lube-slick walls, the thick smoke that infested his head. It was the final stick on the bonfire before it engulfed him in a hellfire that seemed to burn away the garage in a flash of blissful white.

When the brunette’s senses began to trickle back to him, he found Jun’s breathless body leaned back against his chest. Just as breathless and spent as he was, if not more. Since Tatsuya was unable to feel the heat he gave off when he was horny, and that undoubtedly didn’t feel the best when paired with the unmoving heat of the summer’s heavy night. But, when he glanced down at his sweaty, blissed-out boyfriend, he only saw satisfaction on his face.

Once they’d both caught their breath, though, Tatsuya broke their mutual silence with a question. “So...what the hell got into you tonight, jun-bug?” Which, got a snort as Jun melted back into him, “My question is, what didn’tget into you?I mean, we’ve been home alone all day and night, it’s summer, and I’m in basically booty shorts. Why did it take the motorcycle to get your dick out?” He countered, the blue now faded in his eyes now that he was sated. Though, his tail still flicked and swished against Tatsuya’s thigh as a reminder of his boyfriend’s capabilities. “it wasn’t the motorcycle that got me going, if that’s what you’re implying. It was you grinding your ass into my dick!” Tatsuya argued, his tanned cheeks already warmed up yet again. “Oh, so I guess next time I want to get laid I just need to grind against you like a bitch in heat to get it across.” Jun laughed, the sweet sound all it took for Tatsuya’s moment of embarrassment to be forgotten, and a laugh to replace it.

After that died down though, the two just sat on the bike. Neither really happy in the garage’s motor oil air, but neither really disliked it enough to move back to the bedroom. So, Tatsuya simply let Jun warm his cock as the last fizz of bliss ebbed from his skin like the circlet of flames that simmered down on his head.

#Persona 2 #Tatsuya suou x Jun kurosu #persona #Tatsujun #Tatsuya Suou #Jun kurosu #scenario #not sfw #spicy #motorcycles #I don't know motorcycles lol #mdni #minors do not interact #lemon

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awesomelittleprincessjess · 1 year ago

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Helen's Uni Diary: Year One

September - Initiation Antics

Alright, diary, here's the tea! Met Nikki during orientation, and we clicked, like, instantly. Our gossip sessions soon fixated on this chap from the opposite dorm. Looked lost, like a lamb waiting to be led. Lightbulb moment? Let's take him under our wing, stir things up a bit! With some sneaky hypnosis and a sprinkle of mischief, our little project began. No more Mr. Guy-From-Across-The-Hall. Welcome, Jasmine.

October - Pretty in Pink

Plan for October? A total wardrobe redo! Hit the high streets with a vision - Jasmine, but like, super femme! Rows and rows of delish dresses called out. Lured her into trying this pastel pink skater dress – think white polka dots, a silky ribbon, and a flirtatious hem. Paired with white ankle socks and cute Mary Janes. She looked like she stepped straight out of a chic mag!

November - Hair-Do Hullabaloo

Alright, that hair? Desperately needed some fab. Nikki's brilliant idea? A total hair makeover! We watched in glee as our fave stylist transformed that mop into an adorable, curly bob. Topped it with a sparkly hairband. Yass, Jasmine, giving us hair goals!

December - Giggles and Goss

Now, December was all about feeling young and merry. Christmas had Jasmine attached to our sides. Carol singing in that transformed voice and her obsession with that unicorn plushie from Secret Santa? Pure childlike joy.

January - Make-up Makeover

For January? We planned a subtler touch. Not just femme but younger, more innocent. Nikki and I played fairy godmothers, introducing Jasmine to a world of blush, mascara, and soft shiny lip gloss. A face that shouted teen spirit!

February - Valentine’s Vexation

A girly-girl Valentine was the vibe. Teased Jasmine with secret admirer notes. Oh, and the outfit? A youthful red dress, short but not too short, and with delicate lacework. She looked like a teen crushing hard for the first time.

March - Dress to Impress

Here's where the age games began. Imagined Jasmine, not just as a teen but younger. Got her a lavender dress for the uni’s spring event - floral lace, puffy sleeves, and enough tulle to make her twirl. She looked every inch the excited pre-teen.

April - Easter Elation

Easter was about innocence. Vision? Jasmine as a kiddo on an egg hunt. Watching her in that pastel yellow kiddie frock, hunting eggs? Pure gold! Her finding the smallest ones? May have rigged it a tad.

May - Ballet Bamboozle

May's plan? Delight in Jasmine’s childlike wonder. Enrolled her in a beginner's ballet class. Her in a tight leotard, fluffy tutu, struggling with basic moves? Adorable doesn't even cover it!

June - Sunny Daze and Plays

June’s mission? A beach baby day out. Pictured Jasmine building sandcastles, and she did! In a frilly swimsuit, her giggles, and that mermaid-themed bucket and spade? Childhood revisited.

July - Festival Follies

For July, the festival scene beckoned. But Jasmine wasn't just attending, she was living it as a free-spirited child. In a boho dress and a flower crown, she was the festival's little fairy.

August - Reflections and Resolutions

Come August, Nikki and I took a step back to admire our masterpiece. From lost lad to innocent child, it was quite the journey! But, diary, we've only just begun. There's more on the horizon, cheekier plots, and plans. Stay tuned!

#ai #tg #forced feminized #mental regression #story

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casualexistingmoments · 1 year ago

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This post is essentially "What happens if you eat Christmas lights - a completely unintentional and informal essay", so LONG post ahead. I didn't bother to proofread it. Enjoy!

For context: @cheesy-breadsticks tagged this #eats it (I'm not sure tags from who you reblogged from are visible) Christmas lights contain high amounts of lead. Most contain 15 micrograms of lead, but some have up to 100 micrograms (which is, by the way, probably not legal). Just to be safe, we're going to assume these have 15 micrograms of lead inside them.

The amount of lead one can consume in a day without getting the risk of lead poisoning is 2.2 micrograms.

To conclude, you have received lead poisoning and I have gotten a really weird search history (see below)

Never expected to write two whole paragraphs on how one of my mutuals has received fictional lead poisoning, or write it to the point that it sounds slightly formal, but here I am.

I did a bit more research on what would happen if you ate lights, which I can't believe I looked over, but the light post continues.

You will get... drumroll please... glass in your mouth. Of course. Unless you're actually cutting off the individual lights and swallowing them. That's a whole other problem because it would cause internal bleeding in your swallowey tubes in your throat (I have no idea what they are called) because of the sharp wires.

THE FOLLOW ING PARAGRAPH WILL BE MARKED IN PINK BECAUSE LEDS DO NOT, IN FACT, CONTAIN MERCURY. IF THE LIGHTBULBS ARE INCANDESCENT THEN THIS WILL HAPPEN, BUT I GOT MY INFO WRONG.

Now, LED lights (most all Christmas lights are LED and not incandescent) contain mercury. You now have lots of metallic mercury in your bloodstream.

I don't think there are any resources on what happens if you actually eat metallic mercury, so I'm just using this article as a reference

-> https://www.atsdr.cdc.gov/toxfaqs/tfacts46_metallic_mercury.pdf

You're probably gonna get some minor symptoms, but not a lot, because Christmas lights only contain about 4 milligrams of mercury, so you're overall fine.

Alright back to normal. (this is where the silly post gets serious)

Thanks to https://www.chemistryislife.com/the-chemistry-of-christmas-lights for showing me some components of Christmas lights so I can know what in the world I'm researching.

Let's go through the list (note that I didn't actually read through the articles I found, I just skimmed them):

Copper - yeah. Oh no. Over 1 gram of this stuff is DANGEROUS. The article I'm using says it can cause "abdominal pain, hematemesis, melena, jaundice, anorexia, severe thirst, diarrhea, and vomiting associated with erosive gastropathy". I have no idea what most of that means, but it seems bad. Source: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK557456/

Polyvinyl chloride, or PVC. Essentially plastic. - not much, as one would expect. Headaches, drowsiness, and dizziness. Source: https://19january2017snapshot.epa.gov/sites/production/files/2016-09/documents/vinyl-chloride.pdf

Tungsten - this component is safe. It passes through your body as normal. Source: https://wwwn.cdc.gov/TSP/PHS/PHS.aspx?phsid=804&toxid=157#:~:text=Most%20of%20the%20tungsten%20that,your%20body%20in%20the%20feces.

Argon - I can't actually find out how much argon is in Christmas lights, but it can cause dizziness, nausea, and vomiting in mild amounts, which I assume is how much Christmas lights contain. In higher amounts you're literally hospitalized, but I don't think it would even be legal to put that much in your lights. Source: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC9646629/#:~:text=Mild%20argon%20poisoning%20manifests%20as,%2C%20incontinence%2C%20and%20even%20death.

The other one is glass. We went over that.

So basically after eating those things, you're sick, and probably now hospitalized because there's certainly other factors I didn't know about and CANNOT take into account. The lesson here is to never eat Christmas lights, even fictionally, because it can result in what has been listed above or, when fictional, me to forget my math homework (that is due in 3 hours)

Trick or Treat!

It is now November, and therefore Christmas season. Have some decor.

#Do I care if I'm wrong?#Absolutely not #Gonna go ahead and tag this lead #lead #I wonder what posts are under the lead tag.#Christmas #stupid math #half-shitpost #chemistry #kind of #this reads like a lab safety manual #it kind of is

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years ago

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Dog Days

Relationship: Natasha Romanoff x Reader Warnings: N/A, just fluffy! Summary: You agree to accompany Yelena to the pet shelter so she can look for a dog. While there, though, you lock eyes with the sweetest golden retriever... Natasha ends up coming home to quite the surprise. A/N: Bad title, even worse summary! but what’s new.

Masterlist

When you woke up that morning, you hadn’t expected that by the afternoon you’d be standing in what felt like a sea of dogs. In fact, you knew for a cold hard fact you weren’t supposed to be in this position.

Earlier in the week, Yelena had finally announced she was committing to getting a dog, a task she had been hemming and hawing about for months. Naturally, you and Natasha were pretty excited for her. It felt like you two were becoming aunts in some sort of way. Natasha then offered to go to the shelter with Yelena and the plans had been made.

But come the morning of and Natasha was whisked away to a meeting or something. You didn’t know, you weren’t an Avenger — you only dated one.

You broke the news to Yelena that morning when she came to pick up Natasha. There was a tinge of disappointment written on her face but she did her best to keep up that unbothered persona. It never worked on you when your girlfriend did it and it certainly wasn’t working now with her sister. After a short debate with yourself, you had impulsively grabbed your purse and told Yelena you’d go with her. She didn’t fight you on it.

And that was how you ended up being pestered by dog after dog after dog. They seemed to be never-ending as you two walked up and down the aisles of the local shelter. There were big ones, small ones. Loud ones, shy ones. Puppies and seniors. Each and every one of them looked up at you with the sweetest eyes. It was starting to become concerning how much your heart ached for these little guys. But you weren’t here for yourself — no way, that was never the plan — and instead directed your attention to pointing out potential adoptees for Yelena.

She was quick to shut down your chihuahua suggestion which, well, was sort of reasonable. Yelena didn’t come off as the type. Then you passed some cages of great danes but those were a little on the too big side. Another fair point, they could be tough to corral.

Then you two stumbled upon the German shepherds. You don’t think you’d ever seen Yelena’s eyes light up so much. If falling in love at first sight was a thing with dogs, it happened at that moment you observed. While Yelena approached the cage to introduce herself to the dog, you stepped around looking at the others in the area.

That was when you had your own love at first sight moment. There, in the cage right next to the dog Yelena was looking at, was the sweetest, happiest golden retriever you had ever seen. He perked up immediately as you stepped towards the cage, tail wagging happily, mouth opened to what looked like to be a smile. As weird as that fact sounded, it felt true. This dog certainly looked happy to see you. The feeling was mutual.

Carefully, you stuck your hand between the cage bars and the dog sniffed you out. Within seconds he was licking you, a silent greeting and acceptance. It was over for you then and Yelena apparently had picked up on it.

"Natasha is going to have quite the surprise for her once she gets home," she laughed, watching you pet the dog as well as you could between the bars.

You bit your lip, holding back your own laugh. "It’s not like I can just walk away."

"Of course not."

"That’d be cruel."

"I agree."

You playfully rolled your eyes. "You just want me in trouble."

Yelena shrugged. "I do think it can be amusing hearing you and my sister bicker."

"Oh, just worry about your own dog," you shooed her away. She turned back to the German shepherd, letting out another laugh. The shepherd barked.

When Yelena found a volunteer to begin the adoption process, you followed as well. Like your feet had a mind of their own. Or maybe it was your heart. Whatever it was, you just knew you hadn’t expected your day to go as such.

***

It was very clear that Natasha also hadn’t expected the day to go the way it did.

It was close to midnight when the apartment door opened. You and the new dog, which you had found was named Sparky, were still up playing with the variety of new toys you had purchased for him. After adopting the golden retriever, you realized, well, you had nothing for him. He wasn’t technically supposed to be in the back of the car, looking around all excitedly, if today had gone the way it was meant to.

You stopped by a pet store on the way back which Sparky was very, very excited about. You found he was very kind with other dogs and got overly excited about anything flavored with bacon. You even let him pick out his own toys which led to quite the array of items.

You had just bounced a ball for Sparky to chase when you noticed a presence in the entryway of the living room. You nearly jumped out of your skin, still not used to the way your assassin girlfriend could be so stealthy.

"Nat, hello!" You exclaimed as if everything was normal and this was a very typical night. She didn’t look impressed standing with her arms crossed, eyes darting every now and then to the golden retriever who was now prancing back to you with the ball.

"What’s going on here?" She asked slowly, curiously. Sparky finally noticed Natasha and trotted over, trying to say hello. Your girlfriend looked a bit unsure, to say the least.

"Um, that’s Sparky the Golden Retriever," you explained, motioning to the dog still waiting for Natasha to pet him. She patted his head gently.

"I see that," she nodded. "I guess I’m asking… What’s he doing in our apartment?"

You stood from the floor and took a few steps towards your girlfriend. You discarded the toy in your hand, trying to figure out how to really explain everything now. "Well, you see, after you went to that meeting this morning, I told Yelena I’d go with her to the shelter."

Natasha nodded, encouraging you to go on.

You sighed. "I-I didn’t plan on it, obviously, but I saw Sparky in the cage and I just… Oh, Nat. You should’ve seen the way he looked at me. He’s so sweet. We got along right away and he seemed so excited to meet me… I couldn’t just leave him there!"

Natasha let out a light laugh, completely abandoning her angry girlfriend persona to finally kneel to the golden retriever’s height. She scratched behind his ears which earned a happy sigh from the dog. "Of course you couldn’t leave a face like this."

You let out your own sigh of relief and kneeled down as well. Hesitantly, you asked, "You’re not upset?"

Natasha shrugged. "I was certainly surprised," she admitted, "but I think I should’ve known this would happen."

"Excuse me?" You let out a faux surprise gasp. Natasha chuckled.

"Well, when I knew I couldn’t go I figured you’d step in," she explained. "You are absolutely hopeless when it comes to resisting animals. It was just a matter of time until I came home to this."

You smiled at her analysis of you. Ever the spy, can never turn it off. "Yelena was no help either in the situation. She definitely persuaded me but she was just banking on us arguing over it."

That made Natasha let out the most joyous laugh. You couldn’t help your smile getting bigger at her finding the situation amusing. "I expect nothing less from her," Natasha said.

You nodded in agreement. "Thank gosh it worked out," you said and began petting Sparky’s back. He was stuck between a shower of love and was taking in every second of it, tongue hanging out in happiness, eyes shut in content. "I was worried you’d make me return him."

Your girlfriend shook her head. "That’d be impossible." She sighed, "I can’t believe I’m now a… What do they call that? A dog mom?"

You gasped, a lightbulb going off in your head. "We could get little dog mom shirts made. Sparky could even get his own bandana. We’d have matching family outfits."

Natasha raised her hand, wordlessly asking you to slow down. "Please don’t push it, dear."

You playfully rolled your eyes. "Fine," you shrugged, "but you can’t control what I get you for Christmas."

As if he understood, Sparky let out a bark in agreement.

Natasha sighed. "I’m outnumbered now, aren’t I?"

Sparky turned towards you, giving your cheek what felt like a million licks. Through your laughter, you confirmed your girlfriend’s suspicion.

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themadauthorshatter · 4 years ago

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OTP PARENT HEADCANONS PART 2

Because I'm bored.

And I want to give myself some serotonin.

And because I've put this off for a long time😅

RED QUEEN:

Shade and Coriane were never afraid of monsters under their beds because Cal would "scare them away" with a really bright flashlight.

Both children have a little bit of buidling and tinkering in them. Shade showed it by switching out lightbulbs and pointed out the ones he was putting in would be better at being adjusted than the ones before and Coriane showed it by fixing a clock.

Mare isn't exactly the best at cooking, but she's at least better than Cal. And her mother; sorry, Ruth.

Both children are excellent swimmers, much to Cal's chagrin.

Coriane remembers meeting her great Nanabel, and the smile she had at the sight of her great granddaughter.

Shade didn't really have a chance to meet her.

Both children wish they could have met their uncle on their mother's side and uncle, grandfather, and grandmother on their father's side.

Both Samos siblings are allowed to see the children, and neither of the children were excited; they'd heard "scary stories" about them and their father, who sounds scary; no, Cal didn't make it clear that Volo was dead, all he said was the Samos patriarch had fallen down and didn't get up, so they assumed that meant he couldn't use his arms anymore.

They were all pretty surprised to meet each other.

Ptolemus was more like a fun uncle than the berserker they all knew.

He did explain that Volo did indeed fall, but couldn't get up because of how high he fell.

The electricons love how entertained the children are with their lightning abilities.

Tyton is a pretty good babysitter. Coriane is allowed to stay up, but only after Shade has gone to bed.

Kilorn is not allowed to teach either child how to swim; there was an 'incident' where Cal tried to be brave and go swimming and Kilorn scared the living hell out of him.

That's fine because neither children like swimming.

Yes. Just because the children are good at swimming doesn't mean they enjoy it.

Mare has told Gisa she doesn't need to make the children outfits, but Gisa did it anyway because she loves her niece and nephew.

The court ettique stuck with Cal, which has led to him raising the children to be very formal.

SCHOOL FOR GOOD AND EVIL(I'm naming Tedros and Agatha's son Anthony):

Both parents were kind of scared Anthony was mute because he didn't start talking until he was nearly a year old. He's not mute, he just doesn't talk much.

You have to catch him at just the right moment. Anthony is completely silent around large crowds or assemblies, but with his parents he's half of a chatterbox, at least.

Anthony and Agatha can have full conversations with nothing but facial expressions.

Tedros had a hard time getting Anthony to open up to him, and decided to give the boy space for a little bit.

It was absolutely worth it for the heart to heart they had.

Hester and Anadil hate kids, but Agatha's and Tedros's little demon spawn is the only exception to that statement.

Anadil was won over by how he didn't cry and even 'said' how her rats were cute.

Hester, however, only warmed up to him when she spent a longer time with him, and after getting a chance to watch him because Aunt Sophie kept stepping in.

On one such occasion, where Anthony was surprised by Hester's watching him, the boy was overjoyed to see her, hugging her closely. He then backed up and stepped back, giving her a wave and smile. As she understood his silence better than Sophie, Hester wrote to him on a paper, 'Did you miss me THAT much?' Anthony nodded and wrote back, 'Yes!'

Sophie is not a helicopter aunt, but she loves Anthony a bit too much for his liking.

She NEVER talks about how she'd been hoping he was a girl.

Anthony isn't a fan of pink, but he doesn't hate it. Pastel is fine. Anything more vibrant makes him puke.

Both Tedros and Agatha were surprised to see how good Anthony was on horse back.

