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fanfics4world · 1 month ago

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Fevered Hearts

From Back to you book. Bridget x OC

Summary: Bridget tries to hide her illness.

The sun had barely begun to filter through the windows of the shared room when Bridget opened her eyes. At first, she struggled to get situated; the soft warmth of the sheets and the faint scent of mint that she always associated with Skye enveloped her. Her lips curved into an automatic smile at the sight of her still asleep beside her, her white hair spread out on the pillow like a halo while her arm was around her waist. Bridget allowed herself a moment to admire her, her chest rising and falling with each quiet breath.

As she tried to sit up, however, a sudden dizziness forced her to stop. She frowned and lay back down, gritting her teeth.

It's just tiredness. Maybe I didn't get enough sleep.

She didn't want Skye to notice, so when she finally got out of bed, she did so carefully, feigning normalcy. She quietly brewed tea and set two cups on the small table, making sure to make enough noise to wake her girlfriend.

“Good morning, beautiful” she said when Skye opened her eyes, still drowsy.

Skye smiled back, her expression softening at the sight of her. But even that gesture, which normally filled Bridget with energy, wasn't enough to dispel the heaviness in her body.

Throughout breakfast, Bridget made an effort to stay upbeat, laughing at Skye's jokes and sharing insignificant details about the day ahead of them. But every bite of food seemed to require more effort than usual, and every sip of tea barely managed to keep her alert.

When they arrived at classes at Merlin Academy, Bridget tried to concentrate on the lessons, but her head was beginning to ache with increasing intensity. The classrooms were bustling with activity, and the professor's voice seemed like a distant echo bouncing off her skull.

Keep composure, she told herself over and over, sitting next to Skye. She didn't want to worry her. Every time she felt her girlfriend's gaze, she forced a smile and nodded as if everything was fine.

As the morning wore on, however, the symptoms worsened. During alchemy class, she had to stop several times to catch her breath, something that did not go unnoticed by her classmates.

“Are you okay, cupcake?” asked Skye during a break, her voice full of concern.

Bridget nodded quickly, looking away.

“I just need some water. I'm fine, I promise”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of discomfort. As the classes progressed, the ache in her body became more persistent, and a sense of weakness began to settle into her limbs. Despite this, Bridget continued to smile, lifting her chin and doing her best to keep up appearances.

When they finally reached her room that night, Bridget felt a small sense of relief that the day was almost over. She had insisted that she would cook dinner, wanting to make up for how distant she had been during the day.

“You relax, sweetheart. I'll take care of everything tonight” she said with a smile that she hoped looked carefree.

Skye had protested at first, saying she could help, but finally relented, settling into the couch with a book.

Bridget set to work, trying to ignore the weight that seemed to accumulate in her body. She concentrated on each step: chopping the vegetables, turning on the cooker, adjusting the temperature. But the heat of the steam rising from the pot began to feel suffocating.

As dinner progressed, Bridget felt her body finally reach its limit. Her hands were shaking more and more, and her vision occasionally blurred. At one point, she had to lean against the counter to keep her balance, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

Just a little longer. Finish the dinner and then you can rest.

But she knew she was lying to herself. Every movement felt like a titanic effort, and when she finally let go of the spoon to add one last ingredient, she knew she couldn't go on.

The trembling in her hands had become uncontrollable. Bridget tried to grip the counter more tightly, hoping the dizziness would pass, but it was no use. She felt an unbearable heat creeping up her neck and cheeks, as if her own body was on fire.

The steam coming out of the pot made her even more dizzy. Her legs felt like jelly, about to give way under her weight. She tried to take a deep breath, to find stability in the room spinning around her.

Just a moment. I just need a moment...

“Cupcake, are you...?”

Skye's voice was a distant echo in her ears before the world faded away. She barely reached to feel the ground approaching when strong hands held her.

“Bridget!”

The sound of panic in Skye's voice made her want to respond, but her body wouldn't cooperate. All she could do was let herself drift into the familiar warmth of her girlfriend's arms, her mint perfume filling the air.

When she finally managed to open her eyes, she was met with Skye's alarmed face. Her girlfriend's blue eyes were full of concern, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“I'm fine…”, Bridget managed to murmur, though her voice was barely a whisper.

Skye arched an eyebrow, clearly incredulous.

“Fine?! Bridget, you barely stood up a second ago!”

She tried to pull away, insisting she could handle it, but Skye held her firmly in place, kneeling in front of her on the floor. Her hand slid to Bridget's forehead, and her expression changed instantly.

“You're burning up. You have fever"

“It's no big deal…” protested Bridget, trying to get up, but her body wouldn't cooperate.

Skye shook her head, ignoring her attempts to move.

“I'm not discussing this with you. Come on, you need to lie down”

With unwavering determination, Skye helped her up and guided her to the bed. Bridget tried to resist, but her strength was already completely spent. Every step was a challenge, and the heat of the fever made her head pound.

When she finally made it to the bed, Skye carefully settled her, placing a pillow behind her head and tucking her in with a light blanket. Her hands were surprisingly gentle as she fixed Bridget's hair, pulling it away from her sweaty face.

“That's better” Skye murmured, her tone softer now.

“But dinner…”, tried to say Bridget, forcing the words between her parched lips.

Skye gave her a firm look that left no room for argument.

“I'll take care of that. You stay here”

Bridget wanted to protest, but her body had already made the decision for her. The bed felt like a refuge after the whole day of exhaustion, and though she hated feeling so vulnerable, a part of her surrendered to the relief of being cared for.

From their bed, Bridget watched Skye move around the room. It was a fascinating sight, even in her feverish state. Skye moved with a natural grace, her white hair hastily pulled back in a ponytail, but still impeccable. She looked focused as she tasted the soup Bridget had started and added a couple of spices, frowning slightly as if trying to decipher a puzzle.

Bridget wanted to call out to her, to tell her she didn't need to try so hard, but her voice felt caught in her throat. Instead, she contented herself with watching, her eyelids growing heavier and heavier.

The sound of the knife against the cutting board, the gentle bubbling of the pot, and Skye's constant presence filled the room with a warmth that countered the burning of her fever. Bridget felt flooded with a strange mixture of gratitude and guilt.

I should be helping her, not lying here like a burden.

She tried to stay awake, focusing on the steady rhythm of Skye's movements, but her body had other plans. Slowly, the world began to fade, and the last thing she saw was Skye's silhouette ladling soup into a bowl with deft, careful hands.

When Bridget opened her eyes again, the room was plunged into darkness. The only sound was the occasional rustle of a book's pages being turned. She blinked several times, trying to get her bearings, and noticed Skye sitting next to the bed, a book in her hands. The light from the lamp beside her illuminated her profile, soft and serene, though her eyes moved quickly across the lines of text.

Bridget tried to move, but the faint rustling of the sheets was enough to catch Skye's attention. Her blue eyes lifted immediately, and a slight smile spread across her lips.

“Hello, sleeping beauty” she said, closing the book and placing it on the bedside table.

Bridget gave her a weak smile in return.

“What time is it?”

Skye glanced quickly at the clock before answering.

“Almost midnight”

Bridget was surprised, had she slept that long?

“Feeling better?” asked Skye, leaning into her a little, her eyes searching her face for some sign of improvement.

“Yes, I think so” Bridget replied, though her voice still sounded a little scratchy.

Skye studied her for a moment, as if assessing the veracity of her words, then nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“I didn't want to wake you earlier” she continued. “But I saved you some dinner. Are you hungry?”

Bridget felt her stomach growl in response, and her face flushed slightly.

“A little, yeah”

Skye got up immediately, crossing the room with quiet steps. She opened a small lid on the table next to the cooker and pulled out a covered dish. Despite the hour, it still looked warm, and the comforting aroma filled the air as Skye approached again with the plate and a spoon.

“Here you go” Skye offered the food as she sat back down on the edge of the bed.

Bridget accepted the plate, her hands a little firmer this time.

“Thank you, Skye”

“Always”

As she ate, Skye didn't move from her side, making sure she was comfortable and drinking water between bites. When Bridget finished, she set the empty plate down on the nightstand and sighed, feeling much better, though still exhausted.

“Do you need anything else?” asked Skye, her tone soft but attentive.

Bridget looked up, her gaze meeting her girlfriend's.

“You”

Skye blinked, then a warm smile lit up her face.

“That you don't even have to ask”

With an ease that showed how much those words meant to her, Skye kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed. She settled with her back against the headboard and held out her arms, inviting Bridget to come closer. Without hesitation, Bridget snuggled against her, resting her head on her chest.

The steady rhythm of Skye's heart under her ear and the security of her arms wrapped around her made Bridget relax completely.

There was a brief silence, broken only by the faint sound of their breathing. Then Skye's voice rang out softly.

“Next time you feel bad…” she began, her tone a mixture of firmness and tenderness. “Promise me you'll tell me. Don't ever scare me like that again”

Bridget tensed slightly, lifting her head to look her in the eye.

“I didn't want to worry about me when you already have so much on your mind…” Bridget said, her voice soft, with a hint of guilt. “I didn't want to be a burden”

Skye shook her head, gently stroking Bridget's cheek with the back of her hand.

“You never are and never will be a burden, Bridget”, her tone was firm, full of conviction. “If something happens to you, I need to know. It matters to me far more than anything else that's going on”

Bridget's eyes filled with a mixture of emotions: gratitude, relief, and maybe a little embarrassment.

“I'm sorry…” she whispered. “I'm really sorry”

“There's nothing to be sorry for” Skye replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I just want you to be okay”

Bridget let herself fall against his chest again, feeling lighter, as if an invisible burden had vanished. Skye hugged Bridget a little tighter, letting the moment speak for itself.

“Rest now” Skye murmured, gently kissing the crown of her head.

Bridget closed her eyes, and for a moment, silence filled the room. Then Skye began to hum softly. Her voice was warm, laden with a tenderness that seemed to wrap around Bridget like a blanket. After a few seconds, the words emerged from her lips, melodious and serene:

"In Wonderland, where dreams unfold. Through tangled paths and stories told. A deck of cards, a game of chance. Yet love remains our steadfast dance.

When shadows fall and chaos starts. I'll find my way to your strong heart. Through every trial, every part.

You will always be my Queen of Hearts”

The words floated in the air, full of meaning. Each verse seemed to be a confession, a promise whispered in the dim light of the room. Bridget let out a sigh, feeling flooded with warmth.

“That song…” she murmured, barely audibly. “I love it”

Skye smiled, pressing a soft kiss into her hair.

“That's because it's about you”

With those words echoing in her mind and the sound of Skye humming the melody, Bridget finally surrendered to sleep. In her dreams, as in life, Skye would always be there, her refuge and her home.

Masterlist

#wlw #bridget descendants #bridget #bridget x oc #descendants the rise of red #descendants #descendants 4 #ruby rose turner #bridget of wonderland #bridget of hearts #alternative history #glg #original character #disney #fluff

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83tu · 2 months ago

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get to know mitsu pt. 1

i hit 20 answers on bsky so

1. fave beverage? non alc is full sugar strawberry / lychee milk or tiger milk tea boba, extra caffeine if she can get it alc is peach sake jelly shots

2. fave flavor? sweet sweet SWEET, she despises sour and bitter and can eat spicy but claims it hurts her mouth

3. fave food? green onion potato chips, oyakodon, shishamo, cherry garcia ice cream. frankly she eats almost everything and has a very strong stomach and can be paid to eat weird things

4. dessert (parfaits) > snacks > breakfast (pastries) > dinner > lunch every meal must also have a corresponding dessert if she can manage it

5. hated flavor / food? bitter and sour are on mitsus no go list, she can't stand it (umeboshi is a rare exception, as are limes) she also won't touch most raw vegetables. she'll throw the plate if her meal has green pepper in it

6. tolerate spicy food? to an extent. probably better than shy, but compared to a lot of others she knows, she comes across as a massive baby about it. it also depends on the spice, like wasabi and ginger dont bother her but chili peppers do

7. fave animal? small, purse sized, conventionally cute ones. rabbits, lap dogs, hamsters and etc? but shes actually Not into cats like at all, they piss her off when she can't get their attention. she'd have a pomeranian and name it 'gucci' or 'princess' 100%

8. what do they wear to bed? teeny ass pjs (always a cropped top and shorts), lingerie or absolutely nothing she varies from this mostly only if she's sick and then she steals shy or wrens clothes

9. what position do they sleep in? on her stomach typically, and her 4'9" ass can 100% manage to take up the majority of a california king despite being teeny tiny because she surrounds herself in every pillow and then kicks them away through the course of the night

10. morning person or night owl? honestly neither? she'll wake up midday and then still conk out at like 2 AM max while shy is still full steam going and then repeat the process again (she's only seen shy sleeping a handful of times which is more than 100% of other people whove never seen it)

12. its a rainy day, what do they do inside? if shys there? bang no shy? online shopping, reality tv and ordering so much doordash because she can't cook a single thing and also she thinks it's funny people would have bring her things in the rain (she tips like $1, idk how shes not blacklisted)

13. fave scent or smell? ooo, this is a good question... probably something sugary, like a fresh baked donut or cookies? also shys cologne which is something very high priced and mellow. also strawberry shampoo.

14. what do they smell like? hmm... this a tough one. something soft and sweet, her fave scents are the same sorts of things she likes to wear (for herself or when she goes out, she won't at home because shys not a fan) she REALLY avoids floral though

15. baths or showers? baths! *slaps the vanity mirror* this bad boy can hold so many bath bombs and fizzers

16. how good are they at cooking? nightmare levels bad despite the desire to also be the picturesque tiktok trophy wife aesthetic online. burns water levels of bad. if u watch a clip of her cooking a beautiful meal on insta just know it was majorly faked and edited and NOT cooked by her

17. fave time of year? why? mitsu loves summer actually because shes a huge fan of shorts and swimming / "sunbathing"* / just laying around in her bikini by the side of the pool (not the beach, beach has too much sand) * she doesnt actually lay in the sun and she wears a fuckton of sunscreen

18. fave holiday? valentines!!! not ONLY is it her birthday but it's also just soooo romantic and one of the holidays shy is willing to go all out on (lowkey cause it's a 2 in 1)

19. prefer to buy or recieve gifts? recieve, I dont think she's bought a single person a gift in years without prompting. she had to be reminded that yes you /should/ bring a gift to your bffs wedding because that is your FRIEND admittedly tho she does "treat" people a lot cause she loves going out

20. how tall are they? how do they feel about it? ~ 4'9" mitsu loves being this short, it makes everyone underestimate her and treat her like shes feeble or weak. she uses that to her advantage constantly. this height also makes her and shys height gap SO tall and thats her kink

#.txt #.mitsu

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saintcarlyon · 1 year ago

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BG3 Cooking Headcanon

Astarion - can’t cook and doesn’t try. Party initially assumed he was a picky eater and obsessed with his weight. Party gave up including him in the rotation because he’d just throw dead animals and unwashed vegetables into the fire and then kick them out.

Boo - is incredible but since Minsc is bald he was never able to demonstrate his culinary genius.

Gale - is probably an accomplished cook but is unused to adapting his recipes for travel, scarcity, or others’ preferences. Often gets defensive and claims things are an “acquired taste.” Tends to volunteer to cook but is passed over. Tries to pair everything with a wine.

Halsin - forages nuts and berries even when it’s unnecessary. Doesn’t believe in allergies or intolerances- thinks you’ve detached from nature too much. Still hasn’t apologized to Gale.

Jaheira - is a competent cook in the field when options are slim but never upscales the quality of dishes when in the city. Secretly enjoys seeing others eat her food and the contentment they derive from it. Gets even Astarion to finish his vegetables.

Karlach - decent cook able to make vegetables and herbs taste good without a variety of spices. Is a little pleased she can steam or gently toast things with her hands but will never admit it. Enjoys plating her food for maximum visual appeal after a decade of eating hellspawn. Gets into gross combination contests with Lae’zel and Wyll.

Lae’zel - secretly has a sweet tooth but is incredibly disciplined about it. Causes the others to complain that a sauce or dressing is sweeter than they are used to. Had a rough couple of weeks because she couldn’t identify edible plants or which part to trim off. The best cook but only Shadowheart is willing to shame her into doing it more often.

Minsc - no one will let him near the sharp tools or fire.

Minthara - brilliant chef of Underdark cuisine but unable to demonstrate her prowess. Often frustrated by the subpar cooking of other party members. Likes to goad Gale into making dishes he cannot successfully execute.

Shadowheart - An amazing chef but every meal comes with heavy-handed metaphors about Shar. Becomes particularly unbearable when she converts to Selune. Becomes a foodie once she returns to Baldur’s Gate and posts reviews in the Mouth under a psuedonym. Wyll is a huge fan and writes editorial responses if he becomes Archduke.

Wyll - a competent chef who always apologizes for his meals. Keeps comparing himself to the talents he’s encountered as a noble and on the road. For once the party is overly kind and encouraging to keep trying new recipes and techniques. Because after endless walking and trudging through blood and mucus they all hate cook duty.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #ratatouille #cooking #camp life #head canon #silly thoughts

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mariacallous · 10 months ago

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The most gratifying requirement of being a Jewish mother is having a chicken soup practice. This soup doesn’t have to be an original recipe or contain secrets that make it the best. It honestly doesn’t even have to be that great—you just need to make it, because no matter what, your kids and your kids’ kids will both need it and love it.

When it came time for me to develop my personal practice, I harked back to a time in middle school when I would bring a red plaid thermos of Campbell’s chicken and stars soup for lunch every single day. Pouring little cups of that steaming hot soup dotted with those soft, comforting noodles in the middle of my school day made me feel like I was cozy at home. Since it wasn’t the “normal” PB and J, it was a one-way ticket to nerddom, but I loved those soupy stars so much more than the idea of sitting at the popular table. (And so my personal brand was born?) These days I make very big, very thick cutout star noodles, as if those tiny noodles of my past have grown up with me.

Sunday afternoons are when I make my soup. It’s my workout rest day, so instead of riding the exercise bike when Bernie takes her nap, I build a stock and get it simmering while I stamp out as many noodle stars as I can before she wakes up. If Bernie’s earliest memory is waking up to a house that smells like chicken soup, I will feel like I have succeeded as a parent.

