#it’s still rising. I made garlic too early so now I have to start over w that bc it’s not even enough garlic

[fisherrprince]

I’d like to thank the government for this banger focaccia I’m making

[tryingmybestpls]

Golden

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader and Bucky go through different stages of the Reader’s pregnancy.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, giving birth

Two Months

Y/N had been mulling over how she was going to tell him since she found out a week ago. She had thought her anxiousness and worries would have faded away after she saw those two little lines on the test. No, they had only increased ten-fold, only worsening when she went to her doctor and got an official test. Her stomach tossing and turning when the doctor told her that she's been pregnant for eight weeks. Y/N was now stuck with the most important and difficult part of this whole thing-telling Bucky Barnes that she was pregnant with his baby.

How does one tell an over one hundred year old super soldier that they're going to be a father?  Getting a tiny Brooklyn Dodgers onesie made? Too cliché. Make some awful pun themed dinner that might include "buns in the oven"? Might go over his head. Hand him the sonogram that she had gotten after the pregnancy test just to be sure? He's from the forties, what the fuck is he going to know about a sonogram?

Y/N was terrified over he was going to react. Bucky was barely getting used to the world, barely getting used to having control of his own mind. And while he had been doing a lot better and he makes sure to take care of himself, Y/N didn't know how he would handle the stress of a baby. Did he even want to be a dad? Y/N didn't even know if she wanted to be a mom, but she know that somehow it felt right. They've never even talked about having children and now-well they were sort of past the point of thinking about having kids.

The whole situation made her want to vomit, and she was pretty sure it wasn't just from the morning sickness.

Y/N eventually landed on telling him over dinner. Nothing too fancy, just the usual place they always go to so that Bucky wouldn't think anything was up. All day long as she sat through meeting after meeting, her date got closer and closer, and that dread that had settled in the pit of her stomach grew with every second. Y/N felt like she was going to vomit by the time she met up with her boyfriend back at their apartment. Luckily, Bucky talks the entire car ride to the restaurant, complaining about something Sam did that day. She uses her training for good, covering up her nervousness with a neutral face.

They made their regular small talk as they sit in the back of the restaurant at their usual table. Y/N orders her usual lemonade while Bucky orders a Coke. They share a basket of bread and Y/N hopes that the carbs soak up the acid that keeps threatening to rise up her throat. Each time she wants to bring up her news, their waitress would come up with refills, an E.T.A on their food, or just to ask how they were doing. And each time, Y/N would glare daggers at her back once she was turned around to walk away.

Then their respective plates of pasta were placed in front of them. Bolognese for Bucky, arrabbiata for Y/N. While usually she immediately dives into her plate, the way her stomach is twisting and turning, she's unable to eat. Y/N pushes her pasta around with her fork as she works up the courage to talk to him. She just didn't know how to say it. All she knew is that she had to say it. Y/N puts down her fork, moving to wipe her now sweaty hands on the cloth napkin on her lap as she looks up at him. Bucky was raising a pasta laden fork up to his mouth as she opened hers.

"I'm pregnant." She finally blurts out. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, barely audible over the noise of the other guests at the restaurant. She was afraid that he couldn't hear her, afraid that she was going to have to say it again. But by the way Bucky's eyes widen, she knew that he had heard her loud and clear. He lowers his fork, mouth opening and shutting.

"I-What? You're-What?" The super soldier asks, looking from her face to her stomach and back to her face. Y/N felt like she was going to be sick to her stomach, the blood draining from her face.

"I-I'm pregnant. I found out last week." Y/N manages to get out, still looking down at her plate. Her eyes started to sting and she tried to blink her eyes rapidly in order to keep her tears at bay. Bucky's silence is deafening and Y/N wishes she could run out of the restaurant, but it's like she's glued to the chair. She wants him to say something-anything, but he is silent. Y/N is about to say something when he holds his hands up, almost in defense.

"Wait. I-I don't want you to be upset. I'm not mad-I just don't know how to put my feelings into words. I'm happy. I'm really happy. I just-You know I'm not good with words." Bucky finally speaks, stumbling over his words. Her eyes widen and she quickly looks up at him.

"I-Really?" Y/N asks, the knot her stomach slowly unraveling. Bucky nods, a small smile appearing on his face. This time the tears that are filling her eyes from happiness.

"I'm not going to pretend that I know anything about babies or raising a child, but I'm sure I can figure it out." Bucky jokes, his metal hand fiddling with his utensils on the table. Y/N feels a million times better, a huge weight being lifted off of her shoulders. He looks up at her again, "I'm happy, Y/N. I am."

"Me too. Me too."

-

Four Months

As Y/N walked into her apartment, the only thing on her mind was kicking her shoes off, taking off her bra that was digging into her sides, and taking a much deserved nap. Her meeting had ended early and with Rhodey not needing help with anything, she had decided to return to her apartment. Yet, with not even a foot inside of the apartment, she was immediately greeted with an argument.

"No, what I am saying is you're painting wrong." Bucky snaps, which makes Y/N's eyebrow raise. Her boyfriend wasn't in sight, but he certainly was in the apartment somewhere. She sets her things down, walking over to where the arguing is coming from.

"How the hell can I be painting wrong? I'm putting paint on the wall. The wall is getting painted." Sam fires back and Y/N has to force herself to not laugh, covering her mouth. She stands in the doorway of the guest room, taking in the sight in front of her. The floor and furniture was covered in plastic tarp, blue painting tape lining the white molding and outlets. Painting supplies littered the room and standing in the middle of all of it were two idiots, both of them holding paint rollers covered in a light sage green paint.

"I'm sorry-what's going on here?" Y/N questions, motioning to the two of them and the mess in the room. Their heads snapped towards her, nervous smiles spreading across their faces. They looked like two kids that have been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"Hey doll-uh fuck-surprise." Bucky announces a little defeatedly while Sam gives a one handed jazz hand. Y/N laughs, carefully stepping into the room as the 106 year old man tries to explain, "I-We were going to surprise you by painting the room. Why are you home so early?"

"My meetings ended early and I am extremely surprised. Thank you and thank you too, Sammy." Y/N says sweetly, smiling at the two of them. Bucky lets out a sigh of relief and Sam chuckles. While the men may not see eye to eye all of the time, Sam has been a great help to both of them. The man had some knowledge about babies and children, being the proud uncle to two little boys, and he had been trying his best to put some of Bucky's worries at ease.

"I'm just trying to be a really great uncle." Sam teases, which makes the super soldier roll his eyes.  Bucky didn't have any living siblings and Y/N's teammates were the closest thing she had to family so it was going to be Uncle Sam, Uncle Rhodey, Auntie Pepper, Auntie Wanda, and so on and so forth. Their little patchwork support system that they were incredibly grateful for.

"Do you two need any help? I can't because I am pretty sure I'm not supposed to be inhaling paint fumes. But I can give Peter a call, I'm sure he wouldn't mind." Y/N offers, grinning from ear to ear. She knows that both men weren't exactly best friends with Peter Parker, both of them having gotten their asses handed to them by a teenager. Y/N didn't have any issues with the kid, hell she talked to him on a weekly basis. He reported to her every Friday, filling Y/N on his week. While it had first started as him telling her what Spider-Man did, it soon turned into a three hour long meeting that included take out while he filled her in the weekly drama and tales of him and his two friends. And every Friday when she would return to the apartment, Sam and Bucky would greet her by calling her traitor.

"Jesus-No, we are okay doll. I think we can manage, right Sam?" Bucky asks, looking at the other man. Sam just nods, holding his paint covered roller a little higher.

"Yeah yeah I think we will be okay. This room will be done in no time."

-

Seven Months

Y/N watched from her seat at the kitchen island as Bucky moved around the kitchen, attempting to make dinner.

Y/N had been put on bed rest due to the fact that the Super Serum that had affected Bucky's DNA was causing the baby to grow at an accelerated rate. Seeing that this is going to be the first baby born with the serum (that they know of), the doctor wanted Y/N to be cautious.

Bucky, had taken the doctor's words incredibly seriously, going so far as to not even let make any food, like he is doing now.

"Bucky, baby, I can help you, y'know." Y/N tells him as Bucky attempted to follow a fairly simple recipe for marinara sauce. It was already going south pretty fast. He hadn't bought the right type of tomatoes and hadn't chopped nearly enough garlic. She kept herself from micromanaging the whole thing, but it was getting harder and harder to do so.

"Doll, I used to make dinner for me and my sister. I think I can handle this." He replies, setting the knife he was using to chop up the yellow onion aside. He scoops up the onion in his hands, moving to toss it into the big pan on the stove. The onions sizzle as soon as it hits the olive oil covered surface of the pan.

When Y/N had told Bucky she was craving pasta, she had kind of meant that they would just pick something up. Bucky had decided that he would make the meal himself and Y/N, once she saw how excited he was, didn't have the heart to tell him that she had wanted take-out.

It was actually sort of sweet, seeing him trying to hard to make this meal for her. All he wanted to do is take care of her, take care of their baby. She loved cooking for him for the same reason. It was a way to show her love, to show how much she cared about him and he just wanted to do the same.

"Alright, Barnes. I believe in you." Y/N responds, smiling at him. She just watched as he cooked (and occasionally danced to the jazz music that was playing on the record player). It didn't matter if the meal sucked, Bucky was just trying his best to take care of his girlfriend and their child.

But for the record, the meal did suck.

-

Eight Months

It was a sight, seeing them together.

Bucky held their daughter close to his chest, bouncing her carefully as the light started to filter through the blinds of her hospital room. A smile was stretched across his tired face as he moved from side to side, cooing to her softly. His hair was a mess, his clothes incredibly wrinkled. The morning light surrounded the two like a halo and if Y/N could, she'd take a picture of them. A picture of her family.

Their daughter had been born a month early, which wasn't too surprising considering with how fast she had been growing. Although it was a shock when Y/N's water broke the night before while they were sleeping. Then Y/N had spent most of yesterday in labor, finally giving birth to their sweet baby girl-Rebecca Natalia Barnes, named after Bucky's little sister and Y/N's best friend-in the evening. Bucky had started crying when Y/N had told him that she had wanted to name their daughter after his sister, not thinking that Y/N would have wanted to pay tribute to his long dead sister.

"Look Rebecca, mommy's awake." Bucky says softly, looking over to where Y/N was laying in her bed. The Super Soldier grinned at her, still rocking their child. Y/N smiled at the two of them, shifting on the bed so she can sit up a bit more as her boyfriend walked over. She looks up at the two, her heart swelling with the way Bucky looks holding their daughter.

"Hi baby." Y/N says hoarsely, the bundle of pink shifting and squirming in Bucky's arms. She holds her arms out, silently asking if she can hold Rebecca. Bucky carefully places the newborn into her arms before he pulls the plastic chair closer to the bed, not wanting to be too far from either of them.

"I can't believe she's actually here." Y/N announces softly, taking in every detail of her daughter's face in the early morning light. She had Bucky's blue-gray eyes and his nose, but her hair. It felt weird to see her, felt weird to be holding her. Y/N felt like she was dreaming, but the pain she had gone through the night before-the pain she was still feeling now-had made it real.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Bucky asks, looking at mother and child interacting. Y/N nods, tears filling her eyes as she looks down at her daughter. She presses her lips against Rebecca's forehead, taking in that baby smell that every parenting book seemed to mention. Bucky is still smiling, looking at the two, "My two beautiful girls."

Hours from now, the hospital room would be filled with friends what were more likely family, wanting to share this incredibly special moment with the Y/L/N-Barnes family. Rebecca would be introduced with her aunts and uncles, each one of them getting a chance to hold and introduce themselves to the newborn.

But for now, for now, the three of them were alone. The three of them sat together in this room, all getting used to each other. Nothing else existed outside of this room, nothing else mattered outside of this room. All that mattered was that they were together.

[missallsundaes]

Sanji x Male Reader — Amateur Chef

2111 Words • CW dealing with repressed bisexuality

When Luffy heard your self proclaimed cooking skills in the town market to a friend, he immediately invited you on to the ship, even without trying your food. A bigger crew needs more cooks, was his reasoning for Sanji. Sanji wasn't exactly happy about the new addition to his kitchen, possessive about his things and how the kitchen was maintained. And he was sure that you wouldn't take the same care as he did. At least you had your own set of knives, he thought with a sigh.

The first night cooking together proved to be...a challenge. He was paying you no mind, working in his own entrees for the crew, but the haphazard slap of the kitchen knife against the chopping board, well he could only stand it for so long before his temper got the better of him.

“What the fuck are you doing over there, amateur?” He seethed, turning to face you.

You sheepishly set down your knife on the counter, stepping back to show Sanji the vegetables you were cutting. His heart skipped a beat, seeing your rough cut shapes and uneven chops.

“What are you doing to that poor food!” Worded like a question, but spat at you like an insult. He approached you cutting board, staring down at the mangled shapes of potato, carrot and celery, hand frustratingly pulling through his hair.

“Well I'm just making soup..” You started, you were a bit offended but the chef in front of you was too intimating to talk back to. You'd heard enough stories about Black Leg Sanji to know when to keep your mouth shut.

“So you decided to torture your poor ingredients?” He reached for his own knife, wiping it clean with a cloth before trying to salvage the vegetables. You watched in awe as he saved first the potatoes, then the celery. He looked at you before touching the chunks of carrot on the board.

“You taking notes, amateur?” He said. His voice was softer now though his tone was still harsh. He raised the visible eyebrow, “Come over here and learn how it's done.”

He waved you over to stand in front of him, placing his hand over yours on your knife, he guided your left hand into place, showing you the gentle fist to protect your fingers without losing grip on the vegetables. He started slow, chopping motions in cool even bursts, slicing the chunks of carrot into perfectly measured cubes. You tried to pay attention but the beating of your heart in your throat, his warm hand over yours, and his firm chest placed against your back was all that your mind could focus on.

When the carrot was taken care of he let go of your hand, leaving you feeling you were missing something. You watched him cross the kitchen again, standing again in front of his own prep, you watched him skillfully pull the bones from a huge fish in one movement, running his hand over it to make sure it was all removed, looking for even the smallest of bones.

You hadn't heard about how gentle he was. How careful in the kitchen with perfect mannerisms. He looked at you, and you realized how obviously caught up in watching him you were, jumping to peel the garlic in front of you for your soup. He laughed, turning back to his prep, beginning to make a marinade with fresh lemons and cracked pepper for the fish.

“You're not a chef are you?” He said, looking at you briefly as he squeezed the lemons of their juice.

“No not at all,” you said sheepishly, ”I know a few recipes but when a wanted pirate grabs you and tells you you're going to be a chef on his crew you listen, you know? It's not like I was in a position to refuse..”

He sighed, knowing exactly how enthusiastic Luffy could be when he set his mind on something. “Don't worry, you can be my sous chef. I'll teach you what you need to know. We'll start with more knife practice for breakfast tomorrow, I hope you're okay getting up early.”

You thought briefly of how much you were not a morning person, though this was not the time to mention that. You nodded, “Thanks for helping me. You're a kind man.”

Sanji's face flushed at the genuine compliment, turning around quickly as if there was a pressing matter in the fridge to attend to. “N-nonsense it's just the right thing to do.” He stammered, head buried in the fridge, looking desperately for an ingredient to pull out that would make sense.

///

He kicked your hammock in the men's cabin, foot still perched on your side as you swayed back and forth, trying to regain your senses, shaken from a dream about your new crewmates, the one in front of you in particular.

“I thought you could be up early,” he laughed.

The room was still full of the snoring of the other men, the only light from the lantern in Sanji’s hand, casting golden light across him. He was already dressed in his slacks and dress shirt, looking primed for the day. You were sure that you looked the absolute opposite, feeling the drool caked to your cheek and knowing your hair was probably a wreck.

“Uh, about that,” you chuckled, climbing out of the hammock and hopping to the floor of the cabin. “I may not be as much of a morning person as I said.”

“I figured as much when you didn't wake up the first few times I kicked you.” He said, “Though I bothered you enough for you to say my name in your sleep.”

You turned from him, hiding your face by searching for a clean set of clothes, forcing an awkward laugh, “Oh yeah I must have subconsciously known you were trying to wake me.”

“Well hurry up, these idiots won't be asleep forever, and you do not want to see Luffy without his breakfast.” He left the room for you to get dressed, and you trudged to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

When you met him in the kitchen, he had a multitude of fruits set up at your station. You could smell bacon in the oven already, and he was whipping a large bowl of eggs for what you could only imagine was the biggest omelette of all time.

“Took you long enough.” He said, though he had a smirk on his face, his harsh attitude from yesterday softened.

“Am I chopping these?” You said, lifting your knife to slice the strawberries laid out on the board.

“Ah ah wait. Hold on I'm almost done.” He said, setting down the bowl of whipped eggs on the counter. He approached you, watching over your shoulder. “Do you remember the lesson from yesterday?”

You nodded, ”I think so.” you put your hand in the position he showed you, holding the knife how it felt under his guiding hand, breathed in and started slicing the strawberries.

The difference in your cuts from yesterday to this morning was leagues away. He adjusted your elbow, his firm gentle touch making your heart flutter, and just the adjustment of your arm made your slices neater. “Breathe,” he said, his own breath hot in your ear and making you catch your breath instead. You struggled to retain your breathing, but your cuts were messier now. He took your hand again, your heart beating through your chest. “You're making this so much harder than it is, watch. Breath with me.”

You times your breathing to match his, his firm chest pressed into you, his hand over yours. You felt your chests rise in succession together, making you feel as one. His hand held yours in place, but you were doing the work.

“Exactly like that,” he praised, you felt like you could melt right then and there. “You're doing great.”

He let go of you, stepping back to the stove top to heat a huge skillet for his omelette. “You've got it from here I presume.” You watched him for a moment, testing the temperature of the pan before adding his eggs and watching them diligently. “Most of breakfast is ready, so just get the fruit cut and plated and then we can wake up the crew.”

You nodded, “Thanks again, Sanji.” You said, continuing to chop the fruit in front of you, plating it up on the large platter he had set out.

///

The next few weekswent the same, Sanji waking you in the morning. Him teaching you new techniques to use in the kitchen. Making three meals a day together, not including if someone wanted a snack, getting closer and closer until you couldn't bear it. Your feelings for the man were definitely growing, you had a sneaking suspicion that he had similar feelings for you, but the constant doting of the girls on the crew made you doubt yourself, fearing that he wasn't into men the way you were.

You had already made fresh baked bread together that morning, as you watched his hands knead the dough tauntingly slow, his strong hands rolling it out and beating it down, his sleeves rolled up you could see the flexing of every muscle in his forearms.

You were cracking about two dozen eggs into a large skillet to fry, trying not to think about how close he was to you, chopping chives to put on top of your fried eggs.

“Sanji,” you said, rinsing your hands of the raw eggs in the sink.

He didn't look up from his work, now slicing pieces of smoked salmon, “Eh?” He said.

“I think I might have a problem,” you said, trying desperately not to look at the blond sharing the kitchen with you. He set down his knife, immediately checking your eggs over, the stove temperature, any kitchen error he could think of before looking you incredulously in the face. “It's not my food.” He looked more relieved than you expected and you laughed.

“What is it then?” He said, curly brow peaked with curiosity.

“I think I fell for one of my crewmates since I've been on the ship.” You flipped your eggs carefully, trying not to break your yolks.

“Oh? Nami? Robin?” He said, going back to work at his salmon. He wasn't jealous, per say, it's not like he really expect to feel this way about you. Plus the girls were gorgeous in every way, how could a red blooded man not fall for them. He still didn't know how to accept his feelings for you, forcing down any hint of bisexuality that he ever felt, blocking out those feelings, usually with anger.

“Uh no,” you said, turning off the heat on the stove and letting the residual heat finish your eggs as you seasoned them with salt and pepper. Beginning to set up the crews plates with thick slices of your fresh bread, two eggs each (four for Luffy and Zoro), sprinkling the chives on top, and passing the plates to Sanji to top with smoked salmon and hollandaise sauce.

After a moment of silence so thick you could slice it with the kitchen knife next to you, you continued, “Sanji, it's you.”

He almost dropped the plate he was holding, and you both moved quickly in reaction, hands one on top of the other under the plate. “What,” he said, worded like a question but tone flat in disbelief.

“Just, spending all this time with you has meant so much to me,” you withdrew your hand, looking away from him to hide the tinge of crimson on your cheeks. “Having you close to me, your guiding hands. Your strength. I can't help it.” He was still frozen in place, thoughts racing. “Just don't worry. Never mind, forget I said anything!” You said, plating the last of your half of the plates.

“Wait,” he said, as you were leaving the galley to wake the crew, “I think I fell for you too.” You stopped in the doorway, turning back to face him, but his back was to you. “I grew up not allowed to be who I wanted and even though I can now it's still hard to accept who I am. But I want to learn and be better. I want to be with you.”

“Do you mean that?” You said, letting the door swing back closed.

“Yeah,” he laughed, he turned to you smiling with tears in the corners of his eye. “Yeah I definitely mean it.” He wiped his eye, “Come on then, let's go wake up the ravenous beasts.”

[multi-fandom-imagines-stuff]

Smaller Than This

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/daughter!reader, Peter Parker/platonic!reader, Wanda Maximoff/reader

Description: The reader is Natasha Romanoff’s daughter, best friend of Peter Parker, and girlfriend of Wanda Maximoff. Growing up in the spotlight is hard enough, but things cross a line when people start commenting on the reader’s weight.

Warnings: eating disorder, swearing, threats of violence

Word count: 3,282

A/N: I know it’s not easy to deal with eating disorders, but please know that you are beautiful and amazing and you don’t deserve to have to suffer through that. Please, if you are struggling with this, reach out for help. <3

✩❀✩❀✩

Black Widow’s daughter spotted in Central Park with new best friend Scarlet Witch and Stark Industry intern Peter Parker! Could Parker be y/n’s new boyfriend?

You laughed and rolled your eyes as you clicked on the tweet. Stalking paparazzi twitter accounts had to be one of your favorite pastimes, simply because the so-called facts they were giving out were false 99% of the time. For instance, this situation? You had gone out for a picnic with Peter and Wanda when those photos were taken, and the paparazzi completely twisted things. Peter wasn’t your boyfriend, he was just your best friend. And Wanda wasn’t your best friend, she was your girlfriend. You chose to ignore the false headline as you went immediately for the replies.

‘Do you see the way y/n’s looking at Wanda? It seems more like there’s something going on between them than there is between y/n and Peter’

You smiled and liked that tweet. You liked messing with people just a bit. Whenever someone would tweet about there possibly being a relationship between you and Wanda, you liked the tweet. It wasn’t enough information to actually confirm the relationship as true, but it was enough to keep people speculating.

You scrolled through several more replies. Most of them were people using the heart eyes emoji or saying how much they loved your mom, but there were a few in there that stuck out more than the rest. That was because they were harsh and hurtful.

‘I don’t understand how someone can live with the Avengers and still look like that. Does she ever even exercise?’

‘She could stand to lose some weight. Instead of going out for a picnic, she should try to skip a few meals’

You read through replies for a few more minutes. Similar comments would pop up now and then, and while there wasn’t an overwhelming amount, there was still enough to make you close down the app and shut off your phone, averting all your attention toward not crying. 

“Miss y/n, dinner has been called,” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rang through your room.

Pushing the thoughts to the back of your mind, you got off your bed and made your way to the dining room. There, Peter and Wanda were setting the table while Steve and Bucky carried out the food.

You walked up behind your girlfriend and wrapped your arms around her waist, resting your chin on her shoulder. You felt her jump slightly before she realized it was you and relaxed into your touch. You placed a kiss on her cheek.

“I love you,” You whispered in her ear.

“Hey! What did we talk about?” Tony directed at you, raising an eyebrow at you and causing you to roll your eyes.

“No lovey-dovey shit at the dinner table,” You mumbled.