Heart attack angst moment: A former supporter of Rhian and Japeth snuck into the castle and made an assassination attempt on the royal family, more specifically Anthony. Tedros threw his son behind him and drew hus sword and Agatha shot a spell at him and proceeded to tackle him to the ground, not caring about her dress or the fact that the assailant was still armed.

Anthony colud not watch the execution because he hates bloodshed. He's a vegetarian/vegan and tries to eat as little meat as possible because he often spends time in the stables and around animals.

Agatha and Tedros are aware of this and are okay with it, though Tedros has him eat a single steak for dinner and teo eggs for breakfast once a month on seperate occasions, just so he doesn't lack any iron or protein.

To clarify, by separate occasions, I mean that Anthony will eat the steak one day and the eggs later another day within the month. After that, he can indulge in as much vegan/vegetarian food as he wants.

Have fun trying to convince Tedros and Agatha to let him attend the SGE; it's not that they have unpleasant memories, they just want him to try and have as normal of a life as possible.

On a walk, and when the Tagatha child was a teen, Tedros noticed some girls trying to flirt with Anthony and that his son barely reciprocated their actions. He pointed out that they were showing an interest in him, and Anthony admitted that he knew and he just didn't really feel the same way; he didn't exactly see why they were so flirty when he didn't feel like giving it back to them.

NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS(The triplets I'm naming Jacob, the eldest boy, Luna, the middle girl, and Daemon, the youngest boy):

Jacob is 98% the triplets' father; he'd be a spitting image if it weren't for his mop of hair, he's sharp as a whip, but still puts the E in idiot(please tell me you git that Jenna Marbles reference!!!).

Luna is arguably the smartest, but good luck getting a, 'you don't say' out of her. She won't tell you she's smarter than you, she will show you. Good thing Jack and Sally keep her in check.

Daemon is the family's "underdog." He has the last minute, 'this will work,' Jack Sparrow plans. He's quiet, he sews, he sings, and if he's not trailing behind Jack, Sally, or his siblings, he's probably touching up his clothes.

Jacob was the idiot kid that got electrocuted to the point his red hair turned black. He barely remembers it, but now all he tastes is cold peanut butter. Daemon has often suggested and offered to do it again, but Luna stops him. Pro: he's spending more time with Luna and Jacob is safe. Con: he's spending time with LUNA and Jacob still doesn't remember.

Jacob, as the oldest, attends 'meetings' with Jack and the Mayor. It doesn't bore him, he just gets tired of the Mayor's whining.

Jacob doesn't get Christmas. Luna has the basic idea of it. Daemon is the only one that understands, but doesn't explain it fully out of spite; Jacob called him scatter brained because of an incident where, at the table, a cockroach crawled out of his eye socket.

Daemon is the only one of his siblings to have eyes.

Even though she's literal bone, Luna has stitches that are very close to Sally's.

Neither Jack nor Sally have nicknames for the children, besides terms of endearment.

You know you're in trouble when Jack looks at you and looks ready to dig your grave himself.

All three triplets have Jack's fire power, but no one's gotten hurt because of it, even though Jacob and Daemon had one close call.

Neither parent would ever even dream of raising a hand against the children.

It's safe to say that Luna and Sally use common sense the most out of all five of the family members.

Daemon smells like pumpkin and cinnamon. He finds both himself, cinnamon bark and small, apple-esque pumpkins, and eats them like skittles and popcorn.

Another result of the electrocution, Jacob is hard of hearing where is left ear would be, if he had ears. He can't hear at all in the "ear." Not even a ringing sound.

The only reason Jacob doesn't like something is because he doesn't get it. At all.

Luna sees the glass as half full, Daemon sees the glass as half empty, and wonder if it belongs to someone who drank out of said glass, hence its being hald empty, and Jacob just sees a glass of water, now can he just drink the rest?

Luna, the best with herbs, has poisoned her brothers. Sally found out and she was grounded.

Daemon, to see how much he could take, dived off the roof of Dr. Finkelstein's tower. It took Jack, Sally, Luna, Jacob, and Zero all day to collect all of him. He was grounded and locked in his room.

Jacob got grounded for a few things: setting his sister on fire(no one knows who started that fight.), hiding in a morgue to scare people only to end up falling asleep, even as they tried to cremate him, and then waking up in front of the humans, pretending to be one of the hanging men on The Hanging Tree, and dancing on top of the tallest Pyramid in Egypt.

The children do misbehave sometimes, but their parents love them.

Jack and Jacob don't see eye to eye exactly, but they still get each other.

Luna loves both her brothers, but she will hang out with Daemon more than Jacob.

Daemon has a lot of glow sticks he collected and they all still glow when it gets dark. Jacob used his thinking cap and had a moment of big brain time, and drank some of the glow stick juice.

One more thing he got in trouble for.

Daemon also got in trouble, but he was allowed to keep his glow sticks.

Luna is a good singer, Daemon is a great dancer, and Jacob is the best at succeeding their father

#red queen #school for good and evil #nightmare before christmas #marecal #tagatha #jack x sally #tiberias calore vii #mare barrow #sge tedros #tedros of camelot #sge agatha #agatha of woods beyond #jack skellington

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lost-and-rambling · 2 years ago

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This is one of the last truly “anonymous” spaces I think I have on the internet so here goes…

I’m pretty sure I’m gay, and I’m 100% sure that I fumbled the conversation about it with my husband.

My incessant need to be nice and “soften the blow” made it seem like I was still more confused than anything, which is not accurate. I’m not really confused, I’m just processing and breaking down the trauma from my childhood.

My relationship with my husband hasn’t been that great in awhile, and I haven’t been feeling fulfilled with him for an even longer amount of time. I haven’t had to nerve to look that in the face until now.

It all kinda started in therapy (as most things for me do, apparently). I was lamenting to my therapist that I can’t seem to find an end to things he does that annoy me, that his little quirks got annoying like 5 years ago, that I don’t feel like he really knows me, and that I’ve had this constant hole in my heart since my breakup with my first semi-serious girlfriend. I blurted out that I wasn’t even sure about my queerness anymore, because he and I moved so fast after my first marriage fell to pieces that I never gave myself room to fully explore my sapphic desires (wants?). I think she zoned in on that and left me with the homework of pondering my sexuality in more serious terms. And then I started to piece things together not only in this relationship but in all my relationships with men, and I had a major “oh fuck” moment. I fell down some Reddit rabbit holes, first on r/questioning, which led me to r/LateBloomerLesbians, which had a Google doc allllllllllll about compulsory heterosexuality that made everything click. The lightbulb went off, I started crying, and I knew I had to figure out how to start this conversation with my husband.

So now I’m here, 31 years old, 90% sure I’m gay, stuck with my husband because I can’t afford to live solo, breaking his and my heart more and more every day. Going home after work feels like a punch to the gut. Being in the same bed as him feels like a sin. Him giving me a kiss makes me want to recoil.

But suddenly, now that the reality and gravity of my doubts are settling in, and that I may be leaving for good, he seems to be trying to win me over. I don’t know how to deal with that. Like, thanks a lot man but no amount of meatloaf and kind words is going to make me not attracted to women. And I hate that. I don’t want things to be like this. I knew getting re-married was a bad idea, but I went with it anyways, and now this. He’s such a good person, and he’s going thru so much right now, but I just don’t think we’re compatible anymore in really really basic ways.

But he fucking sobbed ffs. I’ve only seen him cry like that a couple of times in the 8 years we’ve been together.

He said he’s giving me time, that he’s holding on to hope but that I should “let him know before Christmas.” I don’t know why, but that hurt. When he said it’s not fair for him to be married to a lesbian (which is true, and I agree with it), the way he said “lesbian” stung.

I’m conflicted. I love him like a friend, I’m terrified of change, and I hate to break his heart.

But I can’t keep lying to myself. Even if I really really want to. And holy shit do I want to.

#personal

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marveldc-imagines-hub · 4 years ago

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That One Valentine’s Day Special (Captions)

Anon said: “Hello!! I saw that your wandavision requests are open and I had to request something! I’m so obsessed with Vis right now, it’s very bad. I can’t think of any specific plot ideas, all I know is that I would really love to see some fluffy Vision just head over heals in love with reader. Kisses, cuddles, all that jazz. Thank you so much ❤️❤️❤️”

Anon said: “maybe a request where it’s valentines and the reader and Wanda team up to get really dressed up and make an amazing dinner to surprise Vision, but when he comes home and sees them both he’s so flustered that either like has a shutdown or faints? And then obviously Wanda and the reader panic and spend the evening taking care of him and also teasing him for being so adorable/fainting? Thank you!!!”

A/N: Combined aspects from both of these requests to make an ooey gooey Valentine’s Day special (which got belated because I lost half of the writing when I transferred it from doc to Tumblr post :’D)!

Don’t think this is the type of dressed up you meant but I hope you like it, either way! The type of nightwear I was going for with Wanda was something like this.

Subtitles/Captions Masterlist

Tip Jar

Word count: 7,117

Warnings: Valentine’s Day sap. Lingerie, passionate kissing, and everyone being flirty (nothing graphic). Reader makes a really, really, just terrible pun in order to compliment Wanda. This was edited very late at night, so there might be a few errors.