I load my soup with big slices of vegetables, because vegetables saturated in soup are Bernie’s favorite, and bigger slices are quicker to chop, easier for her to eat with her hands, and less likely to disintegrate into mush if the soup simmers for an extra long time. Like any good Jewish chicken soup, this is heavy on the dill — but the nutmeg and lemon are the sleeper hits, infusing even more depth into an already flawless food. Contrary to some “rules,” I cook my noodles directly in the soup instead of in a separate pot of boiling water, because, well, I honestly like it for all the reasons they tell you not to do it. (The noodles get mushy! The broth gets cloudy!) I love mushy noodles. I love the way the cloudy starch from the noodles thickens the soup so much that I sometimes also dump in any excess dusting flour instead of throwing it out. It makes you feel like you’re at a deli where the soup has been simmering all day long, or even since yesterday.

Note: As a mushy noodle fan, I store the soup all together and look forward to the next day when the soup will taste even better and the noodles will be even softer. I recognize that not everyone loves a mushy noodle, though, so if you’re in this category and you expect to have leftovers, cook the noodles separately in salted boiling water to your desired doneness and store the drained leftover noodles separately as well. Leftovers will keep in the fridge for up to 3 days or in the freezer for up to 3 months.

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writinglittlebeasts · 1 year ago

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Pie & warm coat (if you have it lol) for the fall ask game? - @void-botanist

october-themed writeblr ask game

🥧 pie: let’s talk about food in your wip. are there any special recipes or traditional meals? do any of your OCs cook or bake?

very sad to say that i can't really cook myself and therefore it just like, doesn't come up often in my work. in an older, abandoned wip, i remember drawing up a short comic where the characters are making Grandmama's Kielbasa Recipe but there were no actual details or anything. a lot of the food that *does* come up in my writing is take-out or, like, eat-in or whatever. i've written about spaghetti pretty often because even i can manage to swing that and that's nothing to write home about.

the most stand-out food fact in wolf's tooth rn is that lovise can't cook for shit but loves to try anyway. this is i think the most food-heavy wolf's tooth is ever going to get, frankly:

Large serving dishes and entire pots are rolled out of the kitchen on a serving cart. When Santo leans past Brionna to set a salad bowl in the center of the table he jostles her head with his bicep; she snaps her teeth at him, and he laughs. A wide pot of vegetable stew finds its way between empty plates and glasses and silverware onto a worn potholder. Brionna holds her breath when Lovise lifts the lid away, but when Jacqueline leans in to take a whiff of its heavy steam she risks her own curious inhale; the stew’s beef broth is overpowering, but it doesn’t smell burnt, and if she focuses Brionna can smell the sweet carrots and cabbage, the nutty, meaty potatoes. Jack catches her eye. ‘Did this woman learn to cook while we weren’t looking?’ Brionna shrugs, turning to the head of the table where Ronda is turning a casserole dish crosswise to its length. She’s optimistic when her mother’s fingers alight on the lid’s round handle. She’s crushed when the lid rises and exposes the gnarled, blackened crust of what must have been macaroni in another life, and she watches Kirby’s face screw up as the sharp scent of it hits his nostrils. “There’s plenty more of that,” Lovise assures the horrified, balking masses absently (as she’s occupied revealing the next of her abominations), “because I know how you all can eat.” (It’s a turkey, and its skin is flaking like parchment onto its platter, stuffed with and leaking something blessedly store-bought.) Brionna is calculating how politely she can eat only Lovise’s passable stew when her father sets a tray of bread loaves beside the stew pot that smells so overwhelmingly of butter that every head turns to follow it, to inhale deeply and expel each other bitter scent. Santo had baked this, himself; he’s positively radiating with pride, having outdone Lovise and saved the meal. He had to have known that he would, bragging to Ronda while he’d made a mess of their kitchen. Fuck, but there are basil leaves crowning the crust. He’s earned one hell of a birthday present.

i think i ought to consider food more often because i think that little elements like this can add a lot to a character, it just doesn't really occur to me to try because i find cooking personally very frustrating

🧥 warm coat: share a happy or fuzzy scene from your wip!

no fuzzy scenes written yet for my current wips because they're all about agonies, but i'll dig one up from wips past. [minutes pass] ok so these are also about agonies, but i have some sweet shit in my fanfics lol

from partner in crime:

Red wraps Frank's hand up in his, squeezing the meat of it so firmly there isn't an ounce of space left. "I've never had any reason to be afraid of you." "No, you don't." Frank tries to sound tender and reassuring, and Red takes the opportunity to break the tension. "You can barely land a roundhouse." He teases. "Your footsteps are so heavy they can feel them down in the subway tunnels." A grin breaks out across Frank's face and he rounds the counter to pull Red (bearing his broken arm in mind) to himself. "Piece of shit." Red presses his cheek, more his ear, flush to Frank's chest, light smile on his own face while he slows and listens, lets his grip on Frank's hand loosen only for Frank's hold to tighten. He hums, and it radiates warmly between the two of them. "You might know me." Frank may not have Red's bat ears, but he finds that where Red's voice is soft it's heady with emotion. Tinged with bitterness, exhaled across Frank's heart. Crawling up his throat, settling sweetly at the back of his skull. Frank mirrors that feeling, winds his free hand up Red's shoulder to his throat and only stops when his fingers meet short hair at the back of his neck. "I know everything I need to know t'know that I--" He trips before the finish line; he can't make himself say it, feels like an ass for it. Like if he only tries hard enough he can give that to Red, like the way it sticks in his throat is a personal failing. Frank flattens his palm to the nape of Red's neck, half surprised that he doesn't tense or lean away, wait for the rest. That's the important part, right? The words, the surety of them. Red speaks again, the side of his mouth still moving over the thin shirt Frank wears so that it can be felt as well as heard. "Me too, Frank." "What?" "I love you, too, Frank." Red says it so easily. Just like that first time, when he pinned Frank for a sucker. 'I like my chances' , he'd said. Cocky son-of-a-bitch. He was right, though. Red's had Frank wrapped around his finger from the very start. Frank trails his hand up into Red's hair, cradling his skull in his hand. Red pushes back against it like a satisfied cat. Frank clears his throat, "'S'at what I was gonna say?" "I don't mean to dispute your ability to self-reflect," Red lowers their still-clasped hands to Frank's hip and then a bit farther, behind his back, "But I'm pretty sure you've been saying it for a while now." Overconfident, self-righteous, cocky motherfucker. Perceptive son-of-a-bitch; pain in the ass. Frank hides the surely embarrassing expression on his face in Red's hair, doesn't stop until his lips meet his own knuckles. What he asks next is muffled. "Yeah?" "Unless you were trying to keep it a secret," Red amends, "In which case, I've never noticed anything beyond the platonic. Professional, even." Frank's laughter, full-bodied, making his shoulders shake, is likewise muffled by soft, bright hair.

(that excerpt looks SO long on tumblr my god)

thank u for asking!!

#or #answers #void botanist #awtfr #fic stuff

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slynbarnes · 2 years ago

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Embers: Season 3 Episodes 21-30

S3 E21:

(You are setting the table while Bucky cooks breakfast when you hear Lucas’s feet pad across the floor.)

Y/N & B: Good Morning.

(You look up at Buck who is already looking at you with a smile.)

L: Good Morning. (He says almost cautiously, knowing something is up.)

Y/N: Go wash your hands before you sit down bubs.

L: Okay. (He says running over to the sink.)

B: I made pancakes, eggs, bacon and hashbrowns. You like pancakes right?

L: Dad, you ask me that every time. Of course I like pancakes. I’m not dead.

B: You know, Y/N, he got your sense of humor.

Y/N: That he did. He has a point though. And what kid doesn’t like pancakes?

L: I mean its flat cake in a pan. (He laughs, making you and Buck both laugh with him.)

B: That’s not e- (You cut him off and quickly move to his side.)

Y/N: (Whispering to him) I told him that when he was little because he used to be a super picky eater. Don’t tell him I lied. He can forever believe its actual cake and it will never hurt him.

B: You clever, clever woman. (He whispers back.) Breakfast is ready. (He announces)

L: Yes!

(We all sit together at the table and the room is silent for a moment.)

Y/N: Lucas, I know things have been crazy this last year but there is another change your dad and I have decided to make. Before you get too worried just know I think it’s a change we all will be happy about.

L: Are we moving again? I won’t like that.

B: No, no it’s nothing like that. Your mom and I have been feeling closer lately.

Y/N: We found our way back to each other through everything.

B: We are taking things slow and -

L: Finally! You know we all have been waiting for this. I may be almost 10 but I know about the bets. Aunt Wanda and Uncle Steve have the biggest bets on the two of you getting back together for a while now. I told you both it would happen but nobody listens to the kid.

B: Wait back up.. There are bets on us?

W: Yep. We do have bets and unless Steve upped his bet I just won a crap ton of money.

S: Dang it!

(Wanda laughs as the team enters the dining room)

T: For the record I was not a part of this and if I had been I would have wiped the floor with you all. (He admits with his hands in the air)

Y/N: Who didn’t make a bet besides playboy?

BB: Vision and I elected to stay out of it.

Vis: Actually… Wanda had been reading y/n’s mind for most of the time she has been here and she had told me to place a bet just a few days ago so we could have an extra foot in.

W: Vis! I told you to keep that between us.

Vis: Sorry, darling.

W: I forgive you. (She places a kiss on his cheek before joining the table.)

S: Pass the eggs!

(I pass them down the table to where Steve is sitting with his arm hanging on the back of Nat’s chair.)

T: Who cooked? Should I have poison control on standby?

Y/N: Don’t worry I didn’t cook. It was all Buck…. Am I really that bad?

T: It should be illegal for you to even touch a spice rack.

W: Seriously. That recipe called for 2 cups of chopped peppers and you added 2 cups black pepper. We all about died.

B: To her defense Hydra is more microwave meals and or steamed, unseasoned vegetables with plain meat than fresh food kind of people and she was a lucky one they allowed her to bake for Lucas.

Y/N: Only on his birthday and Buck’s right. I never really was allowed to do the whole cooking thing in there.

T: Still, leave the cooking to a chef or literally anyone else. (They laugh.)

Y/N: Don’t think I didn't hear about the burnt eggs fiasco on the jet Tony. Yeah, Rhodey and I talk.

T: That’s not fair!

(The rest of breakfast continues with light banter and laughter throughout the morning until it’s time to take Lucas to school and the rest go to training for the afternoon.)

S3 E22:

(Currently you are driving through town to a local florist. Only a few minutes from the shop you take this time alone to really breathe. To fully wrap your head around everything that has happened this last year. It’s all been so much. So many changes and challenges and newness.)

(In the flower shop)

Florist: Welcome, if there is anything I can help you with please let me know.

Y/N: Thank you. (You walk around a moment and look at the different flowers but realizing you don’t even know what he would have liked. You never really knew him in that way. You shake your head in an attempt to remove the thought and move on to the counter.) Hi, I am a bit lost. I’m not sure what kind of flowers to bring him so are there any arrangements you would recommend for a grave site?

Florist: Ah… I understand, sorry for your loss. I do have something that is pretty well used. Can I ask a personal question?

Y/N: Depends…

Florist: What was the nature of the relationship to the deceased? Anything you want to express maybe? It will help me pick the right flowers for you.

Y/N: Love, sincerity, honor, forgiveness… maybe something to signify that I think of him.

Florist: I have the perfect thing for you. Give me about 10 minutes in the back and I will have it ready for you.

(Just like he said after about 10 minutes he comes back out with a bouquet sporting beautiful flowers.)

Florist: Okay, so I chose Zinnia’s for Honor, Yellow Pansies for Thinking of you, Red Roses for Love, White Roses for Sincerity and Lily’s of the Valley for Forgiveness.

Y/N: Thank you this is perfect. How much do I owe you?

Florist: The total is $125.00.

(You pay the florist and leave with the bouquet tucked against your chest. Once back on the road you play some music to break apart the silence of the air and cruise all the way to the cemetery.)

(At the cemetery)

Y/N: (You get out of your car and walk to his grave side where the grass has grown over the dirt everyone had a hand in shoveling on top. You lower yourself onto the ground and sit beside him.) Hey… (You set the flowers in the center of his plot and then your hand where you imagine his chest would be. The air becomes still, silent and empty.) I am so sorry Leo. I should have had your back. I should have had my eyes on you more carefully. In all reality I should have tied you to the radiator in your house and made sure you would come nowhere near that mission. (You laugh knowing he would laugh at the idea of you tying him to a radiator.) I really did love you. I’m only sorry it wasn’t the way you loved me. You deserved the world, Leo. To find someone who was worth dying for, not someone like me. I regret so much about our relationship, but I want you to know its because I was guilty. Not because you were anything less than amazing. (A tear falls from your cheek) I wanted it to be me but I couldn’t put you through what they did to me. I know that death is far better than mind control and torture but even then I can’t help but feel guilty for taking you away from this life. There is so much to say Leo but you know me. I was never good with words. I am just so so so very sorry. For everything. I hope that your soul finds peace or has already found it. (You sit on your knees and kiss his headstone before resting your head on it.)

S3 E23:

B: (Sitting at your desk waiting for you to return) Hey doll, how did it go?

(You stay silent unsure of how to answer, Bucky then notices the look on your face. When you lift to meet his eyes you notice his expression begin to change.)

Y/N: Don’t do it, you better not do it.

B: (Smiles at you)

(That’s all it takes, a smile from his stupid perfect face to make yours curl up matching him. Your whole world lights up everytime he smiles that stupid perfect smile.)

Y/N: I hate you.

B: You love me. (He says sitting up reaching for your hands)

Y/N: I hate you. (The words spill softly off your lips knowing you don’t mean †hem. You sit stradling his lap.)

B: You love me.

Y/N: I love you.

B: I love you too. (He kisses you, both of you smiling into the tender kisses.)

S3 E24:

(Nat just returned from a mission so you decide it’s far past due for you to talk to her. You open the door to the file room and walk in searching for her. You find her at a desk on the far side of the room.)

Y/N: Hey…

N: Hello. (She gives a half smile.)

Y/N: I realized I have yet to apologize to you. I’m really sorry, Nat. About the plate incident and the yelling and being a bad friend.

N: You were.

Y/N: I don’t expect forgiveness, nor do I deserve it and I’m not saying that to get pity either. I mean it. I was cruel and said and did some nasty things and all any of you did was try and help me and cleared my name in the process which I also did not deserve. I just want you to know that I really am sorry. I never meant to hurt you or anyone else. I was out of control and I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I love you Nat. You’ve been nothing but a good friend to me. (You stand up to leave.)

N: Sit back down.

(You turn to look at her confused.)

N: I said sit. (You do.) I’m not one to forget but I do forgive you even though you were a total psycho. This thing we do is never easy. We are bound to lose people, but that’s part of the job. I know what people like Hydra do and the positions they put you in so I know, like everyone else here and better than most what they did to you. I know it was impossible and I also know that no matter what anyone says it never feels better. That guilt will always stick with you, y/n. But you CAN NOT forget that you are not alone and you are no longer under their control. You have people who want to hold you up when you are down and we are not the enemy. I’m sure Tony gave you the speech already but you have to lean on us when you need us. We all care about you just like you care about us all too. We are a family here. Something none of us ever thought we’d have again. With the exception of Clint. I lost my family when I was a child, Tony lost his family at a young age and had to learn to rebuild, Wanda… She lost everyone before she turned 20, Vision only ever had us, Thor… well his family is a trainwreck, Bruce… he has family but his life is complicated and full of isolation. Steve and Bucky are self explanatory. I could go on but I think you get it. We all have Fury to thank for bringing us together. We are each other's family and that means we communicate even when it hurts and we support each other. I know it’s not easy but pushing us away isn’t any easier. I know all about that. Trust me.

Y/N: I know. I know I messed up.

N: We all missed you. We needed you too, you know?

Y/N: I know… Buck mentioned things have been hectic around here and since I have been back I have picked up on the tensions in the room. What happened?

N: Well, things have been tense between Steve and I to start. Him and I had a thing a while back and I ended things when my life became more complicated.

Y/N: You and Steve?

N: I know… It was brief and nothing serious but Steve still has feelings and made that clear a few months ago. We got into it a few times but he is one of my best friends and I don’t want to hurt him. Now everything is tense and the thing is I have feelings for Bruce… but he is so… I don’t know… complicated and closed off that getting to him is difficult. But then there is Eli the guy I met in Vegas. (Her cheeks turn a rosy color)

Y/N: Eli huh?

N: I don’t know. I like him too but he is not a part of this world and you know better than anyone what can happen if they get too close. Not that he would ever go on missions but even still. It’s easier to be with someone already in it all but Bruce is so confusing sometimes.

Y/N: It sounds like you have made up your mind on that aspect of it.

N: I wish it were that simple. Plus Eli lives states away. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas right?

Y/N: Take it from someone who made the biggest mistake of her life by not taking a chance on something she wanted even though everything about it was what I wanted to run to. Take the chance. Keep him informed but don’t get him involved. But don’t let something you want slip through your fingers in this life. We take risks everyday for the world so we should be allowed to take a risk every once and a while for ourselves.

(For the first time ever you can tell Nat really feels lost and conflicted. You place your hand on top of hers and say:)

Y/N: Well, no matter what you choose or don’t choose just know that I am always going to be here for you from here on out and don’t forget to do what makes you happy. Regardless of anything else. Situational or not.

N: Thanks, y/n. I really appreciate your support.

Y/N: Of course. Tell me, what did I miss?

N: Well,

(Nat then goes into explaining the last 5 or so months, everything from work to social lives and things happening in the city after the attack of Loki and his army. She even explains the court hearings and stupid things the boys did around the tower, completely catching you up to present time.)

S3 E25:

Y/N: According to Wanda’s list we will need to pick up parsley… something called 21 salute seasoning and white wine.

B: Easy enough. Anything else on that list?

Y/N: Snacks for movie night and-

L: Ohh! Can I get the snacks while you guys get the rest?

B: (Looks to you) Okay, but only if you can tell me the rules about going off by yourself.

L: No running, no talking to strangers, only touch what we need, scream if I need help, and come right back.

