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faithintheunknownsblog · 1 year

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A/N: Being newer to this, I’d love to hear y’alls feedback! I may not reply but I still appreciate hearing what y’all think!💚

Chapter Summary: You keep managing to surprise Alucard in so many different aspects, causing him to be more nosey and disrespectful of your personal space.

TW: Guns, Knives, Kidnapping, Gore

Master List

To Kill A Monster

Chapter 3: An Ignored Plea

You set the dishes on the counter as you unload the dishwasher, getting them all set out before you put them away. You start drying them and look through the bottom cabinets, putting away the ones that belong down there. It took you a few minutes since this is the first time you’ve actually seen the inside of the cabinets.

You make sure you're as quiet as possible because it’s the middle of the day. You couldn’t sleep, but luckily the shades in the kitchen are closed unlike they usually are during the day. Any other time you’re unable to sleep you’re stuck in your room until sun down, and you hate it. So even if it was doing chores you’re happy that you are able to move around and do something outside of your room during the day for once.

When you finish drying the dishes that go in the bottom cabinets, you look at the ones above you and sigh. Since this mansion was made for people who are six feet and taller you have to climb up on the counter.

So you did, and as soon as you got up on it a bullet hit the inside of the cabinet you just opened. It was so close to your head that it clipped your ear, causing you to yelp, “FUCK!”

You lose your balance and make sure that the plate in hand doesn’t break, you do it by landing on your back. Hitting the tile with a loud smack, you immediately become filled with anger as you feel the warm blood from your ear trickle down the side of your face.

But you’re lucky that Alucard didn’t blow your head off. He is to only use dummy rounds when fighting you, so minimal damage will be done to you and the mansion. But that still doesn’t mean that being shot with it doesn’t hurt.

Seras hears the gunshot followed by your yell and immediately goes to the kitchen. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees Alucard standing in the doorway of the opposite side of the kitchen you're on. Not only is this bad because Alucard shot at you for no reason but it was the middle of the day.

“Now stop with the noise, or I’ll make it a real bullet in your skull next time,” Alucard says with a deep morning voice. You somehow have been making too much noise while putting the dishes away and woke him up. And Alucard doesn’t like being woken up.

“You son of a bitch!” Filled with rage you jump up off of the floor and grab a knife out of the sink. In the blink of an eye you are across the kitchen, and Alucard is pressed to the wall. You have your full body pressed against his while stabbing him in the back of his torso.

Seras’ eyes go wide in horror, but there is not much she can do. So she does the only thing she can, steps back from the doorway and yells, “CLOSE THE CURTAINS!”

The troops do so then come flock around the kitchen to see the fight. Watching you and Alucard fight is like a free action movie for them.

Alucard leans his head back and chuckles as you sink the knife deeper into his back. When he hears Seras yell he looks at you from the corner of his eye, “are you sure you wanna go through this Hunter? You are at a disadvantage here, the sun is out and all I need to do is get you in front of a window.”

“You’ll have to catch me first,” you quickly pull the knife out and go to the other side of the room.

“With pleasure,” Alucard says and wastes no time grabbing his gun, aiming for you then pulling the trigger once more.

You jump out of the way and grab a plate. “Oh no, the pleasure will be all mine once I have your head on a pike!”

To Alucard’s surprise, instead of throwing the plate, you get up on the counter and put it in a cabinet. He raises an eyebrow and asks, “what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” You grab another plate and answer your own question while putting it away, “I’m putting the dishes away. Duh.”

Alucard growls and aims for you again, “you want to start a fight then not take it seriously?”

“Woooow, that’s rich, especially coming from you!” You lean down and grab a bowl. Alucard pulls the trigger again and you quickly jump to the next counter. “For someone who lets holes get put into him without a second thought.”

“Unlike you, I can afford to be reckless with my life.” Alucard says plainly, he may have cleansed the souls but he still has Schrödinger Cat. Which he would love nothing more than to get rid of so he can be destroyed.

“What life? All you do is sit in your dungeon all day and sulk all night!” You mock Alucard a bit, which wasn’t a good idea, and you could tell that just by the look he developed on his face. You quickly slide the plate in the cabinet and duck because the next bullet was aimed straight to your head.

Alucard shoots a relentless round of bullets, emptying the chamber without second thought. He angrily states, “if it wasn‘t for me you wouldn’t exist because London wouldn’t even be here today!”

You try to dodge all of the bullets, but Alucard is too quick and has already seen how you were planning out your moves. So once you got hit with one bullet the rest hit you as well. He mostly aims for your torso, making you want to double over in pain when he hits your gut. But you stay on your feet and have a split second to catch your breath when he has to reload his gun. You shout, “I’m surprised that London was able to survive when there is a bloodthirsty monster like you around!”

Alucard growls as he reloads his gun, once he has another round ready he aims the gun straight at you again. “Someone has to keep insufferable little shits like you in check.”

You just barely dodge the next bullet he fires at you, jumping back over to the counter that has all the dishes that you have yet to put away because you’re too busy being shot at. You make sure not to break any of them, “maybe I wouldn’t be so ‘insufferable’ if you weren’t such a dick! Shooting at me when I’ve done nothing wrong!”

Alucard couldn’t help letting out a loud laugh, in his eyes you do nearly- if not everything- wrong. “What makes you believe that?”

“Maybe for the simple fact you started shooting at me for no reason!” You dodge the next bullet he sent your way, and put away a teacup.

“I gave you a warning shot to quiet down, you were the one who stabbed me and decided that you wanted to continue this fight.” Alucard says plainly, he shoots at you again. He wasn’t having any fun with this, he just wants you dead at the moment. But since he’s not allowed to kill you, he’ll settle for hitting you with all the fake ammo he has. Whenever you’re awake during the day you seem to manage to wake him up. He’s getting sick of it. There is a simple solution- drinking blood- and you just won’t do it, and because of that he has to deal with it when you can’t sleep.

“As I said you shot at me! What do you expect me to do?! Be alright with it?!” You ask him and manage to slide another plate into the cabinet before getting a bullet to the gut. You spit out blood and scream at him, “FUCK YOU BASTARD!”

“You shouldn’t be so disrespectful and make all kinds of noises when people are trying to sleep.” Alucard reloads again, he stocked up his ammo before he came to the kitchen.

“Well excuse me for trying to help around here!” You get hit with another bullet, causing you to nearly sink down to your knees. But you continue to force yourself to stay on your feet. You aren’t ready to give up yet, if you’re awake and have the chance you’re going to train until you physically can’t anymore.

“You do know we have people to tidy up the mansion, correct?” Alucard sees how you’re becoming worn out, which irritates him because you aren’t putting up a real fight.

“Well they aren’t here now, are they?” You put another plate away and quickly step back because you think Alucard is going to shoot at you again. Right now would be a perfect opportunity to attack him but you continue to just jump around the kitchen while he fires at you. The troops are getting bored because you aren’t fighting Alucard like you usually do. To them it seems like you’re being passive.

Alucard is now giving you a few seconds in between shots and notices how you aren’t fighting him. So he pauses and waits to see what you’ll do. Which is nothing, besides being hunched over with your hand on your side as you try to catch your breath. “Why are you prancing around like a gazelle? You’re supposed to be fighting me.”

You look over at him and smirk, “you want me to fight back?” You get a knife and stand up straight, “then shoot me again.”

It takes a moment but Alucard realizes that you’ve been training your agility the whole time, by trying to put the dishes away while being shot at. He smirks, not only in excitement but- though he doesn’t recognize it- because he’s impressed. This is a training technique Alucard would never have thought of. So now he’s less pissed off because- in his eyes- he sees that you’re doing something that will actually make yourself useful one day. So deciding to play along with it Alucard shoots at you again, and just continues on with the conversation.

“The reason why the cleaners aren’t here is because it’s the middle of the day,” Alucard states. The cleaners work around the house at night so they won’t wake any of them during the day. They’re going to have a mess to clean up tonight though. Alucard pulls the trigger again. “Which brings me to my next question; why are you awake?”

“Because I can’t sleep,” you say as you hop over to the kitchen island and run down the middle of it, heading straight towards Alucard. He thinks you’re going to hit him head on but instead you jump over his head, and get behind him. Then you land a hard kick to his back.

Alucard stumbles forward a bit then looks at you over his shoulder. He chuckles in delight, glad to finally have a fight instead of you just being target practice. “And what possibly possessed you to come to the kitchen and make so much noise?”

“I was bored and this was the only room I could get to, since someone didn’t open the curtains up.” You say nonchalantly with a shrug, but the corner of your lip twitches. You fight back the urge to smirk, you don’t want to find fighting fun. Especially with him. You hate him. You can’t have fun interacting with someone you hate. You quickly make it through the doorway before he can block it, once again getting on the counter because being taller than him feels like an advantage. Also you want to get the dishes put away, it is kind of fun dodging bullets while trying to do chores.

“Okay, but why are you doing dishes in the first place? Because you clearly didn’t intend to turn this into training.” Alucard aims his gun, and at the same time you throw a knife, hitting right between his eyes. He still fires the gun.

“I’ve been here for over a month now, I figured I’d help out around the mansion while I was doing absolutely nothing in my room.” You try to dodge it but get hit in the calf, it almost makes you fall off of the counter. “Ow! Bitch!” You grunt but continue on putting away dishes that you’ve never used. You don’t eat food, and you don’t drink blood, so you haven’t used any of these dishes ever.

That’s another part that doesn’t make sense to Alucard. Each day you confuse him more and more. Each day that you were awake and around him at least. But even when he’s snooping around in your mind things still don’t make sense to him. If there wasn’t any help around the mansion, you doing dishes and cleaning would make sense to Alucard. But since they hire people to do the cleaning, it doesn’t seem logical to do it for them. “You’re doing this for free when there are people who get paid to do it?”

“Yup, if I have nothing better to do and there is something that needs to be done, I might as well do it.” You luckily dodge another shot, but when you jump over to the other counter you nearly fall off.

“So you’re doing this for fun?” Alucard asks as he shoots you in the shoulder. He’s still trying to figure out your logic behind doing the dishes.

“MOTHER FUCKER!” You yell out in pain, and when you see Alucard aiming for your head you let yourself roll off of the counter. But you don’t stay down there for long. You grab a frying pan out of the cabinet and hop back up on the counter. Before Alucard even realizes it you’re right in front of him, the frying pan knocking hard against his face. Then you continue on with the conversation as if it didn’t just happen. Getting back up on the counter. Flipping the frying pan up in the air and catching it by the handle in your other hand. “No, I’m doing it out of boredom. I needed something to pass the time since I can’t sleep and I can’t go out during the day.”

The troops and Seras jaws drop, that’s the first time any of them have seen a frying pan as a weapon.

Alucard rubs his chin, this the first time he’s ever been hit in the face with a frying pan… Or hit with a frying pan in general. But with the perfect opportunity he begins to say, “you’d be able to go outside if-“

“If I would just drink blood, blah, blah, blah!” You cut him off with an annoyed tone, he was now out of bullets. So you- with ease- finish up with the last of the dishes, “yeah, I know!”

“But you still refuse to drink like a fool,” Alucard sighs and tucks his guns away. He doesn’t understand the resistance, you and Seras both baffle him with the refusal to drink. But more so you than her, because you’ve never come close to giving into your urge to drink. Not even in a blood rage, your urge to kill always overpowers your urge to drink. Your willpower is astonishing to say the least.

You turn around and look down at him, with your hands on your hips. You sassily ask him, “why are you so obsessed with what I do, huh?”

“It’s just disappointing to see such potential go to waste,” Alucard admits with a tone filled with disapproval.

“Wow, thanks for the backhanded compliment.” You growl and get off the counter, then start walking past him with a limp. You’re in pain but play it off as if you’re totally fine. With a rude tone you say, “now if you excuse me, I’m going to prove you wrong.”

“Oh? How so?” Alucard asks, intrigued by your bold statement. The sun still has a few hours until setting, so it isn’t like you can go anywhere besides back to the basement.

Seras and the guards just stand there, dumbstruck by how you both just go on about life as if the two of you didn’t just destroy the kitchen. But after a moment Seras’ brain catches up to her and she follows you and Alucard.

“Oh, wouldn't you like to know? For someone who thinks I’m soooo useless. You can go figure it out by yourself!” You say in an annoyed tone, walking down the basement and to your room.

“Yes, I would like to know how you can actually be useful, as if you actually do anything productive that we don’t pay people to do.” Alucard says condescendingly, he’s now using reverse psychology so you show him what you’ve found.

Seras has found it best not to get in between you and him arguing unless she absolutely needs to. As long as you two aren’t trying to kill each other she sits back and watches.

“Look here asshole, I know a lot more than you could ever find out on your own since nobody wants to talk to rich entitled assholes!” You ball up your fist, he always calls you useless. What Alucard and Seras don’t know is that you have two journals of information you gathered on vampires since before you even joined Hellsing. You actually started them a while before you got turned into a vampire. But you also used a few of the nights that you were supposedly ’resting’ to go out searching for whatever information you can find. You know where to look unlike them because you have a hunch and perhaps useful information that they would never have been able to get without you.

Alucard and Seras follow you into your room, they notice how even though you cleaned the kitchen your room is a slight mess. There are papers scattered across the bed and table, and crumpled up papers thrown all over the floor. Seras is careful of the papers, making sure not to step on them whereas Alucard doesn’t care. If it’s on the floor, it’s able to be stepped on, and it will be because he’s not going to tiptoe with his giant feet.

You are lucky Alucard doesn’t see that you’ve stolen more of his shirts and boxers to sleep in, even though they’ve bought you clothes. Which you wear, besides the pajamas. You only wear the pajamas long enough to make it seem like you sleep in them. When in reality you’ll wear your pjs just to go to the laundry room and steal Alucard’s clothes, then go back to your room.

“And what have you been doing that my ‘entitled asshole’ self is unable to do?” Alucard asks sarcastically.

“No! Fuck you! Get out of my room if you’re going to be a prick!” You shout at him and cross your arms over your chest.

Alucard lets out an annoyed sigh, “if you aren’t going to tell me anything then I’m just going to read your mind.”

You give him a death glare and defiantly stand there for a moment. But he doesn’t budge, instead he starts to have a sadistic smile creep across his face and you get paranoid. You give in and go over to your bag, “I’ve been doing research.”

“On what?” Alucard asks. Him and Seras watch you grab two composition books out of your dresser and Alucard rolls his eyes when you drop them down onto the table for dramatic effect.

“Vampires.” The books are filled with notes of what you’ve heard on the streets. What you have so far is names and descriptions of homeless people that have been going missing. And things such as when were they last seen, who they were with, and other kinds of information. Also miscellaneous notes that can possibly be of help.

“We haven’t heard anything from the police about sightings,” Seras says. She believes you and finds any bit of possible information helpful.

“That’s because there hasn’t been.” Alucard says plainly.

The reason why he and Seras haven’t heard anything about it is because nobody notices when a homeless person goes missing, nobody but the people that are in the same situation. Even if a missing person’s report is filed for them, most of the cases get thrown out by the police. No one cares if a homeless person goes missing, there is no family or friends worried about them. Nobody cares about people who are so impoverished that they can’t afford to live, you’ve learned that first hand.

“Okay, there might not have been any sightings, but that doesn’t mean you can just dismiss what I’ve found!” You state, you know that you sound too optimistic and desperate by going off of this hunch.

“If we don’t have solid proof-“ Seras says, trying to reason with you even though she knows you’re just going to get mad.

You slam your fist on the table, “I am the proof! We know there are vampires in London because I’m one and I killed two of them!”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Seras says, and thinks about what Integra would do in this situation. She would follow any possible leads, like she did with Millennium. After a brief moment Seras nods her head, “you’re right, we should look into it.”

You nod, but then realize something, “uh… slight issue, they won’t trust you two and I can’t go out during the day. Alucard opens his mouth to say his usual thing but you hold your finger up to him and with a glare tell him “shut it.”

Alucard rolls his eyes in annoyance and Seras asks you, “So what do we do?”

“I… Haven’t thought that far ahead yet.” You admit, you honestly didn’t think you’d make it this far. You thought that you would have been dead by now.

Alucard pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, “of course you haven’t.”

“Y’know what?!” You stand in front of him, looking up at him with malice filled eyes. If you were his height you’d be right in his face. “I’ve been pulling my weight around here, when are you gonna start making yourself useful?!”

Alucard just looks down at you and chuckles. He always found it annoying whenever someone tried to intimidate him. But when you try to? It’s the funniest thing he has experienced, ever. “How would you know if I do anything, you’re always asleep.”

You you step back and scowl, “whatever, get out.”

“Thank you for your help,” Seras says with a smile and- being the respectful person she is- walks out of your room.

“No problem,” you walk over to the table and sit down, noticing how Alucard hasn’t left yet. You give him an annoyed look, “is your super human hearing not working? I said get out.”

Alucard looks at the mess on your floor, deciding to say something about it. “You should have been in here cleaning and not the kitchen. And if you’re constantly sleeping, how is this room in such a wreck?”

