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liaromancewriter · 2 years ago

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A Modern Fairy Tale

Premise: Sienna Trinh wasn’t looking for a prince, but fate had other plans.

Book: Open Heart (pre series AU) Pairing: Sienna Trinh x Max Valentine (M!OC) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 3.7K

A/N: This fic was inspired by an ask I had received a few months ago, and it didn’t leave me alone. Submitting this for @choicesficwriterscreations Naughty & Nice - pick-up lines prompt: “I have a boyfriend.” “So? Every story has a villain.” Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge October Flufftober/Springtober prompts: Laughter, Park. I’m also using Prompt 668 from @creativepromptsforwriting. Tagging for reblog to @creativepromptfills

The streets around Central Park were packed with marathon runners, crowds of spectators and officials in uniforms with varying alphabets on their backs. Colorful banners lined the path, hands outstretched with snacks, water bottles and claps.

The electrifying atmosphere near the finish line was matched only by the intensifying noise level. Confetti was flying everywhere as loud cheers pushed the runners on.

Max Valentine could feel his lungs burning and sweat pouring off him as he hit the home stretch and turned into Central Park. His feet slapped against the concrete, his brain counting down each mile marker; 24…25…26.

He felt like he was floating, the end in sight. Just one last uphill climb. He could do this!

By the time Max crossed the finish line, he felt superhuman. He took a deep breath and held his emotions as other runners passed him, slapping high-fives. The same look of shock and wonder on their faces.

Tears wet his cheeks at the thought of what he’d accomplished. Or rather, they, he thought with a glance at the words emblazoned on his shirt, Team Cassie. His twin sister was the true runner in the family, but an ACL injury meant that marathons were off the list, at least for now.

He’d seen her along the route a few miles back, loudly cheering him on. It had given him the push he needed when his energy had started to flag. This win was as much hers as it was his.

By the time he collected his medal, hydrated and texted Cassie to coordinate the meet-up, an hour had passed. Rather than gathering at the designated family area almost two miles away, they had agreed to meet at the Hudson on Park, his family’s hotel. It was also where they were staying, so it gave him the advantage of getting cleaned up before the festivities tonight.

Max was almost at the park exit when he saw another runner standing off to the side, slightly hidden from view by a statue. Suddenly, the man pitched forward, falling to the ground like a tree that had been chopped off.

He sprinted toward the fallen runner just as a woman rushed in from the opposite end. She knelt at the man’s side and checked his pulse by placing two fingers on his throat.

Max couldn’t make out her features, but she was petite with dark brown hair tied back in a ponytail. A medical volunteer badge hung from a lanyard around her neck.

She started to perform chest compressions, counting down before stopping to give mouth-to-mouth. She tilted the man’s head and chin back and ran her fingers inside the mouth before breathing into it.

“How can I help?” he asked, crouching beside her, fascinated by the strength in her small hands.

She turned her head to stare at him, her hands rhythmically pressing down on the man’s sternum. Her expressive, angular eyes were the color of his favorite whiskey. She appeared to be his age, maybe a year or two younger.

“Do you know CPR?” she asked, a touch of panic in her voice with the hint of a Southern accent he couldn’t quite place.

“Yes. Switch!”

Remembering the first rule of CPR was to tag team if possible, he took over chest compressions from her. He counted out loud while she did mouth-to-mouth, breathing softly into the man’s airway.

“I’m Max, by the way, Doctor…” he huffed as they worked in tandem, keeping up with the compression-to-breath ratio; her two breaths for every thirty compressions.

“Sienna,” she supplied, slightly breathless. “I’m not a doctor, just a medical student.”

He stopped what he was doing at her nod so she could check the man’s pulse.

“His pulse is coming back, but he’s still not breathing,” she muttered. “I’ll take over the compressions. You call 911.“

They switched positions again, and Sienna began to push down on the sternum, murmuring, “Come on, come on,” remembering to count.

Max dialed 911 with one hand, putting the phone on speaker when he initiated mouth-to-mouth. They’d been warned that cell phone tower saturation would affect calls during race day. Apparently, emergency services were not an exception, as the call failed to connect.

“How are you not exhausted from this?” she mused when he hit redial and told her to switch. “You just ran a full marathon!”

“What can I say?” Max laughed at the incredulous expression on her face. “I’ve always been an overachiever.”

The fallen runner gasped, air filling his lungs just as the call connected.

Max scooted back and let Sienna take over as he grabbed his cell phone. While she spoke softly to the man, he explained the situation to the 911 operator and gave directions to their location.

“They can’t get to us. Roads are still blocked,” Max told her as she helped the other man sit up. “The operator said to get him to the medical aid tent since he’s breathing on his own now. I’m assuming from your badge you know where it is?”

When she nodded, he reached down to help the other man up. Max wrapped one arm around his back for support and offered his hand to help Sienna up.

“I’ll carry him. You lead the way...Doc.”

Sienna laughed when he winked to show he was just teasing. She pointed in the direction behind him. “The medical tent’s a few blocks over that way. Let’s go…Hot Shot.”

“So, you think I’m hot?” He teased, but she only rolled her eyes and continued walking.

Sienna Trinh could feel a grin hovering on her lips despite the circumstances. She led Max and George, the other runner, down Central Park West to the visitor pavilion and medical aid tent.

She hadn’t meant to call him a hot shot, but it matched her first impression of him. He didn’t look much older than her, but he had a self-assurance about him she found fascinating.

As a third-year medical student at Columbia, she had signed up to volunteer for the New York City Marathon. She hoped to gain some clinical experience before beginning her sub-intern rotations. And to impress residency program recruiters.

The doctor in charge of the medical tent had taken one look at her and assigned her to patient take-in. Not that she minded taking down patient information, but she’d wanted real-life experience. Who’d have thought she’d have to leave the tent to gain it?

She cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder. Max’s black shirt and running shorts clung to his body, accentuating his muscles. Sweat matted his blond hair in places, spiky in others. She’d been expecting blue eyes with his hair, but they’d been an interesting shade of dark green.

He must be tired after the long run, but he kept pace, even joking with George, keeping the mood jovial. A completion medal hung from his neck, and she wondered if the ‘Cassie’ he’d run for was his girlfriend. She blushed when he caught her staring and winked.

Sienna sighed in relief when the white tents came into view. “We’re here.”

“Oh, thank god,” he sighed dramatically, but his lips quirked in amusement. “Because I might need assistance too after this, Doc. ”

“Well, you’ll be in the right place for it,” Sienna shot back. “And I told you, I’m not a doctor.”

“But you’re studying to be one, so it’s only a matter of time,” he insisted as she led him inside.

“I still have two years to go,” she said with exasperation. “I can’t call myself a doctor until I get my M.D.” She pointed to an empty trundle bed. “You can set him down here.”

“But, Sienna,” Max whined, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re not calling yourself a doctor; I am. I’m a civilian, and I’m allowed to do that.”

She burst into laughter at his twisted logic.

“Aha! You do agree,” he smirked, crowding into her space.

Before she could respond, another volunteer walked over, and Max stepped back. Sienna briefed her colleague on George, watching Max from the corner of her eye. He was now standing at the hydration station, cell phone next to his ear. When he laughed, it lit up his face.

He was off his phone when she joined him on the other side of the tent. She noticed how he stretched his legs and arms and felt bad about keeping him this long. He was likely anxious to meet his girlfriend.

“You didn’t have to wait,” she said when she reached his side.

“Trying to get rid of me so soon, Doc?” His lopsided grin was slightly endearing. “And I thought we were just starting to get acquainted.”

She tapped her fingers against her lips, eyes narrowing in consideration at the flicker of interest in his eyes. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Yes. Is it working?”

“What does your girlfriend have to say about that?” she queried, thinking of the name on his shirt.

“I have no idea,” he said. “When I find one, I’ll let you know.”

“So, Cassie is…” she suddenly stopped, turning red when she saw him raise one brow in amusement at the direction of her thoughts.

“My sister,” he filled in, not even bothering to hide his enjoyment at her discomfort. “Cassie is my twin sister. Now can I flirt with you?”

“I have a boyfriend,” Sienna said, suddenly ashamed at leading him on when she wasn’t available.

“So? Every story has a villain,” Max quipped.

“Life is not a fairytale,” she said softly, shaking her head.

“Do you want it to be?” he asked seriously.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” she said regretfully.

Max nodded slowly and then smiled, a gentle, understanding one, letting her see he was disappointed but wouldn’t push it. With a wave, he started to walk away, stopping a few feet away and turning to face her.

“My friends and I are celebrating tonight, food, lots of alcohol. My sister will be there too,” he said, expanding when she looked confused. “It was either going to be a ‘I crashed and burned, so let’s get drunk’ occasion or ‘I completed the New York marathon, so let’s get drunk’ party. Now we can add ‘I can’t believe I saved a life today’ to the list. You were part of that, and I’d love it if you could join us. Just as a friend.” He added quickly. “I promise, no flirting.”

“I don’t know…” she hedged, wanting to go and prolong this moment but uncertain of what it could mean.

“Don’t decide now,” he said. “Just think about it. It’s at Hudson on Park. I’ll leave your name at the concierge desk.”

“Sienna? I’ve been looking everywhere for you! What is going on here?”

Sienna’s eyes widened in shock at Wayne’s voice behind her. She quickly turned around. “Wayne, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see my girlfriend,” Wayne said, taking her arm and throwing Max an aggrieved look. “Your roommate told me you were volunteering here. Getting down here was such a hassle. I’ve been waiting at the pavilion for nearly an hour. Didn’t you get my messages?”

“I’m sorry,” she deliberately kept her gaze on Wayne. “I’ve been so busy that I didn’t check my phone. I wasn’t expecting you this weekend.”

“You’re always telling me we need to spend more time together,” he complained, his hand tightening on her arm, making her wince. “Well, despite the ridiculous amount I paid for my flight and enduring a hellish journey from the airport to the city, I'm here. And now I find you flirting with some rando.”

“Is everything okay here, Doc?” Max asked from behind her.

Sienna flushed when she realized Max had heard everything. She glanced over her shoulder, beseeching him with her eyes to leave it alone.

“Yes. Thank you for your assistance with the patient earlier,” she said, keeping all emotion out of her voice. “Congratulations again on completing the run. Goodbye.”

Sienna grabbed Wayne’s arm and dragged him away, embarrassed beyond words. It was time to return to reality.

The clock struck eight o’clock when Sienna entered the grandiose lobby of the Hudson Hotel on Fifth Avenue. As a uniformed doorman tipped his hat in welcome, she wondered for the fifth time what she was doing here.

After Max left, she and Wayne got into a huge argument, with angry words exchanged on both sides. It wasn’t her fault he had decided to fly down on marathon weekend or that the streets had been clogged as a result. If he had told her what he was planning, she would have told him to visit next weekend.

After going round and round, she had walked away in disgust. Later, Wayne texted her to say he was meeting friends in Brooklyn and then flying back to Boston since “she clearly had no time for him.”

It was six-thirty when she finished her volunteer duties and headed home. Tired and starving, she riffled through the refrigerator for leftover lasagna, only to hiss in frustration when she realized her roommate had left an empty container in its place.

She remembered Max’s invitation and decided she was through feeling guilty. They had saved a life today, and if that wasn’t a good enough reason to drink, what was?

Feeling defiant, she put on her favorite green wrap dress and topped it with a black cardigan. Silver Celtic knot earrings and knee-high boots completed the outfit.

It took Sienna time to cross the park, but walking had seemed faster than taking a cab, even if the wind was kicking up. Now that she was inside the warm lobby with its quiet elegance, she wondered with disquiet if she might be underdressed.

There was nothing she could do about it now, thought Sienna, and gave her name to the concierge. She wondered at the curiosity in the woman’s eyes before it was hidden behind a professional smile and followed her down a hallway.

Sienna could hear loud music and the sounds of a party behind one of the double doors and felt her poor mood dissipate. The concierge knocked loudly, waited, and then the door swung open, revealing a pretty young woman with blonde hair and the same green eyes as Max, wearing a short blue dress with a flared skirt.

“You must be Sienna,” she said with a huge smile, stepping aside to wave her inside. “Max will be so happy you could make it.” She turned to the concierge. “Thank you, Susan.”

The concierge nodded in acknowledgment. “It’s my pleasure, Ms. Valentine. Enjoy your evening.”

When the door closed behind her, she held her hand for Sienna to shake. “I’m Cassie, by the way. Max’s sister. And I have the birth certificate to prove it.” She added with a teasing twinkle that made Sienna giggle.

“Hey, you came,” Max said, clearly pleased to see her as he walked over to stand between her and Cassie.

“I hope that’s still okay,” Sienna said, feeling butterflies rise in her stomach at how different he looked cleaned up.

He wore an expensive suit but no tie, the shirt open at the collar. His hair was neat and styled, and his face was no longer scruffy. Instead of sweat and musk, his scent was clean and citrusy.

She wondered again what she was doing here. And then Max smiled, and the nerves disappeared.

“It’s more than okay,” he said, taking her hand and giving it a quick squeeze before letting go. “Come on. Let me introduce you to everyone.”

The room was decorated with banners, streamers and balloons. Confetti littered the carpeted floor. A bar lined with various liquor bottles was set up in the corner, complete with a bartender. A large round table with eight place settings was on the opposite end, with people mingling in the middle.

Five other people were in the room, and Sienna realized the eighth setting was for her.

“Everyone, this is Sienna,” Max raised his voice to be heard above the music. He pointed out specific people, with Cassie adding commentary. Everyone nodded or toasted with their glasses in her direction.

“What will you drink, Sienna?” Max asked, waving in the bar’s direction. “We have wine, tequila, vodka and top-shelf Whiskey.”

“Blech. Why don’t you drink motor oil instead?” said Cassie, making gag noises and laughing when Max tried to cover her mouth with his hand. “Martie makes killer cocktails, Sienna.”

“Sienna doesn’t want a frou-frou drink,” Max protested hotly.

“Actually, she does,” Sienna giggled at the interplay between brother and sister. “Raspberry vodka, if you have it.”

She laughed when Max groaned and mimicked stabbing a knife to his heart.

“I like you,” Cassie gushed, giving Sienna a one-armed hug. “You’re my hero right now.”

Sienna waved that away with a cheeky grin. “We frou-frou drinkers gotta stick together, right?”

“Totally. Safety in numbers,” Cassie remarked.

Max returned from the bar with their drinks, handing Cassie a fruity cocktail. “You two know it’s just drinks, right?”

“Sure, but it’s a good philosophy to follow in life,” Cassie said, taking a sip of her cocktail. “Like I was telling you earlier. Almost everyone in my class is reluctant to help someone else. The entire med school establishment is designed to make smart people compete hard and push them to their breaking point. It’s exhausting. I can’t even imagine what residency will be like.”

Sienna’s eyes perked up. “Are you in med school too, Cassie? I’m at Columbia, third year.”

“Hopkins, third year, too!” Cassie nodded, eyes wide with interest as she stared at Sienna. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, then.”

Sienna hummed in agreement. “I do. People don’t realize we won’t get through unless we have each other’s backs.”

“You have no idea how nice it is to hear someone say that,” said Cassie. “I’m surrounded by sharks.”

“Ugh. Sharks are the worst.” Sienna wrinkled her nose. “What’s a fish that kicks butt in teams? Dolphins.”

“Technically a mammal,” said Max, and then he put his hands up in truce when she and Cassie both stared daggers at him.

Sienna met Cassie’s laughing eyes and saw a kindred spirit. “In a world of sharks, let’s be dolphins.”

“I love it! You’re officially my new best friend,” said Cassie, hugging Sienna tightly. “I’m so glad Max asked you to come tonight.”

By the end of the night, Sienna was too. The entire evening had been illuminating—especially when she learnt who Max was and what he did—and more fun than she’d imagined with laughter flowing as freely as the drinks.

She’d sat beside Max at dinner, eating a gourmet meal prepared by a celebrity chef and drinking expensive wine. The conversation around the table covered myriad topics, jumping from vacation spots to business to a heated debate on politics and healthcare.

She and Cassie happily took ribbing from Max and the others, both confident in their conviction that the system was broken and needed reform.

Sienna had gone to Princeton and now Columbia, so she had met plenty of rich kids. But the ones in this room were not just rich; they were wealthy and practically American royalty. And yet, the Valentine Twins were also remarkably down to earth.

Still, she was having difficulty reconciling the guy she’d met earlier who had helped her perform CPR on a stranger with the one who traveled all over the world and built luxury hotels.

True to his word, Max didn’t flirt with her and kept things friendly. He made sure she felt included and was solicitous in his care of her needs.

But when he smiled, it did something to her insides. And Sienna wished she had met him at a different time, one when she was free to take a chance.

The party started to wind down around eleven-thirty, and some people made plans to head to a club downtown. Sienna deferred, feeling her long day catch up. Max said he was tired too, while Cassie needed to head back to Baltimore tonight.

She and Cassie exchanged numbers and hugged each other goodbye. And then it was just her and Max left, and those butterflies returned.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said.

They walked side by side down the hallway, into the now quiet lobby and out to the covered portico where cabs and black town cars waited for passengers. They stood there in silence, half-turned towards each other.

Sienna knew she should say goodbye and head home, but she felt something unfinished between them.

“Glad you came out tonight?” He glanced down at her, a half-smile on his lips.

“Yes.”

He cocked his head, and then his gaze sharpened. “Still have that boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Sienna whispered, regret shading her voice.

He clicked his tongue. “I see.”

He seemed to hesitate, but then he sighed. Sienna held her breath as resolve crossed his face.

“I like you, Sienna. But I don’t poach,” he said, staring intently. “If you want a friend, I’m happy to be one. But at some point, you’ll need to decide what you want, and who.”

He raised his hand, and a black car pulled up in front of them. “Frank will take you home.”

Max opened the rear passenger door for her and held her hand as she slid inside.

“Were you so sure I would come tonight?” Sienna asked, her eyes narrowing in curiosity.

“I’m not sure of anything when it comes to you,” he confessed. “And that’s a rarity for me.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, the kiss across her knuckle so soft she thought she might have dreamt it.

“Goodbye, Sienna.” He tucked her hand inside and carefully shut the door.

As the car pulled away from the hotel, Sienna couldn’t help but twist in her seat and watch him fade into the distance. She saw Cassie join Max outside and hug him from behind.

And then the car turned, the clock struck midnight, and he was gone.

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istorkyou · 2 years ago

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A Thousand Battles (Modern!Ivar AU)

A modern!Ivar x F OC (Julietta Lothbrok)

Warnings - Language. Hospital setting. Description of injuries.

Synopsis - Julietta wakes up with no memory of her life or her husband, Ivar. Will it ever return? Does she want it to?

Word Count - 4451

This is for @blackseapearl 400 follower trope challenge. I asked for Amnesia :)

Shout Outs - A massive shout out to @blackseapearl and @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading, ironing out all the mistakes and the motivation to keep going with it. Special hugs to @blackseapearl for talking through the ending with me and giving me some much needed inspiration and the wonderful moodboard.

This fic kicked (and is still kicking!) my ass, I’ve never had such a hard time with motivation as I have writing this long-ass bitch so I hope you enjoy it :)

It’s also LOOOOOOOONNNGGGGGGGG….. and I’m only the tiniest bit sorry about that!

Tag List - Let me know if you want on or off :) @smears-and-spots @punkrocknpearls @youbloodymadgenius @momowhoo @zuxiezendler @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @ivar-s-my-brat-tamer @pieces-by-me @heavenly1927 @berryonasummerevening @synnersaint @out-of-the-box-and-into-alchemy @petite-hime @serasvictoria @mimiiinspace @itsmysticalmystery @lonewolf471 @mylifeisactuallyamess @draculasbride-blog @love-all-things-writing @southernbe @redhead7799 @kaybee87 @ivarlover @ivarhoegh @idgafiamallthefandoms @darkphoenix5037 @profoundtyrantharmony @snarling-through-our-smiles @crazyunsexycool @xceafh @bragisrunes@noway4u @batmandallyboy @complicatedbutrare @readsalot73 @meandmycherrytree @ivarsgard

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

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CHAPTER 3

Julietta looks out of the window in time for the car to round a corner and for her to see high walls, stretching as far left and right as she can see.

The car eventually pulls up in front of some enormous, black iron gates with security cameras pointing in all different directions. Pulling up to an intercom, the driver announces them, holding up a pass to a camera. The gates open slowly and they are greeted by four more security guards who circle the car, letting two very vicious looking dogs sniff around the vehicle.

“Normal procedure, you will get used to it.” Ivar reassures her after catching the look on her face. He lowers the blacked out window and one of the guards looks into the car.

“Welcome home, Mrs Lothbrok,” he says, reaching for a radio attached to his chest. He says the word “clear” into it and the SUV starts to move again.

“Up there -“ Ivar points to the right at a house on a hill within the grounds, “- is Ubbe and Torvi’s house.” When she catches sight of it she can’t help but let out a laugh.

“That’s not a house, Ivar! That’s a mansion. Jesus Christ, that's not how big ours is, is it?” Her eyes are full of apprehension.

He chuckles at her. “Ours is different, it’s all on one level, because of my legs. It’s not small though, baby,” he tells her with a slight look of worry on his face. “The main house, my parents house, is going to blow your mind, it’s just up behind the tree line.”

“Fuck, hasn’t my mind been blown enough for one lifetime? …what?” she asks when she sees confusion on his face.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you swear,” he says, his expression changing to amusement.

“It is? In three years?! I feel like I’m a swearer. Shit, twat, ass, cunt. Oh, I think I’ve just drawn my own line at the c word!” She grimaces at her words.

Ivar laughs at her, watching her with reverence.

“Oh my Gods…” she says as the main house comes into view. Words fail her; it’s giant, awe inspiring, intimidating. There’s an actual fountain outside. “Ivar… I think you’ve been a bit conservative with the description of your family's businesses. How rich are you people?” she asks almost breathlessly.

He doesn’t answer, he just grips her hand to steady her panic spiral and waits until her breathing evens out before he speaks. “Us, Liet. Not ‘you people’. Us,” he says gently. “We are wealthy, you included. Okay, love?”

“Not really. This is… a lot to take in,” she tells him, gripping his hand hard.