“Language!” Steve scolded you as Clint joined the conversation.

“Oh, come on, Tony,” He said. “It’s young love. It’s harmless and adorable.”

“It makes me want to hurl,” Tony retorted.

To onlookers, it may have sounded like Tony was being a real dick, but you knew he was just teasing you. He’d never admit it, but secretly he loved how happy you and Wanda made each other.

“Watch it, Stark,” Your mom shot him a glare. “That’s my kid you’re talking about.”

Your head whipped up at your mom’s voice. She had been on a mission for the past week and wasn’t supposed to get home for another three days.

“Mom!” You yelled as you ran toward her, wrapping your arms around her as you squeezed her tight.

“Hey, kiddo! I’ve missed you!” She said, hugging you back and kissing you lightly on the forehead.

“I’ve missed you, too!”

“As much as I hate to break up this reunion,” Bucky said, causing you to pull away from your mom. “Steve and I slaved over dinner and it’s getting cold, so let’s eat.”

You took your seat at the table—in between Peter and Wanda—and filled your plate with the spaghetti and garlic bread Steve and Bucky made. Everyone was silent as you all dug into your food and, you had to admit, it tasted amazing. 

When Steve and Bucky first moved in, neither of them were allowed near a stove without supervision. They had started too many accidental fires. But after lots and lots of practice, the two of them easily became the best cooks in the tower.

After dinner, you excused yourself to your room. Your phone was still lying face down on the bed, so you grabbed it and opened it up. Right away, you noticed several notifications from twitter. Upon further investigation, you found that the rude comments people were saying about you had extended to your messages. Now, you had complete strangers messaging you about how you needed to ‘lose weight’, or ‘eat less’, or ‘exercise more’. A few of the messages even called you a ‘disappointment to the Avengers’.

You deactivated your account and deleted the app from your phone, but the damage was already done and you knew it. So you came up with a plan and decided to set it into motion the next morning.

✩❀✩❀✩

You woke up in the morning to your alarm blaring. Checking the time, you saw it was 4:30, and you wondered why your alarm was going off so early before you remembered the plan you had made the night before.

You got out of bed and quickly dressed in athletic attire before running out of your room. You knew Steve liked to run in the mornings, so you sat in the kitchen waiting for him.

When he finally sauntered in at 5:00, he was more than surprised to see you sitting there.

“Y/n?” He asked. “What’re you doing up so early?”

“Can I run with you today, Uncle Steve?” You asked him, a pleading look on your face that you knew he couldn’t say no to.

“Yeah, sure,” He said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be sleeping?”

You nodded. 

“I want to start running. My mile time in P.E. class has been slacking lately and I don’t want to fail the class.”

You were surprised yet proud of how quickly you were able to come up with that lie, and you were happy to see that Steve believed every word of it.

So that’s how you spent your morning: running laps with Steve.

The two of you finally called it quits around 6:15 and parted ways. Steve went off to do whatever he did during the days, and you went off to squeeze in a quick shower before school.

By the time you were done with your shower, it was nearly 7:00, which meant you had to rush to get dressed. You finally made it to the kitchen, where Wanda was already waiting for you. The two of you yelled a quick ‘bye’ to whoever was listening before you started the quick walk to the bus stop.

You felt Wanda’s hand interlock with yours and a smile arose on your face as you squeezed her hand. You two didn’t want to publicly disclose your relationship yet, so you knew the minute you reached the bus stop you’d have to let go.

✩❀✩❀✩

At lunch, you sat at a table with Wanda, Peter, MJ, and Ned. You skipped the food line and instead opted to sip at a bottle of water.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” Peter asked you.

“What do you mean?” You shot back, not quite sure what he was getting at.

“You’re not eating.”

Shit. You had to think of a lie, and you had to be extra careful since your girlfriend could read minds. She promised you she’d never read your mind without your consent, but you were still wary.

“Uh...I’m just not feeling well,” You said. “My stomach is feeling a little flip-floppy and I don’t want to push it.”

To your luck, they nodded it off and changed the topic, not questioning you again for the rest of the day.

That night at dinner, you pushed the food around on your plate, eating a few bites here and there. It wasn’t hard to pretend you had eaten, especially since your family was so big. Everyone seemed to be so caught up in conversations with other people that they didn’t notice when you got up and scraped your food into the trash.

✩❀✩❀✩

These habits carried on for a few more weeks. You’d wake up every morning to run with Steve, make up some excuse for why you didn’t eat lunch, and you’d have a few bites of dinner before sneakily trashing it. On most weekends, you chose to spend your time training with your mom. You claimed it was so that you could stay sharp with your self-defense skills, and while that wasn’t necessarily a lie, it wasn’t the full truth, either. But your mom never questioned it, and you were glad.

You seemed to fly under the radar, until one Sunday afternoon.

You walked into your room after training with your mom to find Peter and Wanda waiting for you.

“Hey, guys,” You greeted, throwing yourself into a chair and downing half a bottle of water. “What’s up?” 

“We know,” Wanda said, a stern yet concerned look on her face.

“Know what?” You asked her, although you could feel your heart rate rising. You knew what she was talking about.

“That you haven’t been eating,” Peter joined in.

“What’re you talking about? Of course I’ve been eating.”

That was a lie. Your stomach hadn’t been properly filled in weeks and you couldn’t remember the last time it wasn’t rumbling. But that wasn’t important. What was important was the fact that you were finally losing weight. There’s no way you could stop now.

“Cut the crap, y/n,” Peter said, catching you by surprise. “We’ve been watching you. I can’t even remember the last time you bought a school lunch.”

“And you pick at your food at dinner every night,” Wanda added. “I haven’t seen you eat more than three bites. You think no one notices, but you’re wrong. And I can feel you, love. You feel...empty.”

Wanda rested her hand on your knee as you tried to process what was happening. You had been so good at hiding this, how had they found out?

“You guys, I’m—” You started before Peter cut you off.

“Don’t say you’re fine, because you’re not. We know it, and you know it, so please stop lying to us, y/n. We just want to help.”

“I have it under control, I don’t need help,” You protested. “Just...please don’t tell my mom.”

“Y/n—”

“Wanda, please,” You begged. “My mom has enough to worry about as it is. I don’t need to add this to her stress as well. I promise, I have it under control. I’m alright.”

Wanda and Peter shared a look before turning back to you. 

“We’ll keep this between us for now,” Peter said, and you felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders.

“But, if things get any worse, we won’t hesitate to bring your mom into this,” Wanda warned.

You nodded and the two of them left, Wanda kissing you quickly before walking out of the room. 

‘I just need to hide it better’ you thought to yourself. ‘This is all my fault for being too obvious about things. I need to do better.’

Wanda and Peter had dropped the topic for the time being, until a week later, things took a turn for the worse when your P.E. teacher announced that your class was running the mile that day.

Thanks to training with Steve, your mile time had improved and you were one of the fastest in the class. However, due to malnutrition, any sort of exercise made you extremely lightheaded. 

You ignored the part of your brain that was telling you to make up some excuse to sit out. You convinced yourself you just weren’t drinking enough water so you drank an entire water bottle and went to class.

You were about halfway done with your mile when the corners of your vision turned black. You blinked a few times, trying to edge it away, but it was no use. By now, you heard a loud ringing in your ears and the world started spinning around you. You slowed down a bit, trying to regain your composure when you felt your knees buckle underneath you, and you were plunged into a world of darkness, not feeling it when you hit the ground.

���❀✩❀✩

When you awoke, you were still laying on the field, your entire class swarming around you. You were trying to sit up when you felt something attached to your hand. 

You looked to the right and saw Wanda sitting there, looking scared as hell.

“Miss Maximoff, Mr. Parker, please escort Miss Romanoff to the nurse’s office,” Your teacher ordered.

You felt Wanda help lift you to a standing position and once you were up, you felt the world start spinning again. You shut your eyes tight as two arms, you assumed they belonged to Wanda and Peter, wrapped around either side of your waist. Soon enough, the dizziness ceased and you opened your eyes, signaling for Peter and Wanda to start walking with you.

You made it to the nurse’s station where you saw your mom already waiting.

“Mom?” You asked, wondering how she had gotten to your school so quickly.

“Peter called me the second he saw you fall,” She explained.

You, Wanda, and Peter were dismissed from school early, and your mom led you all back to her car. You sat in the passenger seat while Peter and Wanda sat in the back.

“What happened?” Your mom demanded.

The tone of her voice scared you a little bit, but you knew it was filled more with concern than it was with anger.

“I must’ve just gotten overheated or something,” You lied, knowing exactly why you passed out. “I was doing fine one second, and then the next I was on the ground.”

“That’s not true, Ms. Romanoff,” Peter interjected.

You whipped your head around to him and shook your head, silently pleading him to not tell her.

“What do you mean?” She asked. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Peter, stop,” You said, panicking at what was about to be said.

“Y/n hasn’t eaten a proper meal in a month,” Wanda admitted.

You shot your girlfriend a look of betrayal before turning back around to face forward.

“You, what?!” Your mom blared. “Y/n, is this true?”

Your silence was enough of an answer for her to understand that yes, it was true.

���Y/n, baby, why?” Your mom said.

You could tell she was trying to be strong, but her voice was cracking.

“Because I’m not like you guys, okay?!” You finally snapped, letting loose all of your pent-up emotions. “I don’t have a super-human metabolism like Peter, and I don’t have a perfectly in-shape body. I’m not an avenger and it sure as hell shows. Even people I don’t even know were making comments about it on twitter.”

“Is that why you disabled your account?” Peter asked, realization hitting him.

You nodded and looked down at your fingers, not wanting to make eye contact with any of them.

By now, you had reached the tower and your mom put the car into park, turning to face you.

“Y/n, I know it’s been hard for you to grow up in the spotlight, constantly being compared to us but this isn’t healthy,” She said, cupping your chin and lightly pulling your head up to meet her gaze. “If I had known all of this, I never would have let you do all those extra training sessions with me. It’s not safe for you to keep exercising like this when you’re not giving your body proper nourishment.”

“I can’t—” You sniffed. “I can’t stop. I need help.”

You felt a tear roll down your cheek as your mom brushed it away, pulling you in for a hug before the four of you got out of the car.

Once inside, your mom told you to sit down in the living room while she left for a few minutes. When she returned, she had the rest of the team with her and you could only assume she had given them the run-down on your situation. 

You were slightly hurt that she had shared your personal life like that, but you knew it was for the best.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Your mom said once everyone was settled. “Y/n, you’re going to help with dinner every night. I know it can be hard once you’ve developed a food phobia, but when you’re in control of what we eat every night it makes things a little easier. No more throwing your food in the trash, okay? As for school, I’ll be making you a homemade lunch each day, and Peter and Wanda will be keeping an eye on you and will be reporting back to me. First thing tomorrow, I’ll call and set you up an appointment with a therapist. Bottling up your emotions will only make things worse, trust me. You need to talk to someone, and a therapist will help to give you healthier coping mechanisms.”

You listened as your mom laid out these new rules before telling you to go lie down. As you got up to leave, you were bombarded with your family hugging you and telling you they were there for you. You honestly had never felt more loved and supported in your life.

You finally made your way to your room, lying down in bed. A few minutes later, you heard a knock at your door.

“Come in,” You said weakly.

The handle turned and Wanda walked in, using her powers to levitate a tray behind her. You sat up and she put the tray down in your lap. On the tray, you saw there was a plate of cheese and crackers.

You looked down at the tray before looking up at your girlfriend. You forced yourself to pick up one of the crackers and take a bite, your mind screaming at you the entire time. But you were sick. You knew this. You wanted to get better.

“I’m sorry for telling your mother,” Wanda spoke. “You were slowly killing yourself and I couldn’t stand by and watch it happen. I’m so sorry, y/n. Can you forgive me?”

“I don’t blame you, Wan,” You told her. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I never should have forced you and Peter to keep this a secret.”

Wanda wrapped you into her arms, squeezing tightly. The two of you stayed like that for a long time before you pulled away and, bite by bite, finished the snack she had brought you.

✩❀✩❀✩

You had been in recovery for about a month now, and while things were far from easy, you knew you could do it. Your family was your support system and they were right there by your side every step of the way.

You were sitting on the couch with Peter and Wanda, you and your girlfriend tangled in each other’s arms as you watched your mom on tv. She was finishing up a press conference.

“Oh, and one last thing before I go,” She spoke toward the camera and the audience. “Whoever decided to make awful comments about my daughter online, I am a trained assassin and I will find you.”

[imaslutforremusandsirius]

You always get what you want part 3

Part one    

Part two

Part four

The next part will be the fourth and last of the series, with Wolfstar x James x Reader ;) (i‘m ashamed to publish it, it‘s literal porn jfc)

Warning: 18+

Pairing: Wolfstar only

Enjoy besties

---

“What if he doesn’t like me like that?”, Sirius whined, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. 

You gave him a look, voice flat. “Sirius, he sucked you off.”

Sirius ignored you and kept rambling.

“What if it was just a thing between mates? Like a peace offering, because he fucked you and felt bad so he sucked me off?”

You groaned and fell back on your matress, bored of Sirius’ constant worrying. 

Sirius was convinced that Remus didn’t actually want to fuck him and just did it so he could fuck you again. And you were sick of it. Everybody could see that Remus was mental about Sirius. You needed to put an end to this madness and hook your boyfriend up with his best mate. The thought made you laugh slightly and you turned on your belly, looking at Sirius with a calm expression.

“Do you trust me love?”

“‘Course I trust you!”

“Then I want you to calm down and not worry your pretty head, okay? I got it from here.” 

Sirius leaned forward to pull you on his chest, grey eyes looking into yours questioningly, “You really don’t mind me being with Moony? I won’t do it if it makes you uncomfortable.” His tone was earnest, saying everything with complete honesty. 

“Sirius, darling, I want you to do whatever makes you happy, okay? I love you. Besides I fucked him first, so you’re getting sloppy seconds.”

“Fuck you!”, his giggled between the soft pecks you kept pressing on his lips, “I love you too..”

---

“Remmy, wait up!”, you jogged in his direction, grabbing his shoulder from behind.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Uh, we need to talk. It’s about Sirius..”

He shot you an alarmed look. “What happend? Is he hurt? Did some-”

“Calm down, he’s fine! Can we talk in your room?”

“Okay, yeah, let’s go..”

Shutting the door behind you, both of you sat down and you looked at Remus, amusement glinting in your eyes.

“Sooo...You fancy my boyfriend, right?”

Remus chocked on his spit, cheeks blushing as he looked at his hands. 

“Why did you have to say boyfriend, now I sound like a complete prat..”

You giggled taking his hand in yours, resting them on your lap. You gave a qentle squeeze, willing him to look at you. His gaze was open and vulnerable, begging you not to judge him. Your eyes softend as you understood just how much he liked Sirius, but was scared about ruining your friendship.

“Remus, I’m gonna tell you what I told Sirius this morning. I see how much you like each other and I want you to be happy. I’m not mad and I’m not jealous.”

“Look, I’m really sorry, I never wanted to get between you, but he’s just so..so..”

“Beautiful, brilliant, kind, hot...”, your said, tone light.

“Yeah, he’s just so Sirius..you know? I don’t know how it happend. Merlin I’m sitting here gushing about your boyfriend..”, he let out, voice tight. “I’m sorry.”

“I swear on my dead hamsters grave..”, he let out a shocked laugh, making you giggle as you kept promising, “..that I want this for the both of you as well.”

He was grinning now, the confident Remus that you knew finally making his way back to the surface. 

“You promise?”

“Yes! I promise.”

He let out a breath, shoulders slumping with relief. “Thank you darling, you don’t know how much this means to me. Is there anything, and I mean anything, that I can do for you?”

“Please just fuck him good, he’s been talking about your cock for days now. Do you know how pissed he was that he fell asleep before he could touch you?”

“Oh is he now? Don’t worry, I’ll fuck him good.”

You smiled devilishly, “You promise?”

“Fuck, yes I promise”, Remus chuckled.

---

Remus acted as if nothing happend and wouldn’t react to Sirius’ nervous glances. Secretly he was enjoying his squirming, pleased that he had such an effect on his crush. Sirius was trying to get Remus’ attention, by being extra loud and annoying. He was mocking his brother Regulus more than usually, levitating food with James’ help to annoy Lily, kissing you with garlic breath to make you laugh or flirted with Professor McGonagall. You had warned Remus about this, said that Sirius would do absolutely anything to get a rise out of him, so he would be able to find out if Remus fancied him or not. You kept your mouth shut firmly, telling Sirius that it’s a matter between mates, you had to hold back your laughter so hard, and that you wouldn’t mingle in their business. 

So here he was, making a fool of himself to get his Moonys reaction. Anything for his Moony, right? 

Remus knew that Sirius was shameless and an absolute brat at times, which is why he chose to sit still and enjoy his food, not once looking into Sirius’ pretty, desperate eyes. 

“James”, you started, glancing furtively at Sirius, “me and the girls want to organize a surprise party for Professor McGonagall and we need your help as headboy. It’ll take a few hours, but you’ll help right?” Lily was looking up as well now and James immediately sat upright in his seat, clearing his throat. “For Minnie? ‘Course I’ll help!” Everybody knew that he wanted to because it was headboy duties, which meant headgirl duties as well, which meant Lily and that meant alone-time with Lily. You gave a satisfied smile as Remus looked at you from under his lashes, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Remus, I want you and Sirius to buy the things I gave you a list about, okay? Take your time, I know it’s a lot.” 

“Sure thing, we got it. Right Padfoot?”

Sirius perked up as well, nodding his head so fast, you feared he’ll get a concussion. Finally, Remus had paid him attention. 

“Yes! Yes, Moony and I will buy only the best for our Minnie!”

You grinned and gave him a kiss, as Remus looked down again, smirking in amusement.

“Great!”

---

“Moony, come on, you never take this long. We need to get going, the list isn’t getting any shorter.”, Sirius moaned.

The hall was empty now, only the two boys left, because Remus was taking his sweet time eating everything on the table. 

“Sirius”, Remus drawled, looking at the boy from under his lashes, “we don’t have to buy anything..”

Sirius tilted his head to the side, confused. “What? But you said it yourself!”

“Your girlfriend said that you wanted me to fuck you?” Remus was leaning back in his chair now, legs spread dominantly taking up space, sweater rolled up his forearms, exposing muscular and scarred skin. His gaze was intense, pinning Sirius, a slight, mocking smile on his lips.

Sirius gaped at him, rendered speechless for the first time in his life. 

“If I had know that you are so desperate to have me, I would have touched you ages ago. Fucked you senseless, while you had to keep your pretty mouth shut, so no one would hear. Made you cum, over and over again. Made you suck me off like a good puppy.”

Remus kept eye-contact, relishing in the way he made Sirius blush. Sirius, actually blushed! 

“Moony...” His voice was raspy, a needy whine in his tone.

Remus stood up and Sirius couldn‘t take his eyes off of him. If Remus would tell him to strip right here in the great hall, he would. But Remus isn‘t that evil. Least no yet. 

„I have a gift for you in our dorm, c‘mon puppy“, Sirius melted at the pet name and took Remus‘ outstretched hand.

„Is that gift your cock?“, Sirius crooned, playing with Remus’ fingers. 

Remus snorted, „M’gonna let you be a brat. Fuck it out of you later.“

Sirius blushed, again!

Remus pushed open the door and gestured to Sirius‘ bed, telling him to open his present. It was an early birthday gift, something he could only give him in private without it being suspicious.

Sirius went over and took a look at the simple black box, opening it. Inside was a thin, elegant gold chain with a small round pendant. His intitials engraved in the front, in beautiful cursive handwriting. S.O.B.

Sirius‘ breath hitched as he took the collar out, turning around to glance at Remus who was watching him, small smile on his lips.

„Moony“, Sirius said, voice barley above a whisper, „this is the most beautiful gift I‘ve ever recieved.“

Remus‘ smile got wider at that comment and he took the collar, putting it around Sirius‘ delicate neck.

Remus leaned down, lips brushing against his ear as he spoke, voice deep and thick with arousal, „I‘m the only one who can take it off. It‘s charmed. And everytime I touch the pendant on the backside, the initials change to my name, when you touch it they turn back into yours.“ To prove it, he flipped the pendant over to place his thumb on the back, and Sirius watched as the initials changed into R.J.L.

Sirius was speechless, looking at his pendant in the mirror. He swirled around, hooking his arms around Remus‘ neck, pushing himself up on his toes to kiss the boy. Remus chuckled, „I take it you like your gift?“

„Like?! I fucking love it, Merlin, Moony...“, he gasped, „Please touch it again, want your name on me.“

Remus groaned as he touched the pendant again, digging his hands under Sirius‘ thighs and lifting him against the mirror.

Remus pulled back slightly to take Sirius‘ hair out of its bun and tangled his hand in the soft, black hair. Sirius groand impatiently as Remus slowly lowered him on the bed.

„Fuck, Moony please, just touch me already.“

„Patience, puppy..“, Remus trailed of, „You‘ve waited for so long, surely you can wait a few more minutes.“

Sirius whined pressing his hips up against Remus‘, but Remus gripped them tight and pressed him down, giving him a strict glare.

„Sirius...“, his tone hard, „don‘t be greedy now, puppy. You want to cum, don‘t you? Want me to touch you?“

„M‘sorry, I‘ll be good promise, just wanna see you Moony..“, Sirius said softly, a longing expression on his face. Fuck, he had waited so long for this.

Remus softend, leaning down to kiss his neck, breathing in Sirius‘ scent. He took the smaller boys wrists and pressed his lips there, nipping at the thin skin, leaving small bruises. Sirius sat up slightly, taking his shirt off as Remus lightly scratched his nails on his sides.

„Mmm, puppy look at you. Your skin is so pure I just wanna ruin it...“, Remus growled against his stomach, teeth brusing the skin.

„Fuck, Remus, more!“

Remus took in a sharp breath, eyes lifting to look at Sirius needily.

„Say that again. Say my name again.“

Sirius grinned, tugging Remus up by his hair and moaned against his lips. „Remus, Remus, Remus...“, his voice cut off, when Remus whined and kissed him hard. No longer was their pace slow and passionate, but hard and rushes.

„Sirius, if we do this now, I won‘t be able to hold back..“, Remus gasped against Sirius mouth, „so if you, fuck, if you want to stop, say it now!“

Remus felt the familiar push of his wolf in his body and pulled back, hands fisting the bedsheet next to Sirius head.

„Remus...“

Thats all Sirius needed to say before, Remus lost control, ripping his pants of, speading his legs.

„Look at your pretty cock, baby, so desperate for me, hm? You filthy puppy...“

Sirius writhed on the bed, careful to not move his hips. Remus noticed and gave him a cocky smirk.

„Learning are you. Good boy, you are Moonys good boy, aren‘t you?“

„Yes, Remus, m‘your good boy.“

Sirius shivered and bucked his hips up, Remus’ voice making him whine loudly. He was impossibly hard, cock steadily leaking precum over his flat stomach. He was so deeply engrossed in his pleasure, that he didn’t see Remus bending over his cock again. Remus blew hot air over the tip, making Sirius let out a strangled yell. Remus kept pressing him down and pressed soft kisses all over his cock, softly suckling at the cherry red tip.

"Remus, plea-", he interrupted his own words with a cry, because Remus had suddenly taken him all the way down to his base, sucking and pushing his tongue to the vein on the underside.

Sirius couldn‘t talk, the only thing escaping his lips were breathy whimpers and he spread his legs wider. Remus licked at his heavy balls and Sirius sobbed with pleasure.

"Yesyesyes, Moony, Remus, please!" Sirius was tembling so hard, Remus had to adjust his position, and sucked harder, swallowing his cock. The wet heat of Remus mouth made Sirius want to cum so bad.