“You don’t like the way my room looks, get out so you don’t have to look at it.” You open up one of the composition books and flip to the most recent page you’ve written on. You notice how you didn’t finish the sentence you were on. You must have fallen asleep. Alucard was right, you do sleep a lot. You’re not even sure how long you’ve been here because all together the total amount of days you’ve been up is two weeks worth. Whenever you train it takes you a week to recover completely.

But you’re always up before you’re done healing, either during the day or night. You’ve gone out a lot of nights without them knowing, that’s how you got the information you have.

Alucard cuts your thought process off by plainly saying “I was wondering how you managed to get all of this without ever seeing you leave.”

You look up at him, raising an eyebrow, “huh?”

Alucard started to flip through the first composition book, “you’ve been here nearly two and a half months, and we all thought you were sleeping when we didn’t see you.”

You throw a knife at Alucard’s head and he catches it with no effort, “I told you to stop reading my mind asshole.”

“If you told the truth there would be no need for me to,” Alucard skims over the first page. “But I wouldn’t be able to-“

You lean your head back and groan in annoyance, “ugh! Will you just drop it!”

Alucard sighs, “you're a fool.” He continues to flip through the pages of the notebook, “and by how often you were out at night it’s no surprise you’re performance while training is terrible.”

“And the trainings are worth nothing if we can’t find these guys,” you get up and go over to your dresser. It has an abundance of pens all over the top of it. All ones that you’ve stolen from around the mansion. “And it’s not like any of the people I’ve gotten information from will talk to Seras. And they especially won’t talk to you.”

“Then why is it that they'll talk to you?” Alucard looks at you, noticing all the stolen pens. But that’s the least of his concern right now. He’s trying to get some more information on you.

“None of your business,” you say and quickly start thinking of something- anything- so he won’t get anything from reading your mind.

Alucard growls because it works, he doesn’t like how you’re able to quickly catch onto his tricks. But after he quits his attempt and sees your triumphant smile he can’t help but smirk. “Really? That’s what you thought of?”

You shrug and nonchalantly say, “It was the first thing that came to my mind, alright.” You walk back over to the table and think to start writing, but as soon as you got the pen to the paper your eyes feel heavy.

Alucard read a few pages before he notices how you got quiet. He looks up and sees you starting to fall asleep while sitting up. He watches you and waits to see if you’ll wake back up. When he hears you snoring he stares at you for a moment. He knows you won’t be comfortable sleeping while sitting up, but that’s not his problem. So he leaves your room, at least turning out the lights for you.

=======

You’re not sure how long you have been asleep, but you know it couldn’t have been long because you’re still sore. You realize you fell asleep while at the table, which doesn’t help with how much pain you’re in. You sit up, wincing as you do. But you’re awake, so that means you’re going to fight through it. You won’t be able to go back to sleep with how much agony you’re in anyway.

You listen to your body as you move your back; pop pop pop pop pop

Then you your neck; pop pop pop pop

Once you’re done with making your body sound like bubble wrap you look at the clock you have on your night stand. It’s three am, so you get up, even though your aching body is demanding for you not to. But you have to go out and try to get more information, and feeling like you’re going to fall apart is going to have to wait.

You walk over to a dirty pile of clothes, putting a hoodie on. Then from your dresser you grab your knives, and a pen along with a small notebook that you can stuff in your sweatpants pocket. You don’t carry your bag around anymore since you no longer have to. You’re glad you finally have a place that you feel is safe enough to leave your things.

When you walk out of your room you’re met with the sight of Alucard who is leaning against the wall across from your door. You immediately ask him, “why are you waiting outside my door like a creep?”

“Why aren’t you resting? You clearly aren’t healed,” Alucard says plainly.

“I asked you a question first, I demand an answer!” You fiercely say while stomping your foot.

“One must earn respect before they can demand answers,” Alucard plainly says. He always knows exactly what to say to piss you off. Which is made clear by the smirk he gains when he sees how your face goes crimson with rage.

“How dare you?!” You yell and pull out one of your knives, going to stab him. He quickly steps out of the way, but you keep swinging.

“You want my respect when you can’t even land a single attack on me.” Alucard continues to step backwards, making you follow him down the hallway without realizing it.

“Oh yeah?!” You stop and put your hands on your hips, “who was the one who got knocked upside the head with a frying pan yesterday?!”

Alucard pauses to look at you, then he starts laughing.

“What?!” You growl, confused about why he’s laughing. “What’s so funny?!”

“You have been asleep for sixty three hours,” Alucard says. “If it was just yesterday that we fought you wouldn’t be able to move at all right now.”

“Well…” you couldn’t think of a comment for that information, so you start trying to stab him again. “I still hit you in the face with a frying pan!”

“It was the middle of the day, you think I was putting much energy into the fight we were having.” Alucard steps back, dodging your slashes. He doesn’t put much effort into training you, but you do catch him off guard sometimes. Though he’ll rarely admit it.

You roll your eyes and continue trying to stab him, “yeah, suuuure!”

Alucard frowns and grabs your wrist right before you’re able to stab into his chest. But you slide in between his legs, making him flip over himself and land onto his back. When he hit the floor he didn’t let go of your wrist, but you turned and quickly cut his hand off to free it. Then you bring both of your knives down, stabbing the floor next to his ears.

You could have stabbed him in the head with the blessed blades you’re using. You could have completed your goal of killing him. But you didn’t. You let him live. And all your brain can think to ask you is “why?”

But as you kneel there and stare at him longer you realize something is wrong. Then it clicks and while still on your knees with your body facing forward you throw a knife behind you before you turn around. But when you do turn to look over your shoulder you see a smiling Alucard, who is holding your knife right in front of his face. “You realized it was an illusion before it started dissipating.”

You pivot your body so when you stand up your back isn’t to him, nor is it towards his illusion. When you look at him you can see the illusion starting to disappear out of the corner of your eye. “I knew something was off.”

Alucard tosses the knife on the floor in front of your feet, he asks “how can you tell though?”

You pick up the knife and shrug, “don’t know, somehow your illusions are creepier than you. How that’s even possible? I don’t know.” You put your knife away and look back up at him, “now if you excuse me, I’m going out.”

“To do research?” Alucard asks, but already knows the answer.

“Yes, and don’t follow me…” you walk past him so he doesn't see your face when you finish your sentence with a soft “please.”

Alucard blinks when he hears your quiet plea, you just said a word he’d never think he’d hear from you. So he knows this is serious, which is more of a reason for him not to listen to you. So he blatantly lies to you when he says, “alright.”

“Thank you,” you mumble and leave the mansion.

=======

You walk to what Alucard could only describe as the dirtiest part of the city, it was abandoned buildings and tents. Alucard regrets following you now, the smell was rancid and trash was everywhere. He decides to turn to a bat to follow you the rest of the way.

You duck under makeshift clotheslines and step to the side to keep from walking into piles of bags. The walkways are a tight squeeze, but you know where to step since you walked these paths time and time before. You go past tent, after tent, until you get to the side of an abandoned building. But instead of going in through a door, you climb up the old rusty fire escape to the third floor then duck into a busted window.

Alucard watches you from the top of an adjacent building, he hears a lot of crashing noises, but then it goes quiet. After that he waits for some type of sign of what you’re doing.

He waits, and waits, and waits.

Then an hour later Alucard sees you come out of the roof door of the building you disappeared in. You're covered in blood and limping. But as he continues watching he realizes it’s not only you, but you’re dragging someone behind you.

“Tell me!” You demand from this nobody you have tied up as you drag him over to the ledge. After weeks of searching for any type of lead you found him on the opposite side of the city from where you’re currently holding him.

You're not sure how long ago it was when you did, but this is your second time interrogating him. You got nothing from the night you kidnapped him, and he’s given you nothing tonight. “Where is Granger?!”

“Granger?” Alucard asked himself. Nothing from your notes said anything about a Granger, and he hasn’t heard that name in any of your thoughts.

“I’m not telling you anything, you crazy bitch!” He squirms, he is about the same height as you but he’s scrawny. He also hasn’t had any blood since you took him captive.

“Who turned you?” You demand as you put his neck against the edge of the roof. You’re desperate for any information, even if it isn’t about Granger.

“You know this won’t kill me you stupid cunt, but go ahead and try it!” The guy says with a taunting smirk.

“Oh, I know I can’t kill you. But you know what can?” You plainly ask him and step back as the sun starts to peak over the horizon. You smirk as the sun starts to make contact with his flesh. But your smirk is quickly wiped away when you see he has no fear.

It pisses you off. You want to watch him turn to ash, but you can’t because you need to get information out of him. That’s why he’s so cocky, because if you let him die you have nothing.

So you drag him back inside and he chuckles before passing out from the pain he just experienced. You take him back to where you had him before and now you're going to have to stay in the abandoned building until nightfall.

=======

Alucard flew back to the mansion and went to his room, sitting down in his chair. He plays the scene he just witnessed in his head. But the only thing he’s interested in is this Granger person.

Every time Alucard read your mind- even when you were asleep- nothing about a person named “Granger” popped up. He still knows nearly nothing about you.

But this Granger person you were asking that guy about has to play a role, and if Alucard can get ahold of him he could get the key to the closet that is holding all your skeletons.

#hellsing #hellsing fanfiction #hellsing ultimate #alucard hellsing #vampire #fanfic #alucard #alucard fanfiction #alucard x reader #dracula #seras victoria #hellsing fandom #long post

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dollyhall22 · 2 years

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Oh Princess, I’ll never leave you ever

Natasha ‘Phoenix’ Trace x reader

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x sister!reader

She/Her Pronouns

Summary: Being the wife to a fighter pilot is never always a piece of cake

Warning: G-loc, mention of death

Any Other Notes:

“No! Please stay with me” I latched onto Natasha’s arm, to stop her from getting up, with a pout painted on my face.

“I know princess, I don’t want to get up. But before you know it, I’ll be back and you’ll be in my arms once again Darling” Phoenix bent down and gave me a kiss on the forehead before heading towards the bathroom to get ready for another day on the top gun base.

Whilst Phoenix was in the bathroom, I dragged ass out of our bed and trudged downstairs to start breakfast.

After setting the table for our first meal of the day, I started to unload the dishwasher. Until I felt a pair of arms snaking their way around my waist and a face burying itself into my neck.

“You are such amazing wife, I love you so much” I hear Nat mumble into my neck “You are the best, don’t ever leave me”

“Wouldn’t even think about it” Laughing, Nat twisted me around to face her and pulling me into a kiss. It was smooth and gentle. I always loved when we kissed, it covers my whole body with calmness vanishing all anxiety.

I broke the kiss after 10 seconds. “Come on, you need to eat before you go to the base” I say to Nat whilst leading her towards the dinner table.

Washing up the dish, I ate my lunch off of, and dancing around the kitchen to abba. I receive a phone call from Rooster, that’s never a good sigh.

“Alexa, pause music please” After the music comes to a pause, I quickly pick up the phone without a second thought.

“Hello! Is everything ok?!” Not letting him even talk before answering the phone with a panicked tone weaving through my voice.

“Please please calm down y/n, please don’t panic but Phoenix has gone it a g-loc” the plate in my hand drops to the ground but that’s the least of my worries

“you will need to get to the base right now, but please remember that it will be ok” with that I hang up the phone rushing to grab my key and slip on my vans.

Rushing out to my black car and jumping in. Arriving at the base in less than 10 mins.

Once I arrive, I quickly run in the direction of the med bay. But Rooster stops me from running any further, his arms locking around me.

“Shh, shh little lady it’s okay, Phoenix is safe” By now I start to sob, fat tears running down my face smearing my mascara.

“I want to see my wife, please let me just see her!” My struggles could be heard from down the hall.

“Ok, little lady let’s go and see her, I don’t know if she’s awake or not” Rooster gave in to my struggles, Letting me see Natasha.

He leads me towards the med bay, with his hand on my back. Approaching what seemed to be Natasha’s room. Rooster moves his hand from behind my back to swiftly open the door.

“Go ahead little lady” And with that, I walk in.

Natasha was laid in the medical bay bed, asleep. She had scabs and bruises all over, this alone only made me tear up once again.

“The nurse said that what happened in air wasn’t that dangerous but I do need to be careful” Phoenix mumbles whilst keeping her eyes shut, only opening them once she’s done with what she is saying.

“I thought you had died up there, when Rooster called me and mentioned the word g-loc, my world came crashing down. We had the perfect life, newly married and enjoying what I lived had come to. I thought that I lost you and we lost that happy life together” My emotions are all over the place by now. Relief, anxiety and happiness all mixed into one.

“Oh Princess, I’ll never leave you ever. I love you baby” Phoenix then started to motion me over to the bed. Encouraging me to climb in next to her and stay in her arms forever.

“I love you too honey”

Please don’t forget to request any thing you’d like me to write up.

#maverick top gun #payback top gun #fanboy top gun #phoenix top gun #rooster top gun #topgunmovie #bob top gun #hangman top gun #top gun #natasha trace

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mochiwrites · 2 years

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brain rotting and thinking about treebark so i have a thought (+ setting the scene) for you ! (gc au)

think about martyn and ren laying in bed whispering to eachother like two kids at a sleepover when their susposed to be asleep. they are just telling eachother story’s from their childhoods and giggling at eachothers jokes, and savouring this moment between them , until one of them slips into a deep sleep and the other follows not long after the other.

they then wake up in eachothers arms, martyns head tucked underneath rens chin, while ren runs his hands through martyns hair while lightly kissing the top of martyns head waiting for him to wake up.

then them making breakfast together once they’re both awake, still in their sleepwear, while ren is cooking the eggs martyn is brewing the coffee and tea, and giving ren a back hug while they work towards the day.

once they get home from work, martyn brews some coffee for himself while ren goes to put on more comfortable clothes, after the tea is done brewing he’ll do the same, they sit on the couch next to eachother and put on a movie to distract themselves with and to use as background noise.

they then fix a dinner for themselves, eat at the table together in silence and they clean up the mess they made. then get out the coffee pods and the tea bag for the morning so they dont need to go digging for them in the morning. the dishes are put in the dishwasher to then be unloaded the following day.

they then prepare for sleep, set the alarm, and get underneath the covers, holding eachother close, all cuddled up under the covers awaiting morning, while they whisper things back and fourth until they stop, then fall to sleep.

-📚boop

I am sobbing at you. Very loudly.

oh my god… I’m.

melts into a puddle

#mochi speaks #good crimes asks #📚 anon

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hanabeeri · 5 months

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happy new year! 💕💞💕💞💝

my year didn't start so great once i came back home. i really wish i could unsee some things. i don't want to go too deep into that. but part of a bad start was coming home at 3 and cleaning the kitchen until 4, because my father couldn't care less. i just hate how he thinks that helping with cooking will immediately take away the burden of further help. meanwhile me and my mother always go the extra mile. like, i never let the utensils i used unclean in the sink, just in case someone else will need them later. i don't leave the sink in the bathroom dirtybecause that's disgusting. i always arrange the dishes in the dishwasher in a way that's faster to take out later. and not only that! when i woke up and went to make me breakfast i found new dirty dishes.. and instead of putting the frozen meat in a bowl with water he had to place it in the only sink we have in the kitchen. its like, when you don't have to do much around the house, you don't know how annoying certain actions of other people are.

its really frustrating trying to be good to everyone and only receiving less than half back. because you see, i do things without thinking 'oh, now that i did the dishes i don't have to vacuum', i do things because i want to be kind. that may sound passive aggressive and it is. but try doing that all the time without complaining once. i didn't even receive some type of acknowledgement. he probably thinks that he is doing amends by cooking a dish for the both of us today. but unfortunately i am tired of not receiving some kind words. a simple thank you would have done it honestly.

the thing is, even being vocal about these things doesn't work. because last evening i asked him specifically to unload the dishwasher and he said no. since i still had time left i did it myself and instead asked him to put his dirty dishes inside. i also asked him to feed the cats. of which he did neither. i even reminded him via text when i was out with my friends. i don't know i'm tired.

despite all that i still had a lovely night with my friends 💕💞💖💕🩷tonight i also got to know some of my girl-friends partners which was really fun! i thought Ls partner would be serious but he was actually really sweet and silly. E is E, we were in the same class in middle school. J was in the same grade as me but we never really talked until yesterday, he was kind and at one point really drunk and sleepy. oh, and yippie to me, because i was the one driving! i love to drive but am often scared to drive somewhere where i'm rarely driving to or have never been to before. i even managed to park on first try.. 2024 is my year indeed i can feel it (i am knocking on wood three times) 💕💞💖🩷💞💕💖☀️

its time to go back to a normal routine, go to bed at a reasonable time and study for the upcoming exams (im a but concerned about the exams for klassisch japanisch because we aren't even at 第二課 and the exams are next month..).