Tag list: @cyanide-mustard @badasspolygenderfriend (These were the only two on the tag list who confirmed that they wanted to be tagged in everything WandaVision-related; if anyone else on the Subtitles list does, just let me know!)

~~~

“Hey, Wanda?” You hollered to the woman in the other room. You were standing in front of the mirror in the Maximoff bathroom, adjusting the collar of the somewhat too-big shirt you wore.

“Yes, dear?” Your girlfriend hollered back from a couple of rooms away.

“While I definitely get the why we’re doing this,” you continued, tugging the shirt’s shoulders farther to one side, then back to the other, before giving up and moving onto your hair, “with Valentine’s Day and all, you know--”

Wanda piped up, probably to assure you that she was listening more than anything, “Yes, I do.”

You snorted. “--but is there a reason we’re doing so… much?”

As you spoke, you ran your hands through your hair, ruffling it to give it a bedhead type of look. You faltered a bit when your eyes settled on the ugly scar on your forehead that your hair couldn’t cover without being in a bizarre style. You frowned and dug a finger into the scar tissue, feeling very little other than mild pressure when you did so.

There was a pause on Wanda’s end. “You don’t think he deserves it, working so hard this past week?”

You reeled back, insecurity forgotten, and quickly left the bathroom. You walked down the hall to where Wanda was working on her own outfit in the bedroom she shared with Vision, rambling away, “No, no, no! I mean no as in no, you’re wrong, not as in he doesn’t deserve what we’re doing. Of course, he does! To be completely honest, he probably deserves it more than anyone in town--aside from yourself, of course--but… For example, we did a lot revolving around food and… Vis doesn’t eat.”

There was another pause and you halted by the closed bedroom door, mainly to pick a rose petal from where it stuck itself to the bottom of your stockinged foot but also because you didn’t want to walk in on your partner.

“But Valentine’s Day revolves around food quite a bit, doesn’t it?” Wanda said from the other side of the door. At this point in your relationship, you could pick up pretty easily how Wanda was feeling by her tone of voice. She spoke thoughtfully, which wasn’t all that concerning, but there was a certain edge to her voice that made you worried; she was going to start overthinking and scrapping the entire idea if you didn’t interfere soon.

You tilted your head from one side to the other while considering her statement before giving a nod she couldn’t see and responding, “I suppose you’re right there. Lots of holidays do, now that I think about it. Thanksgiving? Turkey. Easter? Candy. Christmas? Just… food in general.”

You glanced around as you spoke. You couldn’t see much of the house from where you stood in the hallway but you knew what to expect when you walked to the main part of the house. All of the house’s lights were off, save for a few lamps that washed the house with what would have been a low, cozy, get-comfortable-before-bed sort of light if Wanda hadn’t used her powers to turn the lightbulbs in said lamps from yellow to a red; because of this change, the dim light gave off a much more romantic energy that fit with the rest of your and Wanda’s decorating. Red, pink, and white rose petals were scattered all across the floor, starting from the front were, where Vision would be when he walked in after work and making a trail to different rooms of the house. One path led to the kitchen and dining area, where you and Wanda had spent a good part of the day preparing various sweet, Valentine’s Day- and romance-themed treats plus dinner and setting up the table with candles and flowers and a pink tablecloth that matched the pink rose petals. Another led to the living room, which was decorated in a similar nature. Thanks to Wanda’s ability to conjure, she was able to quickly clean up the area that was usually hidden under a mess of baby equipment, change the color of the throw pillows and blankets to the correct red and pink theme, and even had “floating” heart decorations that danced across the ceiling on transparent strings; the babies themselves were gone for the night, safe under Agnes’s care once she and you had been able to convince Wanda. Finally, a rose path, accompanied by ceiling hearts, led down the hallway until it made a fading stop at where were you currently stood, leaning next to the bedroom door. The bedroom itself wasn’t decorated and neither of you had really talked about the assumptions that could be made from looking at the trail, but what you had discussed was how many romantic movies Wanda was going to project onto one of the walls after dinner while cuddling would most certainly take place on the couch.

The third path was mainly to guide you down the hallway while Wanda greeted Vision from the kitchen. It was also to lead Vision to go change into his own set of comfy pajamas when you and Wanda would ultimately have to push him to do so after him grumbling about too tired to do so.

Poor thing, you thought while pushing yourself away from the wall.

Being the company’s fastest and best worker, Vision had become victim to Mr. Hart doubling his workload and as a result, the gentleman had been working like a dog for the entire past week. His days had consisted of getting up way too early only to go into work and be worked to the bone, then come home and relieve Wanda of the babies--regardless of her assuring him that she’d be fine while he rested--until he passed out on the couch sometime later into the night. You’d been surprised, after learning of his synthezoid identity, that he’d need to sleep at all but you supposed anyone would need to recharge after a day like that.

You, on the other hand, had racked up some vacation days and, after a chat with Wanda about the upcoming romantic holiday, decided to add an extra day to your weekend so the two of you could do something nice for her husband. You’d probably regret this on Monday but for now, you were just happy to have spent the day working with Wanda and were hoping the rest of the night went well.

Speaking of the woman, Wanda had been quiet for some time now, other than the sounds of rustling fabric. You decided now was a good time as any to get involved before she decided that she should do something completely different and cause all the previous work to go to waste, so you knocked. After getting a verbal invitation, you strolled in, only for a sharp inhale to almost propel you back to slam into the doorframe.

Wanda was standing in front of a full-length mirror against the far wall of the bedroom, anxiously fiddling with what little clothing she had on. She wore what looked like a bathing suit but was made out of a sheer, body-hugging, baby pink fabric and embellished with a subtle pattern of roses. Her back was turned to you but you could see from the mirror’s reflection that the piece still left plenty to the imagination with a more opaque version of the same fabric keeping her chest, the bit of fabric held snugly between her thighs, and even an upsidedown V-shaped panel that was framed by silky white bands and reached from the middle of her torso to the lower part of her hips covered. This lovely piece, clothing an even lovelier woman, was paired with similarly colored stockings of the same fabric, minus the rose pattern, and you were both surprised and amused by the addition of a string of pink pearls around her neck and one wrist with matching earrings and a pair of white low heels with a bow on the toe strap. Wanda’s hair was styled in loosely curled waves, making it look shorter than it actually was, and pushed back with a headband that could be mistaken for a minimal tiara, which was also embellished with pink-tinted pearls.

You knew that you were staring, flushed, and with eyes almost bulging out of their sockets--you knew only because you could catch part of your own reflection in the mirror, not because you could feel anything other than goosebumps-inducing tingles travel across your body--but it took Wanda laughing softly and catching your eye in the mirror to pull your slacked jaw off the floor and close your suddenly dry mouth. You eventually also tried to speak but not much other than a stammering “Uhhh…” came out and you gave up, instead choosing to scrub your hands over your face so you would at least look away.

Then Wanda dared to ask, “So, do I look okay?”

You stared at her again but this time it was one of disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

Wanda rolled her eyes and chuckled again at your utter belief before nervously running her hands down along a perfect set of curves. You fully believed she had no intention of torturing you by doing so but here she was, doing just that. If it hadn’t been for the awkward look on her face, makeup-free except for light lipstick and a little mascara, your gaze probably would have stayed with the path her hands made over her stomach and down to rest on her hips. You watched her gaze jump worriedly from one part of her body to the other instead.

“Look,” she continued, “I know I look okay, I know I look fine--”

Fine? Only fine? If Wanda asked you to strip naked and run through Westview while screaming her praises, you would do so without a second thought. Well, you probably would have done it regardless of what she was wearing but you wouldn’t be complaining about the extra bit of help.

“--but ever since the twins were born, I feel a little… hmph… wearing something like this.”

While you couldn’t possibly fathom how she could see herself as anything but one of the most beautiful living creatures ever, but you’d also figured out quite a while ago that she didn’t exactly see herself the same way you did. You chewed the inside of your cheek a bit before walking over and wrapping your arms around her; her own hands settled to rest on top of yours. You rested your chin on her shoulder and met her gaze in the mirror one last time.

“I suppose even goddesses have their insecure days, huh?”

Wanda laughed and rolled her eyes so hard you were vaguely worried about them rolling back into her skull. She lightly slapped your arms but still leaned back into your embrace as she scoffed, “Be quiet.”

“Wanda,” you said, “you had kids. You still look great. You look so good. So, so, so good. Insanely good. Earth-shakingly good. So pretty. Very gorgeous. Amazingly foxy. Incredibly stellar. Your mom body? Could demolish Aphrodite in a beauty pageant.”

You rambled on a bit longer before Wanda was smacking your arms again. She looked more at ease now, though, completely relaxed in your arms with her head leaning into the crook of your shoulder and one ankle loosely crossed over the other.

“Mom body.” She snorted. “Please, enlighten me further about this mom body I have.”

You quickly shook your head and gave her reflection a warning look. “Can’t. If I say much more, it’ll upset the gods. Every single one of them. I’ll be thrown into the pits for all the sinful things I’d have said.”

Wanda’s head fell back as she laughed again; you felt the tickle of her hair against your exposed neck as you grinned against her shoulder. When she settled again, you gave her a serious look, moved your lips to kiss the shell of her ear, then muttered, “But let’s just say you’re a foxy mama in absolutely every sense of the word.”

The woman in your arms erupted with laughter once more, though this time it was short and accompanied by a gentle slap to the cheek. Then her hand rested there, holding your head close as she leaned her forehead partially against yours.

“You and my husband,” she said with a little shake of her head, “and those ridiculous puns of yours.”

You nodded slightly in agreement, then tilted your head to peck her cheek. “That one really was just…”

“Awful?”

“Yeah, no, not good.” You chuckled and reached a hand up to poke her cheek. “Made ya smile though.”

Wanda hummed, squinting at herself in the mirror, then huffed. “I suppose.”

There were a few moments of the two of you just holding each other and soaking up each other’s presence.

Then Wanda just had to ask again, “Do you really think I look okay?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “Wanda! You’re so pretty! You’re so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so--”

“You tell me I’m pretty all the time,” she pointed out.

“I have yet to be wrong,” you countered.

She looked herself over again. Tilting her head and glancing up at you from under her lashes, she said, “You could call me sexy.”

“I could,” you agreed, “Don’t want to make you uncomfortable though.”

Wanda raised a brow. “Did I not just say you could?”

You snorted. “Was my foxy mama joke not enough? Do you know what havoc me doing so would release onto the world? Would you want the gods to reject me because of my filthy language?” You leaned your head into her neck while keeping your eyes on hers. You waggled your eyebrows and lowered your voice. “‘Cause I’ll do it.”

Wanda made a face at you, scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips in the special, incredibly cute way that only she could. Then she smiled and ruffled your hair slightly. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you calling me sexy once.”

“Oh, nay,” you insisted, “if it happens once, it shall happen a million types! An unholy, unhinged, affectionate monster shall be released from its mortal prison!”

Wanda hummed thoughtfully and made a show of tapping her chin and tilting her head. “Okay, deal.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled. Giving her cheek another quick smooch, you said simply back, “‘Kay, you’re sexy.”

She smiled back at you and did a single clap. “Yay.”

“And, hey,” you said, tapping the scar on your forehead, “even if you weren’t a level of beauty that matched an immortal otherworldly being--impossible--at least you don’t have a scar on your face.”

You saw Wanda’s gaze soften in the mirror before she twisted around in your arms to face you. She gently took your face in her hands and your eyes fluttered shut as she leaned up to kiss you directly on said scar.

“I like the scars,” she said softly, “It means you survived something, even if you don’t know what it was, and I’m happy that you did.”

Your eyes blinked back open. “Why?”

“You wouldn’t be here for me otherwise.”

You huffed out a little breath, somewhat involuntarily, and were suddenly very aware of the fact that you two were practically tangled around each other now. You squished your nose against hers in a nuzzle and said in a lower tone, “Lucky you then.”

She dropped her hands from your face to wrap her arms around your neck. She matched your tone and bumped her nose back against yours, tilting her head a bit. “Very lucky.”

It was almost like a mutual decision when your lips crashed against each other.

Having been prone to the feeling of floaty dizziness as a result of your migraines, the feeling itself wasn’t particularly jarring. What replaced the usual undercurrent of pulsing pain, however, was what made this dizziness feel heavenly instead of hellish. When you kissed Wanda, it was like immediate intoxication but instead of booze, it was the taste of the gloss on her lips and the strawberry flavor that still lingered on her tongue from your cooking session earlier that day and the mix of citrusy sweetness from her perfume and shampoo that made you think of candied orange slices whenever you inhaled. You’d always be too busy to mentally describe it while in the moment, far too concentrated on committing whatever part of Wanda’s body that you were touching to memory via your grazing fingertips and adding new scents, words, feelings, images, and whatever else to the catalog of things that reminded you of her in your head, but when you thought about the love-drunk dizziness that followed the initial intoxication after the fact, you equated it to being a little tipsy and stumbling into a warm home. Only this time, home was a woman whose arms and mouth kept drawing you back for one more kiss, and then five more, and the thing that made you tipsy was the way the air crackled with invisible electricity and magic, and the look in her eyes when your eyes fluttered open after parting.

While time seemed to slow to a stop during your and Wanda’s moment, it hadn’t actually done so at all. This was proven when you heard the front door begin to open, causing you and Wanda to practically leap away from each other. She stared at you with wide, startled eyes and you couldn’t help but note your handiwork; her entire face and neck were flushed a deep red, her hair was significantly messier than it had been previously, that the lip color she’d been wearing had been partially transferred to your mouth.

The admiration could only last a moment. “You’re supposed to be in the kitchen.”

“I’m supposed to be in the kitchen,” Wanda repeated. “My lipstick is all over your face.”

You brushed a thumb over your bottom lip and it came away with a glossy pink. “Your lipstick is on my face.”

Wanda stood in front of you, suddenly frozen except for flitting eyes and hands grasping at the air while she tried to think of something. Then, with a couple of snaps of her fingers, she remembered her magic a moment later. “Oh, I can just-- You look amazing, the shirt’s a nice touch. See you out there!” She snapped once more and disappeared in a puff of red smoke just as you heard the front door swing open and Vision’s voice drifted down the hallway.

“Darling, I’m ho-- Oh.”

Then Wanda’s voice also bounced back your way from where she was probably now perched in the kitchen. Her tone was one part frazzled, two parts cheery, and five parts flirty teasing as she spoke. “Hiya, honey! Whaddya think?”

You drew your attention from their voices to the mirror that you now stood in directly in front of. The outfit you wore wasn’t nearly as polished as Wanda’s, but it had its intimate charm. While the two of you both wore stockings, that was where the similarities stopped. Your stockings were a sheer brownish-black and you wore no form of shoes with them nor any other accessories aside from your lightly ruffled mess of hair. In contrast to Wanda’s overall body-shaping attire, the pair of high-waisted silky shorts that you wore were flowy and loose, and instead of the shorts’ matching tank top with uncomfortable lace straps, you wore one of Vision’s pajama shirts that was a similar shade of red with vertical yellow and dark brown stripes. Posing a couple of different ways for yourself in the mirror, you were pleased to find the red and yellow were an almost match to Vision’s skin and the glowing gem in his forehead; with a little more pondering, you were a tad upset that the shirt you were wearing had yellow stripes instead of yellow spots.

If it had spots, you thought, I could look like a strawberry with a thigh-high chocolate dip.

Pleased with your look otherwise, you aimlessly moved about the bedroom before hovering around the doorway where you could almost make out the rest of Vision and Wanda’s conversation. The plan in place was that Wanda was going to give Vision the itinerary for the night--gifts and cards, dinner, because there was food to be eaten whether Vision ate any or not, an indoor movie theater that Wanda would magically whip up, and the rest of the night spent in romantic snuggling bliss--and then would give you a cue. When the actual process of getting the gifts came about, you were to bring said items to the living room, being somewhat of a surprise gift for Vision in your own right. You glanced towards the bed, where a white clothing box wrapped in a red ribbon sat with a trio of cards, one each from you and Wanda and one Wanda had made on behalf of the twins, who were still too young to do much on their own.

You couldn’t be sure whether it was because Wanda had slipped up and mentioned you--it was much harder to hear them from the other part of the house after their loud introductions finished--or if Vision, clever and curious man that he was, had caught on to your and Wanda’s plan already and decided to uncover it ahead of time. Either way, you suddenly caught a glimpse of Vision turning down the hallway, hovering a few inches off the ground to probably preserve the rose petal trail underneath his feet, and jumped away from the doorway before he could see you. While you couldn’t quite make out what Wanda was saying, you could hear a slight strain in her voice as she tried to get Vision to back down from his cause, to no avail. You only had a few moments to think of something and you decided to hop onto the bed and get comfortable in a casual sitting position, moving the small stack of Valentine’s Day goodies and looking coolly off to the side just before Vision floated into the room.

The soft thud of Vision landing on his feet your attention back over to the doorway and you saw him standing there rigid in his work suit, his gaze roaming over you before respectfully glancing away--only to be slowly dragged back less than a minute later. After watching this process continue a couple more times, you decided to tease him.

“Oh, hey there, crimson toaster oven,” you quipped nonchalantly, reaching up to toy with a stray piece of hair as you did, “how was work?”

Vision’s eyes settled on yours as you watched him with a cocked head. You expected some sort of reply, and for a moment he seemed like he was about to speak. Instead, though, he settled into an almost completely frozen state, jaw clenching slightly.

At first, you were amused. Then you realized he was quite literally frozen, nothing moving aside from the whirling of gear-like shapes in his irises, and your facade broke down a bit.

“Vis?” you questioned, sitting up straighter and moving the Valentine’s Day gifts aside, “you okay?”

No response.

You frowned and got up to walk over to him. “Um, Wanda?”

The Sokovian woman appeared a moment later shimmying around Vision’s form to stand next to you.

“Is he okay?” you asked.

“Oh, dear,” Wanda murmured. You watched as her gaze turned red and she looked him over, using her powers to check that his internal functions were still working properly. Eventually, her gaze stopped at his face and after squinting at him, Wanda said, “Ah. [Y/N], it appears we broke him.”

“I’m sorry?” you choked, “Broke him?”

Wanda seemed much less worried than you felt about the implications of Vision being some form of broken. She instead smiled and stepped up to him, giving you a simple “Yep” before pressing her fingers to his temples. Her eyes flashed red again and a second later Vision’s body sagged into a much more human position. “There we go.”

You blinked and watched as Vision shook himself out, flapping his hands and then rotating his arms and neck with a grumble.

“Ah,” he said, “much better.”

You eyed him. “Everything’s chill then? His gears got, ah, de-gummed, so to speak?”

Wanda snickered. She was now tucked against Vision’s side and helping him shimmy out of his jacket.

Vision seemed to remember where he was and what was going on because his eyes flitted from Wanda to you and back. When he settled a bit more, he looked at you both in turn, his gaze making a slow, deliberate path down both your and Wanda’s bodies as he took in what each of you wore. Finally, his eyes jolted back up to meet yours, and he responded in a low, gravelly voice, “Well, right now, I’m doing absolutely marvelously.”

You grasped that everything was back on track again and a smirk graced your face. “Well,” you said, clapping your hands together and turning back towards the bed, “as long as the short-circuit didn’t fry anything, the step of the night is gifts.”

Then you were being dragged back to Vision’s side by your wrist and he had an arm around both your and Wanda’s waists. “Now, just hold on there, [Y/N]. Shouldn’t I get to spend some time with my lovely partners, especially after seeing all the effort they’ve put in? Besides, I haven’t even gotten to compliment you about your looks.” He paused and pressed a kiss to Wanda’s temple, then nuzzled the side of your neck. When he moved his head away again, he eyed the way your shirt hung loosely off your shoulders. “Is that my shirt?”

You and Wanda shared an amused glance. She’d told you earlier that day about the anniversary-Hart family dinner mishap she and Vision had had when they’d first moved to Westview, the same day you’d met the couple, and how Vision and the Harts had come home to Wanda wearing an intimate nightdress that had made Vision more than a little flustered; the story is what sparked the idea for the evening’s current attire. She ignored his comment about you wearing his clothes and decided to nudge him back to the plan as hand, brushing a hand over the suit jacket now hanging from her arm. “I don’t know about that, honey, your eyes were certainly saying something.”

Vision pouted and hummed, probably trying to come up with another reason to keep hugging you and Wanda close to his body. After a moment, he chirped, “Ah, well! I brought you each something and something for the boys, and I left everything out in the living room. We can’t open gifts without all of them, what a pity. We might as well--”

“I have an idea.” Wanda interrupted. When you looked from Vision to her, she was still smiling but her eyes sparked with a playful warning. She freed herself from Vision’s hold, much to the tall man’s dismay, and walked over to the bed. She picked up the cards and tucked them under the arm that also held Vision’s jacket, then brought the clothing box over and held it out to you. “How about I go and make sure the food is warmed up and the table is set, then get all the cards and things into one place while, [Y/N], you give Vision the one gift he should still have.”

You raised a brow as you took the box from her and watched her saunter to the door, consciously moving out of Vision’s range. “You don’t want to see him open it?”

“I saw you open one I bought for you, you get to see the one you bought him,” Wanda said simply. “And I have a feeling that we’re better off if we’re not all in the same room until things get back on track, Vision might run the risk of shutting down again.”

You gasped dramatically and pressed your free hand to your cheek. Looking at Vision with wide eyes, you whispered, “How will I warm my bagels?”

Vision narrowed his eyes and made a grumbling sound from so deep in his chest you could feel the rumble where you were still held against him. Said sound and Vision’s overall reaction so far made you perfectly happy with the idea of the night derailing a bit off course, but you knew how much of a stickler Wanda could be when she made a plan and this was just as much a night for her as it was for Vision or you.

With no further objections, Wanda walked out of the room. The heels she wore gave her a sashaying step and neither you nor Vision were particularly upset as the two of you watched her go. Then the door was shut and you two were alone.

“So,” Vision said slowly as he turned his attention fully to you, “this is what you’ve been up to instead of going to work today.”

“It is indeed,” you confirmed, “and before you say anything else, I know full well what I’ll be getting into when I go in on Monday.”

“I hope so. You’ll be working harder than I have all week.”

You hummed and chewed on your lip as you thought. “Maybe… I could just… quit my job…”

“Hah!” Vision laughed and waggled a finger at you. “No, no, no, no, no. If I have to endure it, then so do you.”

You grinned and turned away from his finger as if to avoid his complaint. He chuckled and tried to catch your eye, rambling away about Oh, the work we shall both do, but you merely twisted away further, feigning beautiful, blissful ignorance. You even went so far as blocking Vision’s face from your sight with the box you held, which made Vision break off briefly to laugh again.

“--and then, maybe someday you will come home,” Vision continued, catching you in his arms again and tugging you close to him, “and see both of your partners, looking very fetching and being even more wonderful than usual because they’ve set up and entire romantic evening, not only because it’s a romantic holiday but because they specifically wanted to plan something to help you relax after a particularly busy week.” He paused, then added, “And it might even be a little better for you than it will be for me because you actually get to eat the food that’s taken up the entire kitchen.”

You tittered, tilted your head in mock thought even though Vision couldn’t see it, and then lowered your chipboard shield just far enough for your eyes to poke out from over it. “Mm, now that does appealing. Just one question though.”

“Of course, darling.”

You waggled your brows at him. “Which outfit will you be wearing, Wanda’s or mine?”

Vision smirked just slightly but it was enough to set off a volcanic eruption of heat throughout your entire body. You felt his fingers suddenly brushing against yours as he started to gently pry his gift out of your hands.

He said, “Depends on what’s in the box.”

He snagged the box from your hands, revealing your blushing face, but instead of opening it right away, his arm moved around your waist to be with the other once more. He pressed his forehead against yours and you felt a different sort of warmth as the golden gem in his forehead touched your skin. He tilted his head closer still to nuzzle his nose against yours then--

You quickly turned your head away again, flashing him a wicked grin when he stared at you, dumbfounded. You draped your now free arms loosely around his neck, fingered brushing lightly against his neck and fiddling with the collar of his button-up shirt. You shuffled closer to him to eliminate what little space left there was between your body and his, looked him in the eye, and teased, “Careful now, Mr. Maximoff. Wouldn’t want to knock another screw loose in that gorgeous, handsome head of yours.”

Vision’s low chuckle vibrated in his chest, feeling almost like a purr against your own body.

“Or,” you added, “knock one too many screws in?”

“[Y/N].”

“Wind the gears too tight?”

“[Y/N].”

You looked at him innocently; the irritated scowl on his face was contradicted by the mischievous twinkle in his pretty blue eyes. “I can keep going.”

“Oh, I’m very aware of that,” said Vision in that grumbling voice that would probably make you implode every time if it were his regular speaking voice, “but we are never going to get out of this room.”

“Interesting hypothesis,” you said with a very serious nod. “You are welcome to test it or stop me at any time. Now, where was I?”

It took a smirk and a raised brow to kick Vision back into gear but then you were grabbing his face and laughing against his mouth as he all but threw himself at you.

Kissing Vision was quite different than kissing Wanda, although no less addictive. Wanda’s kisses always felt needy but not in the way that one would think. Her kisses always felt like she had been lost up until the very moment your lips would touch hers, and then she was finding refuge and trying to absorb every bit of warmth and comfort that came from the way her mouth melded against yours before the kiss ended and she was alone and lost again. She almost always felt soft and sweet against you but you could feel a wild, restrained power brewing just underneath, and her power seemed to draw out and entangle itself with a power of your own, whatever that power was; the kisses never seemed to last long enough for you to figure that piece out.

When you kissed Vision, you could never get the idea that you were kissing someone not totally human out of your head, but in the best way. One of your favorite things to do whenever you kissed him was to run your hands over his skin and explore every single uniquely intricate thing about him, like the way his skin somehow felt soft and dense at the same time and how it was just slightly textured with lines and grooves that felt inhuman or the way that he didn’t really have a heartbeat or a pulse but rather a gentle constant rumbling of whatever gave him life doing its job, and sometimes this rumbling would jolt or slow depending on where you focused your ministrations. No matter his current state of being--exhausted, flustered, distressed--he was always strong and steady under your hands like he was ready to catch you if you suddenly misstepped or fly you to safety at a moment’s notice should the need arise. You couldn’t help equating the way his mouth worked against yours with the phrase “built to please”; he was always curious and searching in the way his hands and mouth roamed, and he seemed to get the most pleasure when he figured out exactly what you needed and did that--and he was much more often than not oh so very right.

While Wanda felt wild, Vision felt grounding. When you were kissing Wanda, you were so focused on her body and yours and the energy that wrapped the two of you up in a magical cocoon that you felt like you could start bursting at the seams at any moment. Kissing Vision got you much more out of your head, to the point where you were merely exploring him as much as he was you, which led to the occasional knocking of teeth or finding a ticklish spot that caused the kiss to break into giggles and teasing; maybe you would go back to kissing or maybe the two of you would slip into a conversation so seamlessly that you wouldn’t even notice until a couple of hours had already passed.

You often wondered if, when you weren’t around and your partners kissed each other, if either of them felt the same thing that you did. You wondered even more often how Wanda and Vision felt kissing you.

This time, though, it was Wanda’s voice from a couple of rooms away, muffled but noticeable, that finally broke the two of you apart.

“Any day now,” she hollered, although there was no trace of irritation in her tone. “It’s not like we only have a few hours left to celebrate Valentine’s Day or anything.”

Vision’s face scrunched up and he eyed the wall that separated the kitchen and bedroom via another room in between. “Mm, she’s got a point.”

You pursed your lips and squinted at the wall as if you would see red magic permeating it if you did so for long enough. “Do you think she X-rayed us?”

Your partner let out a short little chortle as he disentangled himself from you and looked over the box he’d managed to hang onto during your kissing session. “Even if she did, not like it’s going to be any different once we’re all in the same room together.”

“Good point,” you said. “Mm, more kisses.” You were still curious, though, so you hollered back to Wanda, “Hey, magical girl, did ya see me kiss your husband?”

All you got was a laugh back, which had you smiling.

Then you turned back to Vision, who was toying with the box’s bow, and said, “Alright, Vis, happy Valentine’s Day. Now give me your tie and your pants.”

You and Vision joined Wanda in the dining area shortly, Vision now dressed in a dark blue set of silky pajamas that matched your own shorts of the same shimmery fabric. Wanda had lit the candles not only at the dinner table but also around the rest of the house and she’d set proper places for three at the dinner table, although only two of the places had been served with simple dinner and various sweet, gaudy treats. After the three of you sat, Wanda gave Vision his cards: a beautifully designed one with a poem on the front and a lengthy handwritten letter on the inside from Wanda, a handmade one with bad Valentine’s Day puns and flustered ramblings all over it from you, and a “hand-drawn” one from Tommy and Billy that had really been drawn childishly by Wanda again as the babies were still too young to do so themselves. As he’d mentioned earlier, Vision had gifts of his own, which included a Valentine’s Day cupcake of your favorite flavor that he had snuck from work for you, cards and flowers for each of you, and a pair of inversely colored, Valentine’s Day themed stuffed puppies for the twins. With Tommy and Billy mentioned, Vision questioned their whereabouts and was surprised that Wanda had even let them out of her sight, though somewhat appreciative.

Dinner was next and went fairly quickly. You and Wanda ate a late dinner while the three of you conversed, mainly about Vision’s day and overall week but also you and Wanda explaining how you’d planned and prepared for the date without Vision being any the wiser. Vision made a comment that he, as an incredibly smart individual with a very expansive range of knowledge, should have noticed something sooner, which led to another bout of teasing from primarily you about how he’d fried his batteries when he saw his partners dressed up in pretty clothing and one of his shirts. Then topic conversations bounced around aimlessly for the rest of the time until both you and Wanda had cleaned your plates and even helped yourselves to some of the other goodies. Vision absolutely refused to let either of you do cleanup work, so you convinced Wanda to go change into something a little comfier--“At least take off those pearls and heels. Don’t really mind the rest of the outfit, though.”--and then went over to prepare the living room for movies by bringing over a few more treats to snack on, cleaning off an area for Wanda to magically project movies on the wall without clutter, and turning the couch into less of a decorative scene and more of a nest of red, white, and pink pillows and blankets.

Finally, the three of you settled onto the couch with Vision in the middle. That wouldn’t last for long, though, as you each grabbed a blanket or pillow and shifted yourselves into a big, fluffy, snuggle pile. You and Wanda managed to end up squished between Vision’s arms, where both of you could comfortably rest your heads on his chest. You could also slip an arm around Wanda and absentmindedly run your fingertips underneath the hem of the pajama shirt she now wore--another of Vision’s; it was a light blue and white striped button-down--and over the rose patterns of the sheer fabric hugging her hips. Instead of starting the movies right away, the three of you laid in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company.

Vision briefly had to unwrap his arms to stretch and yawn, the yawn something that wasn’t entirely necessary for him. After placing them back, he murmured, “We don’t normally celebrate these types of things, do we, Wanda?”

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open; you had been watching her lay in quiet, cozy peace and she smiled sweetly at you when she caught you. “Goodness, no. We’ve proven time and time again we’re not exactly the remembering type when it comes to holidays. Holidays, events--”

“Anniversaries,” you offered with a little grin. “Especially those that coincide with meetings with bosses.”

Vision groaned softly. “A minor disaster.”

“Ended well though,” Wanda pointed out.

“And provided the idea for this whole thing,” you added.

Vision hummed thoughtfully and you felt his hand run down your back. “That so?”

“You getting flustered over sexy nightwear?” you said. “What potential.”

Wanda snickered. “What potential indeed. We broke the man.”

“Well,” Vision grumbled, his arms tightening slightly around both of you, “I assure you I’m doing fine now.”

You whispered into his chest, “Only because Wanda put on a shirt.”

Your trio broke into tired chuckles, which then faded into warm silence. It continued for a few moments before Vision pointed out that the movie-watching part of the night didn’t necessarily need to happen.”