“Our house is coming up, okay Love? Don’t worry, I'm here.”

She points at a couple other properties around the grounds but he just shakes his head.

She knows when she sees it. Sprawling is the word she would use. A sprawling property along the edge of a tree line. It’s clad in traditional dark wood that is juxtaposed to the steel lines of the vast, modern windows and the line of very expensive looking cars lined up outside on the drive.

“Ivar... what the hell? That’s our place?” she breathes out.

“It’s very homely inside, Liet. You’ve done an amazing job on the interior.”

The SUV pulls up and Ivar rounds the car to open the passenger door for her.

When he opens the front door to the house, she walks into a hallway and can immediately see all the way out through the house, through a cosy-looking sitting room, through the massive window and out into the view that expands behind the house. A lake, mountains far away in the background, and a pool in the foreground.

To her left she can see a doorway leading into a kitchen.

“The bedrooms are all off to the right. Your studio is that way as well.”

“Studio?” She asks, totally confused.

“You paint. Scenery, sometimes portraits of people. You are really rather good. Shall I take you on a tour?”

“I need to sit down. It’s all a bit much.”

He’s at her side in a second, arm linked through hers as he guides her forward to the biggest, squishiest-looking cream sofas she has ever seen. When she sits it’s like being on a cloud. Ivar leaves for a second and comes back with a glass of water.

“Baby, I have to go to the main house to...” he tells her as he checks his watch, but when he sees the expression on her face he doesn’t finish his sentence, he just sits next to her and pulls her to him. “Oh Liet, I know how this is a massive shock, you must feel lost. I will call my father, I’m not leaving you.”

“No, Ivar. You’ve been at my side for months. You need to go and do whatever it is you do. You have responsibilities.”

“My only responsibility is to make sure you are coping with all this. My father can wait a day or two. I am just going outside to call him, okay?” She can detect a slight unease in his voice. His father must be formidable.

When he comes back in he looks relieved. “Father is expecting me back on Monday, so we have four days to get you settled.”

“Oh, thank fuck. Okay, I can work with that. Thank you. I will need to thank your father soon for being so understanding.” She stands up and walks to the window, looking out over the view. “Do I swim in that lake?”

Ivar snort laughs. “Absolutely not, baby. Being in nature isn’t really your thing. You like the pool though, it’s heated, which is good for my legs. Much more your style.”

She nods slowly, but it doesn’t feel like her. She wants to go in the lake, she wants to explore the grounds, into the tree line to look for squirrels and birds. Maybe the head injury has changed her fundamentally. Although when she asked the doctor about this she was reassured that it was incredibly rare and usually just used by film and books as a plot point.

“Do you want to go in the pool? Water can be very calming. I will come in with you,” he offers softly.

She thinks for a moment. She would like to, she thinks she likes to swim but her thoughts turn to her body. Her scarring, having him see her in swimsuit would be nerve wracking enough if she didn’t have the leftover reminders of the accident. Not to mention there has been no personal grooming in the hospital so she is resembling a grizzly bear. She shakes her head at him but her expression gives her away.

“Why? What are you thinking? You look sad.”

She may as well be honest with him. Who else in the world does she have to talk to? No one at this point. “My scars, you haven’t seen me like that. I’m not comfortable enough to show you my body yet. And I’m hairy as hell,” she lets out a huff of laughter and shrugs as his face breaks into a massive smile.

“Liet,” he says softly, reprimanding her gently. “Hair really isn’t an issue, who do you think bathed you in hospital when you were unconscious? As if I would let anyone else take care of you like that! I can get you someone to come tomorrow if it’s making you self conscious though. As for the scarring, you don’t remember what my legs look like: I am covered in them. Come on, let’s get in the pool. Wear a T-shirt if it would make you feel better? Yes?”

She thinks for a minute and when she looks at him her tensions ease slightly. “Okay, and I would like someone to come and de-hair me if you could arrange it? Maybe a hairdresser to try and sort this shit show on top of my head? Thank you, Ivar.”

“Done, love. Come with me and I will show you your closet.”

He leads her to the bedroom, which is as plush and spotless as the rest of the house. His, their, bed is the biggest she’s ever seen.

He leads her into a walk-in closet which is the size of another bedroom.

“Oh. My. Gods. This isn’t all mine?” She walks along the racks of clothes, the wall to ceiling shelves stacked with designer heels and handbags. She pulls open draws that sit in the island in the middle of the space. They are full of jewellery, sunglasses, underwear, and her mouth is hanging open. “It’s like a store. I... I can’t believe it.”

“Swimsuits and bikinis are in one of those drawers, I think,” he pointed to the other side of the island, “I’ll leave you get changed and meet you by the pool. I will leave one of my T-shirts on the bed if you want it, but Liet,” he steps into her space, “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me. I would prefer it if you didn’t wear it, but I understand if you want to. Okay?” he says delicately before turning around and leaving her alone.

She picks a one piece. Looking herself over in the mirror when she puts it on. She debates not wearing the shirt he left for her but her nerves take over and she pulls it on quickly.

When she finds the way out of the back of the house, Ivar is waiting for her at the side of the pool, legs dangling into the water. His face momentarily shows disappointment when he sees her in the shirt but he is quick to correct his face so he doesn’t put any pressure on her. She sees it though and she makes a decision.

She pads to the side of the pool, sitting on his left side and lets her legs do as his are, dangling in the pool.

“You take your top off and I will take mine off. Deal?” she says quietly.

His head whips to her and a brilliant smile cracks his face in half. He doesn’t reply with words, he just grabs the hem of his top and pulls it over head. Her eyes widen at the sight of his muscles.

“Oh, well that’s just unfair! You look like a fucking model and my skin looks like a road map under this top. Fuck, I should have taken mine off first. I’ve lost my nerve now,” she grumbles, spying at his body out of the corners of her eyes.

A laugh leaves him. “You are funnier since your accident. Here, let me help you. Please Liet, don’t be shy with me.” He reaches across and starts to lift her top up very slowly, and when she doesn’t protest he pulls it off and tosses it behind her.

Her face colours as she watches his eyes travel over her right side, over the lines of scarring on her shoulder and arm, the round dots where pins were put into her bone, holding it all together, and the jagged, raised pink scar that runs from her hip to her mid thigh. His jaw twitches and she can see his nostrils flare slowly. She knows he is trying not to cry, she’s seen this on his face a few times.

“I supposed I won’t be wearing any high slit ball gowns in the future, hey?” she jokes, trying to diffuse the tension and lighten the mood.

“Can I touch you?” His eyes are still on her thigh.

“What do you mean?” she asks too quickly, panic in her tone, clearly thinking he is implying intimacy.

Ivar’s eyes widen as he realises her thought process. “I mean can I touch your scar? Nothing else. I know it’s far too soon for all of that.”

She lets out a held breath slowly. “Okay,” she nods curtly and her eyes follow his hand as he lets his index finger run the length of the scar. He lets out a small sigh as he traces it up and down.

“They aren't so bad, certainly nothing you should ever be self conscious about.” His eyes find hers quickly. “You have always been the most breathtaking woman I’ve ever seen, you still are and always will be. These are nothing, my beautiful Liet.”

Looking down into the water, the rippling effect gets bigger until she realises it’s not the water, it’s the tears in her eyes she can see. Blinking them away they spill onto her cheeks, she wipes them quickly.

“Thank you, Ivar. That really does mean a lot. Plus if we ever get lost I think these,” she gestures to her upper arm, “are a map of the roads to the nearest motorway.” She catches his eye and they both burst out laughing. “Come on, let’s get in the water, it’s chilly and frankly your muscles are making me feel inferior.”

He starts his pecs dancing. “These muscles?” he asks innocently. “Or these ones?” He flexes his arms as he lowers himself slowly into the water, raising his eyebrows suggestively. She rolls her eyes but can’t take them off of him; he is so attractive.

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

They sleep in the same bed but do nothing but talk and have an innocent kiss goodnight.

Julietta wakes up in the morning to the sound of the shower and the smell of fresh coffee brewing. It takes a few seconds of panic to remember where she is, and who is in the shower. When she sees the picture of her and Ivar on the dresser her heart does a little flip.

“Morning, sleepy,” he says as he walks into the bedroom, towel wrapped around his middle, hair still dripping wet. Her eyes travel over him and she can feel herself blush. He catches the colour on her cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t think that me in a towel might make you uncomfortable, I’ll get changed in the other room.”

“No,” she counters a bit too quickly and it makes a quirked smiled appear on his face, “fuck, I was trying to be casual. I’m not uncomfortable, I’m enjoying the view.”

His eyes flit to his towel, “I can drop this if you want?” His eyes flash wide and he raises an eyebrow.

“One step at a time, stud!” she laughs.

“Fine! We have a hairdresser and a beautician coming at 10am for you to defuzz.”

She looks down at her legs. “I hope you booked a double slot, I’m like a caveman, they are going to have to use a hedge trimmer to get through this lot.” She grimaces as he laughs at her.

“I’m going to be in my office for most of the day, if you need anything just come in?”

“There’s not much in the fridge, how do we shop? I’m assuming I can’t go to the supermarket yet?”

A confused smile is on his face. “You want to go to the supermarket?” He shakes his head a little. “Sorry, love, not yet, I’ll make a list and get someone to go this morning.”

She spends the morning getting pampered and feels a thousand times better when they leave. She spends a bit of time playing with her much shorter hair and decides that she doesn’t hate it, but she wants to show Ivar so she knocks softly on his office door.

“Come in,” his loud voice demands.

Pushing the door open slowly she peeks in but sees him on the phone so she doesn’t step in fully, she starts to back out not wanting to disturb him.

“No, that’s not an option. It will be exactly as I’ve instructed. Do not deviate from my plan. I have to go,” he says harshly into the phone and hangs up. “Liet, come in,” he says softly.

She walks in sheepishly, hand running over her much shorter hair. “I had it cut, do you like it?”

He rounds the desk and breaks into a massive smile. “I love it, you look beautiful! It suits you short, you can see more of your face.” He runs his hand over her hair and down her cheek. “Are you happy with it?”

“I think so, it’s much shorter than in the wedding photos, are you sure you like it?”

“You are beautiful. I really like it.”

She throws a foot up on the desk pulling her dress up a bit. “Look, no fur!” Chuckling as she points at her leg. She bites her lip as she sees his eyes darken and he reaches out to rub his hand up her leg. She is blushing again when his eyes meet her own.

“Very smooth. I like it.” His eyes flit to her lips for a few seconds then he clears his throat and removes his hand. “I should get back to work. Unless you need me for anything else?” His meaning is clear and although his hands felt heavenly on her skin she isn’t ready for that.

“Not yet,” she answers from under her lashes. “Go back to work, I will find something to occupy my time.”

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

He has been on calls all day trying to get information about her accident but so far it’s coming up short and his frustration is off the charts. How could someone have done this to her and there be no trace of the people or group responsible? Nobody is claiming the incident, no enemies but he knows it can’t have just been a random accident…and it’s driving him mad. Once he is back at work properly he vows to pay some visits to choice people and hopefully shake some information loose.

Ivar is drawn out of his dark thoughts by the smell of food wafting into his study, and his stomach growls. He picks up his crutch, leaning heavily on it, and makes his way to the kitchen to a sight he has never seen before. A sight that stops in his tracks.

She looks up to see him staring at her, open-mouthed.

“What is it?” she asks with a worried look on her face.

“You are cooking?”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?“ she replies sarcastically.

“What…what are you cooking?”

“Prawn Tom yum. Oh shit, do you not eat prawns? Shit. Do I eat prawns? Is one of us allergic and I have forgotten?” Her shoulders drop in disappointment.

He shakes his head. “No, we both like prawns.” He takes a seat at the counter watching her chop and peel, following the recipe off the tablet he gave her. She does a double take when she sees him still staring at her.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like I’ve grown a second head? Have you changed your mind about my hair?” Her face tips to the floor in embarrassment.

“Oh love, it’s not that. I love you hair, honestly.” He holds his hands open and exhales in disbelief. “It’s just…you’ve never cooked one thing in the whole time I’ve known you.”

She levels him a withering look; clearly she thinks he is kidding. “That’s absurd, I must have.”

“Not a single thing, Liet. Not even toast. Nothing.”

“Oh don’t be stupid!? What do we eat then?” she asks, confused.

“Well, we go out to restaurants and we have a private chef.” He looks almost embarrassed.

Her mouth hangs open at his revelation, shaking her head. “Hang on, let me get this straight. We have a chef come in and make dinner unless we are going to eat out? That’s absolutely insane.”

Ivar looks incredibly sheepish all of a sudden.“He makes breakfast and lunch as well.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You are taking the piss out of me, surely?”

But when he shakes his head and looks awkwardly at her she knows he isn’t.

“I’m astounded! I know I can cook, I’m finding this easy, I can’t remember recipes but I know how to chop and peel and stir and taste. Fucking hell, what did I used to do with my time?”

He shrugs a little. “Paint, shop, read, go to the gym, go out with the wives.”

She screws her face up. “That’s all I did? I didn't work, didn’t cook, I’m assuming I didn’t clean this place? I just …exist. Live off of your money and spend it like it grows on trees? Like it’s money I've earned myself? Ewww.”

“It’s our money, Julietta, not mine. You live off our money. We are lucky that we are afforded this lifestyle. You don’t have to work.”

She goes to the stove and starts to stir the veg in the wok, thinking hard. “So I’m a kept woman? I’m a gold digger?”

He shifts in his chair uncomfortably and his face pulls into a deep scowl. “No, you’re not. We fell in love before you knew anything about this.” He waves his hand around. “You aren’t here for the money. You love me for me, or so I’m told…”

The realisation of what she said hits her. The implication behind it, even though she didn’t mean it like that. Her heart aches looking at him; his face is drawn, downcast. Hurt.

“Ivar, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you, I didn’t mean that I was with you for your money. I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me. You’ve shown me nothing but kindness, patience, loyalty.” She’s grovelling now, and she knows it. “You are funny and loving and I can see why I loved you. Love you. Loved you? Oh Gods, what even is the right way of saying it without hurting your feelings?” She inhales deeply and calms her voice. “You have all these qualities so I understand how I fell in love with you. Plus you are very handsome and you have a very nice body.” She looks at him and smiles cheekily, making him smile back. “It’s not a stretch to think that I will fall in love with you again. I know I will.”

His face blooms and he gets on off the stool to walk around and embrace her.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, I’m sorry.” She says into his shoulder.

He pulls away from her slowly and gives her a quick kiss on the lips, then another. “Thank you, Liet. You have no idea how much that means to me and you never used to tell me. You are the best thing to ever happen to me. I love you.”

She gives him another small kiss. “Well, let’s see if you are saying the same after trying my cooking for the first time!”

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

The rest of the weekend is spent talking, swimming, cooking together, and watching each other's favourite films, Ivar reminds her what hers is. They laugh the whole time.

They talk about him. She realises it’s been all about her for months and she knows very little about him: nothing of his past, his likes and his dislikes, his hobbies, where they met, their first dates, where he proposed, where they got married, his family.

Julietta soaks it all in. He’s not had an easy life, despite growing up in extreme wealth. He spent large chunks of his childhood in pain, in and out of hospitals, watching from the sidelines as his brothers were able to do normal kid stuff. It was not until his late teens when he started to use leg braces to help him walk, although she has seen a wheelchair in one of the hall closets so he must use that sometimes as well.

“Ivar. How often do you use your wheelchair?”

She can tell that he wasn’t expecting that question. “I try to not use it around you. You said it made you a little uncomfortable. You were getting more used to it before the wedding, you wanted me to use it if I needed to, but I couldn’t forget your first reaction to it,” he tells her in a small voice, looking down at his feet.

“What? Surely I didn’t say that? I don’t care about you using it, I promise you. I would rather you used it and were in less pain. Christ, what a nasty thing to have said to you!” Her face flames, she feels a mix of shame and anger. “I am so sorry. Use it whenever you need to, all the fucking time if that’s better for you. In fact” –she stomps out of the kitchen and walks back pushing it, parking it beside the bench– “no more hiding it away. It stays here, or wherever is best for you. Okay?”

He nods quickly, a faltering smile appearing on his lips.

“I mean it, Ivar. Don’t ever struggle in our house because of me. I have no negative thoughts about you using it. I promise you. The old me can piss off! I feel ashamed that I said that to you. I’m really sorry.”

Later on in the evening, he shows her photos of the two of them together and she notices something immediately. She is dressed immaculately in all of them, long hair and make-up always perfect, a smile on her face. But in none of the pictures are they touching, holding hands, or kissing -- and if she looks closely she is certain that her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Ivar, I look like a bag of beaten up shit now compared to in these pictures. I don't even know where my makeup is, and I’ve got this scar on my face. Ugh. I will make more of an effort for you.” Tears slips out of her eyes. “I’m certainly not her. She is glamorous and put together and I slump around the place in sweat pants and work out clothes. Sorry.” She wipes her tears but more fall, ashamed of herself for not being the same woman she was.

“You stop that immediately. You are perfect just as you are.” It looks like he is going to say something else but decides against it. “I wouldn’t trade the way you are now for anything. Come here.” He holds his hands out to her and she crawls across the sofa to settle into him. “You are happier now, more… what’s the word.. relaxed, I suppose. I wouldn’t change a thing about you, baby.”

She wants to believe him, but doubts are forming in her brain, despite his assurances.

Chapter 4

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mochie85 · 2 years ago

Text

Heavy In Your Arms

Chapter 27 of my Mayari series.

Mayari Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

Summary: Loki gives you a very special gift for Christmas. A/N: This entire series is inspired by songs. The complete playlist can be found here on Spotify. Word Count: 3011 Warnings: fluff, angst, ongoing self-esteem issues. Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Christmas came and went. You, Sam, and Wanda had worked all day to make a fabulous Christmas dinner for the entire team, giving Brigid the time off to be with her family. While Bucky and Nat made sure there was never an empty cup, you and Wanda made sure there wasn’t an empty belly in the entire house. You guys spared no expense of your combined cooking expertise. There was baked ham and roast. Yorkshire pudding, along with various vegetable sides. Sam had put out the appetizers and made sure nothing ever ran out. There were also gingerbread cookies and small petit fours sent over from Járnviðr’s bakery, accompanied by a very inquisitive Angrboda.

After dinner, everyone sat around the tree calling members of the team that weren’t able to celebrate with you. Clint was at home with his family. It was still only Christmas Eve there in Missouri, and they were getting ready to watch a Christmas movie marathon. Peter was hanging out with his girlfriend MJ, so he had to keep the call brief. Scott and Hope were at a tree-lighting ceremony with Scott’s daughter. Everyone was doing something with their loved ones. It made you extremely happy to see that even as superheroes, you all still found time to be with the ones you loved.

You privately video chatted with Tala on the hallway bench, while Loki draped his arm behind you. He had not seen you all day because you were cooking the Christmas feast. He hadn’t let you go since you sat down for dinner.

“Hello, dear Tala.” Loki greeted.

“Hi, kuya.” She answered back. He sat patiently as you spoke to your sister about the dinner and New Asgard. Tala was about to head out to the city to meet up with Shawn and Katy for dinner. After exchanging goodbyes and promises to see each other soon, you hung up the phone with your sister. “She seems happy.” You noted out loud.

Loki agreed with a slight ��Mhmm’ as he handed you a small gift box, magically pulled from his void. It was red with gold laurel filigree on the borders. It stunned you into silence. A jewelry box. Small enough for a ring, you thought. Would you be ready for this?

“You’re so tense,” Loki said. “This is not the reaction I was expecting.” He chuckled, trying to make light of the growing awkwardness. He circled his arms around you and held your hand that held the box. With his other hand, he opened the lid. Nestled in white satin, were five golden rings. Each ring was thin and dainty. The middle ring held an emerald in its signature cut accompanied by two smaller diamonds on each side.

“How does that song go, ‘On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…’” He started singing.

“Is this what I think it is?” You interrupted him. He looked you directly in your eyes, trying to gauge whether this was a good or bad idea.

“It is whatever you want it to be darling. If you don’t like it, I can always get you something else.”

“No. No. No. Loki. I…I just — I want to know what your intentions are behind it.” He closed the lid. You could see the mask he put on, trying to hide his hurt.

“Wear it. Don’t wear it. I just wanted to surprise you with something I thought you would like.” He got up to leave. He needed the cold sting of the air outside to get him back to his senses, but you held his hands begging him to stay.

“Loki, please.” Tears starting to run down your face. “I’m sorry.” He took that as a hint that you did not like his gift. Maybe he misinterpreted your feelings. Did they not go as deep as his? “I’m just scared, Loki.” Just then, a roar of laughter came from the living room where the rest of the team was sitting. They were opening their presents from each other. Loki wrapped you in his arms and transported both of you back to his room.

“What is this about, Mayari?” He asked you. You were a sobbing mess. You sat on the bed with your head in your hands.

“Oh gods, I’ve messed it up. I’m so stupid. How could I have messed up.” Loki listened to you rambling on. Each sentence sent a sharp blade to his heart. Does she not love me? She’s probably just stringing me along until something better shows up. I must have scared her off with that talk of being my Sigyn and all. He gave a heavy sigh. He felt like his heart was being tied down by a heavy anchor and drowning him in angst and misery.

You got up quickly and hugged him. “I love you so much.” You said with a slight hiccup. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interpret anything by your gift. It’s just, they’re rings Loki!”

“Yes, I know. I was the one who bought them for you.”

“Do you know what a ring like this means?”

“Darling, yes!” Your eyes went wide. Maybe you had interpreted it correctly. “But darling, if I were to propose to you, it wouldn’t be to the side, hidden away from everyone, on a holiday much less. I would want the whole world to see who I’ve chosen. And when you say ‘yes,’ the whole world would know that you chose me too.” His words soothed you and frightened you at the same time.

“So, the ring…”

“These rings. See. A set of five.” Loki magicked the box into his hands and opened it.

“These rings are just — rings?” you asked.

“I thought it would be charming. Like the song. They could represent whatever you want, pet. A promise. Or just a token of my love.” He held your face in his hands, relieved that you still loved him, and he didn’t scare you away.