#20240101 #happy new year #also can we please talk about the highlight on my shoulder?#i always put a ton of highlighter on them because i want them to shine! they are too pretty and often covered up to not have their moments #we do not talk about my hair though. i washed it yesterday morning and i think i put hair oil in every two hours and they were still frizzy #pain of wavy hair #明けましておめでとうございます #с новым годом дорогие 🫶🏻🫶🏻

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sadpostingautist · 6 months

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Me: *unloading the dishwasher* hey there's loads that needs to get done, can you help me please?

My boyfriend: what needs to be done?

Me: *gestures to the entire kitchen.* (The sink: full of dishes. The floor: dirty and needs vaccuming/mopping. The trash: full. The sides: covered in clutter. The hob: dirty.) *gestures to the entire living room* (the carpet: needs vaccuming. The coffee table: cluttered. The sofa: disheveled. The laundry: unfolded.)

My boyfriend: oh okay. *begins unloading the dishwasher.*

Like, is this weaponised incompetence, male stupidity or have I just not eaten? Because I'd like to know before I start throwing tableware around my fucking apartment.

#weaponised incompetence #male stupidity #boyfriend issues #eating disorder #tw disordered eating #chores

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klcthebookworm · 6 months

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20 November 2023 Metrics

Previous Word Count: 66,024 New Words: 1167 Total words for the first draft: 67,191 NaNo 2023 Cumulative Word Count: 21,440 What I Accomplished in the Narrative Today: Started a scene with Alexander and the words just would not come. I babbled on the page how the words were not coming. After ninety minutes of fighting with it, I switched to Peg stumbling upon crime and dealing with it and that scene flowed. Fave line: “I wasn’t trying to kill you, but.” She looked into the van and saw a pile of lumpy garbage bags and smelled rotting meat. “Yeah, you totally had something to do with a murdered person here so good if I gave you brain damage!” What Else I Accomplished Today: Laundry completely done, kitchen dishes are at need to unload the clean ones out of the dishwasher but everything else is done, sorted through the office for 45 minutes and accomplished nothing with it. I really thought I’d get more fiction writing done, but the current state of everything else I have to do means I’m pretty wiped by the end the chore block. What I'm looking forward to: Having everything done and then I can relax. What the hell is relaxing? I have been taking my breaks during the sprints but when I’m sitting right next to what I didn’t accomplish, it’s hard to feel like I will ever finish so why did I reward myself with breaks? Breaks equal to three hours plus however long it takes me to eat. That is five hours for everything on the list. Yes, NaNo is getting three of those hours because I committed to it this year and I am making progress on the project that has been stalled for years and I’m loathe to give it up, especially when writing is my sanity keeper. And giving it up won’t get the chores I hate done any faster. So yes, tomorrow will still have breaks. What I’m going to do before going to bed is download the vague must do X, must do Y, must do Z, etc. onto paper where I can truly see what has to happen around making words tomorrow. What I'm not looking forward to: The reason why this office reset is on my list is that I have buried paperwork and phone calls I need to do in my stacks and now the stacks have reached “oh hell where did I put X?” But I only have Tuesday to find them and deal with them and I’m running out of Tuesday already? Mom needs a trip to town, I also need to pack (some of that is hiding in the stacks too). So yeah, steady wincing think about this now. Also, I think I need to box books I don’t have shelf space for into banker boxes and stack those in a messy corner of the office. That will look more contained and that should help on visual stress. It also comes AFTER dealing with the desktop pile that I’m nearly convinced has the paperwork I need to deal with in it.

#my wip #my writing #original fiction #nanowrimo #nano 2023 #metrics

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thecrybabydiaries · 9 months

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Average Morning

I’m usually up around 9:30-10 on my days off and by then, Daddy’s (usually) already in his office so I’ll poke my head in and say good morning, blow him a kiss and head to the kitchen. And buckle up, because I get sidetracked easily and there’s a lot to do!

Breakfast, which is dry cereal and some tea but first I see the kitchen is getting a little cluttered and it’s making me a little annoyed so after I’ve taken out the cereal and my cereal mug, I stop and put everything away. Then I see the dishes need to be handled because they’re stacking in the sink. So put the clean dishes - oh, shit. The dishwasher. That’s my chore so I stop putting dishes away, unload the dishwasher and reload the dishwasher with as much dishwasher safe stuff as I can. Daddy usually handles hand washing the dishes but I feel bad when there’s only 3. So deep breath and get it done. Phew. Done! Now I can have br- nope. Did I turn the water off last night? Let me go check the yard. Nope. I didn’t. So trek out to the yard, turn the water off, head back inside and see a few more restocking things that can be easily done really fast. Done and done. Finish putting stuff away really fast and now we can have breakfast.

So I sit down with my book to finish the chapter I wasn’t able to yesterday and oh shit. I forgot to take my meds. Hang on y’all.

Edited to add this all happens over like 30 minutes of cabinet doors open and closing and swears and I think Daddy just tunes them out but gets suspicious when I’m quiet. Which is very valid.

#sorry daddy #it’s a bit wild in our house

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cityjacket · 2 years

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The thing that has helped me so much and saved my life is that person who said to look at cleaning the dishes as “a point in a cycle, not a goal to be accomplished one time and then done for forever” or else you would always feel behind/like a failure that the dishes would eventually come back. And that makes so much sense, because eventually the dishes always come back. It’s a task that’s never complete, so it makes more sense to say “what stage of the dishwashing cycle am I in? Loading? Unloading? Putting away? Rinsing off?” than “oh man, I JUST did this! This is supposed to be done? Why are there more dishes now?”

I use that not just with dishes now (which helps me avoid the task less) but with everything that can never be a completely done project

“Ugh, why aren’t I recovering from trauma fast enough. every time I think I’m healed, a new realization to get over pops up” —> what stage of the recovery cycle am I in?

“why do I feel so insecure? What happened to me? I thought I was past all of this, but new ones keep coming up?” —> what stage of the self esteem cycle am I in?

“why do I feel so crappy again? I thought I was doing well for a while there, what happened? Where’d all of these feelings/faults come from” —> what stage in the self acceptance-self improvement cycle am I in?

and just so much more. It seriously helps a lot to not look at things like recovery, healing, self confidence, self improvement, or self acceptance as a task that can be ticked off of a list or an accomplishment that can be achieved and complete. These are ongoing problems in my life and I will always feel inadequate every time I feel like I’m failing them or falling back into those problems if I treat them like goals to be won and not what they are. Treating them as a wheel that spins and comes back around with a new layer to it each time that I have the power to clean up takes the pressure off of me to feel like I must complete these things and complete them perfectly and soon (I need to get an A in therapy, a totally normal and healthy thing to want 😀). Plus it’s honest to life. We are never done healing because life is never done giving us new things to heal from. We are never done growing because life gives us new understanding each day. We are never done learning how to love ourselves because our bodies are always changing as we age and we’ll have to relearn how to love that same body with those changes all over again when the time comes.

It’s relieving for me to know that I’m not failing at loving myself or healing, I’m just at a certain point in a positive cycle of problems and since this is a cycle and the wheel has to spin that means one day I’ll hit the point in the cycle when the dishes are clean, the sink and dishwasher are empty, and everything is neatly put away in the cupboards. I will feel at peace for that time. Then I’ll make dinner again 😄

#With peace of mind because I know just as the dishes get dirty in the cycle they also get clean 😌#rambles

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absolutepokemontrash · 3 years

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happy 666! I really want to see some of the brothers arguing over how to 'properly' load the dishwasher / wash clothes / bag groceries / some other mundane thing that most people don't bother having an opinion about (but I do lol) if you're into it! if not, that's cool have a great day and congratulations anyway!! 🎉

👀 I love this-

Lucifer

Lucifer knows he shouldn’t be getting into arguments with Levi about how to load the trunk of the car but this is getting ridiculous!

No Levi! You cannot just fit the bags in by size and shape, that bag has eggs it can’t be at the bottom- shit.

This argument happens every single time Lucifer gets the groceries and Levi is forced to come, all because Levi wants to play Tetris and doesn’t realize that Lucifer’s way of loading the car is 100% superior no questions asked.

MC needs to back him up. MC? MCCCC? He’s waiting.

Whatever. No one go near him when he’s stocking the fridge. He’ll kill someone if they put something in the wrong drawer or shelf.

What a drama king 🙄

Mammon

This man does not vacuum correctly according to Satan and it drives him insane.

Mammon’s obviously doing it right though because he’s vacuuming and… leaving.

All he needs to do is vacuum, alright?! He even went under the couch that time! What do ya mean he needs sweep before and then mop after?!

Apparently according to Satan, cleaning the entire living room does not just mean straightening some baubles and vacuuming. He needs to dust the surfaces too apparently.

He’s going to try and pawn off his duties on whatever poor sap next walks through the door- oh! Human! Hold this vacuum!

Only good thing about cleanin’ is that he might find some cool things to swipe- Ah shit hi Lucifer-

Leviathan:

With how meticulous Levi is when he cleans and sanitizes his figurines and other anime merch, one would expect him to be well versed in the side effects of improper air circulation when dealing with cleaning supplies.

But NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

No no no no no, when Levi cleans the bathroom, the door stays closed. This really worries Beel.

Beel is constantly telling him, “the fumes of the cleaning supplies will make you sick :( keep the door open.” But Levi hates the idea of being perceived, so he keeps it closed.

To Beel, all the windows, vents, and doors need to be open during cleaning time. To Levi, he’d rather suffocate because he accidentally mixed chemicals and made chlorine gas.

He may die, but it’s whatever. The bathroom is still getting cleaned! Sure, some of the fumes got in his eyes and now his eyelids are grossly swelled up, but he’s not going to give Beel a victory.

Satan

Asmo is supposed to be separating the darks and the lights! What the hell is he doing?!

Satan is constantly nagging everyone to separate their clothes, but I guess everyone just wants their lights to get stained in the dryer or whatever the fuck happens when you don’t separate the colours!

Asmo makes a snide remark about how Lucifer said the same thing, and Satan seriously debates jumping ship and joining Team Don’t Separate.

He decides against it and continues to nag, he nags to the point of Asmo throwing up his hands and walking away, leaving the laundry to Satan.

Great… nagging wins him an extra chore… wooooooooooo…

Asmodeus

Everything has its own place and everything needs to be neat and tidy! Asmo’s attitude on cleanliness makes Mammon want to pitch over and hurl.

Asmo’s tried just everything to get his scummy big brother to keep his room clean, but Mammon claims that it is clean.

Ugh! News flash! Knowing where everything is does not make it clean!

Asmo’s tried the Marie Kondo thing, but apparently everything Mammon owns sparks joy, so nothing got tossed out.

Tsk, Asmo’s going to have an aneurism if he needs to take another look into Mammon’s stupid, smelly, gross, disorganized, disgusting, awful-

*several minutes later*

-Tasteless, brain dead, room!

Beelzebub

But Asmo… this is how Beel does dishes… he licks them clean… what do you mean that’s unsanitary?

Oh shit Beel just swallowed a fork- maybe Asmo has a point here.

Thing is, after hearing Asmo’s concerns about germs, Beel legitimately tries to not lick the plates but, there’s food residue on there! He can’t just let that go to waste!

Mmmm… food residue…

It gets to the point to where the entire house decided that Beel should not be trusted to do the dishes. The possibility of Beel getting everyone sick was just too strong…

Beel is sad to lose one of the chores he was really good at :( the rest of the house sure as wasn’t.

Belphegor

Bro TF? He doesn’t do things. And this gets everyone on his case.

“Belphie, why haven’t you done your chores?” “Belphie, why haven’t you unloaded the dishwasher?” “Belphie, why haven’t you vacuumed your bedroom?” “Belphie why haven’t you gotten off the couch in four days?”

You know, the usual shit.

Belphie is a necessary part of the household ecosystem because everyone needs to gang up on someone to feel like more of a team, and for once the scapegoat isn’t Mammon.

At least Mammon vacuums… Belphie just looks at the vacuum and tries to use the force.

It never works by the way.

With his little sibling privileges though, he rarely gets punished for shirking his duties… the little shit.

——————

This was actually super fun to do, thanks for requesting!!

#also I would just like to say: Lucifer is the type of bastard to say no to help and then grumble about how no one does anything #obey me #obey me!#Obey me! Headcanons #Obey me Headcanons #obey me! shall we date?#obey me shall we date #Obey me MC #Obey me Lucifer #Obey me Mammon #Obey me Leviathan #Obey me Satan #Obey me Asmodeus #Obey me Beelzebub #Obey me Belphegor

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myckicade · 3 years

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Prompt: Ok so we all know Coco is touch starved, and would be clingy af in a relationship. What about Coco x wife!reader, while she’s trying to do basic errands/chores and Coco is her shadow?

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one. I really have. Hee hee. I just adore Coco. <3 . This piece sort of follows the story of the last two Coco x Reader pieces I have written, but it will stand-alone, just fine. And, I swear, these things just have a mind of their own. I can continue to apologize for length, and content, but, in the end... I let the story tell itself. ;) . <3 .

As a warning, I come from Vermont, where we have a plastic bag ban. Last I knew, California was the first state to have one. I don’t know how that would translate to Santo Padre, but… When I mention fabric bags, I mean reusables, and the ban is why. ^^;;;;.

Title: Worthwhile

Teaser: He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it.

“Okay…” you murmur, slowly, eyes scanning over the paper in front of you. Fifteen items, nothing crazy. Shouldn’t take you more than an hour, tops, and that includes travel to and from the store. “I think I’ve got everything we need… And, specials included your beer, and those little frozen cream puffs.”

Beside you, Coco groans, deep and guttural. “Fuck, I love those things.”

You giggle, but keep reading. Your man is too damn cute. “Feminine products.”

“Do those count as special?” Coco genuinely sounds thoughtful, as he steps up behind you, where you are leaning over the counter top. He wraps his arms around your waist, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Kinda’ a necessity, ain’t they?”

Tipping your head, you glance to your husband. Seriously. This man is a treasure. “Why don’t you run for political office?” you tease, pleased when Coco chuckles.

“Yeah, my record’ll look great, on the campaign trail.”

You shrug. “You can tackle pink tax, and tax evasion, at the same time.”

Coco grins, and steals a peck off your lips. “What else you got on there, muñeca?”

“Hmmm, let’s see…” You turn back to your list, tapping the pen against your lips, thoughtfully. Spying the next item on it, you try not to let out another giggle. He’s not going to like this one. “Letty asked if we could have that cauliflower pizza thing for dinner, tonight.”

As expected, this groan is decidedly not from food lust. “Fuckin’ vegetarians. When the hell is she gonna’ get over this shit?”

“It’s just a phase, Coco,” you remind him, for the… Well, honestly, you’ve lost track. It started shortly after the wedding, Letty’s change in diet, and you’re still not convinced the two aren’t related. You’re just not entirely sure how. But, two months in, and she’s still looking healthy, so you won’t send up any alarms. “It’s very popular at her high school, right now.”

Coco scoffs, disgusted. “When the hell’d she start copyin’ other people, anyway? My girl ain’t no follower.”

The words send a shot straight to your heart. He’s a little rough, your Coco, foul-mouthed, and quick to anger. Untrusting, and bitchier than a woman, on his best day. But, once you have his love, you have it. All of it. The love he has for Leticia is the greatest proof. They may carry on like cats and dogs, but when push comes to shove, there is nothing they won’t do for one another. My girl. It brings a warmth to your soul, and a smile to your lips.

You shake it off, enough to formulate a response. “She’s figuring out how to be her own woman. Trying new things.” You shrug, not wanting to make a big deal of it. You were Letty’s age, once, of course. And, a girl, to boot. Some things, Coco just won’t be able to understand. “It’s a process.” He hums, still disgruntled, but doesn’t push out another word. “You want anything else?” you ask, holding up your list. “I’ve gotta’ get going, before I run into the football widows.”

Before you can even take a step away, Coco tightens his arms around you. “You sure you gotta’ go, though?” he asks, leaning in to brush his lips against your neck. “With the house all to ourselves, like this?”

“If I don’t go,” you start, as Coco’s touches gain intent, becoming teasing kisses. Damn him. It feels nice, you won’t lie, but there are other things on your mind, right now. Priorities.

You’re just… having trouble remembering what they are.

Oh. Yeah. Shopping.

“If I don’t go, we won’t have anything for dinner.”

Another kiss, accompanied by a barely-there swipe of tongue. You shiver, and Coco moves his lips to your ear. “We can order in,” he whispers, breath so invitingly warm against your skin.

Oh, this asshole.

“And, what are we supposed to have for breakfast, tomorrow?” you try, again. “Half an Eggo, and a pack of Skittles?”

Coco cuddles you closer, again. “Ain’t you never heard about livin’ on love, baby?” Some of his smoothest work, that is. And, it’s almost convincing. Almost. You can imagine the afternoon ahead, if you give in. Your clothes will come off, and won’t be back on until the last second, before Letty walks back through the front door. By that time, you’ll be too tired to roll your ass off the bed, let alone go grocery shopping. And, you promised Letty you’d talk Coco into that cauliflower pizza.