That you sitting up and reaching for a movie list you’d compiled much earlier in the day.

“We must watch at least one movie,” you demanded, “and that movie is Grease.”

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taperwolf · 4 years ago

Text

Another thrift store find — this one a deck prism someone had made into a little table lamp. The "little" part only really applies to the lamp part; the prism is huge, and solid glass, but the lamp part is the plastic hexagonal base and a single old-fashioned Christmas tree light bulb. So I tore that out and dropped in an 8x8 array of addressable LEDs, plugged into an Arduino, running a close variation on one of the demo programs from the FastLED library (TwinkleFox, if anyone wants to duplicate this, though Fire2012 and Pacifica also yield interesting light shows — my wife vetoed Fire2012 because the flame effect was a bit too realistic!). It cycles through maybe a dozen palettes of fading and flickering colors, 30 seconds of each, before restarting.

At the moment, the Arduino sits outside the case, behind and out of view, because the LEDs shed a bit too much heat, but I'm working on correcting that — possibly by replacing the plastic base with a nicer wood one with better ventilation.

I've always been fascinated by deck prisms. They were originally made to be set into the deck of ships, flat side flush with the surface, to provide sunlight to the cabin below; a sort of skylight that had to handle heavy traffic. Mine is almost certainly a modern reproduction, given the base's "Mystic Seaport" sticker. But the search for data here reinforces the bargain I got — one online store of nautical tchotchkes will charge you $80 for the prism and anemic lightbulb.

#diy #light show #video #flickering lights

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vickyvicarious · 4 years ago

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well now I have to headcanon that Killian enjoys cooking

(Regarding this gifset.)

Anon I agree. I very much agree. To a... schmoopy amount, so prepare yourself.

Emma spent most of her adult life living alone, and a decent amount of her childhood essentially raising herself. She’s gained a lot of skills from those experiences - the useful but depressing stuff, like clocking liars and abusers from ten paces, how to get a good deal at a pawn shop, how to shoplift, to break into cars, how to fill the silence with music so loud you stop thinking about how lonely you are, how to fire a gun, exactly how far ten dollars can stretch if you need. Sure, she’s learned all that.

But some of the stuff is just plain useful. Emma’s known for a long time how to manage her money, how to do laundry, how to keep a house clean, how to sew up rips in your clothes to make them last longer, how to cook. Some of those skills she hasn’t needed in a long time, and others she doesn’t use much just because she doesn’t like to, and she no longer has to. Still, even if she doesn’t especially love cooking, for example, she isn’t actually forced to live on takeout. Before Storybrooke, that was more of... a choice.

(Eating alone in your own home has never been something she’s liked. At least in a bar or a restaurant, she could hear other people, watch them.)

Living with Mary-Margaret, she wound up cooking a little more often, and during her time in New York she remembers making dinner with Henry most days. He was pretty awful in the kitchen himself, could burn water, so she didn’t let him do anything too important, but it was more about the companionship. Even having him doing his homework in the kitchen while she whipped something up was just as good. Sure, there was still pretty regular order-in days, and they ate out sometimes, but for the most part they actually had real meals together. She remembers making a decision to do that when he was still small, to always set aside this time to cook and eat together and share their days.

It was a curse memory, fake, but Emma liked that routine. Even after moving back to Storybrooke, at least once everything eventually settled, she tries to keep that going. She still doesn’t especially love cooking - it’s more about the end result for her, having that time to sit down together as a family and enjoy something you made together.

So when she and Killian started living together, she made sure to tell him. Emma wanted him to know everything that mattered to her, wanted him to be involved in it. She... also wanted to know ahead of time, if he was terrible in the kitchen and shouldn’t be allowed anywhere nearby. His other household skills were a bit of a hit-or-miss. He was really good at cleaning, but could never remember when to take the trash out. Maybe she expected him not to have any skill with plumbing or cleaning out the gutters, or using a washing machine, and to be fair he learned those all pretty quickly, but she was surprised when it turned out Killian didn’t know how to fold anything neatly. If a lightbulb went out, he usually just ignored it, lit an actual gas lantern if there wasn’t enough light. He actually had a lot of interest in how to decorate the house, but hated changing the thermostat for some reason, preferring to just wear more layers if it got cold.

Anyway, the point was - she was pretty sure he’d be fine with the idea of family dinners, knew he’d be willing to help even if it were just via setting and clearing the table and doing the grocery shopping, but she wasn’t sure if he’d be interested in actually making the food. And more than that, she wasn’t sure he’d be any good. He had, after all, lived most of his life on ships that had actual cooks to take care of that kind of thing. It might just be something he couldn’t do.

She definitely didn’t expect the way his face lit up at the idea.

“That sounds brilliant, love,” he told her. “You’ll show me how to use everything?”

Of course she agreed, and Killian had always been a quick learner (which was why she kept finding herself surprised at the chores he never seemed to pick up). So the way she only had to explain each modern cooking implement once was not a surprise. He was good with a knife, so she put him on veggie duty, and they made a simple but tasty chicken dish. Nothing unusual, pretty much the kind of cooking she always did. Quick and easy, healthy enough, didn’t taste amazing but definitely not terrible either.

When they sat down to dinner Killian’s face did... something.

It wasn’t quite a sneer.

It also wasn’t quite not a sneer.

“Well, it’s alright,” he said.

Those comments became increasingly common over the next few days. Emma’s pasta sauce was “a tad runny, but not bad,” and her tacos “could use a bit more spice,” and her ribeyes were “perhaps a little too long on the stove, love?” and her Sunday morning pancakes needed “a splash more buttermilk, I suspect.” Killian wasn’t picky, he ate every bite, and he didn’t exactly nag her about her cooking. Just one or two comments, not necessarily even directed at her so much as him musing aloud about the food. But every side dish he made tasted amazing, even if it was just a simple salad, and he very clearly had opinions and it wasn’t like Emma even liked cooking all that much anyway. She’d never claimed to be a genius at it. But she’d never admitted to being bad either, and the little snubs over and over got increasingly irritating until one day she just snapped that he should be in charge of dinner then, if he cared so much.

Killian instantly looked contrite.

“I don’t want to step on your toes, love,” he said. “If you enjoy cooking - just maybe another shake of the pepper next time -”

“I don’t like cooking,” Emma snarled, “I just like eating together. Except I’m liking it a lot less when I’m constantly getting criticized!”

“Oh,” he said, a little taken aback. “Oh. Well, then.”

And then he completely took over.

It started with him making her own staple recipes, just being the one in charge of the actual meals. He told her she didn’t have to help if she didn’t want to, and Emma was pissed enough to agree that she wouldn’t. Except then the simple pan chicken she’d been making for ten years came out tasting like it never had before, and there was this sort of lemon-y sauce with it? And he’d made asparagus and some kind rice pilaf thing as well, and even though he claimed he’d just “tweaked it a little” it was so clearly a completely different meal. A better meal. Definitely.

He went through all her favorites like that, completely elevating them beyond anything Emma had ever dreamed of making herself. They took longer, of course, but unlike her he didn’t care. He’d be in there for an hour or more; she’d hear him singing sea shanties to himself as he kneaded homemade bread. Whenever she (begrudgingly, at first) complimented his cooking he’d get this very sweet smile on his face. He rarely seemed satisfied with his own efforts either, still making little comments about how it was a shame the bread had come out a little too chewy, after all -

It was ridiculous. And that was before he started trying to recreate various meals he’d eaten over the course of his long life, a wide variety of vastly different foods he cobbled together from memory and instinct alone. She started helping him out more often, definitely over her irritation at this point and dipping right into fascination. She liked to watch him think, the way he’d dip his hook into a sauce then suck on the tip with his brows knitted together, before adding a little more of some seasoning or other. Now that he was in charge and no longer holding back out of respect for her feelings - or whatever the hell he’d been doing at the start - he’d talk through his decisions. Whether that was muttering aloud about needing more garlic, or telling a long and convoluted story about the first time he’d had this particular curry in a tiny dockside tavern and then delayed leaving port until he could at least partially figure out the recipe from taste alone - thus setting off a chain of events that led directly to his first near-death experience at the hands of mermaids. When he’d come back five years later, the tavern was gone.

Their spice cabinet grew, and their fridge filled up. The pantries too, and the cooking implements, though that happened more gradually. They’d started off with a coffee machine that automatically brewed a pot every morning; five months into living together, Killian acquired a French press and, always an early riser, ground beans himself every morning as she woke up. By the time she got out of the shower and downstairs, he would hand her a cup with exactly the right temperature, flavor, and timing. This went along with the breakfast he’d made, of course.

Emma bought him a set of cookbooks for Christmas; Henry got him some kind of complicated food processor that led to a sharp increase in soups and smoothies and sauces. His repertoire increased. Instead of going to Grannies for New Year’s Eve, they had a party for their family, and Killian went all-out on making a giant feast with Emma and Henry as his hapless assistants. She tried to tell him New Year’s was really more about partying than dinner, but he insisted he didn’t care and made a roast. It was obviously delicious, everyone who hadn’t had much of Killian’s cooking yet lost their minds a little and he alternated between incredibly smug and that familiar bashful grin. Later, they had some kind of pudding for dessert, and played board games for a while until everyone had digested enough to actually move - only then did more traditional festivities commence. They drank, danced, sang, all watched the ball drop and shouted the countdown together; and Emma kissed Killian at midnight, feeling a sharp burst of joy that finally, she could have something like this. Starting a new year surrounded by those she loved, and who loved her back, laughing giddily and dancing together with her parents and her son and the man she’d fallen so so hard for.

But even that paled, honestly, to the next morning. They hadn’t bothered with attempting to clean up, just waved everyone out the door where they’d stumbled down the street in a loud, happy cluster. Emma’d sent Henry to bed, then grabbed Killian and yanked him to their bed, and they hadn’t gone to sleep right away at all. When she did eventually fall asleep, it was blissful and slow, sated in every possible way - and well into the night.

When she woke up, late, it was to an empty bed, sunlight filling up the room. Going downstairs, she heard that familiar low croon from the kitchen; stepped over the streamers still scattered on the living room floor and rounded the corner to see Henry slumped at the table, yawning over a plate of pancakes. Killian at the stove, timing his song to a flip of the newest pancake. She could see blueberries in it. Coffee and orange juice waiting for her at the table. Bacon. Three different kinds of syrup.

Emma started crying.

Henry jerked up out of his chair, rushing to her in a panic. He held her arms and called her over and over, “Mom, mom, what is it?”. Killian moved the pan off the heat so it wouldn’t burn then came over to her too, gently touching her arm. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her.

“Mom, please,” Henry said, and pulled her into a hug - and he was so tall now, so much bigger than he’d been when he found her all that time ago. “Tell us how we can help.”

She shook her head, unable to speak clearly enough to explain they already had, that absolutely nothing was wrong and it hadn’t been for a while now. She didn’t know how to tell them exactly how monumental it felt, walking in here and seeing them both calmly engaged in such a familiar routine. How she’d woken up alone and had been doing so for months and never once worried Killian was gone. She knew he was downstairs, making breakfast.

Emma didn’t know how to say this was the moment she finally realized she had made a home, found a family, and that neither was ever going to be taken away. She didn’t even know why this was that moment, after all the more significant events they’d been through. It didn’t make sense that her deepest doubts would suddenly be banished by a simple breakfast she’d had countless times before.

“You made my favorite,” she sobbed instead, hugging Henry back tightly. She pressed her cheek into his hair, reached out to catch Killian’s hand and tried to blink past her tears to meet his gaze. “I-it’s my favorite breakfast.”

So stupid. So insignificant, after everything, so small, so - so important somehow, the most important thing in the world. Killian had made her favorite breakfast. Henry was there to eat it. Emma hadn’t cooked herself or asked him to make blueberry pancakes specifically or for either of hem to share this moment with her, hadn’t done anything besides sleep in. And it didn’t matter. Here they were, and Henry was always sleepy in the mornings but affectionate still, and Killian’s cooking was delicious and he always sang during and Emma loved them both so much.

Henry held onto her tightly, swayed on the spot a little. Killian reached out to wipe away her tears. He moved his hand to Henry’s shoulder, squeezed gently until he stilled, and then touched the back of his hook gently to her cheek and leaned over Henry to kiss her. Soft and slow.

“I know, Emma,” he told her after, smiling so soft and his voice rough with emotion. Emma had no doubt that he understood exactly what she meant; that he knew just what she couldn’t say and he felt that wonder too. That same incredible contentment, somehow more stunning than the fiercest joy. “I know.”

#captain swan #cs ff #ouat #my fic #replies #anonymous #i haven't written an askbox cs fic in so long and it feels so gooood #i got really emotional with this one i dunno. not what i was thinking when i started it at all #but yes killian cooks #also i know there are tense errors and stuff. i wrote this straight into the response box and have not edited. will get to it later

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dreamlover31 · 4 years ago

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Love Will Find a Way: Chapter 29

Alexa was the first to arrive at the diner, she had only made it halfway down the block from One Hogan Place before she got the text from Rafael, her body parked itself into the closest booth available, shortly thereafter; a waitress came up to ask for her drink order, a mere glass of water was all that would suffice.

During her absence, Alexa placed her phone on the table, with every second that passed, her fingertip pressed the power button to display the time on the lock screen; meanwhile, anxiety grew within. Suddenly, the waitress reappeared with a glass of water in hand, as it landed on the table; Alexa thanked the young woman and just as she was about to leave the booth, the sound of the door to the diner opening caught both their attention.

The two women looked onward at the man wearing a navy blue three-piece suit holding a briefcase, Alexa remained focused as Rafael walked towards them.

With a cheerful smile, the waitress asked:

“Hi, welcome in, feel free to have a seat anywhere and I’ll be right with you”

“Actually…I’m meeting someone here…” Rafael pointed his finger in Alexa’s direction to convey to her that she was said person.

“Alright, well can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you”

The waitress nodded then tended to a group of people who were waiting at a nearby table, Rafael set his briefcase to the side and slid inside the booth until they were sitting face to face. The two of them stared awkwardly at each other, Alexa nervously twiddled her thumbs as Rafael tapped his fingers on the table…the silence was almost maddening, then just as it was about to appear that it would consume them completely; Rafael said:

“I’m sorry…for the way I acted earlier…you were trying to reach out and I didn’t want to hear it”

“It’s ok”

“No, it’s not ok…none of this is ok”

Rafael’s face saddened, then acting on instinct, Alexa reached across the table and held his hand into hers, his emerald green eyes linked with her dark brown orbs; the same sadness mirrored onto them.

“I hardly know where to begin…when I saw you with Sean, it was like having a knife in my heart all over again…it felt like life was playing a cruel joke on me, that maybe I wasn’t meant to be in love with anyone”

Alexa’s eyes welled up as her hand gripped his, “That’s not true…you are the kindest, gentlest, loving and most wonderful man I’ve ever known…you deserve someone who can adorn you with all the love and affection they can give…someone who can make you feel like the luckiest person in the world”

“Up until that point…it was you”

“Rafi…please don’t give up on me, what happened was a mistake…one that I would take back if I could”

Her hand left his then cupped gently on his cheek, for a second, he flinched at her touch but slowly eased against her warm, soft palm.

“You know, the days I spent in the motel…I kept telling myself that this was all a bad dream, but when I realized it wasn’t…all I could think about was you. The sound of your voice, your smile, holding you and our baby”

Tears began to stream down her face, Rafael’s hand cradled her face as his thumb wiped away one of the tears that trickled down.

“I wanted to hate you…but I couldn’t…I still love you Alexa”

“I love you too Rafi…and I promise I’ll do everything in my power to earn your trust again...I never want to be without you again, please tell me you believe me”

“I believe you”

Alexa’s face lit up like the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, she placed sweet kisses on his palm, Rafael’s heart swelled at the sight of her happiness. The waitress from earlier returned and asked if they would be ordering anything, Rafael and Alexa respectfully declined, in that moment; Rafael reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet, he handed her a few bills plus the tip.

She thanked him then headed towards the counter to retrieve a couple of plates for an awaiting table, Rafael shifted out of his seat and stood beside Alexa, where he helped her up from the booth, once they were outside the diner; he hailed a cab. Alexa waddled her way inside, but then was taken aback when Rafael entered as well.

“I thought you had a case that needed your attention”

“I told Carmen that I was taking a sick day”

“Ok who are you and what have you done with Rafael Barba?”

“Ha-ha”

“Wait, what about the Chinese I ordered?”

“I told Carmen to donate it to a homeless shelter”

Alexa lightly chuckled, then she heard the cabbie clear his throat in annoyance, Rafael rolled his eyes at the man’s disrespectful manner; to prevent an argument from ensuing, Alexa informed him that they were headed to their brownstone.

Within the span of 20 minutes, the yellow vehicle pulled up to the curb outside the building, this time Alexa was the one to leave a hefty tip; Rafael took hold of her wrists as he lifted her small frame from the cab, then both made their way up the concrete steps as it drove off. When they emerged inside, the two entered the living room and sat down on the couch, but right at that moment, a lightbulb went off inside Alexa’s head.

“Oh shoot, we forgot to get your things from the motel”

“It’s ok, I still have a few days left on the room, we’ll stop by later”

“Alright, so what we should we do now?”

“How about we go upstairs…change out of these clothes and just lay in bed”

Alexa smiled as she took Rafael’s hand, she led him from the couch, up the staircase and into their bedroom. She stripped out of her maternity blouse and denim jeans with the elastic band attached, then changed into her light pink satin pajamas, at the same time, Rafael switched from his suit and into a pair of grey sweats and a black V-neck shirt.

With the covers pulled back, they climbed into bed together, while in between the sheets, Alexa snuggled up behind Rafael as his arm fell on top of her belly, she hummed softly when he nuzzled against her cheek then gave her a small peck. Their chests, synchronized in their breathing like a silent lullaby, transcended Rafael and Alexa into a state of peaceful slumber; it would be a long road but for now, they had once again found themselves in each other’s arms.

Tagging: @madpanda75 @laceybellerain @southern-magnolia @tropes-and-tales @teamsladsandgents @karens-imagined-world @skittle479 @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @beccabarba @madamsnape921

#rafael barba #raul esparza #love will find a way

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allie-and-her-fandoms · 5 years ago

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Family And Cookies

Author’s Notes: Hey guys. I am back with a new Gruvia family fic. It is a bit random, so I’m sorry about that. Enjoy or endure!

Summary: As Christmas is on its way, some cookies have the power to either create ruckus into a family, or bring it closer. Fun and fluffy family.

Warning: implied steam!

-----

As the cookies cooled down, the strong scent of vanilla spread throughout the penthouse’s kitchen like a sweet, tempting mist. And when cooled down, a layer of frosting was spread on top of them, followed by a chromatic rain of sprinkles. Proud of her work, Juvia finally moved the trays filled with Christmas cookies on the counter, so the frosting could dry. As she left the kitchen, she went towards the platinum-colored Christmas tree that was standing tall and proud next to the staircase, and her eyes wandered through the glass Christmas balls containing pictures of the people she held dearest. A photo of a cobalt-haired baby, followed by one of an ebony-haired bundle of joy. A picture of two black-haired men holding two boys and a woman smiling at them.

The Water Mage smiled fondly at the memories encapsulated into the decorations for a long time, when she decided to once again check the presents underneath the tree. Her fingers brushed over the names of the fortunate receivers, when she realized that there were way too little gifts than she would’ve liked. Her husband was supposed to arrive soon for the Christmas Eve dinner, her babies were playing in the balcony and her father-in-law was also on his way.

She got her coat and went to the balcony, where her sons were looking at her.

“Boys, what are you doing?”

“Waiting for the snow.” her youngest son Silver, nicknamed Sil, replied with a pout on his face; he really loved snow. Juvia chuckled at the face her son just made.

“I see. Well, Momma has to go and buy some more gifts. Don’t leave home and please don’t eat sweets while she’s gone; you’ll spoil your dinner.” she said firmly, as her sons replied with the usual “Yes, mom”.

“Good. Now, be good boys until your father and grandfather arrive.” Juvia cheerfully replied, as she hugged her sons and kissed their chubby cheeks, earning a giggle from the young one and a scandalized “Mom, I’m 9!” from her oldest. Soon after, the glass door opened and she waved at the two boys, who waved back at her, until her figure was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m thirsty. I’m going to drink some water.” Sil told his older brother Storm.

“Okay. I’ll wait in the living room. Want me to mold something in the meantime?” he asked his younger sibling.

“Snowflakes!” Sil beamed, as Storm held out a chuckle.

“Okay, Sil. If you need something you can’t reach, call me.”

“Okay!” the 4-year-old voiced, as the boys entered the living room and the black-haired one went straight to the kitchen, when the vanilla aroma hit his tiny nostrils and leading him to the counter where the cookies were resting.

Juvia’s Christmas cookies were legendary, and no one could resist to their addicting scent and their mouth-watering flavor. As Sil finally spotted them, his thirst was forgotten, as now his priority was to get his tiny hands on one of his mother’s cookies.

However, no matter how hard he tried to reach for those cookies, his tiny self could not even reach the edge of the counter, and he did not want to bother his brother, who was molding ice snowflakes in the living room. Shortly after, a lightbulb lit up above his head and Sil rushed to the dining room, and tried to get one of the chairs to the troublesome counter that kept him away from the sweet treasure. But as his tiny hands were trying to pull one of the metal chairs, they slipped and caused the little boy to fall on his butt. Shortly after the fall, Sil’s eyes filled with tears, as his lip started to tremble and he let out one sob after another, causing his brother to forget about creating snowflakes and rush his way.

Sil’s cries finally subsided when he felt a hand on his shoulder and hearing his brother’s voice.

“Sil, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Storm asked, worried for his younger brother. As he saw his brother shake his head, Storm grabbed his hands and pulled him back up. “What happened? Weren’t you thirsty?” he frowned.

Sil pointed at the kitchen door and replied “Cookies.”

“What?” Storm asked confused, until he inhaled the scent of his mother’s cookies as the boys entered the kitchen. “I see. But remember, Sil. Mom said no.” his voice became stern, reflecting that of his father’s.

The 4-year-old looked at his brother, his sapphire eyes big and swimming in tears. Storm flinched, as his little brother was giving him the puppy eyes; their mother’s eyes. One minute after that, Storm let out a loud sigh.

“I don’t think mom will notice two missing cookies. Besides, if dad arrives earlier, we can always blame him. Mom wouldn’t have any qualms about that.” the 9-year-old affirmed, as Sil’s eyes were gleaming.

Storm grabbed two Christmas-tree shaped cookies and gave them to his brother, as he was trying to rearrange the remaining ones in a way that did not show that some were missing. He then grabbed two paper towels, and both boys sat down on the floor, munching the cookies and letting the crumbs fall on the towels, while talking about the new toys they might receive the next day and giggling. As they did so, the failed to hear the footsteps of another person who had just entered the kitchen, until the man let out a rather loud “Ahem”, startling the little boys. As they raised their heads, their gazes met the stern one of their grandfather’s, his right hand resting on his hip.

Panicked, the boys hid the remaining pieces of their cookies behind their backs, as they let out a scared “Hello, grandpa.”.

“Hello to you two as well.” Silver replied to the greeting of his grandsons. “What are you two doing on the floor?”

“Talking.” Storm answered. He really disliked it when his grandfather was serious.

“I see. And what are you hiding behind your backs?”

“N-Nothing.” Sil responded in a high-pitched voice.

“Nothing? Cause to me, it looked like your mother’s cookies.” Silver’s look was still serious, as he watched the two boys in front of him panic.

“Please don’t tell mom!” the two of them implored the solemn man standing before them.

“I see that the two of you snatched cookies your mother worked on for how long…” Silver’s strong voice resounded through the kitchen, scaring the two boys. “Without me?!” The boys were shocked hearing the older man’s lament.

“So… You’re not gonna tell mom?” Storm asked, his eyebrows still raised from his grandfather’s reaction.

“Of course not! Because Juvia’s cookies are the second sweetest thing on Earthland; I can’t blame you two for this!” Silver affirmed, a soft smile on his lips as he ruffled his grandsons’ hair.

“That’s amazing. Wait… what is the first sweetest thing on Earthland?” Silver heard his oldest grandson ask.

“I am ruffling their hair right now.” Silver chuckled, as he looked at the tray of cookies. “You know what, I don’t think your mother would mind if we get to eat some more.” He winked at the two young boys, as he grabbed the tray. “So, who wants to watch television Lachryma?” he asked, getting an enthusiastic “Meeee!” from Sil, and a “Why not?” from Storm, who tried to hide his smile, as the three of them headed to the living room.

--8 cookies later--

“And this is how your father got snow in his boots.” Silver concluded an amusing story about Gray’s childhood, earning giggles from his grandsons, when they heard the door open and a male voice saying “I’m home!”.

“Daddy!” Sil jumped from the U-shaped ivory sofa, and rushed to his father’s side, as Gray was taking off his boots.

“Hey there, kiddo.” Gray replied, ruffling his 4-year-old son’s hair, as he got a “Hey, dad.” from his eldest child, and a “Hello, son.” from his father; responding with a lazy “Hey”, he went towards the sofa, holding Sil in his arms.

“How was the job, dad?” Storm asked, curious about his father’s latest mission.

“A bit harder than expected, but nothing I couldn’t handle.” Gray answered, while noticing an almost empty trail on the sapphire coffee table. “Umm… what is that tray doing on the coffee table?”

“You see, son. We may or may not have eaten some of Juvia’s cookies…” Silver retorted, as he looked on his son’s expressionless face for a minute that felt like an eternity.

“Dad…”

“Yes, son?”

“Pass me one of those cookies.” Gray reacted, as Silver got one cookie and handed it to his son, who jumped over the sofa.

“You are awfully calm about this, dad.” Storm pointed out. He knew how strict Gray could be at times when it came to what he and his brother could eat at some point. Granted, Juvia was always around when that happened.

“Well, I’m supposed to be a role model for you. It would be kinda hypocritical of me to tell you not to have sweets before dinner, while I am having some. Besides, I really needed this.” Gray shrugged, as he bit into a second Christmas ball-shaped cookie.

“I never thought you liked sweets that much, dad.” Storm noted, as both Gray and Silver grabbed some more cookies.

“I usually don’t, but your mom’s cookies are an exception. Plus, I would often snatch some before the two of you were born. If I can’t help it, how can the two of you?” he pointed at his two children.

“But you tell them not to have sweets on other occasions.” Silver remarked, as Storm and Sil nodded.

“That’s cause Juvia would be nearby. And let me tell you, an angry Juvia is not to be messed with—” Gray started, but his reply got short by fallen bags and someone screaming. His wife screaming.

“What happened to Juvia’s cookies?!” the Water mage cried at the sight of a lonely cookie on the tray.

“We’re sorry, mom!” Storm and Sil whined, as Silver also apologized for the cookie massacre that took place.

Gray however, immediately sat up and took his wife’s hand and led her to the opposite corner of the living room, and trying to explain her the situation between remarks like “The boys spoiled their dinner!” and “Juvia cannot believe you let this happen!”. After the explanation, Gray leaned in and whispered something in his wife’s ear that managed to calm her down, and also make her cheeks bloom in a shade of rose.

She and Gray then headed towards the couch, where she was hit by another wave of apologies from her sons and father-in-law.

“It’s no big deal. Juvia can just make another one. She thinks she still has some frosting.” she smiled sweetly at them, her cheeks still pink. “Dinner will be done in 15 minutes.” she then stated, as her boys volunteered to help getting the rest ready. As Juvia rushed to the kitchen, Gray stood behind, smiling her way while taking the bags left behind the sofa and putting them under the tree.

“Gray… You just told us she shouldn’t be messed with when mad; yet she calmed down pretty quickly. What happened?” Silver asked confused. Gray then whispered something in his father’s year, which made Silver’s eyes widen and cover his mouth. “You are my son alright.” He retorted, as Gray laughed and both men entered the kitchen.

--One dinner later--

As the whole family was resting at the dining table chatting and laughing, Sil’s eyes caught a glimpse of the window.

“Snow!” he cheered, as he got down from his chair and rushed into the living room, where the ballet of the snowflakes could be seen in all its glory through the windows and door.

The other members of the household followed the 4-year-old child, and saw the snow falling over Magnolia.

“It’s amazing.” Juvia whispered, leaning into her husband.

“It truly is. It’s been a few years since it snowed on Christmas here.” Gray affirmed, looking through the window.

“We’re all here together, it’s snowing, and everything feels amazing. This is the best Christmas ever!” Juvia beamed, as Gray chuckled.

“You say that every year.” he replied, as Silver was holding out a laugh and ruffling his grandsons’ hair again

“For Juvia, all the Christmases she spends with all of you are the best!” she affirmed, smiling lovingly at the four men who lit up her life, as they all smiled back.

“I feel the same way.” Gray replied, as he cupped Juvia’s cheeks and kissed her on the lips, earning a gasp from her.

“Guys, get a room! There are kids in here!” Silver yelled, covering Storm and Sil’s eyes, earning a giggle from the latter.

“Hmm… Maybe we should. I don’t think the boys would mind getting a little brother or sister.” Gray winked Juvia’s way, as her cheeks turned tomato red and she was left babbling.

“Okay, nope! Not on my watch! Come on, boys! Put your coats on and let’s go have some fun with the snow outside!” Silver exclaimed, as he grabbed three coats from the hanger and gave two of them to his grandsons, all while Storm was also blushing hysterically and Sil was only concerned about the snow. Shortly after, the three of them went outside, but not before Silver glared at his son.

“Calm down, old man.” Gray reacted, as his father shot him one more skeptical look and shut the door.

As Juvia finally calmed down, she turned to face her husband, her cheeks still painted rose.

“Gray… Thank you for giving Juvia the best years of her life. This is the best gift she could ask for.” she beamed, while her gaze and Gray’s intersected.

“No… Thank YOU, Juvia. You gave me this family, and for this I’ll always be grateful.” Gray retorted, a smile on his face, as Juvia caressed his right cheek. “So, shall we go outside? We can’t let my dad and our sons have all the fun now, can we?”

“Of course, darling!” she answered, as she got their own coats from the hanger.

She then handed her husband his coat, they both put them on, and together they went on the balcony, where their sons were having the time of their lives with their grandfather.

---

I am sorry about that, but I love Silver way too much, and I am pretty sure that he would be a loving father and grandfather. Anyway, thank you so much for reading😊😊

#fairy tail #gruvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #silver fullbuster #my writing

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sherrybaby14 · 6 years ago

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The Option VI

This is a Dark! Bucky x Naïve!Reader story. It contains questionable consent.

Warnings: This is a dark/rape/noncon story. Please do not read if that offends you.

Chapter warnings: Smut, rough sex, spanking, (you’re into it, so its not noncon, but I don’t think Bucky really cares if you’re into it or not).

Words: 5k

Summary: You get a break from domestic bliss that does not go as planned

Bucky ground his hips and you moaned, wrapping your legs even tighter around him, pulling him in deeper as the orgasm sent vibrations down your body.

“Ugh!” Bucky spilled inside of you, pressing his forehead to yours before giving you a kiss.

Both of you tried to catch your breath as he rolled over onto his back next to you.

“Good morning.” You turned to look at your grinning man.

Bucky popped up on his metal arm and used the other to trace circles on your shoulder. You still wondered what happened, but never asked the question again. You didn’t want to risk upsetting him, those disappointed looks always killed you.

“Am I getting dressed today?” The last few days every time you tried to pull a shirt on Bucky was there in a second to take it off.

“Hmmmm…” He continued to run his finger over your skin. “Unfortunately I have some things I have to take care of today. I don’t really think it’s fair to make you stay in bed waiting for me all day.”

“I want to get back to the clothes making. I’m finally getting the hang of that old machine.” You started to sit up, but Bucky’s hand was on your shoulder pushing you down as he climbed back on top of you.

“You sound a little too eager to leave the bed.” Bucky kissed your neck. “Maybe I should keep you here all day. Remind you of what’s more important.”

“A girl has to have some hobbies.” You laughed. “It can’t be all sex all the time.”

“I’m your hobby.” Bucky kissed up your ear and lightly bit the lobe. “And I want sex all the time.”

You felt his cock hardening against your thigh. The vision of leaving the bed was fading, but Bucky’s face went in front of yours, his blue eyes electrified you. Maybe you could waste another day with the man.

He pressed his lips to yours as he lined up with your entrance and slid inside of you.

Bucky had spent the last few weeks getting to know every way to push your buttons and master your body. You didn’t think it should be legal for a man to have this much bedroom skills.

“What a good girl you are Peach.” Bucky bottomed out. “So eager to please.”

You moaned at his praise, hoping he wouldn’t leave the bed all day.