B: Okay, you can go but please be safe bud okay.

L: Deal!

(Bucky takes the list and tears it in half to give to Lucas who is now running off to go pick things out.)

Y/N: (Sucking in a long deep breath.)

B: He will be just fine.

Y/N: I know… he is just getting to that age where he likes to do things alone and without help. I know how scary this world can be and I worry about him. About what could happen. I want him to be as normal as possible. You know, he was lucky he was born without any of the serums we have running through our veins. He is just a regular little boy.

B: I didn’t even know it was possible we could have children with the serum in us.

Y/N: I didn’t either. I don’t think Hydra knew it was possible either until we found out I was. (You say picking up the seasoning off the shelf.) His childhood was already far from normal… I hope I can change that the best I can for him now. To make sure his life is free of super powers of any kind and free of hydra and free of what we do. I want him to go to college and get a good degree or not if he doesn’t want that but I hope that he gets a job he loves and settles down and leads a perfectly normal life.

B: We will do our best together to make sure of that, doll. I don’t want him wrapped up in any of this either. It’s too full of pain and loss and I don’t want that for our boy. (He grabs some white wine from the shelf.)

Y/N: (You entwine your fingers with Bucky’s) I can’t believe he is about to turn 10 in just a month.

B: I know. Even just in this last year he has grown so much.

Y/N: My mom used to tell me she was going to tie a brick to my head to get me to stop growing up and that I would forever be 8 years old to her. Maybe we could try it with Lucas. (You joke.)

B: You think it will work? (He jokes back)

Y/N: For sure! (You laugh)

(After Lucas, Bucky and you have gotten everything that you needed from the store you head back home to cook.)

(The rest is just a montage.)

S3 E26:

(The whole team sat down for the meal, passing dishes around to each other and talking over one another creating a loud and lively atmosphere.)

N: Steve! I was the one asking for that, I should get it first.

S: You can have it when I’m done.

N: (Nat snatches it from him.) No.

C: Pass the potatoes?

Pep: Can someone pass the bread down this way too?

T: (Tosses a roll across the table to where Pepper is sitting)

Pep: (Manages to catch it.) Thanks babe!

T: You got it!

L: Dad?

B: Yeah bud? (He says shouting over everyone to Lucas sitting across from him.)

L: Do I have to eat the broccoli?

B: Ask your mom.

L: Mom?

Y/N: Yes, you have to eat all your veggies or no snacks!

L: Mooommmmm (He whines)

Y/N: Don’t Mooommmmm me!

S: Dinner is delicious Wanda!

W: Thank you, Steve.

BB: (Shovels food into his mouth as if he hasn’t eaten in days.)

Vis: (Whispers something into Wanda’s ear making her turn bright red.)

(Tony and Pepper are making eyes across the table while Nat and Steve bicker and Vis and Wanda flirt. Everyone enjoys their meals and keeps up good conversation and for tonight things feel so utterly normal.)

S3 E27:

(You and Wanda are snuggled up on the love seat while the boys: Lucas, Bucky, Vis and Steve are lounging on the couch. Nat is sitting with Bruce on the floor between everyone while Pepper and Tony are snuggled up on the recliner. Clint, Laura and the kids are by the Fire sprawled out on blankets and in sleeping bags. Since kids are around we decided to watch a family friendly comedy: Big Daddy and of course Tony looks bored out of his mind.)

(Whispering)

Y/N: I feel like this movie is going to give my boys far too many ideas.

W: Knowing them it definitely will.

Y/N: (You laugh.) I missed this.

W: Us?

Y/N: Yeah…

W: Me too.

L: Dad? (He whispers)

B: Yeah, bud?

L: Do you know how to play baseball?

B: I know enough why?

L: Can you teach me? Mom doesn’t know sports and we never got to play catch or anything really. All my friends have dads and play sports with them and in school and I want to try out but I don’t know how.

B: (Looks to Lucas.) I would love to buddy.

N: (Glances at Bruce)

BB: (When Nat isn’t looking, he glances back.)

The kids: (Whispering something to each other and giggling back and forth.)

(The homeless man runs into the pole with his cart.)

C: (Bursts out laughing.)

S3 E28:

(Today is Lucas’ last day of 4th grade and after getting him ready to go, taking his picture and dropping him off at school, you drive to your first appointment with Dr. Christina Reynor.)

Dr. Reynor: Good Morning, Y/N Y/L/N, it’s a pleasure to be meeting with you. (She shakes your hand)

Y/N: Don’t go feeling confident yet. Most do not find me to be a pleasure.

Dr. Reynor: I have heard much about you already from S.H.E.I.L.D., your team members and Bucky Barnes himself. I think I have an idea of what to expect.

Y/N: Bucky has spoke of me?

Dr. Reynor: He has and no I cannot tell you what he has said but it is no secret that I see him as well plus he gave me full permission to let you know he has spoke of you. That’s besides the point. Tell me y/n. What brought you here?

Y/N: Murdering my now ex-boyfriend or me needing therapy or?

Dr. Reynor: All of it. Tell me about the life you have lived?

Y/N: What so you can tear apart my mind? I’ve already been there and done that so no thank you.

Dr. Reynor: Not to tear it apart. To put it back together. Ms. Y/L/N, you are here by court order to open up to me and it's something you signed and agreed to. Fighting me when I am not the enemy is only going to make this harder.

Y/N: I am not fighting you on anything. I know what I said and what I signed up for and having my entire life dissected was not part of that. I signed up to talk about the recent event of killing my now ex.

Dr. Reynor: And are you ready to dive head first into that?

Y/N: I don’t have a choice.

Dr. Reynor: You do. Everyone has choices to make Ms. Y/L/N. I ask about your past because sometimes talking about things you have had more time to process is easier for my patients than diving into their current traumas. It also can be beneficial to know what led up to the event of Mr. Harrington’s death. Therapy for trauma patients with a history like yours and Mr. Barnes is never easy or simple. It can be painful but if you trust that your best interest is being held in the highest regards then you will come out of this far better than you came in.

Y/N: I don’t like people in my head.

Dr. Reynor: They brainwashed you too? (Although she makes it seem as if it’s a question, it’s a statement.)

Y/N: Yes.

Dr. Reynor: That’s a good place to start.

Y/N: (I look up to her from the corner of my eye.) Okay.

S3 E29:

(You arrive home stressed from Therapy, even though you took a drive out of the city for a while to clear your head, it’s still there. When you walk into the lounge you see Bucky reading the newspaper and Lucas who is sitting beside him, reading a book. Suddenly all the stress melts away and turns into something new. Love, curiosity and a bit of jealousy mixed with annoyance.)

Y/N: (Your hands slide down Bucky's shoulder onto his chest as you stand behind him before whispering in his ear.) How did you do it?

B: (Whispering back) Do what, my doll?

Y/N: Our son is reading… a book… a comic book but a book nonetheless without being forced to for school. He hates reading.

B: Yes he is and yes he does.

Y/N: Okay and how did you do it?

B: I’m not telling.

Y/N: Come on… pleaaasssseeee.

B: Nope.

Y/N: Did you bribe him?

B: Nope.

Y/N: Promise him cake?

B: No.

Y/N: Tell me.

B: No. Some things are for just Lucas and I. It’s a secret.

Y/N: I’ll do that thing you like…

B: (He laughs with a wide grin on his face.) Tempting but I promised our son I would never tell.

Y/N: James Buchanan Barnes…

B: Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N….

Y/N: Fine… (You kiss his cheek.)

B: (Pulls you into his lap.) How did your session go?

Y/N: I didn’t say much. I said just enough to get her off my back about opening up about my past. I’m not ready to talk to anyone. I don’t need a shrink. I’ve had plenty of people in my head. I don’t need another.

B: She’s just trying to help, doll.

Y/N: I know but I’ll be okay without her too. I just have to do enough to get back on the team.

B: You know I hated therapy when I first started too but it’s not bad and it has been really helpful. Just promise me you will give it your best?

Y/N: Fine. I promise.

B: Good. Thank you.

Y/N: (Kissing his nose this time you say:) You’re welcome.

S3 E30:

(You, Tony, Bucky, Lucas, Steve and Wanda and hanging out in the living room when you see a blinding flash of light come from outside.)

Y/N: What the hell was that?

T&S: Looks like the Bifrost.

Y/N: The Bi-what?

S: The portal Thor uses to travel between realms.

Y/N: Oh…

L: Can anyone use it?

S: I am not sure but I know Thor has brought others to and from.

Y/N: No you are not going to space Lucas Everett Y/L/N.

L: But-

Y/N: No but’s

L: Dad?

B: Hey, don’t pull me into this. If your mom says no then it’s a no buddy. Plus I agree with your mom.

Thor: I’m back!

T: Welcome back, sparkles. Your brother still locked safely up there?

Thor: He is.

T: Good.

Thor: Lady Y/N! It’s a pleasure to see you again.

Y/N: Please just call me Y/N.

Thor: As you wish. (He looks over to Lucas.) Hello young one.

L: Hello… Mr…. Your Highness Thor.

Thor: (Booms a laugh) You can call me Thor. Your Highness would be more so the Allfather.

L: Oh.. alright.

Thor: It’s good to see you again, Bucky.

B: You too. (They exchange quick smiles and niceties when Clint drops from a vent in the ceiling.)

C: Thor! Welcome home pal. How have you been?

Thor: Thank you. It’s good to be back. I’ve had quite the adventure since I have left.

Y/N: We would love to hear it.

T: I’ll get the drinks.

Thor: Thank you. I could use a drink.

B: I’ll take an old fashioned.

Y/N: (You snicker) Of course you do. I’ll take a Tequila Squeeze extra Pineapple pleaseeee.

C: (Walks to the fridge to grab a beer for him and Thor.) I got ours.

Thor: So it all started after Loki’s sentencing. Sif and the Warriors 3 had heard of some Giants making camp in the woods near town and occasionally causing a ruckus.

Y/N: (Laughs)

Thor: Giants are not funny, Y/N.

Y/N: No but you said ruckus. (You laugh harder making Bucky snicker.)

Thor: What’s wrong with ruckus?

Y/N: It’s a funny word.

T: Very mature y/n.

Y/N: Oh shove it Tony.

Thor: Nevermind that, we were in the woods and found their camp but it was empty. Sif and the warriors 3 assumed someone in town had tipped them off that we were coming. I prepared in the moment for a sneak attack and boy was I right. They came from every which way and with one throw from my hammer they went down. The were resilient, standing from the ground they-

T: (Passes out drinks)

Thor: They stood from the ground where they had laid and one went for Sif which is never a smart idea. Sif is a brilliant warrior. She is valiant with high honor shown from the Allfather.

Y/N: Who is the Allfather?

Thor: My father Odin.

Y/N: Right. (You say trying to process this information.)

Thor: She attacked back, sending her sword through the chest of the giant, taking him out. Fandral and Hogun followed suit taking another out through attacking his blind spot while Volstagg swept from behind with his ax, taking the heels of another to their death. I wielded Mjolnir and took out the last of them. When we had returned to the palace Odin threw a celebration in our honor and we had quite a time. Days of feasts and ale and dancing. Before I returned I handled some of my princely duties, nothing of which to speak of.

L: That’s amazing! (He stares in awe.)

Thor: It was, young one.

0 notes

lebenspurpur · 3 years ago

Text

showering with the slashers

|Michael| (SFW)

You will need months to convince him to shower with you. He is surprisingly insecure and shy when it comes to nudity and especially taking off his mask. In the beginning he will even leave it on until he realizes that the steam plus the hot water are making it impossible to keep it on.

After he decides to join you he will ask for one every day. I mean he won't ask verbally he'll just stand in the bathroom when you shower until you invite him in.

Most of the time he will just place himself underneath the stream of water like a statue and let you shampoo his hair. If he's feeling generous, he will do the same for you and give you a little head massage. Michael will always use your soap since it smells like you but obviously this idiot won't ever admit that.

His favorite are showers in the evening because he adores laying in bed after a long, hot shower. Those are also one of the rare times where he actually allows cuddling.

|Vincent Sinclair| (SFW)

Vincent prefers bathing over showering. Though he won't say no to a shower.

It will definitely take him a while to gain the confidence to join you. In the beginning he'll turn his back towards you so you won't see his face. Show him love and appreciation and he might open up a little.

Vincent loves dealing with your hair. Obviously he has like 15 different hair products even though he rarely uses them. Now he can use them on you.

If you shampoo his hair he is in heaven. Imagine him underneath a stream of water lovingly gazing into your eyes while you softly trace his scalp with your fingertips. I love him, what can I say.

He will dry your hair himself and then gladly put lotion on your body. Such a sweetheart. Afterwards he likes cuddling while watching something together.

|Bo Sinclair| (NSFW)

You won't even notice when Bo enters the bathroom. He just suddenly stands behind you, arms wrapping around your upper body and his lips attached to your neck.

After a passionate make-out session he might wash your body. He likes to use his soap since that's a sign that you're his. As if the marks he leaves weren't enough.

Normally the shower is one of the rare places where he expresses his real emotions because nobody except for you will see them there. So expect lots of praising while his soapy, calloused hands trace your hips with such tenderness, you don't even recognize him.

Afterwards he'll either make you dirty again ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) or he'll lay on your chest, relaxing after a long day.

|Lester Sinclair| (SFW)

Yes Y/N, he'll gladly shower with you! He will take good care of you and that's a promise.

You'll always be glad when he showers with you since, let's be honest, he smells like rotten road kill. If your soft hands go over his scarred and exhausted body he cant' help but stare at you fondly.

I feel like Lester would try to make bubbles with soap in his hand. Or make a beard out of foam. He always tries to make you let out that adorable laugh of yours, what'd you expect?

After showering he'll wrap you up in his arms and tell you about his day. Whenever he chuckles about a funny memory a deep rumble can be felt in his chest. It never fails to make your heart grow warmer. As soon as you fall asleep he presses a soft kiss to your forehead and tucks you under the covers.

|Baby Firefly| (SFW)

Baby will always invite herself in the bathroom as soon as you're comfortable with that. Her soft hands will softly massage your shoulders and back and you can feel the knots and tight spots slowly relaxing.

But don't be foolish, she expects a massage as well. Baby values fairness so every action of her has a price. Not that you mind.

Baby's soap smells like cotton candy and fits her aesthetic wonderfully. Sometimes you'll steal a little bit for yourself.

I also believe that Baby likes to sing in the shower. According to my personal opinion one of Baby's big passions is music. Her sweet voice will be loud and clear and if you look at her she'll wink at you and smile.

After you're done she'll gladly let you brush her hair. Since the mane of hers often doesn't do what she wants it to do she gladly accepts help. If you put a hair product in her hair while softly clearing the knots she'll close her eyes while humming faintly.

|Otis Driftwood| (NSFW)

Otis is very similar to Bo when it comes to showering. Though he is also surprisingly shy. Not because of his body, more because of your feelings. Do you really want him in the shower?

After he gets over those thoughts he'll slip behind you every now and then, his big hands caressing your ass, scaring the shit out of you. If you shriek or jump he'll just chuckle and continue raking his hands over your naked form.

Even though he pretends like he doesn't like it, he loves if you wash his hair. Come on have you seen that mane? It needs some serious care and especially good conditioner. It's also dyed (I refuse to believe that his natural hair color is white.) so a good wash is long overdue.

Afterwards he'll gladly lay in bed with you while reading or discussing things. I believe that Otis also enjoys reading stories to his partner. After all you can discuss them with him later.

|Billy Loomis| (NSFW)

Are you kidding? Of course he'll shower with you!

His eyes plus hands will never leave your naked body, prepare for him just being horny. Yes Y/N, he'd love to put soap on your body. What do you mean not just on your chest and ass?

Eventually he'll grow tired of just looking at you. His hands will be all over your body soon, his lips attached to your chest leaving little marks.

If he's tired he'll oblige to your charm and wash your body without being naughty. Afterwards he'll just silently hold you close while the hot water engulfs both of you. I mean mostly him but his body will keep you warm.

|Stu Macher| (SFW)

Stu enjoys every activity he can do with you on his side.

He'll gladly massage your back, pressing little kisses to your shoulder plate. His hands will be so soft when they rub soap all over your wet form.

He loves when you try to wash him but fail because you're too small. He'll steal a kiss or two when you try and reach him by standing on your tip toes.

After all the cleaning is finished he will wrap his strong arms around you and press his chest against your back, humming fondly. He'll close his eyes and softly let the water flow over your connected bodies.

|Brahms Heelshire| (NSFW)

Brahms hates cleaning. No matter how. You will have to coax him into the shower by showering with him. It's really the only time when he ever showers.

Don't expect him to actually wash himself. You can do that Y/N. Such a malicious little gremlin. As soon as your hands touch him he'll put his head on your shoulder and start whispering very naughty things. Y/N you're torturing him, what is he supposed to do?

Okay so there might not be a lot of cleaning. If you really want him to be clean you will have to use a punishment or coax kind of strategy. No good night kiss for Brahms if he doesn't clean himself I guess. God he will be so whiny. Brahms is going to pout for days after this.

Afterwards he still wants your attention. Y/N wasn't he a good boy? He deserves a reward doesn't he?

|Josef| from the creep series (SFW)

Shower? With him? You really want that? Eh.. okay.

He'll be a bit insecure, Josef isn't used to receiving adoration. As soon as you start putting soap on his body he visibly relaxes and sighs softly. He loves being touched, yet he never asks for it.

Afterwards he'll always want to shower with you. Please just touch him some more.

Josef will happily return the favor. His touches will be very soft and tender, he doesn't want you to feel any kind of uncomfortable or scared.

After showering he will rub lotion on your warm skin, he wants it to be healthy Y/N!

Josef will also prepare a healthy meal. Food is important Y/N and god he loves cooking for you. His body in new clothes, smelling like aftershave, wet hair in a bun, singing quietly while he makes roasted vegetables. Please wrap your arms around his torso. He will nearly faint.

|Thomas Hewitt| (SFW)

It will take him a while, mainly because of the mask. However coaxing works quite good so he might give in after you bribe him a little.

Tommy is going to wash your hair very precisely, not wanting to cause knots. He knows how hot in can get in Texas as well which leads him to move away from the refreshing water, leaving you more space. He's just very considerate, compared to other slashers (ehem, Bo.).