“I’m sorry, Loki. That was stupid of me. I didn’t mean to make a big deal about it. I overreacted. I made a mistake.” You nuzzled against his hand, and he looked you straight in the eye.

“Don’t you ever call yourself stupid again! Do you understand me?” He said sternly. You nodded. “Say it!”

“I will never call myself stupid again.” Loki kept staring at you, raising his eyebrow. “…sir.” You finished with a grin. Appeased by your submittal. He moved to the bed to sit. He led you to sit in his lap as he wrapped one arm around your waist and another resting on top of your legs.

“Now, tell me why you’re so scared about the thought of me proposing.” You chuckled at the trap you just got caught in.

“There’s no escaping this conversation, is there?” Loki just hugged you tighter.

“Nope.” He said with a pop of his lips. You let out a long sigh, thinking of the correct words to say.

“I’m not good enough Loki. There are things that I’ve done in my past that I’m not proud of.”

“Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as when I tried to conquer New York.”

“You were not yourself then, sinta. We all know that now. I don’t have that excuse.” He rested his chin on your shoulder.

“I refuse to believe that you are a bad person.”

“We barely know each other.”

“I know plenty about you. I know that your favorite color is blue. You love to read science fiction and you sing to yourself when you think no one is listening. You love to cook and are wonderful at it. And then there’s this little spot, right under your ear…” Loki proceeds to lick and kiss that sensitive spot, making you cry a small moan.

“What’s more, is that you know the worst parts about me. Some parts I’ve never shared with anyone else. Why does it feel like you’re finding excuses against us?” Loki asked, feeling defeated. This was not a conversation he was expecting to have on Christmas night.

“I’m not. I promise.” You turned and straddled him on the bed so you could look into his eyes. “Loki, I love you. I am hopelessly, madly, deeply in love with you, and I would do anything for you. I’m just not…ready. I’m not ready, right now. The rings caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting it and it opened a slew of emotions in me that I haven’t confronted in myself. You deserve better than what you have in front of you right now.”

“How can you possibly think about yourself that way?”

“Because it’s true.” Loki looked into your eyes. You had to be the most maddening woman he’s ever met.

“How? How can I make you see what I see?”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

“You’re right! It’s not my responsibility. It’s more than that. You are my commitment! My joy!” You laid your forehead on his. Closing your eyes, you gave a big sigh.

“You are wonderful Loki, Thank you. I don’t even know what the problem is, let alone ask for help on how to fix it.” You said rhetorically.

“No, there isn’t a problem. It’s fine if you’re not ready. As we’ve established. I wasn’t asking to propose to you. When you’re ready, we can talk about it. Then take it from there. This was just me…giving you…a Christmas present.” He handed the red box to you, placing it in your hand. “Merry Christmas, darling. I hope you like it.”

You opened the box again, but this time, you looked at it differently. You saw five golden hoops in different sizes, with an emerald on one. His colors. You could see the thought he put into such a gift. You could picture him singing the song repeatedly in his head so he wouldn’t forget it. It made you laugh.

“It’s beautiful, my love. Thank you.”

“That’s what I was hoping for. You’re very welcome.”

“I have something for you too.” You got up from his lap and walked over to your duffel bag in the closet. You held out a green leather box with a small gold crown at the bottom. Loki laughed at the slight tease. You took your place back on his lap, straddling him on the bed. He opened it to reveal a soft-yellow gold Rolex watch with a blue Lapis face. “You can set up to two different time zones. Whether you’re here or at the tower. Plus, the blue reminded me of your eyes.” Loki stared at you, a shy smile forming on his lips.

“It’s wonderful darling. Very thoughtful. Thank you.” He said as he tried on his new watch. He kissed you again on that sensitive spot right below your ear, a moan escaping your lips.

“If you keep doing that, we’re going to have a problem.” You playfully threatened. He held your hips to thrust up, challenging you, as he laid himself down on the bed.

“You know me, I love to cause problems.” He said with a knowing smile.

11:50 PM December 31.

Here you were behind the curtain, waiting to go on stage. Why did you agree to do this? Every time you sang in public, it scared you half to death. Not because you had stage fright. No. Something far worse. You were scared you were going to compel someone to do something. Something you were going to have to fix later on.

Tonight was the night of the New Year’s Eve Party and Charity Auction. The Langhus was decorated and all of Tony’s most influential friends had attended. Profits from the tickets alone were enough to help New Asgard build more houses and expand the small town. The items for auction would help the people that made them and hopefully give the citizens some notoriety to the world and bring in an economic boost to the city.

As the auction ended, Tony, being the gallant MC and host, had announced a special surprise performance from the ‘The Siren’ herself. You tried to convince Tony that this was a bad idea. But he kept noting how far you’d come in your training and how you have complete control of your powers now.

“Consider it, your final exam. If you can sing in this room full of people and not compel a single one, then you know that you had mastered your gift.”

“I hate you so much right now.” You huffed.

“Tony is this really necessary? She has proven herself time and time again.” Loki criticized.

“If you do this. It would make a lasting impression on everybody here. So that next year, more people would want to come back.” Tony reasoned.

“So wait, you do or you don’t want me to compel them? I’m confused.” You asked.

“No. No. Don’t compel them. Impress them. Don’t you wanna raise enough money here so that your loverboy can live comfortably?”

“Don’t you dare bring me into this,” Loki pointed a finger at Tony. “Darling, you don’t have to do this. We’ve raised plenty of money already to help the people for the following year. We’ll be quite all right. Plus, the entire festival has satiated the curiosity of some of the more fervent followers. I doubt there will be any more devotees out there till next year.” But Tony knew exactly what to say to convince you. You wanted this party to work out. You wanted New Asgard to thrive and to help Loki and Thor as best you could. That’s what family is for.

“All right. I’ll do it. One song. My choosing. That’s it.” You demanded.

“Perfect!” Tony said, leading you to the back of the stage. Tony walked onto the raised platform. As he gave his speech, you looked around the party. Many of your friends were scattered around, enjoying themselves. As you reflect back on the year, it amazed you at how far you’ve come. How many new friendships you’ve made. This year started with just you and Tala. You were content living your life day to day with her by your side. Yet even Tala knew that you weren’t living. She pushed you to the best decision you’ve ever made in your life. You joined The Avengers. You regained your voice. You’ve made new friends. You found the love of your life.

Loki lifted your hand to his lips. He kissed each finger that held the rings he gave you. Two each on your pointer and ring finger. The emerald on your middle finger.

“Have I told you that you look magnificent tonight, darling?” Loki whispered in your ear. You can hear Tony start to lead the countdown to midnight.

“Yes, you have. But once more wouldn’t hurt.” You giggled.

“You look absolutely magnificent, darling. Breathtaking.” He said as he moved in to kiss you. Softly at first, but opened his mouth to invite you in. You can hear everyone yell, “Happy New Year!” as you pulled Loki closer to you. You ended the kiss with a slight tug on his bottom lip. “Happy New Year, kitten.” He said breathlessly.

“Happy New Year, my love.” That’s when you heard Tony introduce you on stage. Loki wiped around your lips for smudged lipstick and gave you one last peck as you walked on. There was a soft roll of clapping, and all eyes were on you. You smiled out to the crowd and took the mic in your hands.

“Hello. I would first like to say thank you to all of you for coming out tonight. Especially those who had contributed to the auction. It means a lot. So before we end tonight and go our separate ways, I just wanted to give a final…blessing…as it were, to wish you all a prosperous New Year.”

“Look at the stars. Look how they shine for you. And everything you do. Yeah, they were all yellow. I came along. I wrote a song for you, And all the things you do, and it was called yellow.” “So then I took my turn. Oh what a thing to have done, and it was all yellow. Your skin, oh yeah, your skin and bones Turn into something beautiful. You know, you know I love you so. You know I love you so.”

You looked at Loki, off to the right of the stage, watching you perform. His hand was outstretched in front of him. You heard ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the crowd. Looking back over to them, you saw that the roof had vanished. The wooden walls disappeared up into the night sky.

Stars! Beautiful, bright stars shone throughout the entire venue. Loki made different constellations, like the ones he showed you on the rooftop of the tower not too long ago. He depicted stars from Asgard and you watched some of the citizens in attendance cry, missing their homes. Others, the Midgardians in attendance, were astonished and full of wonder. There was not a dry eye in the house. The experience just humbled everyone in attendance.

“It’s true. Look how they shine for you. Look how they shine for you. Look how they shine. Look at the stars. Look how they shine for you, And all the things that you do.”

A loud banging and some heavy footsteps were heard just outside the doors closest to you. Heimdall had burst in clad in his armor. He looked agitated and worried. He stared at you curiously, then scanned the room. Loki was at your side instantly. He pulled your hand to get you off stage. Something’s not right. Something is going on.

It happened all at once. You saw Heimdall rush to someone. Thor coming from the opposite end. Thor’s hand outreached to grab someone running through the crowd. When your eyes settled on who they were after, you saw a well-dressed man in a tuxedo take out a pistol from inside his suit pocket and aimed it at the stage.

⬅️Chapter 26: So This Is Love | Chapter 28: Leading Us Along➡️

Tags: @user13cabs @alexs1200 @lokiprompts @huntress-artemiss

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freebooter4ever · 3 years ago

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A fic inspired by @kanhatomame 's Lovely Drawing of Eugene dreaming about Snafu ^_^ Set in Mobile after the war, Eugene deals with pining and memories, and that wordless connection to another person that never really leaves you. (angst ish with happy ending)

__________

There are so many ghosts in Eugene's head it's quite crowded there. But the only one he clings to is Snafu's. Naturally, this also means it's the one that feels most nebulous and impossible to chase down. Sometimes, when Eugene sees other couples together, touching each other, looking at each other, the connections to his own vivid memories feel stronger.

But he and Snafu were never a couple, should never have been a couple. Their few kisses were stolen behind doors and in the shadows. They could never have danced hand in hand like the boys and girls are doing now at the OMM ball.

Eugene stares at the dancers, himself half hidden behind a potted plant. A silly form of camouflage, and one that wouldn't even work if someone looked his way. It certainly fails to hide him from his brother. He can see Edward eyeing him disapprovingly from across the room. Edward's arm is wrapped lovingly around his wife's waist. She leans into his shoulder slightly - Martha is small and petite and fits perfectly.

Eugene takes a deep breath and refocuses his eyes to the center of the dance floor. He slowly allows himself to relax, concentrating on one memory of a touch. Snafu was never one to lovingly cradle Eugene, but whenever they would sit down around camp - at the slop shoot, or the movies, or when naked on the beach after a swim - Snafu would sling his arm behind Gene's back and angle his whole body in Gene's direction. He kept it casual, usually joking and laughing as if using humor to distract the rest of the guys from this habit of his. Except there were always times when Snaf would make a particularly ridiculous wisecrack and Eugene would feel compelled to turn his neck to roll his eyes at Snafu, and the minute his eyes would meet Snafu's, the other guy's face would be glowing with joy. Joy reserved only for one person - Eugene.

There's a specific shine in Snafu's eyes that he saves solely for Gene. And those delicate bits of eye contact were more intimate than all the loving touches in the world. And often they preceded Snafu pulling Eugene into some dark hideaway, and pressing his full body up against Gene, still teasing him, tempting him with no kisses, no gentle lover's touch until Eugene finally got fed up and molded their mouths together.

Eugene will never forget the shape of Snafu's hands.

"Eugene? Baby brother?" Edward is snapping his fingers in front of Eugene's face.

Eugene blinks rapidly, comes back to himself, completely loses the relaxation in his body, and glares at Edward.

"Thought you were in a trance or something," Edward grins lopsided.

"I was thinking," Eugene sighs.

"No duh," Edward says, "You do too much of that, little brother."

"What else is there to do?" Eugene sighs continuously. He shouldn't have opened his mouth because the next thing he knows Edward tells him 'don't move' and disappears further into the house to find some poor victim to foist awkwardly on Gene.

It's been like this all evening. Eugene's talked to more girls in the past hour than he ever has in his life. All of them brought to him by Edward, eagerly introducing the girls to his younger, naive brother.

This latest one is named Victoria, and she's got long curly brown hair that looks soft to touch, and a porcelain face like a doll.

"She's very pretty," Eugene says truthfully when Edward corners him and demands to know what he thought after Victoria is called away by friends.

"Gene, I don't understand you," Edward shakes his head, "You're the son of the city's best doctor, you've got all your limbs intact, you're a war hero… why I'll bet you're the most eligible bachelor here. If you just learn to play it up a little bit…"

"I'm going outside to smoke," Eugene interrupts flatly, "Come get me when it's time to leave."

His voice brooks no argument, and he promptly ducks out of the house with only one direction in mind. He fills his pipe, lights it, and slowly lets the smoke start to relax him again. His lips suck on the wood between them, and the ghost of Snafu seeps in with the nicotine. The memory of the first time when Eugene sucked Snafu's finger clean (of mashed potatoes) - after Snafu tried (and failed) to start a food fight. It pairs well with the memory of sucking off other parts of Snafu too… certain parts he doesn't have a clear picture of in his mind. He sort of blurred the image as it happened, out of embarrassment or sheer awkwardness. If he ever got the chance to do it again, he'd memorize every square inch.

"Eugene, your brother asked me to come find you," his mother breaks his reverie, "Your father is having the car brought around."

Eugene nods, his shame from his thoughts bright red on his face, but luckily hidden in the dark. He follows his mother to the driveway and wordlessly climbs into the backseat. Martha and Edward are taking their own car. So Eugene has plenty of room to forego seatbelts and lie down across the back. His head is swimming a little bit, from that punch he kept drinking. He couldn't taste it, but he suspects it was spiked.

The car starts up, and starts rumbling, shaking his entire body. The seat is warm - the heat from the engine flows through the entire undercarriage. Eugene closes his eyes. He listens to the sound of the road under the wheels, a smooth wash like constantly crashing waves.

Waves lapping at the toes of his feet, and bathing half of Snafu's entire leg in water up to his knees. Snafu lying naked on his back in the sand, with Eugene straddled on top of him bouncing vigorously. All Eugene remembers is the intensity, the sounds, and the feeling. Half weird gritty discomfort, half absolute pleasure.

The car turns and rolls Eugene against the back of the car. He turns his face to the smooth leather, seeking that pressure of something - anything - against his skin.

Eugene recognizes when they reach their house's street because he can feel the jittering rumble as the car crosses the wooden bridge. The jitter shakes him to his bones, and he shivers although the night is hot and sticky. He closes his eyes and counts the streetlights behind his eyelids until they reach the driveway.

Had Eugene been paying attention at all, looking out the window of the car instead of losing himself to ghosts, he might have noticed the beat-up rusted brown truck parked just outside his family's gate at the end of Georgia House's long private drive. Though truthfully, even if Eugene had been looking he might not have seen it. The cloud cover darkens the sky until the only light source is the single lamp marking the start of the Sledge's driveway. And the truck is parked under a tree, throwing even more shadow over it. The only hint that someone is there is the soft glow of a cigarette luminating a haunted face and skinny legs dangling over the truck bed where he sits.

Snafu arrived in town hours ago - just in time to watch Eugene leave. He's been sitting on top his parked truck ever since. Judging from their fancy clothes, Snafu knew they'd likely return that night from an outing and sure enough. Here they are. He wedges the cigarette tighter in his mouth and jumps down from the truck bed.

Eugene's window is on the first floor, so it shouldn't be hard to reach except for the damn kudzu covering a mass of bushes and thorny plants underneath. Snafu suspects they might have been roses at one point. They're dead now. There's live ones elsewhere in the garden, but the ones under Eugene's window are long gone.

Fucking symbolic maybe.

Snafu shoves the window open unceremoniously and throws his leg in. He sits on the sil and stares down at Gene in the bed. Eugene didn't bother to change, he's still in that same expensive looking suit, his tie askew and his shoes kicked off with one sock missing. Snafu settles himself comfortably against the window frame, puffs on his cigarette, and watches Eugene sleep.

He doesn't get to watch for long - Eugene sleeps fitfully, just as Snafu remembers, and ends up kicking and thrashing in his bed. Snafu watches him with intense regret. When Eugene fell asleep peacefully on the train, for the first time since that initial week on Pavuvu, Snafu thought maybe civilization had kicked Eugene's nightmares. That maybe Eugene was gonna be able to go back to 'normal'. Clearly Snafu was wrong.

He waits a few more seconds, till Eugene's fit is at its peak, and whispers sharply, "Sledgehammer."

Gene sits bolt upright immediately and silently. He stares blankly for a split second, till his eyes snap to Snafu's. Then he stares silently at Snafu.

Snafu takes his half finished cigarette and grinds it into the wood of Eugene's window. It leaves a mark. Eugene watches this without expression.

"You're real," Eugene whispers.

Snafu shrugs.

"I mean you're not a dream… for once," Eugene says.

"You've been dreaming about me?" Snafu grins.

Eugene lunges forward, grabs Snafu's forearms and drags him onto the bed. Snafu falls awkwardly on top of Eugene, but it's easy to shift their positions and overpower Eugene to pin him to the bed. "I really hope those nightmares of yours wasn't you dreaming of me, cause if they were we might have to figure out a way to give you better ones."

"My dreams of you only come during the day," Eugene says, much more serious in tone than Snafu.

"Good ones?"

Eugene nods.

"It isn't enough… is it?" Snafu asks. He already knows the correct answer. That's why he's here.

In response Eugene pulls him down into a kiss.

#Sledgefu #Bad germs

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years ago

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Hi y'all!

So I realized today that it's been about three months since I started cross-posting my stuff to ao3 (those of y'all who were here for After Each Midnight while it was still a wip will know that I've been writing for longer than that but anyway). With the latest fic I just posted, I now have 30 works published to ao3 within those three months! Which is wild to me!

Since that averages out to ten fics a month and I like round numbers, I decided to celebrate by listing my 10 favorite fics...of my own lol. Narcissistic? Maybe! But it's fun anyway!

This is a really long post as each rec includes a summary, an excerpt (or a few), and some personal notes/anecdotes about the writing process or what inspired me to write the fic, etc. so I'm putting it all under the break. If this doesn't sound like your cup of tea then of course please just skip over this one, but for anyone who wants to revisit some of my older works with me, or if you're curious about which fics I personally like the most, or if you want to talk about your favorite fics of mine in the replies or anything, then that's cool too! I just wanted to find a way to mark this down because it feels like something of an achievement ^_^

Thank you!

1. After Each Midnight Begins A New Day, (54,401 words, Rated E) Ship(s): 3zun, Wangxian Summary: When Lan Xichen wakes up the morning after the fifth anniversary of his life crumbling to rubble around him in Guanyin Temple, he's shocked to find both Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao in his bed, both whole and alive and...married to him?! (A time travel fix-it in which the time traveling and fixing of things has already been done by Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, and Lan Xichen accidentally gets dragged along for the happily ever after.) Excerpt(s):

1. “Poor da-ge,” [Meng Yao] teases again, this time with a bit of an edge, and Lan Xichen cracks one eye open just enough to see him stripping first out of his shoes and socks, then his third layer of robes, then his second, until he’s dressed much as he had been the prior evening - in nothing but a black under-robe so sheer that it actually almost looks gray. It clings to all the petite, lithe curves of him and the sight makes Lan Xichen’s mouth practically water. “What if I want my turn with you now? What if I’m jealous that er-ge got to have you all to himself for hours , while your poor A-Yao had to go have a drink with Xian-didi just to pass the time.” “Oh gods you’re a beast too,” Nie Mingjue groans as Meng Yao slips on top of him gracefully to lean down and pepper kisses up and down his neck and shoulder. “Get off of me, foul creature. Go tempt our husband, I’m temporarily immune to your wiles.” “You’re never immune to my wiles, da-ge, and er-ge is meditating oh so diligently. He’s certainly not smiling and watching us through his lashes as if we’re not well aware of his tricks and what he likes to watch.” - 2. “It took years of practice, you with your painting and I with my answering, but when you were a teenager I finally decided on the best advice I could think to give you: Do not seek for every answer in this life all at once, Xichen,” he instructs with a smile as he returns to painting. “Let them come to you gently and in their season, and trust that all will be as it should in the end.” Lan Xichen takes another breath and returns to his painting with a slightly trembling hand - a trembling that ends up creating a lovely branch on the tree he is painting that, when he turns his head to look, is modeled almost exactly after the one growing in the garden behind the Gentian House, just beyond the window. “I don’t remember ever seeing this tree,” he whispers and Qingheng-Jun hums across from him in clear understanding. “And yet it flows from your brush all the same. Now we can all know that you have nothing to fear, your memories will also come to you in their season. Until then, allow yourself to rest, and remember that you have the support of your family whenever you need it.” “Yes, father,” he replies with a whisper and a tremulous smile, feeling lighter than he has in days. - 3. “I will go into seclusion.” The statement is a stone dropped into the gently rippling water of a spring-fed pool. The stone is jagged and pitted with all that the world has done to chip away at it, to make it rough and painful to the touch. It is sharp in his hands, heavy with all the hurts he still carries in his chest, all the grief he has no more room to hold. He feels lighter with it out of his grasp, the words settling into the ensuing silence with some bittersweet relief.

