#one day I was wearing normal pajamas and she was wearing pajamas and neither of our pjs matched or even had the same colour but she insisted

[whimsyprinx]

the child has noticeably began glaring and then going “that’s just how my face looks” in reference to the fact that my resting face, as mentioned many times here, has been described by others as “miserable” and thus I have a few times had to go “no, I’m not upset, this is just my face” to people in the presence of the child

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 36

Part 1 Part 35

Will’s skin feels tight, stretched over his bones as he tosses and turns into the morning. It’s a relief when the sounds of Mom burning breakfast filter into his room.

“Shit, shit,” she says, pans clattering as she moves them from one burner to another. 

WIll crawls out of his bed, limbs lethargic. His socks have gone wonky in the night – all his tossing and turning making the heels twist to the front of his ankles. He slides them around on the carpet, shifting them around without having to bend over.

He shuffles into the kitchen, settling quietly at the table, feet up on the chair, chin on his knees as he watches his Mom cook. 

She’s scrapping crisp scrambled eggs onto a plate, muttering to herself as toast pops from the toaster. 

Jonathan stumbles out of his bedroom, drawn by the sounds. His pajama pants are too long, trailing across the floor, making him trip on the hems. He grabs the toast without a word, plucking the butter from the counter and coating them liberally before bringing it over to the table.

“Sleep okay?” he asks, sitting down beside Will.

Mom turns, holding the burnt eggs and mushy hash browns on separate plates. “Oh, sweetie,” she says, hurrying over and putting her own bounty in the middle of the table. “How long have you been here?”

“Just got here,” he says, looking down at his knees.

It’s not that his Mom hasn’t always paid attention to him, but it’s grown sharper in the days since he got back from the Upside-Down. Like she needs to catch his every word. Like if he leaves her sight, he’ll disappear. That’s how she’s looking at him now.

Jonathan goes to grab forks and plates, heaping food onto Will’s plate before getting his own. 

The eggs are rubbery, over-cooked and under-salted, and the potatoes are more water than starch. Will eats it all.

There's been a pit in his stomach since he got back, like no matter how much he eats, there’s more space to fill. The doctor’s had said that was normal – just his body's shock response to food scarcity. It’d go away.

“Can I go see Steve?” Will asks.

Steve’s been so still, every time he’s visited. They’d shaved his head, and it made him look young and small and washed out; nothing like the boy with the gun or the boy with the broad back, always standing between them and danger.

But, maybe that’s never who Steve’s been. Maybe he’s always been small, and tired, and scared, just like Will. He just wishes Steve would wake up.

He hasn’t, not since Eddie’d brought him back. No one would tell him what happened, but the way Eddie refused to leave the room entirely said enough. Will isn’t sure he wants to know anything more.

He just wants Steve to open his eyes.

“I have to work,” Mom says, lips pursed. 

She hasn’t been to work since Will got back. Neither has Jonathan, and money’s got to be running thin. 

“I can take him,” Jonathan says, meeting his Mom’s eyes. Something Will can’t parse passes between them, before his Mom slowly nods, reluctance in every move.

Jonathan drops Mom off at work, and then they go, Will crawling between the seats to settle in the passenger seat. 

“Do you think he’ll be awake?” Will asks, staring out the windshield as Jonathan parks the car.

“I don’t know,” Jonathan says, unbuckling his seatbelt, not looking WIll’s way. “I hope so.”

They’ve been here enough that they don’t need directions to Steve’s second floor hospital room.

Eddie’s sitting beside Steve’s bed, like he has been every time Will’s come by. He’s wearing blue scrubs like the nurses do, and there’s no blood on his face. He looks tidier than Will’s ever seen him. 

Steve’s laying down, oxygen tubes taped below his nose.

“Will.” It’s Steve’s voice, scratchy and tired, but Steve’s. 

Will rushes to his bed. Eddie’s blocking access, so Will clambers over his legs, accidentally crushing his toes in the process. Steve looks washed out and tired. But his eyes are open and he’s smiling up at WIll.

Will bursts into tears. Steve holds up his arms in offering, and Will burrows carefully into Steve’s chest, keeping most of his weight on the side of the bed, unsure of where the injuries lie.

“Steve,” he hiccups. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

He’s not sure if he’s talking about the doctors, or his Mom, or Eddie himself.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, clutching the back of his head. “I’m fine.”

Will laughs, “liar.” Someone’s hand runs up his back. Jonathan’s or Eddie’s, it doesn’t matter. Everyone he cares about is safe. Everyone in this room is safe. 

They’re home.

When Will calms down, shuffling back awkwardly from the boy he barely knows, Steve smiles up at him, and it’s like something clicks into place. Steve is Steve. That’s enough.

Jonathan is sitting next to Eddie, shuffling uncomfortably before clearing his throat. “Thanks, man,” he says. When Will looks back, Jonathan’s looking down at his lap, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “For saving my little brother. I don’t know what I would’ve done if–” 

His voice breaks, throat clicking as he looks down at his fumbling hands. Steve clears his throat. “Hey, man. Your brother’s a badass. He would’ve been fine.”

Will thinks about the endless hours alone in that dark, quiet place before he’d run into Steve and Eddie, and doubts it. It was like each second there sucked a little bit more out of him, leaving silence in its wake. He’s not sure what would’ve crawled out of the Upside-Down in his place. 

Will smiles down at his shoes as Eddie chimes in, “yeah, baby Byers definitely saved my life.” 

He can feel his cheeks flushing.

“Well, still,” Jonathan says. “Thanks.”

Steve clears his throat. “Anytime.”

Will sits on the side of Steve’s bed, unwilling to leave now that he’s here. It’s like, when he’s with Steve and Eddie, something comes back that the Upside-Down scooped out of him. And everything else is purgatory.

He’ll be trying to sleep, or talking to the party, or listening to music with Jonathan, and it’s all hollow. He’s just waiting.

But right now? Will’s here, and he’s staying as long as he can. 

Part 37

[fbfh]

tristan dugray with baby fever

STOOOOOOOP PLEASE PLEASE KEEP GOING

no bc we've already established a LOT about Tristin. he's dedicated. obsessivley so, even. once he HAS you he doesn't get jealous in a petty way as much as in a puffing out his chest birds acting eccentric to defend their turf way. when he gets jealous the pda goes in FULL SWING. he is so shameless and has just a little sprinkle winkle of bull energy. so you would think that his baby fever comes from this obsessive lovey dovey I want everyone to look at you and know you're mine place right???????? not quite. like it does but not till later. Tristin's baby fever is soul crushingly gut punchingly triggered by watching you interact with a little kid. Chilton is a k-12 school, so this probably started late in your senior year. there was some little kid who was new and got horribly lost and ended up in the high school building instead of the kindergarten building. you and Tristin saw her hiding behind a bench and you stopped to help her. Tristin stood nearby, watching the way you crouched down and introduced yourself in a gentle voice, the softness of your demenor to not scare her. you told her you get lost all the time, and it's normal for a new school to feel scary until you get used to it. you smooth her hair and tell her chilton is really fun and the other kids are nice. you tell her how great the cafeteria is and how cool the junglegym is at recess. you offer to help her find her kindergarten room, and Tristin watches with wide eyes and changing brain chemistry as you scoop up this adorable little kid wearing a backpack as big as she is and walk over to him.

"This is my friend Tristin. Tristin, this is Lilly. Do you wanna walk with us to the kindergarten building?"

Lilly tries to say hi but hides shyly as you chuckle. Tristin walks with you two all the way across campus as you two show Lilly all the cool statues and portraits, all the old trophys and class photos along the way. Tristin works his magic, charming giggles and smiles out of Lilly as you two turn a terrible first day into a pretty good one. You each hold one of her hands and swing her along as you finally reach the kindergarten building, smiling and giggling right along with her until she's safely dropped off at her kindergarten room. Mrs. Benning, the teacher, thanks both of you profusely. Before you part ways, you give Lilly a hug and high five for good luck. Mrs. Benning sends ahead a note so neither of you get in trouble for missing class, and I swear to god, Tristin does not stop thinking about it for weeks.

Flash forward a couple years, Tristin is almost out of college and ready to step into the marketing department of the family business, just like his parents and grandparents planned. One day he gets a call from his dad, telling him that his cousin Honor's baby shower is coming up soon, giving him the details of when to be there and what to bring, but he kind of stops listening after that. Honor's having a baby? like, his cousin Honor? the one that's not too much older than you and him? he stares at you sitting on the floor in front of a mirror, doing your makeup and wearing one of his shirts with the coffee he made you at your side, and suddenly he can't stop thinking about a little toddler that looks just like the both of you running over and sitting in your lap while you do your makeup. calling you mama, shaking a rattle or whatever toddlers play with, wearing those little pajamas with the feet on them... and now it's all he can think about. he knows his dad and grandpa have had his life planned out for him since before he was born, he always knew the timeline was graduate, marriage, kids, take over the family business and he really never had like... a resentful "I hate my destiny" phase with it. Up until high school he was very much in the "oh that's years away that doesn't have anything to do with me and my life yet" mindset. then he met you. and now, standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom in your shared apartment watching you get ready, Tristin is overcome with desire. he wants you. he wants a life with you, he wants to hear you say that he's the father of your child. he wants an unbreakable, irreversable bond of every possible kind with you. chemical, social, legal, eveything. he wants to cuff you, to lock you in. he wants to sleep at night knowing that your and his babies, toddlers, kids, are sleeping soundly in their cozy rooms right down the hall, that you get to sleep next to your husband Tristin, the father of your children Tristin. he wants to hear people call you Mrs. Dugray, wants to bump up his old man to a grandpa, prove to his dad how a dad should treat his children. he wants to break the godforsaken generation cycle that always seems to come with the generational wealth, and raise your kids to be loved and happy and secure. and in that moment, he speedran through all the stages of baby fever to stage 4 extreme terminal the baby fever is baby fevering kinda baby fever. god help you, the (surprisingly short) span of time between now and when you get pregnant???? he's going to be more insufferable than ever.

I will be writing more about how insufferable and nightmare and evil /pos tristin is with baby fever just not in this ask cause it's getting too long. send me more excuses to talk about this.

[nb-octopus-writes]

once you’re in the hive, the other bees assume you’re supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Chapter 6: Baiting the Trap

Wordcount: 1.8K

~~~~

Virgil is woken by his alarm and has never once in his entire life been less interested in getting out of bed.

He's comfortable. The bed is soft, the blankets are warm, and Virgil is sleepy and wants nothing more than to just lie here forever.

He snoozes the alarm and drifts back off.

Five minutes later, of course, he's dragged back out of sleep by the insistent melody.

Virgil seriously considers quitting his job so he doesn't have to ever leave this bed, but he does actually need money to buy groceries and pay his rent, and also his hosts have been real gracious but even their patience would surely wear thin if Virgil never left.

So, regrettably, Virgil sits up. He yawns. He longingly contemplates lying back down, but forces himself instead to get out of bed.

At some point in the night, someone—Patton, presumably—had returned his cleaned clothes, which are now sitting folded on the floor by the foot of the bed. Virgil dresses. He folds the borrowed pajamas and sets them on the foot of the bed. He doesn't usually fold his pajamas, but it seems like the polite thing to do in this case. After a moment, he makes the bed too.

And then he goes downstairs.

They're all in the dining room again, and they give him breakfast, and this time he's calm enough to appreciate it.

Princey drives him to work, and he has an otherwise normal day. He borrows a clean apron, and he makes a lot of coffee. He eats lunch at the shop, he takes the bus home, he has leftover spaghetti for dinner, and he does that load of laundry.

His bed seems even harder and lumpier than usual, contrasted with the memory of the bed—no, the actual literal cotton candy cloud—he'd slept on last night.

At least it makes it easier to get out of bed in the morning, when staying isn't bliss. If only by a little. Virgil is not and has never been a morning person. Still, he manages to actually catch the bus for the first time this week, so that's good.

Their newbie’s here for her second day of training, which means that Virgil splits his time between his usual duties and showing her the ropes. She's wary of the fancy coffee machines, and looks attentive but intimidated when Virgil walks her through one of the more simple brews.

She does better with the register. Its layout is also unfamiliar, but at least the potential worst-case consequences of pressing the wrong button are much less severe than “breaking an expensive machine” or “third degree burns and coffee everywhere.”

Several hours into Virgil’s shift, his manager joins him in the back while he's on break.

“There's someone out front looking for you,” Morgan tells him.

“Who?” Virgil asks.

“Nobody I recognized,” Morgan says with a bit of a frown. “Said he was a friend of yours though.”

“Did he give you a name?” Virgil asks, and Morgan's frown deepens.

“No, and I asked,” she says. “I said to him, ‘and you are?’ and he said ‘oh I'm roamin’ like that's an answer, so I prompts him, ‘yer name?’ and he just says ‘yeah’. So seeing as he's decided to just be evasive I told him he could order something or he could leave, but he couldn't hold up the line any longer, so he bought a coffee. Paid in cash, too, so I didn't get to see his name on the card neither.”

“He said he was roaming?” Virgil asks, gears turning.

“Yeah, ’cept he ain't, he sat down with his coffee,” Morgan answers.

“Brown hair?” Virgil asks, fighting back a rising laugh. “Maybe bout this tall, looks a bit like Remus if he ever shaved and combed his hair?”

Morgan nods. “Do you want me to get rid of him?”

Virgil pinches his lips together and shakes his head. Morgan squints at him.

“And what exactly is so funny?” she asks.

The laugh spills out of him. “Sor– sorry, Morgue,” he says. “I think you misheard him. His name’s Roman.”

“What, like Greeks and Romans?”

“I think so,” Virgil says, still grinning. “He's Remus’s brother.”

“I see,” Morgan says. “Well, if you don't want me to get rid of him, do you want to talk to him, or stay back here til he leaves? Lexi and I can handle the customers for a while yet if you don't wanna see him.”

“Nah, I'll go see what he wants.”

Roman is sitting in one of the booths, sipping a coffee and staring dramatically out the window. He turns as Virgil approaches, and then perks up. “Finding Emo!” he says. “Your coworkers said they had never heard of you in their lives. I was starting to think I’d gone to the wrong coffee shop.”

“Nah, just being protective,” Virgil says, sliding into the booth across the table from Roman. “We don’t give that kind of information to customers.” They’d had problems with stalkers trying to get information on employees before, and one bewildering man who’d kept coming round looking for someone Virgil had genuinely never heard of, til Morgan banned him from the shop. “What’s up?”

“So we realized your bike is still at our house,” Roman says. “I wanted to see if you’d like a ride over to get it back. Also if you would be interested in watching more Unfortunate Events, because we left off at a really climactic bit, and I know I already know what happens next, but I want to know what happens next, you know?”

“I definitely want my bike back,” Virgil says. He glances at the clock. “I don’t get off for a while yet today, but if you want to come back around five?”

Roman nods. “And movies?” he asks eagerly.

“Maybe just a little bit,” Virgil says. “I don’t want to bike home in the dark.”

“Oh of course,” Roman says. “I'd never force you to do that.”

Virgil glances back toward Morgan and Lexi at the counter. They’re busy with customers, but the line isn’t very long. Lexi catches his glance and grins at him with a little wave.

“Do you need to get back to work?” Roman asks.

“Not yet,” Virgil decides, settling more comfortably into his seat. “I’ve got a few minutes left before my break ends.”

~

Roman returns just before five, as Virgil’s getting ready to hand off the machines to the next shift. He orders three coffees to go “and whatever Virgil would like,” with a wink in Virgil’s direction.

Virgil rolls his eyes and makes himself a hot chocolate, which he sips on the drive back to Roman’s house. The sun is already dipping toward the horizon, so it looks like there isn't going to be time for tv before he has to bike home. It's a shame, because he really was looking forward to it.

“We’re home!” Roman calls as he opens the door from the garage into the rest of the house to lead Virgil in. As they cross the threshold, Virgil is hit with a nearly tangible wall of scent, stopping him in his tracks. The air smells rich and warm and delicious. He can smell fresh bread, and roasted meat, and something sweet, all mingled together into a tantalizing aroma that makes his mouth water and his stomach perk up eagerly.

“Oh good!” someone Virgil can’t see calls back. “Great timing!”

Roman pulls his jacket off and hangs it on a hook by the door. “It smells great in here!” he says brightly, heading deeper into the house. Virgil manages to unglue his feet from the floor and finally closes the door behind himself and follows Roman.

Calico is putting a steaming dish onto the table when they enter the dining room. “Welcome home,” he says fondly. “Dinner's just about ready.”

“Oh good, I'm hungry,” Roman says. “It smells fabulous, darling.”

Calico beams, eyes scrunching up with it. “Thank you,” he says.

“We brought coffee,” Roman adds, and hands Patton one of the to-go cups. “Your Chemical Romance made this just for you.”

“Aww,” Patton says, smiling heart-meltingly at Virgil. “Thank you.”

Virgil finger-guns awkwardly back at him with his free hand. “No problem.” Making coffee is literally his job. Roman was the one who had paid for it, and picked the flavor.

Then Patton notices what Virgil had put on the side of the cup instead of his name. “Aww!” he exclaims. “You drew me a kitty!”

“Yeah, I figured– you like cats, right?”

Patton looks up at him with shining eyes. “That is paws-itively precious. Thank you so much!”

“Please do not keep the empty cup just because there is a cute cat on it,” Logan says. Roman hands him his own coffee, on which Virgil had drawn a robot face and a triangle science beaker. “Thank you. We do not need additional clutter in our home, Patton.”

Patton pouts at him. “But look, it's so sweet!” he says. “Look at this precious little kitten drawn specifically for me and tell me that you want to throw her in the trash!”

Logan sighs. “At least cut the picture out of the cup instead of keeping the entire thing,” he says.

“Deal!” Patton agrees cheerfully.

“Sorry,” Virgil says. He had not expected Calico to appreciate the art to quite that extreme. He might've put more effort into it if he had.

“No need,” Logan replies. “This is hardly the first time something like this has occurred, and I hold no illusions that it will be the last.”

“Sure won't!” Patton agrees shamelessly.

“Um, so where's my bike at?” Virgil asks after a moment.

“By the door still,” Roman says, taking a seat at the table. “Do you wanna sit next to me again?”

Virgil just now notices that the table is set with four plates. “You… want me to stay for dinner?” he asks hesitantly.

“Of course,” Roman says, now looking puzzled himself. “Why would I bring you to dinner and then not want you to stay and eat?”

They hadn't discussed him coming to dinner. They had planned for him to retrieve his bike, and perhaps watch tv with Roman, but the topic of dinner hadn't come up.

Virgil means to say no, that he had better get going, but it does smell so very good, and they did set a spot for him, and he is hungry, and if he goes home now he'll have to figure out some other meal and honestly it's not going to be anything fancier than frozen pizza and fries, or maybe just ramen since that would be faster.

“Okay,” Virgil says, and sits next to Roman.