„Gonna cum, ah please ah fu-", Remus lifted his face slightly, mouth full of cock and fucking winked at Sirius. That did it for the smaller boy and he came, shouting Remus‘ name, his nails leaving little crescents on Remus’ shoulders. Remus' mouth continued licking his cock lewdly, eyes on Sirius, before finally realising him with a pop.

Sirius looked so fucked out and Remus admired him for a moment, watching the golden necklace glint in the dim light.

Remus leaned up, murmuring against his boyfriends lips. „So beautiful when you cum, Pads. My beautiful boy, hm?“

Sirius smiled blissfully, looking at Remus through hooded eyes and repeated, „Your boy?“

Remus grinned at him, all sharp teeth and red cheeks, „Your collar says so, sweetheart.“

Sirius giggled, kissing Remus.

“On you knees, Sirius.”

Sirius instantly got on his knees, back arching gracefully and Remus spread his legs further. 

“Look at your pretty hole, baby, So pink and tight. Tell me what you want.”

Sirius pushed his ass back, pleadingly. “Remus please, I want you to fuck me. Wanna feel your cock, please.” Merlin, Remus was talking absolute filth. 

Remus groaned, biting at the skin on Sirius’ ass and inner thighs, leaving teeth marks all over his skin. Spreading his ass he spit on his tight hole, middle finger gently rubbing against the taunt muscle and pushing inside. Remus had to squeeze his cock in his fist, holding himself back from cumming, but god, Sirius was beautiful like this.

„Look at your greedy hole, baby, taking me in so well. Why are you crying, s‘not enough? Want something bigger?“

Sirius, pushed back greedly, „Want your cock, Rem, please..“

Remus added two more fingers, stretching Sirius‘ hole as he kissed his inner thighs softly. „My good little baby, hm? Hungry for my cock, Pads? Don‘t worry I‘ll give you my cock, nice and deep. M‘gonna fill you up with my cum..“

Sirius was in heaven, ready to cum from Remus‘ voice alone, fuck he could cum all day from listening to his lover.

Remus took his fingers out, stretching his palm towards Sirius. „Spit, baby.“

Sirius spit in his palm and Remus used it to lubricate his cock, before he slowly pushed into Sirius‘ tight, hot hole.

Sirius moaned, a high pitched sound, and had to anchor himself to the bad so he wouldn‘t fall on his face. Remus wasn‘t gentle, he‘d waited plenty already and kept thrusting, nails raking down Sirius back to leave his marks. Seeing Sirius covered with his bites and scratched made him even hornier and he fucked him harder, throwing his head back as he growled.

„Rem- ah fuck Rem, m‘gonna cum, ah again!“

„Yeah?“, Remus choked out breathlessly, „I don‘t think so. Hold it, slut.“

Sirius cried out, fisting the sheets tighter in his hands, his hole clenching and Remus whimpered out a „Sirius fuck!“

Reaching down Remus wrapped his hand around Sirius‘ silky hair, pulling him up against his chest and fucked him with everything he had. He was fucking and moaning and scratching all over his body, his hand on Sirius‘ cock.

„Sirius, m‘close fuck cum for me baby, go ahead, there we go..“

Sirius came with a shout, his cum all over Remus‘ hand and Remus thrust up one last time, before he came inside of Sirius.

Sirius couldn‘t talk let alone breathe and he fell back against Remus‘ chest, boneless and dizzy.

„M‘so full, Moony so full...“, he whimpered.

„Shh, I know puppy, you did so well. Moonys good little boy, hm?“

Sirius tilted his head back and Remus smeared his lips against flushed cheeks, continuously praising his boyfriend.

„Wanna try something, baby, get on you knees for me again.“

Sirius obeyed without hesitation and gasped when he felt something cold press against his hole. A plug.

„You darling little girlfriend let me borrow her plug..“, Remus said, smirking at Sirius‘ needy expression, „told me to use it on you.“

Sirius let out a moan when the toy was completely pushed inside and gave Remus a dirty smile.

„Remind me to fuck her good later, she deserves it.“

Remus grinned and kissed the bites along Sirius spine, making out softly, before they finally fell asleep, utterly fucked out.

Taglist:

@sunflowerdarlingx @shackleschains @maraudersangel  @amarabln 

@padfootswife 

[mygalfriday]

you heard it from those other boys but this time it’s real (River/12)

Prompt #4: Double Date

Technically, this might be her fault but as a self-proclaimed psychopath River hardly possesses a conscience that needs to own her every mistake. And she certainly has no intention of claiming responsibility for this one. She fully intends to blame Hydroflax.

Finally settled in their brand new flat, she and the Doctor had decided to have a bit of fun playing hosts for the evening. Acting as a normal married couple who throw dinner parties and play board games had seemed like a laugh. The problem, of course, was that they didn’t know anyone on Darillium to invite. It had only been a few weeks and they’d spent most of that time christening every available surface of the flat. Neither of them had been inclined to get dressed and meet their neighbors.

The only two people they know happen to share a single body. The Doctor had been adamantly opposed to having one of her former husbands as a dinner guest and River, relishing his jealous scowl, had relented quite quickly. So they had decided to invite Nardole round for dinner and proceeded to bicker over the menu and the wine until they actually felt like an ordinary couple with ordinary problems. Of course, they’d made up immediately – impossible to stay angry when you’re both grinning at each other like idiots.

Eventually, they’d decided River would make the appetizers, the Doctor would make the main course, and they’d make dessert together. The Doctor hadn’t even blushed when she’d made a filthy joke about it. He’d only looked at her with exasperated affection and kissed her quiet. A girl could get used to that sort of domesticity.

While technically the robot body Nardole now inhabits doesn’t need to eat, its system does have the ability to convert food into energy to help maintain the electrical charge. River had spent a good hour convincing the Doctor that cracking open their dinner guest to study this phenomenon would be in poor taste. When the day in question actually arrived, things went surprisingly well. River actually made her appetizers instead of popping out somewhere and stealing them; the Doctor didn’t explode the kitchen while making the beef bourguignon; and Nardole was an excellent first guest.

The problem appeared during the main course. One moment Nardole had been licking the gravy off his spoon and praising the buttery garlic of the mushrooms while the Doctor leered at her smugly, and the next he’d simply dropped his spoon and powered down, his head drooping against his metal shoulder.

River looks to the Doctor, frowning. “Should we be worried?”

He shakes his head, his brow furrowed and his fingers tapping idly against the table. “Don’t think so,” he says, eyeing Nardole like the exact opposite might be true. “Lots of people eat too much and need to nap.”

“Not midsentence. And he’s not people, darling,” she sighs. “He’s a robot.”

Before he can reply, Nardole’s head begins to disappear – sinking into the confines of his metal body. River can only watch in helpless fascination, like a pedestrian witnessing a car crash, as Ramone appears in his place. He yawns widely, as though he’d been interrupted mid-nap, and blinks as he takes stock of his surroundings. When he sees River, he breaks into that big grin that had endeared him to her the first time they met. “Hello you.”

River darts a glance at the Doctor, who looks too bewildered by this turn of events to even be properly annoyed about it. “Hello Ramone. Everything alright?”

“I think so.” He squints, as though taking stock of himself. “Nardole ate too much.”

She pointedly ignores the Doctor’s terribly unsubtle gloating. Gesturing to the spread before them, she asks, “Hungry?”

“I could eat.” He looks down at his plate, brows lifting. “Is this for me?”

Pasting on a smile, River nods. “Yes. Of course.”

Finally seeming to realize he’s about to have dinner with his wife and her ex-husband, the Doctor shifts uneasily in his chair. His right eye twitches.

“Oh, how nice.” Ramone leans forward, inhaling deeply. “Whatever it is, it smells delicious.”

“Beef bourguignon.” She bites back a smirk, glancing at her husband. “The Doctor made it.”

“Did you really?” Ramone shovels a generous bite into his mouth and groans, eyes falling shut. “It’s very good.”

The Doctor’s grip around his fork tightens and for a moment River wonders if she’s about to have the privilege of witnessing her two-thousand-year-old husband start a food fight. At last, he sighs through his nose and loosens his white-knuckled grip on the poor cutlery. “It’s River’s favorite,” he grumbles, “So I learned to make it.” His eyes narrow and he stares pointedly at Ramone as he adds, “Because I’m her husband.”

River rolls her eyes and reaches for the pinot noir.

Undeterred, the Doctor presses, “We’ve been married for centuries. In multiple universes. Did she tell you that?”

“Hmm? I think she mentioned it.” Too engrossed in his food, Ramone doesn’t appear to notice the Doctor’s annoyance despite his complete lack of subtlety. It’s part of the reason River had gotten so annoyed and erased his memory; he’s such a dear, dense thing. If only he weren’t so damn pretty.

Helping himself to a glass of wine Nardole hadn’t finished, Ramone turns his attention back to River. “I like the new flat,” he says, smiling at her. “How are you enjoying your stay so far?”

And thus begins the most awkward evening of her life. Considering the length of her life, tonight ranks pretty high on a fairly substantial list of terrible evenings. She makes polite conversation with her ex, telling him about the new furniture she and her husband just ordered from the next planet over and how offensively high the shipping cost had been. They discuss mutual friends and reminisce about previous adventures, all while the Doctor stews in silence, scowling at his plate. River keeps her hand on his thigh under the table, squeezing every now and then just to see him twitch.

After what seems like hours, dinner finally comes to an end. Ramone wipes his mouth on a napkin and pats his metal belly. “So, what’s for dessert?”

River opens her mouth, already smirking, but the Doctor cuts her off with a glare. “There is no dessert,” he says firmly. “At least not any you’ll be getting.”

“Spoilsport,” River murmurs, ignoring Ramone’s puzzled glance. She pushes aside what’s left of her wine and conjures up her most charming smile. “Actually, I think we’ll call it an early night, if you don’t mind. The Doctor has a headache.” She tips her head, nose wrinkling. “Or he’s about to, at least.”

“Erm. Yes.” The Doctor quirks an eyebrow at her, his leg shifting under her palm. “There’s definitely some throbbing.”

She nearly chokes, smothering her surprised laughter in a strangled cough that makes her eyes water. The Doctor grins shamelessly at her, looking triumphant and smug in a way she absolutely shouldn’t find sexy. She really does anyway.

“Right,” Ramone says, eyeing them strangely. After a moment, he seems to give a mental shrug before pushing back his chair. His metal body clicks and whirrs as he rises, suddenly towering over them both. “Thanks for dinner. It was lovely.”

River presses her lips together, still far too amused to manage speech.

The Doctor, damn him, looks cheerful for the first time all evening. “Our pleasure.”

Together, they walk Ramone to the door and see him off, waving in the doorway until he disappears down the corridor with clunky steps. The moment they shut the door behind him, the Doctor dissolves into laughter. Helpless but to join in, River tugs him in by the collar of his shirt and presses her giggling mouth to his cheek. “You jealous idiot,” she laughs. “He’s no one, you know. Just a bit of fun.”

He huffs. “We’re fun.”

“We are,” she promises, swaying into his chest. She tips back her head and meets his soft gaze. With a sigh still bubbling with laughter, she admits, “We’re… everything.”

The Doctor dips his head and kisses her – a bit rougher than normal, just possessive enough to make her shudder. Nipping at her lip as he pulls away, he nudges his nose against hers and whispers, “Dessert?”

River grins, slipping her arms around his neck. “I’ll clear the table.”

[jaskierswolf]

Yes Chef

My fic for the Novigrad Exchange! For the marvelous @ohnomybreadsticks

Ship: Calanthe/Eist Rating: E Summary: Restaurant AU with a healthy dose of smut? I don’t know. I’ll think of a better summary later 😂 AO3 link to come later on!

CW: 18+ smutty time, vaginal sex, oral sex, semi-public (they are alone but in a public setting),

The kitchen was sweltering, the chefs moving around the small space in an intricate dance that only they knew the steps to. The air was filled with a cacophony of smells; slowly roasted barbeque pulled-pork, fried onions and garlic, chocolate brownies. It all wafted around the kitchen in a mess, mouth watering and delicious. For Calanthe, there was nothing better than the hustle and bustle of a professional kitchen. She had been cooking since she was a child, her own grandmother had often let her help around the kitchen and Calanthe had been hooked. There was just something so addictive about creating masterpieces out of nothing. How could flour, butter, sugar become something entirely different? A cake, soft and melting in her mouth, flavours exploding on her tongue, almost better than sex… almost. 

The industry itself attracted Calanthe like a moth to a flame. It was undoubtedly a man’s world, and that pulled her in, the need to prove herself, a competitiveness that drove her forward in life. If there was one thing in love she truly loved, it was proving that the patriarchy was absolutely shit. Whenever there was an opportunity to prove that she was better than a man, she took it, and as she grew older she learned how to use that to her advantage. It didn’t take long for her to rise above her rivals. Her ingenuity and skill in the kitchen was unmatched, and she had a remarkable talent for ruling the roost. When she spoke, people listened. 

Opening her own restaurant had been a dream come true. 

The Jewel of Cintra. 

The cuisine wasn’t fancy but it was clever. She didn’t leave her customers hungry and wanting for more, but it was posh enough that she could charge a decent amount. It was also almost entirely locally sourced. That was the hook. Her restaurant supported local businesses, and she had crafted the menu using old traditional Cintran recipes. She was determined to preserve the Cintran way of life, especially with Nilfgaard slowly taking over the catering industry with their new wave recipes that blended old Southern style flavours with that favoured by the North, creating a brand new fusion.

Calanthe hated it. Cintra had a wealth of history and it was being wiped out.

It did keep her on her toes though, she had to constantly think up new ways to stay ahead, networking at conventions and collaborating with other local restaurants and breweries. It was draining but she thrived on it, and her head waiter, Jaskier, was an absolute blessing. He could charm any customer and handled complaints without even blinking an eye. 

So naturally she was furious when he’d handed in his resignation. The idiot had been snatched right under her nose. He’d gone and fallen in love with the head chef of Kaer Morhen, a gastro pub in Kaedwan, the pair had met at one of the conventions that Jaskier had gone to in her stead. Two months later, her best waiter had announced he was moving to Kaedwan to be closer to Geralt.

And Calanthe was left to replace him. 

The applicants had all been shit. No one could compare to Jaskier, lacking his charisma and easy going attitude. Those who might have stood a chance bristled at the idea of bowing to Calanthe, men who thought they could come into her restaurant and overthrow her. 

The misogynistic pricks.

Yes, the applicants had all been shit… until Eist Tuirseach. He was infuriatingly good, handsome, suave and seemed to already be completely head over heels with her. So, she’d reluctantly hired him. 

And she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. 

“Good morning, Chef!” Eist waved cheerily as she sauntered into the kitchen. He was helping Lambert wipe down the counters before service started. Her sous chef was a talented but prickly young man, and she trusted no one else to get her kitchen in order when she had her rare days off. He’d been trained under Vesemir from Kaer Morhen, but had been eager to escape Kaedwan. His boyfriend, Aiden was her pastry chef and, when they weren’t flirting up a storm in the kitchen, they were some of her most efficient workers. 

Calanthe felt herself blush as Eist winked at her. She blamed the heat of the kitchen. “It’s almost five in the afternoon, Eist,” she shot back. 

“Ah, but that is morning for a chef.” 

Calanthe scoffed. He wasn’t entirely wrong, she was a night owl, most chefs were, if they slept at all, but she’d also seen five in the morning more times than she would have liked. Delivery days were killer, and when they had parties and events most of the team were in the kitchen early for prep. 

“How are the books for tonight, Eist?” She grumbled, getting straight to business. It was easier that way. 

“Fully booked as always, Chef. Nilfgaard wishes they could have our numbers. No one else can compare to your skill and talent, not to mention your beauty,” he said with a caddish grin.

The same smile he’d used to charm her in his interview.

________

“Eist Tuirseach?” Calanthe asked as a handsome young man entered her office. He was well built, roguish in looks, and reminded her of a lost puppy. He smiled brightly at her as he took her hand, his grip strong and firm and for the briefest of moments Calanthe wondered what those hands would feel like caressing her body, rough callouses against her breasts. 

“Aye, that’s me. The Lady Calanthe?” Eist said, smirking as he cocked his head, making his tousled brown hair fall in front of his eyes. 

Her heart skipped a beat in her chest, and she felt a familiar warmth at her core.

Fuck.

Of course he had to be cute. He was the last applicant and she was really really hoping it would be another idiot so she could politely decline Jaskier’s request to leave before his notice was up. She wanted to keep the young waiter for as long as she could. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she lied. “I expect professionalism in my kitchen, and you will refer to me as Chef.” 

And this was the point where most of her applicants had turned tail and run. Eist, however, blushed instead, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips, and there was a definite hunger in his eyes. “Yes, Chef.”

Calanthe swallowed. “Good, now… I have some questions, and at the end if you have any questions for me, you’ll be given the opportunity. Unfortunately my sous chef got called away on a family matter, but if you’d like a second person here, we can rearrange the interview.”

Eist smiled even brighter, adoration and lust shining in his eyes. “No, I think we’ll be just fine, Chef.”

____________

The bastard hadn’t stopped charming her since, and it was taking all her self control not to let him ravish her in the kitchen. They danced around each other and flirted like there was no tomorrow but… well, she didn’t want to give in. She knew what it would look like; the head chef and the head waiter dating. No. She didn’t want to give anyone the opportunity to question her integrity, but after months of being around Eist, she felt weak. The way their fingers brushed whenever she passed a plate over, the easy banter that made her laugh even when she was in a terrible mood at the start of the day, the disappointment she’d felt when Eist had booked off a couple of weeks to visit his family in Skellige. 

The kitchen had felt empty without him. 

And she just wasn’t as good at dealing with complaints. Calanthe had a short temper, and when people complained, she couldn’t help but take it personally. She got defensive and fought back. 

She needed Eist. 

She hated Eist. 

… Or perhaps she loved him. 

“We have a party of eight booked in at half-seven. No known allergies, should be pretty straight forward, but I’ve briefed my team and let your’s know too” Eist hummed, picking up his clipboard. “Most of the other bookings are couples and smaller families.”

“Fuck,” Calanthe hissed. “I hate big groups.”

“I have no doubt that you will be flawless as always, Chef.”

“Getting the plates out in one go is a faff that I could live without,” Calanthe groaned. “Lambert!” She barked. 

Lambert looked up from his station, his hair slicked back and his sleeves rolled back to his arms, revealing an intricate tattoo sleeve that went down to his wrist on his right arm, wolves running through the woods. He strolled over to her, crossing his arms in front of his chest, hazel eyes alert and attentive. 

“Yes Chef?”

“You’re in charge of the party of eight, I want you working with Eist and his team. No fucking around with Aiden, understood?”

“Loud and clear, Chef,” Lambert nodded then smirked. “Can we fuck around after?”

Calanthe rolled her eyes, swatting him over the head with her palm. “Behave, wolf.”

“What?” he gaped, rubbing the back of his head. “You and Eist are worse than us, and you still claim you’re not together!” 

“We’re not together.”

“Not yet, at any rate,” Eist chuckled.

Calanthe shot daggers at her waiter. “Get out of my kitchen, Eist. Before I get you for harassment.”

Eist quirked an eyebrow. “Tell me to stop, Chef, and I will, but you have yet to tell me no. One word, Calanthe,” he paused, giving her a chance to admonish him for using her name whilst they were at work, but he said it so reverently that she was too stunned into silence. “One word and I’ll stop.”

No.

The word should have been easy. 

“Don’t,” she whispered, and his face fell, heartbroken, and she could already tell he wouldn’t argue. “Don’t stop.”

She felt her cheeks burn, and the eyes of their audience were piercing into her soul. So, she cleared her throat. “Right!” she snapped. “Back to work!”

The kitchen burst into life once again, giving her the privacy to wink at her waiter. “Later?” he mouthed at her, and she nodded. 

The dinner service went by in a blur. It was busy enough that she didn’t have to think about anything but the quality of the food her chefs were serving. She’d rolled up her sleeves and got stuck in, flitting about between stations and helping wherever she was needed, supervising and delegating the tasks, running a tight kitchen as she always did. However, that didn’t stop her from feeling a little giddy whenever Eist flew through the double doors, looking like some kind of Oxenfurt actor in his suit, the server’s apron strapped around his waist. 

Anticipation curled in her gut, the heat that crept along her skin was from more than just the ovens. There was a hunger in his eyes whenever he looked at her, and she wanted more. She wondered if his lips were as soft as they looked, whether his beard would scratch against her skin. 

It was all very distracting, but if anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything. 

By the time the kitchen was cleaned up, and she’d dismissed the last of her chefs, it was past midnight. Lambert waved her off with a lewd comment and jumped onto the back of Aiden’s motorcycle, the two of them speeding off along the road. 

“So,” Eist’s voice came from behind her as they stood in the doorway, watching the motorbike drive off into the distance, and Calanthe spun round in a start. “It’s just us.”

Calanthe smirked, her fingers wrapping around Eist’s tie and pulling him in for a kiss. The waiter groaned and went willingly, their lips melding together in a slow and languid kiss, noses bumping as they explored each other’s mouths. The heat crept along Calanthe’s skin, her heart fluttering in her chest. How had she denied this man for so long? She was already soaking, aching at her core with want, and soon, she grew impatient with the pace of the kiss. Nipping at Eist’s lip, she pushed their bodies together, forcing Eist back into the kitchen and towards the kitchen counter. Another day she would love to take this gorgeous man apart, fuck him over the worktops in her kitchen, but that would have to wait. 

She made a mental note to keep her strap in the back of her car. 

She had a very good feeling about Eist.

For now he seemed content to please her. He spun them around, helping her to wriggle out of her trousers and ruined underwear before hoisting her up onto the counter. She gasped into the kiss as his fingers teased her clit, slipping inside her wet cunt with little resistance. Calanthe’s head rolled back, her hands gripping the edge of the cold metal counter. The kitchen was quiet except for the sounds of their moans and his fingers pumping inside her. It was thrilling, everyone had gone home but there was always the off chance that someone would walk in on them. She moaned, rolling her hips to force his fingers deeper inside her. 

“Fuck me, you bastard,” she gasped.

Eist just winked. “Soon, Chef.” 

She expected him to finally unzip his trousers but Eist seemed to have other ideas. The waiter fell to his knees before her, pressing kisses along her inner thigh with a soft groan. Her hands threaded into his soft brown hair, guiding him towards her cunt. If he wasn’t going to fuck her then he’d better put that mouth to good use and she was tired of waiting. Eist’s stubble scratched wonderfully against her skin, a reminder of just how strong this man was, and yet he still knelt eagerly between her legs, as if there was nowhere else he’d rather be. 

“Fuck,” she moaned as Eist’s tongue flicked at her clit, fast and feather light and sinfully good. She thrust forward against his face and he groaned, one hand gripping at her thigh, the other joining his tongue between her wet folds. His fingers pressed inside her as he continued to lick and suck at her clit, moaning as he devoured his feast. 

Calanthe’s fingers stroked through Eist’s hair as he ate her out, hips rolling against his face. She felt like she was on fire, her skin so very sensitive and every lick of his tongue had her moaning, crying out in pleasure. 

“Stop,” she gasped before she could cum. 

Eist groaned but pulled back, staring up at her with dark eyes. His lips were wet and glistening, and he smirked as he wiped his mouth. “Chef?”

Calanthe raised an eyebrow, barely able to catch her breath. “If you don’t get your cock inside me now, there will be consequences.” The waiter closed his eyes and moaned, a visible shudder going through him at her words. With a quick tug on his tie, Eist was once again standing. “If you like eating me out so much-” she purred, “-maybe I’ll have to find something else to feed you with.”

“Calanthe,” Eist groaned. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“Why don’t you show me?” Calanthe challenged.

That seemed to finally spur the waiter into action and he met her lips in a messy kiss, the taste of her own slick on his tongue. She moaned into the kiss, desperate and wanton as he fumbled with the zip of his trousers. There was a telltale rip of foil but when he pushed inside her, fuck, it felt so good. She easily stretched around the girth of his cock but he just filled her so completely.