~~~

Three hours later you found yourself walking back upstairs after eating breakfast. You were in an oversized sweater and a pair of Bucky’s pants you’d managed to alter enough to fit you. Still hadn’t tried to make any panties, but over your time here you’d gotten used to going without.

You got the vibe Bucky liked having easier access and didn’t even think he would approve if you told him you were interested in wearing them again.

You popped open the door to the small attic and walked inside. It was hard to believe this was the same room you found. You’d cleaned the whole thing out and made it your personal space. The sewing machine and fabrics were in the corner, there was an old radio on a small table, the loveseat was cleaned and prominent. You’d even hung some of the photographs of what you assumed were the previous owners.

There was a stack of books you planned on using to make some sort of decoration. You wished they were in English so you had something to read. You laughed at the idea, as if you had free time for something like that.

Bucky pretty much consumed you. You figured you had two hours tops until he was back, carrying you to bed. The man was insatiable and you had grown accustom to having sex at least four times a day. It was almost like his stamina was superhuman.

Thinking about him made you clench your thighs together as a wave of heat come over you. You shook your head.

“Relax Peach. Enjoy the break.” Your words startled you, it was the first time you used the nickname out loud.

But it was all Bucky called you and now you were more used to that than Y/N. It made sense to refer to yourself by Peach. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. You reassured yourself and went to the sewing machine, sorting through the pile of clothes.

“Hey.” Bucky walked in the room, hands in his jeans.

“Did you change your mind?” You stood up from the machine, ready to strip at his command.

“You are so beautiful and it drives me crazy when you look at me like that.” Bucky folded his arms across his chest. “Come here.”

You didn’t think you were looking at Bucky any differently than you always did, but if he was pleased you were happy, so you kept your eyes on him as you walked closer.

“You really are perfect Peach.” Bucky wrapped his arms around you and you draped yours around his neck. “My perfect Peach.”

He kissed you and the tingle between your legs flared.

“Mmmm.” He pulled away. “I did come up here for a reason though. I’m going to run into town.”

“You’re leaving?” Your eyes went wide. “How? The snow.”

“Apparently we weren’t the only thing heating up the past few days.” Bucky

took your hand and led you down the steps and into the bedroom.

You went straight to a window and peered through the blinds. Sure enough there were patches of grass and mud visible through the piles of white, everything looked wet, but all the animals were out enjoying the sunshine.

“Is this normal for November?”

“It’s December fourteenth and no.” Bucky was right behind you.

“It’s December?” You did the math, six weeks and two days. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“You never asked.” Bucky shrugged. “But I’m going to use the opportunity to go restock, because trust me, more snow is on the way. I’ll be back in a few hours. Can you be a good girl while I’m gone?”

You nodded your head, almost in shock over the passage of time. Bucky placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“Lock the doors after I leave and stay inside.” Bucky opened his closet and pulled out the giant backpack.

You remembered wearing it when he drove you on the motorcycle to this place. When he saved you. The thought made you hug yourself and filled you with a bit of dread.

“Can I come with?” You knew what the answer would be, but still needed to ask.

Bucky looked up at you with smooth features, but then he bit down making his jaw clench. Disappointment. Your heart hurt and you looked away.

“You’re safe here Peach.” He sighed. “It’s too big of a risk…if the wrong people saw you.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” The idea of being trafficked was fading away and feeling like less of a threat.

“It’s alright.” Bucky stepped forward and kissed your head again.

“What are we going to do?” You’d already disappointed him once, but there were so few opportunities to get Bucky to talk about anything except for you. “When the snow melts? I can’t hide here forever; my uncle is probably terrified.”

“Are you happy here Peach?” Bucky put a finger under your chin. “Are you happy with me?”

“Yes.” You blinked several times, not sure you understood the question or what it had to do with your uncle. “Of course.”

The last thing you wanted was for Bucky to think you were ungrateful. The corners of his lips started to rise, but he kept the smile down.

“When the time comes, I’ll figure something out.” Bucky dropped his hand. “I promise. Until then, keep being my good girl. Let me do the worrying.”

You nodded your head and looked at the floor. That single flash of let down on Bucky’s face was going to haunt you all afternoon.

~~~

When he left you did as you were told and locked the door behind him. It was strange being in the house all alone. The farthest Bucky ever went was the animals.

He didn’t seem upset with you when you left, but you’d known asking to come was a bad idea. All it did was put him in an awkward spot. Bucky deserved better than that.

Maybe you could do something to show him you were sorry? The thing he would like the most was your body tho, and he was welcome to that whenever he liked. A thought crossed your mind and you licked your lips.

He’d walked you through oral a few times, maybe when he got home you could drop to your knees and take the lead.

You imagined your mouth filled with Bucky’s cock, his hands in your hair helping you to take more of him.

“That’s it Peach, what a good girl.”

You nodded your head and shook the fantasy away. Once he got back you would show him what a good girl you could be.

The minutes felt like hours and you needed something to do with your time or else you would go crazy waiting for him.

A present. That was another way you could show Bucky how grateful you were. After all, Christmas was eleven days away. You didn’t know if he celebrated or not, but you really didn’t know much.

That wasn’t true. You knew he was kind, gracious, caring. So what if you didn’t know details about his life before you? Did any of that matter?

This situation is seriously screwed up Y/N. You pushed away the thought before it surfaced all the way.

You wondered what you could get him, obviously you would have to create something with what you had. It would have to be something you could hide and work on in your alone time. But what did Bucky like outside of you?

The two of you had played cards a few nights, and some other weird games he had in the basement, but that was always just a way to pass the time until he carried you up the stairs or took you on the hardwood floor. A smile came to your face; Bucky really did like you.

It was like a lightbulb went off. You didn’t want to make underwear, but what about lingerie? There were a few dresses in the attic that were too small, but maybe they could be altered quite a bit.

You glanced toward the basement. You hated it down there. It was too creepy, but you knew Bucky took all the extra stuff you didn’t want in the attic to the far side. You’d only been over there twice. It reminded you of a prison cell, but you didn’t have much choice. It wasn’t like you could wait for Bucky to get home and ask him to get the dresses. He would want to know why and that would ruin the surprise.

You tried to picture the design in your head to distract from the creepiness of the bottom floor. You turned on the light and took the stairs two at a time, then didn’t stop as you rounded the corner to the other side.

There was a light hanging and you pulled the string, putting the room in an even eerier glow. There were several shelves with Bucky’s stuff and extra supplies, in the corner was a freezer too. There was also a toilet sitting out and a shower built into the wall. It wasn’t a second bathroom since it was so public, which again made you think at some point someone was locked down here.

A chill went down your spine and you turned toward the storage space. That was where you discarded dresses would be. It was a crawl space, but one you could reach from your feet since the basement was so short.

You grabbed the first bag and opened it up. No dresses, but you pulled it out to get it out of the way so you could go further. The next two bags had the same thing. There was a box toward the front right you knew wasn’t from the attic. But it was big and in the way, when you tried to yank it down it was heavier than expected and hit the floor with a thud.

“Shit!” The top came off and some of the contents spilled out.

When you bent to put it away you froze. Your eyes went wide and mouth hung open. A black gun was half out of the box.

You looked inside and saw there were cases of bullets and a few other guns. There was also thousands of Euros. More money than you’d ever seen. Why was there a box of weapons in the basement? These were hand guns, not the kind used for hunting.

The sense of safety you’d crafted started to slip away. Why the guns? Why the secrecy? Why wouldn’t Bucky tell you a damn thing about himself? Why all the cash? Who was he?

If this place was so bad, why was he here?

Much like the night you sprinted out in the snow the dam you’d built in your mind broke and all the questions flooded in. You felt yourself hyperventilate and had to get out of the basement.