~~~~

Chapter 7: How They Kept Him Very Well

[cryptic--writing]

hihi!!!

tumblr deleted the original request so I'm sorry but here's the fic about Dave and the kid and the mm and Dave doesn't know how to parent uhh yeah

THANK YOU KAY MY LOVEW FOR POSTING THIS OH MY GOD

anyways

word count: 1560

wanrings: none just fluff

PARENTHOOD (1995)

I knew that after the day we left the hospital, nothing would be the same. And not in a bad way, of course. But in a way that would be new, something neither Dave nor I were properly experienced in.

Well, maybe I was a bit more than him. I spent many of my highschool years babysitting and the majority of pregnancy reading books on how to care for a baby properly, and also going to new mom classes when I could. With Daves intense touring schedule, he obviously didn't have the time. And given his upbringing, he didn't have a normal childhood, running away from his own father so much, he didn't even know how dads should be.

The car ride was quiet, despite the soft sounds of our newborn daughter breathing as she slept. Dave was driving, I was too exhausted. That doesn't mean he was full of energy, though. He was probably just about as tired as I was, stressing himself too much on how to be a dad. His glasses were slumped to the bottom of his nose as I was nodding off in the passenger seat. He was consistently looking in the rear view mirror to make sure our baby girl was ok, not needing anything or crying like she had for hours on end.

Fussy was the perfect word to describe her still blooming personality.

Eventually we got home, and even though he was doing everything right, Dave was truly trying his best for someone who was a first timer to something so complex as parenthood. He was constantly asking me how to do certain things, how to make her stop crying, just wanting our little one to be as content and comfortable as possible. We would have peace for about an hour, and then she would start crying again. 

After a long tussle with her, rocking, burping, feeding, anything to get her to calm and to sleep, she finally started to doze away in her bassinet. Dave watched the closet, and I laid my head back on his shoulder, needing comfort and reassurance. He put his arm around me, guiding the two of us to the bedroom so we could get ready for a much deserved rest. But deep down, he knew he needed reassurance. Much more than I probably did, but he didn't want to seem weak or like a bad father already, at such an early stage in our daughter's life.

Dave helped me slip out of the clothes I was wearing that day, assisting me in putting on my comfortable and cozy pajamas as he readied himself as well, getting into bed next to me. He wrapped his arms around me gently, knowing body was still acting with various pains as I adjusted into my postpartum state. I only snuggled closer to him, enjoying one of the now scarce calm and loving moments we had together.

Then we heard it. The loud, wailing cries of our baby. If someone hadn't known better, they would've thought we were torturing her with how loud she was. I groaned and tightened my grip on Dave, who seemed to have already been awake. Why wouldn't he have gone to tend to her?

“Davie…. Can you go deal with her…? Please…?” I muttered in my sleepy state. It was sometime around three in the morning, my feet swollen and in so much pain I didn't feel like walking.

Dave almost seemed stunned by the question, like a deer in headlights, shocked. He mumbled an ‘uhmm’ for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, uh, sure, of course, baby. You just rest.” He mumbled, seemingly nervous or scared for what might happen. I loosened my hold on him, allowing him to get up and check on our daughter.

When Dave walked in, there she was, writhing and squirmed as she cried and cried. He stood in the doorway for a moment, almost as if she was a foreign species. Slowly he made his steps closer, not wanting to startle her. He gently scooped her in his arms, being very slow and meticulous with his movements so as not to harm her, making sure her neck was propped up perfectly. He shushed her, still trying to learn what each special cry meant as he gently bounced and rocked her in his arms. 

Did she need a new diaper? No, she didn't feel wet. Did she need to be burped? No, she hadn't been fed yet. Fed. She was probably hungry. She hadn't been fed yet. Dave had fed her a few times in the hospital, the nights where I was far too weak to get up and feed her. As much as he loved being near our girl, he was more scared than anything that he'd mess up. Balancing her in his arms, he reached for one of the bottles of milk we had set out for her, kept in a bottle warmer to keep it at a good temperature for her enjoyment. 

“Alright, sweetie, you need your bottle?” He cooed in a whisper, gently placing it into her open mouth as she refused to try and drink from it, contouring to cry as she failed her little arms and legs around.

“Please? Just drink a little bit…” Dave begged, still trying to feed her as she kept being reluctant. He sighed, setting down the bottle and placing the baby back in her bassinet. The cries rang through the quiet and echoey house, and eventually Dave called out to me.

“Honey? Can you come in here?” Dave gave in as a last resort, hoping that the instincts of a mother may do better than one of a dad who feels more lost than he ever had been.

I groaned and grumbled, my body aching but I knew Dave needed help. I slowly sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, stepping into my slippers as I trudged to the nursery room, seeing long, gingery locks in the door frame as I put my hand on his shoulder for a bit of stability. “What's wrong? Is she ok?” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes as I tried to wake up a bit.

“I don't know, she wont drink her bottle, maybe I'm doing something wrong..?” He mumbled out a worry, his eyes darting from her to the floor, avoiding me.

I nodded, sighing myself, grabbing our girl and her bottle, cradling her as I cooed before giving her the bottle, which she fought a bit at first, but soon she quickly welcomed the bottle, sipping down the warm liquid as her cries slowed. Dave stood behind me, somewhat surprised but also ashamed. “What are you doing that I'm not?” Dave's hazel eyes rested on her contended and tear streaked face, wanting nothing more than to improve as a dad.

“Did you cradle her properly?”

“Yeah”

“Did she need to be changed?”

“No”

“Did she need to be burped?”

“No”

I paused, trying to think of what could be so different from me to Davwe trying to feed her. Maybe it was just a mothers touch. “Does she not like me?” His mind clouded with the worries, his infant daughter already hating him at only a few weeks old.

“No, of course not. She loves you. She's just a baby, that's all.” I reassured Dae, seeing she had finished her milk, I set down the empty bottle and began to burp her, which she quickly burped, and now was ready to fall back asleep. “She's also just really fussy, it's not you, it's her.” I kept trying to reassure him, but the worry couldnt leave his face. I set her down in the bassinet, getting her cozy before watching her slowly drift asleep. 

“Is something wrong?” I asked Dave, my voice soft and gentle, to comfort him and not wake her. He nodded, and began to walk back to the bedroom, and I followed him. “Baby, what's on your mind? You seem so stressed.” I inquired, watching Dave sit on the edge of the bed as his shoulders slumped. I sat next to him, gently stroking one of his strong arms.

“I don't know, I just feel like I'm not doing enough as a dad. Like I'm just… I don't wanna fail her, I wanna be the best, but…” He trailed off, but I still knew what he meant.

“There's nothing to worry about. She's so young, she won't remember any of this. She loves you now, and she'll love you later. You are being the best dad possible. It's not your fault you were busy with the band, you were making money for us.” I comforted, kissing his shoulder.

“Yeah, I know.. But still. You make it look so easy, and I look like a fool.” Dave continued to doubt himself again and again.

I smiled softly, wanting to try and lessen the worry he felt. “It's just the touch of a mother. Its maternal instinct. She'll be a daddy's girl when she's older, trust me.” 

Dave gave a small smile back, leaning against me now. “Yeah, I hope so. That'd be nice.” He admitted in a whisper before patting my leg lightly.

“Thank you, I know, it's stupid, but I just don't want to mess up. Ever.”

“Don't worry, you won't.”

And he never did.

[crushribbons]

𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕣 𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕖, 𝕔𝕙. 𝟛

summary: Bobby Moch makes for one passive-aggressive roommate. (pt. 3/4) (part one) (part two)

cw: 4.5k words, unedited bc lazy, BEACH DAY CHAPTER WOOHOO, drug ment but if you're surprised by that you must not know these sweet stoners yet, oc/reader wears a bikini but no other body ment, brief smut (18+), male masturbation, accidental voyeurism ig?? fem!reader/OC. this is a work of fiction about the character portrayed in tbitb and not affiliated at all with the actual historical figure (like duh?)

a/n: why this took me so long!!!! sowwy xx laney

8-track for the series: 1・2・3・4・5・6・7・8

The air filtering in through the exposed six inches of screen on the kitchen window was almost sweet. Warm, honeyed, and gentle. A breeze ruffled the hair off Bobby’s forehead as he leaned backwards in his chair and closed his eyes. She tried to look at anything else.

“Beautiful day,” he commented. Noncommittal grunt in response. It was the only way she could speak to him lately, since her very reluctant admission to herself that Bobby was starting to annoy her so little that it was circling around to…whatever. Whatever had them in their pajamas at ten on a Saturday morning, ankles crossed over each other’s on the dinner table, sitting in quiet contemplation of the weather. His forehead had a tiny, sunburnt patch, right in the middle, that the breeze put on display.

She regarded him through the glasses perched on her nose. They had fallen asleep on the couch last night, wrapped in the blanket that Bobby’s mom had crocheted for him for Christmas. Well, Bobby had fallen asleep. She had watched him for far too long, watched his chest rise and fall while tiny snores occasionally made his brow wrinkle. His hand had wrapped around her leg after a few minutes, and it was all the permission she had needed to curl up into him. He had woken up talking, as he always did, but it wasn’t the usual drivel about things he had remembered that he had forgotten to tell her the day prior.

“Hey, sweetheart, wake up. Your back’s gonna hurt. Did you sleep like that all night? Do you normally sleep like that? You need to put a pillow between your legs if you do, or otherwise you’re gonna be–”

“Bobby.”

She had heard all too clearly the fondness in his smile when he replied. “Sorry. Good morning.”

We can’t do that anymore, she had told herself firmly as she brushed her teeth, although it was something she wanted to do quite a bit more. Bobby was a furnace when he slept, and his warmth and scent clung to her the rest of the morning. She told him as much while his head lolled towards the open window. “I still smell like whatever you were eating last night, nasty.” 

“The Takis? You’re welcome,” he shot back, his eyes still closed. “If you’d like, I’ll help you take a shower and get nice and clean.” He peeked at her with an evil grin. “Or dirty, whatever.”

“Like I said, nasty,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t waver too much at the prospect. 

Bobby shut his eyes again, but the smile remained. Neither of them had put their contacts in for the day yet, and his thin wire frames slid up his nose when his head was tilted like this. Objectively adorable to anyone watching, she reasoned. There was a long beat before he cleared his throat and asked, “No Shorty last night?”

She blinked at him. “Oh, no, he was here. You didn’t feel him sit on you?”

“I’m a heavy sleeper.” She snorted. 

“Nope. No Shorty for a while now.” Bobby finally raised his head to look directly at her, and she could no longer kid herself that he wasn’t praying on the downfall of her casual relationship with his teammate. 

“No?”

Defensiveness was building a wall in her chest that she didn’t want to be there, but things had been so uncomfortably nebulous since that day at the mall where he’d told her how giddy it made him when people mistook them for a couple. Which was something friends said to one another all the time, she was sure. Almost sure. “He’s not gone forever,” she relented, and tried to ignore the cluck of disapproval Bobby made in his throat. “We’ve both just been busy. Maybe I’ll see if he wants to do something today!” 

She didn’t want to do something with Shorty, though. He had been coming to the apartment, at maximum, once every couple weeks, when the urge to run at Bobby and ruin the careful little household they had set up became too great. Every time George’s pretty smile kissed its way up her neck, she repeated to herself, “This is better, this won’t end poorly, at least we’re not roommates,” and didn’t believe a single word of it. It wouldn’t be enough soon. But she could keep trying, couldn’t she?

“Would be a great day for the beach,” Bobby was musing out loud when she refocused on him. A thrill that embarrassed her ran through her chest at the idea. 

“Ooh, yeah, it would! We could invite a few other people, too.”

“Oh, I’m included now, am I?” he grinned, delighted. She tried to shrug her enthusiasm at him joining the outing off.

“Sure, no one can get me to swim laps like you can, Mr. Coxswain.”

Bobby looked proud enough to burst. “Well, that’s true. I’ll text people!” 