“I’m not going to last, Chef,” he gasped, lips never leaving her’s. 

She closed her eyes. That wouldn’t be a problem, she was already so close from all his teasing before. “Get on with it!” she snapped, rocking her hips forward to the edge of the counter. 

Every thrust made her cry out, obscene sounds filling her kitchen as they both chased their release. Eist panted as he left messy kisses on her neck, nipping and biting at the tender skin. Her orgasm hit her like fireworks as she clenched around his cock, sparks flying in front of her vision. She gasped wordlessly as he fucked her through the waves of pleasure that just seemed to keep coming. Calanthe swore, the pleasure beginning to wane and her body oversensitive. Eist grunted as he followed her over the edge, his thrusts becoming erratic and desperate. She caught his lips in a sloppy kiss, their breaths mingling as he slowly came back to his senses, slipping out of her with a groan.

She pressed her forehead against his as they panted breathlessly in the otherwise quiet kitchen. One hand gripped onto his shoulders while a leg was still hooked around his waist. There was a disgusting splat on the floor as the condom fell off. Calanthe tried to keep a straight face, she really did but Eist snorted and let out a hearty laugh, his fingers lacing with her’s on the countertop. Mirth bubbled up inside her, a ridiculous giggle escaping her lips as they both looked at the mess on the floor. Soon they were both laughing, hysterically and without any restraint, their post-orgasmic bliss making the whole thing seem utterly hilarious. 

“You’re cleaning that up, Eist.” 

He groaned, capturing her lips in another kiss with a muffled “Yes, Chef.” 

Calanthe rolled her eyes and cupped Eist’s face in her hands. “You can call me Calanthe outside of work, you fool,” she said with a smirk. 

And her partner seemed to melt under her touch. Eist’s face lit up in a dopey smile that made her heart skip a beat. He took her hand in his and bought her fingers up to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. “Yes… Calanthe.”

[the-black-birb]

Hi! New follower here but I love your writing, for the prompt list I would love your take on 29/30 with Kuroo! 💕💕 ty !

A/N: Thank you for requesting! I got a little carried away with this and it got really drawn out, hope you enjoy!! I could see myself writing this as a fully-fleshed out story, tell me if you’re interested :)

also for @thenerdyrebel i said I'd make it up to you with Kuroo fluff huhuhuhu

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Kuroo needs a girlfriend for a week. You’re set on making him regret asking you for a favor.

Your relationship with Kuroo was anything but serious. That was a given, considering the two of you were only dating because Yaku dared Kuroo. It was simple, really.

“I bet you can’t get a girlfriend for a full week,” he prompted, knowing Kuroo’s busy schedule between volleyball and college exams. That mixed with his awful personality and he was lucky if a girl stuck around for a conversation.

Still, Kuroo couldn’t say no to a bet, and he had just the person in mind.

“[Y/N],” he approached you one day during lunch, expression screaming mischief. You looked at him doubtfully.

“What are you planning on involving me in today, Tetsurou?” you weren’t unfamiliar with his scheming nature. Three years in the same class made the two of you more than just acquaintances, and you’d been known to do each other favors in times of need.

“Remember that time you stayed up late watching anime so I wrote your essay for you so you could sleep the next day?” he smirked at you. You nodded. “And remember how you said you owed me big time?”

You sighed. “What?”

“Yaku said I couldn’t have a girlfriend for a week,” he says bluntly. You look at him confused.

“You want me to find some poor girl that wants to date you? Hun, that’s impossible,” you dismissed, ignoring the pounding in your chest.

“No, no. That’s too risky. I want you to date me,” he grinned, looking at you like this was a fantastic idea. You fought down the heat rising to your cheeks. Date me? You thought to yourself. Date me? He wants to date me?

“Well, fake date.” Oh. The disappointment sunk in. That makes more sense.

You shook your head. It was no surprise Kuroo didn’t want to date you, but you could still get something out of this. “Buy me noodles every weekend for a lunch,” you replied, gaze unwavering.

Kuroo sighed. That was a lot. “Two weeks?”

You shook your head. “Three.”

“You’re on.”

The two of you shook on it, and you were officially “dating.”

Kuroo wasn’t getting off the hook that easily, though. If you were going to be his girlfriend, you were going to be the most obnoxious girlfriend he’d ever had. You were going to make everyone question why he would ever want to date you.

At first, you were very subtle about it. You did everything you thought a good girlfriend should do, like make him lunch and wear his team jacket. To confirm the whole thing, you made sure Yaku was watching you.

Unfortunately, you were a horrible cook and a bit of a slob.

“This is inedible,” Kuroo groaned as soon as Yaku left the room. You smiled at him deviously.

“You don’t want to eat your girlfriend’s homemade cooking,” you faked a pout. He smacked the back of your head.

“We both know you can’t cook [F/N],” he reminded you, taking out the lunch that he prepared from home. Unlike you, Kuroo had some skills in the kitchen.  You were about to leave to buy lunch (because obviously you weren’t going to make yours) when he placed a second container in front of you.

Oh.

“You think I’m letting my girlfriend eat some shitty school lunch when I know she can’t cook?” Was he blushing?

You wanted to laugh at him, really, but he was being too sweet. Instead, you sat down with him and prepared to eat. Still, you couldn’t resist…

“Aww, did your mommy make it for you?” He kicked you under the table. You just laughed.

You continued to be a “good” girlfriend, shouting at him in the hallways and clinging to his arm to make it difficult for him to walk. You tried to keep your antics to a minimum; after all you couldn’t let him catch on too early.

Good girlfriends even visited their boyfriend’s volleyball practice, you determined. So you thought you should surprise them! And as your surprise you accidentally opened the clubroom while the boys were changing… you tried to help set up equipment and somehow balls were all rolling out of the gym… truly you were a disaster. Finally, Kuroo approached you.

“Don’t help with clean up,” he set stubbornly. You looked up at him with big, round eyes feigning innocence.

“Why not? You guys don’t have a manager to handle things so it’s the least I can do,” you smiled at him. He hugged through his nose.

“Nope. Don’t want my girlfriend staying up late for me. Go home and get some rest,” he demanded, walking away from you.

“You won’t even walk me home,” you whined, hoping you could get a few more hours out of fun with him. Kuroo turned to you, eyes stern.

“No.”

You didn’t argue with that.

Still, your antics continued for the next few days. You showed up to school late, you’d wear your uniform wrong, you’d talk loudly during class, whatever you could do to be obnoxious. People would be absolutely appalled that the captain of Nekoma’s renowned volleyball team was dating you.

As usual, you went to Nekoma’s practice. Today, you were holding tightly to Kuroo’s hand (“Yaku has some doubts,” he told you that morning. “We’ve got to amp it up.”). You walked into the gym and sat on the sideline, already banned from touching equipment. Truly, you didn’t mind this. The team greeted you as they entered, and you pulled out a notebook to get started on your homework.

Occasionally, you’d grab water for the team but you were so tired from being a nuisance during the day, you really didn’t have energy to interrupt practice. And, although you’d never say this if anyone asked, you got to wear Kuroo’s team jacket and watch him play. He looked so into it, he was having so much fun. You wondered how it felt.

Although previous practices you’d either been removed by Kuroo or chosen to leave when the sunset, tonight you had lost track of time. Before you knew it, the moon was high and the boys were starting to clean up.

“Hey.” Kuroo walked up to you. “You’re still here?”

You pretended you didn’t feel the heat rising to your cheeks when he noticed. You looked to your notes, as if the answer to this situation would be there. “Whoops!” you stuttered with a nervous laugh. “I guess I got distracted watching…I’ll just…go… now…” You hastily stood with your bag, getting ready to leave. The quicker you got home, the less risk there was of someone lurking in the dark.

“Wait a few minutes,” Kuroo said absentmindedly, putting away volleyballs. “I’ll walk you home.”

You wondered if he knew what his words did to your poor heart.

Patiently, you waited by the door watching as he and his team cleaned up the gym. Finally, he grabbed his bag and ushered you out the door with him.

Out of habit, his hand reached to grab yours as the two of you walked. You thought about teasing him, wondering if he needed a thumb to suck, too. But the quiet hum of crickets and the calm sky told you this wasn’t the right time.

Your hand stayed firmly in his the whole walk home.

The next day, you were back to your usual antics. Today you had a magnificent plan. You had eaten an omelet for breakfast this morning, but asked your mother to put extra onion and garlic in it. When you got to school, you made sure everyone knew.

“Hhhhhello darling,” you smiled at Kuroo. He looked like he was about to vomit.

“Did you eat a dumpster? Your breath stinks,” he wafted a hand over his face, trying to dismiss the smell. You smiled sweetly.

“Aww don’t be like that. I just hhhad some garlic. You hhhave got to try omelets with garlic, they are just delicious. Especially hhhomemade,” you trailed on, making sure to drag out all of your h’s so Kuroo got the full effect.

“Wow, look at that. Class is starting,” he turned forward in his seat, discreetly shoving a few mints your way.

To make matters worse, Lev had finally caught wind of your relationship. “You’re dating the captain?” he asked you during lunch (you stopped by to tutor occasionally). You grinned up at the first-year, ready to put your plan in place.

“Yes, he’s really dreamy.” Lev made a face that said he disagreed and it took all your willpower not to laugh. “But he hasn’t kissed me yet. I wonder if I did something wrong…”

As if on cue, Kuroo walked into the first-year classroom, lunchbox in hand. “Oh [F/N], there you are. You wanna eat?” he held up his second meal, looking at you expectantly. You turned to Lev bidding goodbye, but he had other plans.

“Captain, how can you not kiss your girlfriend?” he asked, confused look on his face. “You’re so lucky to have such a pretty girl and you won’t even treat her right…”

Kuroo glared at you, handing you the lunchbox swiftly.

“If you’re not careful, someone might steal her,” Lev teased, but the look on his face was mischievous. You wanted to laugh. He’ll only care if they steal me in the next few days, you thought.

Kuroo opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by the bell. Instead, he smirked in a way that sent chills up your smile. “See you at practice, Lev,” he threatened.

His grip on your hand as you walked back to class was tighter than usual. He looked down at you curiously, trying to figure out what you were planning. “You think I’d kiss someone whose mouth smells like cat shit?” he quips as you walk in class.

Seeing there’s no Yaku around you give your honest reply. “Don’t worry, Tetsurou, I know you wouldn’t kiss me if my mouth smelled like flowers and fairy shit,” you retorted, getting out your schoolwork. “I just want to have a little fun,” you winked.

Too busy getting ready for class, you didn’t hear his quiet protest to your statement.

Class continued as usual. You sat quietly through the day, head occasionally falling. Kuroo stifled a laugh, you looked bored to death. He wondered how much you slept last night.

Partway through English, a note slipped onto his desk. In messy handwriting is said "how much money would you give me to flip this table right here, right now, in the middle of class?" It took willpower not to start laughing right there. He scribbled back quickly "I'll add one more weekend of noodles " and passed the note back to you. He saw you smirk when you read it, and write a hurried reply.

Before the note got back to him, you were on the floor, gripping your thigh in pain, and your desk was on the ground.

Kuroo tried to ignore the fact that from this position everyone could see your striped underwear. Instead he was worried about the incredible look of pain on your face and the curse words stringing from your mouth.

After a moment, you sat up, arm still rubbing your thigh but in a far less incriminating position.

"Sorry," you said sheepishly. "Leg cramp."

The teacher opened their mouth, clearly about to give you a scolding, but Kuroo was one step ahead. He slipped the note, which he still had yet to read, into his bag, and stood up to help clean up the mess you made. He pulled you up to stand, hand gripping your arm to support you.

"I'll bring her to the nurse," he assured the teacher, rushing out of the room.

As soon as you go to the hallway, the two of you burst into laughter. "You're crazy," he assure you. "Absolutely insane."

You smiled at him brightly. "You're just jealous you didn't have the balls to do it yourself," you retorted, tripping over yourself with laughter. "You hate English, anyways."

Kuroo shook his head. "Sure but I wouldn't flash the whole class to get out of it," he said through a fit of giggles. "You're wild [F/N]."

You shrugged. "So where do you want to go now?" You inquired, wandering the halls. Kuroo looked perplexed.

"Well we're not going to the nurse's office and I doubt he's expecting us to go back to class," you smiled at Kuroo. "We've got an hour until practice. Where would you like to go?"

Kuroo felt his heart skip a beat. He didn't know what to say.

You smiled at him, and he wanted to be the only person who got to see you look like that. "I know, come with me." You grabbed his hand and started walking.

He wasn't sure how long the two of you walked for. Five minutes? Ten? Usually, silence with you was deafening. You were always trying to crack a joke or make noise. But this was comfortable. He was comfortable. Finally, the two of you arrived at a park close to Nekoma. It wasn't anything special, really, but it felt private. Like the whole world was put on pause for the two of you.

You sat on the swing, mindlessly rocking back and forth. You were staring at the ground.

"So when all of this is over," you still weren't looking at him. "Do we fake a huge breakup? I mean, the whole school knows at this point." You grinned at him. "Wouldn't want them to think you're stuck with me much longer, would you?"

Kuroo smirked. Whatever you could dish out, he could serve back. "What?" He teased. "Afraid if you stick around much longer you'll fall for me for real?"

Your laughter was music to his ears. He leaned against the swingset, watching you move back and forth slowly. "I would never," you teased back. "I'm far too sophisticated for the likes of you," you assured him, swinging back and forth.

"Right," he nodded. "Polka dot panties scream sophistication. Were they pink, too?"

Your ears turned bright red. “They were striped and blue and I didn’t expect you to look!” you retorted (although the last part was a lie, you were fairly certain everyone in the class was looking)

“Hmm,” Kuroo purred. “They were? I think I’ll have to check…” he walked towards you on the swing, hands out in front of him. You were quick to jump off and run from him, but he chased after you nonetheless.

The two of you ran around the park playfully, going up ladders and down slides and Kuroo pretended to grab at you (if he truly wanted to, you were sure he’d be able to catch up to you). Although you had always been the clumsy one out of the two of you, Kuroo had his moments as well. Soon, he was tripping over his own two feet and bring you down with him.

Somehow, you ended on the ground laughing, Kuroo’s form hovering over yours. It was close, closest you’ve been with someone since you were a little kid on a playground. But the way his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you from truly falling, and the warmth radiating from his body and his huge grin… it was worth it.

Eventually, the two of you calmed down and Kuroo stood, offering you a hand. You accepted quietly. “Back to school?” you suggested. He still had practice. Nodding in agreement, the two of you walked hand in hand back to Nekoma.

When you got to school, there was something noticeably different about the air between the two of you. Although you continued your banter, something had eased the tension. No one on Nekoma’s team was sure what exactly it was, but their captain seemed far more relaxed than he had for months.

During break, Lev walked up to you. “[L/N], has he still not kissed you?” he whispered like it was your little secret. You froze, discreetly reaching for your mints. You hoped Yaku didn’t hear him.

You thought back to the park. He hadn’t kissed you, but somehow it felt more personal than a kiss. “Don’t worry about it, Lev,” you assured him with a friendly smile. “Besides, I think you have bigger things to worry about…” Yaku was walking your way, surely to retrieve the tall first-year.

Kuroo watched the two of you talk and walked over to you. “Is he making you uncomfortable?” he asked defensively. You realized how close he was standing to you and suddenly were awfully glad you grabbed that mint.

“Nope!” you assured. “Why? Jealous?” you grinned, expecting nothing to come of it. Kuroo had to get back to practice anyways.

Instead, he swept down and planted a firm kiss on your cheek. “Just a bit,” he whispered in your ear, before turning around and heading back to practice. The warmth of his breath on your ear and his lips against your cheek lingered. For a moment, you wished this week would never end.

But practice had to end, and Kuroo walked you home like normal. It wasn’t until he was back at his own home, finishing homework, that he remembered the note placed on his desk. He went into his bag to find it and uncrumpled it to see your note, his, and then below it in familiar handwriting… 

Are you asking me on a date? I accept

He groaned, throwing the note across the room and covering his face with his hands. Warmth pooled in his chest as he remembered the feeling of his hand in yours and the way you laughed running across the playground… he never wanted it to end.

Although he tossed and turned in bed kept up with thoughts of you and of tomorrow being the last day you’d be ‘fake-dating,’ he eventually fell into a dreamless slumber. After all, the only dreams he had were when he was together with you.

The next morning, you were late for school. Not late like you were later than usual, or you barely got to class, but that you walked in, interrupting the whole class. You were visibly disheveled, and dishing out apology after apology. The teacher took you into the hallway.

It was hard to make out what they were saying, but it was clear you were getting a stern talking-to. Eventually, you made it back into the classroom, awkwardly sitting in your seat and trying to avoid the noisy eyes of your classmates.

You weren’t exactly a class clown, but you were definitely someone who caught everyone’s attention. After spending the whole week drawing eyes to yourself, he wondered why now you decided to hide from it. You had nothing to hide from, he thought.

At lunchtime, he approached you like normal, with an extra lunch in hand. “So, detention?” he asked. You nodded solemnly. “Again?” It had been a while, but for a bit, you were a serial-detention-attendee. It was never really your fault, you were just late and busy and school never really clicked with you. Three years of having class together and Kuroo noticed it, too.

But you’d worked hard to improve your record, and it had been months since your last detention. Still, the slip weighed down on your desk like a metal anchor, dragging you down. You sighed defeatedly.

“Stupid me. I just had to walk my siblings to school… make sure they had lunch money… next time I just won’t show up,” you muttered to yourself. Kuroo furrowed his eyebrows. You weren’t usually one to get down, even when you had rough patches.

“C’mon it’s just some time after school. You’ll be fine,” he guaranteed you, brushing off your concerns. You nodded, smiling weakly.

“Yeah. You’re right,” you mumbled, eating your food dejectedly.

You weren’t very talkative for the rest of lunch.

Kuroo racked his mind, trying to figure out what he could do to make you feel better. He thought about offering you some noodles, but he did enough of that. A card? No, too cheesy… 

Before he knew it, it was the end of the day and you were cleaning up the classroom before heading off to your dreaded detention. Kuroo stayed back to help, figuring it was the least he could do.

You’d been strangely quiet all day and Kuroo hadn’t been sure what to do. Finally, when the two of you finished up, he thought it easiest to dismiss himself. The silence between you was deafening.

“I’ll just… see you Monday then…” he trailed off, heading to leave the classroom. It was only the two of you in there.

“Wait,” you called after him. He stopped immediately, turning to face you. Your head was to your chest, staring at your shoes, and your hand awkwardly scratched the back of your head. You spoke quietly, but he listened closely to make out your words. “Could you… I know you don’t have volleyball today but could you maybe… could you wait for me?” You breathed in deeply.

“I can’t let my mom find out I got detention, she’s been so happy lately and if she finds out she’ll… she’ll…” Tears threatened to pour from your eyes. Kuroo didn’t say much, but he could see the stress weighing down on your shoulders.

“C’ mere,” he motioned. You moved towards him slightly, and when you were within arms reach, he tugged at your wrists to pull you into a warm embrace. “It’s okay,” he whispered to you. One arm circled around your waist to secure yourself to him, while the other drew circles soothingly into your back. “You’re going to be okay,” he promised. When he spoke, you actually started to believe it.

You wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your head into his neck, sobbing quietly. “It’ll be alright,” he promised, kissing your forehead. For a while, the world stopped and you just relished in the comfort of being completely honest and safe in his arms.

Eventually, Kuroo pulled away but kept his forehead pressed to yours. “Hey,” he whispered.

“I got your shirt all wet,” you apologize through tears. His hand moved to wipe at your cheek and he smiled.

“No worries, I looked better without it anyway,” he teased. You laughed tiredly. “I’ll wait for you, and then we can walk home together. We’ll tell your mother we went out on a date, okay?” He owed you at least four.

You nodded, too tired to argue, and wiped away the tears on your cheeks. “Right. I’ll see you at the gate?” Kuroo smiled at you.

“I’ll be waiting.”

True to his word, he was there when you got out of attention. You were started to look more like yourself again, with color in your cheeks and light in your eyes. Still, there was something sad about your demeanor.

You didn’t greet him, and he didn’t greet you, but the two of you fell into step with one another without question. You were simply meant to be side by side at that moment.

“So… the week is up,” you reminded him with a sad smile. Kuroo felt a weight rest on your shoulders. You were right… a week had passed and there was really no reason for the two of you to “date” any longer. But… 

“What do you want to do?” he asked you. You were the one who was in a tough spot, and he didn’t want to take advantage of your vulnerability. He just wanted to see you happy.

You breathed in sharply. You seemed nervous for some reason, and Kuroo prayed silently that he hadn’t been putting pressure on you. “I’ve been thinking actually. About that day at the park.” You turned to face him. He stopped, giving you time to speak.

“I have a confession. Don’t laugh at me?” you asked anxiously. Kuroo grinned at you.

“I’ll always laugh at you,” he promised and you punched his arm playfully. “All right, all right! No laughter from me, not a peep.” He hoped his face didn’t look too hopeful.

“I know I said I wouldn’t, but I think I fell for you for real. Like, really, totally badly,” you admitted, eyes tracing the ground. “And I get that you did this as a joke, and I’m sure you asked me because I’m the one person who you’d never end up dating but I wanted to be honest with you.” Kuroo felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. You looked cute rambling. “And you don’t even have to respond! Or walk me home! We can stage a breakup, or just tell everyone it didn’t work out or-”

There was something warm against your lips.

Kuroo’s lips were against your lips. He pulled away, stupid grin still clear on his soft, cherry-flavored lips.

“Why would I break up with someone I’m head over heels for?”

[nonbinary-renfri]

inspired by this post by @elliestormfound

It’s Lambert’s turn to cook dinner tonight for the witchers wintering in the keep and he’s feeling rather inspired, after Geralt and Eskel went ice fishing and came back with four lovely large trout. Going down to the root cellar while the other two witchers were taking care of the gutting and cleaning and de-scaling of the fish out in the yard, Lambert picked out some onions and some potatoes and some garlic. He also took a container of the goat milk butter they’d started making after Eskel had insisted on getting the keep its own mini goat herd. The animals themselves were stinky, ungrateful bastards, but even Lambert would admit having the fresh milk was nice. Once they finally figured out this goat cheese thing, it’d be even nicer.

But for now Lambert’s heading back upstairs with a basket full of potatoes and onions and garlic and is greeted by some absolutely beautiful fish fillets laid out on the kitchen counter. A lesser man- such as many high-class chefs with their fancy restaurants in the cities- might shed a tear at the sight of such divine knife work. Lambert is so glad Eskel let Geralt do the filleting this time.

He dices onions and garlic and preps the potatoes, washing them and piercing them in several places with a knife. The wood-stove is already lit, doing its best to spread fingers of warmth through Kaer Morhen’s cold stones. Opening up two of the burners, Lambert plunks down a pair of heavy iron saucepans onto the stove. He makes two batches of an onion-butter sauce, one with garlic and one without. While that’s simmering, he seasons the fish with rock salt that he’s fairly certain Vesemir collects and grinds himself, and then divides the fillets out evenly between two baking pans. Lambert pours the sauce over the fish before sliding them, along with the potatoes, into the large oven to slow cook.

With some time to kill, he washes the dishes he’s created so far and then starts poking around in the kitchen cabinets. He finds things he knew were there, like shelves filled with jars of different spices and a section dedicated to baking supplies, and things he didn’t, like glass bottles of apple cider in a bottom cupboard. Lambert uncorks one and sniffs it, and, yep, that is apple cider and it’s still fairly fresh too, probably squeezed and bottled by Vesemir this past autumn. He doesn’t think the old man will mind awfully if Lambert commandeers some of it; it’s for a good cause, and it’s not like Vesemir won’t also get a share of it.