~~~

Did Bucky put the box away? The thought kept gnawing at the back of his mind. When he saw the weather he was so shocked he regretted staying in bed all morning.

That was a lie. He never regretted any time with Peach, but he was scared about stretching the food all winter and now he wouldn’t have to worry.

But he would never leave the house without protection and he needed money to buy the stuff. He kept that stuff hidden though, and for some reason he thought he may have been in such a rush he left it out.

Not that it mattered, Peach hated the basement anyway. Just thinking her name made him smile. He was going to the closest town. It was about 20 minutes away. He didn’t like the idea of visiting one so close to his house in the event he was followed, but he liked the idea of leaving Peach alone less.

She was so helpless. It was endearing, but if someone happened on the house while he was gone Peach wouldn’t know the first thing about defending herself. The thought didn’t sit well with Bucky. He would have to teach her some basic fighting moves.

But that would involve keeping his hands off of her for longer than five minutes and that was becoming harder and harder to do. Everything about her turned him on.

He parked his bike at the end of the downtown area and got off. All these little towns operated the same way. One grocer, a few restaurants, some bars, a few specialty shops, and a farmers market on the weekend.

To an outsider it would look like a simple poor place, but living in this country was expensive. There was a fee just to cross the border, and there was no overnight shipping. The people who lived here chose it for a reason and odds were they’d done something horrible in their past lives. Just like Bucky.

He thought about the way Peach looked at him, so intent and almost proud. Would she still give him those longing glances if she knew what he had done?

It wasn’t worth the risk finding out, and he didn’t want to lie to her either. She seemed to accept his silence though.

Before he left she asked what were we going to do. We. He liked that. Even though it was unspoken she realized that they were a package now. When it was time to move on they were staying together.

He hadn’t decided what would be better, climbing the mountains into Romania or smuggling her out the other direction.

Either way they had to wait until at least April. He hoped by then her traffickers had moved on to other prey.

He pulled open the door to the first shop. It was the clothing store. Even though he wasn’t thrilled with the idea maybe it was time to get Peach some panties. She could use a pair of boots and a winter coat.

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he celebrated any holiday, but maybe he would pick her up a gift too. He hoped they had some lingerie options. Then it would double as a gift for him.

The shopkeeper nodded at him and Bucky responded. He didn’t like to speak to anyone, but decided maybe asking would be the easiest way to get in and out.

He spoke the local language easily enough.

“Hello. I was wondering if you could help me...” Bucky trailer off when he saw the sign behind the register.

It was a normal piece of paper, but in the center was a big picture of his Peach. Missing, Beloved Niece. 10,000 Euro reward for any information. 100,000 Euro reward if found alive. There was a contact number.

“That sign catches everyone’s eye.” The shopman pulled it off the wall to see another behind it. He set it on the counter. “Big reward.”

“Yes.” Bucky tried to hide his reaction.

This was too close to their home, and with this sort of money everyone was looking for his Peach.

He wondered how many people in the other town had described him, his motorbike, at least he had his hair piled under the hat today. He would cut it as soon as he got home.

“She’s probably dead, but that doesn’t stop people from looking. Pretty girl. Someone must have some major plans for her.” The shop keeper smiled. “Keep it, and good luck. Now what can I help you with?”

Any idea of buying Peach anything went out the window. He imagined purchasing anything for a female may result in this man calling up the tip line.

“I need black t-shirts, some thermal wear, and socks.” Bucky folded up the paper and shoved it in his pocket. “All for me. My size.”

The shopkeeper walked around the counter to start grabbing the stuff. Bucky channeled all his rage and fear into keeping cool. But right now all he wanted was to get home to his Peach.

The fantasy bubble he’d been living in popped. And the reminder of how much danger she was in flooded him. But he would protect her. No matter what. Nobody was taking his Peach.

~~ You paced the kitchen, unable to stop crying. Who was Bucky? Where were you? What sort of life were you living? All the false justifications you were using came crashing down.

When the sound of keys fitting in the front door came you paused, a shake in your arm. You were in line with the door and when it opened Bucky walked inside. His eyes were downcast as he took off the pack on his back.

He looked up and you locked eyes with him. At first there was a smile on his face, but it soon dropped.

“Peach…what are you doing?” He took a step forward.

“That’s not my name.” You gave a sniffle and wiped your nose, wishing you had the strength to say these things without tears.

Bucky’s eyes got wide and he held his hands in front of him.

“Whatever you’re thinking, we can work this out.” He took small steps.

There was fear in his face, the way his brow wrinkled. You were expecting anger, and disappointment. That would’ve made you crack, but you could deal with fear.

“Who are you?” You started pacing again, throwing your arms in the air. “Why do you have a box filled with guns and money? What is this place? Am I prisoner? Are you the trafficker? Did you buy me?”

“Peach, you need to calm down.” Bucky continued to move slow. “You can hurt yourself.”

“Are you even listening to me?” You wanted to scream in frustration. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Who are you?”

“Who am I?” Bucky was a few feet from you now.

You locked eyes with him again and gave a nod. You wiped your tears, imagining what a mess you looked like.

“I am someone who takes care of you. Who protects you.” Bucky was about an arm’s length away.

“NO!” You pinched your eyes shut. “Who were you then? I have a right to know.”

Bucky paused, his arms still in front of him. He was approaching you like you were some sort of wild animal. It made your resolve falter. Maybe you were wrong to demand answers. He kept his eyes on yours as he moved forward again.

His hand slowly moved toward you, but not like he was going in for a hug. Then you looked down and saw it. The gun.

“Shit.” You were so into your own head you hadn’t realized you were holding it.

Before you could react Bucky grabbed your wrist. He put pressure on it making you cry out and drop the weapon. He snatched it up and put it on the stove then grabbed your waist and spun you around, slamming you against the counter.

“I…I…didn’t mean…” You didn’t know how to explain that.

“SHUT UP.” Bucky growled next to your ear. “Do you want to hurt me? Or do you want to hurt yourself?”

You replayed wiping away the tears and your nose, throwing your arms in the air. You had just been waving around a weapon. One that was incredibly dangerous and you had no clue how to use.

“I’m sorry.” There was a quiver to your voice.

“Very bad Peach.” Bucky put his arms over yours and grabbed your wrists, pining them to the counter top. “Bad.”

All of the questions you had, your demands on him amounted to nothing. You shut your eyes as a tear fell. He was so close to you, if his fingers weren’t bruising your wrists you would say it was almost a protective stance. You tried to relax your body into his, scared that if he let go he would never touch you again. That was what you deserved after screwing up this bad.

“You want to know who I am?” He bit down hard on your neck.

You squealed as pain set in. His teeth vanished and you felt the spot pulsing.

“I am someone who doesn’t take well to having a gun pointed at them.” He let go of your wrists and started to stand up. “Don’t you think about fucking moving from this spot.”

Your legs wanted to give out and your arms weren’t strong enough to support you, but you forced yourself to stay against the counter, bent forward with your arms in front of you.

“I am someone who cares about your life more than you do.” His hands were on your hips and he yanked your pants down.

He stepped on them with his boot and nudged your foot to step out of them. You were a mix of emotions, scared of what was happening, angry at yourself for the situation, but most of all hopeful that he was going to touch you. Stripping you was a sign he wasn’t finished with you yet.

“I am someone who corrects poor behavior.” SPANK!

“Ahhh!” You lurched forward on the counter top when his palm contacted your ass.

He grabbed your bum and sunk his fingers into the spot he just spanked, making you whimper.

“I am someone who is in control.” SLAP! Pain exploded on your other cheek.

“Oww!” It stung, but the humiliation you were feeling was worse than the spank.

“I am NOT the type of person who purchases people.” SLAM!

That one hurt the worst so far and you cried out again as a new batch of tears came. How could you have ever thought that? Bucky would never have bought you.

“I am someone who you NEED to listen to.” SPANK!

This time he brought both hands to your ass and again sank his fingers into your burning cheeks. It made you shudder and fall forward. Then he was gone again and you tensed, unsure of what was to come.

“I am someone who knows what is best for YOU.” SLAP!

Your body trembled and you cried again. He was right, he was so right. You were a mess and you would be lost without him. How could you ever think such horrible thoughts about this man?

He leaned over your body and put his mouth next to your ear.

“Now, are you my Peach?” Even though it was a question there was no doubt of the answer demanded.

“Yes.” You nodded furiously. “I’m your Peach.”

“Do you want to be my good girl again?” There was almost a playfulness to his tone now.

“Yes. Please, let me be your good girl.” If said no, you were pretty sure your heart would stop beating.

He stood back up and the sound of his zipper going down brought your relief and a whole new type of crying.

Bucky stood behind you and placed one hand on the small of your back before slamming into you in one stroke.

You gasped and raised your neck. He slid in with ease. You were turned on. From the spanking? From the dominance? You didn’t have time to think about it before he started thrusting in and out of you with speed. There was no warm up or teasing as he pumped you.

Fingers fisted in your hair and he arched your neck back. You groaned at the strained position.

“You are mine Peach.” He fucked you furiously, slamming his pelvis into your abused rear. “If you EVER think about hurting yourself, you have no clue what I’ll do to you.”

It was never your intention to shoot anyone, but you could have. He sped up and you lost any train of thought as your insides came to life. You felt the start of an orgasm building, but then he pulled out, leaving you empty and wanting.

His hand left your hair, but before you could hit the counter he grabbed you and spun you around.

His face was tight and his blue eyes looked like the devil himself. There as no forgiveness in him as he grabbed your chin with his metal hand and squeezed slightly too hard.

“Do you understand?” He focused on you and you nodded as you whimpered.

He dropped your chin and his hands were on your shirt, he pulled it over your head, but didn’t take it off. Instead he twisted in behind your back, essentially binding your arms. Then he picked you up and set you on the counter.

“Very bad Peach.” He dropped his vision to your pussy and slammed back inside of you again. “VERY BAD.”

You nodded in agreement, unable to come up with an excuse. His fingers dug into your thighs as he railed into you again. He put his mouth on your neck and sunk his teeth back down, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough for your to feel the pinch.

You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve him, but the orgasm came back. You couldn’t roll your hips to meet him in this position, but it didn’t matter. You wanted to touch him, wrap your arms around him for support, but that wasn’t an option either. You had been so bad, he was right not to let you.

“I’ll be good.” You let your head go limp, giving him easier access. “I’ll be so good for you.”

He grunted in approval and then dug his fingers harder into your thigh and bit down further. You cried out, but the mix of pain with the pounding of his cock was enough and your pussy fluttered around him. Clenching and unclenching as the orgasm shook through you.

Your vision went dark, but not enough to lose consciousness.

“Ugh!” Bucky lifted his mouth and jammed inside of you one final time.

You dropped your head forward on his shoulder, the tears still falling. You were sorry. You would show him.

“Are you okay?” He brought his hand to your back and pulled your shirt off.

“Yes.” You through your arms around him, not wanting him to let you go.

“That was scary Peach.” He let out a sigh. “Never again.”

“Never.” You squeezed him tighter.

He pulled out of you and scooped you up in his arms. Your body was still shaking, but he was so strong. You felt his gaze on you and looked up. There was sorrow in his eyes and you hated it that it was your fault.

“I wanted to see that look one last time.” He swallowed and carried you up the stairs. “I was born March 10th, 1917. My full name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #James barnes x reader #marvel fanfic

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waltwest · 4 years ago

Text

The Freelancer

The following is the first thirteen pages of a short story I am writing titled “The Freelancer”. I hope you enjoy. I apologize for the unappealing formatting, this site does not have the most comprehensive text editor.

Studying the Keurig machine, I wondered how many complacent people it took to ware the word “brew” off the button, leaving behind nothing more than a “b” and an “e”, which looked curiously like an “s”. I imagined this instant coffee machine as the alter in which lost souls came to pay tribute to each morning before assuming their monotonously drudging tasks; lips drawn, eyes downcast. These people were never happy, not even content. It certainly wasn’t a wish of theirs to be here. Men who dreamt of becoming accomplished composers became pencil pushers. Women who yearned to be animators had landed at secretary. The office is where you come to lay your ambition to rest. Maybe it is a lack of assertiveness in demeanor which lands one here, maybe it is the fate of mere circumstance.

But I, Maxwell Goodman, knew what my job meant; I knew I worked among the dead. Luckily, there was a spark of life that incessantly flickered within me. With my ten ounce mug full before me, I reluctantly took my communion once again.

Safely back within the confines of my particle board cubicle, the manila folders and stacks of paper demanding this or that seemed to never be satisfied.

God, who knew lightbulbs could generate so much paperwork, I thought to myself.

I sat in silence and regarded the congregation of slain trees covering my desk. My collar was sticking to my neck… Trying to strangle me, for God’s sake. My mouth was dry and coated with the thick taste of cheap coffee. My desktop stared into my eyes expectantly, patiently waiting for me to pound away on the keyboard like a good boy… Like I was supposed to. The bulbs may be bright, but they can’t sell themselves! That’s what my boss Lonny loved to say. Lonny… God, how can someone be balding so terribly at thirty years old? Is it just bad genetics, or too much cortisol?

I felt a hand clap on my shoulder. “Max-o! Lovely morning, isn’t it? Hey, in case you weren’t aware, Sweet Charade is having a bogo on donuts until the end of the week…”

Speak of the devil.

I swiveled my squeaky and unbalanced office chair to face my boss. “Gee, thanks for filling me in, Lonny. You know how much I love that maple-iced.” I responded, attempting to sound enthusiastic. Lonny was a nice guy, he really was. It’s really difficult to be rude to a guy like Lonny, with his premature baldness and all. You kind of had to feel sorry for him in a way, it was impossible to predict whether or not he was just one snide comment away from completely breaking down. He’s kind of unstable, emotionally. Also, his wife died last year. She fell off a cliff. No really, she did. Her and Lonny took a vacation to the Grand Canyon last August. Kept complaining about how bright the sun was and how she “couldn’t see a damn thing.” Next thing you know, she was trying to take a picture of a bird flying above and somehow managed to fall right off the edge of a cliff. Worst part is, she was eight months pregnant with their son, they were going to name him Clint... So yeah, all in all it’s pretty tough being rude to Lonny.

“I know they’re your favorite, it’s why I told you. Oh, hey-“Lonny pulled his other hand from behind his back, revealing a bloated manila envelope”-think you could handle this for me? Just a little bit of inventory mumbo-jumbo. Nothing too serious!” He was really trying to exude a devastating level of charm, though the effort was ineffective.

One side of the envelope was sagging down in the air under its own mind-numbing weight. I never thought an envelope could actually look depressed, it almost made me giggle. Grudgingly, I acquiesced and accepted the package with the lift of the eyebrows and a nod. I didn’t want to be mean, but I also didn’t want him to think I was thrilled about all the extra nonsense. Hell, he might’ve even pulled another folder out of his waistband or something if he got the idea I was happy about it. “Here, how about closing this deal for a thousand LED’s to the grocery store down the street as well…” No, I had enough paper, truly.

Lonny gave me another hearty clap on the shoulder, his bulbous belly jiggling a bit from the force. Again, I had to prevent myself from giggling… I find myself doing that more frequently than I would care to admit. I get the urge to laugh at the worst times, always. “Thanks, Max. I know I can always count on you.” He confided with a smile of endearment. It was difficult to tell whether that was a positive thing or if this was going to come back and bite me in the ass. Probably the latter.

Ole’ Lonny then gave a sly wink and swaggered off with the air of one who just successfully pawned off his work to an underling, because he could. What a bastard, I thought. He was an alright guy though, I suppose.

After a formalized second trip to the alter, I submerged myself in the humming of the fluorescents above me and the ocean of paper before me. Seven more hours…

At precisely 4:59pm, I slapped all of the folders shut and jabbed the power button on my computer with vehemence. My eyes burned like hell, my head was pounding from all of the caffeine, and my hands were all clammy. Very uncomfortable. God, I couldn’t help but to feel that it wasn’t worth it at the end of each day. I was constantly attacked by the bigger picture. What purpose was I serving? What kind of impact was I having on the world? I dwelled upon these questions often, but couldn’t stand beginning to think about the answers.

After I ended my quick demoralizing contemplation, the sodden procession of rejects began to file out of the glass door. And with the exchanging of “goodbyes” and “see you tomorrows,” my co-workers fell into their hybrid sedans and putted on down the road. Usually I am pulling into my apartment complex before anyone has even started their cars, but I felt like watching today. Sometimes I like to detach myself from situations and just observe.

Like this one time, I was sitting on one of those couches that are situated in the walkway at the mall. You know, those areas where they have four couches are situated in a square all cozy and whatnot, just in case the going gets too rough. Anyway, I was sitting on one of those couches, just watching. I peered into a shoe store and beheld a child throwing a royal fit, really overdoing it. He was around tromping everywhere, steam spilling out of his ears and all. He was screeching about a pair of shoes he wanted but couldn’t have. They were these real hip joints, green canvas with blue laces. They were disgustingly ugly, if you want to know the truth. Knowing how these retail stores are, I bet they were like a billion bucks. “I want the shoes! I want the shoes!” He was yelling.

“I can’t get you those… I can’t. I’m sorry, you know I would...” His father replied weakly, trying his damnedest to not contribute to the mayhem. He looked sad as hell, embarrassed even. I couldn’t tell whether he was embarrassed because he couldn’t afford the shoes, or because his son was being such an ass about it; I suppose it could’ve been a mixture of both.

“Mommy would get them for me! Call Mommy! I want Mommy!” The kid was belligerent. Stompin’ his snow boots all around the store, trying to leave imprints in the god damn carpet. It was winter by the way, Christmas time.

“Oh, you know I can’t do that… I’m sorry, I can’t afford the shoes son. Daddy can’t afford them right now.” He was really trying to be quiet and take control of his bratty offspring. Gosh, he looked so ashamed. I cannot stand ungrateful kids. The father ended up buying his son a cheaper pair of sneakers, to the stomping child’s dismay. I say he shouldn’t have bought him any shoes at all, the way he was acting.