Please wash his hair, he'd feel so special. Especially if it's your own shampoo.

After showering he'll wrap you in his strong arms and nuzzle his face in your neck, mask off. Do whatever you want Y/N, he's just glad he can lay next to you right now.

2K notes · View notes

wandaromanova · 3 years ago

Text

Enough

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cussing, failing marriage

A/N: hello! happy reading! <3

anon requested: Wanda x reader where they give her divorce paper because Wanda is always gone and distant

Summary: Even the most unbreakable bonds fall victim to the struggles of marriage.

Word Count: 5.1K | navigation

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

When you first met Wanda Maximoff, it was under unusual circumstances. You were browsing through a farmer’s market a couple of streets over from your apartment, glancing at various booths as you passed them by. It was a quiet day, the sun was shining down brightly, the heat stifling. You liked to get your groceries from these marketplaces, the fruit and vegetables were fresh and fewer people touched them in comparison to a wholesaler franchise.

You had been stood at one of your favorite fruit stands, warmly greeting the elderly woman who ran the booth and observing some strawberries. Then suddenly, your purse had been snatched from your person. You were startled and caught sight of a man running down, your purse in hand. You intended to run after the thief, but he didn’t get far.

A red glow encased the man, stopping him in his place a couple of feet away from you. Your eyes widened, as did everyone else’s, at the sight. You turned your head over your shoulder and were mesmerized by a brunette woman, eyes red, and her head tilted slightly to the side.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Considering you didn’t live under a rock, you knew exactly who she was; Wanda Maximoff.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You had seen her on the news quite often. She was an Avenger who had unique abilities that surpassed the rest of the group. Your eyes followed Wanda as she walked past you and toward the man who was still trapped by a glow of red. You moved without thinking, following behind her. After all, it was your purse that had been stolen.

“Stealing purses from women? How desperate could you be?” Her Sokovian accent met your ears as you stood back slightly. Wanda tore your purse out of the man’s grip and released him. He looked terrified as he took one glance at the brunette before running in the direction he was originally going in.

Everyone in the marketplace went back to what they were doing while you stood in the middle of the walkway, frozen in place as the Sokovian turned her body around to face you. Television and photos didn’t do her beauty justice; she was captivating.

There was a glow that surrounded her, a silhouette of gold colliding with her brunette locks. Her eyes were emerald with the smallest specks of blue. Her skin was remarkably flawless. You couldn’t help but wonder what her skincare routine was.

Wanda smiled lightly at you, amusement present in her eyes. “I don’t have a skincare routine. I just wash my face with a bar of soap and call it a day.” You blushed profusely at Wanda’s words.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Right… she could infiltrate people’s minds too. How could you forget something like that?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“T-thank you for helping me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if that dude actually got away with my purse.”

You mentally berated yourself for stuttering. The woman smiled at you and handed you the object, which you hung on your shoulder.

“Don’t mention it.” Wanda spoke dismissively with a wave of her hand. “Is there anything I can do to repay you? Maybe buy you a cup of coffee? There’s a really good cafe a couple of blocks down from here.”

You looked at Wanda hopefully, wanting to thank her for what she had done for you.

The brunette took a pause, contemplating her answer before nodding her head. “I could go for some coffee.”

You smiled brightly and pointed behind you with your thumb. “Well, it’s back that way.” You turned back and began walking, Wanda right beside you.

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

You sat in a booth with Wanda sat across from you. The cafe was fairly empty, which you were grateful for. Two cups of coffee were resting on the table, steam rising from the hot liquids.

“What’s an Avenger like yourself doing in a little farmer’s market?” You asked, taking a sip of your coffee as your eyes peered at the brunette over the rim of the mug.

“I always loved farmer’s markets. In Sokovia, my country, they were everywhere. So, I really love coming out to these sorts of places. It reminds me of home.”

You tensed at her words. Everyone knew about the rubble that Sokovia had become, and you felt kind of like an asshole for asking.

“I’m very sorry for what happened to your home.” You spoke sympathetically as you put your mug down gently. Wanda sent you a small smile. “Thank you. It wasn’t the greatest country. We were plagued by poverty, but it was still home.”

The Sokovian looked down to the mug in front of her in thought. You cleared your throat before speaking.

“Well, I know a ton of farmer’s markets in this area. I tend to alternate between them, depending on what I need at home.” Wanda’s eyes moved from her mug and to your own.

“If you want some recommendations, I’m your woman. Not to brag, but I’m kind of a farmer’s market pro.” You brushed off imaginary dust from your shoulders and Wanda let out small giggles at your faux cockiness.

“I would love some recommendations if it means you’ll take me on your shopping trips.”

You raised your eyebrow at her with a smirk. “If you wanted to spend more time with me, you should’ve just said so, Wanda. No need to be so coy.”

Wanda threw her head back, laughing wholeheartedly at your words. You couldn’t help but feel proud of yourself for making her laugh.

“Nah, I don’t want to spend time with you, I just want your street knowledge.” Wanda managed to let out, slowly coming down from her laughing fit.

“Oh! So you want to use me? I mean, let’s be honest... I wouldn’t mind if you did.” You spoke dramatically and Wanda laughed once more.

You smiled as you observed her. Her head was thrown back, cheeks red, and eyes closed as the cutest giggles you’ve ever heard met your ears.

It was then you decided that her laugh was your favorite sound, especially when you were the one to evoke them from the Sokovian.

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

Since that day, you guys had exchanged numbers and Wanda had accompanied you shopping once a week. You’d drag the Sokovian by the hand through various markets and give her pointers on which stands sell the best produce. You even introduced her to the vendors, even if they already knew who she was.

It was a wonderful time and afterward, the two of you would grab lunch in random restaurants, conversating over anything and everything. You had to admit, you looked forward to the one day a week you got to spend with Wanda. So, it kinda sucked whenever she couldn’t make it, away on some sort of mission.

However, her absence made her presence all the more special. She took time out of her hectic schedule to hang out with you and roam around carelessly.

Truthfully, you were kind of a nobody, just another number to the extensive population of New York. You were the head chef of a fine-dining restaurant, hence your preference for fresh ingredients at home.

It baffled you that someone of Wanda’s caliber would want to spend time with you, but you definitely weren’t complaining.

As weeks turned into months, you had grown exceptionally close to the Sokovian. You had gone from seeing her once a week to every other day, well, when she wasn’t away for work.

Wanda would come over to your apartment, sipping on some wine as she watched you cook dinner. You figured she was intrigued by your gracefulness in the kitchen, but really, she was just checking you out.

She thought you looked amazing in your little chef apron, your hair pulled back into a ponytail to keep your hair out of your face. However, a few loose strands fell and framed your face perfectly.

“Your hair looks sexy pushed back.” Wanda spoke, pulling you out of your concentration. Your eyes moved upward, staring at the woman who sat on a stool on the opposite side of your kitchen island.

“Did you just quote Mean Girls?” You asked amusedly and the brunette shrugged, a small smile on her face.

“Yes, I did. And what about it?” You rolled your eyes at Wanda’s sassiness. You would continue your task, disregarding her comment as best as you could, trying to ignore how flustered the woman made you.

Once dinner was prepared, the two of you would sit on the couch and choose a random movie on Netflix. Those nights were always filled with commentary and laughter. It was so easy to relax around the Sokovian. Everything seemed to fall into place whenever she was near.

So, it was no surprise when you realized you had feelings for Wanda that surpassed friendship. You had been nervous about revealing how you felt to the woman, but when you finally did, you felt like an idiot for being scared.

“I have feelings for you. Like, I like you a lot.” You anxiously played with your fingers, scared of Wanda’s reaction. She had been sat on your couch right beside you and you couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Hey.” Wanda spoke, gently gripping your chin and forcing you to look at her. “I like you, too.” Wanda giggled when your eyes widened in surprise.

“What? Don’t look so surprised. We’re practically dating already.” You rolled your eyes at the brunette with a smile on your face. The two of you sat there, smiling at each other like idiots, but neither of you seemed to care.

Your feelings weren’t one-sided and a weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. After that day of confessions, you and Wanda became official.

Truthfully, not much changed between you two. You guys acted the same way you always did, but now kissing was added to the list of activities you would participate in.

ㅤ Wanda Maximoff is the love of your life; ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ and you would never let her go.

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

3 Years Later

You had been dating Wanda for three years and things were going wonderfully. She had moved into your apartment with you. It was amazing, knowing that she would end her days in your bed and you’d wake up with her in your arms the next morning.

However, one morning, you definitely weren’t particularly happy with your girlfriend. She had dragged you out of bed at 5AM and rushed you to get ready. Wanda didn’t tell you where the hell she was taking you at the ass crack of dawn. Each time you asked, she just shushed you.

Thirty minutes later, you walked with Wanda hand-in-hand. You knew the route she was taking and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You remained silent until you made it to your destination, and your suspicions had been confirmed; she had taken you to the farmer’s market closest to your apartment.

The area was completely empty, there were fairy lights strung about and a basket full of strawberries sitting on your favorite fruit stand. The sun was rising and the sky looked immaculate, the sun radiating a blood-orange color, complemented by golden yellow undertones. It was beautiful.

Wanda let go of your hand and moved forward, turning around to face you. It was then that you noticed how anxious she looked. Seriously, it looked like she was about to puke. “What are we doing here? Is everything okay?” Your concern for the Sokovian was evident in your tone.

Wanda gave you the best smile she could muster in her nervous state and nodded her head. “Everything is okay. Wait, scratch that. Everything is more than okay now that I have you in my life.” You smiled at your girlfriend as she took a deep breath.

“Y/N. Do you remember this spot?” Wanda asked you curiously and you nodded your head, a laugh escaping your lips. “Well, of course. We come here like once a month, duh.” The Sokovian shook her head at your words, rolling her eyes playfully.

“No shit, Sherlock. I meant, do you remember the significance of this specific spot?” You instantly nodded your head.

“This is where a random ass dude stole my purse and you scared him with your powers.” You smiled triumphantly while Wanda giggled.

“Well, you’re not wrong, but yeah. This is where we first met.” Wanda let out a shaky breath and you stared at her curiously.

“When I first came to America and joined the Avengers, I was petrified. They say this place is the land of opportunity, but it didn’t feel like that to me.”

The Sokovian began to ramble on, her eyes locked onto yours as you listened intently.

“Coming to America wasn’t a choice that I made, but it was the only option I had. I used to think that I could never find a home in this city, but I was wrong. I found a home. Not with the Avengers or in the Compound where I lived, but in this little market.”

Wanda moved forward, taking a step closer to you and holding both of your hands in her own. “I found you.” Your heart fluttered at her words, heat rising to your cheeks despite the cold morning air.

“I’m so happy that I decided to come here that morning because if I didn’t, I would’ve missed my opportunity to find love.”

Wanda let go of your hands and you instantly missed the warmth. However, your eyes went wide when your girlfriend got down on one knee.

“Y/N, you brought hope and love into my life when I ran out of it. I never thought I would entertain the idea of marriage, but now… it’s all I can think about.”

A loud gasp surpassed your lips, your hands flying up to cover your mouth as Wanda pulled out a tiny red velvet box. She opened it slowly and inside sat a stunning engagement ring with a huge diamond sat on top of it.

“Will you marry me?” Wanda looked up at you hopefully as you stared down at her with tears springing to your eyes.

You instantly nodded your head as a few tears fell down your face. “Yes!” You managed to breathe out and the Sokovian was beaming.

She took your left hand in hers and steadily slid the ring onto your finger before kissing the back of your hand. Wanda stood up hastily and pulled your body into hers by the waist, passionately moving her lips against your own.

It was euphoric. The sunrise encased your figures in a golden hue, the cold atmosphere turning warm from each other’s body heat. You were two women who loved each other dearly, kissing in the middle of a vacant farmer’s market without a care in the world.

ㅤ The promise of forever hung in the air that ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤsurrounded you both; and you were free.

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

1 Year Later

A year after your engagement, you and Wanda had gotten married. The ceremony was absolutely gorgeous as you were surrounded by your family and friends. You would never forget the way Wanda teared up as you walked down the aisle, your father by your side.

You recall the small giggles you’d share with Wanda as the two of you stood at the altar. Neither of you could take it seriously, whispering quiet flirtatious remarks to each other. However, your laughs died down when you reached your vows.

“Wanda, you are my hero. Sure, you may save the world from threats for a living, but you do so much more than that. You save me from purse thieves and kill the spiders in my apartment because I’m too scared to go near them.”

Wanda and the audience seated in front of you had laughed at your words. You let out a shaky breath, Wanda sending you a reassuring smile before you continued.

“Whenever I order a burger, you always eat the tomato because you know how much I dislike them. You take care of the tiny cuts I get from work, sometimes being a little too dramatic about my injury.

You looked down at your hands nervously before returning your gaze to the brunette who stood in front of you. The white dress she had on was absolutely gorgeous, complementing her emerald eyes perfectly.

“But you’re always so gentle, you’re always there for me. I promise to do the same for you. I won’t kill the spiders for you, but I’ll be there whenever you need me, even when you don’t. I’ll be on standby anyway.”

You were entranced by the woman who stood in front of you. You weren’t too fond of public speaking, but it was easy when Wanda was with you; everything was easier with Wanda around.

“I’m so grateful for you, Wanda Maximoff. You are the other half of my heart and soul that I didn’t realize was missing, but now that I’ve found you; I never intend on letting you go. Sorry, but you’re stuck with me.”

You ended your vows with a small chuckle. Wanda’s eyes were focused on your own, shining brightly as a smile crossed her features. When her turn came around, you were practically a melted puddle by the end of it.

“Y/N, you are my love. I don’t think you realize just how deeply I love you. I would do anything for you. From fighting off an entire army to letting you eat some of my food even if you said you weren’t hungry.”

The room filled with laughter once more, a blush coming to your cheeks from being called out. Food just tasted better when it wasn’t your own.

“I’ll let you fight your own battles, but I’ll always be there for backup. I promise to you that I will do everything in my power to keep you happy and safe because you are my main priority.. I’ll be anything you need me to be; a best friend, a shoulder to cry on, a protector, a wife. You name it and I’ll be it for you.”

You were a crying mess when Wanda finished her vows. You felt an overwhelming feeling of love consume you. Her words struck a chord within you and just… god damn it, you loved her so much.

After the ‘I do’s,’ you and Wanda kissed as if you were the only people in the room. Honestly, it felt like it at that moment. You had just declared your devotion and unwavering love to one another.

It was the beginning of forever and you couldn’t wait to see what the future had in store for you both.

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

2 Years Later

Two years of marriage had been interesting. The first year went flawlessly, it was as if you and Wanda were on a high. It was the most intense and passionate year that the two of you had ever shared. The two of you had purchased a condo together, moving out of your former apartment.

Long nights of love-making that spilled over to the morning, working out together, and spending practically every single minute together possible. Of course, the two of you still had your respective jobs, but that never affected your relationship.

The married life seemed like smooth sailing, but little did you know, there was a thunderstorm not too far ahead. Treacherous waves and destructive lightning were in the near future, you just didn’t know it yet.

Things had started going south at a relatively slow pace. Wanda was progressively assigned to more missions, spending less time at home and an increased amount of time at work. You didn’t let it get to you at the time, it was the way life worked. Wanda was literally a superhero and the world always seemed to need saving.

This went on for several months. Waking up to an empty bed and going to bed the same way. You rarely saw your wife and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t upset you. It was a drastic change from what you were used to. You only saw the Sokovian for an hour or two, every other day.

And when you did see her, your time was filled with arguing over things that neither of you could really remember. There was a sudden halt to all forms of affection, animosity taking its place.

It was particularly bad the night you brought up the topic of Wanda’s presence and the lack thereof.

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

You had been lying in bed, your head resting against the headboard as you scrolled through your phone. The sound of the front door opening had caught your attention and you quickly tossed your phone aside and stood up, making your way out of the bedroom.

You were met with Wanda taking off her shoes in front of the door. Her eyes darted up to you, the annoyance that crossed her face had hurt you, not that you would tell her that.

“Hey, you’re back early.” You stated, maintaining a happier tone to avoid an argument. Wanda walked past you and toward the kitchen, opening up the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water.

She shut the fridge and turned around to look at you. “Why? Did you not want me here? Because I can leave if it’s such a problem.”

You were taken aback by Wanda’s attitude. You spoke one sentence and somehow managed to upset her. It was absurd.

Despite your growing irritation, you remained calm. You hated fighting with your wife and you knew that someone had to be the bigger person.

“No, it’s not a problem at all. I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been gone a lot and I miss you.” You smiled, walking over to your wife who still stood in the kitchen, wrapping your arms around her waist.

However, the brunette grabbed your arms and tore them off her body, whipping around to face you.

She was clearly angry and you didn’t understand how any of what you said could’ve pissed her off. “Yeah, I’m gone a lot because people need me. I can’t drop everything to be with you just because you’re needy as fuck.” Wanda spoke bitterly as she glared at you.

Your chest tightened at her words, flashbacks of your wedding day hitting you. You took a deep breath, gulping to prevent a sob from coming out.

“I thought I was your main priority or did you just make that up for show? To have everyone at our wedding believe that I’m of any importance to you?”

You were getting angry, your voice rose slightly. You felt your blood pressure rising, your body getting hot from your frustration.

“Wanda, I just want to see you more because you’re my wife. It has nothing to do with being needy, seeing you more than an hour or two every few days is a fucking standard in a marriage!”

You took a step back from Wanda as you screamed. You were fed up with being made out to be some clingy person when you were simply being a wife to the Sokovian. She rolled her eyes at you, crossing her arms over her chest as she gazed at you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Well, then maybe our marriage was a mistake.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Wanda spoke without thinking, not caring about anything other than going for the killshot and winning the argument. Her words seemed to have worked as you visibly deflated.

Your anger was replaced with sadness. You let out a dark chuckle at her words, shaking your head before walking into the bedroom slamming the door behind you, and locking it.

Wanda didn’t expect that reaction, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was that she had won the argument. She figured she would be sleeping on the couch tonight and she was satisfied with that. You didn’t want to see her and she didn’t want to see you.