They scurried around the apartment getting ready, shoving snacks into a tote bag that neither of them knew the origins of, pulling every available towel they could find, showering (separately) the sleep off, and wiggling into bathing suits and shorts. Bobby shouted across the rooms the entire time, meandering through ideas for group games and possibly a barbecue. She told him “Whatever you want” as she loaded up his waiting form with the bags, coolers, and chairs they were taking, and he kept talking, and she kept listening, and things felt a lot more normal by the time they were packing Bobby’s hatchback with all their possessions. 

While they drove to the beach, she nervously fiddled with the bathing suit top underneath the oversized t-shirt she was wearing. She hoped Shorty would be enough to distract her from whatever level of undress Bobby chose to strip down to once they were on the sand. Then she scolded herself for even worrying about something that ridiculous. He didn’t seem to be struggling with the idea of her bare skin as he rattled off a list of all the professional athletes he would put in his shell if he could. 

“And LeBron, obviously, stroke.”

“Obviously.” 

“But can I throw something crazy at you?”

“After you take the correct exit here, sure.” Bobby turned on his right blinker and merged over a lane, hardly pausing to take a breath. 

“I wanna see Ronaldo at the back.”

She laughed. “A soccer player who has to use his arms like once a game?”

He smirked back, said, “Ah, see, it’s all about the legs, baby,” and brought his palm down on her bare thigh in the passenger seat. On instinct, she jerked away from the touch and twisted her hips toward the door. Bobby’s hand fell away lamely, but he kept right up on his tirade. While he talked, she faced away from him and tried to cool her face down. Her leg was hot where he’d touched it. It was a joke. No need to act like he’d just leaned over and planted one on her. 

When they arrived at the beach and found a parking spot, Bobby pulled into it and put the car in park, then reached into the center console and felt around with his hand, frowning. She batted her eyelashes at him exaggeratedly. “Are you going to kill me now?” she fawned, and he snorted. He made purchase on and held up a small plastic canister in triumph.

“Next best thing. Sweet for my sweetheart?” She almost told him to knock it off. Their flirting, which had never bothered her an iota before, was starting to grate on her nerves the farther it went without her being able to reciprocate, really reciprocate. Then she saw the cannabis leaf on the canister’s label and her shoulders drooped in relief. He dropped a gummy into her hand and they tossed them back in tandem, Bobby humming about how good the mango ones tasted. She imagined if she were to reciprocate on that flirting at the current moment, he’d get to taste some more mango on her tongue. More scolding in order.

They climbed out of the car and she stretched her legs, pulling her shorts down as if the extra inch of coverage they allowed would stop him from touching her again. She glanced across the hood of the car at Bobby, and her heart slammed to a halt when he tugged the shirt he was wearing over his head and tossed it back inside the car. She’d seen him shirtless a hundred, no, a thousand times, since moving into his place, so why was her mouth so dry right now? Why was she tracing every line and inch of skin and small but lean amount of muscle on his stomach with her eyes? Maybe she should say something. Growing awareness that she was staring at him gnawed at her until she blurted, “Need help with sunscreen?”

Very subtle. Neither of them were holding a bottle of sunscreen. He looked at her in confusion and she recovered by sticking her tongue out at him and telling him that she didn’t care if the sun baked him to a crisp. They unloaded the car and walked down towards the water in relative silence, which was what she called not talking while Bobby talked for the both of them. As they began padding over the sand, their sandals kicking up huge wafts of it in their wake, she pulled her sunglasses on and squinted down the beach through them.

“Bobby. You said you would invite a few other people.”

“I cannot help my magnetic personality, darling.” A group of at least twenty-five students were milling in a clump near the water, towels and umbrellas and beach chairs thrown down in a makeshift camp, and more were making their way over even now. Someone had brought a Bluetooth speaker and a volleyball, and a pick-up game had already started, scored by the soundtrack of yacht rock blaring out of the speaker. Roger Morris was serving the ball, and her head followed the arc of it as it sailed through the air and toward the ground, but not before a frantic Shorty dove at the sand and yelled, “MINE!” The ball bounced off his upturned wrists and back at the other group of six, who did not demonstrate the same dedication as Shorty and missed the return. A smile snuck onto her face as she threw her and Bobby’s things down on the towel Bobby had laid out, watching Shorty’s lithe and perfectly-tanned body rush around the impromptu court.

Bobby noticed her sightline and followed it, rolling his eyes behind the light tint sunglasses he wore when he saw who she was staring at. Absently, she tugged the t-shirt, which she had since realized was Bobby’s, off and tucked it into her tote bag. The label on the edibles he had offered had said “Fast-acting!” but she hadn’t realized quite how fast until she felt a warm haze pull at the edge of her vision and the sunlight made her skin pulse in a very comfortable way. Shorty looked more amazing than she remembered. A sufficient enough distraction, without doubt. 

“Whoa,” came a low little giggle from beside her, and Bobby swayed while pulling off his left sandal. He bumped her leg and she laughed, too, sensing that his edible may have started hitting as well. 

“Stay up, you pothead,” she said, grabbing his elbow, and they both devolved into a fit of silent laughter. She tried to just appreciate how funny the totally normal situation was and not to notice that Bobby was pressed into her with only their thin bathing suits between them, and that the freckles on his shoulders and back were a centimeter away from her lips. “I’m gonna go say hi,” she muttered and dropped his arm. As she started walking away, something tugged her back by her bottoms, and she shrieked when she realized Bobby had slipped a finger inside the waistband at her hip and pulled her to him.

“Do not leave me to socialize alone right now,” he pleaded into her ear, and a stupid, treacherous little whimper fell out of her. His hand was almost inside her swimsuit, and the weed was heightening her feeling of arousal so dramatically that she got wet as hell at the idea of the hand traveling further. Instead, she grasped his wrist and yanked it off her, pushed Bobby down onto his ass on the towel and ordered,

“Just stay here. Eat something. You’ll feel normal in a minute. I’ve gotta…” She trailed off and away from him, needing distance to coach her breathing back to normal. Her feet led her over to the volleyball game, greeting some girls she knew from Econ 102 on the way. Joe Rantz and Don Hume were parked on a dark purple towel off to the side of the group, their heads together and muttering lowly, as was their soft spoken nature. As she passed them, they waved and she smiled back. Then, a girl she didn’t recognize as well walked over and dropped between them on the towel. The two men grinned conspiratorially at one another, and she could have sworn she saw each of them place a hand on the girl’s bare, outstretched legs. She made an urgent mental note to gossip with Bobby about the development the second they were back in the car.

Shorty caught sight of her as she walked up to the game, and he ran over to her as soon as the play ended. “Hey, firecracker,” he grinned, leaning down to kiss her cheek. Her face flushed, and she discovered she had room to think about something other than Bobby. 

“Hey, hot stuff. Gonna win one for me?” she replied. She tilted her head to the side and Shorty chuckled.

“I’d like to, but with you looking that good, I’m worried I’ll be all distracted.” He mimed fumbling the ball and then shaded his eyes to check her out, top to bottom. She fought the urge to cover her bikini-clad body. 

She retired to the sidelines and watched the game progress until Shorty’s team slaughtered the other so mercilessly that they conceded with a cry of “Alright, alright!” after a spiked ball nailed Roger in the forehead. The edible was making everything, the water, the blazing sun, Shorty, extra delightful and funny, and she found herself resting her head on his shoulder when he came and sat beside her, giggling at nothing as they watched the tideline encroach.

“You look so amazing,” she hummed to Shorty. “So sexy out there.”

“Careful, or I’m gonna pick you up and take you to my car,” he muttered back, low enough so the clump of people around them didn’t hear. No one was paying them attention anyway, too wrapped up in the wonder of being young and near-nude and more-than-tipsy on the beach. Shorty took a sip from the White Claw can dangling from his fingertips. She glanced at the flavor and tried not to care that it was mango.

The waves crashed against the shore in a hypnotic tug-of-war. They gazed out over it until another fit of giggles overtook her and she felt she had to whisper in Shorty’s ear, “We took edibles right before this.” He choked a little bit on his next swig and his eyes widened.

“Criminal!”

“I know.” She held her wrists up to him like she was waiting to be cuffed. “Take me away, officer.”

Shorty’s eyes darkened more than she had intended for them to do, and he leaned in until they were breathing the same air. “Do you have any idea how fast you were going, ma’am?” he rasped in her ear. “Because you weren’t moving. You’re actually at the beach and not even driving a car at all.” The stupid joke saved her from the overwhelming sensation of having him so close to her and they both snickered too hard at it. “Who’s ‘we’?” he suddenly asked, a frown creasing his face.

“Me and Bobby.”

“Ah, right. How could I forget.” If she hadn’t known any better, she might have thought his smile was a little rueful. 

“He drove me here,” she supplied, as if that explained anything. Shorty looked down at the pebbly sand they were sitting on. She elbowed him. “Whaaaat? What’s the face for?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Just you. You should stop fucking with him, you know.”

The shock smacked her clean across the face. Her head swam a little, trying to adjust to the sudden tone shift in the conversation through the thick haze the edible had left there. She said, “Fucking with him? I’m not–we’re not–we’ve never, I don’t even–”

“No, no, and that’s all very convincing, of course,” Shorty replied. His face was all straight lines, not happy, not angry. She wondered why her heart was beating so fast. “But look: he’s a great guy. And you’re a…” He broke off with a little sigh that made her heart cease its pounding and fracture into a hundred pieces. “...great girl.”

“George.”

“I know, I know. I know I said I was fine with it. But it’s just too weird, seeing you be so in love with him but still hanging out with me,” he continued. Humiliation scratched at the back of her neck, and the pink splattered across her nose and cheeks had little to do with the blazing sun. What the fuck was he talking about, “seeing her be so in love with him”? This was news to her. 

Is it? a little voice in her head whispered, then squeaked in terror when she mentally went after it with a baseball bat. She staggered to her feet and looked down at Shorty. “Well, sorry,” was all she could mumble before her feet were carrying her away from him and his hushed protests. He didn’t follow her, though, and she was grateful for it.

If Shorty had clocked her dumb little crush on Bobby, how many other people had? And worst of all, what if Bobby himself had? “I gotta get outta here,” she muttered to nobody in particular. It wouldn’t be a great look, from Shorty’s point of view, if she ran to Bobby and asked him to please take her home, but it was the only thing she could think to do. He was always there to take her home, to bundle her up safely. To take care of her. 

The little voice piped up again, in the very back of her mind, but this time, she let it talk for a minute while she swayed side-to-side, frozen in place. I want him to take care of me and I want to take care of him. I care about him. I really care about him. Someone yelled “HEADS UP!” as a frisbee whistled over her head, nearly taking an inch of hair off with it. She didn’t notice. 

She stumbled back to their towel, sobering rapidly while she repeated in a whisper to herself “I care about you, Bobby,” rolling the words around in her mouth to test how they might sound out loud. All she actually knew was that a weird and not unwelcome tsunami of relief had crashed over and through her by the time she made up her mind to say them out loud. She packed her bag and pulled Bobby’s shirt back on before she realized that he wasn’t seated on the towel. 

As if sensing her confusion (or possibly because she just had a pair of eyes and could see a very bemused girl looking side to side for a man that wasn’t right in front of her), her friend Joyce piped up from next to the ice chest and called, “He went home, girlie! Said to let you know that his keys were in the big tote bag ‘cause he took an Uber.” She giggled a little at the rapid blinks of her friend. “Bobby. Bobby Moch, your roommate.”

“Yes, Bobby,” choked back Bobby Moch’s roommate. She stood stationary for another second, her vision still wobbling. “I think I need to take an Uber, too,” she muttered. Joyce snorted and dryly asked her if she really thought so, then pulled out her phone and ordered one.

The ride home, laden with her and Bobby’s things, was quiet, and calmed the swirl of thoughts and cannabis inside her. She had to apologize several times over for the amount of sand she left in the Uber, but the driver only grunted in response. It was a half-hearted apology, anyway. There were more important things on her mind. 

“Home!” She yelled when she had unlocked their door and entered it. Bobby didn’t reply, and a quick glance around the apartment told her that he either hadn’t made it home yet or that he was in his room, although the lack of reply told her that the former was more likely. She heaved a sigh and began dragging the beach supplies, which hadn’t seemed nearly this heavy when they packed, into the bathroom, where sand could be shaken off it. 

As she passed Bobby’s closed bedroom door, a wet towel flopped out of the tote and onto the ground and she cursed. Most of the garbage in the bag was Bobby’s, and she knew that if she loaded his laundry into the machine for him, he would take that as a sign that she was graciously doing the whole load for him. “Fuck no, Moch,” she muttered under her breath to no one, doubling back down the hall to Bobby’s room again. 

She pushed the door open an inch and lifted the bag of wet clothing to heave it inside, but the sight waiting for her stopped her dead, cold.

Bobby was, in fact, home, and was, in fact, in his room, but his reason for not replying was not one she had considered. He was laying on his bed, shirt still missing and trunks tugged down around his thighs, and…and he was jerking off. His eyes scrunched shut, his hand working up and down his cock furiously, huffy and breathy moans uttered every other second like “Fuck!” and “God, yes, so goddamn pretty.” She could feel her jaw go slack, the bag slide out of her grasp, but no other movement was possible. Bobby��s back arched off the bed as his hips pistoned furiously into his hand.

“Little tease, fucking killing me today, weren’t you?” He gasped, and for one sick moment, she almost thought he was talking to her. But his eyes stayed shut and his movements unbothered. She should leave. She should go. Close the door and leave the apartment and come back in an hour later pretending like she’d just gotten home.

She kept watching. 

Bobby pulled his lower lip in between his teeth and bit down on it with a whine, his eyebrows scrunching together. Her core clenched. Heat was simmering low inside her. It had already reached boiling point at the beach. She was supposed to be avoiding this, avoiding anything that made her want Bobby more than she already did. Her fingers were digging into her own palm. He fucked his hand harder, and suddenly, she was wondering what would happen if she just dropped everything and climbed on top of him. Would those blue eyes be happy to see her? Or would he, much more likely, feel disgusted and violated?

The next thing out of Bobby’s ever-open mouth was her name. Her stomach plummeted to her feet. He cried it out again, clearly unaware that she was even home, let alone witness to the unspeakably intimate moment. Fuck, he’s thinking about me. Fuck. Fuck. His cock was so hard that it pressed against his stomach, his happy trail that she had spent many recent hours thinking about obscured by it and his hand. She once more considered joining him. Then he came, a violent yell croaking out of his dry throat, and his hand was covered in his spend. The sight made her knees buckle, and she bit her tongue to stop from saying something she regretted as he used the extra slick to jerk himself through the orgasm. More whimpering sighs of her name followed. She had to get out of this apartment.

She dropped the other items she was holding and backed away from the door, doing her absolute best to not make a sound. There would be time to process the image burned onto her retinas later.

The thump had been too loud. “H-hey?” came Bobby’s voice from his room, hoarse and scratchy. Shit.

“Shit! I mean, hey! Hey, I just walked in.” She scampered over to the front door and yelled from it, hoping it sounded like that was true. There was probably too much emphasis on the “just” for it to be believable. The springs of Bobby’s mattress groaned as she heard him move around frantically. She pictured him snatching up his discarded shirt and using it to clean the mess on his stomach and had to clench her thighs. 

Then, Bobby emerged from the room wearing only his trunks and clutching that same shirt she’d been picturing, and a small, “Oh, God,” popped out of her. 