There was something disturbing and insightful about that encounter, though. If I had just been walking by and heard the kid hollering I would have thought he was acting like a bastard, and that would’ve been it. And he was acting like a bastard, don’t get me wrong. But it is intriguing how the layers of the family dynamic unravels, the more you just watch and listen. The divorced parents, the mother always outdoing the father in order to gain their son’s favor… I was able to see a man who didn’t really know what he was doing with his life, or how he’d even gotten there in the first place… He wasn’t in control, maybe he never was. Maybe he never will be. So yeah, I enjoy sitting back and observing sometimes, beats the hell out of boring conversation.

Anyway, it was time for me to leave work. I grabbed my pointless little leather satchel and walked out the door. Outside, the air felt nice and fresh… I love the revitalizing effects of fresh air. It was especially neat that evening because there was also one of those breezes that whips really good every so often. It made me hungry. So, I decided I would grab some Chinese food on the way to my apartment. It’s on the way, and I have a huge thing for oriental food… especially lo mein noodles.

II.

Pint of greasy noodles clutched in hand, I stepped into the elevator of my building and pressed the button for the thirteenth floor, the top floor. I have a fear of heights, so initially I was not too keen on the idea of living so high up. But the thing was, I was pretty down on my luck, I suppose you could even say I was vulnerable. I needed a place quickly and this building was convenient for me… As I said, once I realized the only space for rent was on the top floor, I became a little nervous. But, the woman whom I talked to about the whole thing convinced me that rent was actually cheaper on the top floor. So, despite my uneasiness with heights of any kind, I took the place thinking I was scoring some sort of exclusive insider deal. But, after a few months of residing there and conversing with my neighbors, I learned I was paying around $96 more a month than most people in the whole god damn building. Even the other tenants on my floor were paying less than me. Something about my apartment being a “colonial” this that and the other. I don’t know. I swear to God I’m too gullible sometimes. I still had a year left on my lease.

Up, up, up the elevator went. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, ding! Thirteen. The doors opened and I made my way down the hall. I will admit, the building itself was not too impressive. The ceilings had a few leaks, the walls were painted an awful yellow. Sometimes the air conditioner shut off randomly. But all in all, it could have been a lot worse. Everything could always be worse, don’t ever forget that.

Of course, my special “colonial” apartment was way at the end of the hallway, number 327. As I approached my rickety door, my eyes locked onto a lone piece of mail sticking out of the little metal mailbox. A quick pulse of endorphins spread throughout my brain. I love getting mail. I pulled the envelope out. It was from the Print Box publishing company! Panic, fear, and excitement rose within my chest all at once.

I guess I forgot to tell you. I have longed to be an author for as long as I can remember. It is my dream, I guess you could say. Unfortunately, I haven’t had any luck getting published, or even acknowledged for that matter. I have written many different stories and have sent them to every publishing house imaginable. I’ve even sent short clips to shitty magazines hoping to get a bite, to no avail. The only responses I have gotten have been rejections. Most often they don’t even take the time to respond… Trust me, it’s not like I wanted to sell lightbulbs as a career, you should realize that by now.

And while I had never received positive criticism or encouragement in the past, it was impossible to not feel hopeful when I got a letter back from a publisher. I believed that one day my luck would shift. It had to… Right?

I hurried and shoved the key into the door, then shot straight to the couch to read what Print Box had to say. My noodles sat on the coffee table, untouched and getting slightly cold.

I ended up sitting frozen for a couple of minutes, staring at the front of the envelope… As if the address lines were going to tell me that it was going to be okay, this time was different. Really, I was savoring the moment. I had a certain amount of measured confidence when it came to this letter. In my opinion, the story I sent to Print Box was amazing, one of my best yet. It was a story about an inter-galactic space traveler who ends up meeting God and finding out He’s not how everyone thinks He is. I promise it’s not as crumby as it sounds. It was good. You would just have to read it.

Life seemed to be still around me; a foreboding, ominous stillness. Blood was rushing to my ears. My hands shaking ever so slightly, I ran my finger underneath the seal, and took out the prophecy within. Please, let this be it. Please.

It read as follows:

“Dear Mr. Goodman,

We received your manuscript for ‘Creator’s Paradox’. After review, we are terribly sorry to inform you that we have decided not to publish your work. It is simply not a fit for us.

Best Wishes,

Print Box Publications”

A cold knife sank deep into my chest. What? That’s it? The letter trembled in my hands. The excitement and hope fled my body entirely, and had been replaced by sorrow and confusion, even anger. How could this be? I should have known. I shouldn’t have expected anything more. Why would this time be any different? It was then that I thought maybe I should just give up. I am no good at this, I absolutely suck. That must be it… They say to chase your dreams, but what if you are just terrible? I had never felt such dread. Maybe I was meant to sell lightbulbs for a living…

Unceremoniously I ripped the bad news in half and let it fall onto the table. Sinking back into the frayed cloth couch, I would have been completely okay with just disappearing in that moment, I felt deflated.

After a shameful amount of sulking, I forced down the then limp noodles, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and slid out onto the balcony.

The night was warm, but not unreasonably so. It was that time of year when you keep a jacket in the backseat of your car, because you can never be certain which way the thermometer will flow. But even though the night was cozy, I had a rain cloud hovering over my head. I was already beginning to accept my future. The cardboard cutout life I was going to surrender to. 401k’s, strategies to improve my credit score… That sort of thing.

I sipped my beer and looked out upon the terrain before me, in the most reflective of moods. I had to admit, the view was pleasurable from up here. I lived in the boot heel of Indiana, by the way. An area of the world where it is commonplace for urban and rural landscapes to collide, battling for a prominent grip over the territory. Upon my perch, I could see and feel the city below me: the streetlamps, stoplights, cars honking at nothing in particular, the smell of gas and concrete which invaded the nostrils. But when I looked beyond the ring of cityscape, seemingly endless fields and small hillocks rolled into the horizon, with a strip of highway interceding here and there. The occasional semi would be finding its way through the night, like a worm over soil. It was comforting in a way, made you feel like you could always just escape if you wanted to or needed to.

I found and traced one semi making his way across the fields. He was at such a distance, I could only distinguish him by the studded lights that adorned his truck. He looked so lonely, plodding along out there, all by himself. I wondered, was he happy? Did he choose his life for himself? Or did he just throw in the towel, like I was having thoughts of doing… I suppose I would never find out. Not like I could pluck him off the road and ask him. Or her. I shouldn’t just assume they are a man. I wonder how much truck drivers make? I heard they bring in quite a bit of dough, actually… I pictured myself taking the reigns of my own eighteen-wheeler; soaking in the sights, getting into a bit of trouble at the various truck stops. It didn’t feel right, though. For a moment I felt my skin squirm.

The fight of two alley cats below suddenly tore me out of my trance. I noticed I was rubbing my fingers together really hard, and all of a sudden the stench of garbage filled the air. It was all discomforting. I realized that this was the moment that was going to lay the foundation for the rest of my time on Earth. Will I push onward, and become who I want to be? Or do I choose the easy, less turbulent path, and adjust. We all stumble upon this fork in the road at some point throughout our lives. Although, unfortunately, most are blind to the path tucked behind the brush, the path we were each destined to take. We only see the wider, more trodden path of conformity.

As I stood at the helm of my splitting path, I knew within my heart which route I was going to take. There was no question… I was going to part the foliage and venture into the canopied forest.

III.

The time was getting close to ten, but I had struck a vein of determination and inspiration. I was not going to simply shrug it off and go to sleep.

Back and forth I paced around the cramped living room. Couch. Coffee table. Television, resting upon an empty entertainment center. Plastic lamp situated in the corner. Generic cream carpeting. Bland, unextraordinary.

I paced and paced, contemplatively gripping my chin.

I knew I had to write something. But what should I write a story about? Gosh, I began to get nervous. In the early twentieth century, here was this Italian novelist named Cesare Pavese. There is a quote of his wherein he states, “the only joy in the world is to begin.” The only feeling I get when I begin something is anxiety and confusion… I can see where he is coming from though, I suppose. There is bound to be intrigue when diving into something new. And anxiety. Shit, where the hell did those Valium go?

My pacing shifted its course to the bathroom. On the way I passed the boring ass photos that were framed in the four-foot-wide hallway, standing guard. A vase of flowers sitting on a patio table. A tire swing. It felt like the first time I had ever seen these pictures. So generic… So dumb. God, they made me want to puke. Why didn’t I take them down whenever I moved in? My blood pressure was rising. Fucking stock photos.

I crashed into the bathroom and swung the mirror open. The ole’ medicine cabinet, baby. Where everyone goes when in need of a little chemical therapy. We’re all guilty…

Sifting through prescriptions old and new, some in my name, others not, I eventually found what I was searching for. Also, upon studying the array of medications in front of me, I realized I may have a slight drug problem. Oh well, it’s not as bad as it once was.

I recall one incident in particular from the past. I must have taken twelve Xanax bars, maybe more. I went to the park (I love the park) and was feeding some pigeons; leftover Doritos I had found in my car, they were at least four months past the expiration date. Anyway, after just tossing chips around all over the sidewalk for about half an hour, I took a particularly special interest in one of the pigeons. He was a bit smaller than the rest, and one of his eyes was circled in black. Incredibly unique, at least in comparison the others. He was really taking control of the situation too, despite his size. Really getting in there, hardly sharing any of the precious chips. Greedy bastard… I think that’s why I liked him so well.

Anyway, I decided that I needed him. You know, with his attitude, maybe he could protect my pad or something. I don’t know, I was pretty high. So, after wrestling with him for a bit (if you can picture that), it became clear I could not just pick the rowdy fucker up. Had a lot of fight in him. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had pulled out a cigar from beneath his wing and started puffin’ at me, head all cockeyed and whatnot. “C’maaaaaaaaaan, that all ya got?” I had to regroup, construct a more inventive method of capture.

Bingo. Easy. He may have been all brawn, but he still had an observable weakness… Doritos.

With an inward smirk, I strategically (and sloppily) began making a trail of chip crumbs that led to the opened passenger-side door of my car. Worked like a charm, perhaps too well. The whole damn flock began tottering and flapping over to my car. At this point I realized my coveted plan may have had a detrimental absence of foresight, I thought I was surely doomed. But as always, there was a solution. When the horde got within a few feet of my vehicle, I started kickin’ and screamin’ at all of them. They all flew away quick as can be, except for my new friend of course, the bravest of them all. Victory. I finally managed to coerce the prize fighter into my car with one last huge Dorito, and off to the races we went.

He shit all over my seats, my dashboard, everything. God, it was terrible. Stunk like hell, too. To make a long story short, we were never meant to be friends. He continued to mercilessly defecate all over the apartment, pecked the hell out of my ankles, he was extremely aggressive… Not house trained in the slightest.

Needless to say, I was positively sick of this bastard by this point… I decided the best course of action would be turning him into profit. I took him down to the gas station and tried to peddle him off to the cashier for three dollars… He declined. But to be fair, I believe if he wasn’t at work and whatnot, trying to look good for his boss, he would have gone for it. He truly looked like he wanted that pigeon something fierce… Got all wide-eyed, sweat gathering at the brow. Either he wanted that pigeon, or he was deathly afraid of it. It was almost weird, his intensity.

Yeah, I used to be kind of awful about it. That happened right after high school. I wasn’t too productive back then, sometimes I wish I could go back and change those years.

Anyway, I quickly swallowed forty-five milligrams of Valium in the bathroom, on account of my soaring blood pressure and all. The stock photos didn’t help. Plus, I really needed to buckle down and figure out what I was going to write and how I was going to blow the socks off of the publishers and leave their feet steaming. This had to be the big one.

IV.

I set up shop in the kitchen, the only place in my apartment that has a table and chair. I had my tools for creation all laid out. A trio of freshly sharpened pencils, a pad of paper, and one of those noise machines that produces rainforest sounds and whatnot. Yes, I like those, and yes, I still believe in pencil & paper. Staring at a computer screen for extended periods of time isn’t quite healthy for you. It’s terrible on the eyes, you know. Additionally, there is something therapeutic about manually writing out each letter of a word, your hand carefully forming every one of those curves… The act feels intimate, and poking at a keyboard just isn’t the same. But I digress.

Let’s see… Romance novels are too cheesy, you almost always know how they are going to end. I had already recently tried my hand at space exploration. Though space is endless, making the potential for stories based in space limitless as well. Still, I wasn’t really in the mood at that moment. Ugh, brainstorming is too much work, truly. This is why I like it best when the ideas come to me naturally.

Just as I was delving deeper into thought, or trying to, my phone rang from the counter behind me. It gave me a shock, partly because it was getting so late and partly because hardly anyone ever called me.

Casually I looked to see who my caller was. “Silas,” the screen read. Of course. Silas is an old pal from school that I kept in touch with for some reason. He’s a morally decent guy I suppose, has a good heart. He just never quite grew up.

“Hello?”

“Maximillian! What’s up?” He was totally stoned. In the background I could hear the bubbling of a bong along with feminine laughter. I heard something else too, faintly… Was that… Street Fighter?

“Hey, Silas. It’s almost one in the morning, what’s going on?” I tried my darndest not to sound rude, sometimes I have a problem with that.

“Oh, nothin’ much man…” More laughter, it caused me to wonder what the hell was so funny. “Hey, Max, do you have any molly? Need some molly… Ecstasy.”

Initially I figured he was stoned, but he was progressively sounding more drunk than anything. Probably both. “Silas, I haven’t done molly in over three years. What the hell are you thinkin’, do I got any molly? No, I do not… Are you fuckin’ drunk?” This guy blew my mind sometimes.

Awkward silence. More bubbling. And yes, that was certainly Street Fighter. “Damn dude, my bad… For some reason I thought you might.” More silence. Generally, it’s difficult for this man to process more than a couple of sentences at a time… Got a hell of a heart though. “Well, okay. Hey, do you know anybody who does?” He sounded wistful, maybe even a bit desperate. All the sudden I had the feeling I was not the first person he called about this. It made me sad in a way.

I sat crisscross on the tile. Why there instead of the chair? I don’t know, it’s what I felt like doing then, okay? I liked the fresh perspective. “No, ‘fraid not. Haven’t touched the stuff in a long time.” Pause. “What the hell ya been up to anyway, Silas?” I was genuinely interested. I began picking at the tile with my fingernail.

“Uhhh, nothing really. I-…” He really had to think about what he had been up to. “Went to a Cannibal Corpse concert last week. Yeah, concert and stuff.” He sounded like he was about to fall asleep, or become a corpse himself. God, look at all that dust beneath the fridge…

Just then, I got a wonderful idea. “Gee, that sounds like loads of fun. Hey, Silas. If you were going to write a story, what would it be about? You know, if you were just going to write a story or something… About anything.” I was curious. I wanted to squeeze his mushy brain and see what came out. Plus, the Valium had me feeling a bit conversative.

The line was quiet for awhile. I could’ve sworn he had fallen asleep, phone pinned between his shoulder and cheek, slobber dripping from his chin. “-A story? Story… Probably about a barbarian or something. Barbarian who has a club and nails chicks in his cave. Like Conan, I guess.” Silence… “Hey, Conan nailed chicks in caves, right?” He was asking someone next to him.

Boom, inspiration flooded the inside of my head, almost making me dizzy. How didn’t I think of this before?

Obviously, his idea was stupid. But the barbarian aspect intrigued me. How fun would that be? A barbarian who finds himself in a world of magic. Brings it back to Earth for the betterment of humanity. I don’t know, something silly like that. Something people will read, something that will keep them entertained.

Silas focused his attention back to me. I had almost forgotten I was on the phone with him. “Max, buddy. Hey, Max. Do you have any molly, by chance?”

I didn’t have the time for this anymore. I needed to get to work. “Sorry, gotta go. Goodbye, Silas.” I hung up the phone. Krosmere… That’s what his name will be.

I bounced up from the floor and positioned myself back at the table.

I took a deep breath, turned on the trusty rainfall machine, and poised my pencil. It was time to craft the legacy of Krosmere, rogue barbarian. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been so excited to start something. I was now beginning to feel the meaning of Cesare Pavese’s words.

A ray of early morning sun dove into the kitchen from the window above the sink, casting the table before me in an orange-red glow. There I was, hunched over my papers, clad only in an old white tee-shirt and a pair of pinstripe boxers. Every hallow in my body had filled with salty perspiration.

Truly, I had not realized how late it was getting. Or, rather, how early… I risked a glance at the clock on the oven. “5:41am” it read in its obnoxious neon green radiance. Somewhere down the hallway I could hear the maddening wail of my alarm clock trying to be a voice of reason or something, I suppose. How did I not hear that until now? BAH, BAH, BAH, BAH, BAH. God, I just wanted to throw the damn thing against the wall. I have done that quite a few times already. Like after Cinco De Mayo last year. Threw that motherfucker so good it flew out of my room and smacked the wall in the hallway. Or after the Colts lost the Super Bowl. Hell, it wasn’t even morning time, and I’m not into sports! I just went into my room and punted the sumbitch right into the ceiling. I can be childish sometimes. There was also that one time when my ex-girlfriend threw the alarm clock at me… Does that even count? I don’t know. My alarm clock is actually quite beaten up, I should probably buy a new one.

“5:47am”. As I sat there a couple more moments, I felt intruded upon. As if the sun was invading my privacy, putting me on a stage for all the world to laugh at. Don’t you hate that?

I strutted to my bedroom, sticky boxers and all, and silenced the howling beast. On my way out, after tripping over an extension cord gone awry, I stood face-to-face with the blasphemous stock photos. Those motherfuckers were taunting me, I know they were. The flowers! The fucking tire swing! Are you kidding me? Rage flared within me. I seriously could not begin to tell you why or how I allowed these abominations to remain for so long. They really made me want to puke.

Instinctively I tore the frames from the wall and stomped back to the kitchen with them tucked under my arm. I could’ve sworn to God they were burning me with their wickedness, their phoniness.

I found myself in front of the window, the same window the damn sun broke in through. I disengaged the lock and threw it open. A blast of chill air sucked inward, air you could tell was leftover from the night. It had a nice smell. It was then that I realized how muggy it had been in the kitchen. Like two (or more) people were in here having sex all night or something. If only.

I peered outside into the shifting sky. You know, there isn’t a lot to brag about in Indiana, but the sunrises are absolutely beautiful. Picturesque, you could say. Deep reds that bleed over the entire Earth, splashes of orange, streaks of lavender. They are serene.

I felt a searing on my side. Pulling the photos out from my arm, I flung them out into the open air without so much as a last glance. I suppose I could have thrown them in the trash, but then they would still be inside the apartment. They had to be eradicated, and immediately. With pleasure I envisioned gravity pulling them down, down, down, all thirteen floors, where they would meet their well-deserved demise on the sidewalk below. Gosh, I hope they don’t hit anything… An afterthought.

It took only a grain of sand in the hourglass of our universe for the photos to collide with the pavement, marked by a satisfying crash. Later some would testify that a dog’s yelp followed just after the commotion, but I heard no such thing.

Smug and triumphant with a menace destroyed, I turned on my heel, only to be blasted with more joy as my gaze fell upon my papers on the table. Oh, my work! My lovely work!

The lack of sleep, the now sweat stained boxers… It had all been worth it. I had spent all night crafting the structure for what I know, without a doubt, will be my best story ever. The big one.

I had finished the outline, was already on the second chapter of the story. Hell, I even sketched out a picture of ole’ Krosmere. A muscle-bound barbarian. Thick, long brown hair (like mine). I made him only have one nipple, though. You know, to add character and all that. Really, I am a terrible artist. I couldn’t draw my way out of a two-dimensional square if I had to.

I still had about three hours until I needed to start selling lightbulbs, which was fine with me. You can do a lot in three hours, if you really try. I figured I could make some breakfast, get cleaned up, maybe even go for a walk. Working through the day without a wink of sleep was not something I really looked forward to, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. Adderall. I’m fairly sure I had someone’s script in my cabinet still. You know, for emergencies and the like.

With a newfound pep in my step, I threw the pan onto the rusted stove and began cracking some eggs, whistling along with the birds perched among the rooftops outside.