So, the Sokovian brought her bottle of water over to the living room, placing it on the coffee table before crashing onto the couch. She got comfortable, closing her eyes as slumber took over her.

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

3 Weeks Later

Since the argument, things were the same, but different all at once. Wanda still went on mission after mission, but you had taken up more shifts at the restaurant. You didn’t want to be alone in the condo any longer than you had to be. You needed the extra money anyway.

When you were home, you were silent, no longer bothering to speak to your wife. You were two strangers that occupied a living space together. Wanda’s words played in your head like a broken record. It was all you could think about whenever you’d see her.

The promise of forever hung in the air that surrounded you both; and you were trapped. Your life had become a vicious cycle of tension and avoidance.

Your engagement and wedding felt like an absolute lie now. They always say the first years of marriage are the hardest, but you didn’t think it would be this difficult.

You and Wanda had petty arguments over the six years you two had been together, but they were rare and were usually resolved quickly.

But not this, no, this entire situation was different. You were in a never-ending loop of anger and resentment, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

•❅──────────────── ᗢ ‎‎────────────────❅•

Wanda pulled out her keys and unlocked the door to the condo. She had just gotten back from an emergency meeting with the team. The Sokovian stopped in her tracks as soon as she opened the door.

There you were, sat at the kitchen table. You were leaning back, your arm resting on the table as your hand enclosed around a glass of whiskey. Your bloodshot, red eyes, and the dried streaks of tears that adorned your cheeks were evidence of your crying. Wanda had never seen you so down.

The brunette slowly shut the door behind her, surprised when you spoke. She didn’t think you’d noticed her presence, your eyes trained on the glass in your hand. “We need to talk.”

Wanda nodded her head at your words and slowly approached the table. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion when she saw a stack of papers on the table.

Wanda sat down across from you and finally, you looked at her. The Sokovian’s heart clenched as you stared at her emotionlessly. You downed the entire glass of alcohol, not even wincing at the burn, but welcoming it. You put the glass down and cleared your throat before speaking.

“Wanda, I love you so much, but we can’t keep living like this.” Your voice was hoarse, a result of your earlier crying and the beverage you had just ingested. Wanda stared at you in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” The Sokovian felt fear slowly creeping in. She didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“Oh, come on. You know what I’m talking about. We act like we don’t even know each other anymore. We aren’t even wives anymore, we’re just two people who live together.” You didn’t have the energy to yell anymore, your voice was soft and calm.

Wanda still didn’t understand the direction this conversation was going in. Nothing could’ve prepared her for your next words.

“I visited a lawyer and hired him. He was going to give you these, but I decided to do it myself.” You sat up and pushed the papers across the table. “I’m officially serving you with divorce papers.”

Wanda’s heart stopped as she comprehended your words. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Wha- what? A divorce? Please tell me you’re joking.” Wanda looked down at the papers and back up to you in utter disbelief.

“I wish I was joking, but I’m not. I want a divorce.” You were eerily calm, maintaining your composure while Wanda felt like she was going to crumble to pieces at any given moment.

“Is this about my missions? If it is, I’ll ask Steve to relax my workload. I��ll be around more often and I’ll stop being an asshole. Just, please don’t do this. I’ll make it right, I promise.” Wanda leaned forward and reached out for your hand pleadingly, but you didn’t let her.

You pulled your arm off of the table and shook your head. “Wanda, you shouldn’t have to make it up to me in the first place. It shouldn’t take a divorce for you to finally act like a proper wife. I’m not changing my mind.” You spoke firmly, but Wanda refused to accept your words.

The Sokovian abruptly stood up, the loud sound of her chair scraping against the floor filled the room.

“So, that’s it? You’re just gonna give up on everything we have? You’re gonna throw in the towel because things are a little rough right now? You’re a fucking coward, Y/N!”

Wanda was enraged as you stared at her unimpressed. Her chest was heaving as she glared at you. “This is exactly why this needs to happen. We can’t have one conversation without someone yelling.” You stood up slowly, rounding the table and making your way to the front door.

Wanda watched your every move like a hawk. You reached for your purse that hung beside the door and flung it over your shoulder before turning around to face the Sokovian. “I suggest you get a lawyer as well.” You spoke simply and turned back around, your hand on the doorknob.

Something in Wanda went off, seeing you about to walk out had raised alarms in her mind. You were really leaving her. The brunette moved without a single thought, rushing over to you as you pulled the door open. She gripped your wrist tightly, causing your head to turn back to her, a sad expression on your face.

“Please don’t leave me. I love you and you love me. Does that not mean anything to you anymore?” Wanda’s anger dissipated to desperation. She stared at you right in the eyes, begging you to stay. Pleading you not to put an end to your marriage.

“Our love means the absolute world to me, Wanda. But sometimes… love just isn’t enough.”

You smiled sadly at the Sokovian before gently pulling her hand off of your wrist. It was kinda difficult considering how firm her grip had been, but you managed.

You walked out and all Wanda could do was sit there and watch as you walked down the hall and away from all of the memories you had made together. You never thought that your marriage with the brunette would come to an end, let alone an ugly one.

But your marriage had become toxic, slowly feeding away at any sort of happiness you had left. It was a painful decision to come to; a divorce, but it felt like the right one. The Sokovian was right, you did love her; which is why you needed to put an end to the torture.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤ Wanda Maximoff is the love of your life; ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ but you had to let her go.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

taglist: @perfectromanoff @aliancvnas @marvelwomenslut @chaekhan @rvselie @imasimpfornatashamaximoff @prentisshoe @mcubreakdown101 @multiyfandomgirl40 @fear-street-girls @007giu @weelight @scotts-orange-slices @puppy-danvers2016 @acertainredhead @mindofwesley @lostandsearching @tquick99 @rachel146 @illloveyou @thewidowsghost @wandasgirlfriend @sapphic-stress @olicity-boo @iliketozoneout @suki-is-a-queen @xxromanoffxx @b-5by5 @olsensnpm @hagridsmomma @blurryylines @yeeterthekeeper @onceattwice @maximoff-jp @midnight-lestrange @tomatonugget @mrs-avenger3000 @wandadarlingg @wandanatblogs @simpfornatasharomanoff @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @grxvitye @hunka-hulka-burnin-fudge @clipreads

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader angst #wanda maximoff angst #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #request done

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johnsamericano · 3 years ago

Text

𝔖𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 ℜ𝔲𝔰𝔥 𝔧.𝔧.𝔥 •4•

send me a message if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @thoreeo @trustmahluv @sunny-nyu @nanascupid @silent-potato @painted-hills @primadxna-girl @cacaubs @thejungjaehyun

warnings: sugar daddy Jae, age gap, mentions of an accident, a pinch of angst

sugar rush m.list

a/n: something interrrresting is gonna happen in the next chapter

You started cooking silently, afraid any word coming out of your mouth would make him angrier. He seemed submerged in his own little world of worries, and you had no intention of disturbing him.

“Is this okay?” He showed you the small carrot cubes he'd cut, waiting for approval to chop the rest of the vegetables.

“Yeah.”

With every step you took forward in your relationship, you took three backward, or so Yoonoh thought. He wished he could blame it on his strong personality, but you'd been a victim of his rage episodes more than he'd like to admit. He wanted to dig a hole and bury himself in it for the rest of his life.

“Can you hand me the salt, please?” His fingers lightly touched yours as he gave you the glass container, longing to have you between his arms.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Being an asshole...again.” You pressed your lips together, unable to tell him contrary. “I-I know I shouldn't have been so rude to you, and I also know you probably want to know what the hell happened back there.” You hummed, stirring the brown liquid inside the steaming pot. “Our families have been friends for ages, and we were supposed to get married once she inherited her parents’ company, but I said no. As you can see, she and my father are still insisting on the wedding happening. They've been harassing me for months now.”

You wanted to understand. You wanted to tell him everything was alright. But the words started leaving your mouth before you could stop them, carrying a great amount of frustration and a pinch of jealousy in them.

“And am I the one pestering you? I don't see why I should be the one paying for someone else's actions. It isn't fair, Yoonoh.” You were no longer walking on eggshells, now speaking your mind up on what had been haunting you ever since you left the supermarket. Yes, he was helping you more than you could ever verbally express, but that didn't mean you'd let him treat you like a punching bag. “You can get angry as much as you want, I’ll be here to listen to everything you have to say. But don't push me away because of someone else.”

Jaehyun was speechless, yet, he recognized the truth in your words. Even though he knew it wasn't appropriate, he embraced you from behind, for it was the best way he knew to apologize.

“I’m sorry. I promised myself I'd never act like my father did when I was a kid, yet, here I am, taking out my anger on someone that has nothing to do with it. Could you possibly forgive me one last time?” Your body turned between his arms, faces now terribly close as your eyes scanned his own.

“I’ve always believed it's actions that count, not words.”

“I know, and I'll try my best, alright?

“You better.” The tension tightly hugging your bodies finally gave in, allowing Jaehyun to smile, his pointy fangs peeking from below his upper lip. “Now get back to chopping vegetables, else our stew will turn into some sort of weird gravy.” He didn't move, eyes fixed on yours, slowly making their way down to your lips. Those juicy, plump lips he longed so badly to taste. Against his better judgment, he started leaning in, so slowly your mind had enough time to race through the possible outcomes of that kiss.

I’m not ready, you thought before slipping out of his embrace. He didn't comment on it, simply pressing a soft kiss to your temple before going back to his tasks. Your face was heating up as you stirred the brown liquid on the stove, hoping he wouldn't be able to notice.

Despite your attempt to convince him not to, he dragged you to eat on the couch, using it as an excuse to have you closer.

“Yoonoh, none of us will be able to eat if you don't let go of me.” He huffed as he forced his arms to loosen their embrace, taking his plate from the coffee table to taste your creation.

“Have I told you you’re the best cook I've ever met?”

“You helped me out a lot.” You couldn't suppress the small giggle bubbling in your throat as you praised his lack of cooking skills.

“Of course. Look at these chopped veggies. They're the highlight of the stew.”

You never imagined spending time with an older man would be so entertaining. It seemed as if Jaehyun had an endless gallery of bad jokes to tell every time you met. Even washing the dishes seemed like a less boring task with him helping you out.

“I need to get going before it gets too dark.” In an impulse, you reached out for his hand. You didn't want your time together to come to an end. “Yes?”

“N-nothing. Have a safe trip.” But you were a coward, unable to speak up your mind just yet.

“I’ll call you when I get home.” He gave your hand a loving squeeze before picking up his coat from the grey couch, shooting a wink before his hand closed around the doorknob. You were left all alone with nothing but your thoughts as company. You could sense yourself more and more drawn to Jaehyun with every second you spent together, and you weren't sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

(...)

“Hey, Yoonoh, I've been trying to call you for a while now, but it seems like your phone is off. Give me a call when you hear this.” Your palms were sweaty as you anxiously paced around the room. He hadn't called you like he promised the night before. It felt just like the day your father had the accident.

Nothing could get your attention away from him. What if something had happened? What if it was the universe telling you you were unworthy of affection? A notification cut your train of thought. Hoping it would be the man himself, you turned your phone on, only to discover it was an insignificant mail from school. You'd never longed to see his name on your screen so badly.

After taking a shower and running some errands, his response was still yet to come. The longer you waited, the worse scenarios your imagination invented. It was torture not knowing when he would return your calls, or if he ever would, for that matter.

“Hey, it's me again. I hope everything’s alright. Call me back when you can.”

You stayed awake until past midnight when your eyelids finally started giving in, and Netflix asked you whether you were still watching or not. But as you made your way to your room, finally ready to give yourself a much-needed rest, your phone rang, Yoonoh’s caller ID lighting up your screen.

“Hello?”

“Is everything alright? I have a bunch of voicemails from you.” He seemed to be healthy from the sound of his voice.

“Just wanted to make sure you were alright.” He cooed silently from the other line. “Well, now that I know you're alive, I won't bother you anymore.”

“Wait, I have a favor to ask.” Though you couldn't see it, his hand was resting on the nape of his neck, scratching it nervously. “There’s this family thing tomorrow, and I was wondering if you were available.”

“I have classes from nine to twelve. I'm all yours after.” All his. He hated how much he loved the sound of it.

“Wonderful. Let me know when you're ready, so I can pick you up. Pack a change of clothes, nightwear, and your travel essentials.”

“Wait, w-were spending the night there?”

“It’s my dad's old cabin, nothing fancy. See you tomorrow.” He pressed a loud kiss to the speaker before hanging up, leaving you panicked and confused. Not only were you going to meet his family, but you'd be spending two whole days with them.

(...)

“Why so dressed up?” Yoonoh welcomed you with open arms, leaning on his black, fancy vehicle.

You were wearing a silk top, along with black trousers and low heels. Whereas Jaehyun, handsome as ever, was wearing an ugly sweater and blue jeans.

“I-I thought it was a formal thing.” You were about to turn on your heels and run back to your apartment when he grabbed you by the arm, pulling you closer with a warm smile. “I need to get changed!”

“I got us matching sweaters. Yours is in the trunk. You can get changed inside the car. I’ll wait outside.”

You looked like a pair of idiots as you made your way into his father's log. Everything was nice and clean, not a single speck of dust on the shiny surface of the floor. You clutched his hand tighter as you waited for the arrival of whom you assumed was his mother by the sound of their heels clicking.

“Stop making that face. They're not gonna eat you.”

As a matter of fact, his mom did seem about to eat you up. Her eyes lit up as soon as she saw you, a string of compliments on how adorable you were spilling out of her bright, red lips. She seemed far too young to be the mother of a forty-year-old.

“Thank God my Jaehyun finally found someone. We thought he would die single.” She praised as her hands cupped your cheeks with motherly affection, one you'd lacked ever since your own mother died.

“Very funny, mom.” He let her drag you around the house, showing you every prize her son ever won as well as pictures of him as a kid, his cute dimples making him even more precious.

“You like older men, don't you?” She asked, nudging your side playfully. “Don't worry, I do too. Guys of my age were too immature, but when I met Jaehyun’s father, oh boy...” She fanned her flushed face, tension taking over your limbs at her implications.

“Don't scare her away.” Yoonoh came to your rescue, giving his mother a scolding glance before guiding you to the sofa, holding your hand tenderly to warm up your freezing fingers. “Want me to get you a blanket?”

“No, it's okay.”

“Your father will be here with Sungchan in an hour or so. You can settle your things in your room in the meantime.” The woman shouted from the kitchen, from where the sound of metal against glass was erupting.

“Thanks!”

You stood awkwardly beside the bed as you waited for him to unpack his clothes, clutching your sports bag tightly.

“You can tell me where my room is, and I can find it myself.” He knitted his eyebrows in confusion, halting his actions as he stood straight.

“This is our room, y/n.”

“Oh.”

What an interesting day it would be.

#nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct smut #nct x reader #nct #nct scenarios #nct 127 #nct angst #nct 127 angst #nct 127 smut #nct 127 fluff #nct fluff #nct jaehyun #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 x reader

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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

Note

Hey Nat, I'm kinda blaming you for my budding infatuation with Nanami and I was wondering if I may request Nanami and his s/o having their first kiss? It doesn't have to be long but I'm just feeling soft and with the way you write him it sounds like a treat once this reserved, professional man finally allows himself to give in

oh anon i am so... so very soft.... you cannot blame me for the nanami desire. he is simply irresistible.

date night - nanami x reader (3k)

you’re nervous about your first date with nanami.

warnings: none. fluffy, soft. neutral reader, some mentions of food and alcohol.

You cannot help but be nervous about tonight.

Your friends have made fun of you, talking about your hot date – Gojo thumping you on the back, Shoko looking at you with her tired eyes but a smirk on her face. Neither of them really get it, you don’t think – to them, Nanami is their former junior who is just a little too serious for his own good. A gloomy, stoic presence who they trust implicitly due to the good head on his shoulders, but who they do not really see as ‘a potential romantic match’. They know that you’ve been harbouring a crush on the former salaryman for months, and they’ve already tried to warn you off him.

“He can be so boring,” Gojo had said, swinging an arm around your shoulders. “Let me set you up with someone instead!”

Your face had heated up at the idea that Gojo didn’t trust you to make your own romantic decisions, but he was already halfway through listing the name of every eligible bachelor he knew (and a few who he said ‘weren’t eligible, but they probably could be, for you!’). You’d been able to do nothing but listen politely as you’d walked with him to his classroom, occasionally gathering strange looks from the students that were milling around in the corridors.

“Think about it!” He’d cried to you as he’d stepped into his bare classroom (you hardly ever see him doing any actual classwork in there; mainly, you see him lying on top of desks and making fun of his students) and greeted the three first years waiting for him. “You don’t wanna be stuck ironing Nanami’s socks for the rest of your life!”

You hope his students don’t hear him, as you decide to go for a walk outside to clear your head.

You and Nanami have been dancing around the idea of maybe possibly being something more than friends for weeks. You’ve felt it, in the brush of his hand against yours, the way that his eyes seem to soften and his tiredness seems to lift when you’re near him. You’ve felt it, as you’ve passed him a cup of coffee and he’s relished the warmth emanating from the cup. In the soft way he speaks to you.

You’ve felt it when he’s held your hand as the two of you have walked together, not saying anything. In his scarf wrapped around your neck, smelling like him.

What you haven’t done, is go on a date.

And perhaps this isn’t a date the way you’d once have dreamed about it. You’re going over to Nanami’s place; he’s going to cook a meal for you, the two of you are going to catch up after he’s been gone on a mission for almost a week - the two of you are going to watch a foreign film he’s been able to get hold of, that you’ve been saving to watch with one another. You’re going to perhaps have a glass of wine together, or two--

You kind of do want to be stuck ironing Nanami’s socks for the rest of your life.

It sounds so silly when you say it aloud! You haven’t even kissed him, just brushed fingers and held hands and saved each other’s lives whilst on exorcisms together. But whenever you close your eyes and imagine your future, Nanami is always there, right beside you.

You breathe in deeply. You have to ignore what Gojo and Shoko and everyone have been saying. They’ve known Nanami for longer than you – they were his upperclassmen, after all, and you suppose it’s traditional to make fun of and quash your younger classmates a little. You just need to think about what you want, and what Nanami himself may want. Plucking uselessly at your clothes, nerves fizzing in your stomach, you elect to ignore the anxiety gnawing at you until you’re at least outside of Nanami’s front door.