“Hm?”

“G-g-um, oh, were you taking a nap? Sorry if I was too loud,” she stammered. His hair was mussed around his temples, and his lower lip was puffy where he’d clearly been biting it. 

They stared at each other, across the living room, for way too long. In the silence, all she could hear was the phantom pleas of her name and the sound of Bobby’s hand fucking himself stupid. It was making it very difficult to think. 

Bobby’s eyes narrowed, and panic shot through her. “You just got home? Just now?”

On autopilot, she nodded. He cleared his throat and fiddled with a vase of dead flowers on one of their end tables. “So, you didn’t hear me? Uh–singing? I was singing in my room and you didn’t hear me?” he asked with horribly-executed nonchalance.

If it had been any other situation, she would have burst into laughter. As it was, a smile was already threatening to peek through her impassive expression. “Ha, no, didn’t hear any singing. What were you regaling Tony with this time?” Tony was the creepy parrot statuette that Bobby had fallen in love with on a thrifting trip four months prior. She had once said that if she was Bobby’s girlfriend, Tony would be the first thing she’d purge from the bewildering decor of his bedroom. 

Count your fucking days, Tony, she thought, while Bobby recovered himself and picked up the bag of wet clothes and towels from the hallway. “Just another sold out show at Madison Square Garden performing hits from my new album, Pink Friday: Roman Reloaded,” he called behind him, and the smile won over her face this time. 

She thought, briefly, about telling him right then and there that she’d heard him moaning her name in ecstasy, teasing him a bit about it, then confessing her undying love and admiration to him. She decided she wanted it to be a bit more special than that.

Over their quiet dinner of spaghetti and meatballs that night, he poured her another glass of something cheap and red, and after he had finished, she said, “Bobby, I think I’m falling for you. Any ideas on what we can do about that?”

masterlist

[mirastark]

Overcoming Fears

Darth Vader x Reader

Chapter Eleven

-Hey guys, sorry for the wait lol, been swamped with school and stuff and a massive writers block on top of that. So anyway enjoy.

—————————————————————

Two days had passed, and you had finally received your assignments… or just when to be ready to leave for Hoth- It was a start. You and Perseus had planned to pack a weeks worth of uniforms into a very small duffel bag. No one knew how long you would be there- and really, neither did the Sith…

That Hoth Facility held the best Medics of the Galaxy. Besides the Tie Fighter accident, the Emperor had practically destroyed Lord Mira’s leg. Terra couldn’t help her, but they could.

Your boss decided to show up today, and made it his mission to aggravate you as much as he possibly could. You were tired almost all day. When you could finally leave you practically ran out of the office and to your room. Quickly showering and jumping into bed. It was hardly a few minutes before you were dead alseep. You knew you had to leave tomorrow and had to finish packing, but at this point you decided to figure it out later.

Only hours later you heard faint knocking from down the hall. Half asleep you listened to the knocking continue until the door opened. Relived the noise had been eliminated, you drifted back to sleep. Suddenly the door to your room slid open, the bright light of the hallway beamed into the room and onto your face. You groaned, rolling over towards the wall, attempting to hide from the light.

“Get up, we’re leaving.” A voice called demandingly from the doorway. You rolled back over, propping yourself up on your elbow, squinting towards the door at the figure leaning against it. “I said get up, and hurry.” Mira spoke as your eyes finally adjusted to the light. She was dressed more comfortably than normal. She had simple black robes instead of her chest plate. Only one of her sabers hung from her belt. Her cloak still hung over her arms, and white bandages wrapped tightly around her wounded leg.

“What’s going on?” You groaned, sliding out of bed.

“We are leaving for Hoth. There is a time difference and we are on a tight schedule. Lord Vader is already waiting on the ship.” She turned, pushing herself off the doorframe, “Get ready, I’m walking Perseus to the bay.” She took a step, her knee bending down to a kneel in response to the pain of her leg. She grasped the other side of the door frame, quickly pushing herself back up. “or maybe he’ll walk me-“ she mumbled unintelligibly, limping back down the hall.

You gathered the last of your things, stuffing them in your small bag. Mira arrived back to your room just when you had finished. She held onto the door frame just as always, keeping the pressure off of her leg. She had been using the force to walk to make sure she didn’t injure herself further.

“Okay,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder and turning back to the Sith, “I wouldn’t want to keep you and Lord Vader waiting, so I am ready.” She starred silently at you for a moment as a grin overtook her lips. “Wh- what is it?” You asked, confused at her expression.

“I don’t think the Generals on Hoth will think very highly of you wearing Pajamas as a new Uniform…” she laughed. You glanced down, remembering you had not changed into your uniform yet. Wow you were tired.

“Oh,” you chuckled, “right- I’ll uh, change then.”

She nodded, smiling again, as she turned back to the hallway, shutting the door through the force for you. Embarrassed, you quickly changed into a uniform from your bag. Ironically, it turned out to be the same blood stained uniform she had marked a few days earlier after the “Stormtrooper Explosion.” You stepped back out the door, turning back to the pad to lock it before you left. Mira leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the door, in between you and Perseus’.

“Boots, General.” She chuckled right before you could lock the door. You glanced down once again. Yep, still in socks. You dropped the bag at your side, sighing as you walked back inside, sliding on your boots next to the door. You were positive you had everything now, and if not, she would notice. You stepped back out the door, locking it behind you. The Sith stepped off the wall as you grabbed your bag, following her down the hall.

As you entered the docking bay, you could hear the low hum of the shuttle’s engine, echoed through the silent bay as it prepared to take off. Side by side, the two of you climbed the ramp. When you reached the top, she grabbed a handle next to a control panel. Perseus and Terra were already seated across from each other in the small cabin. You stepped to a seat, one away from Perseus, slinging your bag in the cargo slot overhead. Mira pressed a button on the pad, which pulled the ramp back up, locking it into place just as you sat down. She stepped back over the ramp, taking the place of the hole in the floor, sitting down in the Co-Pilot seat next to Vader.

“Alright, let’s go-“ Mira sighed, glancing up to Vader. After pressing a few buttons, and returning his hand to the control wheel, within moments you were in the atmosphere, flying at the speed of light.

The journey was quiet, besides the occasional low chatting of the Sith. Curious, and mainly bored, you decided to work up enough courage to listen to their conversation, the best you could of course. You did not wish to be caught, or sensed, no one eavesdropping on Sith would.

“The Emperor will be meeting us at the facility once we arrive.” You could hear Lord Vader announce, a few moments later.

“What!?” Lord Mira exclaimed, louder than her original tone, standing next to her seat, gazing down at Vader, hardly visible to you anymore.

“You are not supposed to put much pressure on your leg, sit down.”

“You don’t even have legs, don’t tell me to sit down.” Mira snapped. You forced your laugh back down, only letting a fairly loud exhale escape.

“Sit down,” He repeated, his voice, loud and stern, “or you may loose a leg.” She scoffed, slowly sitting back in her seat, her eyes still fixed to his mask.

“He is the reason this has happened, why is he still involving himself?” She motioned to her leg, and the beginning and end of the scar over her eye. Her voice was calmer now, and more controlled.

“Would you rather he finish what he began?” Vader questioned, “You were not the only one harmed for the General’s incompetence.”

‘Was that where the scars on his chest plate came from?’ You thought to yourself. ‘And the one across Mira’s eye?’

Vader and Mira’s conversation continued unintelligible to you anymore. Almost half an hour later the ship shifted as it existed hyperspace. The large, white planet appeared ahead of its course. Entering the atmosphere, the ship lowered into the hangar of the large facility.

Mira, followed by Lord Vader, entered the seating room that you, Perseus, and Terra were in just as the ship landed. The ramp extended into the snow as the hatch of the hanger closed overhead. The three of you gathered your things, quickly following the sith out and down the rows of awaiting snow troopers. Mira walked carefully on Vader’s right side. It was freezing. You hated it and assumed Mira did also as she was somehow limping quicker than Vader’s powerful strides. Most likely trying to hurry this interaction so she could get out of the cold.

Eventually they reached the Emperor and his red-armour guards. You, Perseus and Terra did your best to kept your distance as they spoke. Not being able to hear very much of their conversation so you couldn’t be accused of eavesdropping.

———————————————————

“Master” Mira bowed briefly along with Vader.

“Greetings, Lord Mira…” the emperor responded, practically ignoring Vader, “I hope your trip and extra individuals have not caused you any inconvenience.”

“They have not, Master.” Her voice was low, and her stance seemed uneasy. She was obviously uncomfortable and anxious.

“Good…” he replied, sensing her discomfort, yet choosing to ignore it. “Lord Vader, will you escort our Lord Mira inside..”

“Yes, Master.” Vader replied before swiftly guiding Mira around the Emperor’s guards and into the facility.

The older man stepped slightly forward, toward your misplaced group.

“General L/n… the reason we were summoned to this dreadful place.” he spoke. You had now concluded everyone here despised Hoth and the cold. He continued, sensing your confusion, “Your original strategies caused Lord Mira to loose a majority of her troops. She was then blamed by Lord Vader for your mistake…”

“I apologise my Lord, I am still unsure of what caused that.” You replied quickly. His tone along with his bright yellow eyes could intimidate anyone, especially you.

“Now is too late for apologise. Lord Vader has already informed you you will be learning from a General with less fatal mistakes than you have. We expect your skills, and those of your companions to improve on this visit.” The Emperor waved his hand to his guards as he spoke.

After bowing to the emperor, and excusing your group, the three of you hurried into the facility. As you all warmed yourself in the heat of the hallway, a mouse droid delivered Holopads to you all, which consisted of your assignments for the next few days.

Terra then left you and Perseus to go find the medical bay. As you two wandered the halls, passing numerous other generals and troopers along the way, you tried to act as if you knew where you were going. The holopad included a map of the facility which was very handy for you to use. Other officers and generals there had much different uniforms than you. Theirs was designed to keep its wearer warm in the frigid temperatures. While yours kept you cooler in the heat of Mustafar, which was the complete opposite of what you needed.

After quickly touring the facility, you and Perseus met Terra to find your rooms. Conveniently, the three were directly next to each other in the corner of the living quarters. The rooms were as large as a suite in a lodging cabin, much larger than your room on Mustafar. These consisted of a large bathroom, less cramped than the other, a bigger bed, and a small kitchen area in the far corner.

The three of you felt luxurious as you got ready for bed that night, and ready to tackle the day tomorrow.

[lyon-amore]

      She was never going to be a great singer, in fact singing was not her thing. But that day, she felt the need to do it.      She took the cat in her arms and began to sing and dance around the room, while the little feline looked at his “mom” without understanding what was happening, his yellow eyes looked at her as if he were surprised.      Of course, she noticed and that made her laugh out loud.     “You have a funny face!” She exclaimed, touching him on the nose. 

     Jake heard everything from the room where he worked, which made him smile.      He got up from the chair taking a short break and headed to the living room.      He leaned against the wall, watching the scene. She had one hand on the cat's paw, while he was still in her arms watching her. The cat really loved her more than him.      The black-haired man laughed, watching how she moved gracefully around the room. The young woman was wearing his t-shirt, which made it look like she was wearing a long nightgown, along with those pajama pants that she liked because they had little birds bumping into each other. And even with her hair messy, she would still be the most beautiful woman of all. 

     Turning in one step, she saw that Jake was standing there. Her cheeks turned red when she saw him there.     “Sorry, have I distracted you?” asked the young woman, now stroking the cat.      Jake lifted his chin, hiding his smile. He approached her as he made throaty sounds, as if he were thinking.     "Let me say a little." he answered seriously. Obviously pretending, because as soon as he was close to her, he placed her hand on her waist, pulling her towards him.     "You're a terrible liar" she replied ", I just have to look into your eyes to know that you're not telling me the truth, Jake."     “I really cannot hide anything from you.”     “Not to me, at least.”      He giggled, placing a small kiss on his girlfriend’s lips.      Their hearts beat fast. Any small romantic gesture was more than enough to make all their happiness complete.     "I like it when you sing" He ran his hand through the girl's hair, moving it away from her face, to better see her warm eyes “, because I know that means you are okay and that calms me down.”     “Even if I’m not a “Mariah Carey”? A “Madonna”?”     “They do not reach your talent.”     "You lie again" she bit her lip, hiding her amused smile ", but I forgive you."      This time the kiss was slower and longer. She felt like she was on a cloud for every kiss Jake gave her. 

     The little feline complained, which made them stop kissing. The young woman left the animal on the ground, and this time Jake looked at her curiously.     “And why is this morning so happy?” he asked her, taking her hands and caressing them slowly “Normally on Saturdays you get up later because you can rest all day.”     "I can't tell you" she intertwined their fingers, swinging their arms slowly ", you're going to have to wait a little."     “Why? Have you bought me a gift?” He asked, much more curious than before.     "I'm not going to tell you" With each word, she moved her fingers up his chest, as if they were walking “. Like I said, you'll have to wait.”     “How long?” he closed his eyes as she nudged his nose, enjoying her playful side “. I can be patient, but with you, you always leave me wanting to know more.”     "Much better then." She gave him another kiss and wrapped her arms around him, beginning to sway to the rhythm of the music.      Jake placed both hands on her hips, also moving with the music.      It was a moment that neither wanted to break. 

     The young woman began to hum the song, while Jake rested his head on hers, enjoying her voice.     "Hey Jake..." she whispered and a tone of happiness was evident in his voice.     “Yes?”     “If you had to choose a favorite name, what would it be?” 

[deadbydangit]

Hi, I love your posts. Could you please write some headcannons about bedtime routines and habits with some of the survivors. Like are they cuddlers, do they grind their teeth, run hot or cold? Things like that. Please feel free to ignore this if its to weird or awkward.

I like that. That's really a cute idea. I'm going to pick three survivors.

Bedtime with them

Ace, Chris, Meg

Ace Visconti

He's a night owl.

So expect to stay up late.

If you can't, he'll usually join you later.

But, there are days when he's just really tired.

And those days he'll fall asleep with you.

Surprisingly, he always brushes his teeth before bed.

Unsurprisingly, he takes a shot of liquor right after.

So that kind of defeats the purpose of brushing his teeth.

He says it puts him at ease.

Trials stress him out more than he'd like to admit.

So something to take the edge off and help him relax doesn't hurt.

Ace doesn't really run hot, but he doesn't necessarily run cold either.

He's that perfect in between.

Unless he's had a few drinks.

If he has, he runs hot like a fire.

He's very cuddly.

His preferred sleeping position is holding you in his' arms with one leg in between yours.

He's actually a very calm sleeper when he's relaxed.

If he isn't, he's tossing and turning.

He is not a morning person.

"Ugh, five more minutes."

He said, twenty minutes ago.

And you aren't getting up without him.

"No. Stay here."

And he'll hug you tighter.

Hope you don't have to go anywhere anytime soon.

Chris Redfield

This man isn't one for staying up late.

An hour before bed, Chris goes on a jog.

Not a light jog either.

He's going to run that whole hour without stopping.

So when he gets back, he's ready to crash.

Literally.

He falls right into bed.

Sweaty, with all his normal clothes on.

If he really smells bad, make him go clean off and change.

But he'll almost fall asleep while bathing, so you'll have to watch him.

And get his clothes out for him because he'll put on something completely different from pajamas because he is that tired.

After all that, he's practically asleep as he's walking.

Now that he's fallen into bed, get ready for a man who runs so hot, that blankets will be a thing of the past.