Putting a larger pot on the stove top, Lambert mixes up a hot drink made with apple cider, a splash of squeezed fruit juice, and spices. Sticks of cinnamon and dried orange and lemon slices float in bubbling amber liquid as it simmers on the burner. Dinner will be done before the wassail is, but that’s alright; they can have it as a nice follow-up afterwards.

Lambert glances up from stirring the drink as Vesemir enters the kitchen. The old witcher is carrying a basket with fresh broccoli from the winter garden, tiny bits of ice glimmering on green buds from being washed outdoors in the cold. Taking a deep breath in, he smiles appreciatively. “It smells delicious.” Yellow irises find the bottles of apple cider out on the countertop. “Ah. I see you got into my juice stores.”

“For a good cause, old man.”

Vesemir’s nostrils flare as he leans towards the pot. “Yes, indeed. An after-dinner treat?”

How does he always know these things. “Yeah,” Lambert admits.

“Would you be willing to trust me to watch over your handiwork for a bit? I thought I would add broccoli to the menu tonight, but the table in the hall could really use a wipe down before we sit down to eat.”

“Sure, I can go do that. Stir the pot on the stove occasionally and don’t fucking burn my food, okay?”

Vesemir acquiesces with a nod and waves the younger witcher out the door.

The table is rather dusty and bread crumb-covered from a multitude of meals, so Lambert wipes it down with a dry cloth and then a wet one. He also takes the opportunity to set the table, putting out plates and silverware for all the witchers, though not in the pompous, shitty way a noble household would. Just a fork and a knife, thank you very much. The butter dish and the ceramic howling wolf salt and pepper shakers Eskel had brought back one winter go on the table too. Vesemir keeps his eyes on the broccoli he has searing on the stove as Lambert comes in and out of the kitchen, pretending not to notice as the younger snags napkins for the table that he knows will be neatly folded beside their plates. And he thinks they don’t know that he cares.

Eventually all the food is done cooking and the old witcher lets Lambert take care of the plating of things, helping him carry the platters of roast potatoes and fish and broccoli into the hall. The smells must reach the other witchers in the keep as Geralt and Eskel quickly appear at the door, dressed in clean clothes with cheeks pink-flushed and the slightly spicy-sweet scent from the witch hazel soap they keep in the hot springs wafting off of them.

“Wow, that smells good,” Eskel comments. Geralt’s nostrils flare in agreement and the two are quick to take their usual seats at the table, eagerly eyeing the spread in front of them.

As soon as Vesemir fills his plate, the rest of them are free to dig in as well. Scenting the air, mouth partway open, Geralt gravitates towards the fish without garlic and scoops a good chunk onto his plate. Eskel takes a smaller piece from the same pan and a similar one from the other as well. Like Vesemir, Lambert takes a big serving of the fish with garlic. They all take potatoes and cut them open, steam wafting into the air from the well-cooked soft white insides. Goat butter melts quickly from the heat and they sprinkle rock salt on top of potatoes now drenched in gold. Broccoli joins the rest of the food on their plates and they eat in silence for a while, too hungry from the day’s work and grateful for a good meal to have the wherewithal to interrupt it with conversation.

Eventually though, as Vesemir and Geralt go back for second servings of their preferred fish and Eskel takes more broccoli, they find themselves able to take their concentration enough off the food to talk.

“Thank you for making dinner, Lambert,” Geralt says, because sometimes he can be a polite bastard. Lambert suspects it has something to do with all that time the white-haired man spends around a certain uppity sorceress.

“Yeah, thanks,” Eskel parrots, talking through a mouthful of potato because he doesn’t have a questionable influence in his life to teach him courtly manners. “’S delicious.”

Vesemir nods in agreement. “Quite.”

Resisting the urge to shrug off the praise, Lambert pretends the tips of his ears aren’t turning red. “Mhmm. Yeah. Uh. You’re welcome, I guess.” He remembers the wassail he has simmering in the kitchen still, and takes the excuse to flee the room. “Hot drinks, for after dinner. Should be done, so I’ll, uh, go get them.” Getting up and walking away, he waits until he’s completely out of eyesight of the others, because Vesemir would somehow fucking know if he didn’t, before he lets the bubbling warm feeling in his chest spill onto his face. He smiles the entire walk back to the kitchen.

Returning with a big wooden pitcher full of hot wassail that drifts the sweet scents of apples, citrus, and spices into the air with curls of steam, he pours it into the mugs gathered at the far end of the table, placing one in front of each witcher.

Vesemir, the madman, doesn’t even blow on his before gulping down a large mouthful. He swallows and immediately goes back for a second, humming his approval.

Slightly more cautious, Eskel blows on the surface of his drink before trying it. His face changes to a contemplative look and then he nods, seemingly in approval.

Geralt takes a sip from his mug with an unreadable expression. Lambert watches him carefully, knowing the other witcher can’t stand to drink apple cider on its own. Taking another sip, Geralt lets out a quiet grunt.

Lambert’s voice gets ahead of his head. “So? Is it good?” Shit shit shit way too pushy, what, do you need validation or something-

Shrugging, Geralt says, like he’s simply stating a fact, “Everything you make is good.”

There is a pleased yet embarrassed heat rising in Lambert’s cheeks, because Geralt doesn't say nice things when he doesn't mean them. “Fuck you.” Dammit, why can’t he be the kind of person who just goes speechless in moments like this.

Geralt doesn’t reply, but he’s smiling in that tiny way he thinks is unnoticeable, with the very corners of his lips and the tilt of his eyebrows, or something. The white-haired witcher doesn’t go back for seconds of the hot drink like Eskel does, or fourths like Vesemir, but he finishes the mug that Lambert poured for him, which is compliment enough in the younger’s opinion.

It’s a good night, he thinks, as they finish their drinks and Geralt and Eskel take the dishes back to the kitchen to scrub them clean. Even better as they all pile into the study, with it’s warm wooden walls and bearskin rugs a ballast against the winter’s chill. They quickly have a fire burning bright in the hearth, and the room becomes cozy and comfortable. Vesemir settles into his armchair with the old bestiary he’s currently annotating and the three younger witchers tangle together in a pile on the fur splayed before the fire. They wrestle lazily for a bit before sprawling out drowsily, serene and drifting somewhere close to sleep.

In the early hours of the next morning the armchair is empty, bestiary shut neatly on the accent table beside it, and the fire has reduced itself to cold ashes. Lambert wakes up to white hair tickling his nose and his feet tangled with Eskel’s, the other man’s calves laying on top of Geralt’s knees. Soft fur brushes his chin from the bearskin that had been spread over the three of them sometime in the night, keeping them warm beneath it with their combined body heat long after the fire had died out. There’s no window in this room but Lambert has a feeling it’s still not late enough for them to need to get up, so he lies there with his eyes closed, simply enjoying the weight and warmth of his brothers beside him.

[welcometophu]

The Meaning of Home, Chapter 2

The Meaning of Home Chapter 2

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

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Pawel spends much of Monday lounging around the house. He gets up to help get Conor and Emma on the bus, so his dad can leave on time for work. After meeting the bus in his pajamas, he walks back to Dad’s house and lies down on the couch. He doesn’t really need a blanket, but he pulls it up to his nose anyway for the comfort factor and spends the day dozing and streaming old movies on his dad’s TV.

He never makes it as far as thinking about cooking anything for dinner, so he treats Dad and Conor to a night out. It eats up more time than he’d like, and it means Conor needs to scramble to finish the last of his homework once they’re home, but it’s nice to spend an hour letting someone else do the cooking.

Later that evening, after Conor goes to bed, Pawel and Dad spend the next couple of hours finally talking through everything that’s happened. Pawel doesn’t want to leave things out, but there are a few things he avoids for Dad’s safety, like the government involvement, and one thing he just doesn’t know how to explain.

He hasn’t seen Chelsea in a while. She’s relearning how to work within the world without draining souls to stay alive. He highly doubts she’s planning on stopping by his father’s for a visit, and even if she did, Dad never got to meet her as anything other than one of Pawel’s friends a decade ago.

Yeah. That is a complicated mess that he has no desire to go into detail about.

They go to bed late, but Pawel still wakes early on Tuesday to get his own kid on the bus. He figures it’s the least he can do, letting Dad get to work on time on a regular basis again.

Alone in the house again, Pawel feels refreshed and awake.

And bored.

He puts the phone on speaker as he putters around the kitchen, pressing to dial the number for Pels. She picks up after two rings, her voice gravelly and low. “What? Did we burn your house down?”

“I’m assuming you would have called me, rather than the other way around, if you burned my house down. Since you’re the one staying there.” Pawel rifles through his father’s cabinets until he finds a slow cooker. It’s dusty, but he’s pretty sure it’ll be functional. There should be enough ingredients for chili around. 

He looks into a cabinet, and nearly bare shelves stare back at him.

Okay, maybe not.

“What?” Pels asks again. “You woke me up. Are you looking for my mom? I thought you had her number.”

Pawel finds tomatoes and beans, and starts emptying them into the slow cooker. “I do. I thought she’d be at work, so I called you instead.”

“It’s too early and—Dad, Dad, no, I’ll talk to him. Give me back my phone.”

“Hello, Ammon.” Pawel might not be able to hear Pels’s father, but he’s well aware by now that the ghost can hear him.

“He’s leaving, and I’m not putting this on speaker,” Pels mutters. “I thought he was going to start spending more time with Mom now, after the whole unbinding ceremony last weekend, but apparently she told him not to follow her to work.”

“Can she see him now?” That would be an interesting development. Pawel sets the empty can on the counter and reaches for a pad of sticky notes so he can scribble a reminder to himself to look into more detailed information about the ritual that the Burlington community performed for Pels and her mother in order to remove the bindings from their Talents.

“I think so. I mean, I’m pretty sure she can, but we’re not really talking about it. But seriously. Did you call for a reason? Cheyenne’s got these final projects to finish up since she left school a couple weeks early, so she’s not bothering me. Dad wasn’t bothering me. I was sleeping.” Pels grumbles under her breath.

“I just wanted to see how things were going.” Pawel peels off the sticky note and tapes it to the fridge, where he might see it later. Another search of the cabinets turns up chili powder and a few other seasonings. “Now that you’ve had a chance to settle into the house.”

“We’re fine. We’re figuring out how to be a family again without Peter.” Pels hesitates. “I’m learning how to see the world a whole different way now that I can see everything my Talent lets me see. Shane and Jess and I are talking a lot, and I’m going to figure this Mage thing out. So… thanks. For everything. Including letting us stay in your house while you’re gone.”

Pawel shakes some cocoa powder into the slow cooker, before adding a handful of dried onion. “Someone’s got to water the plants.”

“The plants were already dead when we got here.”

He laughs at Pels’s dry words. She’s not wrong. Pawel was gone for a month; everything went to hell, while his son went to stay with his dad.

Which, yeah. That brings him right back around to where he is now.

Pawel stares at the slow cooker. “If you need anything, you’ve got my number.”

“I’ll tell Mom to check in with you periodically. Oh and—” Pels hesitates before asking, “Cheyenne wants to know if it’s okay if she uses your backyard to practice flying?”

Pawel thinks of the time they used Alaric’s dragon to summon a Shadow in that same backyard. “That would not be the strangest thing the neighbors could have witnessed. But she should try not to break anything, including herself.”

“I think we can do that. Gotta go. Dad says there’s someone at the door.”

The line goes abruptly silent, and Pawel looks down at the screen of his phone as the connection is lost. “Okay, then.” He gives the vegetarian chili a quick stir, then puts the lid on, plugs it in, and switches the appliance on to cook on low. “That’s set, at least.”

He feels a little better, knowing that his home is in good hands, or at least, it’s not burning down. It sat empty for a month before; having someone live there for the summer should be better.

As long as none of the newly powered Mages set the place on fire.

Fire.

That reminds him.

Pawel checks one more time to ensure that the slow cooker is on and set to low, then heads back to the living room to dig out his laptop. He starts it up and finds the tab he’d left open for the outdoor music festivals, with a list of dates.

That’s what he thought: the festival that Rory and Thorne’s band, Phoenix Rising, is touring with will be in Buffalo this weekend.

Pawel buys four tickets. He figures Dad will come with them, and Conor will want to bring a friend. Probably Alan. And if Dad doesn’t want to go, Alan’s mom, Emily, might join them instead. He’s not worried if the tickets don’t all get used; he just wants options.

Conor will be pleased by the surprise, anyway.

He closes the laptop and looks back to the kitchen.

How the hell does his dad live like that, anyway? And what has Conor been eating?

No, he saw the answer to that this morning. Toaster pastries and cereal, and Pawel’s pretty sure that the last of the eggs were finished off as well.

Fine.

If Pawel’s going to be here all summer, squeezed into his dad’s small space, the least he can do is lay in supplies.

Pawel spends the day scouring the cabinets, making a long list of everything from prepared garlic and ginger for easy seasoning, to pantry staples like pasta, to critical items like various forms of protein for the freezer. His dad has a standing freezer in the garage, and even that seems woefully empty.

He loses time going through the sites online for each local grocery store, poring over the ads to determine which store will have the best value for this shopping trip. He types up the list to rearrange it by food type, so that as soon as Conor’s home they can head out and maybe they’ll be organized enough to get the trip done quickly.

“Dad!” The door bangs open. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving and something smells really good.”

“It’s not dinner time.” Pawel folds up the printout of the list and shoves it in his pocket. “We’re going shopping. Grab a snack.” His own stomach growls and he’s not sure how he made it from early morning to half past three without a meal. “I think I saw a box of granola bars.”

Conor lifts the lid to the slow cooker, inhaling deeply, while Pawel finds the last two granola bars. He tosses one to his son.

“Let’s get some food.”

“Can we get meat for the chili? That looked like it was all beans,” Conor grumbles. He buckles his belt, then directs Pawel to the grocery store. 

Pawel already knows how to get there, but he’s not going to tell Conor that. Not when Conor seems comfortable in this place and is enjoying showing off that comfort level. He stays silent while Conor points out the entrance to the parking lot, then finds them a space close to the door.

Conor grabs a cart from the corral and pushes it into the store. “Emma’s Papa picks her up after school, so she doesn’t have to take the bus. She said they’re doing stuff today, so she couldn’t come over. I thought we could work on our—Emma!!” 

Pawel catches the cart, stopping it from rolling when Conor takes off into the produce section. Emma’s answering shout is sharp and loud as Conor skids to a stop near a display laden with peaches. Pawel pushes the cart there, half an ear listening to the kids talking as if they weren’t together a half hour ago in school.

“Dad!” Conor waves at him, so Pawel picks up the pace.

He’s not sure who Emma is with. She stands next to an almost empty cart, except for a bag of peaches sitting in the seat. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of an adult.

“Emma’s shopping.”

Emma rolls her eyes, pushing braids back over her shoulder. “Obviously,” she says quietly. “Jennie had to pee. He’ll be back soon. She forgot to go before we left school.”

“Does your Papa have two carts? We can help you,” Conor offers. “You and me can do one cart, and Dad can do ours, and your Papa can do the other one.”

“You can call me Leo. I don’t think your dad would like it if you started calling me Papa like the rest of the kids.”

Pawel knows that voice.

He hasn’t heard the voice in a very long time, but there are certain phrases still etched in the deep recesses of his memory. 

He exhales, and very deliberately makes himself look at the man who has joined him.

He looks good. Older, yeah. It’s been more than ten years since Leo graduated and left town for college. Apparently he’s back now, and from the police uniform, this would be Emma’s foster father that works for Pawel’s dad.  He has the name ‘L. Papa’ embroidered on his uniform, just above the pocket, and his badge is still visible. Leo stands with one hand on the handle of the cart and reaches without looking to take a package of donuts out of the hands of the small girl sitting in the basket of the cart.

When he smiles, Pawel’s heart twists.

“I was glad to hear you reappeared,” Leo says quietly. His voice is a warm, low tenor, as careful and even as Pawel remembers.

“You’re fostering a Weather Witch.” It’s maybe not the best reply. Pawel refuses to wince when Conor snickers.

“I told you he’s single-minded sometimes,” Conor whispers loudly to Emma. “He’ll help find your parents. I know your Papa’s a police officer, but Dad’s a Mage.”

Emma’s brown eyes are furrowed and dark. Her lips purse, but she doesn’t say anything.

Leo takes two sheets of paper from his pocket, then hands one to Emma. “You know which cereals the boys like best. Pick one for yourself and Jennie that they won’t eat before you get a chance. Since you’re the one with me, you get to pick the pasta. I know it says twenty boxes of mac & cheese, but we only need ten. We’ll be shopping again next week.”

Emma takes the list and reads it over solemnly. “Nevaeh said we need more tuna, but it’s not on the list. I’ll get that, too. C’mon, Conor. There were some cookies on sale. Help me pick out ones that the boys won’t eat before we can.”

“Popcorn,” Conor replies. “Remember, we used the last of it last weekend? Did that get on your list?”

They roll away with the almost-empty cart before Pawel can protest.

The small girl in Leo’s cart has the box of donuts in her hands again. She opens the plastic carefully and takes one out.

“Jennie,” Leo says softly.

“I need sugar to sparkle,” she whispers around a mouthful of chocolate cream.

Speechless feels so strange. Pawel can’t remember the last time his tongue has been this tangled. “I—” He tries to break his own silence, and fails miserably.

“Things get chaotic with five kids in the house,” Leo says. When he smiles again, his pale green eyes crinkle around the corners with tiny lines that definitely weren’t there before. They match the faint hints of salt in his dark hair. “Conor’s got a lot of energy. He probably keeps you on your toes.”

“Dad says I’ve been cursed with a kid that’s just like I was,” Pawel says. He pushes his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to recover his balance. “He didn’t tell me you were one of Emma’s foster fathers. Just that she had two of them. Foster fathers. And two missing parents.”

Meeting his ex-boyfriend shouldn’t be this unsettling.

Pawel blames it on the fact that he’s probably still in a sleep deficit—two weeks is not enough time to catch up on missing sleep for several months.

“There’s a local teacher who works with a group that finds placements for Talented kids who need Talented families to stay with.” Leo has the second page of his list in his hand, and he refers to it while picking out produce.

Right. Shopping.

Pawel looks at his own list and tries to focus on that to give himself a little distance and wrangle his brain back into working order. Salad. They definitely need things for salad. And fresh vegetables for roasting wouldn’t be bad.

“Alice asked Colt if he knew anyone who might be able to take on kids about four years ago, and when he said we would, she put us in touch with Lucy and Rowan, and that’s how we got Matt, our first foster kid.”

Leo’s voice rolls over Pawel, dropping tidbits of information that he struggles to grab onto.

“Matt’s not bad,” Jennie says around a mouthful of donut. “Sometimes.”

Pawel latches onto the names, his fingers closing around a broccoli crown and holding it a little too tightly. He fumbles with the plastic bag. “Lucy and Rowan? And… Colt?” He had to have heard those wrong.

He manages to get the bag open and shoves two broccoli crowns into it, dropping them in the basket of his cart.

Leo is silent.

When Pawel looks at him, Leo stands with his fingers wrapped around the handle of the cart, his grip tight. “Colt Harrison,” he says. “My husband. You—”

“Dated him in high school, yeah.” Pawel finishes Leo’s sentence for him.

That’s… too much information. Pawel is struggling to assimilate it.

“Dad did not mention that,” he mutters.

“This doesn’t have to be weird.” Leo grabs the container of donuts and moves it to another area of the cart. Jennie could still get to it, but she pouts instead, slouching down in one corner of the basket, her lower lip sticking out and flecked with chocolate. “Colt and I met when he was interning at the law office where he works now. We’ve been married about three years. We didn’t even know each other back in high school.”

“It doesn’t have to be weird,” Pawel echoes. He’s right, of course. It shouldn’t be weird. It’s not weird at all. People meet. They fall in love. They get married. They have kids. Sometimes there’s a small world effect and it turns out that they may have already been connected beforehand.

That’s all Pawel is in this; an ancient history connection.

“Your dad talks about you all the time,” Leo says. He pulls a napkin from his pocket and cleans Jennie’s fingers. “Try not to touch anything else,” he admonishes gently before tucking the dirty napkin back in his pocket. 

He’s so careful with her. Pawel remembers when Leo used to take care of his younger siblings. It only makes sense that he’d be good with kids now. As big and scruffy and rough looking as he is, he’s gentle, too.

“I need to—” Pawel holds up the list, showing just how long it is. “Dad’s cupboards are empty. I’m not sure what he and Conor have been eating, and I get the feeling that it’s takeout so I really don’t want to know. I need to stock up.”

“So do we. Matt’s eleven and Clan, and Duke’s fourteen. We go through a lot of food in our house.” Leo heads toward the back of the store. “Come on. We’ll catch up with the kids if we get moving.”

Pawel exhales and trails behind Leo. Jennie peeks around him, her thumb in her mouth as she looks at Pawel. Small brown brows furrow deeply before she turns away and curls up.

Her snores are adorable little rasps of sound. He can’t think how she’s sleeping through the rattle and squeak of the cart she rides in. Still, she’s silent as they work their way through the aisles, collecting items from their respective lists.

They turn down one aisle and spot Conor and Emma from a distance. Conor has sparks around his hand while Emma reaches for something falling from the shelves.

Pawel coughs, and Conor turns to give him an innocent look.

Wait. That reminds him.

“You’re taking in Talented kids,” Pawel says slowly. “So you or Colt must be—”

“We both are,” Leo says, glancing at him sideways. “I grew up Clan. Colt’s Emergent, but that’s his story to tell. I heard about you being a Mage from your dad. He’s proud of everything you’ve done at PHU.”

Pawel waves that away. “Youngest dean. Newest department. Only real expert on Talent as a whole because I’m the only person who’s bothered to go down the rabbit hole far enough to study it formally.”

“It’s still impressive.” Leo huffs.

“I just… I never knew.” Pawel thinks back and tries to catalog Leo’s family based on what he knows of Clan. He didn’t interview them for his thesis; they weren’t on his radar as a large Clan community. They grew up as a part of the town.

“You weren’t meant to.” Leo dips into his pocket and hands the napkin back to Jennie, who has somehow woken from her nap and polished off a second donut while they weren’t paying attention. “That was before the Emergence. We took a lot of care to be able to live here without anyone knowing.”

“But your community—”

“Widespread and buried within this town and the surrounding ones. We never really wanted to withdraw from the rest of the world. Which is what makes us good candidates for fostering. We don’t have those same prejudices that some might have.” Leo drops a hand to the top of Jennie’s head, and she looks up at him, smiling brightly.

There are, indeed, sparkles all around her, the air shimmering with her contentment and happiness.

“Conor wants me to help find Emma’s parents,” Pawel says quietly. “At the same time, I’m not sure if he really wants me to get involved, after everything that happened this last year. What do you—”

“I think they’re dead,” Leo says quietly. His hand still rests atop Jennie’s head, but his gaze is fixed on Emma. “I can tell you what little we know, but everything points to them being dead. The question is what happened to their bodies.”

Unfortunately, Pawel’s had experience with issues like that and can think of at least one scenario.

Which might mean they’re not dead.

They also might not be prepared to be parents anymore, either.

Leo pitches his voice louder. “You should come over for dinner some night.”

Both Conor and Emma turn to look at them. Emma grips the side of the cart, stepping up and holding on while Conor gives it a good push before jumping up himself. It sends them racing towards Leo and Pawel, until Pawel puts up a hand, throwing out a gentle cushion of magic to stop them before they crash.

“Yes!” Conor yells. “Dinner!”

“You could come over and meet everyone. If you want to.” Emma’s gaze drifts away, like she really doesn’t care about the answer.

“They’re like my second family. Third, maybe, because of Alan, but my second one here,” Conor insists. “And Emma’s dads are really nice.”

“They aren’t my dads.”

“I’m sure Colt would love to see you, too,” Leo adds.

Thanks for the gut punch.

“He says yes,” Conor says quickly. “Right dad? You say yes.”

What else is he supposed to do?