Then, you tell yourself, then, I’ll allow myself to panic a little bit. Seeing Nanami’s calm, handsome face always calms me down. The minute he answers the door, I’ll forget that I was even nervous, and everything will be just as it should.

It doesn’t stop you worrying, as you get dressed and try and fluff your hair and rearrange all of your accessories whilst you get ready. It’s just an evening at his house, you try and keep telling yourself. He’s not expecting me to show up like a runway model, he’d probably hate that anyway--

Still. Having a crush on somebody is never easy, and Nanami can be so utterly unreadable at times, that you get dressed and undressed twice more before you settle on something in between casual and formal; that looks like you’ve made an effort, without looking like you agonised for hours to figure out what the level of effort should be. You’re clutching a bottle of wine and standing outside of his door three minutes early, wondering if he’s the kind of man who gets annoyed if you are there too early.

The door swings open, and Nanami is there, leaning on the door frame. He’s breathtakingly handsome, in casual clothes – an expensive looking sweater in soft grey that gives just a peek at the column of his throat, cuffed jeans. You’ve never seen him look so . . . relaxed. And the fact that he’s looking at you, his lips barely tilting, his tired eyes just a little turned up at the corners.

“You look nice,” he tells you, and you thank God that you went with this outfit. You hold out the bottle of wine for him, and his smile breaks wider as he looks at it. “You didn’t need to bring me anything, you know. I’m happy to be the provider this evening.”

“It’s-- it’s polite!” You insist, and Nanami steps aside to allow you into his house. He’s very proper, and you’d wanted to impress him – you think the young lady who had served you in the specialist store you’d anxiously entered had sensed your worry, and had been very kind as she’d picked something for you she was certain you’d like.

“You made a good choice,” he tells you, as he invites you into his hallway and you gratefully pull off your shoes. “This one looks fine--”

“I didn’t really choose it,” you admit. “I let the experts do it.”

He laughs, the sound like an early spring morning. You don’t think anybody else hears him laugh like that, and the comfort that the two of you share makes you feel soft and warm.

“Even more admirable, then,” he says. “Most people we know would just barrel in guns blazing and insist they knew the right way to do things.”

You both share a secretive smile, your cheeks warming. You can feel tension draining out of you the longer you spend in Nanami’s company. Something about him just sets you at ease.

When you’d first met him, you’d been frightened of him. He seemed so gloomy and intense, so utterly focussed on his goals – when you had tried to speak to him, he had brushed you off with short one word answers and you’d caught him looking at you when your back was turned as if he was waiting for you to slip up.

But as time had worn on . . . as time had worn on, Nanami’s edges had softened. You’d realised that he was willing to talk, when the participant had proved themselves to be worth talking to. He’d told you once, shrugging, that most jujutsu sorcerers just tended to be . . . odd.

“Not you, though,” he’d said, and your heart had leapt in your chest. “Well. You’re not odd in any way that isn’t charming.”

He’s not usually the kind of man who heaps praise on other people; that little compliment, you had carried with you like a flame in your heart. The first time he had held your hand, he hadn’t said anything. The first time he had walked you home, and met you for coffee in a morning a half hour before you were due to be at the scene of an exorcism; Nanami Kento shows that he cares about you in a hundred different little ways that aren’t as simple as telling you it out and out. You admire that about him. You’re so used to putting your foot in your mouth.

“Come sit at the table,” he says, and you follow him obediently. His house is tastefully decorated, somewhere between modern and traditional; he has shelves of books everywhere, and that makes you smile. You’ve heard him say, sighing; “When I’m done with all this, I’ll finally have time to get around to reading them.” The shelf in the very corner of the dining area is the only one that looks well-thumbed; even from here, you can see that it’s where he keeps his recipe books.

“I hope you’ll like it,” you settle into the chair that he pulls out for you. He moves into the kitchen with purpose, grabbing serving dishes and utensils and juggling them with a precision that makes you admire him all the more. “I’m very glad you were on time. It’s the kind of dish that needs to be eaten at the exact right moment.”

He whips the cover off the main dish.

You knew that Nanami was a foodie. His instagram is full of pictures of various places and treats he’s eaten – with a particular focus on adorable baked goods, especially bread, that had made you feel warm inside when you’d noticed. Still, the spread that he’s laid out before you would not look out of place in the most high-class of restaurants; the kind that you’d never had the money to afford to eat in, and you’d have been afraid of showing yourself up at the tables of. You stare at it, mesmerised; the vegetables, so bright and colourful and steaming, lovingly presented – the glaze of the meats, the bowls full of side-dishes that you can’t quite recognise.

There’s an anxiety in his face when he looks at you.

“Sorry,” he says, quietly. “I think I probably over-estimated. And over-compensated, I suppose, for not taking you out to a restaurant--”

“No,” you say, quickly. “It looks delicious. I’m glad you invited me. It’s just . . . a lot.”

“Yes,” his eyes rove over the table. “There are only two of us.”

“It’ll make good left-overs,” you suggest, and he brightens.

“That should have been my line,” he tells you as he retrieves the wine you’d brought. You can see that there was already a bottle chilling in a bucket by the table, but Nanami’s face is affectionate as he pops the cork and pours some into the wine glass by your plate. “I’m supposed to be the responsible one.”

“Sorry for stealing your thunder,” you take a sip of the wine.

“Just as long as you don’t make a habit of it.”

The food really is delicious. You could easily have had seconds, or even thirds – on an ordinary day. A day in which your stomach isn’t churning from how alone the two of you are. There’s a buzz in the air that isn’t quite tension; more, it’s a promise that there’s more yet to come. You and Nanami laugh over dinner, the conversation surprisingly easy when the knot in your insides is so tight. He talks about his old job, and you talk about your own adventures before you’d ended up in Tokyo – he smiles, and laughs, more than you’ve ever seen him do.

He seems so much more at home here. That’s silly, considering it is his home – but somehow, there’d always been an image of Nanami in your head as serious and unforgiving with his tie very tight and his suits perfectly pressed even when he was relaxing in his own rooms.

That image is quickly wiped away, by the way he looks as he rolls up the sleeves of his sweater to take the dishes away.

“Let me help you wash up,” you try and say, but he waves you away.

“I’ll leave them for after you’ve gone,” he says. “I’m not going to ask a guest to do that. Or maybe I’ll even be bold; leave them for in the morning.” His smile makes you feel weak at the knees, this time – a spot of pink high on those sharp cheekbones. Is he blushing, or has his face gone rosy from the wine?

The two of you migrate into the living room. His television is large, but not ostentatiously so; a row of DVDs are neatly in the cabinet beneath it, mainly drama films, period films and some foreign prestige box sets. The movie the two of you have been talking about is one of those – a Danish film about an ageing detective who takes on one last case. You had originally planned to see it together, when it made it to Tokyo cinemas; but one thing had lead to another, and before you could both get the schedules to work out it had gone.

He places the DVD into the player and you can’t help but stare at him; how the soft material of the sweater clings to his broad shoulders, how the jeans seem to emphasise his ass – he’s always in slacks, you’ve never really had the chance to ogle it before, but seeing it in front of you now you suddenly understand why he keeps it covered. Who knows what riots it might incite, if it were just out and about for anyone to see?

“You’re staring,” Nanami turns his head slightly, catching your eye. Heat rushes to your face – but he keeps your eyes pinned with his own for a moment, before deliberately dragging them down the length of you, sat on the sofa. You feel hot and warm and bothered by the way he smiles afterwards, as if he is saying that he likes what he’s seeing too. “You don’t need to be sneaky about it. I don’t mind.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly going very dry. Nanami moves across the room, sitting on the sofa beside you. Heat seems to be radiating off of him; there’s a comfort in having him next to you.

“You look uncomfortable,” he says, five minutes into the movie. He leans back, an arm coming to rest on the back of the sofa behind you. “You can lean on me, you know. I don’t mind.”

He looks inviting. His head is tipped to one side as he meets your eyes; there’s no challenge in his. Just a softness. A quiet affection. Perhaps a touch of nervousness – of trepidation, that you’ll refuse the offer. You hesitantly sidle closer, leaning your head against his side. His scent wraps around you; freshly cleaned laundry, peppermint, coffee, spices, some of the wine from earlier--

You fair go dizzy at it all, but not as dizzy as you go when the arm on the back of the sofa wraps around you, his fingers resting on your shoulder. How are you supposed to concentrate on anything, with him so close to you? With everything about him making you feel like you’re on a roller-coaster climbing upwards and upwards, hurtling towards the inevitable?

You try – oh, you really do try – to keep your eyes on the film and the subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the television. But the aged detective is not half as interesting as Nanami; as the way he focusses on the screen, as his face bathed in the light. As his hand, as it gently starts to stroke over your shoulder, as if he’s barely aware he’s doing it. As his tongue, as it darts out to nervously lick at his lips.

“You’re staring at me,” he says, and you flinch that he’s noticed. His head turns, pinning you with the full force of his gaze. “Are you not enjoying it? We can turn it off?”

How do you answer that?

The real answer: ‘I’m not enjoying it because I can’t concentrate on anything other than you, and how badly I want to be brave enough to kiss you’, feels too bare and bold. You bite your lip.

Nanami leans in closer to you, so close that you can see the flush on his cheeks. The slightly ruffled hairs falling over his forehead. You can count his eyelashes, almost--

“I’m not sure what’s going on either,” he admits, softly. “And I can speak Danish.”

The arm not around your shoulders moves, resting on your waist. You can barely breathe. He’s so close to you; so gorgeous, in the light. All of that former salaryman indifference seems to have gone; he’s not cold any longer, but boiling hot. You’ve been watching it slowly strip away from him since you met him, you think, but tonight might be the first time he’s been Kento Nanami with no pretension.

Nervous about his food, even though he knows he’s an excellent cook. Blushing as he realises you’re checking him out. Almost trembling, as his hand slides up and he cups your cheek like you’re made of porcelain and he’s afraid he might drop and shatter you at any moment. You blink up at him, honey-slow, so dazed by his touch and his presence you can barely make sense of what’s happening.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Nanami says, as a warning. Even now, he seems to think you might pull away. But you cannot, you do not; you just press yourself closer into him, your voice coming out very soft and small as you whisper;

“Please do.”

He does not need to be asked twice. His lips are so soft against yours. The wine clings to them, intoxicating and heady. The hand on your cheek tips your face further up, so he can keep his mouth pressed against you so sweetly. You pull back, your heart pounding.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he’s saying, almost immediately, nervous that you have changed your mind – but all you do is free your arms, so you can wrap them about his neck and pull him in closer, to devour him the way you’ve wanted to for months.

The movie plays on, forgotten.

#jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami fluff #writing #food for ts #alcohol for ts #Anonymous

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julek · 3 years ago

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my kingdom for a kiss (upon your shoulder)

read on ao3 | rated T | 6.2K | no warnings | for @asweetprologue <3

The sun shines soft in Toussaint.

Geralt can’t remember whether it’s always been like that — if the golden tint that falls over the city as gently as wind-blown petals is genuine or just a product of his imagination. Spring isn’t in full bloom yet, timid flowers peeking at him from the side of the road, proud birds carrying twigs and feathers to their newly-made nests, the tree branches still cold after the last snow.

They’re not far from the main square, their pace steady and unhurried since they set out to Beauclair in the morning. The midday commotion fills Geralt’s senses, spices and bread and frantic conversations making him shake his head in discomfort — busy cities always take a while to grow used to; thankfully, he never stays long.

Next to him, Jaskier sneezes.

“This weather, I tell you—” he starts, but gets immediately cut off by another dainty, kitten-like sneeze. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then makes a face at it. “Be the death of me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’ll take more than pollen to take you, I fear.”

“It doesn’t stand a chance against me,” he says, and strikes a pose, like one of the heroes in the silly novels he insists on buying, but the puffy eyes and red nose dampens it a bit. He doesn’t seem deterred, though. “Besides, I wouldn’t let pollen, of all things, keep me from performing at tonight’s ball.”

Geralt hums, flicking a fly off Roach’s mane. They were in Spalla when Jaskier was approached by a passing servant and asked to partake in some baron Geralt couldn’t care enough to retain the name of’s early spring ball — naturally, Jaskier had jumped at the invitation, eager to be among the distinguished crowds that frequent such events, even more so after a long winter tucked away at Oxenfurt.

“By the way,” Jaskier says, picking an inexistent piece of lint off his doublet, aiming for casual even though he knows Geralt can hear the curious lilt to his voice, “will you be attending tonight?”

“I might not make it in time,” he says truthfully. He rubs his thumb over the contract he’s holding in his free hand, the sharp edges digging into his skin. “I will hunt this afternoon.”

Jaskier nods. “Well,” he says, his voice soft as he bumps his shoulder against Geralt’s. “You’re welcome there. I’ll vouch for you, you know.”

Geralt smiles at him solemnly — then bumps him back, laughing when the bard accidentally crashes into an old woman perusing the wares of a silver-tongued merchant.

“Geralt!” Jaskier says indignantly, smoothing out his doublet and shooting the woman a sideways glance that’s more annoyed than apologetic. “You can’t just push people.”

“Apologies,” Geralt says, not sounding sorry at all. “My balance seems to be off, lately. You know how it is.”

“With your old age, yes,” Jaskier says and pats his arm sympathetically. “I fear you’re showing signs of decay already.”

“Hmm?”

“Oh, yes.” Jaskier takes his arm and loops it through his, a steadying hand at his back. “Your gait is off— look, even Roach looks concerned for your wellbeing.”

Roach looks unfazed.

“And all the lines on your face!” Jaskier gasps in mock-horror. “My, Geralt, we should take you to a healer. Perhaps you’ve been cursed— There! Those dreadful frown lines you sport, old friend… Have you considered retirement? I hear there are great Witcher-friendly settlements in this area, and— hey!”

Geralt smirks as Jaskier rubs the side of his head where Geralt’s innocent and weary hand slapped it. He can see the worn-down sign of the inn he favors when they’re in the city a few steps ahead, can already taste the fresh ale on his mouth.

“Whoops,” he says, trying to school his features into something that isn’t a smug smile. “Seems I’m losing control of my limbs, too.”

The Rose and Thorn is as it has ever been. Clean wooden floorboards that creak as they walk in, the blossoming vine hanging over the kitchen door, the innkeeper’s old dog napping in a spot of sunlight pouring in through the window.

It’s good.

Geralt likes routine. He thrives on it. He likes familiar faces and comforting smells and the sound of pans and pots banging together as the cook murmurs a string of expletives that would be considered indecorous on a lady’s mouth. He likes knowing where he stands, likes the well-loved booths and the tankards that are cracked around the edges, the face of an unruly lion faded on the ceramic. He’s pleased with the way the innkeeper’s eyes crinkle with recognition as she nods at him and Jaskier, as she wordlessly takes his coin and points her head in direction of the room he always takes.

They move upstairs, Jaskier’s lutecase hitting the narrow walls as Geralt pushes the door open. The room is simple — two beds and a small table under the tall window, light pouring in through the thin linen curtains. He sets his bag on one of the beds — the closest to the door — and puts his sheathed swords next to it before allowing himself a moment to sit and wind down.

“I’d say lunch is in order, don’t you think?” Jaskier says after a while, even though his words are muffled by the pillow he’d thrown himself face-down onto and he doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon. “I’m aching for something other than apples and jerky, if I’m honest.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbles in agreement. “Too coarse for your fine palate, bard?” He teases.

“Never,” Jaskier says, lifting an accusatory finger at where he supposes Geralt is sitting. Then, because it isn’t as dramatic as it should’ve been, he rolls over, facing Geralt, his hair sticking up at odd places and his face flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I’m well used to all kinds of provisions, but the soul wishes for something a little bit more substantial every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” Geralt concedes. He laces up his left boot tighter than the right one and stands. “Let’s go, then, man of substance.”

Jaskier grins up at him, bright and easy, and leaps out of the bed so fast the wind gets knocked out of him.

Downstairs at the bar, there are steaming bowls of pottage being sent to the patrons that are starting to overflow the room, bread and cheese abundant at every table. It must have been a fruitful winter, Geralt reasons as he nods to the barmaid and gestures to the plates.

“Ale as well, Sir Witcher?” She says as she wipes her forehead, no trace of fear in her voice. She’s probably too busy for it.

“Two, please.”

He makes his way to the table where Jaskier’s already tearing a loaf of bread in two, tapping a rhythm with his fingers on the hard wood as he looks out the window at the passersby. There’s a neatly-made arrangement of wildflowers on the wall by his side, larkspur and thistle with a touch of baby’s breath, Geralt thinks.

“Here,” he says, passing the half-full tankard over to Jaskier and taking a sip of his own.

Jaskier hands him a piece of bread. “So, what are we slaying today?”

“The only thing you’ll be slaying today is your audience’s eardrums,” Geralt says, smirking at Jaskier’s huff of indignation. He takes a bite out of the bread. “There seems to be an archespore around the vineyards.”

“An— the—” Jaskier’s face does a complicated thing and Geralt wants to point out that he looks like a gaping trout before he says, “An archespore?! This mythical— magical— never before seen creature—”

“It’s been seen plenty of times,” Geralt points out.

“Not by me!” Jaskier thumps his fist on the table, defeated, and his ale sloshes dangerously. He wipes a hand down his face. “Ugh. And I can’t even fight you on it, because I’ve got, uh, what do they call it— Geralt, help me out here, what’s the word—”

“A compromise.”

Jaskier gags. “Yes. That. I shall honor my, uh, compromise to the arts and leave you alone and defenseless before such a legendary creature. Naught but two swords and the strength of” —he looks Geralt up and down appreciatively— “roughly twelve men built like bulls to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, unimpressed, and leans back on his seat as a barmaid approaches them with a bowl in each hand. “Thank you,” he tells her, and digs in.

The stew is pleasantly hot and thick with spices and vegetables, the potatoes sweet and the meat tender, and he lets a pleased rumble escape his chest.