#writing #fiction

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caedmonfaith · 5 years ago

Text

Taking the Cake

This is a gift for @katsinspaxe in the @goodomensholidayswap - I hope you enjoy it, and Merry Christmas!

(Special thanks to @lostinfic for letting me steal her idea and for being a good sport. I owe you one, dear. <3 )

Summary: Aziraphale has noticed his handsome neighbor, but hasn't had an excuse (or the nerve) to talk to him. He gets his chance, though, when a bakery delivers a package to the wrong door a few days before Christmas and his neighbor comes knocking.

Alternate Universe - Neighbors, fluff, christmas fluff, unbeta’d. Read it on ao3!

Aziraphale was just turning the page of a very interesting book, contemplating getting up and getting himself a snack, when a knock came at his door. He looked up at the sound, wondering who it could be, then sat his book to the side and went to answer it. Perhaps it was a delivery (although he wasn’t expecting one) - or maybe just someone knocking on the wrong door. It happened often enough, living in such a large building of flats where everyone had identical doors.

He opened the door with a pleasant expression to find his recently-moved-in neighbor standing there with a brown, string-tied box in hand. The man was tall and lean with ginger hair, dressed very stylishly in all black, black sunglasses over his eyes, and was devastatingly handsome. Aziraphale had noticed him coming and going in the building for the last few months, but hadn’t ever had a reason - or the nerve - to speak. Even now, he felt the words drying up in his mouth in the face of his gorgeous neighbor. Then the man smiled, and Aziraphale suddenly felt a little wobbly.

“Hi,” the man said, almost in a drawl.

“Hello,” Aziraphale answered with a somewhat nervous smile, gripping the door a little more tightly to keep himself upright.

The man held up the box in his hands. “I believe this is yours. It was delivered to my flat by mistake.”

Aziraphale peered at the box. “I’m not expecting any packages…”

“You’re David Fowler, right?”

He felt himself deflate a little, figuring this misunderstanding would lead to the end of their interaction. “No, I’m sorry. My name is Aziraphale Fell.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think Mr. Fowler lives down the hall, last flat on the left, before the lift.”

“I see.”

The man looked a little crestfallen, and Aziraphale didn’t like seeing that look on his face. He’d much prefer to see his neighbor smiling, so he smiled gently.

“It was awfully kind of you to bring it here, though,” he offered.

The man cringed a little and made a sound that sounded like 'ngk', but didn’t acknowledge what he’d said. “I, um, I saw that it was from a bakery and thought maybe you’d like a little company while you ate it.”

Aziraphale was stunned. This handsome stranger has sought him out to spend time with him? Oh, he was all aflutter.

“It’s from a bakery, you say?” he asked, temptation pulling at him.

“Yes. It was just delivered a few minutes ago, and it smells fresh. Seems a shame to let someone else have it, when it so conveniently fell into our laps, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but he took a deep sniff, catching the scent wafting from the box. It smelled heavenly, absolutely divine, and if he said ‘yes’, he’d get to spend some more time with the man at the door. He felt his determination to do the right thing wavering.

“I don’t know,” he protested weakly, “It’s getting close to Christmas. Mr. Fowler may need this baked good to serve at a party or something.”

The red haired man gave him a lopsided smile. “Can you think of one person in the whole world who would appreciate this cake more than you or I would?”

Oh, how Aziraphale was tempted. It would be so easy to give in and share this dessert - whatever it was - with this handsome man. And he wanted to so badly.

“But Mr. Fowler --”

“Will call the bakery when he doesn’t get his cake and they’ll figure out the mistake. Then he’ll get another cake delivered to him for free.”

It was true, that was what was most likely to happen. There wouldn’t be any harm, not really. And best of all, he’d get to spend some time with his alluring neighbor, perhaps get to know him a bit - which Aziraphale found he really wanted to do.

“Oh, alright,” he said, caving. The other man smiled bright enough to outshine the sun, and Aziraphale felt his heart flutter again.

“Excellent,” the man said, “Can I come in?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” He held the door open and allowed the handsome stranger to come into his flat, then closed the door behind them.

“I’m Crowley, by the way,” the man said as Aziraphale bustled in, coming to a stop in front of him. The man didn’t make a move to remove his sunglasses, and Aziraphale was oddly disappointed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crowley.”

“No, no. Just Crowley, please. Mr. Crowley was my father.”

Azriaphale gave him a look. “Do you have a first name?”

“Anthony,” Crowley replied. “But nobody calls me that. Really, Crowley suits me best.”

He smiled. “Alright, then, I’ll call you Crowley.”

They stood facing each other silently for a moment in Aziraphale’s lounge, and he struggled to think of what to say. Nothing clever or witty was coming to him.

Crowley raised the bakery box a bit. “Did you want to…?”

“Oh! Yes! I’ll just get us some plates and forks, shall I? Come, you can sit that down on the table.”

Crowley followed him into the small kitchen, obediently sitting the box down on the table while Aziraphale bustled around, looking for plates and forks. When he turned back around, Crowley was looking around at the stacks of books.

“This is a nice place you’ve got here,” he said conversationally.

Aziraphale smiled. “Rather a lot like your flat, I would imagine.”

Crowley gave him a grin. “A bit, but our decorating styles are rather different.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. My flat is barely decorated at all, unless you want to count the plants.”

Aziraphale slid into his usual seat at the table and Crowley sat across from him. “You have plants?”

Crowley nodded. “A few, yeah.”

“How interesting. I’ve often thought about bringing a plant of some sort in here to liven the place up a bit. Perhaps you could recommend something for me?”

The ginger man beamed. “I’d love to.”

Aziraphale smiled and opened the box, giving a little gasp of delight when he saw what was inside. It was a cake, beautifully decorated with holly leaves and a Christmas tree.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” he exclaimed.

Crowley nodded. “It is,” he agreed.

“It almost seems a shame to cut it.”

“Nah. Cakes were meant to be enjoyed, not just looked at.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Aziraphale sighed, but with a smile. “Here goes nothing.”

He cut into the cake, slicing himself and Crowley each a generous piece and laying them on plates. Then he passed the plate over to Crowley and picked up his own fork, excited to dig in.

The first bite was a revelation. The cake was moist and flavorful, the buttercream was light and airy, and the flavors mixed wonderfully on his tongue. He closed his eyes and let out a little moan of bliss.

“That good?” Crowley asked, but his voice sounded a bit strangled. Azriaphale opened his eyes to see if he was okay, and Crowley cleared his throat and looked down at his own cake.

“It’s divine,” he answered with feeling. It may have been gained in a dishonest way, but this cake was the best thing Aziraphale had ever tasted.

“Good, that’s good,” Crowley said, spearing his own cake.

Aziraphale raised another bite to his lips. This one was somehow better than the first, and he couldn’t help the little sound he made.

Crowley cleared his throat again from across the table and shifted in his seat. “So, uh. How long have you lived here?”

“Three years in February. You?”

“I just moved in back in June.”

That explained why Aziraphale hadn’t seen him around before the summer. “Do you like it?”

Crowley shrugged. “It’s nice, I suppose. I could deal with a bit more hot water, but I’m practically cold-blooded, so that might just be me.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh, I don’t believe you’re cold-blooded.”

“No, really. I might as well be a snake. I’m nearly always cold.”

“Well, it has been colder than usual lately.”

They chatted lightly over their cake, talking about all manner of topics. Aziraphale learned that Crowley was what he called a ‘professional tempter’ - he was employed by companies and wealthy families to test the loyalty of prospective employees or mates. Aziraphale found this fascinating, and figured that was how he’d been so easily tempted into taking the cake. He was usually quite upstanding, but he’d succumbed quite easily to petty theft.

“How about you?” Crowley asked politely. “What does the man with the unique name do?”

Aziraphale was a bit shy to answer. “Nothing so exciting as you, I daresay. I’m a bookshop owner.”

Crowley gave him a sly smile, then glanced around at the stacks. “Seems you have half a shop’s worth here.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks colored. “You must think me a terrible bore.”

“On the contrary. I find you very interesting.”

He gave a small smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

Aziraphale bit his lip in pleasure. Unless he was very much mistaken, this gorgeous creature was flirting with him - and he was delighted. It had been years since anyone had taken an interest in him, and for it to be a man this handsome and interesting? Aizraphale was flattered beyond words - and deeply, deeply attracted.

They chatted some more, and Aziraphale discovered why Crowley hadn’t removed his sunglasses.

“I’m rather sensitive to light, particularly certain types of light. More than an hour or so under LED light bulbs and I end up with a terrific headache.”

“Oh, you poor dear. Well, my lightbulbs are traditional, if that helps.”

“It actually does. Do you mind if I take them off?”

Aziraphale’s heart fluttered in his chest. “Oh, not at all.”

The gorgeous, ginger man removed his sunglasses and Aziraphale nearly gasped. His eyes were a light brown, almost golden, and absolutely stunning. He could very easily see himself getting lost in those eyes.

“They’re lovely, dear,” he managed, flushing bright red. To his very great surprise, Crowley flushed, too.

“More cake?” he offered, not wanting this time together to end.

“Please.”

Aziraphale cut both of them a second slice.

~*~O~*~

Aziraphale was still thinking about the visit with Crowley three days later. It had been so nice spending time with him, and Crowley was so lovely - in every conceivable way. By the time he had left that night, Aziraphale had been beset with feelings - the likes of which he hadn’t had in many years. He wanted to see more of Crowley, but couldn’t think of a clever way to express that desire. Besides that, he wasn’t entirely sure that his advances would be welcomed. Sure, he had suspected Crowley was flirting, but he may well have just been friendly. The more he thought about it in the quiet of his flat, the more likely that seemed. It was most likely that Crowley had simply wanted to meet his neighbor and Aziraphale, who hadn’t had a relationship with anything but a book in several years, had mistaken his intentions. Why, Crowley probably had a girlfriend or something, and Aziraphale would be best served to put the ginger man out of his thoughts.

Except he couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Crowley’s smiling face. Every time he glanced at his little kitchen table, he thought of the hours he’d spent there, chatting with Crowley. And when he ate the leftovers of the cake they’d nicked, he wondered what it would be like to kiss those thin lips.

Blister it all, Aziraphale had a bonafide crush.

He did his best to will it away. He told himself that sharing cake with Crowley was a one-time thing and was not likely to happen again. He told himself that Crowley was almost certainly not interested in him the way he was interested in Crowley, that all the romantic interest was one-sided. He told himself he was being stupid, and to get over it.

It didn’t help.

So, three days after they’d shared cake, Aziraphale was still lecturing himself as he was getting ready to go out for the evening. He had a bit of holiday shopping to do, and figured he’d get some dinner while he was out. Perhaps sushi from his favorite place. That would be scrummy. And maybe it would clear his head from thoughts of his neighbor.

He tied his scarf around his neck and opened his door, stepping into the hall. As he’d done every time he’d left his flat for the last three days, he glanced over at Crowley’s door. He’d just had time to take in the string-tied box sitting at his neighbor’s doorstep when the door opened and Crowley stepped out, narrowly missing the box. He froze when he saw it, then glanced up at Aziraphale. His face spread into a bright smile, and he said, “Hello!”

Aziraphale could feel himself blushing, but replied, “Hello, yourself. It looks as if you’ve got a package there.”

Crowley bent over and retrieved the package, looking at it as he stood back up. “David Fowler again. It looks like the baker made another mistake.”

“Seems so,” Aziraphale said.

The other man’s smile turned mischievous. “Should we…?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Aziraphale said with regret. “Not this time. We should probably just take it to Mr. Fowler’s door and leave it.”

Crowley looked a little disappointed but nodded. “You’re probably right.”

For a moment, Aziraphale was at a loss for what to say, then Crowley broke the silence.

“You were heading out?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I was just off to do a little shopping for Christmas and pick up some dinner.”

Crowley looked down at the package in his hands, then back up at Aziraphale. “Tell you what. I’ll deposit this cake safely on Fowler’s doorstep if you’ll let me take you to dinner.”

Aziraphale’s face flushed hot and he stammered. “Oh, I don’t know… I really shouldn’t like to impose…”

“It’s not an imposition. I want to take you to dinner. And I know just the place. Let me? Otherwise, I’ll have to talk you into stealing this cake so we can share it again,” he teased.

It seemed impossible to deny that Crowley was flirting now, and Aziraphale was positively over the moon. “You devilish thing,” he teased back. “Alright. Let’s get some dinner - if you promise to put that cake on Fowler’s doorstep.”

Crowley’s smile was huge and near blinding. “Sure. Absolutely. Whatever you want.” He closed his door, locking it, and started towards Aziraphale. Aziraphale locked his own door while Crowley waited patiently, box in hand, then the two started down the corridor together, towards the lift and Fowler’s flat. With a wink, Crowley stooped and lay the bakery box on Fowler’s doorstep, then pressed the doorbell. Without waiting for an answer, he turned back to Aziraphale with a bright smile. “Shall we?”

Aziraphale smiled back, his insides fluttering pleasantly. “Yes, let’s.”

~*~O~*~

It had been a wonderful evening. Crowley had shocked Aziraphale by taking him to the Ritz for dinner, explaining that he was there quite a lot on business, so he didn’t need a reservation. Aziraphale had been floored, but did his best to keep his composure - even as he fell a little farther under Crowley’s spell. Conversation had been so easy - they’d talked like they’d known each other for six thousand years. Crowley had asked about the origins of Aziraphale’s name over a delectable dinner, and Aziraphale had explained that his parents had been fascinated by angels. Crowley had given him a lopsided smile and said, “I am, too.” Then, from that moment, he’d called Aziraphale ‘angel’. Every time he did, Azirphale’s heart skipped in his chest.

After dinner, Crowley had taken him to a shopping district and they’d shopped for Christmas. He’d assumed Crowley would get bored, going from shop to shop, but the red haired man seemed perfectly at ease. If there had been any remaining doubt that Crowley was attracted to him, it was erased after a couple of hours in the shops. Crowley touched him unnecessarily: little touches to the elbow or the small of the back at first, but after the third shop, Crowley offered his arm and Aziraphale took it gladly. From that moment, his hand had been nestled in the crook of Crowey’s elbow if it wasn’t occupied doing something else. And even then, as soon as possible, he’d had his hand right back in Crowley’s arm. Crowley never complained about the tedium of shopping, and carried Aziraphale’s bag like a perfect gentleman.

It seemed his neighbor was full of delightful surprises, and with every passing moment, Aziraphale fell deeper and deeper into something he didn’t dare name yet.

They were about two blocks from their building, still arm in arm, when Crowley surprised him yet again.

“I was looking for an excuse to talk to you, you know,” he remarked casually, changing the subject.

Aziraphale looked up at him with wide, surprised eyes. “You were?”

Crowley nodded, his cheeks slightly red. Aziraphale couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or his confession. “I did. I saw you coming and going sometimes and I just… I don’t know. You looked like someone I wanted to know. But I couldn’t think of any way to introduce myself. I was just steeling myself to come knock when that cake was delivered to my flat by mistake and I saw my opportunity.”

“I’m so glad you did,” Aziraphale said with feeling.

“I knew your name wasn’t David Fowler. I just wanted a chance to talk to you.”

Crowley lowered his arm, causing Aziraphale to let go. But his hand wasn’t unoccupied long before Crowley had captured it in his own long-fingered hand. Aziraphale’s heart beat an exultant rhythm.

“Now I have a confession to make,” Aziraphale said as they approached their building.

“What is it, angel?” Crowley questioned, his thumb running along the back of Aziraphale’s.

“I was looking for an excuse to talk to you again, myself, after we shared the cake. I’m not terribly creative, though, and couldn’t come up with anything. I’d resolved to give myself until after Christmas, then I was going to come back to your door and ask you over for New Year’s.”

Crowley pressed the button to call the lift, smiling. “You were?”

“That was my plan, yes.”

“What’s your plan now?”

Aziraphale flushed. “Well, I’d still very much like to spend New Year’s with you, if you’re amenable.”

Crowley’s answering smile was bright. “I’ll say yes on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“That you let me see you again before New Year’s. Hopefully more than once.”

Aziraphale giggled. “I may be able to accommodate that. How many times, pray tell?”

Crowley pretended to be considering. “Well, there are ten days until the New Year, so… I don’t know… how about twelve?”

“Twelve!” Aziraphale exclaimed with a laugh.

The red haired man grinned behind his sunglasses. “You’re right, I should ask for more. At least fifteen.”

Aziraphale was laughing when the lift doors opened and they stepped into the corridor, still hand in hand. Both froze, however, when they spotted the brown, string-tied box still sitting on Mr. Fowler’s doorstep where Crowley had left it several hours before. Both men stared at it for a moment, then glanced at each other, smiles blooming on their faces.

“Should we?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“It would be the perfect finish to a lovely evening. The best evening of my life.”

“Really?” Aziraphale flushed with pleasure.

“Absolutely, angel.”

He bit his lip happily, but said, “We still shouldn’t.”

Crowley tugged his hand a little. “C'mon, Aziraphale. It would be a service, really. It’s been sitting there for hours, going stale. Why, I bet it’s barely edible by now.”

He giggled. “You fiend.”

“And it would be helping the business, too. If Fowler receives a stale cake, he’s likely to leave a poor review, and that could harm business.”

“You’re a naughty man, Anthony Crowley.”

“And you’re an angel, Aziraphale Fell.”

Aziraphale sighed a little, smiling. “It’s very tempting, I admit, but we really shouldn’t. That would be stealing.”

Crowley gave the hand he held a gentle squeeze. “Well, if you won’t steal the cake with me, perhaps you’ll allow me to steal something else?”

“What’s that, dear?”

“A kiss.”

Aziraphale’s heart pounded in his chest and his knees felt weak. His eyes widened, but he nodded at Crowley.

Time seemed to crawl as Crowley removed his sunglasses, then leaned forward, his eyes darting from Aziraphale’s mouth to his eyes and back. Aziraphale couldn’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears - the building could have crumbled around him and he wouldn’t have known. His eyes were locked on Crowley, and he gasped when the other man reached up and touched his face. The heat in his eyes sent a thrill down Aziraphale’s spine.

Then they were kissing, and oh, yes. This was what Heaven was meant to be. Choirs of angels sang a joyful chorus and it felt as if the sun were shining down on them, warming them. His blood fizzed in his veins and he knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that he’d just fallen in love.

The kiss was soft, gentle, and everything a first kiss should be. Crowley’s lips moved slowly over Aziraphale’s, not demanding, just caressing, until Aziraphale felt Crowley’s thumb caress his cheek. He whimpered a little and parted his lips, and Crowley took the invitation he presented. The next thing he knew, his bottom lip was being nibbled and his tongue was seeking out Crowley’s taste.

He had no idea how long they stood there - he was utterly lost to sensation - but the lift dinged behind them, breaking the spell. They didn’t pull apart, though: their breaths mingled in the small space between their lips, and Aziraphale’s eyes were locked on Crowley’s.

“I’m not ready for this evening to end,” Crowley murmured, stroking his cheek softly. “Can I come in?”

Aziraphale nodded, glancing down at Crowley’s shining and kiss-swollen lips, feeling a surge of pride that he’d done that - and that he was about to do much more.

“Please,” he whispered, looking back up into Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley gave a little smile, then bumped his nose against Aziraphale’s in a move so affectionate, it made his heart lurch in his chest. Then Crowley pressed one more kiss to Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Let’s go, angel.”

~*~O~*~

Several hours later, Crowley emerged from Aziraphale’s flat, poking his head full of messy ginger hair out of the door and glancing up and down the corridor. His clothes were disheveled and some were missing, his glasses were gone, and he was barefoot - but he smiled. Casually, he walked down the corridor to Fowler’s doorstep, picked up the still-abandoned bakery box, then whistled a jaunty tune as he strode back to Aziraphale’s flat, where Aziraphale was in a similarly disheveled state, getting plates and forks.

#goholidayswap #good omens holiday swap #ineffable husbands #aziraphale/crowley #aziraphale x crowley #my writing #my fic

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