“Yes.” Pawel fishes out his phone, unlocking it and staring down. He doesn’t resist when Leo slips it from his fingers, opening up his text app and sending something.

Leo places the phone back in Pawel’s hands. “The first number is mine, the second is Colt’s. In case you don’t still have them.”

“I fried my phone and lost everything,” Pawel admits. “Back when I Emerged. So. Thank you.”

“It’s good to see you.” Leo’s touch is heavy and warm where he claps his hand against Pawel’s shoulder, then squeezes. 

Pawel could hug him, but he thinks that might be awkward. He’s never had this situation. He has three exes—two of them he hasn’t seen since they broke up, and the other one is Chelsea. Which is just complicated.

“Yeah, you too.” He watches as Leo walks away, Emma pushing the second cart beside him. Pawel wonders just how distracted Leo must feel since Jennie looks like she’s grabbing her third donut.

Or maybe that’s just how it is. Maybe he spoils his kids with plenty of sugar.

It’s not like Pawel knows anything about how Leo’s life is now.

Conor tugs sharply at Pawel’s shirt. “Dad. When are we going to dinner over at Emma’s house?”

Pawel looks down at his phone, at the new conversation sitting there. All it says is, this is Pawel.

He locks his phone and shoves it in his pocket. “I don’t know yet, but not tonight. Let’s go find that meat you wanted for the chili. Chicken might be good. We could sauté it up quickly and add it so it’ll get a couple hours in the slow cooker with the rest. Or we could cook it up with spices and add it afterwards.”

“You’re just saying that because chicken is healthy,” Conor grumbles. “I got more toaster pastries. Dziadziu lets me eat them.”

“I let you eat them, too, just possibly not in the same quantities,” Pawel protests. It’s not an argument he’s going to have right now, anyway.

He’s going to focus on finishing up the shopping, and finishing cooking dinner.

He’s going to focus on anything other than the fact that somehow both of the boys he dated in high school grew up to meet each other and end up married.

Yeah, he’s going to do his damnedest to focus on anything but that.

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[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Knitting

Summary: Ford finally musters up the courage to ask Mabel to teach him something he desperately wants to learn.

Requested by both @starpossum and @3hobbitsinatrenchcoat. Thank you both so much, and I hope you like it!

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford had no reason to be so nervous as he stood as stiff as a board and tried to steady his racing heart, but he was. Maybe not as nervous as he was to walk into the principal’s office alone or when he was about to present his project to the college representatives, but a bit nervous. About what? Judgement? Rejection? But that was ridiculous! She was one of the most caring, open-minded, loving people Ford had ever met in his sixty years of living, in any dimension he had come across. Surely he was about to enter a safe domain. Taking advantage of his sudden flock of courage, Ford pushed open the screen door and let it creak to warn his grandniece of his upcoming presence.

Mabel was sitting on the couch as the early-morning sun shined through the trees, just recently risen. Ford smiled at seeing the thirteen-year-old girl knitting quietly with Waddles asleep by her side, a perfect way to start the day. Mabel looked up and instantly made a huge grin at her grunkle; this wasn’t the first time the two early birds had graced each other with their presence and she hoped it wouldn't be the last. “Hi, Grunkle Ford!”

“Good morning, Mabel.” Ford sat by her side on the couch and looked down at her work. Like every morning, she was knitting a sweater. While most of the time she knitted for herself, occasionally she would knit for someone else. “What are you working on today?”

Mabel held up her half finished sweater, which was black with a skull on it, a bit edger than her usual taste and it certainly caught Ford by surprise. “I’m working on my Summerween daytime sweater. And I can wear this at the vampire concert I’m going to this Saturday.”

“Oh,” Ford said and shrugged with a smile. “Well, be sure to eat something with lots of garlic before you go.”

“Don’t worry, Grunkle Stan already promised that he’ll make spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner that night.”

Ford chuckled lightly, “That should keep you safe,” and ruffled her hair gently. Silence fell between them comfortably as Mabel worked blindly, her eyes admiring nature at it’s finest, and Ford did the same, though his mind was elsewhere.

This was stupid. This was preposterous. This was ridiculous. This was ludicrous. This was absurd. Suddenly he was almost too apprehensive to talk to his own family, but why? Surely it wasn’t due to a lack of bravery; he had faced thousands of monsters and even an all-knowing braid demon. No, the fact was that Ford was far more afraid of the smallest possibility that Mabel would turn him down or laugh or deny his request than he was afraid of anything in the Multiverse. But really, the possibility that Mabel would say no was laughable, so he steadied himself with a quiet intake of breath and said quietly to have her attention, “Mabel?”

“Uh, huh.” She said and looked up at him and even paused her knitting to give him her undivided attention. Ford somewhat wished she hadn’t.

He cleared his throat and tugged at his turtleneck a little to try to make it easier to breathe. “Would it be… erm, I mean, I understand you’re a very busy young lady, but… I-I-I would be honored if you would find… um, I mean, if you would take the time to walk me through the details on how to create sweaters by hand.”

Mabel’s eyes widened. Ford misread her facial expression and quickly looked away. He could feel heat rising in his face uncomfortably. “You… want me to teach you how to knit?”

“Of course, I understand if you don’t want to, I fully anticipated that you would much rather…”

“GRUNKLE FORD, I WOULD LOVE TO!” Mabel threw herself into Ford, catching him by surprise, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her face into his shoulder. “I’ve been waiting almost a year for this moment! I’m so happy you wanna learn how to knit! What made you wanna learn?!”

“Oh,” Ford was still slightly too flustered to communicate properly, but he tried. “I… I suppose you inspired me t-to give it a try, y-y-you know?”

Mabel squeezed him and then let go to grin at him “Well then you came to the right gal! Give me a second, I’ll be right back with everything!” And very soon she was gone.

Ford smiled at himself, feeling a bit stupid. Of course Mabel would be delighted in teaching a loved one how to perform a task she had mastered. But still, he had been waiting to ask her for so long now and had built up the moment in his head that of course his insecurities would ram their ugly head.

Mabel came back with a suitcase filled to the brim and a messenger bag over her shoulder that was decorated with buttons. Ford raised an eyebrow as Mabel let the suitcase sit on the floor and she zipped it open. He was amazing to find dozens of balls of yarn arranged in rainbow order in the suitcase.

“Okay! It’s very important when you knit to work with colors you like.” Mabel instructed as she sat next to him on the couch. “You’re going to be looking at your yarn for a long time, you don’t wanna pick a color you’re gonna get sick of, so pick any color you want!”

“That makes sense.” Ford complimented and held his cleft chin in thought. There were so many colors it was like he was at a craft store. One caught his eye and he happily picked up a blue ball of yarn with white freckles in it. “I think I’ll use this one.”

“Oo! That’s pretty! Okay,” Mabel picked up a dark-green ball of yarn and rested it in her lap. She rummaged through her messenger bag, which from the soundso fi t was full of knitting needles, and she pulled out a pair of orange average-sized needles. “There’s different sizes of needles for what you wanna make, but this is a good beginner’s set. You can keep them if you want.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Ford said, quite excited now that he had the materials he needed to work. “So how do we make a sweater?”

Mabel giggled innocently and elbowed the sleeping pig. “Waddles, you hear that, Grunkle Ford is so cute.” She stopped her laughing to gently guide her student. “Sweaters are really hard, you have to master knitting first before you do something that complicated. The best thing to knit first is a scarf or maybe a hat if you’d rather make a hat.”

“Oh.” Ford did feel a little foolish to think one could go from not knowing how to knit to making sweaters, but he smiled was was excited to learn how to make several articles of clothing. “Very well, I think a scarf would be perfect!”

“Great!” Mabel picked up her ball of yarn and said, “First, you wanna find the tail, it’s usually tucked inside… right there, perfect! Now unwind some, you’ll need a few feet to get started. That’s good, perfect! Now, I’ll go ahead and warn you, getting started is harder than the actual knitting, so if you can get the ball rolling you’ll be gold!”

“Okay, so…”

“Right. First, you wanna make a rainbow… yes! Now cross the ends over like this… good! Then, you see this part of the string? Pinch your fingers, poke them through, grab that part, and pull it through. That’s it, you’re got it! That’s the main hoop, you put it through your needle and pull it tight, like this.”

Together the pair hooked on their first hoop and Mabel smiled proudly. “Good, now grab the long part of the yarn, not the tail, that’s the one! Now what you wanna do is twist it around your fingers, like this.” And Mabel demonstrated it on her hand. Thankfully it mostly consisted of her thumb and pointer finger, so Ford was able to copy it exactly. “Yes, good, now do you see this little hole? Just gently poke your needle through, and pull it off. Watch.” Mabel showed Ford what to do and Ford carefully copied her. He was delighted to see he successfully made another loop, and so he did it again and again.

“Wow, you’re a fast learner!”

“Well I had an amazing teacher.” Ford complimented.

Mabel blushed and said, “Okay, so these loops are how wide the scarf will be, see? So the more loops you make, the thicker it’ll be, so when it’s thick enough you stop. Don’t forget, yarn is fluffy, so it’ll be thicker than this first row.”

Ford nodded to show his understanding and thought of how thick he wanted the scarf. He made about twenty or so loops and then said, “I think that’s good?” He gave her a look that matched his questionable tone perfectly.

Mabel looked down at his work and grinned and nodded. “That looks great! Your scarf is gonna look so cute! Right, now to learn how to knit! This is a pretty basic stitch, but it’s a universal… nevermind, it’s an interdimensional stitch.” She joked. “Once you learn this you know the basics on how to make a bunch of stuff.”

“Okay, got it.” Ford held his opposite needle, excited to learn how Mabel can make clothes like magic by simply hitting two sticks together.

“Now, you see that big hole? The one the loop made?” Mabel asked, and when Ford nodded, she instructed, “Put your needle through that, just a little. Good, now loop the yarn around the new needle. Perfect! Now watch, this is the tricky part. There’s a second, smaller hole you need to pull your new needle through to make the knot. It’s right between the needle and the new loop. You poke it through, and pull. Watch me a few times, okay? You poke, loop, poke, and pull. Poke, loop, poke, and pull.”

“Hm,” Ford watched Mabel make a few stitches and tried to understand the smaller hole she was talking about. He gave it a try and thought he found the hole, but it was too tight and he couldn’t move his needle. He tried it again and found a looser hole he could work it, and when he pulled it made a stitch just like Mabel’s. Ford grinned and tried it again and was delighted to find it could do it successfully more than once. “I think I’ve got it…”

“You do!” Mabel watched him knit a few stitches and hugged him around the neck again. “I’m so proud of you, wow! Look at you go! Now just be careful not to split the yarn, like that. See, it’s okay, just unhook it, there you go. Now you just gotta do that over and over again. It’s kinda like typing, it’s easier the more you do it. Pretty soon you’ll be able to knit without looking!”

“Wow, this is incredible.” Ford marveled as he finished his first line and ran a finger over the stitches; it looked and felt like something Mabel would have made. “Thank you so much, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome!” Mabel said as she knitted. “I’m just so happy you wanted to learn. Gotta be honest, I thought you’d never wanna knit.”

“Why is that?” He asked, generally curious as to why she would assume that. Had he accidentally given the wrong impression on the activity?

“Dipper tried it once and hated it.” Mabel giggled, but then looked kinda sad at the memory. “I tried to teach him, but he didn’t like the way he had to hold the needles and he couldn’t find the holes and eventually he got frustrated and quit. We hadn’t even finished the first lesson and he decided it wasn’t a Dipper-thing.”

Ford smiled sympathetically and guessed, “And so you predicted that it wouldn’t be a Ford-thing?”

Mabel shrugged apologetically and smiled sheepishly at him. “You and Dipper do like a lot of the same stuff.”

“It’s true that we’re very similar,” Ford admitted. “But we’re not complete copies of each other. I’m just grateful that one bad experience with a student hadn’t caused you to turn down another.” He smiled at her kindly and Mabel giggled and shook her head.

“Never ever. I’m glad you wanted to learn. I just hope you didn’t only wanna learn to spend time with me or cuz you thought I’d want you to. Not that I don’t wanna spend time with you! I do, but I want you to do stuff cuz you think it’s fun, you know?”

“No no, I understand.” Ford nodded. “I truly did want to try to make sweaters and scarfs and hats. It’s true that you inspired me, but I generally was intrigued by the activity and wanted to give it a try.”

“Well, I’m glad you did.” Mabel said matter-of-factly and gently stopped Ford when he made an incorrect knot and helped him fix it.

As the morning waned on and the day dragged on, despite Mabel leaving to do other things, Ford stayed on that couch knitting. He was very slow and constantly made mistakes, but he felt like he was getting the hang of it and he was having so much fun and was determined to finish what he had in mind. While all he had said to Mabel was true, there was another reason why he had wanted to learn how to knit so badly.

Mabel let his uncle enjoy the new hobby and occasionally praised him and reminded him that if he needed help all he had to do was ask. She said goodnight to him as he continually knitted on that couch and she requested that he not pull an all-nighter. Ford promised he wouldn’t, so Mabel went into her shared bedroom with Dipper for the evening.

The next morning Mabel was yawning into her hand as she cheerfully walked to the kitchen for some orange juice. She was surprised and disappointed to find her Grunkle Ford sipping coffee at the table. Just by looking at his eyes and the way he was sitting and inhaling the coffee Mabel could tell that Ford did not get a full-night’s rest.

“Grunkle Ford, you promised me you wouldn’t pull an all-nighter.” She scolded.

“I didn’t. I just woke up from a nap.” Grunkle Ford said cheerfully. “And good morning to you, as well.”

Mabel rolled her eyes at his cheekiness and she asked, “And how long was your nap?”

“Half an hour.”

“Grunkle Ford!” Mabel whined.

“I’m sorry, Mabel,” Ford chuckled amusingly. “But I was working on something very important.”

“Oh yeah, like what?” She asked as she opened the fridge.

“How about a gift for my favorite niece?”

Mabel turned around with the carton of juice in her hand and stared as Ford pulled a wrapped present up from his lap and onto the table.

Mabel had a tradition of making sweaters for Ford and wrapping them and placing them on his couch-made-bed. She would use tons of glitter and a big bow and would sometimes cut the wrapping paper too short and have to cut a second piece to tape over the hole. When Stan and Ford were out sailing and Mabel had to mail them the blankets and sweaters and hats and scarves and gloves and socks she had made them, she filled each and every box with glitter and included handmade cards and drawings and she always put everything she got into her gifts. As you can imagine, when Mabel caught wind that they were sailing in the Arctic Ocean, she was terrified of her favorite old people in the world getting cold and she made it her life;s mission to keep them warm even if she couldn’t hug them.

Ford desperately wanted to do the same for her. In his mind it was so unfair that she had never experienced the overwhelming joy of having someone make something so beautiful just for you. Ford wanted to make something for her he knew she loved and to take the time to wrap it and make it nice for her and to give it to her, not for a holiday or celebration, but just because she deserved it and Ford wanted to do something nice for her.

Mabel put the orange juice on the counter and slowly walked to the table. The present was wrapped in holiday wrapping paper that had reindeer and pine trees all over it. Ford’s math skills really came in handy, seeing how the present was beautifully wrapped, but it had a huge red bow on it and Ford used his really pretty cursive handwriting to spell out on a tag, “For my beautiful Mabel.” Mabel almost felt as if the gift was too pretty to unwrap. Almost. With trembling hands she quietly tore the paper for the gift while Ford rested his cheek on his knuckles and soaked in that star-struck look on Mabel’s face. Totally worth it.

Ford felt a small twinge of worry that she wouldn’t like the gift, but he quickly shoved that away. He wasn’t going to let his insecurities ruin this for himself. Mabel gasped and covered her mouth with shiny brown eyes as she stared at the gift. Really, compared to what Mabel could have done, it was half-decent at best. But it was still a nice scarf. Sure, there is an imperfection here and there, and the ends of the clothing material were bland with no fancy tassel or anything. It was clearly homemade, but the blue yarn was still pretty and the stitches were well made. Not bad for a first attempt, really not bad at all.

However, for Mabel, that scarf was the best gift she had ever received. Ford was startled to see her crying, legitimately crying with sobs behind her hand and tears rolling down her face. “Oh no, Mabel, my dear, don’t cry. It’s alright.”

“It’s so… so beautiful.” Mabel croaked and let Ford scoop her up into his arms. His warm chuckle rumbled against her chest as Ford rubbed circles into her back and she held him tightly. It was stupid to be crying over a scarf, but Mabel knew she wasn’t just crying over the scarf. She sniffed and wiped her tears on Ford’s red sweater and huffed, “Y-You did such a g-g-good job. It’s s-s-so… so pretty.”

Ford’s face felt like it was on fire. He did rinse off when he had finished shaving with fire, right? “Well, credit should be given where credit is due. I learned that all from you, sweetheart.”

Mabel hiccuped a giggle through her tears. It took a moment or two for her to calm down, overwhelmed with gratitude and love, and eventually she wiped her face dry with a tissue Ford had given her and she gently scooped up the blue scarf with white freckles and wrapped it around her neck proudly. “I-I-Is this how I make you guys feel?” She asked.

Ford chuckled and shrugged. “As a matter-of-fact, yes.”

Mabel hugged her scarf and giggled, “Then maybe I should stop.”

Despite the fact that it was obviously a joke, Ford grabbed her by the arms and begged very seriously, “Please don’t ever stop.”

From that day forward Mabel didn’t take off the scarf. Ever. Ford was a little embarrassed when she wore it to bed and wore it with her sweaters and skirts, but he was mostly very thankful she loved it so much. If it was too hot she would rather take off her sweater and wrap it around her waist than take off her gift, and once when she was having a bad day Dipper caught her in Scarfville instead of Sweatertown. When the summer ended Dipper sent the grunkles the new high-schoolers’ first day of school picture and Mabel proudly wore her grunkle’s scarf with her legging, skirt, and t-shirt.

Ford continually worked to improve his knitting and by the time summer came to a close Mabel was able to teach him how to knit a sweater. It took a lot of practice to get it right, but he was immensely proud when he could finally mail her a beautiful sweater that had a Milky Way galaxy on it. Ford was delighted when she texted a picture of her wearing it with a wet smile on her face and the fluffy gifts between the two just kept coming.

[jbbarnesnnoble]

Hazy Horizons (Part Three)

Summary: In the wake of their lives being turned upside down and losing their son, Andy and Laurie Barber move to Maine, in search of starting over and starting a new family, by any means necessary

Features/Warnings: Dark!Fic; Dubcon/Noncon; Drugging; Manipulation; Smut; Breeding Kink; mentions of Lacatation Kink; Pregnancy Kink

Series Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon; Manipulation; Breeding Kink; Drugging

Pairing: Dark!Andy Barber/Reader/Dark!Laurie Barber

Notes: Reader is conflicted in this part and comes to some realizations about her situation. There is smut in this part. She’s trying so hard not to completely cave in to the will of the Barbers, but that’s proving harder than she thought.

This part features a lot of domesticity too. 

Please bear in mind that this is/will be a dark fic. You’re responsible for the content you choose to read.

Word Count: 3071

Laurie could barely contain her excitement. You were trying to contain the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. She was already talking about how the pair of you should tell Andy about the pregnancy. You were a permanent fixture in their bed since that night. After that first night, you had sworn you wouldn’t let them win. 

You’d tried to book an appointment for a Depo shot. But word got back to Andy and Laurie, the woman who booked the appointment confused because she’d heard you were going to be their surrogate. After that, you were no longer allowed to be unsupervised. In Laurie’s words, you weren’t to be trusted. Not right now. Not until you accepted your new norm. 

You knew they monitored your phone. There was no way around it that you could figure out. The same was true about your laptop. You’d learned that the hard way after Googling natural ways to prevent pregnancy. Most of it was bullshit anyway, but Andy and Laurie hadn’t taken kindly to it in the slightest. That indiscretion left you tied to the bed for the weekend, only allowed up to stretch every few hours and use the restroom. 

You’d had your debit and credit cards revoked after that stunt too. You may have had your numbers memorized, but they monitored your statements like hawks. Laurie kept your cards. She paid your bills for you. They had slowly whittled away at your freedoms until you felt more like a puppet on a string, an illusion of freedom given by your work and the trips to the store with Laurie or the weekend trips with the two of them. 

“I was thinking we could get a Patriots jersey, they sell cute ones at that boutique in Bangor,” Laurie said. You were still sat in shock, even though the pregnancy shouldn’t have surprised you that much. They had done their damndest to make sure you would get knocked up. 

“Sweetie? Are you okay? This is exciting! Our little family is growing!” Laurie said, sitting down beside you. You weighed your options. Lashing out, while it would feel good, could end with you in hot water. You didn’t want to think of what the consequences could be. But you weren’t excited. In another life, under different circumstances, maybe you would be. If they had asked you to surrogate like normal people. 

But this was more than that. They wanted more than that. Whispered words of being a family. It was another thing you couldn’t help but think about. That if they had gone about things differently, you would’ve been amenable. They were both attractive. You couldn’t deny that. But the fact was, they hadn’t. They had done everything against your will. 

“Yeah...yeah. I’m...it’s a lot to take in,” you said. She cupped your cheek in one of her hands when she moved to stand in front of you.

“I know it can be scary, but this is a beautiful thing. You’re going to be an incredible mommy. We’ll take care of you. I can’t wait to see the changes it’ll bring out in you,” she said before pulling you into a gentle kiss. 

It was moments like this that muddled your brain. It was wrong, so wrong. You were here against your will. Pregnant against your will. But they were never outright cruel to you, even when punishing you. And even that brought pleasure to a degree most times. You knew the longer this went on, the more warped your perception would become, especially when they weren’t cruel. If they hit you, verbally abused you, did anything that was outright mean and cruel, you thought you’d be able to compartmentalize better, remember that they weren’t good, they were keeping you against your will, forcing you into something you didn’t want.

But that was the thing. They treated you like a queen. You had stopped fighting them in bed. You knew it was inescapable at this point. Laurie would give you a massage at the end of a long day of work. Andy would fix your favorite dinner on bad days. They would both pick up little things for you when out and about. A book you’d mentioned. A snack you couldn’t find when shopping with Laurie for the week. It made it easy to forget the situation, if only for a moment. They were slowly whittling away at you, at your resolve to get out of the situation you found yourself in. 

You couldn’t help but to relax into her embrace, scolding yourself for doing so. When she pulled away, she smiled at you. Remember who she is. Remember what she’s done. Remember who she is. Remember what she’s done. You repeated the words in your head as she pulled you by the hand down the stairs and to her car. It was a Saturday morning. Andy had gone into the office to work on a case that had been keeping his office busy, leaving you and Laurie alone for most of the day. 

“I’ll call Dr. Schroder on Monday to make an appointment. Andy will want to be there too,” Laurie said. You nodded. What else could you do?

“What are you going to tell her?” you asked. There would be questions, surely. If you were their surrogate, you would’ve gone to Schroder’s office. Laurie looked at you for a moment before letting out a sigh as she pulled out of the drive. Snow covered the road still, never fully gone from the ground before the next snowfall. 

“Everyone knows that we have...a relationship. They talk. They may not understand it, but they know. Dr. Schroder won’t have any questions and if she does, it’s not like we have anything to hide. We love you,” Laurie said. You felt sick, and it wasn’t from the pregnancy. 

“I thought you told people I was your surrogate,” you said, panic rising. You saw the smile on her face.

“We did, at first. But there’s not hiding how we look at you, how you look at us,” she said. Your breath caught. How you looked at them? You refused to believe you ever looked at them with anything other than contempt, than anger, hatred. They had taken your life and turned it upside down. 

“What happens after?” you asked.

“After what?” she questioned.

“I have the baby. What happens after? Do I get to go back to my side of the house? Have my life back?” you asked, on the verge of tears. 