Notes: I know I've said it before but it bears repeating: this entire fic exists solely because of the smut scene in chapter 1. I thought of the smut first, and then the lead-in to it, and I intentionally left the end of chapter 1 ambiguous - it could have ended right there as an angsty one-shot with Lan Xichen believing that it was all a hallucination, and there's nothing really in the text to say that it's not because Lan Xichen is a very unreliable narrator in this fic. But then I wanted to write the backstory for the smut if, in fact, it wasn't a hallucination - and everything kind of...butterfly-effected out from there to become what it is now, along with all the extras in the series that's now roughly 120k long altogether and still not finished. Oops. Oh and also: this fic that started the ball rolling only exists because for some reason the servers for Omegle went down for months where I live, and prior to that I used to spend hours rp'ing. Without that creative outlet, I filled the vacuum with writing fic instead and now here we are. So if you're grateful for my fics then thank Omegle for sucking for a few months lol --//-- 2. Loving, Loud, Wild, and Theirs (7386 words, Rated T) Ship(s): Xuanli & Gen (kidfic), 3zun (briefly) - an extra for AEM Summary: A brief look at how in this kinder world, Jin Zixuan managed to find and legitimize his three siblings as well as a snapshot of the chaos of love and fun that is his family with his siblings, his beloved wife, and their seven children. Excerpt:

He had listened to [Madam Qin] and her handmaid, and he had believed them, and he had been unsurprised to find himself thinking quite uncharitably of his father following his promise to Madam Qin that he would do everything in his power to make it right, as much as he could. [Jin Zixuan and Meng Yao] return to Jinlintai the day after the next, once their business is concluded. He’s relieved when nothing needs his immediate attention as it means he’s free to retreat into his and Jiang Yanli’s quarters so he can tell her everything that’s weighing on his mind. “No more surprise siblings from now on,” he sighs into the comfort of Jiang Yanli's chest when he’s finished outlining what has happened and his plans to prepare a new suite of rooms in the family wing of the tower. For Qin Su. His sister. Jiang Yanli just laughs her tinkling laugh and kisses him, her hands gentle as she combs his hair back from his face with her fingertips. “You’ve got more siblings now than any of the rest of us,” she teases with a mischievous smile down at him that is a bit too reminiscent of, weirdly, both Wei Wuxian and Mo Xuanyu for comfort. “Two brothers, a sister, and of course we must keep Mianmian in her spot on the list. If you would like to count brothers-in-law as well you’ve also got A-Xian, A-Cheng, Huaisang, Wangji, Xichen, and Mingjue...” He groans and hides his face properly in the soft silk of her robes even as she laughs again over his head.

Notes: This fic is actually a request fill for someone and I had some trouble ending it because there's a lot more I want to write with this wild family, though I did eventually find what felt like a good place to cut it off with 3zun arriving in Jinlintai for the visit they leave for at the end of AEM. There is something of a follow-up floating around my wips that - if it ever gets written - is a direct sequel to AEM that continues where this extra leaves off, with 3zun getting to spend time with their hoard of niblings in Jinlintai. No promises about if/when that will get written though. --//-- 3. Performance Art (8106 words, Rated M) Ships: 3zun, Wangxian (briefly) Summary: A Modern AU inspired by the 'Hysterical Literature' performance art project. Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue, and Meng Yao take turns doing their best to read aloud from chosen written works as they're filmed. The twist is that they're trying to do so as they're being pleasured with a vibrator controlled by one of their partners off-camera, each of their turns ending when the partner being filmed/played with has an orgasm. Excerpt(s):

1. “Engage people with what they expect; it is..- it…it is what they are able to discern and.. ngh.. confirms their projections. It settles.. ah settles them into predictable-“ He cuts off suddenly to set the book down flat and slap one hand down sharply on the tabletop. Meng Yao simply clicks another button and Nie Mingjue groans as his newly unoccupied hand twitches back to rest on the edge of the table closer to himself, as if about to drop down beneath it. Lan Xichen and Meng Yao both shift forward in their seats but Nie Mingjue catches himself before they have to intervene, returning his hand to the middle of the table and forcing a deep breath into his lungs so he can continue. “-Predictable patterns of..of response, occupying their minds while you w-wait for the ex- extra-“ he huffs out a sharp breath and curls his hand into a fist as he tilts forward and forces out the rest of the sentence in a rush. “Extraordinary moment — that whichtheycannotanticipate. FUCK!” - 2. It’s a few hours of quiet, peaceful work later when Lan Wangji shifts his weight in the way that means he wants Wei Wuxian’s actual attention and not his ‘ I’m sculpting so I’m periodically looking at you ’ sort of attention which he is, of course, quick to grant. He pauses in his muttering half to himself and half to Lan Wangji to say, “Hm? What’s up Zhanzhan?” “From Xiongzhang,” he says by way of explanation, holding his phone out for Wei Wuxian to squint at the screen. It takes him a moment to understand what he’s looking at, his eyes needing a second to adjust to the small black and white video that’s playing after having spent hours looking between Lan Zhan and the clay form taking shape under his hands. “What is this?” he asks as he leans in closer and squints a little harder. He blinks and his eyes go wide in the next moment as he realizes what’s happening on the screen as the woman’s tension climaxes ( literally ) - and then it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to figure out just why he’d been asked to create an eerily similar setup in his own studio the previous afternoon for three men he might as well consider his sort-of brothers at this point. His next exhale is a wheeze as his ears go hot and Lan Wangji is instantly shrugging into a robe to stand from his lounging position and approach, concern written all over his features. “Wei Ying?”

Notes: I don't really have too much to say about this one except that it brought me so much joy and laughter to write and it honestly kind of surprises me that it's one of my less popular fics - it's nothing but a fun, sexy time! But I'm also terrible at guessing trends/what people will want to see so that might be on me haha. Oh! Also - a minor thing but something I'm very mildly proud of: the narrator voice is dependent on who's behind the camera! I wanted a way to make the person filming feel just as involved as the other two and I thought that was a fun way to do it since within the narrative it's technically going to be their perspective used for the video they're recording. Just to give y'all a little insight into my decision-making when it comes to my writing style for this one. --//-- 4. Anything For My Nie-Zongzhu (6411 words, Rated E) Ship: NieYao - pre-canon (just barely) Summary: Meng Yao is Nie Mingjue's trusted right hand, intelligent and valued by his Sect Leader, at least, who has learned lately to appreciate him a hell of a lot in private too - and for much more personal matters than the minutiae of running the Nie Sect. Seeing as Nie Mingjue trusts him so much, he finds it in himself to ask for something new - for Meng Yao to top him. [Technically an extra for AEM but can be read as a standalone] Excerpt:

“Am I to play into this boorish act you’re putting on tonight?” he teases instead as he steps closer until he’s near enough to feel the way the steam from the bath has turned the air sticky and humid. Nie Mingjue finally looks up at him and Meng Yao is internally crowing with triumph as he watches the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth fall away, his expression smoothing into quiet contentment. He did that. His presence alone is enough to help Nie Mingjue relax. It feels nearly as good as the day the man had angrily defended him to his own disciples and promoted him on the spot. “It’s not an act, I’m plenty boorish,” Nie Mingjue gruffs, returning his gaze to the letter, but this close Meng Yao can actually watch his eyes do nothing but try to glare a hole through the center of the page. “Of course you are, Zongzhu,” Meng Yao allows, his tone openly humoring - as is the smile tightening the corners of his mouth. “Therefore I can only suppose that you would prefer it if I returned to my walk and left you to continue your...correspondence in peace.”

Notes: Once again not really many notes on this one! I just love NieYao, I think their dynamic during Meng Yao's Nie Sect days has so much potential and I love exploring it every so often. --//--

5. Bite The Hands That Feed (1590 words, Rated E) Ship: XiYao Summary: After being forced out of the Nie Sect, Meng Yao has to come to grips with the hunger that's been chasing him his whole life, and he finds temporary satisfaction over and over in Lan Xichen, who is always so generous with his time and his body and is willing to help him feel less empty even just for a night. Excerpt:

He would never bite the hands that feed him, that stuff him full enough to make him believe for a moment that he’s no longer starving. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t inflict pains. He bites and he scratches and he plants himself in the bloody furrows until flowering moans reward his violent care, until pleasure bursts sun-warmed and sweet between them, berries ripe for the picking. He stains his mouth red with them, his fingers purple with the bruises he paints so delicately on his devotee’s body. If Meng Yao is being clawed to a slow torturous death from within, then it stands to reason that his other half will be ripped to shreds from without. He keeps his nails sharp and his teeth bared to tear into his flesh and drink sweetly of the vintage he offers - sweat, spend, blood, saliva when their mouths meet for crushing kisses. All of it is his to consume. He puts his mouth to the feast of Lan Xichen’s body and eats until the hunger pangs are satiated, drinks until he feels dizzy with it.

Notes: So I wrote this one when I was getting a little tired of the straight narration style of all my other fics and I wanted to try my hand at something looser, a little more prose-like but also a little darker than my usual fluff. I'm not sure how successful I was - this is actually one of my absolute least popular fics, number-wise! - but it's one of my favorites anyway. --//-- 6. A Figure, A Mouth (2788 words, Rated M) Ship: Wenzhou Summary: A quiet, intimate evening spent in the comfort of the Four Seasons Mountain Manor sometime between their arrival/fixing up of the place and the confrontation with Ye Baiyi. Excerpt:

After a while of warming each other up Wen Kexing urges him back up to push the bed under the window just as he’d said he would. Zhou Zishu takes the opportunity to blow out the candles before he rejoins Wen Kexing in their bed, the sudden darkness leaving them free to admire each other clothed in nothing but broad swathes of cool, sweet blue light bisected by deep black lattices of shadow from the trees out in the yard, the shadows from the contours of the wall and decorations around the window blocking and revealing them in turns. Lao Wen is, of course, as beautiful like this as he has been in every way Zhou Zishu has ever seen him, and he takes the time to savor it, to indulge in the decadence that Wen Kexing presents for each of his remaining senses. He’s a feast for the eyes, all hard muscle and skin glistening with glittering diamonds of sweat along his shoulders and the soft curve of his cheek. He’s a symphony for the ears, breathless desire and tender calls of his name that Zhou Zishu never lets go unanswered when they’re like this. By now Wen Kexing is an expert at drawing pleasure from him in every unlikely way there is to make sure that the effects of the nails don’t keep him from reaching his peak at least once, occasionally more in spite of his fading sense of touch.

Notes: Wenzhou makes me so soft and emotional, y'all. The next one on the list is also a Wenzhou fic and I just can't seem to stop writing them in fluffy/smutty situations because it's what they deserve. I really don't have anything more interesting to say about this fic, I just love them haha. --//-- 7. Tease Him Just Enough (2537 words, Rated M) Ship: Wenzhou Summary: A possible outcome if the conversation post-face reveal in episode 6 had gone differently - i.e. if Zhou Zishu had called Wen Kexing out on all his flirting and challenged him to do something about it - and then he does. Excerpt:

They don’t need words to communicate that at least right here in this particular moment there’s no one else they would rather have in their arms, pressed up against their bodies, no one else’s tongue who would find a new home in each other’s mouths or any other body their hands would rather explore. Wen Kexing has already known that they’re fated, but for the first time it feels like they’re agreeing to be so. Even if it’s just for a night. (Not that he thinks it will be just one night for them, but getting Zhou Xu to agree to anything remotely of the kind is like trying to drag a stray back-alley cat into a bath so he’ll take what he can get.)

Notes: My first fic for Word of Honor! The whole time I was watching the show (read: obsessively binge-watching) I was like 'Okay I like this show a lot but it's not nearly as compelling as The Untamed, idk if I'll be motivated to write anything for it'. Then I got to the end and I was like NEVERMIND YES I AM. I played myself. --//-- 8. You Need Tending (12,108 words, Rated T) Ship(s): Lan Wangji & Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji & Lan Xichen, Lan Qiren & The Jades & Wei Wuxian (this is a kidfic so nothing romantic!) Summary: Wei Wuxian is alone and homeless on the streets of Yunmeng, unaware of the presence of his parents' old friend so nearby. Lan Wangji is a child grieving for the loss of his mother in silence, overwhelmed by the world his uncle keeps dragging him out into. It takes their paths crossing more than once for Lan Qiren to realize just who Wei Wuxian is and that he needs their help, but he gets there eventually. Excerpt:

He watches on as the man comes to a stop next to the boys and squats down to check over the one who had been lost and suddenly he remembers lying on the ground and looking up at a stern-faced man with gentle hands and a ribbon across his forehead. The man who had given him medicine and bandages after a small boy had defended him from dogs, and an older boy had talked to him so kindly and helped him to sit up off the dirt. Wei Ying gasps as the memory hits and he scrambles back down off the roof, landing on the packed dirt of the space between the buildings with an oof, excitement bubbling in his chest. Along with the memory comes a name and it flies from his lips as he scrambles up off the ground to push his way into the crowd again. “Master Lan!” he shouts, his tiny voice lost in the din of the market. He tries to shove closer but the little family is already walking away, their backs to him as he strains against the flow of people much bigger and stronger than him. “Master Lan!” he tries again, desperation lending extra strength and emotion to his cry. Wei Ying stops struggling as he watches the two boys in white walk away, the pair of them flanking Master Lan in his sky blue robes as they move through the market, radiating serenity in the midst of the chaos. His vision blurs and he scrubs his forearm against his eyes angrily to dry them, trying to keep the three of them in his sight for as long as he can just in case they turn around and spot him. Just in case they remember him and maybe want to tell him to come with them.

Notes: Baby Wei Ying T-T He just hits me right in the heart, and so does baby Lan Zhan! And baby Lan Xichen. All the babies. This fic was actually completely inspired by an utterly adorable fanart of Lan Xichen giving a grumpy baby A-Zhan a piggyback ride! I'd been wanting to write a kidfic type fix-it for a while and that art was the spark I needed to come up with something workable. (Edit: here’s my reblog of the art I’m talking about!) --//--

9. Familial Circumstances (5393 words, Rated G)

Ship(s): Lan Qiren & Original Characters, Lan Qiren & Jin Zixuan, Lan Qiren & Qin Su, Lan Qiren & Mo Xuanyu - An extra for AEM

Summary: Another kidfic extra for the horde of children in Jinlintai, this time as seen through the lens of their beloved Great Uncle Lan. It's a simple relationship-study-type look at how all the children love their Great Uncle and how much he loves and treasures them in return.

Excerpt:

An unusual stillness accompanies [Jin Ruhai's] playing. Jin Lu stops fidgeting with her fingers, the twins slip into the perfect stillness of those who are utterly aware of themselves at all times - a trait [Lan Qiren has] noticed in every skilled fighter he’s ever come across - and even Jin Ye relaxes, slumping further and further backwards until she’s slouched down against his stomach, legs dangling over his crossed shins.

The piece isn’t a terribly long one, nor as complex as the next score Lan Qiren intends to teach the boy, but Jin Ruhai’s mastery of it is impressive. Again, Lan Qiren is forcefully reminded of Lan Wangji, always most at peace when behind his instrument to play with and/or for the people he loves.

There’s silence in the room until the last note fades with a shiver into the air and Jin Ruhai pulls his hands back from the instrument. The stillness lasts for one more moment before it’s interrupted by Jin Lu sneezing suddenly and her siblings laugh as the quiet breaks.

“I had to hold that in the whole time !!” Jin Lu laughs as she rubs her sleeve under her nose, one eye screwed shut as she giggles. “I didn’t want to mess up A-Zhuang’s song, it’s so pretty!”

Notes: I'm definitely biased because they're all my oc's except for Jin Ling, but I genuinely love all of the Jin children in the AEM AU. If anyone is ever interested in knowing more about their individual personalities and the like please don't hesitate to ask me, I've actually put quite a bit of thought into all 6 of the kids I created wholecloth and I have a lot of feelings about Jin Ling getting the chaotic siblings and loving parents he was robbed of.

--//--

10. Opportunities To Practice (5710 words, Rated M) (*WIP)

Ship: Xuanli - An extra for AEM

Summary: Jin Zixuan is nervous for his..marital activities with Jiang Yanli - after all, who could he possibly ask for advice? His father? No thank you. Thankfully Jiang Yanli is sweet and patient and knows her husband well - he just needs a bit of time and he'll get it figured out.

Excerpt:

She shivers with an interesting combination of want and intense vulnerability as she stands there, feeling bare in spite of her remaining layer. It’s of a material so sheer as to be practically nonexistent, nothing more than a delicate veil of a red so pale it’s nearly pink that sits on her body like a second skin. Until it falls gently away at the knee to flutter around her ankles, it clings to every curve, every contour, and as she watches Jin Zixuan doesn’t even bother to hang the robe he had just removed on the screen. He lets it drop into a soft pool around her bare feet, his gaze roaming her newly exposed figure - she would perhaps feel strange about it did he not look so devoted , so in awe of seeing her practically naked in front of him.

Yanli gasps softly as he suddenly drops to his knees at her feet and oh - that’s heady. Her body, which she hasn’t really thought of too much in the past beyond the occasional irritation that it’s weaker than she would prefer, has put the man she loves on his knees. He’s looking up at her now, his eyes wide and his hands reverent as he raises them to rest on her thighs, thumbs caressing her too-warm skin through the barely-there robe that bunches up softly under the pressure of his grip.

“You’re right,” he finally breathes, sounding slightly strained. “I’d like this to stay on. If that’s - are you alright?”

“I am,” she reassures.

Notes: This last fic is technically a wip, the only one in the list! However! - it's going to be a collection of one-shots centered around Xuanli and their sexual exploits that lead to their seven children, and possibly also the ones that are just for fun (horny Yanli rights forever). It's not currently high on my list of priorities or anything and the one chapter that's up so far can stand on its own so it's a wip but it's not? I just love Xuanli so much and I want to explore their relationship in my happy fix-it AU whenever the mood strikes, and whenever that happens this is where those one-shots will go.

--//--

And that's it! My personal top 10 favorite fics of my own as of right now. I thought about doing my top 10 according to statistics like hit counts or kudos, but I genuinely love some of these unpopular fics and I wanted to give them some love and attention even if it's just for me. I know there's a lot here to sift through but if any of y'all enjoyed the list or any of the specific fics on it let me know! I liked taking this little pause to take a look at what I've actually been producing these last few months.

Thanks for reading!

#the untamed fanfic #gonna tag the main romantic ships listed:#3zun #NieYao #XiYao #Wangxian #Xuanli #Wenzhou #y'all I legit spent hours formatting this and writing all this out #I also went looking for the fanart that inspired You Need Tending so I could link it and my page refreshed #which I suspected it would do so of course I hit Ctrl+A and copied it all -#only to find out that doing that doesn't extend past the readmore break which I had already put in #so I lost the whole introductory bit and had to rewrite it #T-T I didn't even find the fanart I'm gonna look for it again on mobile cuz it's easier #ANYWAY - literally no one asked for this and I don't even know if anyone was curious to begin with but I wanted to make this anyway soooo #It's also lowkey one of my goals to write something one day that becomes popular enough to end up on rec lists #So this is me kind of indulging that in a very 'tooting my own horn' kind of way that I refuse to apologize for #No shame in my game #Also if you see any typos or formatting weirdness No You Don't :) I've been doing this for 5+ hours and I'm hUNGRY

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lovemeleo · 4 years ago

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Puppy Love

I’m back again with another O’Knutzy fic because I was inspired today and I love them with my whole heart. Thank you to the ever amazing @lumosinlove for her beautiful stories and fantastic characters!

Also thank you to all the lovely human beings in the discord, especially @heyitssmiller, @inloveoknutzy, and @ais-for-alex This is for you

_______________________________________________

Ever since he was little, Logan had always wanted a dog. They never had one at the house but he saw them everywhere and made his Maman stop so he could give love and pets to every single one.

Back in elementary school, his friend Michael had a fluffy white husky named Bandit and Logan loved him. Hours were spent laying on the floor at Michael’s house next to Bandit, his face pressed into the dog’s soft fur. When Michael moved away, Logan was a mess. He cried into his mother’s arms as the truck left the neighborhood, and she assured him that he would see Michael again. Logan wasn’t crying for him though, but for the pup they took with them.

When he moved in with the Dumais’, part of him hoped to convince the family to get a dog. After all, dogs were great for families, and they’d be good to help teach the kids how to be, responsible and take care of something. Logan brought up these points to Dumo in the locker room when they were heading home from the rink, only to receive the heartbreaking news: Marc was allergic. While he could be around dogs for short periods of time, to have one in the house would have him miserable, nose running and eyes puffy.

As much as he loved dogs, it seemed as though it just wasn’t meant to be.

By the time, Logan moved in with his boys, he had given up on his dog dream. They both knew how much he loved them, how could they not see it? Walking through the park, Logan had to stop and pet every dog they passed, after asking the owner for permission of course. His favorite social media accounts were all dog related, and he would often be seen scrolling the pup pictures on We Rate Dogs. Today was no different. Finn had gone out an hour or so before, brunch with Alex he said. That left Leo and Logan at home.

They were sprawled on separate ends of the couch, Leo’s long legs tangled with Logan’s. Logan was on his phone, and Leo didn’t have to see the screen to know that he was looking at cute dog videos. Leo smiled softly, his thumb moving to trace around Logan’s ankle. He didn’t know it was possible to be so in love, but here he was. His two lovely boys were his everything and he knew he would burn the world for them. Which is why he needed today to go perfectly.

“I need to get out of the house,” Leo said as he sat up, gently tapping Logan’s leg. “Can we go to the park, babe?” Logan let out a groan, his head falling back onto the arm of the couch, “Walking? On an off day?” He whined, even though he was already getting up. As if Logan could ever say no to those baby blues.

Leo smiled as he got up and started pulling on his shoes, “Don’t whine, mon chérie. It’s too nice of a day out to just be laying around inside. C’mon.” He tucked his phone and keys into his pocket before holding his hand out to Logan. Logan smiled softly as he intertwined their fingers, Leo pressing a kiss to his knuckles as he led them out the door.

The park was only a block away from their apartment, and they loved to go there. There were trails throughout the park with trees and flowers everywhere. It was also the perfect place for a surprise.

Leo led the way down their usual trail, which had a little clearing at the end with benches and picnic tables. There were a few people scattered around the tables, but of course, one stuck out the most to Logan. Sitting at the farthest table was a guy in a hoodie facing away from them, but of course, the guy wasn’t what caught his attention. On the grass next to the guy was a happy ball of fluff, tail wagging crazily as it pounced on the man’s shoes. He was a husky.

“Oh my god!” Logan let out a soft squeal as he saw the pup, “Knutty babe, I’ve gotta pet him.” He said, looking up at Leo, who bit back a smile. “Go on then.” Leo hadn’t even finished his sentence before he ran over the pup trying to meet him halfway, “Can I pet your dog please?” He said, hands already reaching out. The man didn’t turn from where he was staring ahead, just nodding an okay.

Logan quickly nuzzled into the pup’s soft fur as he attacked his face with slobbery kisses, “Oh mon dieu, quel bon petit bébé! Une telle chérie!” He murmured, scratching behind the little puppy's ears. Leo crouched down next to Logan, rubbing at his tummy. He tried to hide his smile as he watched his boyfriend turn into a pile of goo at the sight of the little dog. “What’s his name?” Logan asked, his eyes flickering up to the man again before he looked back down to the puppy who was now sprawled in his lap, his face nuzzling into Logan’s soft Lions hoodie.