He doesn’t get to indulge in good meals very often — when he gets the opportunity to sit down at a proper table and have a proper plate placed in front of him, the food is usually sizable and filling, but never particularly appetizing. It’s mostly overcooked, tough meat — if he can afford it — and out-of-season vegetables that remind him of dried-out fields rather than a lavish banquet.

Jaskier is used to them, though. Or was — right before he was hit on the head with a chunk of stale bread and had the brilliant idea to trail after a Witcher, to trade comfortable beds and roasted pheasants for a hard bedroll spread on the forest floor and charred squirrel, at best. It still intrigues Geralt, watching Jaskier roll up his sleeves and dig into the pottage like it’s the finest meal he’s ever tasted, like it doesn’t pale in comparison to what he’ll be served tonight. Like he doesn’t see it — the immensity of the gap between Geralt’s world and his own.

There are moments of hesitation — moments when Geralt thinks Jaskier will wake up. When he thinks the bard will look around and shake his head in astonished confusion, and his blue eyes will widen comically like they do when he’s caught slipping treats to Roach, and he’ll see through the desperately-sewn seams of Geralt’s life. He’ll see that behind the so-called heroics and martyrdom there’s nothing more than a Witcher and a horse and a lonely road ahead.

But then, just when Geralt’s doubts start to creep into his hairline and show on his face, Jaskier will prove him wrong. Like now, as Jaskier lets his spoon fall into his empty bowl and leans back on his seat, sighing happily, nothing but contentment and warmth on his scent. As he watches through the window again, with a smile that dimples his cheek and sunlight crinkling his eyes.

Geralt feels something touch his leg. When he looks down, the innkeeper’s dog is resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh, his eyes big and pleading.

He picks up a hard bit of bread Jaskier had set aside earlier and carefully brings it up to the dog’s nose for inspection. After a few curious sniffs, the dog gently takes it out of Geralt’s hand, tail wagging excitedly. His fur is soft where Geralt smoothes it out with the flat of his palm, softer than Roach’s mane.

When he looks up, Jaskier’s eyes have abandoned the window, and he’s watching the two of them with a smile that’s half fond, half soft. Too tender.

Geralt’s never been looked at like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

It feels inadequate, and he pats the dog’s head to hide the almost imperceptible tremble of his hand. Jaskier’s smile reaches his eyes, and doesn’t waver.

It’s good.

The soft breeze wafting through the window as Geralt straps his swords to his back is tempting.

Jaskier yawns.

“You sure you don’t wanna get a nap in before you,” he yawns again, “go?”

He’s sprawled on his bed in a position that just can’t be comfortable, limbs long and bent at weird angles, pants unbuttoned and doublet resting on the back of a chair. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks are pink from the meal and the impending sleep that will follow.

“I’ve read, somewhere,” he continues, forcefully wrestling with the blankets that are firmly tucked into the bed, “ah, that napping increases, um— aha!” He wiggles under the covers. “It increases your strength, sharpens your” — a yawn — “mind, and whatnot.”

“Hmm.” Geralt adjusts his potion belt. “And how’s that worked out for you?”

Jaskier squints at him, managing to stay awake just to be annoyed. “See? You just continue proving my point! That,” he says, gesturing vaguely at Geralt with a half-covered hand, “would easily be fixed with one tiny nap!”

“Your naps are never tiny.”

“Well, no, because as a bard, I require more energy than a Witcher. Besides,” he says, closing his eyes, “I never seem to get enough sleep, you see, since I keep getting assaulted by this beast of a man who thinks dawn is already late.”

Geralt snorts and walks over to his bed. “Should put a contract out, then. A Witcher may come across it.”

Jaskier turns around, facing Geralt. “Oh, no, thank you. One Witcher is enough for me.” Geralt can hear the smile in his voice, though.

Checking he’s got everything he needs, and closing the open windows for good measure, Geralt turns to Jaskier. “I’m going. Stay here.”

This time, it’s Jaskier who has to snort. “Napping, remember?”

Geralt hums. “Don’t sleep through your performance,” he says, closing the door behind him, and the sounds of Jaskier tossing and turning while making indignant sounds makes him smirk.

The walk to the vineyard doesn’t take long. He passes the district alderman’s house on his way over, discusses the payment and whatever information he has to offer about the vineyard itself and the archespore sightings. The man’s face goes white when Geralt asks about any late violent crime.

The sun is still high in the sky when he gets to the heart of the vineyard, the earth uneven and freshly dug up. The victims’ bodies aren’t there anymore, he knows, but the archespore can’t be too far away from him. He draws out his sword and walks deeper into the field, watching the ripe grapevine sway with the wind.

There’s a vine in particular that calls his attention, thinner and bare, no grapes clinging to it. Just as he gets closer to it, it disappears under the ground. Geralt crouches and backs away, waiting to see it come back up — except when it does, it’s not just a lonely vine anymore.

The archespore stands tall and imposing, growling at Geralt as he signs Igni at it and aims for its trunk — he only gets one good blow before it buries itself under the earth. He waits again, looking for the green-brown color, and it shoots back up with renewed force, surrounding Geralt with acid-filled pods.

He casts a quick Quen and gets closer to it, choosing Aard this time as Igni causes it to relocate, and seizes the way it trembles minutely to get behind it and run his sword through its flesh. The creature growls, its jaw-shaped leaves curling around Geralt’s limbs. He struggles and manages to cast Igni at it, freeing himself as the plant relocates itself. When it sprouts back up, one of its pods blows up next to him, making him fall to the ground as the creature towers over him, its screeches deafening.

The archespore opens its forked mouth and screeches louder this time, acid shooting through its pores before Geralt can shield himself. The acid burns his skin where it reaches it, but the creature seems satisfied enough that it misses the opportunity to pin him to the ground. He reaches for his sword and lunges, casting Aard and tearing its leaves and damaging its thick stem.

This time, when it goes underground, Geralt has a feral smile on his face as he takes his Golden Oriole and upends it in his mouth. The venom stops burning for a second, and, when the archespore comes back up, its tendrils reaching for Geralt, he ducks and rolls, positioning himself behind it. The archespore screeches one final time as Geralt runs his sword from its head down to its core before it collapses to the ground, lifeless body still twitching. Geralt throws the severed head far enough that it won’t be able to reattach itself and slices up the remaining pods, their venom oozing sluggishly onto the torn-up ground.

He makes his way back to the city, the head of the archespore dripping slightly from its bag. The sun is setting, painting the walls golden against the pink sky, the shadows cast over the buildings helping the buzzing in his brain. He takes the less-traveled roads to avoid the commotion of the streets, but it seems the city is already mellowed out.

He thinks of Jaskier.

The first star of the night is twinkling against the pink-blue sky, the moon translucent. The baron’s residence is distant, surrounded by a stretch of the city’s walls, but Geralt imagines it’s close, close enough that Jaskier’s voice can carry through the night — that his soft melodies can reach them all.

He thinks of Jaskier, dressed up in his finest clothes that he had especially tailored — because I’ve filled out in the winter, Geralt! — drinking sweet wine from the vineyard he’s just left behind, mingling with the nobles and regaling them with honeyed tales of the Witcher’s heroism. The Witcher who is currently covered in muck and sticky with dried acid, carrying a severed head across the streets of Beauclair.

But Jaskier would disagree. He’d see a knight in shining armor, coming home triumphant after saving a family’s livelihood, the scars of the ferocious battle showing on his face. A defeated beast and a courageous warrior. A tale worth telling.

After dispatching the head and collecting his coin — what they’d agreed on, thankfully — Geralt heads back to the inn. The humming in his veins has simmered down, leaving behind a hint of exhaustion that clings to his bones and makes itself known. He calls for a bath, ignoring the innkeeper’s knowing look — she’s seen him trudge inside wearing worse.

Once he’s in his room, he takes his time unbuckling and sets his armor aside, a filthy pile that he’ll have to tend to eventually. After, he thinks, and sinks into the steaming tub. The room’s windows are open despite him closing them before leaving, tacit proof of Jaskier’s aversion for closed spaces and feeling oppressed, Witcher, and his distinct lack of self-preservation. Geralt’s chastised him enough about being easy prey, but there’s something in the way the bard moves that makes him want to protect, rather than prevent — he’d rather be the one to free Jaskier from his cage than be the one to lock him there in the first place. Not that Jaskier would ever let himself be locked away — he’s feisty enough on his own — but something about him screams freedom.

Geralt can’t take it away — wouldn’t ever want to. So he lets the cool air enter the room.

His bed is neatly made, pillows fluffed and sheets crisp. Next to it is Jaskier’s — somehow, pillows are on the floor and the sheets are turned inside out, twisted like a serpent around the blanket. His side of the room looks like it’s been a victim of a cruel whirlwind — clothes and accessories are strung about the room, picked up only to be frowned at and then put back down.

It’s tempting enough; to crawl under the covers and blow out the candles and get a half-decent night of sleep. Maybe get something to eat from the bar downstairs. Maybe drink some ale. But—

I’ll vouch for you, you know.

He knows.

It’s a beautiful night, in truth.

The ball is being hosted in the halfmoon-shaped garden, the cool spring breeze dancing around the guests as they dance themselves, carried away. Moonlight and candlelight alike wash over the cobblestone, a few delicate and intricate paper lanterns placed over a wooden railing casting gentle shadows on the whole scene. There are flowers all around — on tall vases in every corner and on the small centerpieces at every table, on the open hand of every statue and weaved into delicate crowns for everyone to wear.

It isn’t like anything Geralt’s seen before. He’s been to many balls — begrudgingly — but never one in which everyone carries themselves so freely, where raucous laughter is allowed if not mandatory, where not one person sits alone at their table, instead gathered around savoring the food, where there are chairs but no one sitting on them because they’re so busy prancing around the yard, marveling at the flowers and the outfits and the beauty of the night. Where everyone seems to be there because they want to be — because they belong.

He’s standing by a pillar, not hidden but not in plain sight, either. He tightens his jacket around himself, half to fend off the chill of the night air and half to hide the stain on the chemise underneath — a dangerous encounter with a drunk Jaskier and a goblet of wine. His leather band is on his wrist tonight, his silver hair tickling the spot behind his ear and catching on the high collar of his shirt. People are still coming in through the garden gates, the path to the grounds lit by small candles by each side of it, couples strolling hand-in-hand across the grounds and children running around, their flower crowns hanging off their heads.

There’s no music yet, just conversation carrying the night away. He can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat somewhere in the gardens, but hasn’t seen him yet — perhaps he’s encountered one of his old dalliances and is catching up, as he’s often done before.

Geralt moves to the balcony with the stone railing, the one looking out to the lake. The waves are calm tonight, gently rippling back and forth, shimmering under the stars. He leans his elbows on the railing, feeling very small as he looks down.

Heights used to scare him when he was a child. It’s one of the only things he can remember. His house sat on a small hill, and every night, after his mother went to sleep, he would tiptoe across the kitchen and open the window, and he would look down and feel terror beat inside his chest, gripping his heart like a vine.

Now, as he looks down, he can see the scrape of the stones jutting out of the earth, the clear beach beneath him. He can see the boats resting on the shore and the stars reflecting on the water. Looking down, he just feels at ease.

The sound of children protesting catches his attention. When he looks back to the courtyard, he can see two small children — siblings, he presumes — looking at their mother with very exaggerated frowns on their tiny faces.

“You mustn’t use your sister’s dress as a cleaning rag, Petyr,” she says to the boy as she tries to wipe down the girl’s gown.

“But the floors here needed cleaning!” Petyr responds, petulant. “You told us things should be squeaky-clean.”

His mother is about to reply when suddenly a voice cuts in. “And your mother is right, of course,” says Jaskier, winking at her and meeting her smile of relief with one of his own. “But this is a party! You’re meant to have fun, you and your sister! Don’t you like to dance?”

Petyr and his sister shake their heads. “We don’t know how to,” she admits.

Jaskier’s grin is wide. “Well, then you must be born singers!” At that, the girl smiles.

“Mama says our singing sounds more like a dying wyvern’s last breath,” she says simply, and it makes Jaskier laugh, “but we like to sing anyway.”

“And you should! Singing is the way our soul gets to have a laugh,” he says knowingly, and slowly takes his lute out of his case. “I don’t suppose you know what this is?”

The children’s eyes light up. “A lute!”

Jaskier laughs. “That’s right!” He holds it out to them. “Here, try a strum.”

The children look at each other, then at the lute like it’s something precious. Geralt knows it is. “You go first, Fiona,” the boy whispers to his sister.

Fiona approaches the lute carefully, and holds out her little hand. Jaskier takes it on his own, then gently, very gently, he runs her hand through the strings. It’s a simple chord, and Jaskier’s holding the note, but Fiona looks blown away. “Wow,” she whispers. “It’s so… pretty.”

Geralt can see the way Jaskier’s mouth quirks up and his eyes go soft at the corners. It tugs at his heartstrings.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “Do you want to try, Petyr?”

The boy nods, coming forward. He knows what to do, having watched his sister, so he simply lifts his hand and strums. Jaskier’s changed the chord, a lower one now.

“Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims, and applauds the both of them, making their cheeks flush. “Naturals, the both of you.”

Petyr’s hand is still on the lute, feeling the strings and reaching the pegs. “And what do these do?” He says just as he turns one of them, the string deflating slightly.

Geralt wants to laugh at Jaskier’s pained grimace as he tightens the string back as he explains to Petyr that he should leave those to the adults, but suddenly he feels a pool of warmth in his stomach, an ache in his chest he hasn’t felt before — as if all the spring’s air has been stolen from him.

He watches Jaskier play a silly little ditty for the children to dance with their very amused mother, and he can’t look away. Can’t stop staring at the way Jaskier’s eyes crinkle with joy and his face is full of laugh lines and his own flower crown threatens to fall down, small yellow petals gathering at his feet.

And the thing is — he knows Jaskier. He knows he’s kind, and thoughtful, and painfully honest. He knows he feels everyone’s pain as his own, everyone’s joy as his own.

Everyone’s love as his own.

He knows that he’ll play silly made-up songs for bored children just as he knows he’ll gather herbs for Geralt’s potions without being asked to, just as he’ll buy treats for Roach, just as he’ll carefully avoid the fork on the road to Blaviken.

He sees it, now — the way his face is lit up but not from candlelight but from within, because he’s so in love with the world that he can barely stand it.

And he’s seen him before — has watched his furrowed brow illuminated by wavering candles as he writes well past dusk, has seen the curl of his mouth and the freckles on his nose and the scar that goes through his left eyebrow and yet—

Yet it feels like he’s seeing him for the first time.

There’s a smudge of ink on Jaskier’s cheek. There always is. There always has been.

Geralt’s never wanted to wipe it off.

He wants to wipe it off, wants to tuck his hair back behind his ear and kiss the spot where his jaw meets his neck. He wants to hold him close to his chest tight enough that maybe he’ll crawl into his heart and never leave.

It should scare him. It should feel like standing at the top of a hill and looking down.

It doesn’t.

Jaskier walks into the stage, a space of elevated marble he supposes a statue had been resident of. It suits him, the small pedestal — the way the golden thread of his dark green doublet glitters when moonlight catches it makes something ethereal of him, the few fallen flowers of his crown tangled on his hair — now tousled and matted with sweat — making something beautiful of him.

“Yes, yes, I’ve returned with more!” He exclaims at the whistles and cheers from the crowd, who’ve undoubtedly fallen in love with his first set. “We’re changing things up a bit now— How would you feel about something softer for a change?”

People cheer again, and Jaskier’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Perfect! Now,” he looks around, “I want you to find the people you love. Your spouse, your lover, your friend, your sister, your child— everyone and anyone your heart beats for.”

The crowd starts gathering around in different groups, and Geralt smiles at how mismatched they are — tiny children and their grandparents, groups of single maidens hugging each other tightly, couples tenderly embracing each other.

Jaskier’s smile is softer, this time. “There,” he whispers. “Because love is something to share— This song I’m sharing with you.”

And then he’s gone — all his stage-borne facade falls away as he starts to play. His fingers are plucking a gentle, easy melody, and he’s humming along. People start slowly swaying to the sound of his voice, their eyes bright and shiny with mirth and love. Then, very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, he sings,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you…”

It’s incredibly gentle, and Geralt feels drawn to it immediately. He watches as Jaskier sways with the music, eyes closed and brow furrowed, completely lost on it. There are buttercups on his hair and love in his mouth and Geralt suddenly wants to reach for him, put out his hand only for Jaskier to hold.

Jaskier opens his eyes as the last verse comes in. “Take my hand,” he sings, and he does a brave thing and looks into Geralt’s eyes. “Take my whole life, too.”

He would.

“For I can’t help,” he says with a smile, and looks out to the public. “Falling in love with you.”

The song ends, but Jaskier keeps playing the chord progression softly. The crowd isn’t there anymore — they’re all somewhere else, holding their beloved in tender arms and swaying to the tune of their love. As Jaskier’s playing slowly fades out, there is no applause, no enthusiastic cheering nor plea for an encore.

They all know.

Geralt’s looking out to the waves when Jaskier joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” he whispers.

Geralt turns to face him. “Hey,” he whispers back.

Jaskier’s smile is soft as he takes him in. “You came.”

“I did,” Geralt says, voice low. “Was told someone would be waiting for me.”

“And here I am.”

The waves crash against the rocks.

“That was a new one,” Geralt murmurs, looking at the scar on his knuckle. “The song.”

“It was,” Jaskier replies simply.

Geralt looks at him. “I liked it.” It’s no big compliment, but Jaskier seems to understand him all the same.

He always does.

“I’m glad,” he says. “I like it too.”

He leans his elbows on the railing, their shoulders almost touching. Jaskier’s cheek is still smudged with ink.

“You have…” Geralt says, gesturing to his own face, and Jaskier frowns at him. Geralt shakes his head. He licks his thumb and reaches, Jaskier’s skin soft as he swipes the ink away, his mouth slightly parted.

“There,” he whispers, but his hand doesn’t leave Jaskier’s cheek. “Do they really say it?”

Jaskier frowns, confused. Their shoulders are touching. “Who?”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s flower crown and looks at him, a silent request. Jaskier nods. Geralt takes it in his hands and gently tucks the loose stems back together, the way he’d seen girls do it in the town square. He doesn’t lose a single petal.