It's almost sweltering.

But nothing can compare to how bad he snores.

It's like someone put a megaphone to a pug sleeping.

It's loud.

After a while, the snores will die down.

Chris is actually a still sleeper once he's gotten his energy out.

But you're a teddy bear right now.

He is an early riser.

"Good morning beautiful. Time to get up and start training."

You're getting up whether you like it or not.

Meg Thomas

Like Chris, Meg also goes on a run before bed.

But it's more of a quick speed walk than anything.

She doesn't want to get all gross and sweaty and have to shower again.

She's neither a night owl, nor is she an early bird.

She sleeps when she's tired.

She prefers to wear shorts and tank top when she sleeps.

Even if it's cold out.

She doesn't run hot, but she says she feels hot.

It's usually around the time you fall asleep.

She likes to go to bed around the same time you do.

It's a weird sense of security she can't seem to understand herself.

But it helps her sleep better.

Before bed, she does a few quick stretches to relax her body after a long day.

It takes her a good few minutes to fall asleep.

But once she's asleep, it's hard to wake her up.

And she is a kicker.

Like, it doesn't matter what you do, she's going to be moving around.

She isn't sure why she's like that, but ever since she was a little kid, she was a restless sleeper.

She knows this and apologizes every night.

But don't be too hard on her about it.

If you give her a tight enough hug and pull her in so that her face is on your neck, then she's less squirmy.

She usually wakes up before you.

But she'll stay right there until you wake up.

[hoperays-song]

Ok random question that popped in my head. What would the cast and crew wear to sleep? And how would they prepare to go and sleep for the day? Would they wear pajamas? Wear their normal attire? Or even better yet, would they wear onesies :O now that’s just cute and wholesome

Great question!! So the only ones I actually thought out were for the teens (Johnny, Ryan, Porsha, Nooshy, Ash, and Meena), since they do have movie nights in my fics a fair bit! Hope you enjoy!

- <3 Gooseless

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

PJs

Johnnny: Old t-shirt and PJ pants, sometimes with a hoodie.

Ryan: Sweatshirt and PJ shorts, sometimes with fuzzy socks.

Porsha: Complete matching PJ Set, sometimes with matching robe.

Nooshy: Long sleeved shirt and PJ shorts, sometimes with leggings (+ a bonnet for the human au).

Ash: Band tank top and PJ pants, sometimes with an old hoodie.

Meena: PJ long sleeved dress and PJ pants, sometimes with plain robe.

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

Nighttime Routine (based on roommates)

Johnny and Ryan: After the show, they will typically do their own thing for a bit (Johnny calling his family, Ryan working out/dancing). Then they'll typically make dinner in the communal kitchen and eat in their dorm. Ryan showers first while Johnny cleans up, and Johnny showers while Ryan starts on his schoolwork (he's enrolled as a college student online). They'll typically talk and watch a tv show before going to sleep. Ryan does tend to stay up later doing schoolwork however.

Porsha and Nooshy: After the show, Nooshy typically will go straight back to their room and play some video games while Porsha will hang out with some cast members. Their dinner typically is leftovers of whatever Johnny, Meena, or Rosita made that day. Nooshy showers first and typically will watch a movie before bed. Porsha showers second and will typically stay up playing games online for a bit.

Ash and Meena: After the show, Meena will typically go straight to the kitchen and help whoever is there (usually Rosita or Johnny) with cooking or start something herself. On the other hand, Ash hangs out with Clay until dinner. They take turns showering first and will either just hang out or watch a movie or something before going to bed.

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

Onesies Night

Johnnny: Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon. (Gift from Gunter the previous winter).

Ryan: Light Fury from How to Train Your Dragon. (Got it a few weeks into the Majestic stay in prep for a onesie movie night).

Porsha: Meowth from Pokémon. (Owns like 20+ onesies because she finds them cute).

Nooshy: Mike Wazowski from Monster Inc. (One of the first clothing items she got herself once they started living with the Taylors).

Ash: Shark from... well, real life. (Gift from Gunter the previous winter).

Meena: Angel from Lilo and Stitch. (Gift from Gunter the previous winter).

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

Bonus: Pretty much all of my ships fit into this dynamic.

Also, this living arrangement would just be pure chaos. Like Meena and Ash would probably be the chillest out of the roommate pairs because they're sisters and used to each other at this point.

Meanwhile, neither Porsha or Nooshy can keep a decent sleep schedule to save their lives and have the attention spans of goldfish. Johnny and Ryan are just Johnny and Ryan and there's something about those two that makes them seem like chaotic roommates (that and the constant oblivious co-dependency and flirting).

Let's be honest here, maybe letting a 17 year old, two 18 year olds, two 19 year olds, and a 20 year old with horrible coping skills and overall mental health live together was not Buster's best idea. They have a reign of terror on that poor hotel.

[onlyxxbutmymindisolder]

Short romance inspired by sapphic pining

I exhaled impatiently as I watched my bedside table clock change from 11:46 to 11:47. Nia had never told me when she was coming, but I’d gotten ready early anyway, changing from my pajamas to a short dress and leggings the moment it was lights out. It felt weird wearing normal clothes under my covers. I didn’t want to get out of bed, just in case a parent came to check on me (not that they ever did - but with my luck, tonight would be the night), but just lying here staring at the clock felt excruciating. I slid my phone out from under my pillow and checked it again - nothing. Not a peep. With a sigh, I put it back in its safe spot and rolled over. Nia, hurry up!

We had never told anyone we were dating. It wasn’t out of fear of a bad reaction or anything, it was just - it seemed simpler that way. My parents were the types to ask, frequently and well-intentionedly, about how we were doing. What we had done that day. If everything was going well. It was like that with all my friends, and the one guy I’d dated briefly in my freshman year of high school, and while they meant well it kind of felt like pressure sometimes. Like, I always felt like I had to give a good answer - “They’re fine.” - because if something wasn’t going well and I answered honestly they’d feel like they needed to fix it. I’d barely talked to Nia before that day, so I hadn’t ever mentioned her to my parents, and as our relationship progressed I was enjoying that luxury. Our ups and downs were ours alone.

There were no words for what I had with her. Neither of us knew why this had started, or when it was going to end, but when I was with her I felt so vividly alive. Like we were two puzzle pieces made to fit together. If she ever showed up tonight.

I was beginning to worry - what if her brother had caught her sneaking out? What if she was grounded for the next week and I wouldn’t be able to see her? - when I heard a weird clink and then the sound of something tiny hitting the floor. I sat up straight - I’d left my window open so that I could hear her outside. The little thing on my bedroom floor was a pebble that had probably hit the open pane to make that sound. I practically leapt out of bed, then remembered that I was trying not to make any noise. I tiptoed to the window. “Hello?” I whispered.

“Hey,” she whispered back, and with a start I realized she was just to the side of it. “Sorry,” she said with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t realize it was open. I didn’t hit you, did I?” I rolled my eyes. “I was in bed. Not waiting by the window like a lovesick puppy.”

[parkers-gal]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMeHva3Te/

This could be so good with Tom. Imagine you’re shopping with the boys as well 🤍

stop 😭 😭 he’d get so flustered bye

( for those of u who don’t wanna watch the tiktok, it’s captioned “when your boyfriend wears sweats to target so you try to get him hard at every chance u get” )

(that being said, this is a warning for major boners & boner related talks, lol)

wc: 1.3k

—

A quick trip to the supermarket meant neither you nor Tom (or any of the other boys, for that matter) bothered with changing into appropriate clothes. You basically went in your pajamas — for you, that meant Tom’s hoodie and flannel pants. For Tom, however, that meant his favorite jumper, a beanie, and a sexy pair of grey sweatpants.

Tom sits beside you in the driver’s seat, once again debating with Harry if the house needs another set of ridiculous pots for the backyard garden. It’s been an ongoing debate of “we need fairy-themed ones!” to “the ones we have are perfectly fine!” You’re not sure if you should get involved at all.

A buzz in your pocket alerts you that someone must have texted you, so you pull your phone out. In a text, your friend had sent you a TikTok and added her own message.

aisha: this is so something u would do

Intrigued, you tap on the link. It successfully takes you to the app, and after impatiently waiting, you watch as the girl in the video teases her boyfriend in various places in the supermarket. You smirk to yourself, glancing up to make sure nobody else has managed to see what you’re viewing on your phone. Quickly, you save the video and text your friend back.

you: im so doing this. we’re heading to the store now. i’ll update with the vid soon.

Not a second later, she responds.

aisha: you’re evil.

aisha: and i envy you

The next ten minutes go by in a blur. You figure out how to format the video and, after brief bickering between Sam and Harrison about who gets to sit in the cart, the six of you pile into the store.

You head to the produce section first. (You’re not sure why. Every single time, you tell them the delicate vegetables should be piled on top of everything else, meaning you attend to this section of the store last. It seems like nobody else cares about squished tomatoes, though.)

The boys split up; Harry and Tuwaine team up on the broccoli section, managing to get the gross Brussel sprouts Tom loves more than you. Harrison goes off towards the fruits and Sam stays put in the cart.

Tom manages to take control of where the cart is going and he parks in front of the barrel of onions. Sam holds open the bag while Tom picks and chooses the ones he wants. Pondering how to go about this, you finally decide to just go for it.

“Don’t get that one,” you interject, stepping forward. “Get this one, and the one over there.”

Tom nods, not thinking much about the situation. You decide to keep moving forward, but instead of going around the cart, you squeeze yourself in between the shelves and Tom, successfully rubbing up against his crotch. Faintly, you hear his breath hitch, and after walking away, you quickly turn around to see Tom. You’ve ducked from his view, but he’s staring at where you just were, exhaling deeply and trying to maintain his composure.

You know this “look” better than anything. Quickly, you whip out your phone and begin recording the first part of your TikTok. You snicker to yourself, watching as Tom sets the bag of onions in the cart and quickly puts his hands in front of his crotch. You’re knee-deep in your own laughter when Harry and Tuwaine curiously come up to you.

Hastily, you shut your phone off and shove it in your pocket, standing up straight and acting as normal as possible.

“What was-”

“Nothing. Did you guys get the lettuce?”

“Yeah…” Harry trails off suspiciously. They decide to let it slide, and the three of you make your way back over to the cart.

“We done here?” Tuwaine asks. Murmured yes’s float around and the six of you leave the produce section and head off to the pharmacy section of the store.

“Do we need more toothpaste?”

“No, but we need more floss.”

“Ugh. Mouth stuff,” Harry groans.

You step closer to Tom, phone in hand, and you lean close to his ear. “Maybe we could do some mouth stuff later.” You whisper.

Tom’s eyes go wide and he looks at you in shock. You wear a proud smirk and grip your phone tighter, leaning close to him again and getting ready to record his reaction. “Y’know? Maybe I could suck your-”

“Stop it, Y/N,” he says firmly, eyeing you. You shrug in response, still wearing a proud smirk.

“What?” You say innocently.

Tom gets desperate and, after a few seconds, puts his hands on his knees for support — and paints it as if he’s leaning down to look for something on the shelf.

“Tom, mate, you good?” Harrison asks.

Tom looks up, exhales harshly, and nods. “Yep,” he stands, waddling off to another part of the aisle where you record, away from everyone else.

“What are you doing?” he whisper-shouts at you, still somewhat leaning on his knees.

“Nothing, daddy,” you say innocently. His eyes widen and he groans again, this time looking up at the ceiling in despair.

“Whatever game you two are playing, I really don’t want to be a part of it.” Harrison strides over.

“Yeah, you two have been acting weird all day. What’s up with that?” Sam asks.

You turn to Tom, teasingly clicking your tongue as a motivator for him to respond. “Yeah, Tommy. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he says through clenched teeth and a forced smile.

Harry rolls his eyes and moves the cart to the next aisle, the rest of the boys trailing behind him. You and Tom linger a little longer.

“What’s on your mind, Tommy?”

“Nothing,” he seethes, leaning over again to conceal any bulge that may be visible.

“Oh yeah,” you stroke his cheek with a giggle before running a hand through his curls. “What’s going through that big brain of yours?” He only eyes you, and you bite your lip. “Something dirty?” You whisper.

“Y/N,” he drags on, whining.

“What?”

“Why are you doing this to me?” He squeezes his eyes shut.

“What?” You whisper back. “It’s not my fault you’re thinking of fucking me.”

“Jesus Christ love,” he goes back into his leaning position. You giggle again, being another recording for your tiktok.

“Shouldn’t have worn sweats,” you say quietly. “Why did you wear sweats?”

“Because I’m stupid,” he groans an “ugh,” and wipes the sweat off his forehead. “I’m a div, that’s why.”

You chuckle again, “Yeah, you are.”

“You’re evil,” he looks up. “And you’re recording this! I can’t believe you.”

“What?” You tease. “Not my fault you’re hard.”

“Yes it is!” he gasps, locking eyes with you. “Is that why you’re teasing me? Is this another one of those tickey clock things?”

“What?” You laugh in bewilderment, looking at your boyfriend as if he’s crazy.

“You know what I mean! Those- those prank your boyfriend videos!”

“...Yes…”

“Y/N!”

“Sorry!” You exclaim with a smile. “It’s just fun to see you all flustered for me,” you run a hand through his hair, and he eventually stands straight, successfully calming himself down. “You good?”

“Mhm,” he nods at you, reaching for one of your hands.

“Good,” you smile with a glint he almost recognizes.

“What’re you-”

“Let’s go to the lube section.”

“Y/NNN!”

[coeurdastronaute]

Christmas, Day 38 (Footy)

Previously on Day 37

I would love to see a footy Christmas- Clarke shows Lexa a magical very British Christmas complete with mince pies and Christmas crackers.

It was a very brave face she was wearing the more she thought about not spending Christmas with her girlfriend, but still, Clarke understood. It wasn’t something she wanted to have to understand, but the alternative was Lexa living in the States and only seeing her for holidays, and frankly, Clarke wasn’t sure if she could handle that either. 

And so she made a list. 

It was a good list, she decided, scanning it as some Christmas movie played in the background and she re-rolled the sleeve of her giant flannel pajamas that only made an appearance this time of year. She was going to give Lexa a proper British Christmas, even if it wasn’t on Christmas, even if she was flying home to her cute niece and lovely sister and grandfather. Clarke wouldn’t begrudge her family, but she was going to have a Christmas like she’d always dreamed with a girl she was infatuated with-- she was going to have an Olympic level Christmas, because she’d gone and Lexa was a gold medalist and that’s how she was going to describe things. 

With a final look at her list, Clarke nodded her head and began drafting a schedule. 

XXXXXXXXX

It wasn’t snowing, but it was still col enough that everyone’s breath was forming clouds in the crystal clear evening. There were bags weighing down their hands, content to do as much shopping in one go as they could, both realizing that they had more people to shop for than originally considered. 

Lexa wasn’t one for shopping. She was bad at it, she told Clarke, groaning and shuffling along. But somehow, she didn’t seem to mind it when the streets were decked out in all manner of beautiful lights and the windows were so beautifully decorated they deserved thoughtful pauses as they walked. 

She gave Clarke’s mittened hand a squeeze and smiled as she was tugged in another direction. There was a list she’d been made aware of and an itinerary she’d been handed and it’d been obscenely Clarke-like. Normally the holidays were lowkey and quiet, but she was beginning to see how important they were and it honestly felt… it felt so damn good to be included in them, like Clarke wanted her to know she could always have them. It was new and perfect. Lexa was only sad they were going to be apart, but neither could give up their family this year, what with Jake’s health precarious since their return trip and Mr. Nash’s hip replacement. They were doomed to spend the magical holiday apart. 