“I think that’s for you to decide, Lo.” The man said, making Logan’s head snap up.

Sitting at the table was Finn, a massive grin on his face as he finally turned around to finally look at his boys. “Wait. Wait, non. Non!” Logan’s eyes immediately filled with tears as he looked between his boys, oh his lovely, lovely boys.

“He’s ours, baby.” Leo said with a smile, as Finn joined them on the grass. The pup looked up at Logan, his little tongue hanging out of his mouth. It looked like he was smiling. Of course, Logan burst into tears, his hand came up to cover his mouth.

“Aw, Lo! Don’t cry, sweetheart!” Finn quickly pulled Logan close, pressing kisses into his hair as he tried to hold him without crushing the do- their dog. He smiled at Leo as they sat on either side of Logan, pressing kisses into his hair. “You’ve gotta name him, Tremzy. Look at him all cute and nameless.” Leo said, leaning forward to look at their pup.

“He’s got your eyes, Nutter Butter.” Logan murmured, as he wiped his face before intertwining his fingers back into the fur of their puppy. THEIR PUPPY. He had a PUPPY! He squeezed the pup to his chest gently, as a bright grin appeared on his face.

“I think… I think we should name him Gryff. Y’know.. Like Gryffindor. And it’s where we all met. And he’s our baby and should be named after something important to all of us and-” Logan cut off as Leo pressed a kiss to his lips. “You’re rambling babe,” Leo said with a smile as he pulled away, “but I love Gryff. Think it’s perfect.”

Finn sniffled from next to them, “You guys are such saps.” He mumbled, wiping at his eyes. Logan smiled, pulling him in for a quick kiss as well.

“I love you both so much.” He murmured, his eyes flickering between the other two boys. They quickly attacked him with kisses, murmuring their love for him as they pressed kisses all over his face.

Logan didn’t know what he did to deserve this life, but he was forever thankful for it. He had all he needed in the world: hockey, his puppy and his amazing lovely boys.

#o'knutzy #lumosinlove #inspired by lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #puppy #logan tremblay #leo knut #finn o'hara #my boys #fic #fluff

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smalltragedy · 3 years ago

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* natalia dyer, nonbinary + she/they | you know philomena carmichael, right? they’re twenty-one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, a day? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to oo-de-lally by roger miller like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole wind whipping around your hair, the gentleness of decomposition, a naked blur dancing around the flames of an everlasting fire thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is april 20th, so they’re a taurus, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 22, est, they/them )

hiii im back ... tentatively .. looks at u all ominously

CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION, DEATH, GRAPHIC MENTION OF DECAY, INSECTS MENTION TW.

mini playlist.

oo-de-lally / roger miller, wonderfully bizarre / bendigo fletcher, dust in your pocket / glass animals, gecgecgec / 100 gecs, nantes / beirut, cherry-coloured funk / cocteau twins, not allowed / tv girl, space song / beach house, dog food / 100 gecs.

statistics.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, mena, etc.

birthday: april 20th, 2000.

zodiac: taurus sun, scorpio moon, aries ascending.

temperament: improvisor / phlegmatic.

label: the halycon.

sexuality: demisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

a middle child belonging to christopher and imogen carmichael - two stanford professors. christopher specialized in british literature whilst imogen specialized in the classics. hence the name.

the order of siblings goes as such: lysander, elektra, juno, philomena, and twins orion & valora. the deal was that everybody had a greek (or in juno’s case, roman) first name and a middle name inspired by a piece of british literature circa 1800s and under. a family of nerds, if you will.

so, clearly - right off the bat, their parents are … eccentric. they’re both in love with their respected topic, and with each other, and with their kids. the carmichael family is a happy family.

they each have their own quirks and whatnot - though philly’s always been particularly dreamy - even as a child, she’d spend hours watching clouds or caterpillars or the leaves blow in the wind rather than play with other kids. she wasn’t a shy kid - she just had her own interests.

hardship doesn’t hit the family until philomena is five and starts having splitting headaches. they’re slow at first - but as soon as she’s seeing spots and unable to walk in a straight line, doctor appointments are made.

cancer tw // it doesn’t take long for them to discover the tumor, though the official diagnosis of malignant ependymoma comes a month later.

it’s grade ii but slow-moving, small enough to not be as much of a threat as worried, but big enough where removal is necessary. philomena earns a scar and brings it in for show-and-tell. for two months afterwards, philly’s at radiotherapy monday through friday.

they’re lucky - philomena’s considered cancer-free by the next year. she’s babied at first - handled delicately, as if she could break if touched - but with five other children … it doesn’t last for too long. end of cancer tw //

and life continues as normal.

her personality doesn’t shift much over the next few years - she’s awfully independent for a kid, and awfully quiet - when she speaks it’s about faeries and bigfoot, about how the sky is so blue and if you listen quietly, you can hear the leaves whisper their secrets to each other. this is not odd.

she’s close to all her siblings, but she idolizes her older sister - elektra. elektra’s six years older and dyes her hair whatever colors she wants. elektra bought a knife off a seedy guy downtown. elektra threw away all of her heels and renounced god. elektra is god. her music is loud but it’s not heavy - it’s florence and the machine.

they’re opposites - elektra’s boisterous and feels loudly, philomena’s softer and feels…less. when elektra sneaks out, philomena keeps watch. they are a duo.

philomena is smart - but she’s fifteen and hates school. hates sitting inside all day. hates the same routine - day after day - it’s all the same. her parents’ routine is the same, philly feels contained and she wants to live.

elektra’s twenty-one and just bought a brand new spanking (used but not falling apart) 19-something volkswagen … van - using her entire savings account. she says she’s tired of routine, she’s leaving the next day.

naturally, philomena stows away in the back and isn’t discovered until they’re two states away and she’s got to pee. elektra nearly crashes the van in shock.

it’s an argument - philomena vs. elektra, then them vs. their parents, then their parents vs. the school, the state - it’s an ordeal. philomena switches to an online program in the end.

it hurts christopher and imogen - lysander’s not having any of their nonsense, juno’s betrayed and alone - the twins are twins. in the end, it’s alright. the carmichael family is a happy family.

philomena and elektra take their time - it’s not a road trip, it’s their new life, permanently on the road. they stop and explore often - they do odd jobs in whatever town they settle in. they dine-n-dash, they shoplift. they survive in their own way.

during particularly desperate times, they two resorted to identity theft & credit fraud - getting away with it only by ditching the cards once they’ve made it out of state.

she drops out of high school officially when she’s seventeen - they have to drive all the way back to california to deal with the wrath of their parents and to deal with paperwork, but it’s done. philomena doesn’t know what path she wants in life - but it’s not that.

depersonalization / derealization tw // it’s during this time that the episodes occur - philomena’s outside her body, philomena’s wrapped in cotton, her memories are not her own. she’s looking in the mirror and she doesn’t recognize herself. they take shelter in a city for six months, long enough for her brand spankin’ new therapist to figure out what’s wrong with her. she’s diagnosed with depersonalization / derealization disorder - they think it’s stress. philomena doesn’t get stressed. they think it’s trauma. she laughs - she never laughs. depersonalization / derealization end of tw //

death, decay. maggots tw // there is trauma though, deep-rooted but somewhere inside - you just have to look for it.

you. just. have. to. look. for. it. look for it. look for it. look for it look for it look -

you were ten and she was thirteen, an off-trail hike in familiar woods in a familiar town, safe and familiar. it was your idea, to stray from the carved out paths, down creeks and up hills and round, and round again. you’re the one who spotted the scarf first, sticking up from the dirt and dancing in the wind like the beginning of reincarnation. it was not reincarnation, it was discovery. it was ruin. with curiosity drawn, you skidded down - with compliance, followed juno, followed your sister - clumsy in her steps and tumbling down quicker than you. you saw the corpse, but juno felt it. decaying flesh and maggot. end of death, decay, maggots tw //

and she left juno, just like that - just five years later, when juno had finally gone to the end of her wits. philly up and left. abandoned her.

philomena and elektra leave the city after that therapy session. they do not return. she’s always been good at hiding her secrets.

after ending up with warrants from their arrest in florida (after running from the law in texas), philly and elektra have wound up at irving <3 partially hiding from the law and partially bcos their trusty van’s broken down and they haven’t got the money to fix her up yet.

personality & facts.

she’s quiet but she’s confident - her voice sounds like rustling leaves, if leaves smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.

often underestimated - philly’s petite and looks like she’d fall over if a plastic bag blew too close to her. she’s independent - for the most part. elektra is the only person philly takes orders from.

has always been considered odd - weird, strange. still talks about the trees as if they’re listening, as if they’re old friends. she’s vague and doesn’t elaborate on the things she says.

believes in pretty much any superstition you throw her way. luck is very important to her. if you ask her if the earth is flat, she’ll say probably. believes strongly in bigfoot and the lochness monster. has personally seen aliens, and loves ghosts almost more than herself.

she can be amusing - whether you ‘get’ her or not, her outlook is often bright - she talks about the negatives the same way she talks about the positives. can be seen as naive or gullible, but she’s plenty smart. even if half of her education has come directly from google.

philly doesn’t laugh. a smile, yes - often, in fact - not always reaching her ears, or bearing teeth - but these are not indicators of her happiness. philly is consistently content. she thinks many things are funny - she still will not laugh.

her voice is often monotonous - she doesn’t sound dreary, she sounds far-away. her voice carries. her emotions are often unknown to others.

is apathetic in most situations. she’s hard to bother - she’s incredibly patient and enjoys the company of most - tolerates them at the very least. it’s hard for her to express her emotions, because she feels them so little that it’s very nearly not worth it. her affection is not verbal - it’s small touches and gestures of kindness, love in her own way.

is a fan of knock-knock jokes and bad puns. she won’t crack a smile while telling you them, nor does she expect you to laugh. she just enjoys them.

she owns a motorola razr covered in puffy stickers - hasn’t ever had a smartphone. she’s a fan of emoticons. her favorite is :o)

has a lot of bruises and scratches and scars - she’s often getting herself into pickles. there are always, at the very minimum, three bandaids on each hand.

she has insomnia, so she’s awake often. is often seen wandering town - even when she shouldn’t be, even when it might be dangerous. her intuition is delayed. when she does sleep - her dreams are vivid and fantastical.

keeps a box of memories - sentimental bits and pieces she’s picked up over the last few years. there are a lot of buttons and postcards, but any teeny tiny object will do.

her style changes every week - most, if not all, of her clothes are thrifted. one week she’s baby spice and the next she’s lydia deetz. she combines pieces from different styles often - she looks like a barbie clothed by a child. she feels most comfortable like this.

will either patch-up the clothes that get too worn or reuse them in some way. sometimes donates the clothes she gets tired off - isn’t minimalistic, but she’s learned to keep only a small amount of possessions.

the only consistency is her lucky ribbon - it’s pastel yellow and silky and as thin as a shoelace. she ties it onto her outfit of the day, everyday. if she loses it, she’s lost. elektra has a matching ribbon.

has no problem with minor theft - she only takes bare minimum, puts herself and elektra first and that’s how it’s always been.

currently living in florence, their van, with her sister elektra <3 currently residing in lilac ridge.

they used to live in motels on the occasion, the cheapest room, and more often than not they’d both go home with strangers for a comfier bed and a hotter shower.

it was a common occurrence - she didn’t sleep with them - but somehow, she weaseled her way into their homes anyway. has come out mostly unscathed, on most occasions. this has been a practice ever since they’ve been on the road.

really, truly - has not slept with anybody, had her first kiss at thirteen with a frog. this doesn’t bother her. (smirks at leo)

will consume anything you put in front of her - isn’t picky.

listens to whatever they’ve picked up along the way but she likes instrumentals the best. her second favorite genre is 1990′s and 2000′s top hits. they’re nostalgic for her. third favorites? florence, of course. fleetwood mac. the bird and the bee.

loves storms - will go out in the rain and will risk her life for it.

owns a pair of roller-skates and is often skating rather than walking. unless she’s on grass - then she’s walking barefoot.

has many hobbies, and gets bored of them often. her favorite hobby is welding. she’s not certified.

also, juggling.

also, accordion.

the kind of girl who’ll do any job you give her. odd jobs are her favorite jobs. babysitting is her least favorite - but she does it anyway. has lost children before. have they ever been found? not by philly.

dyes her hair blonde often and cuts her own hair - bangs included - finds it cathartic, likes the itchiness of bleach.

everything she does is often in pursuit of feeling free, alive, and meaningful.

( like her frequent visits to the woods, late at night when the moon is high and full. it’s freeing to dance around a fire, stark naked in the cold. builds immunity )

comes and goes wherever she pleases, nothing & nobody can stop her (besides elektra).

has a certain knack for getting animals to like her. has too many ‘pet’ rats that reside with her, alongside a baby raccoon & a few crow pals. has a new animal companion everyday, but she doesn’t contain them or force them to stay.

wanted plots.

speaking through my third eye ... ;; philly is new in town n shes very strange. constantly lives in a state in which she does not exist (at least on the same plane). this is her harassing the locals. this is her slipping thru their fingertips as they attempt 2 understand her. they get close smtms bt philly jst. whisks herself away.

hollows of our eyelids ... ;; perhaps there is smbdy jst as strange as philly. i’m out here calling fr all the weirdos. lets be friends. lets hv philly n co go on adventures n discover horrible sites n uncover ancient secrets tht lie deep below irving. mayb nt tht. bt im jst saying. this is fr the dreamers. da weirdos. the jugheads. LHKDSHFSADLKGFHLSKADG fr those who also feel as if they r not real.

bills n aches n blues... ;; ya this is my call fr all negative plots. bills (catching philly be a thief and a fraud), aches (mayb heartache? unrecruited feelings or w/e theyre called?), n blues (ooooh so sad... so sad ... angst ...) obviously i am a genius. i wldnt say tht philly is here 2 make enemies bc philly doesnt care much abt ppl bt perhaps tht cld b an issue. tht she doesnt care much abt others. mayb ur muse is jst like. cn u pls care. n philly is like. i am incapable. sry. sucks.

n also ,, ;; like. anything i’ll. take anything. philly is weird lets come up w surreal plots tht verge on the edge of like. nt being correct fr this verse. suddenly theres vampires? or so they think ... smirks. anyways. shes been 2 jail n been in the circus n dances naked in the woods n hoards animals n treasures. we hv a lot to work with here obv.

#irvingintro #cancer tw #death tw #decay tw #maggots tw #dissociation tw #depersonalization tw #derealization tw #trauma tw #:D

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cassiopeiassky · 5 years ago

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Black Velvet

Alright everyone, it’s finally here. I’ve been sort of salty about the lack of tall!reader fics for awhile now or maybe it’s just the ubiquitous short, petite, drowning in his sweatshirt descriptions that get under my skin but just couldn’t get a decent amount of inspiration to write one. I have been known to throw in a mention of height randomly in my fics, but my usual workaround to avoid physical descriptions of the reader is to just write Bucky as like six and a half feet tall. Hes a damn super soldier, he should be taller anyway he did not start out as short as Steve. So one day I stumbled across this post by @invisibleanonymousmonsters and for some reason I can’t explain, an idea was finally unlocked in my brain later that same day. (Inspired by a song? Me? No. Never.)

It’s kind of all over the place, so buckle in. It does take a sharp right into smutsville but also ends up flipping a u and landing in flufftown. I don’t know. I just write what the muse tells me to write.

I would like to thank the incomparable @scottish-pepper for her amazing help and support while I wrote the thing - I couldn’t have done it without you, darlin.

Bucky x Tall!Reader

Modern day AU - think of a 40s prewar Bucky if he got a chance to grow up and lived in a small town

Plot: You have a terrible day of epic proportions but a beautiful stranger in a small town helps to make it better.

Warnings: Swearing (as per usual), smut, mentions of alcohol/drinking/bars, a brief mention of potentially disordered eating, mentions of a thunderstorm, and a very specific shitty family member.

Word count: 12K Yep. Knda got away from me

One last author’s note: This fic includes some ASL dialogue; it is expressed in italics without quotation marks. ASL is an incredibly beautiful and expressive language, and it’s in 3D!! It also has its own grammar structure, rules, nuances, and regional differences, just like any other language, and it can be a challenge to fit it into a two-dimensional space. Taking this into consideration, I’ve decided to write the dialogue with spoken English grammar because my ASL is really rusty and I don’t want to mess it up.

It’s hot. Like 100 degrees in the shade with 95% humidity hot. The trees are wilted, flowers are drooping, and there isn’t so much as a glimmer of hope for a cloud in the sky to interrupt the sun’s torture of earth’s inhabitants. The air is thick and still – there’s no movement at all – yet dangerously unsettled. It’s the kind of weather that if you sneeze, you might cause a tornado in the next county over. Of course your cousin would choose today of all days to get married. And of course her mom pressured her into going black tie, increasing everyone’s suffering tenfold.

“I can’t believe I rented a room for this. I can’t believe I spent $200 on a dress. Why am I even here? What did I expect?” There’s no answer, but of course there wouldn’t be. You’re alone in your car, driving back to a motel that you might not even stay the night in. You’d rented a room because you figured you’d have a few drinks at the reception – you wanted to celebrate the bride, she’s one of your best friends – but at this point you might as well just make the hour drive back home.

About a block from the motel you notice a bar tucked behind a gas station. According to the clock on the dash, it’s only 5:25.

Fuck it. You deserve a goddamn drink after today.

You pull into the parking lot and are surprised by the number of cars, farm trucks, and motorcycles already parked. There’s only one redneck limo, thank God – a pickup truck with a 10 inch lift kit and truck nuts hanging off the hitch, and in your experience driven only by incredibly insecure men – so that’s a good sign, right? It must be a decent place with decent drinks if it’s this busy so early in the evening. Maybe some of your day can be salvaged after all.

The hot, sticky air rushes in as soon as the car door is opened. “Gross,” you mutter; the heat hits even harder after the air conditioning in your car. Glancing over to the passenger seat, you see the hideous shoes your aunt Lydia pressed into your hands upon arriving at the wedding. “You know what, Lydia? Fuck you and fuck your ugly shoes.” You put your heels back on just to spite her.

It’s a small-town watering hole, so of course all eyes are drawn to you when you enter. And they stay on you as you find a seat at the bar – perhaps it’s because you’re a stranger, perhaps it’s because you’re overdressed.

But probably not.

The bartender approaches while drying his hands. He’s got dirty blonde hair in a sloppy undercut, a wide, flat nose, and is wearing a concert tee shirt with the arms cut off to show off his full sleeve of tattoos.

“Do you have blended drinks?” He nods. “Strawberry daiquiri, please.”

“Sure thing.”

You pull out some cash, tipping generously because your drink is a pain in the ass to make, then look around while you wait.

The bar is cool but not cold, not brightly lit but also not uncomfortably dim, is bigger than it looks, and is even busier than the amount of vehicles in the parking lot would lead you to believe. On one side there’s a jukebox next to a small stage with an empty but decently sized dance floor. There are a few high tops, then a gaming area featuring pool tables, dart boards, and a few pinball machines. On the other side of the bar you see a window with someone selling pull tabs, a station set up for calling bingo, a door to what’s probably the kitchen, and a popcorn machine filled with freshly popped popcorn. Behind you and scattered generously throughout the building are tables, some with 4 seats and some with 6, and over half of them are occupied.

“Here you go, miss.” The bartender places your drink in front of you with a polite smile. “Would you like a menu? The full kitchen is open tonight.”

The thought is nauseating. “Mmmm…maybe later.”

“Too hot to eat?” At your despondent nod, he grimaces and places a tall glass of ice water next to the daiquiri. “Thought as much. I’ll check back in a bit.” You didn’t notice his name tag until now – his name is Clint, and according to the hand illustrations under his name, he’s fluent in ASL.

Unsure if he’s Deaf and fluent in lipreading or if he’s hearing, you both sign and murmur, “Thank you,” before bringing the drink to your lips. It’s on the edge of being burned – just the way you like it. Sipping on the sweet slush is pure bliss, cooling you down from the inside out as it tempers the heat of the rum.

You sign? He doesn’t speak this time. It’s not an uncommon reaction.

Yes. I’m an interpreter.

His eyebrows rise in interest. What made you go into that?

My high school offered it, and I ended up becoming really good friends with the teacher’s daughter, who is Deaf. I made a lot of friends, got involved with the community and immersed in the culture, and I just loved it, so I figured, why not do this for a living? My dreams of being a Triple Crown winning jockey went out the window by the end of 5th grade so…

He laughs, but not unkindly. Yeah, I suppose you are a bit too tall for that. But 5th grade? Damn. His face lights up, Hey, have you heard of PATH, International? They’ve got a campus about half hour north of here. If you like horses, it might be right up your alley.

PATH International, or Professional Association of Therapeutic Horsemanship, is an organization very close to your heart. Yes! I volunteer there every Tuesday night.

The look of surprise on Clint’s face is priceless. No shit? I’m there on Thursday nights! You must be the other interpreter the kids are always talking about - they LOVE you! And so do the horses. You know, I was Ace’s favorite till you came along. Now he won’t even look at me unless I bribe him with a treat.

You look again at his name tag, and the name clicks. Wait, you’re Hawkeye! The one that does the archery demos on horseback for the kids’ birthday parties.

He takes a theatrical bow. The one and only.

Clint “Hawkeye” Barton is nothing short of a legend at PATH. Profoundly Deaf yet impossibly accurate with speechreading, he manages to blend both worlds perfectly. He’s also a master archer both off and on horseback, which basically makes him a superhero in the kids’ eyes. There are whispers that he travelled with a circus as a teenager, that he raises horses, and that he moonlights as a vigilante, but nothing has been verified and from what you’ve been told, he will neither confirm nor deny. It’s very likely that there’s at least some truth to the horse raising rumor – Ace is technically his horse, he just loans the chestnut gelding to the program. You’d been dying to meet Clint for a few years now but hadn’t been able to make it work.

It’s so good to finally meet you!