“Great as that sounds,” you agree, preparing to capitalize on the truth. You ease yourself away from Coco’s stubborn hold, and give him one more smooch, just to soften the blow to come. “I don’t think Letty will appreciate the sentiment.”

A third groan. You must be going for a record. “C’mon, (y/n).” Oh, he’s whining. It’s so cute, it’s unreal. “We’ll find some place that delivers that rabbit food shit.”

Unfortunately for Coco, you’re already grabbing your bag. Lucky for you. You’re still two seconds from giving him what he wants. (He just doesn’t need to know so). “I’ll be back in a while.” God willing. “If you think of anything else, call my cell.” You rush out the front door, and don’t look back. If you see the look on your husband’s face, you know you’re as good as done.

Well, what the shit? Coco stares at the front door as it closes, you on the wrong fucking side of it. His arms are at his sides, palms turned toward the ceiling. That went so well. He kind of can’t believe you just walked away, like that. Left him alone, and wanting. In your big, empty house.

He probably should have volunteered to tag along, instead of just chasing you off.

Fuck.

Glancing around, Coco tries to find something to do. Something to clean, at the very least. But, that’s the trouble with having moved in with you, after the wedding, he supposes. Ain’t nothing to tidy up. Not that the three of you don’t have possessions. They’re all just in their proper places. Probably Leticia’s doing, in the end. He’d had a long talk with her, before the move, that she absolutely has to keep her shit where it belongs. Your house isn’t like their house. There aren’t burn marks in the carpet, or gouges in the coffee table. Dishes go in the damned dishwasher, not left to pile up on the counter, or in the sink. Beds get made. Laundry gets folded, and put away. No more wrinkled heaps in the clothes basket. So far, the kid’s been doing good. Real good.

Coco, though? He’s never felt so unnerved in his life.

It was different when he just visited. Spent a night or two, here or there. He’d almost felt at home, then, stupid as it sounds. At home, with the knowledge he wasn’t staying. But, now? Now, the reality has settled in, and he feels so-so… out of place. There’s so much he’s struggling to adjust to.

You have a purified water system installed under the sink, where Coco is used to buying bottled water.

You have a dining room, where Coco and Letty are used to eating on the couch.

You have an extended cable package, whatever the fuck that is.

You kind of have it all, here, certainly by comparison to what Coco is used to. The best of everything. Which really makes him wonder – not for the first time – what the hell you’re doing with a dirt-poor biker for a husband? You’ve had this conversation, on multiple occasions, and you’ve explained yourself, every time. But, this time… This time, you’re not around to give that speech. You’re not around to hold him, and kiss his face, and reassure him in a way that only you can. No, you’re at the grocery store, shopping for Coco, and his kid, which was apparently a better offer than staying home with him.

Oh, nope. Nope, he’s doing it, again. He can feel it. You love him, he reminds himself. You’ve got his ring on your finger, his last name, and – God-willing – his baby in your belly. By choice. All by choice.

Coco takes a deep breath, in. Lets it back out, slowly. Tries not to get sick, for all the nerves coming up to greet him. He wraps one arm around his own torso, free hand moving up to cover his mouth.

Fuck, he hopes you get back, soon.

You let out a deep sigh, as you park your car in the garage. Oh, it is so good to be home, at long-last. Talk about Old Home Week. You’d run into everyone, and his brother, at the grocery store. Shopping had taken nearly twice as long as you’d meant for it to, and you just know Coco must be losing his mind, by now. You hate to think about it, in such terms, but, sometimes… Well, sometimes, Coco reminds you of a new puppy. You can’t really leave him alone, without some kind of separation anxiety creeping up on him.

Ah, well. At least he isn’t ripping down the drapes, and shredding the couch cushions.

You blink. Well. That you know of.

Shaking your head, you climb out of the car, mentally preparing to unload armloads of bags. Maybe, if you really, really try, today will be the day you can finally get all twenty bags in, in one trip.

Right. And, shortly thereafter, you can have both forearms set, and casted. Be a real turn-on, in the bedroom.

You’ve managed to grab half a dozen bags, when the door to the mud room opens. “Hey, don’t grab too many!” Letty warns, as she comes hopping down the steps. “Let us help!”

Glancing up, you smile. For having had such a rough start, Letty can be a sweet girl. You know she gets that from her father. “Well, thank you,” you reply, resting a few, fabric handles onto her outstretched hands.

Letty grins, lowering her hands to her sides, before leaning in. “Did you talk him into it?” she whispers, conspiratorially.

You snicker, and whisper back, “He isn’t getting a choice. He’s outnumbered.”

“Yes!” Her hiss of victory is hardly subtle, catching Coco’s attention as he pokes his head out the door.

“You two plottin’ against me, again?”

“Yes,” you and Letty reply, in unison, leading you to erupt into a fit of giggles.

Coco is all grins. “’Course, you are.” He strides closer, he and Letty dancing around one another as she moves into the house. You lean into the car, and retrieve a few more bags. If Coco’s out here, he might as well assist. He’s peering into the car, once you stand back up, and lets out a low whistle. “Damn, (y/n)! You buy out the whole store, or what?”

“Hardly,” you reply, dryly. You hold up your hands, offering Coco the bags. “Here you go.”

“Oh, don’t mind if I do.” Thankfully, your hold on the bags is solid. Instead of grabbing the groceries, Coco’s hands are suddenly groping all over you. One hand is settled firmly at your ass, the other sliding into your hair, at the back of your head. He wastes no time diving in for a slow, deep kiss, and, damn, does his timing suck. He could have at least let you put the bags down, first. The contact makes you tingle, and has you regretting your decision not to stay home. Coco pulls back, after a few seconds, and hums. “Mm. Best delivery ever.”

You can’t help the small snort of amused laughter that leaves your throat. “Good try, Coco,” you praise, easing back far enough to offer him the bags, again. The look of disappointment on his face is just pitiful. “I’m not banging you in the garage.”

He has the grace to mock gasp. “I’d never!” It’s a crock, and you both know it. He looks too amused to be repentant, and you look too aware to be angry. You just raise your hands, slightly, in a third offer. Coco sighs. “All right. All right.” He takes the bags from your hands.

“Thank you.” You grab another load for yourself, rounding the open car door to follow Coco’s lead, into the house. One more trip for each of you, and you should have it covered. So much for only buying fifteen items.

Coco might be right about buying out the store.

Watching from the dining room, Coco has a good view of you and Letty unpacking the last of the groceries. Damn kid, she’d thrown him out, about ten minutes prior.

“Less groping, more helping, Coco,” Letty had warned him, after he’d tried to pin you against the sink.

It had been his last warning. Now, he’s been banished. Not the worst thing in the world, not really. Over the last few weeks, he’s really learned that there are some tasks he’s not so fond of. Pruning roses… Yeah, he’s pretty sure you’ll never let him do that, again. And, hey, nobody told him what to fill the bird feeder with. Unpacking groceries goes on that list, somewhere between line-drying laundry, and a streak-free mirror. He’s not sure why. Goodness knows, it makes him feel like a kid at Christmas, most times. Since being with you, though…

Since being with you, he feels like he’s taking advantage of something.

Yes, groceries are a strange place to let that feeling land, but he can’t help it. Coco’s been responsible for feeding himself since before he cares to remember. The only time anyone provided his meals was during deployment, and half that shit barely passed for edible. You, though… You keep the house stocked with more food than he’s seen anywhere, outside of a corner market. Letty always has options to take to school, and there’s a nutritious dinner on the table, almost every night. (Some nights, he actually does win the battle for delivery). If Coco goes on a run, you send him along with snacks for the road. And, yeah, he kinda’ likes that. He also likes the energy bars you picked out for him, last week. Something with cherries, and dark chocolate. He wonders, for a second, if you picked up any more. Come in handy during his mid-week trip outta’ town.

Coco blinks. Then, he does it again, just for good measure. That’s it. That’s what’s so fucking weird about this whole thing.

It’s you.

Okay, no, it’s not you, you. But, it’s you. It’s you, taking care of him. It’s you, seeing to his needs. Letty’s needs. It’s you, being his wife, his partner. It’s you, slotting into the place of role-model for his teenaged daughter. Welcoming them into your home. Not treating it like it’s your home. It’s you, being so fucking perfect for him, it’s taken his mind all this time to catch up with reality.

Coco doesn’t get perfect. Perfect doesn’t want him.

Except, now, it does.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Coco strides into the kitchen. He doesn’t wait for you to put the box of pasta in the cupboard. He just takes it from your hand, ignoring your confused look, as he tosses it onto the counter.

“Coco!” Letty admonishes, but it’s no use. He’s already lifting you off the floor, arms around your perfect backside. The kid gives a long-suffering sigh, he hears it, but pays it no mind.

Nothing – nothing – is going to keep him from holding you in his arms.

Your own arms go around Coco’s neck, and you smile down at him, surprise still lingering in your eyes. “Uhm… Hi, there.”

Coco grins. “Hey, muñeca.” Leaning up, he pecks you on the lips.

“Can I help you with something?” you ask, to which Coco shakes his head. Closes his eyes, as your fingers play in his hair.

“Nah. Got all I need.”

Pulling a package of mixed vegetables from the half-unpacked shopping bag, Letty rolls her eyes. You two… God, you’re gross. Coco always has his hands on you, no matter what you’re trying to do. It’s a wonder you don’t carry a damned fly swatter around. Actually, it’s a wonder you ever accomplish anything. He’s always smooching, and smiling, and snuggling at you. It’s disgusting. It’s pathetic.

It’s so damned cute, it’s sickening.

Really, Letty’s enjoying seeing Coco so happy. Like, genuinely happy. Not the false pride he carries around with his kutte. He’s more relaxed, nowadays. He drinks less, and he spends more time at home, both of which mean he’s not hanging around with those skanks at the clubhouse. He eats more, he’s healthier… Nothing to complain about, there.

And, hey, she has no complaints about you, either. You’re pretty cool, all-around. A woman who takes care of herself, and her family, and doesn’t bitch about either one. You’re not using Coco for money, or status, none of the shit she’s always been worried her father would fall into. There aren’t arguments, every night, not even between herself and Coco, as of late. No hostilities, nothing to avoid the house over. Just good dinners, and movies, and a new fish tank in her room. (Okay, so, you’d earned some major points with that birthday gift. She hadn’t actually expected to get one, when she’d mentioned it). For the first time, she understands what a peaceful, happy family feels like. It feels nice. It feels like home.

Glancing back to where Coco now has you perched on the counter top, stealing the most syrupy-sweet smooches… Letty can’t help but smile. Home is A-okay by her.

The sound of the air conditioner humming in the bedroom usually lulls you right to sleep. Tonight, it’s just providing you with white noise, a low background track to your thoughts. You don’t mind, not really. It gives you a few minutes to reflect on the day that’s just ended. To plan your day, tomorrow. To weave your fingers through Coco’s hair, and listen to him breathe. That, alone, makes it worthwhile.

Coco has been asleep against your shoulder for nearly an hour, now. Your arms are wrapped around him, comfortably, his own around your waist. You’d urged him up to bed, after he’d fallen asleep on the couch, his head in your lap. He’d snoozed from the middle of the movie, to the end of the nightly news report. Letty had tsked, and complained that no one had any business, whatsoever, in falling asleep during Zombieland. (How he’d stayed asleep was still a wonder to you, both, for how hard you’d been laughing at Tallahassee). With your fingers in his hair, Coco had been blissfully unaware for a couple of hours.

Glancing down, you take in the sight of your husband’s sleeping face. He looks so damn peaceful, the kind you’d outright murder to preserve for him. Coco’s still struggling with sleep, and relaxation, even though you’d hoped it would ease up, once your nuptials had passed. Most of it, you know will never go away. Anxiety doesn’t have a magic wand, or some perfect little on/off switch. And, all things considered, today wasn’t a terrible day. You’d been able to leave the house, with minimal panic on Coco’s part. Granted, it had taken extra time to get the groceries put away, and dinner made, but… You understand, as much as you are able to, that Coco needs the reassurances. It doesn’t cost you anything to carve a few moments from the day, every here and there, to give him what he needs.

Okay, so it did cost you that first batch of pancakes, this morning. They’d burned on the stove, and set off the smoke alarms, when he’d insisted on a dance through the living room. But, Coco loved the song you’d been playing on your Spotify, so there was really no denying him.

Oh, and… Yeah, you’d missed that phone call from the bank, the week before. Your husband had slipped up next to you, on the porch swing, and snuggled you to within an inch of your life. An easy fix, and you still got the business loan, but…

And, sure, you’ve been late to work, on numerous occasions. Coco has a habit of sneaking into your morning shower. And, after that… Well, hell, you own the company. It’s not like you have to explain to the boss that you’re late to your shift, on account of baby-dancing. (Fucking forums).

Point is, you’re more than happy to take care of Coco’s emotional needs. It may take you an extra hour to pay your bills. Daily tidying may have become every-other-day-if-you’re-lucky tidying. And, your ass may have gone numb, tonight, while he slept on your thigh. During which time, you could have loaded the dishwasher. Taken out the trash. Any number of tasks that have been neglected, in the name of Coco. They can wait.

Leaning in, you press a tender kiss to your husband’s forehead, before settling back in, and closing your eyes. Yes, chores can wait. Work can wait. The whole world can hold it, with both hands. So long as you’re around, Coco’s well-being will never have to take the back seat.

P.S. If Coco denies it, he’s full of it. He fucking loved that cauliflower pizza. Fucking vegetarians, indeed.

Masterlist | Request | Tag List

#mayans m.c. fanfiction #mayans m.c.#coco x reader #coco x you #coco cruz x reader #coco cruz x you #johnny coco cruz #anonymous request #fanfiction requests #ask box fic

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elvensorceress · 3 years

Text

sunrise

(the 5x03 episode coda we all deserve)

Inspired by @eric-dierr ‘s post

on AO3

There’s finality to the sound of the door shutting behind her, but the weight of more years than he’s ever known her disappears as soon as she does.

He can breathe again. He can relax. He doesn’t have to play a part. He doesn’t have to fake picture perfect, too-exaggerated-to-be-real happiness. He can finally take his home back.

The irony of his disaster kitchen is not lost on him. But he starts with a message, because it needs to be said, and he hates the idea of hurting anyone. Least of all hurting someone the way Buck was hurt.

Done. It’s over.

Is what he sends. And then goes to strip the beds and cycle the laundry and wash his whole fucking house of anything touched by her. It’s only a few minutes before he receives a response.

it go ok? r u ok?

He could be better. He could have a clean house and a clean mind and he could simply enjoy curling up with his son and finally spending time with him. Fixing everything has to come first.

It was fine. Probably. Who knows. You make it home?

Once the sheets are washing, he turns to the kitchen and who does this to someone else’s kitchen and just leaves it? He digs out gallon sized ziplock bags and fills them with the assortment of muffins and other baked goods. He’ll have to make a note to himself to take them to the station on his next shift. At least he won’t have to pretend to like bland, flavorless cooking anymore.

He checks his phone and it’s been a good ten minutes without a response, so maybe Buck decided to nap or cook or… Oh, god maybe his girlfriend is there.

At least there’s not much of anything in Eddie’s stomach right now because it twists and he’s nauseous and of all the people Buck had to pick her and it’s just… none of his business but Buck could do so much better. He deserves so much better. Though the idea of Buck with anyone is not something he wants to think about. Not that he wants Buck to be alone forever. He’s been so lonely and Eddie knows he desperately wants to be loved. But no one is ever going to be good enough for him, no one can know him well enough or love him the way he needs, he should be adored and cherished and treated like the most precious thing in existence because he is.

And that’s the most Eddie wants to think about on the subject.

He starts by unloading the dishwasher and then has to restart by organizing his cupboards back the way the dishes and cups and silverware are supposed to be organized. Halfway through the third cupboard, his phone chimes.

idk. technically. what r u up to?

He reads it and rereads their whole conversation, and sighs heavily. Buck could take his own advice. But then they’d both be alone again. One of them should at least have something? He starts typing and hesitates and knows his typing must have appeared and notified Buck that he’s working on a response. But. Should he?

Fuck it. Why not.

Cleaning up my disaster. Want to come over?

The response is immediate.

Yes

It’s another moment where he can finally breathe again. In that case, he unloads the clean dishes into a mostly empty cupboard and tries to tackle the dirty dishes in the sink before Buck shows up and sees the mess made of his kitchen.

disaster?

Is the next message that pops up on his phone and Eddie contemplates sending a picture, but some things are better left a surprise.

You’ll see.

It takes him less than fifteen minutes to walk through the door and the kitchen is only partly under control. He hears Christopher excitedly exclaim, “Buck! Buck is home! You’re here!”

And Buck’s near giddy reply of, “Christopher! You’re also home!” He laughs and Eddie has to see them.

He grabs a kitchen towel to dry his hands and finds Christopher clutched tightly in Buck’s arms, melting onto his shoulder much like he did at the station a few days ago. They both have their eyes closed tightly, swaying as if there’s joyful music only they can hear. Eddie wonders what it might take for him to hear it as well.