“Sweetheart, I know your hormones are all over the place right now. Andy and I aren’t going anywhere. We’ll be a family. Our children are going to be so loved. You’ll see. There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she said in an attempt to soothe you. It did anything but. You felt a spike of panic. Your breathing was getting shallow. Laurie noticed and pulled off to the side of the road, putting the car in park before rushing to your side of the car. Children. As in more than one. You realized in that moment, you were well and truly fucked. 

“Breathe with me honey, in, hold, out, hold, good girl,” Laurie said as she held your hands. It took ten minutes for you to calm down. You were tired, too tired to argue, to question what she had said earlier. 

Once at the boutique, it didn’t take long to find the baby sports jerseys. You couldn’t help but melt a bit at the clothes in the store. You always had a weakness when it came to seeing baby clothes. And you knew Laurie was going to capitalize on it. 

“That’s adorable. We should get it, it’s never too early,” she said. You nodded weakly. 

The two of you arrived home before Andy. Laurie placed the test in the gift bag with the jersey, just under it. It was one of those moments you’d always imagined having one day, under vastly different circumstances. One where you weren’t forced. Where you had a choice. Where you were with someone you loved. But that wasn’t your reality.

Running wasn’t an option when they had the control. When your money was monitored. When you were only alone at work with people who bought into the image the Barbers sold. You had too. Until they snared you in the web they had carefully weaved around you. 

“I’m thinking Mario’s for dinner, what do you think?” Laurie asked. You looked up at her and nodded. Mario’s was one of your favorite local places, the best Italian place you’d found in the area. 

“Sure,” you replied, as you heard Andy pull in the drive. Laurie greeted him at the door with a kiss. You could hear her ask him the same question. Andy entered the room and found you, leaning down to pull you into a kiss. It was oddly domestic.

“I talked to Isaac today. He said it should be no problem combining the deeds into one and getting the permits to alter the house,” Andy said, looking between you and Laurie.

“Combine the deeds?” you asked. Andy nodded.

“Of course. No need for us to be paying bills on two homes. We bought ours outright. We can bring the utilities under one name, all the maintenance too,” Andy explained. It made sense, if the whole situation was normal. But, you reminded yourself, it wasn’t normal. He already had the papers. You hesitated to sign them, but the look on his face had you reaching for the pen. 

“Good girl,” he murmured as he watched you sign away part of your life. You had a sinking feeling that if plural marriage was legal, there would’ve been a marriage license among those papers. 

“Food should be here in thirty. I ordered extra garlic knots,” Laurie said, looking at you. Your shoulders sagged. You had no energy to fight. Not tonight. 

“Did you sleep in today?” Andy asked, taking in your appearance.

“Yes,” you grumbled. It had become one of the rules put in place for you. Sleeping in on the weekends. Neither Barber liked how much you exerted yourself. Be it grading, lesson planning, or merely doing things for colleagues. 

“She didn’t get out of bed until ten. On the dot. No laptop or phone,” Laurie said. No laptop or phone because she made sure to take them when she woke up on weekends. You were given your phone back at breakfast, but your laptop, you wouldn’t see until after dinner on Sunday. 

Under normal circumstances, you’d consider both Barbers to be dominant, with a clear hierarchy. Under normal circumstances, you could imagine them negotiating with you, properly, about limits, about everything. But this wasn’t normal. It wasn’t healthy. And it was slowly wearing away at you, as they molded you into a perfect partner...though you used the term partner loosely. Partner implied equality and there was no equality in this mockery of a relationship. 

Andy went to set the table while you and Laurie sat in the living room. There was an odd sort of comfort in the routine. You knew what you could expect. Andy would set the table, regardless of if you or Laurie or the both of you had cooked. If Andy was cooking, you or Laurie would set the table. After dinner, cleaning the table was all three of you, washing the dishes with music in the background. You hated how comfortable you felt in those moments.

“Dinner’s here,” Andy said, bringing the bags to the dining table. You hadn’t even heard the doorbell ring, lost in your thoughts. 

“Smells good,” Laurie said as you sat down. Andy pulled out the various boxes and looked confused when he saw the dessert box.

“Are we celebrating something? Did I forget your birthday?” Andy asked looking toward you. You shook your head.

“Someone was craving something sweet today,” Laurie said offhanded. If Andy suspected anything, he didn’t let on.

Dinner was quiet. Andy talked about the latest news he could on his case. You tried to remember the situation you were in. Getting too comfortable would be your downfall. 

It was after dinner that the three of you settled in the living room. Laurie set about setting the couch up for movie night, turning it into what amounted to a bed. You had loved that couch, once upon a time, before this side of the Barbers emerged. Before turning on a movie, Laurie turned toward Andy. 

“We got you something today,” she said, handing you the bag to hand to Andy. He raised a brow. 

“Is that so?” he asked. You saw the shaking in your hands as you handed him the bag. He took out the jersey first, a small Patriots jersey. There was a knowing look on his face before he pulled out the test.

“You’re pregnant? For real? This isn’t a joke?” he asked, his eyes lighting up.

“It’s not a joke,” you said quietly. You weren’t expecting the kiss, or to be pulled onto his lap before he deepened it, one of his hands snaking under your shirt while the other held you steady. His thumb rubbed circles on your belly, though you were still too early in the pregnancy to be showing. Laurie moved behind you, gently pulling your shirt up and over your head. Andy pulled away from you for just a moment. 

Your bra disappeared next, and Andy’s hand travelled upward to your breasts. They had been sore the past few days and you tried to protest.

“This will feel good, baby. Promise,” Andy said, as he gently cupped one. One of the many things you had learned in the past month was the Barbers were both undoubtedly boob people. Both of them loved to play with your breasts. Andy never squandered an opportunity to touch yours or Laurie’s. 

“I can’t wait until these fill with milk. You know, when I was pregnant, Andy couldn’t keep his hands to himself,” Laurie said from where she knelt behind you, while groping your other breast. You tried to hold back a moan. You always did. But you always gave in when it came down to it. They had learned your body in the course of a month. 

“Maybe we should see if yours will too,” Andy suggested as he broke away from you, looking at his wife. You’d heard of that before. A woman who wasn’t pregnant inducing lactation. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about that. Laurie crawled toward him as he captured her lips with his. You weren’t sure when she had stripped down. 

“Sweetheart why don’t you help Laurie finish undressing while I go grab some things,” Andy said. You hesitated as he stood, but Laurie took your hands in hers, guiding you to the waistband of her panties, the other clothing she still wore. 

“That’s it, good girl,” Laurie said as you dragged the panties down her legs. Those words. You couldn’t help the feeling their praise sent through you, no matter what your thoughts on your predicament were. 

She laid you back as she undid your jeans and pulled them off with your panties in one swoop, before pulling you into a deep kiss. She moved to your lap and ground down on your thigh. You could feel her wetness beginning to coat it as she slipped her tongue into your mouth. You heard Andy’s footsteps on the hardwood, but paid him no mind. 

“Scoot, on the towel,” Andy said. You were losing yourself in the haze of lust. Giving in was so much easier these days. 

You complied with his command, and Laurie took her spot back before Andy had her pull back. Laurie gently pulled at your leg, silently ordering you to open your legs. 

“Look at that, you’re soaked. Bet you don’t even need preparation to take him, hmm?” Laurie asked as she pressed a finger into your soaking pussy. You moved to meet her movements. She slipped as second and third in easily before pulling them out and holding them to your mouth. You hesitated, until she pressed more firmly. The taste of yourself  on her fingers was a familiar one. 

“I want you on your knees,” Andy said to you. Laurie dragged you into Andy’s desired position when you made no move to do so. It was the small moments of defiance that you held on to. You knew it. They knew it. You tried not to make a sound as Andy pressed into you from behind. 

“Fuck, still as good as the first time,” Andy gritted out as he bottomed out. Laurie laid in front of you. You knew what she wanted. But you were refusing.

“Be a good girl,” Andy said, pulling at your hair. You looked back toward him with a glare.

“Fuck...off,” you said, though it came out half as a moan. You hated the smirk on his face. 

“It’s almost like you want a punishment. This is a celebration, honey. Now, do as you’re told,” Andy said. He shoved you down and forward. 

You were slow with your movements as Andy’s pace increased. You pressed a finger into Laurie’s wet cunt, before adding another. You licked a strip from her hole to her clit as she arched into your touch. It wasn’t long before she was coming undone. As she came down from her climax, Andy pulled out, changing positions so you were facing him as you rode him. At first he was guiding your hips as you refused to. But you lost yourself in the feeling as he pulled you into a kiss, tasting Laurie on your lips. Laurie knelt behind you, a hand moving to your clit. It was just enough to drag you over the edge, dragging Andy with you.

He laid you down as he pulled out, taking a moment to catch his breath. You knew in that moment. You were well and truly screwed. The more you thought about it, the more you realized just how impossible getting out would be, especially with a child. Tears stung at your eyes as Andy moved to help you sit up and guide you to the bathroom, where Laurie had a bath running. A tub big enough for all three of you. And you, clinging to the hope that there was some way out.

[boonki]

something there, something more

a little continuation of a fever prompt, the first part here and the second part by @sonderwalker here! from this prompt list 

Cheers to our pining boys stuck together in the snow

______

The email he had been anxiously awaiting for dings his phone, and in the early morning light of his room, only a single lamp to illuminate the intimate space, he rolls over in bed to fumble it from the nightstand, blinking at the bright screen. 

To the University of Washington community, 

For the safety of our students and staff, classes have been cancelled for the day due to the snow conditions and road closures. Please wait for updates from your teachers on how best to proceed with assignments and exams. Updates on future cancellations will be issued nightly no later than 7 pm. Best, 

President Palpatine 

The same giddy relief that once met him as a college student still worms its way into his heart as a professor, an unexpected day off, no plans ahead of him, just hours and hours of free time. Except, he supposes, a quick email out to his students to continue their essays as normal and wait for the update on Friday’s class. He isn’t sad about losing the day’s lesson plan, it had mostly been a filler class. 

He hums lazily, a sleepy grin pulling his lips back. 

For the first time in weeks, he clicks the lock button and rolls over, stuffing his face into his pillow, and falls back asleep. 

___

Hours later, the sun already cresting in the sky, hidden behind layers and layers of clouds shedding snow, he pads around his kitchen, pulling ingredients out of his fridge and pantry: carrots, chicken, celery, chicken broth, some garlic, an onion, and some noodles. 

When he was younger, his mom had always whipped together chicken noodle soup on the colder days, and when she passed away when he was a teenager, he kept the tradition alive. In the silent, airy space of the kitchen, he feels closer to her cutting up the ingredients and carefully dropping them into the pot, can feel her gentle hand guiding him. The ache of her death has long since passed, but Obi-wan can’t help but wish she were here with him, oiling the stove for the chicken and passing him the garlic to press. 

Somehow, in the many, many years since her death, the habit of cooking for two hasn’t left him; every time he makes this recipe, he ends up with days worth of leftovers. 

The wood floor is cold beneath his bare feet; he didn’t think to put warm clothing on before coming downstairs, head still foggy from sleeping past noon. He knows his hair is sticking out in every direction, and that he could probably use a quick beard trim, but there isn’t anyone to judge him here. No pets, no roommates, just him and his big empty house. 

The smell of the soup bubbles up at him: rich and inviting. He takes a spoon and sips on the broth, using his teeth to grab a very hot carrot that mashes easily in his mouth, a good sign that he can turn the heat down to let it simmer while he gets ready for the day. Some small part of him knows his destination, but the majority of him is still in denial. He has so much soup to share, though. Why let it go to waste? Besides, it’ll be a quick drop off so he can come home and finish the blanket he’s knitting, maybe read a few chapters of his library books. There’s something about an expected day off that makes the mundane feel enthralling. 

He pads back upstairs, lost in thought as he goes through the motions of pulling a sturdy wool sweater over his head, brushing his teeth, combing his hair back, ignoring the shoddy state of his beard. Anakin had looked so horrible the other day, all pale skin and hollowed out eyes, his voice catching on itself, and god, his cough. Worry pangs Obi-wan’s heart, did Anakin have anyone to take care of him? Make sure he doesn’t die of a fever? He can’t go out in this weather to get take-out, and there’s no way he would be cooking with the state he’s in. 

In the back of his head, Obi-wan knows there are very large excuses he’s making for the car crash of the truth: he wants to go see Anakin. 

When he gets back downstairs, the soup is perfect. His mom would be proud. 

___

Snow cakes the road ahead of him, and what should have been a ten minute drive turns into a forty minute one. Obi-wan thinks he has at least six different knots in his back and neck from sitting so close to the steering wheel the entire time, peering intently through the fast-paced windshield wipers as if the effort of looking harder would have any effect on his ability to see in front of him. When he finally pulls up in front of Anakin’s apartment building and finds a neat little spot to back his car into, he lets out a deep breath and slumps into his seat. Maybe this was not as good of an idea as he had hoped it would be. 

He hadn’t even texted. Should he text Anakin? Is showing up at his door, soup in hand, too much? Too forward? Obi-wan is already anxious about pushing the bounds of their relationship too far; what if Anakin thought he was trying to groom him, thought he was a creepy old man with nothing better to do?

Obi-wan hits his head against the steering wheel. 

The weird thing is, he doesn’t mind how inappropriate their relationship had become. Obi-wan had liked coming to his building, liked texting him about casual plans. He just worries his enthusiasm is one-sided. 

It’s been so long since he’s had anything resembling a relationship, so he feels brand new to it again; it’s like riding a bike: the skill will never leave you, but if you take a ten year gap, you might need to wobble a bit before you glide. Obi-wan is wobbling. 

Because he does have a crush, doesn’t he? Isn’t that why he’s here, sitting in his cooling car with homemade soup, outside of some boy’s apartment building? Why else would he go to such measures- especially on his day off? God, he feels so juvenile. 

He hits his head on the steering wheel again. 

The cold is starting to seep through the seams of the car, so he takes a deep breath, grabs his soup, and steps out into the snow. It crunches underneath his boots, leaving a trail of footprints all the way to the door of the building, which swings open easily for Obi-wan. 

He fishes his phone out of his pocket. Anakin had texted which one he lived in, but it had felt too… like too much, last time he came. He hadn’t wanted to intrude on Anakin’s personal space.

#344. 

The elevator ride is both too short and too fast, his anxiety rising with each floor. What if Anakin didn’t like chicken noodle soup? He definitely should’ve texted. But the doors glide open and the wide expanse of the hall looms in front of him, stretching for what seems like forever in both directions. The floorplan seems to be circular; a little guide that reads “301-322 left, 323-344 right” with arrows points him in the right direction, so he sets off to the right, each step waking up a new butterfly in his stomach. 

When he reaches 344, he stares at the door for a moment, considering the fact that Anakin is on the other side of the thin wall, completely unaware of Obi-wan. Something yanks at him to turn back, but Obi-wan would feel even more pathetic if he went home with a full bowl of soup, and Anakin does probably need it, so. Here goes nothing. 

The bell ding-dongs from the interior, the sound muffled. Obi-wan hears nothing, and then slow footsteps and a lock being unlatched. 

Anakin is wearing his sweater. 

“Obi-w- Professor Kenobi, hey,” Anakin rasps out, eyes wide open, clearly startled, and sounding a bit better than he had a few days ago, but not by much. His bangs are held back by a little clip, shooting a tuft of hair straight into the air. “Sorry if I missed your text, I’ve been asleep-” 

“Ah,” Obi-wan shuffles in place, embarrassed. “I didn’t text, which I realize now that I should have, but-”

“No,” Anakin cuts in, “that’s okay.” 

They stand there in awkward silence before Anakin points at the bowl Obi-wan is clutching to his chest. 

“You brought soup?” 

Obi-wan looks down to the container like he’s never seen it before, cheeks burning like lava. “Yes! I, well, you see my mother and I always made soup when it snowed, and I always make extra, so I thought you’d, well,” he chances a peek at Anakin, whose features are slackened in a soft smile, “I thought you could use some given that you’re sick and it’s snowing.” 

“Have you eaten yet?” Anakin asks, ignoring his bumbling explanation. 

“No,” he thinks back, “I didn’t get the chance.”

Anakin drags his door open and steps back, gesturing for Obi-wan to come inside. “Let’s share, then.” 

Obi-wan balks at the open door, because he knows once he crosses that threshold there is no going back between them. He’d have officially been in Anakin’s apartment, sharing homemade soup with Anakin, taking care of him while he’s sick. The intimacy of seeing how someone lives, to see all the details of their existence on display, who they are when no one else is around… that sort of intimacy frightens Obi-wan. 

“I don’t want to be an imposition,” he starts, only to get cut off by a particularly nasty sneeze from Anakin. “Bless you.”

“You’re not, so come on.” Anakin reaches forward and tugs on his arm, and really, Obi-wan has no choice. 

While he had never actively imagined Anakin’s living space, he had always assumed it would be something akin to a sparse bachelor pad, dirty and meant for college students who couldn’t afford any better. But this is a pleasant surprise: a black rug and couch sits neatly against the wall of a tidy and cozy living room, branching off to a kitchen and a door Obi-wan assumes is Anakin’s bedroom. There are a few mirrors behind the couch, and a few (fake?) plants spotted around the room, even a candle on the coffee table. 

Anakin leads him into the kitchen and Obi-wan sees now this is where the mess lies; computer parts, nuts, bolts, tools, and loose wires scatter the counter, leaving little room for anything else save the sink and a hand towel. He stands there and waits for Anakin to clear a space for the bowl, muttering about how he didn’t know company would be over otherwise he would’ve picked up a little. 

Obi-wan doesn’t know if he even wants to ask what Anakin is making. 

The bowl is transferred into the microwave, cooking for a few minutes on low to properly reheat, and Obi-wan sets out to find some spoons so he’s not left in awkward, still silence. 

“Sorry there’s no table, I never really have anyone over and it takes up so much space, so,” Anakin is blushing, either embarrassed to have someone over or still running a fever. Maybe a bit of both. “Oh, here, in that drawer,” he motions to Obi-wan, crowding into his space to pull open the drawer. Obi-wan stiffens at their proximity; he can feel the heat pouring off of Anakin, and he grips the spoons like his life depends on it. 

They perch by the counter, listening to the hum of the microwave. 

“What are you doing during winter break?” Anakin asks him, breaking the quiet. 

Obi-wan breaths in, thinking of his answer. “I’m not sure, probably just relax. Maybe work on my library books, plan for winter quarter.” 

Anakin scoffs, and it turns into a full blown hacking spree. When he’s done, he winces. “Sorry, your plans are so sad my whole body freaked out.” 

He snorts. “My plans aren’t sad. What are you doing, then?” 

“Well, now that I’ve graduated, I suppose I should be looking for a job, so probably that.” Anakin stares up at the soup rotating in the microwave in contemplation. 

Something small and sad tugs at Obi-wan’s heart. He had forgotten that Anakin wouldn’t be around anymore. No more impromptu office visits. 

“But,” Anakin continues, “it would be nice to have help with my resume and interviewing.” He glances at Obi-wan out of the corner of his eyes. 

The microwave beeps: the soup is finished reheating. 

“Of course, I’d be happy to help.” Obi-wan says, warmth flooding his tone. He’s grateful that Anakin still wants him in his life, still wants his help. 

Anakin sniffles and splits the soup into two bowls, handing one to Obi-wan, who is still holding both their spoons. 

“You wanna watch something? We can sit on the couch.” Anakin says, and motions for Obi-wan to follow. Obi-wan tentatively settles into the couch, which is surprisingly cushy, as Anakin flips open Netflix and pulls up The Great British Baking Show. 

“Is this okay? It’s kind of addictive.” Anakin looks suddenly self-conscious about his choice in television, grabbing a set of glasses from his coffee table. They are way too big for him and nearly slide down his nose in seconds. Obi-wan might combust. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” 

Anakin shifts. “Only to see long distances, I mostly just use them for watching things.” 

Obi-wan nods at that, and throws a hand up in the air towards the TV screen. “This is fine, I like cooking shows.” 

“They’re definitely my guilty pleasure, I’ve always wished I was better at cooking.” Anakin blows on the soup on his spoon, eyes glued to the TV.

The hosts introduce the challenge, and Obi-wan looks down at his soup, stirring it all absentmindedly. “I can teach you, if you want. My mom passed a lot onto me before she, well.” Obi-wan smiles at him. “I’d like to think I’m a pretty good cook.” 

Anakin pushes his glasses back on his face. “If the soup is anything to go by, I believe you.” 

He chuckles, shifting his attention back to the TV. Helping Anakin find a job, teaching him how to cook- they’re both just trying to find excuses to stay in each other’s lives. It’d be endearing if it weren’t so sad. 

The episode drags out, a winner is named and someone gets sent home, and Anakin and Obi-wan are long finished with their soup, the bowls having been discarded onto the coffee table a while ago. When the credits roll, neither of them get up, and the next episode autoplays. Obi-wan hopes he isn’t overstaying his visit, but Anakin seems comfortable and relaxed. Anakin offers him a blanket, and Obi-wan drapes it over his lower body, slouching further into the couch. 

Over the next few hour long episodes, they seem to inch closer, fully lounging now. Jokes are made, laughter is shared, and Obi-wan keeps handing him tissues, grateful that he isn’t wiping his snot on the sweater’s sleeve. 

He still can’t believe he’s sitting here on Anakin’s couch, watching a cooking show, while Anakin sits next to him wearing one of his sweaters. 

Maybe he is the one with a delirious fever? 

The fourth episode draws to a close, and Obi-wan spares a glance at one of the windows, where the afternoon had faded into evening. “I still don’t think she should have won, did you see the state of her frosting?” He stands up and stretches, sighing in relief when a few of his bones pop, laughing when Anakin’s do the same. “I should probably get going, though, it’s getting dark.” 

But when the pair make it to the window, they are greeted by glistening white, snow almost completely covering the cars parked outside. There’s no way he can drive home in this, and they both know it. The air seems to thicken between them. 

“Hey, you can crash on the couch and drive home once the snowplow has been through?” Anakin, though standing right next to him, seems miles away, his tone small and unsure. 

“Surely not, you’ve already let me stay long as it is. I’ll…” he trails off, thinking. 

“What, walk home?” Anakin supplies, shaking his head. “Absolutely not, you can stay. I don’t mind,” he places a hand on Obi-wan’s arm, “really.” 

“You’re right, I don’t have much of a choice.” Obi-wan laughs under his breath. Still, if he did have the choice, he’d want to stay. Not that he’d ever admit that to Anakin. 

Anakin takes the few steps back to the couch, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around himself like a cape. “Well, should we finish the season then?” 

_____

It’s midnight by the time the pair are too tired to stay awake, drifting off into separate spaces. 

“Can I borrow something to sleep in?” Obi-wan asks Anakin, who is standing in the doorway to his room. From what Obi-wan can see, it looks a lot like the living room, all blacks and soft fabrics. 

Anakin’s eyes widen. “Uh, yes. Hold on.” He disappears into his room and comes back with a blue flannel pajama set. “Here, the bathroom is just across the kitchen.” 

Obi-wan takes the little pile of clothing from him with a soft thanks and retreats to the bathroom to change. The pants are entirely too long on him, and the shirt hangs on him, clearly meant for someone who has a little broader shoulders. But the set smells like Anakin, and Obi-wan wants to breathe it in forever. 

When he comes out, Anakin bites back a smile, holding his lower lip between his teeth. He doesn’t say anything though, and Obi-wan is both disappointed and relieved. 

“So there’s a bunch of blankets on the couch for you, let me know if you need anything else.” He says, backing into his room. 

Obi-wan clears his throat. “Of course. Goodnight, Anakin.” 

Anakin dips his head and closes his door. “Goodnight.”

In the dark of the living room, Obi-wan shakes the blankets out so they lay flat over the couch, and slips his legs under them to get comfortable, laying on back to stare at the ceiling. 

What a day. 