Likewise! I’ve been meaning to swing by on a Tuesday to see who it is that stole my favorite horse’s heart, but I’m usually here. His face lights up, Hey, I’ve got some ideas for a field trip for the older kids and adults but I need to team up with an ASL interpreter since I can’t technically work as a Deaf interpreter on my own off PATH’s campus. You know, rules and shit. You interested?

Absolutely! Just let me know. You dig a pen out of your purse and write your number and email address on a napkin. You know, I’m sorry, but I’m really not sorry about Ace. He stole my heart, what can I say.

He’s a shameless flirt, but I never thought he’d actually prefer someone else over me. But now that I’ve met you, I guess I can’t be too sore about it. He seems to have good taste. He takes the napkin with a grin and folds it up before putting it in his pocket, then looks to his left when a waitress waves for his attention and nods. Duty calls. Let me know if you need anything.

Well, that improved your day considerably.

For a few minutes, anyway.

“That’s an awfully girly drink for a woman like you.” A cloud of stale cigarette smoke with an obnoxious sounding man in the middle of it takes the seat next to yours.

You don’t turn to face him; you don’t even acknowledge him. If that’s his opening line, then you really, really don’t have the patience to interact with him today. This is the guy that owns the jacked-up truck. You can feel it in your bones.

Clint makes a face from behind the drink he’s making, notices your annoyance, and shakes his head. “Dude, she’s got more alcohol in her glass than you and your four buddies combined, so don’t knock her drink of choice. She’s also clearly not interested, and way, way out of your league. Go back to your pull tabs and leave the lady alone.”

You can feel the guy’s eyes on you, but Clint keeps glaring daggers at him and he eventually leaves. You can overhear him tell his buddies, “Thought she’d be an easy lay, but you know what? Even I have standards. How do you fuck someone that tall anyway? I’d need scaffolding!” They laugh, but you continue to hold your head up high. It’s nothing you haven’t heard some version of before. He’s not clever.

Ignore them. They’re lonely, small little men.

I know. Thank you. His protective gesture is touching and completely unexpected. This kind of thing doesn’t happen very often because most people assume you can handle yourself. You can – but it’s nice to not always have to be on the defensive, and today you’re at your limit.

No worries. You look like you had a rough day, I figured you didn’t need Chad making it worse. Clint winks and turns back to his drinks.

Well, he’s not wrong, but the day can only get better from here, right? Right. You nod to yourself then sit back and enjoy your drink. Clint stops by periodically to chat, but otherwise you’re left alone.

Eventually it’s time for a trip to the ladies’ room, and you do your best to ignore the stares and chuckles that inevitably follow you. In your semi-formal black dress you certainly stand out in a bar filled with cut off shorts and tee shirts, but that’s not why they’re staring.

In your black satin and lace, modestly platformed stiletto heels – affectionately known as your ‘fuck me shoes’ – you’re well over six feet tall. Are they uncomfortable? God yes, but they’re also beautiful and totally worth it.

The bathrooms are at the back of the bar, past the dart boards and pool tables. You’re almost there when you hear something ping off one of the pool table lamps and see it ricochet across the aisle and onto the top of the glass and wood cabinets housing the pool cues.

“How – how the hell did you manage that, Rogers?” A man with dark hair and a jawline that could cut glass heads in your direction. “You were supposed to throw the chalk to me, not your imaginary friend standing thirteen feet behind me.”

“Sorry, Buck,” a blonde joins him, looking appropriately apologetic. “My aim was a little off.”

“Ya think?”

You slow your pace to watch them. The guy with the dark hair is gorgeous – well, they both are, to be fair – but the one…damn. His maroon tee shirt is fitted enough to show off his beefy physique, and his jeans hug his thighs and ass like they were made for him. He throws off an air of cocky confidence with just a hint of danger, lending a genuine feel to his bad boy image. Should you…maybe? No. No, you absolutely should not. You’re not in the right mindset to try to soothe a man’s threatened masculinity just for a bit of company.

He and the blonde reach for the wayward chalk, but it’s just out of their reach. It’s amusing to watch them try to grab for it, but you take pity on them eventually.

Time for your good deed of the week.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Stepping between the two, you reach up and effortlessly pluck the blue cube from its spot before dropping it into the dark-haired man’s hand with a smile. “Here you go.”

Wide blue eyes look up into yours, but he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even smile. He just stares. Figures.

The blonde looks between you and his companion before clearing his throat. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The unspoken rejection from the brunette stings. Normally it wouldn’t get to you, but after today? It does. It really does. So you swallow against the burning thickness in your throat and force back the tears with a fake smile. “You’re welcome.” A few more steps and you’re in the ladies’ room, which only serves to make matters worse when you step into an open stall. As you turn around to lock the door, you can see your entire head in the mirror, poking out above the top. A pair of women walk in and they giggle, so you quickly sit down. There’s no point in taking it personally – it actually happens quite a bit in older buildings and you can fully admit that the sight is pretty funny – so you compose yourself and do what you came in to do. You slouch when you stand in order to avoid accidentally looking into one of the neighboring stalls and go to the vanity to wash up.

Even the sink mocks you by making you bend almost in half to reach the water.

A woman with dark hair and bright red lips exits the far-right stall and joins you at the mirror. “Oh wow, your shoes and dress are so pretty!”

“Thank you.”

“Did you come from the wedding at the ballroom?”

“Mmm hmm.” You glance at her shorts and flowery sleeveless top and swallow your sigh – you feel like a fucking behemoth next to her. “I think maybe I should have stopped by my motel room to change.”

“No, you look really nice!” She smiles up at you, “It’s really not unusual to have people dressed up in here on the weekends, you’re just earlier than we usually see it. I’ll give you a tip, though, in case your feet start to hurt. I know the place looks kinda crusty, but the owners take a lot of pride in it. The floors are clean if you choose to go barefoot.”

Her unexpected kindness surprises you; you’re usually shunned by other women when you’re at a bar because all they see is your height, which they erroneously perceive to be an advantage in attracting men. “Thank you. That’s really good to know.” She turns to leave but you stop her when you notice something wrong with her shirt. “Hey, hon, you’re missing a button.” The poor girl is busty, and she’s likely been flashing an unintentionally generous amount of cleavage for who knows how long.

She looks down and immediately sees the gap in her shirt. “Well, shit. I just bought this shirt. No wonder some of the guys couldn’t look me in the eye. Stupid boobs, always trying to pop out. Why can’t they just make clothes that fit real people?”

“I feel ya,” you mutter as you start digging through your purse. “Hold on, I’ve got something…here, try some of this.”

“Scotch tape?” She looks confused as she takes it.

“Double sided tape.”

Her eyes get wide as she gazes up at you. “You’re a genius. And an angel. An angelic genius!” She takes some and fixes her shirt, smiling brightly. Thank you so much!!”

Despite your incredibly shittastic day, you find yourself warming to her. She’s nice. “You’re welcome! I didn’t want a bunch of creeps leering at you. In a world of Chads, we women really need to stick together.”

“Oh, God, you met Chad?” She grimaces and shakes her head, “I’d like to apologize on behalf of the entire town. He and his friends are not a good representation of the rest of us, I promise. They don’t even live here, they were just permanently banned from the bar in the next town over and now they’re our problem, apparently. But I promise, the rest of the people here are alright.” She sticks out her hand, “I’m Peggy, by the way.”

You shake her calloused hand and give her your name. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. If you feel like some company, just come find me. My friends and I will probably be here for a while, and you’re more than welcome to join us.”

“Thank you, I might just do that.” You flash a smile, genuine this time, and go back to your seat at the bar. What the hell, maybe you’ll take her up on her offer after you finish your drink.

A minute passes, maybe two, before someone takes the barstool next to you.

It’s him. The gorgeous brunette.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” You want to roll your eyes at your reply. Smooth. Real smooth.

“My uh, my friends pointed out that I was rude earlier, so I wanted to apologize.”

You turn to him quizzically, giving him your full attention. Is this really the same guy that was playing pool? The sexy one that projected ‘bad ass’? “For what?”

His cheeks grow pink and it throws you off guard. “It’s not nice to stare. My ma taught me better than that – she’d slap me into next week if she saw how I acted. I ain’t usually like that, I’ve just never seen, uh…”

Here it comes. The ‘I’ve never seen such a tall woman’ comment that leaves you feeling like a roadside circus freak show.

“Well, you just got an amazing smile.”

Wait, what? “Huh?”

“I’ve never seen such a pretty smile.” He shrugs and studies the bar top. “Your eyes looked sad, though. I dunno. I guess I was tryin’ to figure you out.” He turns back to you with an almost obnoxiously handsome grin, “My name’s Bucky Barnes. Can I make it up to you? Buy you a drink?”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to gauge his intent. He seems genuine enough – he’s either a brilliant actor or you seriously misjudged him, which, in your current cynical mindset, is entirely possible.

You look up to see Clint watching as he dries some glasses. Maybe he has some insight. Is this guy decent? He’s gorgeous but does he have a personality?

Clint snorts, glancing at Bucky then back to you. Yeah. He’s a pretty good guy. He’ll treat you right.

Bucky looks like he’s swallowing a smile when you turn back to him. “Yeah, I guess you can make it up to me.”

“Really?” He seems genuinely happy at the prospect.

“Sure.”

“Great!” Apparently that’s all the invitation he needs to turn on the charm. “So what’s a gorgeous girl like you doin’ in a dump like this?

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh.

“No,” he shakes his head sheepishly, “It’s not. Guess I’m really off my game today. I can usually flirt, I promise.”

A beer and another daiquiri appear on the counter. “Thanks, man,” Bucky nods to Clint. “Hey, you wanna grab a table?” He nods his head to the side of the bar by the jukebox. “It’s quieter there. We can chat and I can show you that I ain’t, in fact, the dumbass I’ve made myself out to be.”

“Yeah, okay.” Why not? Even if you don’t know Clint enough to trust him, the kids that you work with do, and you trust their judgement. So if Clint says that Bucky is decent, you’ll believe him.

***

It ends up being a good choice. Bucky turns out to be more than decent – he’s really nice, funny, respectful, keeps his eyes where they belong, and doesn’t ask if you play basketball.

He asks the basic questions and learns that you live about an hour north of here, that you’re an interpreter, you love to read, write, and draw, and yes, you were at a wedding. Tired of talking about yourself, you take advantage of him pausing to drink his beer and flip the topic.

“So what do you do?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and sighs. “I’m a mission systems engineer with NASA.”

You blink at him. “I’m sorry, you’re what?”

“A mission systems engineer with NASA. I know, I –“

“Do you have top secret clearance?”

He looks thoroughly confused. “That’s your first question?”

“Do you? Or would you have to kill me if you told me? Have you been to space? Does the government have a plan for if an asteroid comes our way, or would we have to do like the movie Armageddon and wing it with a bunch of oil rig operators?”

Bucky appears to be absolutely delighted at your string of questions. “Well, yes, no, unfortunately no, and I can’t tell you that because has to do with national security.”

“Fascinating.” You sit back, thoroughly intrigued by the man sitting across from you. “What the hell are you doing in a podunk town like this? Shouldn’t you be in Houston? Or D.C.?”

“I live here.” He chuckles at your unimpressed stare. “Yeah, I know it’s a small town – we got a bar, three churches, a motel, a gas station, and a diner that closes by 7 pm every day. Our biggest draw is the ballroom on the lake shore and the hunting grounds in the fall. It ain’t exactly the heart of modern technology. But I grew up here, my family and friends are here, and I stick around to help out on their farm. I fly into Headquarters a few times a year, but otherwise I work remotely.”

“So what do you do?”

“The general gist of it is that I lead a team that designs, develops, and deploys missions.”

“To space?”

“Well, I mean, I work for NASA…”

“What are you working on now?” You can’t help peppering him with questions – this is so fucking cool.

His eyes sparkle. “You got top secret clearance?”

“No.”

“Sorry. Can’t tell you anything,” he shrugs with a smirk.

“I…yeah, I guess I kind of walked right into that. Wow. So you’re really freaking smart.”

“I hope so!”

“Do you like it?”

“Being smart?”

“Your job, dipshit.”

He laughs, freely and openly, and it’s an amazing sound. “I love it.”

You can’t help but stare at him. “Wow. That’s…that’s just really, really fucking incredible.”

Bucky gets quiet. “It is really incredible. Thank you for thinking so.” He looks up, then back down as he starts peeling the label off his empty bottle of beer. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve told about my job that didn’t either tell me I don’t look smart enough to be a mission systems engineer or ask me how much money I make.” He meets your eyes again. “Or both. I get that a lot, too.”

You certainly know how shitty it feels to get those kinds of unsolicited comments based solely on appearance. It’s one thing to have an impression, but to just say those things out loud? “Well, they suck. And they’re truly shallow if they think intelligence has anything to do with how you look. But hey, at least they show their true colors right away so you can save yourself some time.” You lean forward, chin in hand, “Okay, so I know you can’t tell me about your actual projects, but can you tell me about your job? What are your responsibilities? What does a mission systems engineer do?”

Bucky lights up like New York City and spends the next 40 minutes going into detail about what he does, and you hang on every word; it’s impossible not to, really. His enthusiasm for what he does is so evident that even if the topic weren’t interesting, you’d still be entranced. And you thought he was gorgeous before? His animated passion makes him absolutely breathtaking.

You’ve both finished your drinks and, perhaps not so surprisingly, he switches to soda when you do. When unordered appetizers arrive with your new drinks, you both look over to Clint, who just winks and shrugs.

“Well I ain’t gonna complain. Didn’t realize how hungry I was.” Bucky shoves an entire ham and cheese ball into his mouth, but then has to hasashafahasa because it must have just come out of the fryer. “Ish hot! Rearry hot!”

Bursting into laugher, you slide your ice water to him before cautiously taking a bite of your buffalo wing. Considering how much fun you’ve had in the last hour, it isn’t all that surprising that your appetite has returned. “Me neither.”

The hours fly by as the conversation eventually turns to other topics, and you find yourself talking about things you wouldn’t expect considering you’ve just met. Bucky seems so open and honest that it’s difficult not to reciprocate, and if one doesn’t go into detail about what the other asks, it’s only because there’s so much to cover.

Bucky dips the last bit of pretzel into the beer cheese sauce and pops it into his mouth. “So if you don’t mind me asking, what made those pretty eyes of yours so sad?”

You take a long sip of your Coke Zero as you debate your next move. Deflect or come clean? You surprise yourself when you blurt out, “My aunt, Lydia.”

“Your aunt?”

You squirm a bit at the uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability, but you keep going. “Yeah. It was her daughter that got married today. Marie and I grew up together – Lydia is my mom’s only sister, so she was the one that took care of me when my mom had to work double shifts, which was a lot. She did the best she could, and she means well, she really does, but she’s just so caught up with appearances. My height is a, uh, a definite sore spot with her.”

“Really? Why? What does it matter?”

“I think it comes down to the appearance thing. Tall women are generally seen as less feminine, even straight up masculine. Lydia is tall, too – not quite as tall as me, but close. She claims that she got her husband through making herself appear daintier. She only wears flats and follows all the newest fad diets to make herself as small as she can because she feels that being a tall woman puts her at a distinct disadvantage.” You shrug, “She was one of the primary examples I grew up with. And to be fair, it’s not like she’s completely wrong. In my experience, guys tend to feel emasculated by me. And it’s not just men that seem to see me through a distorted lens. Even from a young age – I’m talking 4th grade – I’d hear teachers tell my mom that I seemed so much more mature than my peers, that I didn’t need as much support, emotional or academic, as everyone else. I got additional responsibilities and higher expectations. The thing is, I wasn’t more mature. I was just tall, so I looked more mature. Eventually it kind of came true, though. Other than my mom, who was single and working 2 jobs to keep me housed and fed, I didn’t really have anyone that would protect me or support me. I guess no one thought I needed it, so I just got used to doing it myself.”

Bucky shakes his head, and you can’t tell if his expression is one of pity, sadness, anger, or something else.

“But Lydia made everything a hundred times worse than it needed to be. I already knew I was outside the norm, I didn’t need the reminders. But every time I’d hit a growth spurt she would share some nasty comment on it, as if telling me that boys didn’t like tall girls would somehow stop my bones from stretching.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Mmm hmm. Despite my mom’s efforts – and the fact that being tall is actually pretty awesome – Lydia’s words really got under my skin, and even now they undermine my confidence sometimes.” You gesture to yourself and the bar, “Obviously. I should be at my cousin’s wedding right now. I don’t go to many family functions anymore, because of her. It just…it puts my head in a bad place. You know, they say it takes five to seven positive comments to balance out one negative comment? The negative is in everything she says. Everything. I love my family to pieces, but I just can’t handle her.”

“What did she say to you today?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Bucky is getting pissed.

“She met me at the door of the chapel with a pair of her ugly black penny loafers. Said that she told the photographer that I wasn’t allowed in any family pictures unless I was wearing them, because she didn’t want my Amazonian ass towering over everyone else and ruining the aesthetic.”

“Your…your ‘Amazonian ass’?”

“Eh,” you shrug and wave your hand dismissively. “It’s not the first time I’ve been called an Amazon and far from the worst thing people have said. I mean, people say it to be cruel, but Amazons were fearless warriors. I just think of it as being put in the same class as Wonder Woman. The part that hurt was that she was prepared to make sure I wasn’t in the pictures, that she thought she could just erase my existence, simply because I’m too tall for her liking.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “I might be overstepping here, but what a heartless bitch. No one should ever try to erase you, what a fucking idiot.”

“She browbeat Marie into dyeing her hair blonde for the wedding. Marie hates it, but did it for her mom’s approval.” You release a deep sigh, “But that’s Lydia, and that’s why I took my Amazonian ass out of there the second the ceremony was over.”

“Hmmmm.” He gazes at you. “You know she’s a princess, right?

“Huh?”

“Wonder Woman. She’s a princess. You know…Amazon Princess…it actually kinda suits you.”

“Seriously?”

“Damn right I’m serious. You’re tall? So what. You’re fuckin’ royalty. Own it, Princess. Correct ‘em. Make ‘em say it. Amazon Princess.”

“What?”

“Yep. Say it with me. Amazon Princess.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, but there’s something undeniably sweet about the way he’s pressing the issue. It’s not good enough for him that it doesn’t bother you – he wants it to be seen as a term of empowerment and to let people know that’s how you see it.

The moment is interrupted when a booming voice comes through the sound system. “Alright everybody, it’s ten o’clock!” Someone stands on the stage, holding a mike and looking more than a little tipsy. “You know what that means!”

The bar cheers, “Free jukebox!”

A line forms immediately, and the music starts.

“Wanna dance, Princess?”

“Really? You’re going to call me ‘Princess’ now?”

He shrugs with darkening eyes and a suggestive smirk. “If it’s okay with you.”

If he keeps looking at you the way he’s looking at you right now, he can call you whatever he damn well pleases. But he doesn’t need to know that. “Yeah,” you murmur. His gaze is so intense that you have to look around the bar to break it and gather your thoughts. You happen to see Peggy; she’s standing next to the blonde that had been playing pool with Bucky, so she must know him. She catches your eye, sees who you’re with, and gives a thumbs up with a huge grin. Well, alright then. You grin back and remember what she said. “Let’s dance.”

Bucky stands, stopping when he sees you toeing off your heels. “Woah, what’re you doing?”

“Taking off my shoes?”

He shakes his head, “Princess, you don’t need to do that. I ain’t too fragile to dance with a woman taller than me.”

“I know,” and you do, “But I can’t dance in these. And my feet hurt.”

When you stand, you’re almost eye to eye with Bucky; if he were barefoot as well, you would be.

People are still lined up at the jukebox, selecting their favorites. It’s exactly the mix you would expect from a place like this – classic songs like Brown Eyed Girl, Summer of ’69, and Footloose with more modern tunes sprinkled in – the kind of music that gets everyone up and dancing.

Bucky is a great dance partner, and you’re having an absolute blast. You don’t think about your aunt, the wedding that you’re supposed to be at, or how you are, without a doubt, the tallest woman in the bar. He laughs, showing off the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, obviously enjoying himself, too.

The jukebox switches songs again, and on comes the relentless, even rhythm of Black Velvet. For the first few measures, you just stare at each other. It’s the first song to play that isn’t upbeat, and you don’t know what to do until he makes the first move and pulls you close – close enough to breathe each other in. He stares as Alannah Myles’ smokey voice drifts over the steady bass, then spins you so your back is to him.

If Bucky’s a good dance partner for upbeat music, he’s even better when it’s slow like this, when every move counts. He’s enough to handle you, and more than confident enough to do so.

Bucky stays behind you, mirroring you with his hands resting gently at your waist. Your back is against his chest, but his hips keep their distance. Just to experiment, you press yours back and hear a guttural “fuck” before he intentionally shifts.

Bucky is absolutely nothing that you expected. “You’re a gentleman.”

You can feel the dark chuckle rumbles through him. “I wouldn’t say that, Princess.” He spins you around, pulling you close but not too close, and runs his thumb along your neck. “I just ain’t in the habit of taking what ain’t mine.”

His voice sends a shiver down your spine. Fuck. You like him. One night stands aren’t usually your thing…but that’s not what this feels like. He feels familiar. Safe. You like him, and he sure seems to like you. Your mind is already made up – you’ll take the chance and see what happens. You hardly recognize your own voice when you ask, “Do you want me to be?”

“Thought I was makin’ it obvious. Yes.” He doesn’t hesitate and his eyes don’t leave yours. “Are you offering?”

You move your hand to the back of his neck and lightly scratch, watching with satisfaction as his pupils dilate even more than they were. His lips part when you pull him closer, but he waits for you to close the kiss.

The second you do, his hands slide down to your lower hips before he tightens his grip. He’s not timid; he kisses you as though you’re a well-known lover, deeply and intensely, without bothering with introductions.

Bucky suddenly breaks the kiss, spinning you around again to pull your back against his chest. This time, though, he allows his hips to rock into yours with the rhythm of the music, slow and steady and insatiable. The way he moves makes it impossible not to think about fucking him; hell, you’re practically halfway there already. His hands alternate holding you tightly to his body, maximizing contact, and running up and down your sides. Your head falls back when his mouth finds your neck, and your legs go weak when his teeth nibble that spot beneath your ear.