He swallows hard and can’t look at anything else.

Christopher lifts up and presses both of his small hands into Buck’s cheeks. “I missed you, kid.”

Buck laughs again but his eyes look glassy even though there’s something about him that is radiant sunshine after years of being lost in a cold night. “I missed you, too, buddy.” He sets Christopher down but bends to leave a kiss on his forehead. When he looks at Eddie with that glowing sunrise of a smile, Eddie can almost believe in hope and happiness and the future.

It makes him want to believe real love is still possible. That there is something, someone, in existence who might make his heart want and need and bleed love in every incarnation.

Buck lets Christopher go back to playing and follows Eddie into the kitchen. Where his expression immediately turns into something horrified. “What in the,” he glances in the direction of the other room, shuts the door and mouths quietly, “Fuck happened here?”

“I told you. Disaster.” Eddie tosses his kitchen towel onto his shoulder and returns to the kitchen sink with soaking cupcake pans.

“But,” Buck says, supremely distressed. “My kitchen.”

“I’ve been working on it,” Eddie promises. He needs to scrub down and wash away everything.

“She wasn’t even here that long. What the hell did she do? Who does this and just leaves someone else’s house like this?”

Eddie shrugs but gives him a smile. He can finally smile. A real smile in his own home. It’s almost strange now, but it’s possible. Then again, it’s always real when Buck is around. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

Buck shakes his head and goes to the cupboards to finish organizing them properly. He knows better where everything is supposed to belong anyway.

With Buck’s help, it doesn’t take long to reorganize and wipe down the entire kitchen. They put new sheets and blankets on the beds and Eddie does a quick cleaning of the bathrooms while Buck vacuums and tidies the living room. They bring the dried laundry to Christopher’s room to fold and put it away and start a load of all Eddie’s work clothes, and only then does Buck turn to him and put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

Eddie tries not to go weak at the touch. It feels like an eternity since they’ve hugged, since they’ve been home, since they’ve been close.

“Thank you,” Buck says softly.

Eddie looks at him, unsure, uncertain, and longing for something they can never have. “For what?”

Buck bites his lip and tears well in his eyes. “For not being Abby. For being you.”

Eddie takes a deep breath and very lightly rests a hand on Buck’s chest. Over his heart. “Thanks for being you.”

Buck bends his head and Eddie holds onto him, pulls him closer so Buck’s forehead rests against his own.

It’s so easy to believe now. He can almost feel it with how they’ve grown together, built this together. There’s something so close it feels inevitable, but he knows it’s something they chose for themselves.

When they let go, they join Christopher on the sofa and cuddle together closer than they ever have. So close Christopher wriggles out from their tight grasp because they are interrupting game time, okay? Buck looks at him for a moment but curls against Eddie’s side anyway and drifts off as they’re stretched on the couch together.

His house his clean. His life has a new page, a fresh start, it can be anything. But he knows, no matter what, they’ll have each other and their son. It’s all his heart has ever wanted, and this time, it feels as if they will have it.

@oneweirdcryptid @ashavahishta @captain-flint @phantomqueenmorrigan @loveyourownsmiilee @oldsouldreamer85 @arrenemris @fleurdebeton @rosefairyirl @holydrogo-n @free-byrd @insaneoldme @oatflatwhite @favouritealias @idealuk @racoonsa @ethicalconflictdiaz

(If anyone would like to be added to my tag list, let me know or go like this post 💕)

#buddie #buddiefanfiction #911fic #911 spoilers #buck x eddie #jenwyn fic #idk I haven't even watched the episode yet because #do I really need to???#no but #buckley diaz family #rights #they belong in the season's 3rd episode so #here you go #family cuddles because reasons

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alex-demon-wolf · 2 years

Note

14. “Ew. Get that away from me…” with Roman + Virgil for prompts? ♥️♥️♥️

Thank you for the prompt!

Chores Challenge

"Ew. Get that away from me." Virgil moved away from his partner, and the object his partner was holding in his gloved hand

"I'm showing you why you need to be cleaning the stupid drain! I had to pull this out cause of your dumb hair clogging it," Roman huffed, throwing it, and the glove in the trash

"Fine, I'll clean the drain, but that means you have to do the dishes," Roman gasped an offended gasp at that

"You know I hate doing the dishes,"

"Yes, but most are dirty because of you," Virgil looked at his phone, "So either do the dishes, or clean the drain yourself,"

"Uuuuuuuugh, fine, I'll do dishes, but you need to take out the trash," And that lead to an argument of getting the other to do the chores, ending with them basically having to do each other's chores

"Bet I can do these better than you on a good day," Virgil said as he put his long hair up in a beanie

"Hah! As if! I bet I can do all of this better than you could any day!" Roman challenged, the two glaring at one another

"Challenge. Accepted." Virgil took his hoodie off, and left to start on Roman's chores, Roman leaving to start on Virgil's

"I bet I could even get this done faster than Roman," Virgil muttered to himself as he pulled on the gloves, pulling the metal on the drain off, gagging at the hair dangling from it, "Oh-oh my gods- that is disgusting!"

"What was that Darling?" Roman called, having vaguely heard him. Virgil took a shakey breath

"I said this looks so easy!" Roman huffed hearing that, unloading the dishwashers, "There is so much in here," He huffed as he put the plates in the cabinets

A few minutes passed, and he was done with that part. He looked at the stacks of dirty dishes, grimacing at the food still on some of them, trying to get over the ick feels as he cleaned them, "Come on Roman you can do this, you gotta," He muttered to himself as he got the first dish in. This would be a long long day

Virgil sighed as he got back into the house, checking taking out the trash off of his list of chores, "Already half way done.. next chore is-" He groaned as he read to next thing, "Why did I write that after that?!" He sighed as he looked at their livingroom, one of the few rooms he had to get the trash out of. The mountains of mountain dew that littered the side tables were just the beginning of it

"Great.." He got a trash bag, and started to put the empty cans in it, forcing a smirk on as Roman came in, "Hey there Princey, how you doin?"

"Amazingly well, I can't believe you struggle with these things," Roman crossed his arms over his chest with a cocky smile, "What about you?"

"I'm doing these with ease, only reason I'm taking so long is cause of the breaks I've been taking," He lied as he threw away more stuff.

He noticed Roman's smile fade slightly, before coming back, "Guess I should be getting on to the next thing then so I don't let you catch up," He left to their room, smile and cockiness dropping when Virgil couldn't see him anymore

"I need to hurry up.." He sighed as he looked at their room, frowning at the task ahead of him, "It's going to be ok, you'll beat him, and win bragging rights once again," He started to clean up the room, humming Disney songs to keep himself going

Roman sighed as he sat on the couch, "Finally, done.."

"Me too.." Virgil flopped on top of him, looking at his partner, "Why did we do all this again?.."

"Cause we want to one up each other.." Roman looked back at him, "How about we agree we both do them good, don't do this again, and oder pizza?.."

"Hell yeah, let me just grab my phone.." He sat up, pulling his phone out of his jacket that he'd forgotten to pick up, "Brownies too?"

"Soda and garlic knots as well, I'll get the Disney movies put on," Roman grabbed the remote, going to do so.

Soon, it was them cuddled together, eating pizza while watching Encanto, "Good day?" Virgil smiled up at him

"Good day," Roman smiled at the kiss he got, not being able to agree more

#sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts virgil #ts roman sanders #ts virgil sanders #ts roman #alex writes

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esrah-rah-rasputin · 2 years

Text

April 5th: Talk about instances of miscommunication. Are there any examples you can give for a time where you misinterpreted an interaction with someone else or them you? What do you think went wrong with that interaction?

The main issue with me is I’m not good at reflecting on social interactions, since I have to spend all my energy focusing on the here and now. So unless the miscommunication happened one or maybe two sentences ago, I probably won’t be able to truly examine it to figure out what went wrong.

That and at this point, my brain tends to block out social interactions that went wrong, which isn’t really helpful anymore 😅 That also means it’s hard to think of past instances of miscommunication, because usually they’re too tinged with shame, embarrassment, and confusion to make out the details.

But, having said that, I remember a common miscommunication growing up was that adults never thought I was paying attention to them, especially during lectures/storytelling. I can focus better when I’m doing something else with my eyes, so as a kid, I loved drawing and doodling. Most of the time, I could keep track of what people were saying, but the few times I slipped up, people used that as evidence that I wasn’t paying attention at all.

I do the same with some shows, if they don’t heavily rely on visuals, and often draw or do other things while listening to podcasts.

These days, I’m usually around people who don’t care about that sort of thing, and I try to keep up with them by making little acknowledgement noises (uh-huh, oh, huh, wow, hm, etc). There’s still going to be people out there who are assholes for no reason, and think my eyes and hands doing something else means my ears can’t hear them, but I think that’ll always be the case

Edit: I thought of another common one! I have dish duty in my house, and I often forget to do parts of the job that aren’t very literally in/on the sink/dishwasher at time of loading/unloading. So like, I’ll do the job, and then someone would say “You’re not done” and then point to a dirty lasagna pan or something which was behind me, on the counter, not in the sink. Since it wasn’t in the sink, it didn’t register as being part of my job. Or, I’ll empty the dishwasher, but then I’ll have to go back once someone reminds me that there’s stuff on the drying rack that needs to be put away (it wasn’t in the dishwasher, so I didn’t “see” it). This is one of many examples of me missing auxiliary parts of vaguely defined jobs and directions 😆

#30daysofautismacceptance #actuallyautistic #Esrah talks #growing up autistic

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quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years

Text

Good Together

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 9,300 (sorry!)

Summary: You and Bucky have a very tumultuous relationship -- but you’re good together.

Warnings: Smut!! Angst maybe.

A/N: Inspired by “Good Together” by SHY Martin. This is my first time writing smut, so please let me know what you think and I’m so sorry if this is terrible!! Just let me knoowwww also sorry for making it so long!

...

I've been working on myself and on my patience But sometimes that shit don't come easy And I see you've been tryin' your best to give me explanations But words don't really cut it lately

“Buck, would you just listen to me,” you spat, emphasizing the last three words, shaking your hands in significance. He continued calmly putting the dishes away; you knew it was a façade: his relaxed shoulders, plain face, raised eyebrows – all a ruse to make him look like a victim. “Turn around.”

He spun quickly on his heel, still holding the clean plate in his hand, facing you with a strong tone of expectation: expectation that you had something really fucking good to say if you had to interrupt him putting the dishes away, especially since you ask him every day to help out with the chores. “Yes, dear?”

You rolled your eyes almost immediately as the term of less-than-endearment slipped off his tongue. “Listen to what I’m saying – ”

“I can multitask, (Y/N), thank you very much.” He continues on his merry way unloading the dishwasher, turning his back to you once again.

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath. An inhale and exhale through your mouth; so quiet yet you’re sure he heard you. Focus, you thought to yourself, shutting your eyes and finding your peace. He wants you to snap. You took another deep breath, craning your neck in a circle, listening as the top of your vertebrae cracks with a loud pop! “All I’m saying,” you begin smoothly, “is that you need to stop acting like a baby.”

He scoffs, eyebrows raising in doubt. “What part of this is being a baby, (Y/N); enlighten me.” Patronizing fuck.

You swore that talking to him took more patience than raising a puppy – hell, at least the puppy would learn to listen to you. “You’re always like acting like the victim; such a martyr. I try to bring up one thing with you – have an adult discussion – and suddenly you act like it’s all my fault and that I’m crazy? Like I’m the bad guy here.”

You can feel him roll his eyes through the back of his head. He shrugs. “Look, (Y/N), all I was saying was that you were bitchin’ over nothin’ – all I did was apologize.”

You actually laughed arrogantly, reminding him what he stated earlier, laying the sarcasm on as heavily as he did: “oh, I’m so sorry, (Y/N). Sorry that I have eyes and like to use them to look around.” You narrowed your eyes at him, finally gaining his full attention as he fisted the cutlery. “Sorry, how does having eyes justify you eye-fucking the girl behind me?”

“I wasn’t even staring – ”

And you snapped. In his defense, you maybe sounded a little shrill when you flipped out at him; your voice did, in fact, raise about twelve octaves. “You were literally undressing her with your eyes, James.” You threw up your hands in the air, exaggerating a groan as your head dropped back. “You probably have x-ray vision, don’t you?” You accused, almost jokingly. But as he narrowed his eyes as he hesitated to say something back, searching his mind for the proper response – but you were too fast. “You fucking do, don’t you, you piece of shit. Of course – ”

The sound of shattering glass cut you off immediately. You opened your eyes and straightened your stance to be faced with Bucky, butter knife in his hand, and a plate, split perfectly in half, sitting on the counter beside him. His blue eyes were squeezed tight in control, his flesh hand gripping the knife so hard that his knuckles had gone white. You stared at the porcelain dinner plate, feignedly wondering if that’s what he wanted to do to you.

Deep down, you knew he would never lay a hand on you; he always insisted on throwing or breaking something when he became so frustrated with his anger – with you. He’d gone so far as to throw a lamp at the wall (in the opposite direction of you, of course); thus, showing his intention to release his anger and not an intention to hurt you. The two of you had been working on different ways to channel his anger; however, as he stated: he was used to a life of destruction, so that’s how he vented. He found that it got the job done: it got you to shut the fuck up.

“I don’t have x-ray vision, don’t be a child about it.” His voice was surprisingly calm, especially considering how he still hadn’t put the knife down. “I wasn’t even starting. I glanced at her – in her direction.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, though. That’s the issue that he didn’t comprehend. You let out a sigh, speaking calmer than you had all night. “Bucky, I’m just sick of having this same conversation, please,” you pleaded, taking a step closer. He remained silent and still, eyeing you as you approached him. “I feel like I’m not asking for much.” Stop staring at other girls while you’re on a date with me: not much. It was not only infuriating, it was embarrassing.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, putting the knife on the counter beside the pieces of plate, turning his head down. “I didn’t mean to be doing it. I just get distracted.” His voice was quiet, almost child-like as it rose in inflection.

You were torn. You could believe what he was saying, hoping that this time he’d actually be telling the truth: you knew he had a short attention span, and he did have a tendency to space out a lot. But you were caught between believing that and the fact he had spaced out in the direction of a girl with a significantly low-cut blouse. These other times, he liked to play the victim-card, blaming his less-than-appealing tendencies on his poorer qualities that, technically, nobody could refute him having.

You’d learned to read through his words, though. And this time, it was the latter.

Remember when our love was precious We thought what we had was the best, yeah Now every answer's a question Like every night is one of us is getting aggressive The other one's acting possessive Guess it's the way that we do shit now

Your fights had grown frequent.

Your relationship had grown volatile.

Not that it wasn’t based on your tumultuous roots – but it had just gotten so much worse lately.

This relationship started off fairly normal, however, the cherished affair the two of you shared quickly became tainted through the media. Countless news outlets had gotten word of the coupling instantaneously, leaving the two of you swamped with paparazzi and yelling passerby’s every time either of you left your houses. It was quite the shock that James Buchanan Barnes had a girlfriend – a regular girlfriend, too; a non-Avenger. People were quick to sell you out, too. Close friends and even some family selling information about your relationship (and even just material about you) to make a quick buck.

It had gotten the best of the both of you early on. Bucky was tired of being constantly followed and photographed. He was a man who had grown used to solitude and, while he was slowly but surely adapting to twenty-first century life and everything that came along with that, all of the flashing lights and constant yelling made him want to climb into a hole and live in the dark forever.

You, similarly, were extremely unaccustomed to this. Suddenly, you were on the cover of magazines, reading articles about yourself in People & Us magazines, scrolling through stories of yourself on Snapchat. Old friends, people from college, even some work colleagues sold stories about you to the tabloids. Maybe some of the resentment that you held towards them reflected upon Bucky. You didn’t think about it often, but maybe there was a correlation – an unfair correlation, obviously. Your hatred on the outside world didn’t equate to hatred towards Bucky, but you still aimed it towards him quite a bit.

Bucky, never slow to defend himself, returned said animosity right back at you. The two of you picked each other apart until you were both bloody and raw.

Tonight was no different.

The entire evening, meant to be romantic, turned into a fight. You both intended for event at Stark Industries to be uneventful: a night of mingling with friends, reminiscing in old stories, and drinking expensive champagne. It started off halfway decent, that is, until you started meeting more of the people that worked at the Tower.

You had no problem hanging out with the rest of the Avengers – especially Sam, who you bonded with through teasing Bucky (nothing but love, of course), but when it came to meeting a couple other supporting agents, you were a little out of you element.

Take, for example, Agent Toller, who came up to you and Bucky early on, greeting him kindly with a hug and introducing herself to you with a handshake. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N)! Bucky’s told me so much about you!” You smiled genuinely at her statement, responding and continuing the conversation. It, of course, came to a point where she slung her arm around his and stated matter-of-factly: “You better keep him locked up. I know a lot of ladies wanting to get their hands on him.”