For the first time in her life, Lexa was sad to miss traditions she didn’t even know about. That’s what a girl like Clarke Griffin did to her. 

All of the gifts for her family, for the most part, were shipped directly to Anya’s and squirreled away for her to wrap when she arrived, but now there were cute sweaters and toys and everything lovely on display, and she was succumbing, not just for her family, but for Clarke’s as well, and some friends on the team, local and national. Lexa was beginning to like shopping when Clarke held her hand and kissed her cold nose and helped her figure out if someone would like something or not. 

It was also stealthily recon for her gifts for Clarke, as she kept an eye on what she picked up and put down carefully. 

“Can we get some cocoa?” Clarke asked as they neared a vendor selling steaming cups. 

“Only if we get the ones with the peppermint and whipped cream.” 

“Your trainer is going to kill me for being a bad influence.” 

“I do blame everything on  you. It’s nice.” 

“Shut up,” Clarke groaned, shoving her face into Lexa’s shoulder. It was warmer and she inhaled eagerly. 

“Do you think we’ve gotten enough stuff for everyone?” Lexa debated, looking at the bags in her hand and Clarke’s. 

“More than enough, but I just love walking around down here. It feels… I don’t know--”

“Like magic?” 

“Yes, exactly,” she nodded, carefully taking her cup from the vendor as she slipped him a few bills. “I feel like a kid in a weird way.”

“Mia would love this.”

“Maybe next year they can come here.”

“You’ll have to keep your list then, so we can do everything all over again,” Lexa teased, wiping whipped cream from her girlfriend’s nose. “Maybe you could come with me. I could make a list.” 

“Maybe.”

“I mean it. I’d love to take you home.”

Home. The word broke Clarke’s heart because this was her home, but not Lexa’s. She nodded and took another sip as they strolled along again, only making it a few steps. 

“What’s wrong? I know you can’t go because of your dad-- and I would never want to take time or memories away from you of him. I only meant if he were doing better, and maybe not even for the holiday, maybe just for like--”

“It’s fine,” Clarke tried, hoping to stop the ramble. 

“No, I did something, I can feel it.”

“You didn’t do anything.” 

“I’m not moving until you tell me what’s wrong. You went from candy-coated elf to sullen… I don’t know…”

She had worried eyes. Eyes that probed and a head that leaned to the side as she waited and she looked really cute in her hat, with pale skin and red cheeks. Clarke very badly wanted to kiss and and kick out the ache in her heart. 

“You said you wanted to take me home. But this is my home, and that is your home. Our homes aren’t together, and…” Clarke took a deep breath and looked down at her cocoa, suddenly not interested in the warmth it provided. “What if they never line up? Like what if this is never your home and what if it’s always mine.” 

For a moment, Lexa stood there. Shrouded in Christmas lights and with stupid reindeer earrings that were incredibly adorable, and unrightly so, Clarke was earnest and annoyed and sad, and altogether too pretty. 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

“Okay, that’s,” she shook her head and looked away, already feeling stupid enough. “Thanks.” 

“I travel at least a third of the year. Maybe half the year if its the Cup or Olympics,” Lexa explained, setting down her bags on a bench and taking Clarke’s as well. She chased her eyes, hoping to catch them long enough to explain. “Home for me has always been wherever my favorite people are. You’re my favorite. You’re my home. Wherever you are, I’m coming back too, no matter where I go.” 

Clarke furrowed and sniffled. She wasn’t crying, it was just that it was a sweet sentiment and fixed the dull pain in her heart and Lexa was looking at her and smiling warily, preparing to fix anything she could object. 

“I know we haven’t talked about…. You know.. Everything like that. It’s been a whirlwind with training and playing and travel. I’m sorry I hadn’t articulated it better. I think I could stay here forever. The team likes me. They paid enough for me. I don’t even want to think of retirement, but I don’t really want to go anywhere else at the mome--”

Clarke grabbed her coat and kissed her, right there, beneath the giant tree in the middle of the street, right there, beneath the lights on display while other holiday shoppers pushed past in search of deals and gifts. 

“I’m sorry I had a moment,” Clarke shook her head, meeting stunned and happy eyes as she pulled away. “I just… I really love you, and I made a list to show you that I could be your home and you’re saying I already am.” 

“Sorry to waste your time with you know… traditions and such.” 

Clarke laughed and leaned her head forward until Lexa tucked her under her chin and squeezed her, hugging her tightly. 

“I’m not against going anywhere either, just so you know. My dad would hate me to stay for him, and you’re his favorite person so he’d begrudge you nothing.” 

“I’m planning on requesting a huge dowry from him to take you off his hands. I think he’ll pay. He’s already offered training for life.” 

“You did his move in the Olympics. Do you know how fucking unbearable he was at the pub for a week straight? They voted to send him out until he got over it.”

“Hasn’t been back since, has he?” 

“He was back the next day, still chatting about it. You got a group of old men at the bar into women’s football, and not just for the legs and short shorts.” 

“That’s the only reason you’re into it,” Lexa shrugged. 

“Just your short shorts,” Clarke shrugged, earning a cocky grin. “You might deserve every penny you get in my dowry. I’m a handful.” 

“I wouldn’t want it any other way. Should we try to find more gifts?” 

“No, let’s just enjoy the lights.” 

Lexa agreed, smiling to herself as Clarke hugged her back. 

XXXXXXXXX

Lexa struggled with lulls. So much of her life was regimented and scheduled, that when there was any sort of gap in her schedule, she tormented herself over it. An extra training session added per day during break, to make sure she wasn’t slowing down. But Lexa didn’t dawdle. She didn’t have time. She was on a plane across the pond the day after the last game. She wasn’t back until after New Years. 

Between all of it though, she found some holiday spirit, further jamming it into her schedule to keep herself busy. 

That was how she ended up at a charity toy drive, playing some pick up games with kids. That was how she found herself and some teammates visiting the hospital and checking in on some fans. 

Between that and Clarke, she had a full plate. 

It shouldn’t have surprised her that a notification for a Christmas surprise would be waiting when she got home. It shouldn’t have surprised her that she had a schedule to keep. 

Tired from a long practice and longer stint at the hospital than expected, Lexa fiddled with her keys before letting herself in, smacked immediately with the surprise as the door opened and she looked up from kicking off her boots. 

There were lights, everywhere. The fireplace was lit-- probably for the first time since she’d lived there. Snowflakes hung from the ceiling while garland was wrapped around doors and everywhere. Two stockings hung happily by a tree, already decorated and glowing in the corner. 

“Surprise,” Clarke cheered, clad in her Santa hat. “Is it too much?” 

“No.”

“Are you sure-- I thought you’d like---”

“It’s perfect,” Lexa murmured, dropping her bag as she took a few steps inside. 

“I thought we could decorate gingerbread houses and eat sweets while we watch a movie. If you’re into that kind of thing?”

“I’m into you,” she offered with a smile. Clarke’s grew ten times as she launched herself at the soccer player. “You did all of this today?” 

“I had help. Mom and Dad came by. And Octavia is way better than I am with hooks and stuff. So it was a group effort.”

The fact that it wasn’t just Clarke oddly warmed Lexa’s heart even further. She didn’t think it would be possible without catching into flames, but there she stood, just simmering with love. 

“What number was this on the infamous list?” Lexa asked, still gazing up in wonder at the paper snowflakes and lights hung everywhere. 

“Number six.” 

“You’re jumping around a bit.” 

“The schedule came after the list, but I refused to renumber. I was a little drunk.” 

“You’ll get right on Santa’s naughty list at this rate.” 

“I’d rather be on yours.” 

Lexa grinned, her face switching quickly from surprise to pure joy at the innuendo. She leaned forward slightly and lifted Clarke onto the counter. She looked pretty in the warm light of the kitchen. She looked pretty all of the time. It was incredibly distracting. 

“There are Christmas jammies on the bed for you. Go shower and I’ll grab us some pizza.” 

“What do you mean by Christmas jammies?” 

“You’ll see.” 

Lexa rolled her eyes and earned another kiss, settling happily between Clarke’s thighs as she hugged her tightly. 

XXXXXXXXX

When Clarke moved in, Lexa hadn’t considered what it would mean in her home. She wasn’t one to be too particular, but she had a method to the madness. And then, she met a girl with blue eyes and an ass that made her weak and here she was, surrounded by flour on all of her beautiful countertops. 

“They have to cool.” 

“I can blow on them.”

“You can wait.” 

“I can’t,” Lexa whined as Clarke rubbed flour against her forehead, overheating from the effort of making all the desserts for their big dinner. “It smells too good in here.” 

Clarke smiled into her chest as she rolled out the dough for more mince pies. The old recipe card was propped near a mixer, her grandmother’s soft cursive spattered with dough and attempts from years gone by. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her girlfriend reach for the cooling tray and shook her head, leveling a look at her that she’d perfected with her students. Lexa slowly retracted her hand and smiled sheepishly. 

“You’ve really never had them before?” 

“Never,” she shook her head, watching Clarke work. 

“And you really like them?” 

“So much.”

“I guess you can have another. But only like two more.”

“I’ve only had a taste!” 

“You’ve eaten half a dozen already,” Clarke sighed. 

“That’s not even that many.” 

“It’s too many.”

“Two more,” Lexa agreed, reaching across and snagging them. 

She went about the hard work on blowing before taking a huge bite and Clarke smiled to herself, making a note to maybe make an extra dozen or so after she left, so when she came back there’d be a back up. 

“So hot,” Lexa complained but quickly moaned. “So good.” 

“They’re not that good.”

“You made them and they are fantastic. I’d say let me take some back to Anya and Mia, but we both know they wouldn’t make it.” 

“Glad to know you still have a sweet tooth.”

Lexa smiled, all puppy and cute, content with her life and to sit on a stool and watch her girlfriend bake for hours. 

XXXXXXXXX

The holidays were never a very religious event in the Woods family life. They were raised without much access to a church save for charity and both were too proud and too stubborn to acknowledge when they needed it, so the buildings with crosses and friendly faces made them feel pitied. It was a feeling Lexa did her best to shake, but some of it still remained as Clarke held her hand and tugged her into an already crowded old church. It was lit only by candles and warm because of the bodies not because of a great heating system. 

Quickly they nudged their way forward as best they could to find two seats and took them. Clarke dipped and crossed herself while Lexa cleared her throat. 

“You really don’t have carolers?” 

“I mean, they exist, just not something that we go to see.” 

“That’s because you lot have gotten rid of the real bangers when it comes to songs.” 

“Oh, have we?” 

“You’ll see,” Clarke promised, reading over the program. 

Lexa took the time to gaze up at the exposed beams and ancient stonework of the church she’d run past numerous times, but never really thought about as existing. It seemed so old-- hundreds and hundreds of years-- and yet it still saw regular services. That kind of history was enough to make anyone impressed. 

Her girlfriend slipped her hand in her own as the choir came out and Lexa held her breath as they began. All was quiet and their voices rang out in the old walls. 

Clarke wasn’t wrong. Lexa didn’t recognize some of the songs, but more than anything, she felt herself transported and felt that twinkle in her throat that felt like magic. It was all magic. It was ancient and it was perfect. 

XXXXXXXXX

There had never been so many people in her flat ever before, but Clarke knew how to cram them in and she knew how to set up some folding tables so that everyone would have a seat. Lexa did her best to top off drinks and enjoy the friend’s she’d accumulated since her time here, and it made her feel at home. That word felt different now for her. This was her home because Clarke was there and Clarke could put her at ease in a way that felt almost too easy. But she didn’t question it. 

“Your place is amazing. This view,” Abby applauded Lexa. “I couldn’t get over it when we were here last week. Makes me miss living in the city.” 

“You hated it,” Jake disagreed, earning a slap on his arm. “She did. Too much noise too many cars.” 

“This was the first place I looked at. I didn’t know where anything was and was too afraid to try to drive, so I was an easy sell.” 

“You did good,” she nodded approvingly as Lexa thanked her and excused herself, making more of the rounds. 

Instead, she found herself circling her arms around her girlfriend’s stomach, kissing her neck while being swatted as well while she tried to cook. She surveyed and watched everyone mingling and laughing, having a good time. 

Friends from the team fawned over Jake, and he ate it up, regaling them with stories of his exploits while Abby caught up with some of Clarke’s friends she’d known since they were teenagers. It was perfect, and Lexa was honored everyone would do that for her-- to have two large Christmas dinners within a week, and with her game the following day as well. 

“Go try to get everyone in their seats,” Clarke nudged her. “Dinner is ready.” 

“Thank goodness. I’m starving.” 

“You’re fine.” 

With a kiss once more, Lexa began to move around, ushering everyone to join her. 

There was fanfare when the turkey was placed on the table. Jake took the rightful spot at the head of the table and carefully went about cutting into it, applauding his daughter for an excellent first attempt. 

They popped their crackers while plates were being passed around, and Lexa let Clarke adjust her crown for her, beaming proudly. Between bites they took turns telling the terrible jokes and passing plates back and forth, refilling their wine glasses and embracing the clamor of being together. 

Toward the end of the meal, Lexa clinked her glass and stood, crown slightly cock-eyed, but firmly in place. 

“I think I have to say something, at least that’s what Clarke told me,” she grinned at her girlfriend. 

“And you always do what she says,” Case teased from across the table. 

“You’re damn right I do!”

“That’s a lie!” Clarke pinched her side. 

“As I was saying--” she cleared her throat, her smile huge. “I am honored and so deeply blessed to spend this time with all of you. You’ve made this feel like my home, and for someone who travels and has moved as much as I have, it’s a very wonderful feeling. I am grateful for all of you and happy to spend such a wonderful time together. I have to thank Clarke, and not just for this amazing meal, but for loving me enough to want to start traditions with me. She has been kind enough to share so much of what is important to her, that I’ve found a little more magic in this world because of it. So,” she held up her glass a little higher. “To you all I offer my favorite toast: Let us drink to life and the passing show and the eyes of the prettiest girl you know. Salut.” 

The chorus echoed and glasses clinked. Lexa earned a miss on her cheek and an adjustment of her crown. 

“Merry Christmas, Clarke.” 

“Merry Christmas, gorgeous.”

Day 39

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Thin Walls

Pairing :: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings :: 18+ Content, NSFW/Smut, Masturbation(M&F), Oral(M Reciving)

Word Count :: 2,707

Summary :: The walls in your apartment are thinner than you thought

A/N ::

The first time Bucky heard your light pants and stifled moans through the thin walls of your shared apartment complex, he couldn’t believe his ears. Whenever he saw you, you acted charming and innocent. You were always kind to him when you saw each other in the hallway or on the rare occasions you saw each other outside of your apartments. You had a sweet smile, and a soft voice when you spoke to him, almost shy.

When he heard the soft pants through the wall, he couldn’t help but press his ear against the wall, unsure of what was going on. He thought you were having a nightmare until he heard how you quietly moaned and your breathing picked up. 

Bucky knew listening to you was wrong, but then images of you touching yourself began flashing in his mind. He pictured you laying back on your bed in nothing, your legs spread as your hand-worked effortlessly to please yourself. You had two fingers disappearing in your wet cunt repeatedly as you fingered yourself, curling them to press against a sensitive spot. With the hand that wasn’t in you, you were massaging your breast, pinching and rolling the nipple between your fingers.