You’ve never been so turned on in your life.

His voice is thick when his lips find your ear, “Wanna get out of here?”

You nod, taking his hand to lead him back to the table to collect your things. “I’ve got a room at the motel a block away.”

“Good.”

When you take one last look around, you see Clint, still behind the bar, grinning at you like an absolute idiot. Have fun!

“Oh my God,” you mutter under your breath, but you can’t completely hide the smile.

You step outside to find that the unbearable heat of the day has eased somewhat now that the sun has set. It’s still warm as the humid air kisses your skin, but with the breeze it’s sultry rather than oppressive.

You and Bucky look up at the same time – the stars are barely visible through the haze of clouds. There’s a thunderstorm rolling in on the western horizon.

Bucky walks you to your car, making sure you’re in safely before getting in his own truck and following you to the motel. He jumps out of his vehicle and pushes you against the car the second you’re out of it, kissing you like it’s been days and not 2 minutes since his lips were last on yours.

He doesn’t stop until the first few raindrops hit your skin. Bucky looks up while you grab your purse and your aunt’s shoes out of the car, gathering them clumsily before locking the door. It takes a minute for you to get your room key out of your purse, but you finally manage.

“Looks like the storm is already here. Gonna be a good one if it got here that fast.” He takes your hand, “Which room are you in?”

“Up the steps, furthest door on the left.”

Bucky leads you to the stairs as you both laugh while trying unsuccessfully to dodge the increasingly fat drops of rain. He doesn’t let go of your hand until you need to unlock the door, and the second you hear the click of the lock, his lips are on yours again. He pushes the door open and guides you through, closing the door behind him with a well-placed kick. You drop your purse and the loafers, then step out of your heels as he toes his shoes off. Still connected at the lips, he doesn’t see the things on the floor and trips over one of your stilettos.

“Oh shit!” His eyes are huge, staring up into yours when he realizes he isn’t going to hit the floor because you’ve caught him by the arm. “Good catch, Princess.” Both of you start laughing as he stands up straight, but the laughter dies out when his mouth find yours again. Hungry hands roam your body while you reach beneath his shirt so your fingers can explore the taut muscles you just know are hiding beneath it. Bucky grabs the collar behind his neck and pulls the shirt off altogether, and you are not disappointed. “You like what you see, huh?”

“Damn right I do.” You’re breathless, pressing your lips against the salty skin of his collarbone.

“You sure know how to use that mouth of yours, don’t ya?” He groans, then reaches down to grab the hem of your dress to lift it over your head before tossing it to the side. “Goddamn, darlin.” Bucky eyeballs you like a starving man at a feast before his mouth is back on yours, then moves his lips to the top of your breasts while he reaches around to unclasp your bra. It joins your discarded dress as he pulls you close, groaning at the feel of your naked breasts pressed against his chest. “I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve you walkin’ into that bar tonight,” he bites your neck and you can’t stop the light whimper, “but I ain’t gonna complain. I’m gonna make you feel so good, Princess, I promise.”

You believe him. And you cannot wait.

The two of you somehow manage to take a couple of steps toward the bed. “I’ve wanted to do this since you smiled at me after givin’ me that chalk. Those eyes, that smile, that dress, those fuckin’ sexy shoes.” His hands find your hips, hooking your panties with his thumbs to push them down so you can step out of them. “When we started dancin’ all I could think about was what it would feel like havin’ your legs wrapped around me, I want you so damn bad.”

You unbutton his jeans and fumble with the zipper, then pull his jeans and boxer briefs down at the same time, freeing a fully hard cock that is nothing short of glorious. “Then either figure out how to multitask or stop talking and fuck me already.”

Bucky Barnes does not need to be told twice.

He kicks off his remaining garments before pushing you against the nearest vertical surface – which happens to be the middle of the window, where there’s a strip of metal supporting the two panes of glass. You aren’t sitting on the ledge, just leaning against it to keep your balance. It occurs to you that maybe you should close the curtains, but you’re too far gone to care enough to do anything about it.

“Don’t you worry, Princess. I can do both.” His arm is looped around your waist to hold you steady while your upper back presses against the cold strip of metal. You’ve got one arm hooked around his neck and the other steadying yourself on the edge of the windowsill. Bucky reaches down, takes hold of your thigh and lifts it to his hip. He lets go of your waist just long enough to guide his cock to your entrance – and he can slide right in because you’re so damn wet – and fuck, the way he stretches you is delicious.

“Christ, you’re so damn fuckable,” he moans in your ear, sending shivers throughout your entire body. “So fucking perfect…don’t need a bed or a chair, I can fuck you anywhere I want. I could just bend you over, wouldn’t even need a wall.” Between his thrusts, which are as maddeningly steady and slow as his dancing, the cool metal of the windowpane at your upper back, the flickers of lightening, and the crashes of thunder, it’s almost sensory overload. He’s holding you so tightly that you can’t move your hips much, so you’re completely at his mercy. And he knows it.

Each move he makes is a sin; the angle you’re at all but guarantees he’s stroking your clit with every move. Delirious with the sensations flooding your brain, you can only babble nonsense.

“What’s that, Princess? Use your words, darlin,” Bucky

“So…so good…I, huh…”

He chuckles darkly, “What was that?”

He’s not playing fair but you really don’t mind – his confidence with you is a rarity and is such a fucking turn on. “More.”

“More? You want me to fuck you harder? Is that right?” He waits for your nod before flashing a wicked grin lit by lightning, then adjusts his grip on your thigh. “Anything you want, Princess, you get.”

His thrusts come harder and faster, multiplying your pleasure tenfold. Then he shifts his hand on your thigh, changing the support from holding it up to pushing it back, opening you further and allowing him to go even deeper.

Oh, oh fuck…

Your entire body clenches with your orgasm, so tightly you can’t even breathe, and your mouth opens in a silent scream.

Bucky follows you just seconds later with a growl of your name against your neck and a few last ragged movements.

He releases your thigh as he gently pulls out, but he doesn’t take his arm from around your waist. You lift yourself onto the windowsill, pulling him between your legs as you hold each other close and catch your breath while the storm rages outside. He keeps his face buried in your neck as you run your fingers up and down his back, calming you both. The thunder rumbles violently while lightning dances in the sky, but it doesn’t worry you. You’ve always found comfort in the chaos of a storm.

Eventually your legs start to fall asleep, so you begin to move. Bucky notices and hikes both of your thighs up to his hips before guiding your arms up around his neck. “Hold on, Princess.” He reaches down and lifts you, carrying you the 5 feet to the bed. After laying you down, he begins kissing you again, then starts exploring your body. “I love being cradled in your thighs like this, but there’s something else I wanna try,” he whispers as he starts crawling down. “Now I can take my time with you.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he’s going. “Really? Um, maybe I should shower first?” You’re sweaty from the heat of the day and just had some really incredible sex, so there’s no doubt in your mind that things are less than fresh down there.

“If you want to.” He keeps on his slow descent, kissing everything in his path, “But I’m happy with you just like this. I want you, right now, as you are.”

“But don’t you –“

“No. I don’t.” There’s a challenge in his eyes when he looks up from his destination. “I don’t care.” And then Bucky dives in, devouring your pussy like he’d devoured your mouth. He’s got you writhing in moments, all worries gone. But he’s a goddamn tease now that the initial urgency has been satisfied, bringing you to the edge and then backing off again and again in a beautiful torture.

You can’t do dirty talk to save your life, but you’re about to start begging when he finally looks up, chin glistening before he wipes it away with the back of his hand. “Fucking delicious.” Between the sight of him, his voice, and the sensations you’re feeling, your brain just about short circuits. Then his fingers start to circle your entrance, teasing you, making you want more before he slowly pushes two in and curls them to press against that spot, and fuck it can’t feel any better, but then somehow it does. You pull a pillow over your face but he shifts, reaching up to yank it back off and throw it across the room. “No way, Princess, I wanna hear what I do to you,” he rasps, watching you with hungry eyes and a feral grin. You’re almost there…almost…and then he puts his mouth back on your clit and your universe implodes.

One orgasm blends into another and you allow him to push your limits until you can’t handle it anymore. “Stop,” you gasp, and he does immediately. “I’m – it’s too much. I…wow.” You’re so oversensitive at this point that if he breathes too hard, you might jump out of your skin.

Bucky crawls his way back up to you, dropping kisses on your hot skin as he goes. “You’re incredible, you know that? I love how your body responds to me, I fucking love it.”

He kisses you again, and despite your sensitivity, your hunger for him grows. Sitting up, you pull him with you then push him down to the mattress. “Fuck yes,” he whispers hoarsely when you straddle him and slide down, pausing to glide your pussy along his hardened cock, but then you slide down a little farther before spreading his legs so you can kneel between them.

It’s impossible not to groan aloud when your hands find his thighs; thick, tight, and incredibly well formed, they look like they were sculpted by a generous god. “I might have to ride one of these later.”

“Please –“ Bucky swallows hard and licks his lips as he watches you in the dim, sporadically flickering light, “Please do.”

One hand moves to palm his balls while you part your lips to take him in as far as you can, reveling in his heaviness on your tongue while using your hand to stroke the base of his cock. You give it a bit, waiting until he’s writhing beneath you before you pull off and redirect your attention. His eyes grow wide when your fingers start moving down beneath his balls to his taint, pressing gently to find the very root of his cock which will then lead you to the spot you’re looking for. Pressing firmly when you find it, you begin rubbing tight circles.

“What are you – oh. Oh. Oh, fuck, Princess, oh fuck!”

It’s ridiculously satisfying to see him reduced to the same whimpering, quivering puddle you were not so long ago. You make him come once, twice, three times without ejaculating, just because you can.

Bucky’s got his forearm resting over his eyes as he shakes his head, and you take advantage of his distraction to shift your body into position. “Holy shit.” He’s breathless, shaking, “I did not know I had a spot that could do that. Fuck. I – oh Christ…“

You slide onto his cock, smiling when his hands automatically reach to grip your hips – the biology and technique can be explained later. Leaning over, you kiss him deeply then stretch your arms above him to grip the headboard. Rocking your hips slowly, so slowly, you watch him watch you.

Bucky’s lips form words but nothing comes out except for sighs and soft moans as you become more and more intoxicated by his need for you. His hands wander up and down, touching your breasts, hips, ass, and everything in between until he pulls you down for another kiss. “Do you have any idea how fucking perfect you are? You feel so good. So fucking good. Wanna make you feel good. As good as you make me feel.” Bucky kisses you again, sloppily, then wraps an arm tightly around you before flipping you both.

Now that you’re on the bottom and he’s back in control, he picks up the pace considerably.

You certainly aren’t about to complain.

His hands are grasping yours, holding them over your head, and your legs are locked around his hips as his thrusts eventually begin to lose their impeccable rhythm.

Now neither of you are in control.

The pleasure has been steadily building, an inevitable tidal wave on the horizon. Maybe it’s his confidence, maybe he’s naturally gifted, maybe it’s that his body seems to fit with yours just right. Whatever it is, this is by far the best sex you’ve ever had, and despite already having multiple orgasms, your appetite for him seems to be insatiable because you’re greedy for the next one.

“Fuck, Princess, it feels so good having those legs wrapped around me,” he pants, “Goddamn, I can – I can feel you’re right there. I ain’t gonna last much longer, come for me, darlin, give it to me now. Oh Christ yes, that’s right, just – just like that.”

Your body obeys, giving him exactly what he wants. The velvet sound of his voice, his incessant dirty talk, the way he smells and tastes – everything about him adds to your pleasure induced stupor. The orgasm is so powerful that everything but Bucky goes black, and the only thing keeping you tethered to this world is the way he chants your name as he comes.

His body continues to cover yours as you wait for your racing pulse to slow. He presses kisses to your neck, cheeks, lips, and eyelids, and finally your forehead before he gently lifts himself off to lay next to you. “C’mere,” he pulls you to him, and when you rest your head on his chest you can hear how fast his heart is still beating.

Thoroughly sated and soothed by the feel of his fingertips on your skin, it’s tempting to give in and fall asleep. But not yet. Not if you want to sleep through the night.

Reluctantly, you rise. Maybe, if you’re really fast, maybe he’ll still be here when you get back. It’s probably not the sane thing to do, but you really, really want him to stay the night.

“Where you going?” Is that trepidation you hear in his voice?

You smile as you take in the sight of him lying in the bed, disheveled and clearly satisfied. “I need to shower. And wash my face – I need to get my makeup off. My eyes are getting itchy.”

“Can I join you?” He laughs at your raised eyebrow, “No, Princess, not like that. I’m gonna need some time to recover.”

“That’s good to know,” you smirk, “I was starting to wonder if you were a god wearing a mortal’s skin.”

Bucky blushes. It’s adorable. “Nah, no god here. Just a man that’s never wanted a woman so bad before. Still do,” he shrugs, “Just too worn out at the moment to do anything about it. You’re somethin’ special, I hope you know that.”

It’s your turn to feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you hold out your hand to help him up.

The shower is tender and sweet, full of soft kisses and softer touches. This man just keeps surprising you.

He’s toweling off his hair when his eyes meet yours in the vanity mirror. “Is it okay if I stay?”

A slow smile spreads across your face – you couldn’t stop it if you tried. “I’d like that.” You slip into fresh panties and a tank top, turning to face him fully to admit, “I’d like that a lot.” Bucky beams at you before pressing a soft kiss to your lips and heads to the bed. You finish up a few minutes later and crawl in, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. There’s nothing to hide behind – no makeup, no cocktail dress, no drink. It’s just you, and this is a state that very few people see you in; no one you’ve ever dated has seen you this vulnerable until months have gone by. Some didn’t see you this way at all. “Don’t look too close. I’m very unglamorous and monochrome without makeup.”

Bucky’s blue eyes stare in yours. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.” His fingers trace your freshly moisturized skin. “I think you’re beautiful.”

Outside, the thunderstorm has exhausted itself. He pulls you close and breathes you in, and you both fall asleep to the sound of gentle rain.

***

When the sun peeks through the gap in the curtains at 6 am, you’re not even mad that you’re awake. The sight of Bucky lying peacefully next to you is something you’re thoroughly enjoying.

“You’re staring.” His voice, deep and gravelly, rumbles lightly into the silence as he opens his eyes. “It’s because I’m decent and gorgeous with a personality, right?”

“What?”

Bucky smirks as he stretches and sits up. “I should probably come clean. The bartender from last night? My parents took him and his sister in after their parents were killed in an accident. Clint and Carrie were lucky to survive – he lost his hearing and six months of memories and she was in the ICU for 3 weeks. He and I have practically been brothers since grade school.”

It takes a minute, but you finally put the pieces together. Oh. Well, shit.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I was just really surprised to see you sign so I didn’t look away fast enough. I’m sorry.”

You sit up and slap him lightly on the shoulder. “So, you knew what I asked him?

His smile broadens as he gives you puppy dog eyes. Yes. Please don’t be mad.

You try not to smile back as you think about it but lose the battle and shrug. “I’m not mad. Maybe a little embarrassed, but we’ve known each other for what, 12 hours? It’s not like you can tell me everything about you in that short amount of time.” You give him some serious side eye, “Although you could have mentioned that when I told you what I do for a living.”

He studies your eyes like he’s trying to see into your soul. “I told you a lot, though.”

“You did. We both did.” It surprises you, more than a little, that you aren’t horrified at how open and honest you’ve been with him.

Bucky reaches his hand up to cup your cheek and he pulls you in for a kiss. “Good morning, beautiful.” It seems like he doesn’t want to part, because he rests his forehead against yours.

Somehow your hand finds his neck, and you gently rub your thumb along his jawline. “Good morning, Bucky.”

His stomach grumbles. Loudly. “Wanna grab some breakfast, Princess?”

It makes you a stupid amount of happy that he’s not ready to leave you just yet. “Yeah. I just need a little bit to get ready.”

A half hour later, Bucky opens the passenger side door of his pickup. “Your chariot, Princess.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking his offered hand and climbing in. It’s an older truck, one with a bench seat, and it smells of hay, Bucky’s cologne, and sweat. It’s not what you’d expected, but it suits him.

In this tiny little town nothing is open at this hour on a Sunday morning, so Bucky pulls his pickup onto the interstate to head to a fast food restaurant a few miles away. You take the time to look around – the area is really pretty and reminds you of the drive to your grandparents’ house, all farmland and pastures. Of course, you can’t help but stare at the horses whenever you pass them. “Whoa. They must breed Appaloosas.”

Bucky takes a quick glance out your window. “Yeah, that’s the Carter farm. They raise Appaloosas and alpacas.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You like horses? Not everyone can randomly pick out that breed.”

“I love horses,” you murmur, smiling broadly when you spot a few foals among the herd. You’re too busy looking at them to notice how he looks at you.

***

Breakfast is simple, just something picked up at a drive thru window, but that’s perfectly fine with you. Bucky doesn’t pull back onto the interstate though, he instead starts driving the winding country roads. You don’t mind in the least; you simply sip your coffee, content to be exactly where you are. Considering the hour, you aren’t even grumpy. Stealing glance at the reason why, you hide your smile and take another sip.

Bucky’s fingers drum almost nervously against the wheel, then he seems to make a decision as he brakes sharply. “Sorry, Princess,” he smiles sheepishly, “You up for a picnic? I know a spot.”

His smile is infectious. “Yeah.”

He takes the left he stopped so quickly for, and then another left onto a dirt road, and a mile later he turns onto what looks like a seldom used service trail leading up to a fenced in pasture. “Just a sec,” he pulls the truck to a stop, then gets out to open a gate. Bucky quickly climbs back in, drives the truck through about 20 feet before turning in a tight circle to face the road, and closes the gate behind him before stepping up to your door. “I got some blankets, do you want to sit in the truck bed with me?”

“Of course.”

He gets the blankets and spreads them out while you grab the food and coffees, handing them to him before you climb in after him.

“I would’ve helped you in, Princess.”

“Bucky. I’m not five feet tall. I can get into the back of a truck.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m fully aware of that. But unlike the other shmucks you seem to have come across in your life, I ain’t gonna make you do something by yourself just because you can. You deserve consideration and chivalry, too.”

What do you even say to that? He’s the exact opposite of pretty much everything you’ve ever known. It’s nice.

He sits down against a box that is attached to the back of the cab. “C’mere. You look cold.”

It was hot when you’d packed your overnight bag so you’ve only got a tee shirt and shorts on, and luckily a hoodie that just happened to be in the backseat of your car. “I am, a little,” you admit as you curl into his side, allowing him to cover your legs with another blanket that he’s pulled out.

He eats one handed, keeping an arm around you to keep you close and warm.

Everything smells clean and fresh now that the storm went through, and the morning air is chilly but fresh with the light breeze. The radio plays softly, drifting through the open windows as you and Bucky eat and watch the fluffy white clouds drift by. It’s the best picnic you’ve ever had, hands down.

“So where are we? It’s beautiful here.”

“My parents’ farm.”

You turn to stare at him. “This is where you grew up?”

“Yep.”

“Lucky.”

“I am. Hey, I wanna introduce you to someone.” He stands suddenly, not waiting for a reply. You’re in the middle of a pasture, who the hell is there for you to meet? Bucky brings his fingers to his lips and lets out the sort of piercing whistle that you’ve never managed to master.

And then…and then…

“Are you fucking serious.” Eyes wide, you bring yourself to a kneeling position as a steel grey Percheron comes galloping full speed towards the truck. “Bucky!”

He turns toward you, face almost split in two by his grin. The horse slows down, circling the truck and whickering before coming to a full stop right at the tailgate.

“I’d like you to meet Sergeant.”

“Oh my God, Bucky, he’s stunning,” you breathe, unable to help yourself as you slowly move forward to sit at the edge of the open tailgate. Intelligent eyes take you in before a velvet muzzle finds your hand. “Sorry buddy, I don’t have any treats for you. But I do have ear scratches,” you murmur, firmly stroking the planes of his face before scratching behind his ears. You giggle when he sighs, and again when he mouths gently at your hair.

Bucky beams with pride as he pulls an apple out of the box you’d been leaning against, feeding it to Sergeant before sitting on the tailgate next to you. “I’ve had him for 20 years. I got him when he was just a colt. Trained him myself. He’s one of the reasons why I choose to work remotely – I just can’t imagine not getting to see him.”

“I don’t blame you at all, I don’t think I could’ve left this sweetheart either.” Sergeant blows gently in your face, then nuzzles you hard enough to push you backwards. “Oh my goodness, you are just a big baby, aren’t you, Sarge? Oh, you like that? That spot right there?” You laugh lightly as the giant horse stretches his neck toward you, seeming to thoroughly enjoy how you scratch just beneath where his mane grows.

“He likes you.” Sergeant looks over when Bucky speaks, but then turns back to you.

“Well, I like him.” Feeling eyes on you, you turn to Bucky. “What, are you jealous?” you tease.

“Yes.” Bucky cradles your face in both his hands and begins kissing you. Before you know it, you’re lying in the truck bed with him, making out like a couple of teenagers out past curfew. Time slows even as it moves, and you’d swear the minutes stretched into a blissful forever as you lay in his embrace. But the real world likes to force its way in, and the distant sound of a car’s horn brings you both back to your senses.

Sergeant is about 50 feet away, grazing peacefully as Bucky pulls out his phone to check the time. “We, uh, we should get going. I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands to myself, and my folks will be drivin’ by on their way to church in about 15 minutes.”

“Don’t feel like scarring them forever with the view of your naked ass?” You sit up and start pulling up the blankets to fold them.

“Honestly?” He shakes his head, “They’d probably cheer and then invite you over for dinner.”

Pausing your movements, you let that one sink in. “…Oh. Well that would be just as awkward as the alternative.”

He shrugs. “They’ve been dropping some not so subtle hints that they think I should settle down. They’d be thrilled just to know I spent the night with you.”

You tilt your head a bit as you watch him. “Don’t you date?”

“Nah, not really.”

“Really? Why not?”

He shrugs again as you hand him the blankets, then he turns his back to you as he puts them in the box. “I dunno. I guess I just hadn’t found anyone I wanted to actually spend time with.”

“Huh.”