If someone had told him this was what his snow day would’ve looked like, he would’ve laughed in their face. Just under two weeks ago, they had been huddled together in his office, working on Anakin’s paper like normal. And now, he’s spending the night at Anakin’s apartment. And while Anakin technically isn’t a student anymore, and certainly not his student any more by a long shot, there’s still a sticky and uncomfortable unease sitting in his gut; he doesn’t know how old Anakin is, but Obi-wan is surely much older than him. Plus, he doesn’t know if there’s a power play at hand, what if Anakin just thinks he’s being a creepy old man and feels obligated to let him stay? 

But he thinks about the way Anakin’s flashed with happiness when Obi-wan laughed at one of his jokes during the show, the way they inched towards each other, Anakin’s face when Obi-wan came out of the bathroom in his pajamas. 

Needless to say, Obi-wan doesn’t get much sleep. Instead, he thinks about the fact that Anakin is also lying down, just a thin apartment wall in between them, and watches the large snowflakes drift down in silent waves outside. 

Obi-wan wonders if Anakin is sleeping in his sweater. He hopes he is. 

[leadpaintrose]

My Coworker Thinks I’m a Vampire

He’s getting clumsy. I’m so close now. At first, it was a fun little conspiracy theory, just the thing to occupy those long hours writing the same report over and over again. But it started to be a little too convincing, and…Well, I had to know.

I’d never been much for legends and myths and stuff, but everyone knows about vampires, right? No sun, pale, no food besides blood, sinister. Jeremy’s a nice guy sure, not really the smooth charmer you’d expect of a vampire, but he just seems off. Weird. But for the wrong reasons. Cold hands, black hair, his eyes even glow red sometimes when he doesn’t think anyone notices him.

He always comes into the office at odd hours, in the office ages before anyone else in the office, and staying super late. The only work events I’ve ever seen him at are held at night or inside a conference centre - which he always arrives at early or late.

Besides, who doesn’t like garlic bread?! Unthinkable. The perfect bread. No-one flat out hates it. It’s literally the best part of this company. But also the weirdest. Why is there always garlic bread in the kitchen? Maybe I’m not the only one hunting.

I’m going to get in early this morning. Catch him before anyone else is around to cause a problem. Or for me to cause a problem for them. I know I can’t get there before him, but I’m going to show him I know. Maybe there’s some unwritten rule that says he has to help me.

——————————————————

I’m getting clumsy. She’s getting close. I’m not supposed to be encouraging this kind of investigation, but They haven’t been in charge for a long time. It was fun to start with. She really had worked out so much, building evidence that the average person would not connect together. Besides, there are reasonable explanations for everything she noticed.

Except garlic bread. That shit is incredible. I used to be able to claim gluten intolerance, but now they even make it with gluten-free bread. Honestly, I’m glad I get to live to see this future. Even if I can’t enjoy the best thing they’ve managed to come up with.

“Hey!” Shit. It’s still dark outside. What the hell is she doing here so early in the morning? No one likes working in this company enough to want to come in early.

But here she is. Bright and early, even before the sun. And she’s got that familiar look in her eyes - scared, determined, and excited. Shit. ——————————————————

“Hey. What’s up? Awfully early for you.” Jeremy joked, but Julie could see the tension in his eyes. She took a breath and squared her shoulders. The sky was starting to lighten, and he shifted slightly back towards the centre of the office, away from the large window at his side.

“I know what you are.”

His eye visibly twitched in clear irritation. “Look, I know you’ve got this weird obsession with vampires, but using that line is really dumb.”

She winced but continued undaunted. “Look, you can pretend as much as you want, but it’s pretty dumb of you to keep pretending when it’s really obvious.” She held up a hand, counting points off on her fingers.

“You are always in the office before the sun comes up, and don’t leave until the sun goes down. You try to avoid jobs that require going to client meetings outside the office, and the few times I’ve seen you leave the office in the middle of the day, you’re bundled up like it’s snowing. And you never come to any work functions that occur during the day.”

He held up a hand of his own, forestalling further arguments.

“Look, I’m trying to be nice, but it’s not any of your business how I do my work. Frankly, it’s easier to focus in an office without everyone else yammering on the phone or to each other. And, don’t get me wrong, our colleagues are fine people, but I’d rather not spend my free time with them.”

Julie raised an eyebrow at him. “I know you fought for a private office, which always has it’s blinds drawn, and somehow managed to convince the Directors to allow you the privacy they don’t even get. You won’t even sit on the balcony for lunch when it’s sunny, but you’ll happily sit out there when the sun’s on the other side of the building.” He stared to speak, but she leaned in further. “I’ve noticed.”

The silence stretched between them as his eyes darted back and forth. Just as her confidence was starting to wane, he sighed.

“I should have just claimed a damn light sensitivity.” He muttered. She furrowed her brow, smoothing it quickly as his eyes met hers.

“So, you’re going to kill me?” he asked bluntly.

She sat down heavily in shock, finding a chair behind her, and a noticing a brief flicker of his body, as if he’d suddenly moved very quickly. She didn’t notice that there hadn’t been a chair there when she started talking.

“No! Of course not! Why would I do that?! I don’t even know how’d I’d begin to do that!”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want you to take me to The Crypt.”

He stared at her for a solid 30 seconds, looking for any sign of a joke in her serious face.

“The Crypt.” Jeremy said, incredulous.

She shifted awkwardly. “Yeah. It just seems so cool! A whole nightclub just for vampires?! That’s gotta be the fanciest place in the city.”

He just kept staring at her, and she pulled up a chair, sitting down across from him.

“But, seriously, what’s with the name? The Crypt? It’s like an edgy fourteen-year-old named it.”

It was his turn to be awkward. “Hey, it was named millennia ago! It was creative and inventive then.” “Sure. Whatever. Just...just take me there, ok? Do that and I’ll just let you be.”

He stood up, walking over to the window to close the blinds against the newly rising sun. He spoke over his shoulder to her.

“That’s it?! You just want to go to The Crypt, and you’re done?! Centuries, and that’s the weirdest request I’ve ever heard. But, uh, well. You know what kind of club this is. Aren’t you a little concerned about what might happen?”

Julie looked down at her hands, embarrassed. “Look, I... That’s why I want to go with you. You can vouch for me, right? Protect me?”

He sighed heavily. “You know what, Sure. Hang late with me at work on Friday, and I’ll take you down there.” Footsteps in the corridor outside startled both of them, and she jumped up and was out of the room before he could say anything. She stuck her head back in and winked exaggeratedly at him. “Friday. Late. The Crypt.”

She disappeared, grinning, and he slowly turned back to his desk, smiling to himself.

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

She popped into his office, Friday night finally having come. He swung around to look at her, and shook his head before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What are you wearing?” He asked wearily.

She plucked at the red and black corset, and the long black skirt, checking her thigh high black boots for any marks. “What? I just wanted fit in.”

He sighed loudly, and stood up, walking past her, and gesturing when she didn’t immediately follow. They made their way out onto the street, alive with artificial lights and a mix of tired and energized people. She expected him to call a taxi, but he started off along the road at a quick pace. She struggled in unfamiliar heels to catch up with him.

“So, where exactly is this place? She asked a little breathlessly. He didn’t respond, just continuing to stride purposefully down the road.

Fifteen exhausting minutes later, conscious of a blister forming on her heel, Julie almost ran into Jeremy as he stopped before an unassuming office building.

“This is it?” she asked, disappointed.

"What were you expecting? Gothic gates and sconce lanterns?” Jeremy scoffed, pushing open the door, leaving her to follow, whispering an embarrassed “no” as she slid in behind him.

The interior was just a regular office lobby, and he confidently walked to the lifts at the back wall. Pulling a small piece of plastic out of his jeans pocket, he flashed it over the touch screen and selected a floor. As the two made their way into the now open lift, she shot him a glance.

“A swipe card?”

He looked affronted. “We have modernized a little.”

“But it’s still called The Crypt?” she muttered under her breath.

The doors slid open, and she managed a few steps before gaping in delighted shock. It was exactly what she was hoping for. Dark mahogany furniture, inlaid with brass detailing, rested on a polished wooden floor. Through the dim candle light, she saw glimpses of raised platforms, trimmed in plush crimson carpet. The air felt thick and dramatic, and soft music filtered through the crowd of gorgeous strangers.

He placed a hand on her back, steering her forward towards the bar. They managed to get just a few steps in before she found a new arm around her shoulders.

“Oh, darling, what morsel did you bring me this time?” He rolled his eyes. “Hi Adrienne. Looking thirsty tonight.”

Adrienne sighed dramatically. “You’re so cruel to me, gorgeous. You can’t keep this one from me. What are you here for, darling?” she asked Julie. Julie turned to look up into the winged eyes of a stunning, tall, dark-haired woman, dripping in silver jewelry and poured into a midnight blue dress. She stuttered out a response.

“Oh, I, I just wanted...I just wanted to see what is was all like.” Jeremy pushed Adrienne’s arm off Julie’s shoulder. “She’s just here to have a look around, have one drink, and then head off.”

“Nonsense!” Adrienne declared, glaring and grinning directly at Jeremy as she slipped her arm around Julie’s waist, and started to pull her off into the gloom. “Don’t worry, Jeremy, sugar, I’ll look after our little lamb. Show her around. Introduce her to a few people. Thanks, darling!” She called over her shoulder.

Julie looked back at Jeremy, shooting him a smug and self-satisfied look. Her face dropped as she saw his irritated look melt into a confident hunger, crossing his arms and leaning back comfortably. As she saw his fangs gleaming in the dim light, she frantically pushed at Adrienne’s arm, struggling to free herself. Jeremy watched her fade into the darkness, being drawn inexorably onwards by the vampiric strength of Adrienne, her shrieks swallowed by the mass of people around her.

——————————————————

It’s been a week, and the office is still talking about Julie’s weird resignation. She seemed to really enjoy her work, but everyone knew someone that seemed ok on the surface, and just suddenly quit. The email resignation was certainly weird, but it was perfectly formal, which had been very Julie.

A couple of people have asked me if I knew anything about her, as they knew I had left the office at the same time as her on that last Friday, but it hadn’t taken much to convince everyone that I had left her at the doors.

I have been making an effort to go to more events – properly shielded, of course. But, well, I feel so much stronger with a fresh supply. All the nutrients a body could want. Or, at least, that a busybody can produce

[kalee60]

Subliminal Advertising (snippet) The Rise of Darcy...

Soooo... I don't generally do sequels per se - but, I had so many wonderful people ask about Darcy and what happened to her at the end of the fic... And the lovely @marvel-fanfic-recs sent me a picture of a deliciously punny product from Finland and, well, this small snippet just fell out of my brain...

If you haven't read Subliminal Advertising - click here (this will probably make more sense if you’ve read it first! Warning though, it’s a bit longer than this... like 20 times almost 😉)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bucky snapped off a photo and giggling like mad, flicked it off to Darcy.

“Really, babe?” Steve asked as he grabbed pasta sauce off the shelf, Bucky grinning in return. There was something glorious about shopping with Steve, instead of being a crazy stalker who couldn’t string two sentences together, yelling words at Steve’s gorgeous face.

“Absolutely, she shouldn’t have said anything if she wanted to pine in peace.” He retorted and put the sauce back on the shelf Steve had grabbed, replacing it with one that was infused with herbs and garlic. 

Steve shook his head in exasperation at Bucky’s pickiness in sauce, then with a soft smile said, “so she slept with the guy, leave her be. Which one is he anyway?”

“He’s a few aisles over, and it was hardly a one-night stand,” Bucky scoffed, although they’d been dating for months now, clearly Steve had no idea how he and Darcy worked as friends.

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Fuck off!!!!!! I don’t care...

OneBuckToRideThisTrain: What you don’t like Almond joys all of a sudden?

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Get me a pack, and is he there?

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Actually I don’t care

Bucky laughed and pocketed his phone, looking into the basket at the chocolate whose wrappers declared, ‘Sometime you feel like a nut, sometimes you don’t’ it was perfect.

“She’ll replace all your sugar with salt again, or worse this time,” Steve warned and Bucky just shrugged it off, leaning up to kiss Steve’s cheek, who turned his head and caught Bucky’s bottom lip between his teeth and pressed just so, and Bucky tried not to whine into it. God he loved this man.

“She shouldn’t have slept with him then. More than once.”

A few weeks earlier, Bucky and Darcy had dressed up and headed out to their local Irish bar where she'd met a nameless man, who she’d taken back to her apartment. The following week, the same nameless man had appeared in the early hours leaving her front door, and the week previous the still nameless man had made it to breakfast before leaving.

“I can’t believe she never found out his name, she really likes him right?” Steve chuckled, his hand placed on the small of Bucky’s back, pressing him forward, and yes please, Bucky loved when Steve steered him around, pushed him places, told him where he wanted him to go. They’d discovered so much about each other in the space of a few months and Steve delivered on every single fantasy Bucky could dream up. Though the official go-to move of Steve holding him against the wall and fucking him hard, was impossible to beat. Couldn’t be beaten in his mind. Steve was just… a lot. And all Bucky’s.

"She said it got too awkward to ask again because she forgot it almost immediately, and yeah, she digs him. Hey, we should totally be buying this in bulk,” Bucky sassed as he threw a three pack of lube into the basket, and loved how Steve flushed. For such a big dominant guy, he sure was sweet. 

“We at your place or mine this week?” Steve asked as they started down the next aisle and Bucky had been thinking about that exact same thing a lot recently. The way they spent every night together but still had separate apartments, he was ready to take the next step, although still wary that it was too early, too new for them.

“Yours, oh crap, hang on, this one is brilliant,” Bucky took a shot of a Cambell’s soup tin, the words ‘Mmm, mmm, good’ front and centre and sent it to Darcy.

“She’ll also hide all your toilet paper or put itching powder through it,” Steve warned for the second time. “I’m not going to scratch your ass if it’s burning.”

“I think we should move in together.” Bucky blurted, and it was too much, his face burned red, so hot it hurt and he grabbed the first product he found to read the back intently.

“Itching your butt makes you want to move in with me? I’m… flattered. Also, we are not buying canned ham. That’s not going in our pantry.”

Bucky dropped the ham, “our pantry?”

“Jesus, you’re thick. Lucky I love you,” Steve said and pulled him in close, kissing Bucky with intent, tongue pressing in deep, making Bucky gasp for breath. “Maybe grab another three pack of lube and yes, I want to move in together, have for ages.”

“Oh…” Bucky replied dazed from the kiss combined with Steve’s words. His phone chirped.

DarcyLewis&TheNews: You are the worst friend in the world

OneBuckToRideThisTrain: That’s a no to soup? It’s on special...

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Cream of chicken

They finally made it to the last section and Steve started to peruse the meats, when something caught Bucky’s eye in the ‘smallgoods of the world’ area. Laughing, he couldn’t stop himself, taking another photo while ignoring the groan from Steve, who’d grabbed the biggest parcel of bacon he could (good boy). 

“This is on your head, you know that right?” Steve stated and wandered off to the bread section while Bucky giggled like a ten year old over the packaging he’d just found.

“Yeah, yeah,” and Bucky looked up and caught the eyes of the dark haired man who’d somehow slunk up next to him. Blue/green eyes opened in surprised recognition as they met each other’s gaze.

“Err, hey,” the man said in a deep British accent, making Bucky grin.

“Hey,” he replied, smirk firmly in place, loving the slightly panicked look he was receiving.

“Small world, right,” the man finally settled on with a small self deprecating laugh. “Look, I hope you don’t think I’m a... well, a scoundrel, to Darcy...”

“A scoundrel no, very brave, yes.”

“Brave?” the man replied, the hint of a confused smile on his pale face.

“You’ll find out. Look, if for some reason I happened to say ten random numbers in an order, would you maybe ignore them, or put them in your phone?”

The man tucked a strand of long dark, almost black hair behind his ear and smiled fully, and Bucky was slightly taken aback, he looked almost sinister in a very, well, a very sexy way. He could see why Darcy liked him. He pulled a phone from his pocket and looked at Bucky expectandly. So Bucky recited the numbers by heart and at the man’s thanks he nodded his head once, like he’d done a service to the community.

They went their separate ways and with a pleased smile, he found Steve staring at where he’d just been.

“Huh, I didn’t know you knew him?”

“What? Who?”

“That man you were chatting to, that’s Thor’s brother, you know, Thor from the gym. I can't remember his name."

“Oh, you are kidding me,” Bucky cracked up, Darcy had the biggest crush on Thor, until she’d met Jane, his wife. It was too much, it was brilliant, it was serendipity. “Hang on, hang on, I have one more photo to send.”

Steve rubbed a hand over his face, completely done with Bucky’s antics, but when Bucky slipped his hand into Steve’s large one, the blonde melted and tugged him in closer.

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Okay, I will actually pay that one - that’s good

OneBuckToRideThisTrain: Might be sooner than you think...

The sliced pork from Finland stating, ‘from the taste, you remember it’. Only made even more perfect because Darcy had no idea what was about to happen, and she’d definitely be remembering his name soon.

“Come on are you done?” Steve asked and pulled him towards the checkout, Bucky following with a happy grin on his face. He’d got one up on his best friend and he was going to be moving in with his boyfriend. 

“Yup,” he replied, hearing his phone go off again, and looked at the screen.

“I’m taking that away when we get home and you’re not getting it back until you’re too exhausted to use it again.”

Bucky swallowed and looked up at Steve with wide eyes, seeing the promise reflected in dark blue ones. Bucky would never look at his phone again if it meant Steve taking control until he couldn’t move.

DarcyLewis&TheNews: What the fuck, you gave him my number?? 

DarcyLewis&TheNews: I’m going to kill you

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Jesus - I can’t date a man called Loki...

DarcyLewis&TheNews: ONE date, that’s it… I swear Barnes - I’ll get you back.

DarcyLewis&TheNews: Thanks <3

Putting his phone in his back pocket, Bucky helped Steve package up their groceries, before heading across the road to Steve’s apartment; where Bucky was hoping to go through at least two tubes of lube that night, maybe make a start on the third.

His life was pretty darn perfect.

[dettiot]

Moot

Opposing Counsel | Case Law | Statute of Limitations | Amicus Curiae | Cause of Action | Precedent | De Novo | Discovery | My Star Wars Fic Masterlist

Moot: not subject to a court ruling because the controversy has not actually arisen, or has ended.

At the last possible moment, Satine dashed through the doors of the yoga studio, just as the teacher was getting ready to close the doors. Giving her an apologetic smile, Satine looked around for Bo and found her in a back corner. 

Her sister quirked an eyebrow at her as Satine laid out her yoga mat beside hers. “You know, you were the one who wanted to do these classes together.” 

“I know, I know,” Satine said apologetically. “I’ll explain at brunch.” 

“Yeah, you will,” Bo said, just as the instructor struck a set of ceremonial bells, the chime announcing the start of class.

Rolling her eyes at Bo’s inability to let her have the last word, Satine nodded and then focused on her breathing and her movements, sinking into the flow and letting her body and mind relax. 

No matter how much she tried to calm herself, though, there was a little knot of anxiety as she thought ahead to brunch. But at least she felt more flexible by the end of class. 

To Satine’s surprise, Bo held her tongue until they had rolled up their yoga mats, thanked the teacher, and stepped out of the yoga studio. “So? What’s the deal, Satine?” she asked, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. 

“It’s nothing more than I stayed up late last night and then slept in this morning,” Satine said, taking in a deep breath of cool air that wasn’t muggy with late-summer humidity just yet. 

Bo rolled her eyes. “Miss Early to Bed, Early to Rise?”

“All right,” Satine admitted. “I . . . I had a date.” 

Her sister smirked and Satine hurried to correct her mistaken impression. “Nothing happened. I mean . . . we kissed . . .”

More than kissed, actually. 

XXX

What had she been thinking, inviting Ben to her place for dinner and a movie? She must secretly hate herself to create a situation like this. 

But she had tried to keep the tension at bay. She had suggested ordering Italian food, because there was no way Ben would want to kiss her if her breath was garlic-flavored. But then he had ordered roasted pork that was heavily seasoned with garlic, too.

When it came time to pick a movie, she had suggested a critically-acclaimed family drama she had missed in the theater. Ben had agreed and they had started watching, only for Satine to realize she had made a mistake. Because the family drama was all about a broken family coming back together . . . complete with the central couple falling back in love. 

As the couple on screen kissed, Satine buried her clenched hands in her lap and tried to ignore the steadily-rising tension. She held herself very still, even though every bit of her wanted to lean in against Ben. To feel his warmth, his touch. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him. He appeared relaxed, but Satine knew he was holding himself carefully. When Ben was truly relaxed, he sprawled, letting down his walls with an arm over the back of the sofa, his legs stretched out, his head leaning back. 

Inviting you to curl up against him. 

Satine nearly groaned as the on-screen couple began undressing each other. She shifted and felt the cushions sink underneath her, moving her closer to Ben than she had intended. 

His hand, warm and strong, gently steadied her. “All right there?” he asked softly. 

Nodding, she turned her head to look at him and felt her breath catch at the look in his eyes. His eyes widened slightly, and then he was leaning in towards her and she was moving towards him and--

Their lips met and Satine nearly sighed at the release of tension. For a moment, they just kissed, closed-mouth and sweet. 

But then Ben’s hand gripped her shoulder, and his other hand went around her waist and pulled her against him, and Satine didn’t want sweet, innocent kisses anymore. 

Their mouths became open and desperate, their hands moving over each other. Satine pushed Ben down against the couch, hovering over him as she kissed him deeply. 

Ben groaned and pulled his mouth away from hers. “Satine . . .” he breathed out, sounding winded and overjoyed. 

All she could do was grin at him before she kissed him again. 

Neither of them knew how the movie ended.

XXX

“You did all that and he didn’t stay the night?” Bo asked as Satine opened the door to the restaurant for both of them. 

Satine sighed and nodded. “We had been making out like teenagers for an hour, and then suddenly, he said he should go and I let him leave. I don’t know why I don’t want to make myself happy.” 

Bo snorted as the hostess led them to a table. “That Puritan streak coming through, I guess.” 

“I don’t think it’s that,” Satine said, sitting down and taking a menu. She gave the hostess a wan smile. “I’d like a Bloody Mary, please.”

“Make it two,” Bo said as she took her own seat. She waited for the hostess to step away, then said, “Or it’s not so much about making yourself happy. Maybe you’re worried about getting hurt.” 

She mulled it over, lowering her menu. Bo leaned back in her chair, waiting her out, but then said, “Because this guy really hurt you before, and he could do it again.” 

“But he won’t,” Satine said vehemently. “I know he won’t.” 

Her sister blinked. “Okay, wow. I was just asking the question.” 

“I know, Bo,” Satine said. “But . . . but I know Ben is different now. He--he’s opening up to me. He told me about his family history, why he left me in law school. And yes, it was a sucky way of doing so,” Satine said, heading off Bo’s reply. “But he’s explaining himself now.” 

“I’ve never met the guy,” Bo said with a shrug. “But when I watched the two of you in court together, you sure seemed to hate each other.” 

“Well, I hated him a little back then,” Satine acknowledged. “But . . .”

“But it wasn’t just hate,” Bo said. 

Satine shook her head shyly. “No. And now . . . I feel like I’m getting to know Ben all over again. Falling for him again. But for the real Ben, not what he tries to show to the world. And--and I like the real Ben so much more than I ever liked the man I thought I knew.” 

The Bloody Marys appeared on their table and Satine grabbed hers, taking a large sip to hold back her confession. 

Because as close as she was to her sister, she didn’t want Bo to be the first one to know she loved Ben.

That was something Ben deserved to know first. 

Finishing her swallow, Satine smiled at her sister. “Enough about me. How’s it going at work? Are you liking it at Quantico after all those years out in the field?” 

“It’s nice to not have to worry quite so much about getting shot,” Bo said with a smirk. 

With a laugh, Satine settled in to listen to Bo and share work stories. But in the back of her mind, she started planning just how she was going to tell Ben she loved him. 

End.