“The wise men,” he says, placing the crown on top of Jaskier’s head, where it belongs. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Jaskier takes them in his. “It is foolish to rush in unprepared. You taught me that.”

“Am I wise, then?”

Jaskier laughs, shakes his head. “I never said that.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, watching Jaskier’s rings as they glint in the moonlight, watching Jaskier’s fingers as they play with his.

“I love you, you know,” Jaskier murmurs, looking at their joined hands.

“I know.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Geralt looks at him. “I know.”

He needs the weight of his swords strapped at his back. He wants to be brave.

He looks down.

“I love you,” he says. “I can’t help it.”

Jaskier smiles. “Well, now you’re just being mean— plagiarizing my song right in front of me.”

“Jask.” It sounds like a prayer. Geralt squeezes his hands, amber meeting cornflower blue. “You know what I mean, when I say—”

“I know what you mean,” Jaskier says. “I know.”

They drink each other in, and Geralt knows this is the first time they’re seeing each other. Gently, he places one hand on the small of Jaskier’s back, the other on his nape, and brings their foreheads together.

Jaskier’s hands find their way to Geralt’s waist. Nobody’s ever held him like that. With care. Like he’s something precious, something to be treasured.

His nose grazes Jaskier’s cheek and he whispers, “Can I kiss you?”

And Jaskier’s smiling when he says, “I wish you would.”

So he does. Soft lips against chapped ones, lute-calloused hands against scarred ones. Jaskier kisses him back tenderly, unhurried, and it’s honey-sweet like the wine he can taste on Jaskier’s mouth, like the love he can feel on his scent.

When they pull apart — only because they have to — Geralt circles Jaskier in his arms, pressing small kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, his forehead. It makes him laugh.

“Tickles,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice. “Your beard.”

Geralt presses a final, lingering kiss to his mouth. “Sorry,” he whispers against his lips.

The party has carried on without them, as it is wont to do. There’s a harp player on the stage now, plucking a soft melody from its strings.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright when he looks up at him. It feels right, to be holding him like this, to drown in his warmth and press love into his hands like it’s all he can do — and it is. All he can do is watch into Jaskier’s eyes and try not to get lost in them and stop a smitten smile from curling on his lips.

He’s helpless, he knows. It doesn’t scare him anymore.

“Home?” Jaskier murmurs against his cheek.

The inn, he means. “Aren’t you playing?”

Jaskier’s mouth curls into a mischievous smile, one of Geralt’s favorites. “They’ll survive without me, I reckon.”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “Jaskier—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he protests, rolling his eyes. “We need the coin. Ugh— one would think the guy confessing his undying love—”

“Now, undying is—”

“His undying love for me would change things, would buy me some indulgence— not at all!” He buries his face in Geralt’s neck, letting out a long-suffering groan. “Why must you be so responsible all the time?”

There are many reasons. Looking at Jaskier’s flushed face and capricious frown, Geralt can’t remember any of them. “Go,” he says softly, nodding at the stage. “For me.”

Jaskier groans louder. “That,” he says, poking Geralt’s chest, “is a very unfair card to play.”

“And why’s that?”

Jaskier tangles their fingers together. “Because you know I would do anything for you.”

Geralt’s face softens. He knows. “Go. I’ll wait for you.”

Defeated, Jaskier looks at the stage, then at Geralt, pouting. “Won’t you at least kiss me farewell? I’ve a long journey ahead.”

It’s Geralt’s turn to roll his eyes — still, he reels Jaskier in and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Great start!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Now, like you mean it.”

“Insufferable,” Geralt murmurs, but he gives in. The kiss is deep and slow, and somehow full of promise. He can feel Jaskier sigh happily against his lips, his scent gone sweet and warm as Geralt’s hands find Jaskier’s sides.

They part, begrudgingly. Jaskier’s cheeks are deep pink and his flower crown sits askew on his head once again, so Geralt fixes it for him.

“We should get one for you,” the bard says, watching him.

“Hmm.” Geralt presses a final kiss to his lips. “Go.”

“I’m getting you one,” Jaskier says stubbornly, ignoring Geralt’s wish, and Geralt loves him too much. “Just wait here.”

He lets Jaskier go, and watches as he runs over to the stand where a young woman is weaving tulips and baby’s breath together into a crown. He watches as he excitedly gestures at it and cradles it in his tender hands, a look of genuine joy on his face. He watches as he turns around, his lips stretched into a too-wide grin as he waves at Geralt, pointing at the crown.

He watches as he walks toward him.

He waits for him to fit into his open arms. He waits for him to place the crown on top of his head and adjust it once, twice, before it’s deemed perfect. He waits for him to kiss his cheek and groan about having to return to his duty as entertainment for the evening.

He waits for him as he plays.

“I love you,” he tells him later, when they’re both tucked in bed and their fancy clothes have been folded and their legs are tangled together.

Jaskier grins. “Say it again.”

Geralt can’t hide the smile that curves his lips — he doesn’t want to. “I love you,” he says, and kisses his cheek. “I love you,” his forehead, “I love you,” his eyelids. “I love you,” his mouth.

He says it so much the words sound foreign in his mouth. He says it until they belong in his mouth again.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says after a while, candlelight framing the tenderness in his eyes. “It’s been good.”

Geralt smiles.

It has.

#mywriting #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfic #geraskier fluff #jeff buckley lyrics my beloved

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poptimus-prime · 2 years ago

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Try this one on for size, assuming they could eat and drink human food. What food/drink would be their favorite and least favorite? Talking about the bots of course but feel free to include the humans too (canon and your ocs if you want!)

Ooh, this one is fun, and I went nuts with it. Reference to this post about McDonald's Sprite.

It's really long, so below the cut.

Autobots (Just doing them bc I was thinking about them. If anyone wants Cons, please send an ask and I will do them)

I think Optimus has a buck wild sweet tooth and would especially like chocolates flavored things (pastries with the tea he's constantly drinking, naturally.) He would also hate cold meat, even if it was meant to be eaten cold.

Ratchet would prefer bottled juices and smoothies because they have that Super Smooth Texture, and he has all the sensory issues (hashtag projection.) He will willingly eat other foods but won't be too chuffed about it.

Arcee probably loves chili and is one of the team's spicy people. She doesn't strike me as especially picky. She'll eat anything she can get her hands on, but she's not a fan of cottage cheese. If there's an alternative, she'd prefer that, thank you.

Bumblebee probably likes softer foods because of how messed up his throat might be. Applesauce, yogurt, ice cream, things like that. Anything especially sour, salty, or spicy is a turn-off, but he actually really likes bitter things.

Bulkhead is a pot roast guy. I don't make the rules. He'd also really like barbecued foods because of the charred taste. He doesn't strike me as a guy that likes tomato-based pasta sauces, though. Pesto is clearly the superior one.

Wheeljack eats the spiciest things he can get his hands on and looks the devil in the eye while he does it. He hates coffee served any other way than black or two creams and two sugars. How he has not wrecked his digestive tract is beyond everyone.

Smokescreen likes buttered rice and chicken with barbeque sauce. He will eat a vegetable if you demand it, but he'd prefer not to. He doesn't like soda but has a Monster Energy can collection.

Ultra Magnus is a sandwich and steamed buns guy. Anything he can easily hold with one hand while he's going over documents. This being said, he's not a huge fan of milk in his cereal (or milk, period.) He'll eat it dry, thanks.

Humans

Raf likes soups of all kinds. Even better if they don't have any chunks of meat or vegetables so he can sip it from a mug while he's working. He's still a relatively young kid, so some foods are still way too bitter for him, like radishes and Brussels sprouts.

Miko loves crunchy foods. Chips, crackers, that kind of thing. She probably prefers golden curry when she's feeling homesick. She hates peanut butter because it tastes funny to her and gets stuck in her mouth.

Jack actually does like tofu, especially with broccoli and garlic. He's the kind of person who looks for a lot of textural variety in what he eats. He's sick and tired of KO burgers, but he doesn't turn it down if he's offered free meals as a work perk.

Fowler really likes stews with bread, which works out for him because most stews are very crock-pot friendly, so he does not have to cook after a long day of dealing with the bots' bullshit and putting out fires. He hates sour gummy worms. He bought them once on accident and was so disappointed.

June absolutely puts potato chips in her sandwiches at lunch and drinks iced coffee every morning. She's not strictly a vegetarian, but as she gets older, she finds herself eating less and less meat. She REALLY does not like eggs.

Bonus: OCs

Stormy really likes a hot bowl of rice and beans or cooked vegetables. They are also team "not technically a vegetarian but doesn't eat a lot of meat." They refuse to drink coffee unless it's grossly oversweetened.

Olivia loves making and eating pierogi (her favorite fillings are potato and cheese or cabbage and mushroom, depending on her mood.) She hates cranberry juice and hard-boiled eggs, don't even try it with her.

Carbon Copy would really like fish and rice. Just like a hot piece of cooked salmon flaked and mixed up with rice. They would also hate yogurt, especially ones with weird flavors like cotton candy.

Urgency would be obsessed with pineapple and ham pizza and salted watermelon, much to the potential dismay of people around her. However, she would hate watermelon juice and watermelon-flavored candies.

Horseradish would gnaw on Milkbones because they Taste, but her favorite food would be bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwiches. She would try horseradish because it's her namesake, and HATE it.

#asks #daphnis.docx #Food

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itrytowrite-things · 4 years ago

Text

Murder podcasts

Spencer Reid x reader

Summary: Y/N has a tendency to listen to murder podcasts while doing chores, one day Spencer comes in unannounced scaring Y/N into action. (This summary sucks but it’s fluffy)

A/N: shout out to @with-paint, she helped me form some of this fic so check them out.

The eerie background music and narrator filled the kitchen as I scrubbed diligently at a plate. I blinked down at it, trying in vain to remember what the hell I used it for that would cause such a stubborn stain of food. Sighing, I squeezed the soap bottle some more and ran hot water over it. Maybe soaking it would help?

Grabbing a few of the cups I had washed, I spun around from the sink to a towel I had laid out earlier. I scrunched my nose as cold soap suds ran down my arm, hit my elbow and fell to the floor in a sticky mess I didn’t want to deal with right now.

I was so engrossed in the podcast playing over the Alexa that I barely even processed the grueling chore that was longer than normal. I was lost in the words, that an hour longer scrubbing at dishes seemed almost fun. The dishwasher had completely died a couple of weeks ago.

Normally Spencer would speed read the manual to figure out what was wrong with the stupid machine. But unfortunately, his case in Michigan was taking longer than he anticipated. So, he hadn’t been home to look into it, leaving me to hand wash the dishes. I didn’t mind, it was a mindless task and allowed me to catch up on my favorite podcast.

“They found her body a week later, twenty minutes from their house,” I shook my head at that, case freaking solved. Her husband obviously killed her. I mean there’s no way the police didn’t solve this case, come on.

I moved from the towel back to the sink, sticking my hands back into the soapy water. I always believed that I should be a detective. I could solve these cases easily, Spencer claims that suspicion can only take me so far and the reason that they don’t catch the guy is not because they don’t suspect it, but because they don’t have hard evidence. I normally just scoff and give him a kiss knowing that I would get the bad guy in the end, “hard evidence” my ass.

“Two months later the police came in and found Jeff’s disembodied head laying on their kitchen counter.” My jaw dropped and I turned around furiously, bringing a wet butter knife with me, on instinct I pointed the knife at the device.

“Oh shit.” I said to the speaker, as if it were relaying the case itself. Well turns out I was wrong. I cleared my throat and lowered the stupid knife. I placed it down and tried my best to look less scandalized. We all make mistakes. So I might have been a little off in my husband theory, but I mean I had only heard half the case at that point so it doesn’t speak anything of my amazing detective skills. I nodded at that and tossed the knife into a little stack of silverware. The metallic sound echoing around the kitchen. I smirked at my good throw and turned back to the sink.

I quickly got into the true grove of washing the dishes, listening to the more gruesome details of the case. Turns out the killer did quite a number on old Jeff. I was halfway done with the remaining dishes when I felt a tap on my shoulder sending my heart into a frenzy.

I whirled around quickly bringing the closest item with me as a weapon. The plastic spatula slapped the asalint straight in the face creating an awfully loud twack sound that bounced off the kitchen walls. I blinked in horror at realizing who exactly was standing in front of me.

Spencer's cheek turned red immediately.

“Oh my god! Spence! I am so sorry!” I dropped the spatula and brought my other hand to his face trying to soothe his skin. My hand was covered in water and soap suds, and it dripped down his face onto the already wet floor.

“I am so so sorry. You scared me.” I rubbed my thumb over the spot, feeling his heated skin. Jesus, I felt awful. I didn’t hold anything back when I hit him. I figured I was fending for my life, not greeting my boyfriend.

“It’s okay.” His much larger hand cupped mine removing it from his face. The redness had died down a little, making his skin a rosy pink instead of the previous bright red. He looked adorable which only made me feel worse. Who looks that cute after getting slapped in the face with a spatula?

Spencer startled me yet again when a chuckle came bubbling out of him. His laugh was like someone bottled the sound of happiness. It made my own laughter arise every time without a doubt even if I didn’t understand what was funny.

“I guess I don’t have to worry about you protecting yourself.” A loud squeak sound emitted from my body unexpectedly followed by more laughter. I slapped him very lightly across the chest, kissing his unharmed cheek.

“You're lucky I wasn’t cutting vegetables.” I said, rustling my way into his arms pulling his body against my tightly, loving the way his laughter shook my entire body. I felt the short press of his lips against the crown of my head before tucking my head into the nook of his neck. I inhaled deeply, taking the scent of him with me. The apartment had started to lose its scent with him being gone for so long. I was beyond eager for the apartment to smell like us again.

“I think those podcasts are giving you wild ideas.”

“They would never find your body Dr.Reid.” I teased, poking gently at his side making him squirm in my grip. Another round of laughter filled the small space, it was only when it died down that I realized my podcast was still running in the background.

“Alexa, stop,” I shouted into the air stopping the podcast. “The neighbor did it.” I said with coincidence knowing that my answer was correct this time. Spencer let out a belt of laughter, nodding his head, a big grin on his face.

I pulled back from Spencer taking in his features for the first time. He looked tired, his eye bags had doubled creating a skunk in effect. I could see the trouble in his eyes, the case was hard. It killed me to see him after a hard case, he looked more and more defeated after each one. However, it was what he loved doing and my job wasn’t to erase the trauma of his job, but to ease him back into daily life. I thumbed his eye bags lazily, a pout taking over my face.

“You wanna take a shower and I’ll start us some dinner.” I asked gently. Not wanting to completely destroy the quiet we created. He nodded slightly looking younger than ever. I quickly pulled him back into me taking all of his weight. “I love you bub.” His hair felt silky against my fingertips as I disentangled the curls.

“Love you too.” He mumbled, his heated breath warming my skin. I waited a few comfortable minutes rocking our conjoined bodies in the cozy silence of our kitchen, I took a deep breath and said what was on my mind.

“You wanna talk about it?”

I don’t ever ask Spencer for the details of his cases. He either goes into a tangent without prompting or doesn’t feel like talking about it. I used to think that talking to Spencer about his job would be like listening to my murder podcasts. It honestly was one of the things I was excited for, but I soon found out it’s nothing like that.

When Spencer spoke of cases it was personal. He felt every death that was caused and saw every killing through the eyes of monsters. He held so much emotion in his voice when he spoke of the victims, that I often can’t help but cry. How a person can hold that much pain and still continue to do it everyday, is beside me.

He shook his head, squeezing my torso before finally pulling back and placing a soft kiss to my lips.

I continued the dishes, washing the last few. I left the podcast off, listening instead to the shower from down the hall. I scrubbed off the last of the grime before starting the oven. A simple dinner was always best in these situations. I pulled out a pre-made chicken pot pie from the freezer and placed it in the oven.

As I moved to dry and put away the dishes while waiting for pie to finish. Spencer emerged from the bathroom freshly bathed. He wore a thin gray shirt paired with some soft looking sweatpants. My upper lip jutted out automatically. God I love him.

“Feel better?” I kept my voice low, not wanting to startle any peace that the shower might have brought him. He nodded slowly.

“What did you cook?”

“A chicken pot pie, I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s perfect.” He smiled and returned to my arms, kissing my neck once before tucking his head into my neck. The edge of his wet hair scraped against my skin in an uncomfortable way, yet I only moved enough to rub circles into his back.

A loud beep emitted from the oven caused me to jump in Spencer's arms. He let out a small chuckle.

“Pick us something to watch and I’ll plate us some food.” I hummed turning my back to him. I heard him walking towards the living room as I bent to retrieve the hot food.

Spencer sat criss cross on the couch, Les Enfants du Paradis was displayed on the TV. I handed him the steaming bowl and sat down, sitting close enough for our knees to knock together. I have no idea what Les Enfants du Paradis was, but I would watch literally anything he wanted as long as he was here.

“It’s in French, but I figured I could whisper the translations to you while we watch. Or I could pick something else?”

“No! This is perfect Spence. I love it when you translate, you tell the story better.” He let out a little blush highlighting his previous slap mark. I bit my lip and winced slightly, “How’s your face?”

He touched the spot faintly, he didn’t wince when his fingers made contact which was a good sign. However, I have an inkling that a small bruise would form in the center of the slap which was going to be a fun story to tell his colleagues Monday.

“I’ve had worse, but you wield a lot of power with a cheap piece of plastic.”

“I am professionally trained in the art of spatula wielding Spence, don’t try that at home.” I stared at him, my face blank before a blast of laughter came out of both of us. One can only be so serious when you are talking about slapping people in the face with kitchen utensils.

Spencer started up the movie, and we remained there for the rest of the evening. Laughter and dramatic sighs followed by even more dramatic translations from Spencer. At some point he went so off script that even I could tell his story was bullshit. I didn’t call him out though just allowed him to spit nonsense, I would let him create fake French stories until he was blue in the face if that meant we got to stay in this happy bubble forever.

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #doctor reid #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #reid fluff #spencer fluff #cm #cm x reader #criminal minds #dr. spencer reid #spencer #spencer reid fluff #x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #y/n

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