“What?” There’s a challenge in his eyes when he turns back around. “That so weird?”

“No, I get it. You definitely shouldn’t settle. I guess…” he’s staring at you now, waiting for you to finish, “I guess I’m just a little surprised that someone hasn’t snatched you up yet. Where I come from, you’re quite a catch.”

“You think so? How’s that?”

Is he baiting you? Teasing you? Genuinely curious? It’s impossible to tell. “I know so. You’re smart, kind, funny, and a stupid amount of gorgeous,” you pause to level a look at him, “but I suppose you already knew I thought the last part.”

Bucky barks out a laugh but at least has the good grace to look sheepish.

“You have an absolutely beautiful horse, which wins points with pretty much every person I know. Your parents took in a couple of kids when they needed a family, and you learned a new language so you could keep communicating with your friend. You have every opportunity to move to another city, but you stay here to be close to those you care about. And,” it’s dumb, really, how you’re suddenly too shy to meet his eyes, “You’re really good in bed. Like, really really good. You’re the whole damn package.” When you finally look up, he’s staring at you again. “There’s a perfectly real possibility that you’re a total asshole and that you’ve been acting this whole time – I’ve only known you for a day – but I haven’t seen any cracks. I get the definite impression that I met the real Bucky, and he is one hell of a catch.”

“Huh.” He hops down and turns, holding out his hand to help you down. Do you need to take it? No, but you love that he offers anyway. He doesn’t let go after he helps you out, instead choosing to hold your hand as he walks you to the passenger side. Bucky only lets go because he has to, and once the gate is secured behind the truck, he takes your hand and holds it for the entire drive back to the motel.

***

Ever the gentleman, Bucky walks you back to your motel door.

“Do you have to go?” The words are out before you can think too long on them.

He’s shaking his head before your entire sentence is out, “No. Not if you don’t want me to.”

You don’t even care if you sound needy or clingy. “Please stay.”

Just like you learned last night, Bucky Barnes does not need to be told twice.

At least the drapes are closed this time.

***

A sharp rap at the door and an equally sharp call of your name interrupts your post-lovemaking bliss. It’s your aunt.

“I don’t wanna,” you whine.

Bucky bristles, sensing your distress. “That her?”

You nod before pulling a pillow over your head. “I’m just going to pretend I’m still asleep. Maybe she’ll go away.”

“Don’t worry Princess, I got you.”

You feel the bed shift and move the pillow. “Bucky!”

He turns back to you, eyebrows raised, as another insistent knock echoes through the room.

“You’re naked!” It comes out as a stage whisper, making you both snicker.

He flashes a shit eating grin. “So?”

Is he really gonna…

With a dramatic huff, he stops to find his boxer briefs and quickly tugs them on. Kind of. They’re sitting awfully low.

First there’s the sound of the door swinging open, then Bucky’s voice, bored and borderline intimidating. “Yeah?”

The following silence is deafening and you almost wish the room was set up so you could see your aunt’s face, but all you can see is the back half of Bucky’s sensational body leaning in the doorframe.

“Uh, hi? I’m looking for my niece? I thought this was her room?”

“You mean the tall, gorgeous drink of water? About my height? Killer smile? Was wearing, uh, let’s see, what was she wearing? It’s been awhile and she ain’t wearin’ much of anything now.”

The blood rushes to your face, but you can’t even imagine how embarrassed Lydia is right now. The thought is nothing short of glorious.

“Uh,” he snaps his fingers a few times, feigning concentration, “Oh! A black dress with the sexiest heels imaginable? Sound about right?”

“Well, yes, but –“

“Yeah, she’s here.” His tone is still bored, but you think you can pick up on an edge of amusement. Your aunt must be squirming by now, and it’s all you can do to not start cackling.

“I thought…well…the gift opening is in an hour. I thought she was going to meet us for breakfast before –“

“She won’t be goin’ to the gift opening. Or breakfast, but don’t you worry, ma’am. I made sure she ate something.”

The not so subtle innuendo almost makes you choke on your own spit.

“You can’t – are you holding my niece hostage or something?”

He laughs darkly but yells out, “Princess, am I holding you hostage?”

Your own laugher, unable to be contained any longer, bursts out. “Nope!” you call out, absolutely feeling as gleeful as you sound.

Lydia is practically apoplectic by now. “But what about the gift opening?”

“She doesn’t. Want. To go,” he growls, stooping down. “And here, she doesn’t want your fucking ugly shoes, either. Stop projecting your insecurities onto her – she’s perfect the way she is.” Bucky closes the door – perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary – and you hear the sound of the lock sliding into place before he saunters back to the bed.

“Thank you for doing that, Buck. I – holy shit, I cannot believe you answered the door like that.” Your eyes are glued to how low his boxers are sitting – he’s showing more than just his happy trail.

“What? Everything’s technically covered.”

“Bucky.”

“Yes, Princess?”

“I – I’m not even sure how you managed it, but you basically turned your boxers into the dick version of a pasty.”

He grins, “Like I said. Everything’s technically covered.” Bucky moves closer, crawling into the bed until he hovers above you. “But not for long,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to your neck. “Now, the way I figure it, we got another two hours till checkout.”

“Mmmmm…” you’d rather not think of the time. It’s necessary if you don’t want someone from housekeeping to accidentally walk in, but you don’t want this to end.

He kisses you deeply before pulling back, looking just a little hesitant. “And then, if you want, we could continue this back at my place? If you’re not in a hurry to get home?”

He’s kept his lips to himself for a few seconds, so your head manages to clear enough to process what he just said. “What? Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I get it if you have to get back. But,” he shrugs awkwardly, his current vulnerability at stark odds with his usual confidence, “I like you. I’d like to spend the day with you if you’re free.” He kisses your neck again and nibbles your ear. “We can do more of this. I like this, too. A lot.” He pulls back to look you in the eye. “But we could also do some talkin’. Maybe you’d let me take you out to a nice dinner before you head home?”

A smile, broad and genuine, stretches across your face. “I’d like that. I’d really like that.” Even if you never see Bucky again after today, you’re hungry for whatever time you can get with him. He’s addictive and you’ve never in your life felt more satisfied and safe than you do right now.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His borderline cocky confidence returns as his hands resume roaming the landscape of your body. “Good,” he mouths against your throat, and resumes his worship of you. “It’s gonna be a good day, Princess. A good fuckin’ day.”

Tags: @hellomissmabel @howdoesoneadult @nykitass @danimuhle @iwillbeinmynest @shifutheshihtzu @passiononfire @learisa @widowvinter @kaaatniss @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @denialanderror @k-nighttt @givemethatgold @manders2487 @afangirlrambles @polkadottedpillowcase @bluebrrn @saysay125 @aikibriarrose @saharzek @mmauricee @imhereforbvcky @whenallsaidanddone @supernatural508 @scarlettsoldier @natalie-nightcourt @im-beautifully-sewn @lovemarvelousfics @feistytravel @tbetz0341 @nearly-whitches @jamie-leah @shliic @dessinemoiunehistoire @lucywinchester2000 @solarbarnes @a-proper-chicken @movingonto-betterthings @seekingkairos @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @part-time-patronus @natashasnight @fairislesheets @new-romanticz1989

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x tall!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #my work #black velvet #5.6.20

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ficsnroses · 5 years ago

Text

Hold You - Keanu Reeves x Reader

ayeee we back out here with another generic fic title:)

Word Count : 2783

Warnings : Nothing besides fluff! One F bomb as well. And a mention (or a few..) of sex.

Summary : Reader cuddles Keanu before bed to cheer him up, & an intimate conversation about their relationship ensues.

A/N : Shout out to @meetmeinthematinee @thesadvampire & @john-wickening for loosely inspiring this during a convo the other day. 🖤

On a chilly February evening, you sit alone, whisked away in a novel, tucked in your queen sized bed. The freshly washed sheets, fragrant with the smell of spring cherry blossoms sprawled around you; make you miss the season forthcoming. It felt like it had been ages since you last saw a vibrant, rosy pink blossom blooming outside.

Someone had gifted you a petite, potted cherry blossom tree as housewarming gift when you and Keanu first purchased your home together. He planted it right in your front yard, where you’d see it each time you come in and out. It had been growing more and more each year, coming back stronger, wiser. You felt it symbolized a lot more than just a shrub, rising in your yard. It had been there since you and Keanu started your journey together, by buying a home, where you’d start a family together. It symbolized all the firsts that would come thereafter, the ups and downs that may follow, the good and the not so good.

But what would always remain, was familiarity. The beauty that would remain evergreen, the growth that would signify endless support. The roots that had found home in what surrounded. The love that grew, season after season,

both outside, in the yard called home to the blossom tree,

and inside, in the house you and your lover called home.

Your husband, Keanu, would be home soon. Night had fallen a few hours long ago, the winter days shorter. You’d often wait for him when he was out later. He’d been out today to the Arch office, working out some stuff with his colleagues for the business. He’d called earlier, letting you know he’d eat out tonight, as they’d ran overtime. You’d planned to watch a movie together before bed though, you missed him all day.

A few moments pass, the pages flipping between your fingers, your gaze intently locked in, inquisitive, absorbed within the tale you’d immersed between. The gray bedroom door flows open, revealing a much tired Keanu, Arch leather jacket swung over his shoulder. His eyes catch yours, as he smiles, rubbing tiredness from his earthy pupils.

“Hi baby.” His gruff voice rasps, as he walks towards the closet.

“Hey, how was it?” you chirp, setting the novel aside on the nightstand, your reading glasses along.

He runs a hand through his lengthy mane, sighing. “It was okay.” He keeps his gaze low, shuffling out of his jeans into some sweatpants, and a plain white sleeping shirt. You admire his bare chest and torso as he does, although his muscles seem tense. Biting your lip, you inquire.

“Everything alright, love?”

Keanu chuckles lightly, the sound barely escaping past his lips as he throws his clothes into the wash hamper. “Everything’s okay. Just…I don’t know. Fatigue I guess.”

“Aw, should we watch a movie tomorrow instead, then?” you propose, fluffing your pearly white pillow.

“I guess.” His deep voice exhales. He walks towards the bed to his side, pulling the covers back. His under eyes are puffier than usual; you know him like the back of your hand. He’s had a long, long day. But he’s never the type to complain or lament. He’s a hard worker, prefers to keep the attention drawn away.

But you were his wife, if you wouldn’t look out for him, who else would?

You bring your hand to touch his forearm, tracing some of the veins along his skin. “You wanna do something else?” bringing yourself in closer, you wrap your hands around his left arm, placing a kiss to his bicep, before you rest your head on it. He seemed tense, hassled. You hated every second seeing him this way.

Keanu brings his right hand to rest over one of yours that is wrapped around his left arm. Gently squeezing, he sighs.

“Do you ever wonder, about how much of everything there is?”

Your brows furrow together, hearing the words come out of his mouth. “Hmmmm…care to elaborate?” you propose, hugging his arm closer, as you’re still leaning on it, sat side by side in bed.

“There so many people, so many stories. So many problems. Do you ever wonder, where does it all end?” he divers his gaze down again. “What if it all ended today? What if all our stories just…ceased to exist? Would we be happy with what we’ve left behind?”

You take in a shaky breath, realizing there’s a ton on his mind right now. Every now and then, Keanu feels down, which is alright, he’s only human. He deserves to feel, as we all do.

You lace his hand with yours, hugging his arm tighter now.

“Hmm, that’s a pretty vast one. I’d like to think we all leave a mark, no matter how big or small. And if we’re content, happy with the way we’re leading our lives when we’re here, does it really matter what we leave behind?”

He slowly nods his head, lips pursing together tighter.

“Bad day?” you ask again.

“I guess. Don’t know why though.”

“That’s alright.” You smile, freeing yourself from him. You move back over to your side of the bed, laying down, and open your arms for him. “Come here.” You smile, nudging him.

He looks down at you, how adorable you looked inviting him in for a snuggle. The cast of the bed side lamp over your skin, paired with the moonlight filtered in made you look delightfully surreal, dreamlike. Your arms were always so warm, so welcoming. As much as it may go against his manly persona, Keanu enjoyed the occasional cuddle of being the little spoon. There was just something so appealing, so lovable, addicting with the way you’d hold him close.

You see a smile creep his lips, as he lowers himself down. Wrapping your arms around him, he tucks his head into your chest, breathing in your lavender scent in an audible inhale. He secures his arms around you as well, holding tight.

This was what it meant to have complete contentment.

You bring a hand up to stroke his silky, dark hair comfortingly, peacefully placing a few kisses to his temple, his head. His breathing is steady, felt against your skin. Gently massaging his scalp with your fingers, you kiss his forehead before speaking.

“What was the highlight of your week, babe?” you find talking to him, normally makes him feel more at ease.

He brings his head out of your chest, pulling away slightly, so he’s now face to face with you. “Definitely that meal we had the other day on that beach restaurant.” he chuckles. “What about you?”

“I saw a puppy with the fluffiest fur the other day while taking the recycling out.” You grin. “Which reminds me, can we please get a dog?” you frown.

He laughs, deep voice rummaging through your ears. “Maybe.”

Bringing his head back to tuck into your chest, he holds you tighter again, latching on as you hold him, soothingly rubbing his back and arms. You continue to press kisses wherever you can, letting him know you’re close.

You never let him forget the feeling of being touched, with all the love you can offer. All the love he deserves.

“I love you.” You whisper, every now and then, barely audible as you’re holding each other, relaxed and gratified.

A few moments later, Keanu pulls back, moving up slightly, leaning his head on his elbow as he faces you. His lips harbour the most contagiously exquisite smile.

“What’s something you’ve dreamed of doing, but haven’t?” he asks, peering down at you. He brings a hand to lace with yours, your fingers fiddling together.

You ponder for a moment, “I’ve always wanted to make something creative. Like, direct, or organize?” you answer, shifting so you can lean your head on one of your arms, as the other holds his hand.

“Why haven’t you yet, angel?” he frowns.

“Fear of failure, I guess. I just need an idea I’m really confident in.”

He brings your hand up to place a kiss to your palm. “Anything you’ll make is amazing.”

You grin at him, and at how romantic he’s being. This man really had your entire heart.

“What’s your favourite memory we’ve shared together?” you probe, leaning your hand on your chin now, staring up at him, gently stroking his hand with your thumb. He chuckles, before tapping his chin.

“We’ve shared so many, how do you expect me to choose?” he debates.

“There’s got to be something that stands out! Are you trying to say I’m not memorable?” you gasp playfully.

He cups your cheek, gently stroking his thumb under your eye. “You’re the most memorable thing I have.”

He really meant that, and you know it.

“I think it would have to be that day, a few months into when we were first dating. I took you on a drive along the coast, we stopped at that cliff overlooking the city. On the way back, it got dark, and you fell asleep holding my hand. I tried avoiding every single pothole and bump so you wouldn’t wake up.” He shakes his head, his dark brown hair falling in his face.

“Baby, you did that? You never told me that before.” You giggle, tapping his nose.

“Yeah, you looked so peaceful. So fucking perfect. I kept glancing over every few moments to make sure you were okay.” He kisses your forehead. “There was this stray hair that kept falling in your eye, so I’d have to keep moving my hand to move it away, and then bring my hand down to hold yours again, so it wouldn’t get cold.” He smiled, reminiscing.

You beam at the way he’s speaking, recalling every detail. Your heart was fluttering, feeling yourself fall deeper in love with him, if that was even possible.

He lays back down again, head against the pillows, pulling you into his chest, so he’s now the bigger spoon. Wrapping both arms around you, he ponders.

“What qualities made me special to you?” he asks, curious. He often thought about how exceptionally perfect you were; you were definitely the woman of his dreams. He had trouble seeing why you chose him, sometimes.

You place a kiss to his chest, hugging him tighter.

“There’s so, so many, Ke. I love how caring you are; how respectful you are to every single person around you. How thoughtful you are, considerate. I love how passionate you are of your work, how determined, enthusiastic you are. I love the way you take care of me. The way you kill spiders for me, the way you make my morning coffee perfect each and every time. The way you let me have the less scary side of the bed.” You giggle. “I love how much you love me, and never let me forget it.” You say genuinely, moving your gaze up to look at him, adoringly, your fingers gently grazing his chest.

With his cheeks blushed a tinge of peach, he smiles down at you, lovingly. You’d remind him how much he meant to you, each second of every day if you could.

“Okay, I have one for you. What were you thinking of on our first date?” you giggle, proposing. Positioning your head back on his chest, an arm drapes over him again, hugging into him, the beat of his heart, rise and fall of his chest under you, reminding you that he was real; not just a dream.

A wonderful, magnificent dream.

With a chuckle, he sighs. “Definitely praying that you were just as affected by me as I was by you. I think my breath really hitched when I picked you up from that apartment you lived in by the farmer’s market.” He laughs. “You didn’t know I brought my bike, and the look you gave me, it was priceless, sweetheart.” He leans down to place a kiss in your hair, recollecting.

You gasp in memory. “I remember that! You asked me to hold onto you while we drove, pretty sure my heart fluttered at the thought of touching you.” You giggle. “Not much has changed, huh.” You smile at the way you’re doing just that now, limbs tangled, completely connected physically, & emotionally, holding each other.

“That was a pretty great day.” He shifts slightly under you, to allow his hand to how hold yours as it rests on his chest. “Hey, what would be your perfect day?” he asks, enquiring.

Furrowing your brows, biting your lip in thought, you finally speak.

“Hmm…okay. I’d… – sorry, we’d sleep in until at least 9:30am. I wouldn’t let you leave the bed before me because you know how I feel about losing your body heat.” You laugh. “Then, we would take our dog on a walk, who by the way, I’m still patiently waiting for you to gift me. Then, we’d have our morning coffee outside on the patio, overlooking the city. Maybe later I’d go to brunch with some friends, perhaps go to the library downtown…oh! A concert later in the evening would be cool. Maybe dinner by the beach with all our friends? Oh! I’d definitely go to that cute artisan bakery by the park.” You ramble. “What about you, baby?”

“Hmm...” he rubs his hand up and down your arm softly. “We’d sleep in, have some killer morning sex. Twice.” He looks down to see you playfully roll your eyes. He’s moving his spare hand out in front of him, waving away as he normally does when he speaks about things that interest him.

A quality so uniquely him.

“Then, we’d have breakfast and go for a motorcycle ride, maybe go for a swim, have more sex,” you cut him off.

“More? Didn’t we just go twice in the morning?” you huff, staring up at him.

“This is *my* perfect day, miss.” He jokes.

You raise your hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay. Go on.” You giggle and return your arms to his embrace.

“Then, we’d go to the movies. Maybe out to the bar later with friends, come back home, have more sex, do some reading outside by the pool, go out for an evening meal, come back home and have more sex,” you cut him off again.

“Okay, okay, I get the point.” You giggle, kissing his chest again.

“Five times in a day, Ke? Seriously?” you chuckle.

“Can’t help it when my wife is so beautiful.” He smiles. “There’s nothing I love more than making love to you, darling.”

Grinning, your hands fiddle together once again, fingers gently lacing each other, soothingly grazing over each others palms. The dainty room fills with stillness once again, for a few moments.

Closing your eyes, you focus your attention on the feel of his steady breathing chest underneath your head, the warmth of his body engulfing you, the scent of a cigarette smoked not long ago, spiked with the scent of his woody cologne enticing your senses.

Grasping his much larger hand in yours both of yours, you place a kiss to each one of his fingers, so softly, tenderly.

Bringing your hand up, you gently scratch his beard, your touch brimming with affection. As your head stays placed on his chest, with your hand stroking through his hair calmly, gently tracing the bumps of his face, you ask into the dimly lit room, voice discreet, softer than a flowing feather.

“Ke, were you in love before me?” you wonder. The ticking of the clock seems to get louder, filling the tranquillity of the four walls.

He takes in a deep breath, before responding.

“Not like this.”

Placing another kiss to your hair, he continues to hold you tight to his chest, almost shielding you away from any harm. The way he’d always protect you.

“I’ve never loved this strong in my entire life. I can’t see a life without you in it. And I’m not scared of how much I love you. I just know, that you are everything. & I know, that what we have, what we’ve made, is the most important thing I have.”

Feeling tears brim ever so slightly in your orbs, you exhale, in complete contentment. You knew each word leaving his mouth was coming from the bottom of his heart, because he’d never failed to show you. For you, each word meant complete certainty, unquestionably.

How, did you ever get so lucky to find someone who loves you so entirely, so unconditionally?

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shift your weight onto your elbow, leaning up to stare him right into his chocolate eyes, perfectly glistening, so beautifully. There’s a gratified smile that rests his lips, so completely at ease, a perceptible contrast to the stress that’d worked his features prior.

Cupping his cheek with your palm, your subtle, delicate voice speaks.

“What can I do to show you how much I love you?”

Grasping your wrist, resting his hand over yours that cups his cheek, he stares you right into your eyes, almost as if staring into your soul. “Exactly what you’re doing now. Listening to me, being here with me.”

Leaning in, your lips graze his, connecting in a love drenched kiss, his thumb coaxes the soft skin under your eye, pouring a wealth of adoration, respect, fondness, all things good, everything he wanted to give to you, into your rosy lips.

“You mean everything to me, too.” You whisper, into his neck, as he pulls you back in, resting his chin on top of your head.

In this moment, so pure, as a fresh rainfall after a sandy drought, worry ceases to exist.

As the bedside lamp glimmers, emitting a glowy hue of gold into each corner of the serene room,

the thought of spring cherry blossoms fills your head again.

The way they’d bloom once more, in the warmth. The way they’d return, greeting the new, sweet, honeyed spring, returning to the front yard garden, to the familiarity of being back home, exactly where they’d belonged all along.

The heavenly sky and whispy clouds would wave hello to them, the breezy air would embrace them, the graceful rainfall would kiss them, the silky grass would welcome them. Because all things bloom, in the most natural form of love.

Snuggled tight to your lover, the man who owned each drop of love you had to offer, you hug him closer, keen to feel his skin in closest proximity.

Feeling his lips on your forehead, you daze off into a deep, restful sleep, in the arms,

of the one,

who mattered most.

*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

Taglist Posted Separately (Ask to be added or removed!) :

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves oneshot #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves imagine

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