Your lungs deflated. Including herself, apparently. “I’ll do my best,” you reply through gritted teeth.

Then there was Agent Rivers, who straight off the bat ignored you. She came up to Bucky telling him she finally mastered the thigh-grip, a move, she later clarified, made notorious through Black Widow. “All that time in the gym finally paid off, huh,” Bucky teased.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she beamed back, touching a hand to his arm.

He rolled his eyes playfully, chuckling. “Please, just playing the dummy – as usual.”

She merrily smacked his arm, grinning. “Don’t say that, Buck.”

You stood next to Bucky, staring up at the man blankly. Rivers trotted off once she caught wind of you glaring at Bucky. Plucking another glass of champagne from the passing server, you took a long sip, finally asking: “So, Buck, what would be your part in her mastering this thigh grip?” It was a bit condescending, a little irked, and extremely sarcastic. The image of her perfect legs around your boyfriends neck did not sit right with you.

Was he more of a flirt than you remembered? It had been ages since he’s properly flirted with you. It was nothing to get angsty about; its not like you had anything to truly worry about. He came home every evening, spent the night in your bed with you; save for when he went on missions, but surely, he wasn’t accompanied by any women you had to worry about, at least – Natasha and Wanda had your full confidence. But it wasn’t the women that bothered you; you shouldn’t have to worry about Bucky. No matter how many beautiful, strong, talented women flirted with him, he should shut them down – not flirt back literally in front of you.

A few more introductions played out exactly like that, so a few more glasses of champagne were necessary for you to get through the evening. At one point you actually started having a good time. You’d left Bucky to chat with the boys while you found sanctuary in your girlfriends off to the side. You were able to air out your grievances, confidential information falling onto open ears. They took your mind off it by bringing up their own drama, in which you all openly made jokes and critiques, the liquor now fully streaming through all of your bloodstreams.

Once the party started to clear out and even some of the Avengers began to leave, Bucky swooped by your pow-wow and wrapped his arm around your waist, whispering a quiet “ready to go?” in your ear. You and Bucky walked out with Sam and his girlfriend, chatting casually.

As you expected, as soon as the pair spilt off from you two, everything fell silent. Not the good silent: the silence that swirled around you two as your gazed at stars together, the silence as you laid napping in each other’s arms on the couch, the silence that comforted him after a nightmare, accompanied by your fingers curling through his hair. No; this was the silence filled with tension; it was the kind of silence that you’d rather die than have to ride home in the car with him not talking to you.

You bit your lip when you brought it up.

He actually laughed, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other resting loosely on his lap. He turned his head to you momentarily, a glint in his eye as his smile mocked you. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“They’re all throwing themselves at you!” You clarify, exasperated, throwing your hands in your lap, turning towards him underneath your seatbelt.

“I can’t help that, can I?” He shrugged it off, turning back to the road, reclining farther in his seat, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling. Smug bastard.

“Yes, James. It’s called personal space and we all have it.” You spoke slowly, enunciating each work clearly. “It would really kill you to tell these girls to stop touching you?” He pulled into a parking spot in front of your apartment and got out of the car without even letting you finish. You followed suit, trialing him up the few steps to the front door. “Every single woman you talked to had her hands all over you.”

He shoves the door open, leaving it wide open for you. “I wasn’t touching them, was I?” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it back. He groaned and pulled at the tips, acting as if any sort of physical torture would be more preferable to this conversation. “No, my hand was on you the whole entire time, (Y/N). It’s not an issue.”

You slammed the door, crossing your arms over your chest. “Really?” You questioned, tone and volume raising significantly. “So, you don’t care about them touching you in front of your girlfriend? It’s not an issue? Forget it just pissing me off – you don’t think that was fucking embarrassing for me?”

He shrugged earnestly, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips.

Taking a page out of his book, you pick up the closest thing in arms-length: the half-empty wine bottle you’d left on the table from earlier. You don’t intentionally aim for Bucky, but maybe you weren’t seeing as clearly as you thought you were. It narrowly swipes past him as you drive it into the wall, only marginally missing him because he took a step sideways. His eyes are wide momentarily, turning his head from the large red splotch dripping down the white wall back to focus on you. Instantly, his posture changes: he’s standing upright, more alert – no longer seeing you as annoying instead of nonthreatening; his chest puffs out, his eyebrows knit together, lips pressed into a firm line as he glowers at you. “What. The. Fuck.” His teeth are barred, the words coming out bitterly.

“Oh,” you scoffed, unable to hide the smirk forming on your lips. “You don’t like it when I do it to you?” If you were in his position, you’d want to slap yourself. You were only taunting the beast, speaking to him in such a patronizing tone. You couldn’t help yourself, though; it was finally a taste of his own medicine: to be treated like a child. You bit your lip, trying to smother the smile pulling your lips as you watched with half-lidded eyes as he strutted towards you.

“You don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

You raised your eyebrows in challenge. “Says who?”

He stares down at you, another stride forward, consuming all the space left between the both of you. Taking one more step, he backs you into the wall. Your shoulder blades make contact with the cold plaster. “I do.” His voice was rough, about six octaves lower than usual, volume barely above a whisper, yet so much anger in his tone. You laugh, breathing out, sneering at him. “You better wipe that smile off those pretty little lips.” His voice did not waver; there was no inflection nor cadence of amusement.

Your smirk does not faulter. “Make me.” His metal hand snakes around the base of your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck. He watches in amusement as your smile quickly drops into an open mouth, gasping as you struggle to take in a sharp breath in shock.

His hips press into yours, hip bones jamming into each other’s. His breath tickles the shell of your ear as he leans in closer to you, chest against chest. “Not so funny now, is it, baby?”

You and me we never say we're sorry Hands around my body Fucking 'til we're good Fucking 'til we're good And we promise we'll do better Both go down together Fucking 'til we're good

You stare up at him under your eyelashes and focus all your energy on inhaling and exhaling through your nose – this wasn’t your first rodeo.

He watches you, jaw tense, flexing at the sharp contour under his ears. You feel his angered breath as it warms the air over your nose. He grinds his hips up against yours, just moving ever so slightly, pushing his thigh in between your legs. You narrow your eyes at him, clenching your own jaw and huffing out a sharp breath. Your hands flew up to his metal forearm to have something you could hold onto as your oxygen left your lungs.

He leans in once again to whisper in your ear. “What’s that, baby?” He coos condescendingly. He kisses the spot just under your earlobe, the sensitive skin sending a jolt through your body. He trails a few more kisses under your jaw, just above his hand; each kiss becoming progressively longer and sloppier. He makes his way to your other ear, now pressing his lips right up against the cartilage. “You got more to say to me?” His metal fingers and his left leg. His thigh hitches farther up, you’re now practically sitting on his leg – trying to stabilize yourself on your tiptoes. His fingers squeeze your throat, causing you to shut your eyes as you release the breath from your lungs with a whine. He hums in response – you can feel his smile pressing into your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

Your eyes open at the sudden loss of contact as his grip loosens and he shifts back in front of you, face-to-face. He stares at you through the dark strands of hair that had fallen loose in front of his face, his eyes dark and clouded over with lust. You imagine you looked the same way, completely disheveled, staring up at him with nothing but desire. Your legs clench around his thigh, pulling yourself farther down onto his muscle-bound leg.

Bucky leans down, slowly diving in for the kiss.

But he stops too soon, his bottom lip just brushing yours. You try to meet him halfway, struggling against the sturdy grip on your throat. You can’t help but groan, eyebrows pulling together in need as he beams down at your joyfully. “You wanna tell me what you need, baby?”

“Touch me,” you whine, hips now moving ever so slightly against his thigh. You couldn’t move much, considering you were barely balanced on there, but you could manage.

“Touch you?” He questioned, quickly swooping forward, pressing his lips to yours chastely. As soon as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss, he tore himself far enough from your lips to speak in a hushed tone: “Touch you like those girls were touching me?”

Fuck. Immediately without thinking, you release his forearm where your hands previously rested, pushing back on his chest as hard as you absolutely could. He stumbled back a couple steps, completely taken off guard. God, you were so hot when you were aggressive like that. He loved pushing you to your breaking point: to the point where you’d begin to assert yourself towards him. He loved when you stood up to him, reeling in anger, just so he could take charge and show you who was boss.

It was an adrenaline rush for him.

For you, too.

You stood before him, fists clenched in rage, staring at him. He was just barely smirking, eyelids half shut, a hungry look on his face. Ever the challenge, he would conquer you.

You nearly jumped when he pounced, taking him up against you, legs twined around his back, arms locked behind his neck. His tongue was hot on yours, meeting in a seething hot kiss. His hands immediately palmed at your ass underneath your cocktail dress that had now ridden up to pool at your waist.

As he began up the stairs towards the bedroom, you broke the kiss – with a displeased groan from Bucky – and laid a sloppy trail of kisses and licks along his throat and to his ear. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw (his weak spot), touching your tongue to his hot skin, following it with another kiss. His steps stuttered, his knees buckling as he took the next step. He groaned deep somewhere in the back of his throat, pinching your ass, a quick slap ensuing afterwards as he regained his footing and kicked open the bedroom door.

He tossed you on the bed, wasting no time in grabbing the back collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head and onto the floor in one swift motion, completely disregarding the row of buttons sewed along the front. You took the hint, shimmying off your tight dress while laying on the mattress. He followed suit with his pants and underwear off next. As soon as the cool bedroom air hit his body, he was throwing himself on top of you, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and unhooking your bra. He discarded your underwear next, pitching it over his shoulder, fingers immediately finding your pussy and sinking in.

He took you by surprise, eyes squeezing shut and knees involuntarily closing together. Bucky used his hand to hold one leg down, prying them apart completely. He looked between his hand – his fingers pushing in and out of you completely soaked – and your face – eyebrows knitted together and mouth hanging open. He didn’t know which view he liked better. “Shit, baby, you been this wet the whole time?”

That was the thing about Bucky – he was a talker. If he wasn’t egging you on, then he was filling the room with his vulgar commentary and dirty talk. He added another finger, pumping in and out of you faster, obscene sounds blocking out anything and everything he said. He moved his metal hand from your knee to your clit, rubbing in slow circles, contrasting to his other movements. His metal hand was great – sensitive, temperature resistant; better than his flesh hand – but, god, there was something about feeling your wet cunt on his own skin drove him crazy.

You gasped, quickly biting your lip in anticipation of your orgasm. “Oh yeah, baby? That feel good?” He huffed, thumb whirling on your clit faster. He hunched to lay a kiss on your breast, meeting you hallway sitting-up to capture his lips with yours. You released the sheets you’d been clutching, instead opting to fist his hair, pulling his mouth hungrily to yours. As your body throbbed and your pussy clenched around his fingers, you moan into his mouth, falling back onto the bed.

Bucky sat upright on the bed and watched you as you laid on the bed completely blissed out; hair splayed across the mattress around your head, chest heaving up and down, legs shut – shaking – but knees pulled together, arms once pulling taught at his hair now limp on either side of you.

He waited patiently for about forty-five seconds for you to open your eyes. As soon as you did – without enough time for your eyes to even focus on him, he grabbed your waist, flipping you on the bed, gripping your hips to pull you ass to his face. He truly was a face-down ass-up kind of guy. Not that you minded.

You squeaked, burying your face in the sheets as his hand slapped your ass; his palm following to rub away the burning hot sensation it left behind. You felt his tongue drag a long line up from your clit to your tight hole, taking extra note to curl inside your leaking pussy.

Bucky wasted no more time in straightening up and giving his cock a few pumps, smearing his precum all the way down to the base. He grabbed your hip in one hand, guiding his dick to drive into you with the other. He sighed, your soaking wet, tight cunt squeezing him as he pounded into you from behind. He took hold of both your hips, balancing himself on his knees, pulling you backwards on his dick as he rifled his hips forward.

His momentum drove him forward, nearly folding on top of you, your ass pushed dangerously high in the air, tits and face pressed firmly into the mattress, muffling the sounds that escaped you every time the tip of his cock drove into you. His metal hand remained gripping your hipbone, his other palm pressing flat into the curve at the small of your back, pressing your arch deeper and ass further up as your ribcage met the top of the mattress.

He pounded relentlessly into you, the tiniest change in position making your pussy even tighter around him. “Take it,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Take my fucking dick, baby.” You couldn’t help but release a short breathy moan every time his dick brushed against the very edge of your cervix.

Bucky gathered a fistful of your hair in his metal hand, half slipping out, the other half tangled dangerously in between the death grip of his fingers. He hauled you up, causing you to yelp as you tried desperately to push yourself up. He never let go of your hair, instead using it as a vice to keep your back pressed firmly against his sweaty chest, yelping as he did so.

The pain subsided quickly as his other hand found your still sensitive clit, rubbing it with fast, loose circles. You dropped your head, no longer resisting him pulling it back, falling against his shoulder. “That’s my good girl,” he cooed, driving his dick upwards into your wet cunt; the soft pants you made egging him on.

He waited until he could sense your orgasm – feeling your muscles clench, your body stiffen, temperature rise – before he let himself cum, pumping thick ropes of his cum deep into you. His fingers didn’t stop working on your clit – in fact, they moved even faster even harder. You came with a shriek, his hand finally releasing your hair, allowing you to drop forward onto the mattress.

You didn’t move – couldn’t move – but Bucky followed suit, hovering lowly over you, pressing kisses down your spine, reveling in the feeling of his cum dripping out of your pussy around his dick still warm inside of you.

We don't do no, we don't do no conversations We don't talk the way we used to You act like we're all good sometimes, you know I hate it 'Cause it's so obvious it ain't true

“Hey, Buck,” you called from the kitchen as he walked through the front door. He didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t even look in your remote direction. He kicked off his shoes, tossed his keys on the table, and walked directly past you to grab a snack from the fridge. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen,” you mention, watching as he already began devouring the left-over chicken legs from the other day.

You gave him the benefit of the doubt: maybe he had a bad day. You continued chopping the onion, minding your business, silently cursing him out. He can’t even give you a simple hello back? Yes, a bad day makes anyone want to come home and eat a whole meal, but does it really give him the excuse to eat a whole meal right as you’re working on dinner in front of him? If you knew his plan was to eat cold chicken for dinner, you would’ve gone out to eat by yourself instead of making supper for the both of you.

As you started working on mincing the garlic, you mulled over last nights’ events. The two of you had it out, sure, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. You’d fought, made up, even cuddled when you went to sleep. Now today he was going to flat out ignore you with no rhyme or reason. Unless something did happen – something regarding his coworkers? It wouldn’t be impossible, you thought to yourself, bitterly slamming the knife on the cutting board.

“Can you chill with that?” Bucky grumbled, finally looking in your direction, mouth full as he spoke to you in an irritated tone.

“I’m chill,” you mumbled, scraping the contents of the chopping block into the pan, a sizzle filling the silence that now washed over the two of you.

“What’s your problem?” He muttered, mostly to himself, as he took another bite.

“You’re my fucking problem.” You earnestly didn’t mean for him to hear it; if it weren’t for his goddamn super soldier hearing, he wouldn’t have.

He sighed heavily. “What did I do? I’ve been home all of two-minutes.”

You abandoned your pan, turning on your heel to face him. “You’re always ignoring me.”

“What?” He questioned, dropping the container on the counter and raising his hands up. “I can’t enjoy silence anymore? Do you want me to hate every aspect of my life?” He bit his tongue, immediately regretting what he said, but lacking the filter to be able to stop himself. He just wanted for once to be able to have a conversation – actually, he wanted for once to not have to have a conversation – but to have one without arguing would be a gift from god.

You lay the wooden spoon on the island counter between the two of you, the smell of burning onions and garlic now very fragrant in the space between you. “Damn, I wish I knew you hated your life earlier,” you sigh. He rolls his eyes, preparing a refute about how you always seem to blow things out of proportion, but you cut him off before he can open his mouth. “I would’ve left a long time ago.”

He’s the one who was always incapable of talking. One small thing ticks him off and suddenly the only thing he’s capable of doing is shutting himself in a dark room alone. He’s always shutting you out and pushing you away; and all you every try to do is something nice for him – making him dinner, offering an open ear to ramble off some steam – but he always ends up throwing your good deeds back in his face.

Not anymore.

You simply walk out the door. You took your purse, your keys, put on your shoes, and left him standing alone in the kitchen with his chicken.

Maybe it was an overreaction. However, you felt that it was fine based on how he acts like this every day. Was he doing it so you’d fight, and he could just have angry sex with you to make it okay later? Did he genuinely not want to talk to you – ever? If he really hated his life – and you in it – he would surely let you know? Unless this was the actual way he was letting you know? He didn’t call out after you, he just rolled his eyes and let you walk out the door.

Not extremely surprising, but it did hurt your feelings a bit. How could it not? The man you loved for the past two years, put up with this tumultuous relationship for, dealt with his mood swings, waited for him to come back home to you – all that for him to tell you he hated his life? His life that you entered and made so much better; at least, that’s what you thought.