“Ngh! Ah!” Your panting grew before finally slowing down.

‘Did she make herself cum?’ Bucky wondered, his dick twitching at the thought.

-

About a week later, Bucky heard the same lewd noises through the wall. Again, he couldn’t help himself and listened to you.

This time, the images that ran through his head were far more invasive. His dick grew hard as he imagined you rubbing your clit slowly, looking at him with pleading eyes. 

“Bucky, please.”

He pulled his ear away but didn’t leave. He leaned his head back against the wall, hand wandered down to his sweats, pulling out his hardening shaft. Slowly, his hand ran up and down his length, your sweet muffled voice coming through the wall and encouraging him to keep going.

From the sounds of you desperately trying not to moan aloud as you masturbated, he could tell you were far needier than last time. ‘Still trying to act innocent?’ 

“Ah!” From your breathing picking up, Bucky was sure you had just made yourself cum. 

His grip around his cock tightened, wondering how your wet cunt would tighten around him when you came.

Your breathing picked up again and you hummed in delight.

“Fuck, you’re a desperate girl aren’t you? Trying to cum twice,” He muttered to himself.

His breathing hitched and cock twitched, swearing that he heard the soft sucking sound of wet messy pussy as you continued to pump quickly.

Once precum started to trickle out, Bucky used his thumb to smear it across the head before stroking back down to his tightening ballsack. His hard dick was growing swollen, eager to cum all due to you. No longer able to contain your pleasure, he finally heard your moans and he could tell you were going to cum again soon.

He started thrusting his hips with each downward stroke, an image of you kneeling before him popping in his mind. Your mouth was open, moans escaping you as you rubbed circles into your clit waiting for him to release on you. 

With the moisture at the tip increasing, he used it to lubricate the rest of his swelling cock so his hand could glide up and down with ease. With his free hand, he lifted his shirt up and bit the fabric in his mouth to leave his abdomen exposed.

“Mmm! Ah!” Bucky heard you take in a deep breath, freezing almost as you came again.

He was now pumping his cock rapidly, hips thrusting as hard as if he was fucking. Finally, his muscles tensed up and his body stiffened, his loud groan only slightly muffled.

His balls contracted and cock twitched with each hot spurt of cum that shot out. Thick cum flew out of his tip, some of it landing on his stomach. Still, he continued to pump, muscles tensing up each time another hot load came out. He continued to pump until thick wet strands covered his hand and cock.

-

About once a week, Bucky heard the soft noises you made while masturbating. If you were having a bad day, he’d hear you more than once a week. If you were especially needy, you’d take anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour rather than the usual five to ten minutes just to relieve yourself.

He grew hard each time he heard you playing with yourself, but he only found himself jerking off on the nights you were needy. When he could hear you playing with your wet cunt after you had already cum.

When Bucky saw you outside of your apartment, he managed to act normal. He still saw you as sweet, even if he knew how dirty you were. He had somehow managed to grow closer to you, starting and engaging in conversations with you when you two saw each other.

“So long story short, that’s why I don’t go near large bodies of water,” You told Bucky as you each approached your apartment complex.

You two had run into each other at the local grocery store, each doing some evening grocery shopping, and were each carrying a good number of bags.

Bucky raised a brow, glancing at you. “Don’t you think that’s a bit… much?”

“Nope.”

Bucky pressed the elevator button, a light appearing and signaling the metal box it was on its way down.

As you two waited, another one of the building’s residents walked up with a large group of friends. They were talking loudly, silencing you and Bucky as you all waited.

Ding. The elevator doors opened, and much to Bucky’s dismay, you all entered creating a cramped space. You and Bucky had been pushed to the back corner since you entered first. Bucky’s back was against the wall, and yours was inches away from his chest.

“What floor?” One of the friends asked after hitting the fifth-floor button for their group.

“Sixth,” Bucky replied.

The button was hit and soon after the doors closed. The ride was silent until some of the friends started to mess around by pushing one another against themselves and the walls.

Accidentally, one of the friends bumped into you, pushing you against Bucky.

They apologized halfheartedly before continuing.

Out of fear of being shoved again, you stayed firm against Bucky, only moving against him when one of the strangers got too close while messing around.

Feeling you wiggle against him, Bucky’s jaw clenched and his grip on his grocery bags tightened, his metal arm almost breaking a jar he had inside. He managed to block out the noise from the rowdy group, his mind playing the sweet noises you made instead.

“Fuck,” He muttered quietly.

You managed to hear him and believing he was upset you were against him, you turned your head up to look at him. “S-sorry,” You said with a slightly flushed face.

Bucky’s eyes widened, cock twitching when he heard your meek voice. Without a word, he turned his head, looking up at the elevator lights instead.

Your moaning continued to fill his head, followed by the images of you he had created. Unable to control himself with your ass rubbing against him, his shaft slowly started to stiffen, creating a tightness in his jeans. Without thinking, he pressed his hips against you, the tightness growing.

Since Bucky was looking away, he couldn’t see your face. You were looking down, biting your lip as you continued to move against him. You felt embarrassed at the fact you were growing wet right now. ‘God, if only these jerks weren’t in here this wouldn’t be happening!’ You cried in your head.

Then, you felt a stiff member press against you. You squeezed your eyes shut, gulping. ‘There was no way he was getting turned on now, right? This is just happening because of the situation we’re in. Yeah, that has to be it. He can’t help it.’

Finally, the elevator doors dinged before opening and the group of friends walked out. Immediately, you walked away from Bucky, straight to the door and waiting for your floor. Bucky let out a deep breath, relaxing once you stepped away.

Neither of you said a word, each walking out in silence when the elevator got to your floor.

“Have a nice night Bucky,” You quietly told him before escaping into your apartment.

“You too…” Bucky mumbled before entering his own.

An hour later, Bucky heard you quietly moaning through the walls. Instantly, his dick grew hard, remembering the feeling of you pressed against him. He pulled his length out, starting to stroke himself to your sweet voice.

“Mm, Bucky!” You moaned.

The man stopped, heart freezing when he heard you. He had never heard you moaned anyone’s name before. This was the first time ever, and it was his name.

You were getting off to him. You were touching yourself, imagining it was him.

“Fuck.”

Bucky shoved his still hard shaft in his pants, leaving the room. All reasoning left him as he walked out of his apartment and went to go knock on your front door.

It took a few moments before the door unlocked and the doorknob turned, revealing you wearing a baggy black shirt and short blue pajama shorts. Your face was slightly flushed, chest rising.

‘She was getting close.’

“Hi Bucky, what’s-”

Before you could finish, Bucky stepped in pressing his lips firmly against yours. Your eyes widened with shock, frozen in your spot. He pulled away, shutting and locking your front door.

He leaned down to kiss you again, but you pressed your hand against his chest, stopping him.

“B-Bucky wait! You can’t just come into my home and start kissing me suddenly!” You tried to reason.

“Why? You don’t want it?”

“Wh-what? No- I mean- I-I do, but,” You were stumbling over your words, mind thrown into chaos as to what was going on.

Then you glanced down at his sweats, clearly seeing the large erection he had. You stopped talking, legs squeezing tight.

Bucky grabbed your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. “You know, doll, these walls are pretty thin. Doesn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination.”

Your face started burning up at the realization from his words. “Y-you mean… You can hear m-me each time I…?”

He leaned down to your face, pressing a kiss against your cheek. He moved his face further to your ear whispering, “Yes.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling your body close to his so you could feel his hard clothed dick press against you. “And each time I listen to you, I get hard imagining what you look like, what you’re doing to yourself to cum.”

You let out a shaky breath, pulling Bucky’s face into a kiss without a second thought.

Instead of being terribly ashamed at the thought of Bucky hearing you, you were extremely aroused.

With ease, he slipped his tongue into your mouth, the two wet muscles rubbing against one another in a rough kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him close. With ease, he grabbed your ass and lifted you up, your legs automatically wrapping around him. 

Impatient, he started moving you against his erection, moaning like he wanted to when you two were in the elevator. You pulled away from the kiss and whimpered into the crook of his neck, the thin fabric of your shorts becoming wet and messy since you didn’t have any underwear on.

“Bucky,” You breathed out, moving your hips along.

“I know Doll, I know how fucking needy you are,” He growled.

Bucky barely managed to put you back on your feet so you could show him to your room. While you were both speedily walking through your apartment, you both shed your clothes, throwing them off onto the floor.

You crawled onto your bed first, looking at him with half-lidded eyes as you laid on your back and spread your legs. Bucky walked up to the edge of your bed, brows raised.

“Do you want me to get ready for you Bucky?” You asked him gently while starting to play with each of your breasts.

‘Fuck, is she going to show me how she gets off?’ Bucky’s hand went down to his aching cock, beginning to stroke it slowly. “I’ve seen it a hundred times in my head, so show me,” He encouraged.

One of your hands went down to the wetness between your legs. Two fingers gently rubbed up and down your wet folds before one pressed into your pussy. You moved it around, slowly, curling it to hit your g-spot only a few times before you entered a second finger. 

Now, your fingers started to pump, picking up the pace, and Bucky’s hand on his cock did the same. You pumped a few times before stopping and curling your fingers to hit and rub your g-spot. Your other hand then moved down, rubbing your clit roughly.

Finally, Bucky heard the dirty noises that left you clearly, instead of muffled through a wall. His tip grew wet with precum and he smeared across his cock so he could stroke faster with ease.

You repeated pumping with your fingers rapidly, then stopping to curl your fingers a few times before pumping again. 

Bucky’s gaze moved from your wet cunt up to your chest, watching your breast move up and down as your breathing picked up. 

You let out a moan, breath hitching as your hands started to lose the fast pace they had.

Bucky was growing close himself, hips thrusting into his tightened grip.

“Bucky!” You moaned out, legs twitching as you came around your fingers.

Watching your juices pour out, he lost it, his tight ballsack finally releasing his hot load. He closed his eyes, head tilting back while he pumped each spurt of cum out.

Each of your breathings had relaxed. Bucky heard you move on your mattress, opening his eyes to glance down and see you now at the edge in front of him. 

You wrapped a hand around his half-limp cock, stroking it while you started to clean off the cum with your tongue.

Again, Bucky found himself hard all thanks to you. He placed his metal hand on the back of your head. Carefully, he gripped a handful of your hair and pushed your mouth further while moving his hips. 

He thrusted his hips into your mouth only a few times before pulling away, a thin strand of saliva falling down your chin. He pulls you up for a kiss, pushing you each down on the bed.

“Tell me how badly you want it (Y/N),” He mumbled into the kiss.

His length slides and down your wet slit, the head teasing your pussy. 

You moan, biting his lip lightly. “I want it so much. Please Bucky, I need your cock filling me up,” You begged.

More than happy with your reply, Bucky begins to press his throbbing length in you, your wetness stretching around him. He pushes all the way in before nearly pulling out and pushing in again, keeping a steady pace.

He starts thrusting harder, his balls now hitting you with each thrust. Your cunt tightens around him, again you wrap your legs around him to bring him closer.

Bucky thrusts into you full speed, each of your breaths hot and heavy once again. You dig your nails into his back, moaning loudly when he lowers his flesh hand to start rubbing your clit. 

“Ngh! Bucky!”

You cum around him and Bucky’s thrust grows harder, his metal hand holding your hip with a tight grip.

When he lets out a deep moan, you feel his cock throb inside of you, feeling his hot release fill you up. Bucky continues thrusting into you, slowly now while you each ride out your climax. 

Pulling out, he lightly slaps his messy dick on your cunt. “You know you’re not going to be getting a lot of rest tonight.”

Your hand went down to stroke his cum covered member again. “I wasn’t hoping not.”

[obscure-sentimentalist]

prompt for flommy if you want: home

[I meant to fill this prompt a few months back, the last time I wrote something for this particular universe, but these two wanted to go their own way then and yanked me off-course. But I was suddenly hit by the right inspiration to give it another go and ran with it!]

Part of the Secret Relationship Flommy 'verse (1 | 2 | 3)

It starts with the t-shirt.

Well, maybe it doesn’t necessarily start there, but that’s at least when Felicity notices, starts to pay attention. The first recorded incident on a list that’s growing longer by the day—long enough that, had she somehow overlooked it like the unknown number of its possible predecessors, something else certainly would have pinged by now.

Luckily, obliviousness was not quite that persistent, which means the t-shirt is the starting line. The first domino. Point A.

Day 0 of realizing that—whether he consciously acknowledges it or not—Felicity’s townhouse is gradually becoming Tommy’s home.

The reason why that particular event is significant enough to register in Felicity’s mind isn’t the simplest to parse out, not at first. It’s not like Tommy hadn’t left things at her place before: his laptop, his preferred brand of toothpaste (travel-sized to start, until its recent graduation to a full tube), a pair of pajama bottoms, a singular golf club. All completely normal, understandable items to be absently forgotten or purposely kept at a partner’s residence.

(Except the golf club. Felicity still has no idea when that one snuck in, much less why—Tommy doesn’t even golf, and a putter would hardly be an ideal weapon in the face of home invasion.)

While even more intimate than leaving personal items behind, combining their laundry isn’t new or notable enough to solidify the moment either. On more than one prior occasion, Felicity’s wash schedule coincided with Tommy spending the night and wearing just the right color to top off a full load; it wasn’t difficult to see the mutually-beneficial arrangement that could come of that convenience, and neither of them had any concerns or discomforts to air. The only delicate thing about the mingling of hers and his is the washer cycle setting.

Tommy grabbing the wrong t-shirt, though, was both enough to make its own mark in Felicity’s memory—representative of a crossroads between exposing or maintaining secrecy of their relationship, and the path she and Tommy decisively took together—and the last bit of weight needed to tip the scales.

It’s one thing for Tommy to collect his own t-shirt from Felicity’s place because that’s where he’d last left it—simple enough. It’s another to recall that said shirt was in the shared load of laundry recently tossed in the wash, and to pluck it from the drying rack. 

But to make the retrieval by reflex, without double-checking his selection, and not noticing the mistake until well after tugging the shirt on and dashing out the door? That speaks to a certain comfort and confidence—knowledge that what Tommy needs is right there for him—and turns up the volume on the domesticity that’s been quietly forming between them both.

So, yes, it starts with the t-shirt. And now that Felicity has made a point to pay closer attention and take note, the incidents have only piled up from there.

The dishes were next. Ever since the apology-celebration dinner, Tommy has required fewer and fewer directions to the proper places of each glass and baking pan, plate and casserole dish. A non-zero number of times since then, Felicity has amassed a stack of dirty dishware in the sink—too entangled in a project to spare the time or thought to the height of the mountain—only to be greeted some time later by a soft peck to her crown, the lingering scent of dish soap on Tommy’s skin, and nearly every piece of crockery in their correct cabinets.

Then came the unspoken establishment of Tommy’s preferred spot on the couch—tucked up against the left arm, with room to swing his legs up and stretch out (or to allow Felicity to do so while curled into his side). The accommodation of his morning and nighttime routines to a space that isn’t his own, and knitting them seamlessly into her habits. His new tendency of using “we” and “heading home” in conjunction with each other to tell their friends that they were departing after a long night.