So, you gave him a day. If silence and peace was what he truly wanted, you’d give it to him. You crashed at your friend’s place that evening, taking that bumpy couch so Bucky would have his time alone.

The only issue is that he didn’t call you the next day. He didn’t call or text.

He was waiting for you to come back to him. Understandable but annoying – aggravating. You (and your friend) hatched out a plan. You waited until he left for work before you returned home, grabbing a few necessities: clothes, toothbrush, the works, and heading back out to her place. There was no doubt that he would know you were gone. This happened twice before. That you became so irritated with him that you left for the night. But you went back the next day, coming home to him lounging on the couch with not a care in the world, hindsight told you that much. You’d simply laid on top of him, his arms snaking around your waist and your face buried in his neck. He waited for you to come back because that’s what he knew you’d do.

This time, you wanted him to reach out. To see if you were okay. To see if you were coming home. You felt like the only one putting in effort and you were so tired. That effort, of course, was shown in the fights the two of you had. You might be able to pin 75% of said arguments on you; but yelling at him was the only way to get through to him. Boy, he loved to fight. You’d honestly never seen him show off such emotion. You brought everything up – the other women all over him, his attitude problems, everything that bothered you. But he never said anything to you. He was so apathetic towards you that he barely spoke to you anymore. He didn’t ask how your day was, he didn’t get jealous when another guy flirted with you, he didn’t even respond to you saying hello – he was completely apathetic.

You waited four days: Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

Monday, actually, you called in sick for work. You were caught between sobbing to your friend about how much Bucky didn’t care about you and wanting to show up to the Avengers Tower with your fists clenched and a certain red-headed Russian spy to back you up. There was no word from him. He obviously saw some of your things were missing; hell, he probably knew exactly where you were, too. He just didn’t do anything about it.

He obviously didn’t care, so you wouldn’t either.

So good together Maybe I'm crazy Maybe we're crazy No one loves me better Than you, you, you, you

It was clear that you were broken up. Neither of you said anything, but you slowly started to move out of your shared apartment, taking small amounts every day while he was at work until you were fully moved out and into the spare bedroom at your sister’s place on the other side of the city. It made your commute to work a little harder, now having to take two trains and walk a couple blocks; but you learned to appreciate the city, the architecture, the weather. Living with her was great – she was a built-in friend; but it wasn’t living with Bucky.

You were a little heartbroken – maybe more bitter. He just let you go without a fight.

Without a single word.

It was four months of binge-eating, wine-drinking and moping around about Bucky before you had a date. The date itself was fine. The guy was cute enough, funny enough, sweet enough. Your sister convinced you to go out with him again. You almost used him just to take your mind off Bucky. You felt bad about it, but he technically knew you and Bucky dated not long ago.

Everybody knew. It was in the tabloids. They photographed the two of you separately. They connected the dots after they hadn’t seen you and him together for a few weeks. Instead, they only got photos of you or him doing mundane things: you grocery shopping, Bucky going for a run around Central Park; you sitting on the train on your way home from work, Bucky saving the world.

Although you never grew to like having paparazzi take photos of your every step, you’d grown accustomed to it. You never made the front page or headline news, more reserved to as a style-guide or just a few Buzzfeed articles about yourself. Bucky, however, made headlines a lot. You had to speed walk past the newspaper and magazine stands around the city because you didn’t want to see him: whether he was decked out in armor, fighting bad guys, or simply smiling alongside Steve and Sam as they enjoyed one rare night out – you didn’t want to know about any of it.

You continued to see Oliver, almost seriously now, but trying to see past the whole using-him-as-a-rebound mentality. You’d gone on a few more dates, and, before you knew it, he had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. He was awkward in a cute sort of way – couldn’t be more of the polar opposite of Bucky.

Bucky had a demanding, intimidating presence; Oliver stood lanky and slender. Bucky was every bit of tall-dark-and-handsome; Oliver was fair and pale. Bucky’s attitude read toxic, masculine, and provocative; Oliver read like a nerdy-teenager, meekly quiet.

While there was nothing wrong with Oliver, he just wasn’t Bucky.

There was another aspect in which Oliver didn’t hold a candle to Bucky.

In. The. Bedroom.

You may not have been in love with Oliver, but, damn, after six months a bitch gets horny. It was fine at first, you were going to throw a dog a bone and not judge him too much the first round. After all, he was genuinely nice and seemed to care about you a lot, so you weren’t about to crush his heart just because he couldn’t make you cum the first time.

You’d grown to a certain level of intimacy with Bucky. One minute you could be making love – softly, sensually; the next minute he could be choking you and fucking you senseless. A long time was spent building the light affection between the two of you, before either of you even got comfortable with the toxicity and animosity that surrounded you – that egged you on, riling each other up until it was too much and you’d just explode. And maybe that was your problem. Each of you had too much pride and hidden hostility that it engulfed you. You’d lost touch with your younger selves. That became your downfall.

You tried not to think about it too much. Especially when you were in Oliver’s bed and he was kissing your neck. Exactly the position you were in at that exact moment.

His lips were sucking a hickey on your neck as he fucked you slowly. You laid flat on the bed, his elbows bent on either side of your ribcage, head tucked under your jaw. “You like that?” He whispered, dragging his hand down your stomach, fingers desperately trying to find your clit.

You laid there like a dead fish. There was no way you were going to be able to stand this for any longer. You stopped him, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing him off your body. “Let’s switch,” you suggested.

He laid down in your place, allowing you to hop on, reverse cowgirl, fucking yourself the way you wanted.

Bucky liked it when you did that. And you liked the way that Bucky would’ve let you use his dick to get yourself off, smacking your ass along the way, spurring you on. “Fuck, I love it when you ride me like this, baby,” he’d groan, snapping his hips up to match yours.

Oliver stayed quiet, breathing heavily as he watched your perky ass bounce up and down in front of him. You were just getting into rhythm when he began to groan behind you. No, no, no, please. One more minute, you begged, cadence not faltering. Before long – before you came – Oliver finished, leaving you with no other choice than to lay on the bed beside him. He pressed a breathless kiss to your lips. “That was amazing,” he mumbled against your lips. “Did you cum?”

Yeah fucking right. You kissed him again, humming in neither confirmation nor opposition. He got up and shimmied to the bathroom to dispose of the used condom. You shut your eyes and nearly face-palmed yourself.

God, Bucky had ruined you.

Ruined your emotions, your life, your perception of love.

Ruined you for any other man.

So, laying in Oliver’s bed, unsatisfied, you couldn’t help but think about how much you’d want to off yourself if Bucky slept with someone else – especially Toller or Rivers. You were broken up. It had been months – nearly a year. Hell, even you were technically sleeping with someone else.

But just the thought of him treating someone else the way he did you – pulling her hair, fucking her, eating her out, making her scream his name like it was the only word she knew – it devastated you.

You promise yourself not to ask and never to find out.

If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good? If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good together? If it isn't love, tell me why do we feel so good? If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good together? So good together

You broke up with Oliver that night. It was better for everyone.

You felt it best to take this time to focus on yourself. Hell, you spent your whole past relationship focusing on Bucky, you spent all of your time with Oliver focusing on how he wasn’t Bucky.

This was about you. It was about your career, your health, your sanity.

Your broken heart.

No matter how hard you threw yourself into your work, how much you worked out, how much you refined your cooking, how many self-help books you read – you felt empty.

You got promoted at work, you built your confidence up, your pallet refined, you loved yourself more than you ever had – something was still missing.

And that’s how you ended up with your phone ringing against your ear, Bucky sitting silently on the other end.

He agreed to meet you. As you walked up the stairs from the subways station, your heartstrings tightened as you walked around your old neighborhood. It had been a year since you’d really been back here; you’d passed through occasionally, but never wanted to take your time travelling down the streets, as it was too painful. There were too many memories of you and Bucky walking hand-in-hand down these streets.

You strolled down your old block, stopping in front of your old apartment. Books and plants cluttered the front windowsill, CDs stacked along the side, bright lights shining across the windowpane, a shadow cast over the glass.

Of course Bucky sold the place. You left. He had no reason to keep it. He had a place at the Tower. He had people there. He had a life there.

You crossed your arms over your chest, pushing the collar of your coat higher around your neck, shielding yourself from the cold New York winter evening. You turned the corner at the end of the block, seeking shelter in the coffee shop. Bucky agreed to meet you here; it was neutral ground for the both of you. You’d had plenty of dates there, Sundays spent catching up on work and getting coffee. There were no bad memories here, no fights, no fowl words, no animosity. Only hand holding, hot coffee, and shy smiles passed from over the small tables.

You pulled open the door to the shop, sighing in relief as the warm air hit your cheeks. You stopped suddenly in your tracks, breath hitching in the back of your throat.

There he sat, fifteen minutes earlier than you planned, wrapped in that navy-blue sweater you loved – you loved to wear – waiting for you. You couldn’t feel your legs. You couldn’t take a step forward.

You barely recognized him. Obviously, you’d never miss him. He just looked so different. His hair was cut – short. He was clean shaven. He was a completely different man.

He stared you up and down. You looked good, he could tell even with your thick winter jacket and tall boots. He missed your face, your eyes, your lips, your hair, your smell – everything. He waited for you to walk over to the table; it took about two more minutes of you staring at him before you even made your first step closer.

You finally took a seat at the opposite side of his table, a large latte already waiting for you. Your hands were shaking as your held it against the porcelain cup. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. His handsome blue eyes. His chestnut locks brushed back nearly away from his face, showing off his chiseled cheekbones and jawline. You loved his long hair, you loved grabbing it, you loved the way it hung in his eyes, contrasting his blue eyes; it made him look so edgy. But this Bucky. Ladies’ man, charming, mesmerizing. You’d only seen pictures of Bucky like this, but you couldn’t believe how alluring he actually looked in real life.

Bucky with long hair would fuck you raw until you screamed yourself raw – Bucky with short hair would smile while doing it.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice failing you as you dropped your eyes to your latte.

You saw him nod at you from under your eyelashes. He lifted his own coffee to his mouth, taking a long sip before clearing his throat, gaining his full attention. You bit your bottom lip, staring at him wide-eyed. “So…” he began softly, giving you a half smile. “You’re the one that called me here.”

You stared blankly at him. He was right. It had been over a year and you’d called him up. Why? The answer escaped even your own mind. You didn’t know what compelled you to call him or what your plan was going to be once you actually sat down in front of him. “I guess…” you sighed loudly, dropping your eyes again. “I – I was wondering…” You lost your voice again.

“Why I never called?” He finished for you. He looked sad, once you finally gained the courage to raise your head again. He stared blankly at you, very matter-of-factly. You nodded, not trusting your own voice. He confirmed your nod with one of his own, taking another sip of his coffee. “I didn’t think I should drag you down anymore.”

You rolled your eyes. Just like old times. “Stop playing the victim, James. That’s why I walked.” You took the first sip of your latte, cooled now after it had been sitting out.

He narrowed his eyes at you, but you were right. Just like old times. He shrugged casually, trying to keep his cards close to his chest. “I just thought you’d be better off without me.” He stops himself from reaching across the table and taking your hand. “And that’s being honest.”

You nodded, processing his words. “We weren’t good for each other, huh,” you muttered over the rim of your glass.

“It was kind of toxic,” he admitted, a nervous chuckle following after. He tugged his knit sleeve farther up his arm, flexing it behind his head and pulling at the tips of his hair at the top of his neck.

“You hair looks nice,” you throw in, filling the silence that had fallen between you.

“Thanks. Just needed a change-up,” he replied, dropping his hand to the tabletop.

You nodded softly. You leaving his life wasn’t enough change? “I just wanted you to want me to come back,” you blurt. That’s the change you were waiting for.

He slowly let out his breath, shifting in his chair. His eyebrows raised at the accusation. “I don’t know how you could think that I didn’t want you back.”

“Buy you didn’t say anything,” you protested, laying your hands on the table, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. “Every time I left – you never tried to call, text – nothing.”

He brought his hand up to his chin, rubbing his jaw firmly. It was his old habit dying hard; back when he had a beard, he used to scratch at it all the time, you used to run your fingers against it, used to revel in the feeling of it brushing roughly against your thighs. “(Y/N),” he sighed. “I didn’t know what I was doing – I was stupid. Look, I thought about what I said to you for days; Every day that you’ve been done, actually. I treated you like shit.”

“Well,” you interjected. “It goes both ways.”

Neither of you could hold back your smiles. God, you treated each other like shit. But that didn’t stop either of you from loving each other as much as you did. “A little pain with the pleasure,” he mumbled, drinking his coffee. “So, you called me just to ask me that?”

You sighed, now your turn to awkwardly scratch the back of your head. “I missed you.”

And that’s how you ended up at the Avenger’s Tower, Bucky throwing you on his bed. He laid on top of you, bringing his lips to yours. You fisted at his sweater, trying to tug it off of him, Bucky breaking off the kiss just to pull it off his back, his lips finding yours once again. You kicked off your boots as Bucky unbuttoned your jeans, making quick work pulling them off your legs. You sweater followed suit, lifting your torso off the bed so he could peel it off you. As soon as your skin was exposed, Bucky’s lips attached to your warm flesh.

He trailed his tongue and wet lips against your collarbone, trailing it down your chest, then between the valley of your breasts. He quickly pulled off your bra, throwing it on the ground beside the bed. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking softly, flicking the tip of his tongue over your nipple. He continued downwards, kissing the underside of your breast and down your ribcage.

Your breath hitched as his tongue dragged across your warm slit; he let out a low moan, reveling in the taste he’d been missing for so long. His hands found your inner thighs, pushing them apart, pinning them to the bed. Your hands slid through his hair, grabbing handfuls of his chestnut locks, short strands slipping through your fingers.

He laid his tongue flat against your slit, pointing the tip to curl between your lips to taste your juice. He circled his tongue gently at your clit, his hand finding your lips, spreading open your pussy and spreading you open with two fingers. He pumped in and out of you slowly, indulging himself in your velvet cunt.

He hummed against your clit, kissing it softly before groaning into your folds. He added a third finger, joining them with his tongue as he stretched you open, licking his fingers clean afterwards. He ate you out with vigor, rapidly fucking you with his tongue and fingers.

As he continued tongue-fucking you, he pulled his fingers out, holding them up to your face. He looked up at your from over your pussy, holding his fingers to your mouth. “You taste so good, baby,” he whispered against your clit.

You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. You shut your eyes, swirling your tongue around his first two fingers as you sucked of the salty taste. You moaned around his fingers, Bucky’s face burying itself deeper into your pussy. As he sucked your clit, you sighed, dropping your head against the mattress and shutting your eyes tightly. You were surrounded by darkness and a sudden bright light.

He kissed your sensitive clit, kissing up your pubic bone and making his way up to your lips. “I missed your sweet pussy, baby.” You moaned, something about his low voice whispering against your lips, talking about how good you tasted that made you melt.

“Bucky, please,” you whimpered, fingers dragging through his hair, pulling at the ends. “I need you.”

He sighed, staring down at you. You were glowing. Sweat beading along your hairline, eyes glazed over and shining, skin luminous. “I love you, (Y/N),” he whispered, gazing into your eyes in admiration. “And I want you to know that I’m not letting you leave again – ” he pressed a firm kiss to your lips, his tongue running against your bottom lip. You parted your lips to accommodate his tongue, although he pulled away from you. “And I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.”

Your heart was heavy as it leaped into the back of your throat. Your breathing shallowed – and it wasn’t because of Bucky’s bodyweight laying on your chest. You blinked the tears away from your eyes, willing for them to not fall in this exact moment. “I love you, James.”

After two chaste kisses to your lips, he buried his head in the crook of you neck, lining up his cock with your entrance. As he pushed into you, he sighed against your collarbone, his hot breath tickling your skin. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” He bit into your shoulder, you eyes rolling to the back of your head as he bottomed out inside of you.

You hadn’t been stretched like this in so long. You felt like you could be torn in two as he impaled you. It hurt in all the best ways.

You gasped as he pulled out of you, quickly shoving back in – he bit his lip, nearly cumming in that exact moment. You were so tight, so wet. Nobody could fuck you like this – nobody could make love to you like this.

He took hold of your thighs, pulling them over his shoulders, calves resting against his collarbones. He took a hold of your upper thigh with one hand, intertwining his fingers with yours in his other hand, pressing it into the mattress. He angled his hips directly on top of yours, pounding straight on top of you. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the hot, steamy room, your sounds muffled by Bucky as he swallowed your moans.

He kissed you sloppily, his cock pulsating in your pussy, you writing underneath him – it was driving him crazy. It had been over a year since he had you under him: a squirming mess. You almost had to push him off of you – out of you – it was nearly too much. His wet lips on yours, his hot breath on your skin, his words whispered in your ear, you overly sensitive clit. This is what you’d been missing: all the pleasure that made the pain so worth it. The endless fights, the ruthless words, the meaningless fights.