(The first few times he’d said it, the “heading home” part, Felicity figured that he’d changed his mind about staying over—that they’d leave together, he’d drop her off, and then return to his place. Except Tommy had given that exact goodbye to Oliver last night, but not a parting word to Felicity on her doorstep, nor in the bathroom between brushing their teeth, nor in the bedroom before she’d switched off the nightstand lamp—nothing but a soft good night murmured against her neck as they settled, her tank top-covered back pressed to his bare chest.)

And in the still of early morning—not unreasonably so, but a less-than-preferable hour for night-owl club managers and vigilante associates—Felicity finds her latest scrap of evidence in watching the rise and fall of Tommy’s chest.

He’s dead to the world, curled on his left side with his hand sandwiched between the pillow and his ear. The right lies loosely atop the mattress, palm half-turned upwards as if waiting for Felicity’s to slip into it, the perfect fit. It’s a temptation to be resisted, though—at least until her eyes have completed their careful assessment.

A breath just shy of a snore escapes Tommy’s lips, parted in a sliver. The rest of his face is slack and smooth as he draws in a deep, long inhale in return, with nary a frown line nor pillow-faceplant crease furrowed into his skin. Only the faint fluttering behind his eyelids accompanies the movement of his chest, assuring that he’s far from consciousness and not in any distress over it.

That’s not something Felicity has been able to confidently conclude before.

When the longtime empty echo of a complicated, isolated childhood turns into a call-and-response, it strengthens the tongue enough to bear the weight of telling the painful things. It’s an excavation that Tommy and Felicity have each performed a few times over the months of their relationship thus far, and their hearts have been contented by the listening ears of a like soul. 

Tommy’s sleep habits were not the first of such confessions, nor his second, but Felicity had gotten an inkling of the truth within their first few nights together. From the way he’d be quick to rouse (even sleepily so) if she made the slightest shift to get up in the morning, to the quiet heartbreak on his face in deeper sleep, to the desperate cling of his arms around her and frantic thrum of his heart against her back some nights, it was clear that a part of lonely, abandoned eight-year-old Tommy persisted in unconsciousness.

By the time he mustered the courage and words enough to explain—to paint the picture of an empty mansion (a home no longer a home) and dark, cold, silent nights without family to run to and assure that he’s not alone—Tommy had had about five noticeable bouts of disrupted, tense sleep on nights Felicity spent at his, and two or three when he’d stayed at hers. While she’d tagged the disparity, it had been easy enough to rationalize away: they’d headed back to his apartment after a couple high-stress cases, and her place when they’d been run ragged but could rest easy. If he was prone to nightmares in his own home, surely he’d have to be wiped in order to sleep so soundly in a still-fairly-new location.

It had taken a while longer to consider that the fitful nights of sleep were prevalent because Tommy was in his own apartment—a place with one signature on the paperwork, which could be just as lonely as the old Merlyn Manor on nights spent apart. By contrast, Felicity’s was a comfort due both to the relative unfamiliarity and the fact that it belonged to someone else. 

Tommy feeling safe and accompanied enough to rest as peacefully as he is now is possibly the strongest proof of at-home-ness that Felicity could have expected, and she can’t help but smile at the warmth swelling in her chest.

“Quarter for your thoughts?” Tommy murmurs, somehow sensing her triumph while his eyes remain blissfully closed. Even in his slow rise to consciousness, his lips tug into the beginnings of a smile and he shuffles his body towards the center of the mattress—towards Felicity.

With the shrinking of the gap between them, it’s simple enough to reach her left hand up and brush aside a lock of dark hair that’s flopped into Tommy’s face. Felicity’s thumb skims his forehead as she follows through with the motion, the path dipping only slightly on the shallow crease that forms in his brow as he yawns. “Twenty-five whole pennies, huh?” she gets out, before involuntarily breaking into her own yawn. “Is that an adjustment for inflation?”

Task completed, her hand lifts away to tuck back into her chest, only to be intercepted by a warm palm curling lovingly secure around it.

“Mm.” Still unseeing, Tommy draws their clasped hands in and grazes the tips of Felicity’s fingers with a feather-light kiss. “One cent is an insultingly low price for a piece of your mind. Just giving you your true appraisal value.” He punctuates the statement with a longer, firmer press of his lips, this time to her knuckles.

“So my thoughts are worth about ten minutes on a parking meter in downtown Starling,” Felicity muses, the words flowing slow and smooth as she melts under Tommy’s tender ministrations. “I’ll take that.”

A gentle tug and turn of her hand allows Tommy to mark Felicity’s inner wrist as the next stop on his trail of kisses. Lips meet skin right above her pulse, which flutters quick yet strong against them. “Got plans already for those ten minutes?”

While Felicity has nothing currently in mind, she would not be hard-pressed to find a reason to put that hard-earned quarter to use. That said, she’s not exactly in a rush, and can think of better, more important ways to spend the day.

“Not today, no,” she admits with a little sigh as Tommy’s lips continue the path down her forearm. “Not planning to go anywhere, actually.”

“No?” The vibration of the word against her inner elbow draws a light laugh out of Felicity, and another set when Tommy grins and his faint morning stubble tickles the skin. 

“Nope,” Felicity confirms, and scoots in to close the last couple of inches between them before Tommy can go for her bicep. To make up for the disruption (and calm the tiny noise of protest that rumbles in his throat), she presses her forehead gently to his. “Let’s just stay home today. You and me.”

Just as she hoped, the statement coaxes those breathtakingly blue eyes out from behind their lids, which bob slowly at half-mast for a moment before opening fully. Tommy’s gaze is searching, hopeful, once the sleep-fog clears and he can focus on Felicity’s face. 

Warmly, she matches his stare, and wills him to read the unspoken.

“Home” is where you feel comfortable, feel safe. This is your home if you want it to be.

Tommy’s breath catches almost inaudibly, and Felicity knows he’s seen it.

“Staying home,” he repeats slowly, voice suddenly rough as if they haven’t already been carrying on a whole conversation. His throat bobs like he’s swallowed something thick and heavy, but his eyes gleam with nothing but light and love. 

Not wanting to lead Tommy with words, Felicity just nods, her forehead rocking against his and rubbing their noses together. 

Nearly too quick to process, her hand is left gripping nothing but air, and Tommy’s arm bands around her in a snuggling embrace.

“Staying home.” A brilliant smile flashes across his face, prelude to the loving peck he delivers to Felicity’s lips. “You and me, right here, all day. I like the sound of that.”

Tommy probably can’t see it while they’re still forehead-to-forehead, but he can surely feel the arch of Felicity’s eyebrow in reaction. “Maybe not right here, all day,” she amends. “We’ll have to get out of bed at some point, you know.”

“Says who?” There’s that cheeky grin again. “I thought we didn’t have any plans, and I can think of plenty that don’t require a change in venue.”

“I’m sure you can,” Felicity retorts, paying no mind to the light flush she can feel rising to her skin. “But if you don’t brush your teeth, I might change my mind and make some other arrangements, party of one.” To emphasize the ultimatum, she takes a pointed sniff and wrinkles her nose in offense.

That earns her a fond eye-roll, but Tommy’s expression contorts into one of concession. “Well, you’re not minty-fresh this morning either, but point taken.” Heaving a dramatic sigh, he secures his arm around Felicity and rolls onto his back, dragging her along while pressed to his chest. “I guess ‘staying home’ will just have to mean wherever you are, then.”

Said in jest as they may be, Felicity hears nothing but the truth in those words.

[wisewidow]

Hello, Your Parents Want Me To Have Your Babies

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

SUMMARY: Melina, my workplace’s neighbour, wants to set me up with her daughter.

I'd only ever hear about Natasha every couple of weeks, when her adoptive father, the mechanic that owned the garage workshop beside my father's cafe slash bar, met up with my uncle for beers one day last year. Ever since then, our families have been loosely intertwined, friendly but not too close. Alexei fixed my mom's wrecked car for a cheap price, in return I let his youngest daughter Yelena have free coffees whenever she pops over.

From what my father told me, Alexei's entire family, including his wife, were all involved in the family business of repairing cars, except for his eldest daughter: Natasha, who turned out to be an FBI agent living in Quantico. Dad says they're proud of her but they miss her.

"(Y/N)," my brother calls from the kitchen. I put down my phone and find him balancing three plates of sandwiches and a salad in his spindly arms.

He opens his mouth to explain the orders, but I cut him off.

"Alexei," I say, pointing to the bacon and egg sandwich. "A salad for Melina. The tuna and tomato roll is Yelena's. Did they want drinks?"

Peter nods. "Four coffees and a large bottle of water, they already have them."

I ruffle his hair to thank him and grab the plates, balancing the third on my forearm until I can place it on a tray. I carry it outside, years of waitressing practice keeping it balanced, and head towards the garage.

"Melina?" I call. Moments later the raven haired woman slips out of the office and smiles. She yells something in Russian that causes Yelena to slide out from under a silver BMW, covered in black grease. Alexei appears moments later wielding a spanner.

They hound me for their orders, gratefully patting my shoulder and carrying their food away to their separate stations. Yelena disappears into the shadows with her sandwich, and her father to his desk, but Melina simply brightens and says, "(Y/N), have you heard? Natalia is visiting."

"Yes!" Alexei yells around a mouthful of bread. "Family, reunion! Grandbabies!"

Melina hisses something in their mother tongue. I laugh, and then ask if Natasha was bringing her kids, though I wasn't aware she had any.

"He means nothing of it, Natalia is focused on work at the moment. Too focused, I think. No babies. No partner."

"Tell her about her penthouse!" Alexei encourages.

Melina flaps a hand at him in irritation. "Yes, well, she has broken up with Bruce, the shy scientist from work. And then Sharon, charming field operative, also from work. And now she refuses to date. Because of work."

I chuckle nervously. "Where are you going with this?"

Melina smiles innocently. "Nowhere. What happened to your last girlfriend, again? Your father mentioned something about . . ."  The look in her eyes is enough to egg me on, though the subject is one I rarely speak of these days.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I say, "Carol left to travel Europe."

"Shame," she nods sympathetically. "You don't seem bothered. Are you not looking for a relationship?"

"Not actively, but I'm sure another troublemaker will find me. I don't have a good track record of steady relationships," I admit.

"Neither does Natalia!" Alexei shouts.

"Oh!" I say. "Does she want Carol's number? Or my friend Harley, she's not looking for commitment."

Yelena snickers. Alexei frowns. Melina chuckles. "No, no, Natalia needs someone she doesn't work with, and you need someone serious, and we need grandbabies before we die, since Yelena neglects it."

I flush a bright red. "Grandb— I'm— okay, first of all, neither of us have the equipment for that—"

"Neither did Dad," Yelena pipes up, referring to the fact that she and her sister were adopted.

"Hey!"

"(Y/N)!" Peter calls, rounding the corner. "Ned's coming over to pick me up, we need to finish our physics project. Uncle Ben should be here soon, can you manage the bar until he gets here?"

I jump onto the excuse and yell back affirmation, say a quick goodbye to Melina before speed-walking back to the cafe.

Peter leaves with Ned soon after, and Ben arrives at around the same time. I move to the kitchens while he takes over serving our regulars, as he's friendlier with them than me.

I work on making more sandwiches and tapas meals until four, when my shift ends. I kiss Uncle Ben on the cheek and head home.

The smell of paprikash greets me as I unlock the door to my apartment, which I guess means that my roommate is home. I call out a hello to her and head to the shower.

I groan happily as the hot water rains down on my front. I close my eyes and lean my head back, thinking over how strange the day had been, and lose myself in a trance of relaxation.

"(Y/N/N)!" Wanda barges in. I jump and almost slip grabbing the shower curtain to cover my body as I peek out at her.

"I'm naked," I hiss.

She ignores me and holds up two clothes hangers. "Pantsuit or dress?"

I push my wet hair out of my face. "Uh, are you bar-hopping with Vision or going to a family dinner?"

"Get together with some friends," she explains. "Vis, Sam, Steve and some guy named Bucky who I'm informed we're supposed to be pretending Steve isn't in love with, do you know him?"

"Nope."

"Okay, well, he's bringing some friends, so I'm bringing you. Don't make that face, you know almost everyone."

"I don't feel like getting drunk," I complain.

"Good! You can be the designated driver. Pantsuit or dress?"

Grumbling, I tell her, "Dress."

"Okay, thanks, you wear the pantsuit, be ready by seven. May the Force be with you!"

She ducks as I throw my shampoo bottle at her. We bicker and mock and tease as I pat myself dry and she changes into the scarlet dress.  While she braids her hair, I carefully slip into the navy and white striped pantsuit, and we move into her bedroom to make use of her vanity, since the sun's lowering position in the sky shone straight into the window while my room would be encased in dimness by now. I sit in the chair and she leans over me, brushing her eyelashes with delicate mascara.  We fall into our normal going-out-getting-ready rhythm, periodically handing each other different brushes, comparing lipstick shades, and commenting on our days. She tells me about her brother's latest shenanigans and I make the grave mistake of commenting on Melina's attempted set-up earlier today, much to Wanda's entertainment. The two had never met but they both shared the pure ecstasy that came with matchmaking involving me.

"Do you think she's pretty?" Wanda wonders.

"I've seen photos," I shrug. "She's a redhead. Yelena says she changes hairstyles often."

"That doesn't answer my question! Pretty redhead or no?"

"They were baby photos, Wanda! I didn't have an opinion on her looks past the Wonder Woman pajamas."

She hums, and turns to draw a small heart under my left eye with her gel liner pen. "It would be nice if you wound up with her, but if you do fall madly in love with her beautiful red locks and decide to move to Washington to marry her and have her babies, I will murder you. You pay your rent on time and you're fun and please, please do not make me move back in with my brother."

"Why does everyone keep bringing up babies?" I yell.

An hour later we're pulling up to the bar in the back of  a cab arguing about getting a cat. The debate of whose bathroom would host the litter tray is interrupted by Wanda spotting Vision through the window and quickly smacking my arm and hissing at me to hurry up and pay so she can sneak in and scare him. Unfortunately, I can't locate my purse inside my bag.

"(Y/N), (Y/N), go, go, go . . ."

"Wanda, Wanda, going, going, going . . . Aha!" I pay the driver and find myself being ushered inside before I can put my purse back in my bag.

Sam, a friend of Wanda's from college, ends up foiling her evil master plan by pointing her out as soon as she walks in the door. Vision, being a good sport, pretends to be startled when she yells "BOO!" in his ear. As she cackles manically before sliding into the chair beside him, I notice the only free space is by the pretty blonde woman beside a man with brown hair pulled into a bun.

"Oh, look who I dragged out with me!" Wanda exclaims, taking a sip of Vision's drink and making a grand gesture with her hands. "(Y/N)!"

I'm greeted with a chorus of hello's. I bow and grin as I sit by the woman and offer a polite smile. Steve leans over points to the brunet man. "This is Bucky, we were close as friends. As kids. We were close as friends, when we were kids."

Sam snorts into his beer.

Steve clears his throat awkwardly. "And this is his partner from work, Nat."

I get a closer inspection and my eyes widen in shock. "Natalia?"

"Her name is Natasha." Steve corrects.

"I thought her name was Natalie?" Vision frowns.

"She goes by Nat, who cares?" Sam shrugs.

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova?" Wanda yelps. "(Y/N)! You didn't tell me this was the Natalia!"

"The what? I— Do I know you two?" Natasha asks, bewildered.

"Not me!" Wanda says, and then makes a motion for zipping her lips shut.

Everyone turns to me. I chuckle nervously. "I should probably explain. Hi, I'm (Y/N), your parents want me to have your babies."