Unbeknownst to either of you, it was the moment in which you both came simultaneously, in which you both silently promised each other to love each other forever – to never make the other hurt that badly again.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #captain america #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfic #bucky x you #angst #smut

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spankingwishes-longer · 4 years

Text

Back Home After College

Chloe’s feelings swirled around her – she was feeling depressed and restless at the same time. Back home after college, she had no job – nobody had a job – and she had no idea what to do to get one. A Masters? She hated the idea of more time and money with no guarantee, but…

And her mom was driving her nuts. Used to eating what she wanted, when she wanted, coming and going without all these questions, cleaning up after herself on her schedule – now her mom had a suggestion for everything! Get out with your friends! (thanks, mom, we’re all broke) Get some exercise! (oh joy) Call your cousin, maybe he knows somebody with a job opening! (just called last week, he said he’d ‘let me know’) Chloe had a suggestion for her mom but so far she’d kept it to herself (it wasn’t any more practical than her mom’s suggestions, but she’d really enjoy saying it!)

“Chloe Melissa, I thought you were going to clean the kitchen,” her mom reminded her. With her mom working and her, well, not, Chloe had promised to cook, clean, and shop – but didn’t always keep up very well. She should have done it already – she should do it now – but besides anything else, she hated being called ‘Chloe Melissa’.

“I’ll get to it, Gail…” she replied.

“Hon, I’ve asked you not to call me that…” her mom reminded her. Chloe shrugged.

“Also, I thought you were going to get your room cleaned today,” her mom went on.

“Didn’t fit my schedule,” Chloe said.

“And what, exactly, was on you ‘schedule’ that was so important?” her mom asked. Couldn’t have been cooking – dinner took about fifteen minutes – or cleaning the kitchen…

“None of your business, Gail… that’s why they call it my schedule!”

“Chloe Melissa! Do you have to be so rude to me? This is still my house, after all, and while you’re as welcome as can be, it’d be nice if you’d show me just a little respect,” her mom complained.

“Try earning it,” Chloe growled, half under her breath, but sort of for her mom to hear.

“Chloe Melissa! Listen here, young lady – you’d better change your ways – and change your tone right now – or I’ll be earning your respect in the basement!” her mother threatened. Chloe’s mouth dropped open. “That’s right – I can still put you over my knee - and will!”

“Mommm,” Chloe whined, “I’m way too old for that.” She was, she knew… surely her mom could see that – couldn’t she?

“Well you’re not acting like it!” her mom retorted, noticing that ‘Gail’ had already disappeared. “You sleep late, you’re late for everything – and every chore is like pulling teeth – it’d be easier to do them myself!”

This stung Chloe a little. She had trouble getting around to things – but she didn’t want to be more trouble.

Her mom sat down on the couch and patted the seat next to her. “We need to talk,” she began.

“I know you’re having a hard time… and I want to make it easier on you but there’s only so much I can do.

“Did you shower today?” her mom asked.

“Not yet…”

“And these clothes – didn’t you wear them yesterday?”

“No!”

“The day before, then,” her mom pressed.

“Yeah, okay… I know what you’re saying…”

“You’re not getting out with your friends, you sleep way past noon…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it!” Chloe told her. “Okay – so I’ll clean the kitchen!”

Her mom, knowing that the conversation was over, let it go – at least for now. She left the house to meet up with a friend of her own – feeling like she needed it!

***

Chloe went to work on the kitchen, growling under her breath. How dare her mother threaten to spank her – she wasn’t six! Not that age six was the last time she got spanked – not by a long way. But even if she was acting like a surly teenager… why couldn’t everyone just leave her alone? But then, sometimes, she felt so alone – like she had no one to count on… at least her mom cared about her, even if it was sometimes ‘over her knee’.

She hadn’t unloaded the dishwasher, so she had to do that first… they only ran it twice a week or so, but she wasn’t going to put dirty dishes in with the clean ones – I’m not that far gone! she thought. But as soon as she took the first item out, her mood turned foul… why does Mom have to keep her kitchen like this? She’d always hated the way her mom organized the kitchen, and now that she was the primary user of it, she should get to change it – but of course her mom wouldn’t hear of it! She always said that Chloe would be moving out ‘before you know it’ and would just have to change it all back. So Chloe had to hunt for where to store the potato masher or just to put away the saucers, which were with the plates, not the cups. Screw it, she thought, I’ll just leave this on the table. I should re-organize the whole place!

Soon item after item wound up on the table. Mom will have a fit! So let her. Serves her right.

The phone rang – it was her friend, Leah. “Yeah, hey, ought to finish this…” she told her – but wait – Mom said she needed to see her friends more! “Pick me up in twenty minutes,” Chloe asked, not knowing when her mom would be back – but not wanting to risk being there. She looked at the pile on the table and considered putting it away, starting over again some other time. That’s why it never gets done! she decided. Plus, she only had enough time to get ready anyway. I’m the one who uses the kitchen – and if Mom doesn’t like it, tough!

Seeing Leah was just what she needed. They had a few drinks from her supply and didn’t have to spend a cent, while both got a chance for a much-needed bitch session. Barely tipsy, she returned at three, let herself in quietly and went to bed.

***

Eleven-thirty Saturday morning found Chloe awake and out of bed. See? she told herself, Before noon! She pulled on a pair of sweatpants and headed for the kitchen.

Except that in the kitchen her mother sat waiting for her, as she had been for a long time now, and she was not happy!

“Chloe Melissa!” her mother roared, rising as she walked in, and Chloe was glad she wasn’t hung over. “What is the meaning of this?”

Could you be any more cliché, Chloe thought, not yet registering the problem. Then she looked around, her mouth dropping open. Immediately her hands went to her bottom. “I can explain?” she whined.

“Oh, I can explain,” her mother snarled. “You decided to leave it to me to clean the kitchen – but that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You also decided to leave me this mess on top of the table – what were you thinking?”

Chloe was on the verge of tears. I’m going to get a spanking! her brain screamed. “I didn’t!” she claimed. “I mean, I did – but I didn’t mean to!” God, maybe she did deserve a spanking! “I started to clean, and Leah called, and you said I should go out…”

“And leave me with this?”

“I, ah, wanted to go before you got back…” Chloe tried to explain, knowing how lame it sounded.

“And look at you!” her mother ranted. “Shower? No. Yesterday’s clothes – and Wednesday’s!”

“Just the pants,” she replied meekly.

“Don’t you get smart with me!” her mom told her, fire in her eyes – and words. Chloe halfway expected her mom to slap her – though that was something she’d never done.

What she did do, though, is grab Chloe’s arm and start swatting her backside. “Every – single – thing I talked about – you go and do, last night or this morning.” Chloe thought it’d be unwise to mention getting up before noon – or getting together with a friend – while her mom was on a rampage. Her mom dragged to the bathroom, opened a drawer, and took out her hairbrush.

Chloe immediately bent, pushing her bottom as far out of reach as she could with her mom gripping her arm. “Not the brush! Please! I’m sorry! Not that!”

“We’ll see,” her mom growled, “Now hush.” With this they headed to the basement door.

Okay, I’ve gotten myself a spanking, Chloe told herself, somehow not surprised. What am I going to do? But she didn’t come up with an answer – except to cooperate on the stairs rather than fall down them, that and start to cry. I am such a screw-up! she silently wailed.

Once downstairs her mom released her to move a chair and give herself ‘spanking room.’ Chloe , feeling very sorry for herself, stood obediently in the middle of the room, wringing her hands. “Mom, I’m sorry, really! I didn’t so any of those things to defy you – or piss you off. Honest!” Really? she asked herself. Not even a little? but as soon as she had the thought the words were out her mouth. “Not even a little!”

“Really?” her mom echoed. “Not even a little? So it’s just a coincidence, I guess, that you happened to do all the things I had just mentioned not two hours earlier?” By this time she had sat herself in the chair – hairbrush still in her pocket – and drawn Chloe to her by the arm.

“I don’t know!” Chloe admitted, crying freely now.

Then, as they say, things began to go wrong! Chloe ’s mom reached for her sweatpants!

“Mom, please, no!” Chloe yelped, diving over her mom’s lap. “Please leave them up!”

“Now you listen, young lady! I’ve had about enough of you! If you fight me on this, so help me – I will take out the brush and blister your backside until you can’t sit for a week! And you know I can!”

Defeated, Chloe gave in and accepted the lesser of two evils. Reaching across, her mom pushed her sweatpants off one hip and then the other, shoving them down and out of the way, revealing Chloe ’s very bare bottom!

“Chloe Melissa! Where are your underwear, young lady?”

Knowing she probably deserved a spanking for that, as well, she admitted, “In the wash?”

“I see,” her mother replied, slapping her bottom hard. Yep, Chloe thought, a spanking for that, too. Chloe felt her mom push her sweats down until the waistband was past her knees. Just don’t make her use the brush was the thought foremost in her mind.

For her mom’s part, she felt that Chloe had challenged her and it would be unwise to back down. At the same time, it’d been a long time since she’d had to spank her – and Chloe was an adult now, even if she didn’t act like one. If she could spank her daughter enough to get her to show some respect, that would be plenty. She hadn’t even planned to take her underwear down (she felt that the heavy sweatpants had left her no choice) but that had just worked out the way it worked out.

“Chloe Melissa, I wish I didn’t have to do this,” Chloe ’s mom told her as she raised her hand.

“I know, mom – me, too,” she replied – just as she got the first pair of spanked.

“Are you being smart?” her mom growled. Smack-smack-smack.

“No, Mom – I promise. And I’m sorry!”

“That’s good to hear, honey, but it’s too late to save you.”

“I know…” Chloe said quietly as the slaps rained down.

Chloe’s mom didn’t spank hard, not at first – though Chloe had soon kicked her sweats clear off. Then her mom changed her mind, since it was only her hand she was using. She decided to finish up with a couple of dozen truly stinging spanks - slaps that made her palm burn and the walls ring, though her daughter’s soft bottom soaked them up with little more than continued pleas of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘so sorry, mom’. Stopping, she knew she hadn’t done enough yet didn’t want to do any more.

“All right – get up,” she told her daughter. “Face the wall!” she said, rising herself.

“Oh, Mom!”

“ Chloe…” she warned, sitting back down. Chloe hurried to the wall and pressed her nose to it, her arms obediently crossed behind her back.

Rising again, Chloe’s mom approached. “Step back,” she ordered, and Chloe whimpered. “Hold this,” she instructed, holding Chloe by the shoulder and setting a quarter on the wall, drawing another whimper. To press the quarter to the wall with her nose, as she was expected to do, Chloe had to lean way forward and rise up on her toes. In years past this had been an alternative to excessive spanking and it was a true punishment, just in a different way.

“It’s only twenty minutes,” her mom said gently – less than previous times of thirty, forty, or once, fifty, “But I want to give you time to think.”

Turning to go, she reminded Chloe , “And you know better than to let that quarter fall – unless you want me to take that brush to you!” Placing the brush on the seat of the chair, her mom went upstairs.

***

Chloe knew several things from past experience – for instance, that her mom, while upstairs, could see her from the door without Chloe knowing. That time would drag on interminably. And that if she got out of position or let the quarter drop she would be very, very sorry.

After only a few minutes, though, the question of letting the quarter drop became one of being able to keep the quarter in place. True, she’d held this position for longer in the past – back in high school - but she had been more used to it and must have been in better shape. Already her legs were aching almost as much as her reddened backside. To take her mind off of it, she actually thought about her behavior. As she did, she began to realize how it might look from her mom’s perspective – that she, Chloe , had done everything in her power to invite a spanking! Had I? she asked herself, but she honestly didn’t know. Maybe, was all she could come up with.

This realization led quickly to a second one – if her mom thought she’d asked for a spanking – a reasonable assumption on her mom’s part – and she ‘let’ the quarter drop… She’ll think I’m asking her to use the hairbrush! This brought a renewed flood of tears.

The position Chloe was in made her clench her just-spanked bottom, causing it to hurt more than it would have otherwise, but she could have borne up to that. It was her toes, feet, and knees that were giving her problems – they hurt so badly! How much longer do I have?, she wondered – right before her left leg twitched, sending the quarter to the floor.

The sound, in the basement, sounded to her like the ringing of a church bell – or at least a doorbell. Expecting to see her mother any second, Chloe scrambled to retrieve the quarter – and couldn’t find it! She looked, she knelt, she scanned – until she saw it, halfway across the room! Racing against time, she rushed over to it and stooped to pick it up, only to hear, “Chloe? Where on earth are you?”

***

Gail had her daughter back over her knee and this time she was really ‘going to town’, properly armed with her reliable hairbrush. What had I been thinking? she asked herself as she peppered the girl’s barely-pink (to her enraged eyes) behind. her daughter had done everything she could to get a spanking – and a bad one – and she intended to give her just that. Atypically, she’d started spanking before lecturing and intended to go on long after. Still in the hollering phase, she noted to herself, we’ve got a long way to go when that’s over.

As she shifted in her seat for comfort – and pausing for a better grip, she felt Chloe slip forward a little – giving her a better, lower angle, revealing just how little of her daughter’s bottom she’d even tried to spank properly. Her past carelessness annoyed her nearly as much as her past, misplaced soft-heartedness. She spanked harder as she prepared to remedy her past deficiencies in coverage. Focus on her lower bottom first, then work in the tops of her thighs, she told herself.

And then the lecture. “ Chloe, you listen to me. If you want to act like a child, I’ll treat you like one. I’ll put you over my knee, and if I have to I’ll ground you or withhold your allowance. If you don’t want that, I will tell you exactly what you’re going to do!” Gail punctuated every word with a spank and every sentence with a volley. She also noticed that the hollering had stopped and her daughter’s blubbering made responses unintelligible. Well, this is what you asked for, she thought grimly.

“You will get up in the morning – hear that? In the morning.

“You will shower and put on clean clothes.

“You will have clean clothes to wear – including underwear!

“You will make dinner – and put some effort into it!

As she lectured and spanked, she knew that Chloe might not even register all these conditions – but she was going to make them anyway.

“And we will start eating healthy!” She kind of winced at all the times she’d tried this, but they could at least try again!

“The kitchen will be clean before you go out with your friends.

“And you will not call me Gail! I am ‘Mom’ – do you hear me?”

Under this verbal and (primarily) spank-driven barrage, Chloe still struggled mightily to squirm away, but Gail had a firm grip on her, and one leg pinned down besides. She’d been a sucker to try to give her daughter a half-spanking, but now she was feeling strong – like she could go all day.

“And any time you want a spanking, you can have one!

“When I get home from work – no problem!

“Bedtime? You got it!

“Before I leave in the morning? We can make that work!” Gail said, knowing how unlikely that would be.

The more she thought about the things Chloe had done, yesterday evening and this morning, the harder she spanked. And the more she thought of things Chloe had done before that, the harder she spanked!

As for Chloe, she was so far past ‘can’t take it’ that she almost knew there was nothing she could do! She bawled and tried to promise to be good, when she could even get the words out! She kicked a little, instinctively, knowing that it didn’t help. She was being spanked, spanked hard and long, a spanking which, as her mother confirmed, she’d worked hard and long on earning! Now all she could do was cry – and suffer – and try to beg.

Gail spanked with a fury, but even she could tell that she’d transformed her daughter’s bottom to an angry, fiery, painful-looking red – without the pale areas she’d had after her last spanking. High to low and side to side was well-tended. At times a kick would flash a patch of white and Gail would move to correct it, but for the most part she was content to ‘work the lesson in’ and ‘give her daughter what she needs’.

At great length she finished, ramping down with gentler spanks that still drew loud, hopeless complaints. When she was done, Chloe lay across her lap, limp and twitching, and Gail felt truly sorry for her. Finally, Chloe slumped off her lap onto the floor as Gail held her daughter’s head to her breast. They stayed that way for a long, long time.

When Chloe had gotten her crying under control, and Gail had ‘shushed’ all of her tearful apologies, the two women headed back upstairs, Gail opting for once not to have her daughter face the wall and consider her punishment. Time enough for that, she thought, if she ever needs another one.

***

Though she was never grounded or had her allowance docked, Chloe made many more trips to the basement over the next few months in an easily-recognized pattern. Not once a week but much more than once a month, she would start to feel overwhelmed, soon saying or doing something toward her mother that she shouldn’t. Most often her mother would warn her and she would apologize. (One notable exception occurred one afternoon when she called her mother ‘Gail’ in front of her, Chloe ’s, friends. Her only ‘warning’ in this case was to be informed, in a whisper, that when it came time for her friends to leave, she would be immediately marched her downstairs for an extended discussion with the hairbrush.) Depending on Chloe’s mood, she would sometimes continue her ‘bratty’ behavior. When this happened, unfortunately, her grace period was over and she got the brush. Since that first time she’d only dropped the quarter three times, getting caught twice, though one of those was particularly awful. Afterwards, though, she could never doubt that she was well-looked-after.

In time she got a job with the State at their office downtown and the spankings stopped. Later she got her own place and later transferred to another city, married and had a daughter of her own. By then any spankings she still got from her mom were entirely arranged affairs.

#Chloe #chloe's mom

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