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madametrashbin · 3 years

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Blissful Relief

Modern Day life is stressful (no one can tell me otherwise), and as someone who will practically deflate upon suddenly having nothing to do and nothing important going on in the future (because being isekai'd means all regular world plans for life are cancelled), I will not hesitate to sleep like the dead because I'm not on a tight schedule now.

(Two posts in a Day?? What have I become?!)

A.K.A, I make an excuse to write a Lazy Nocturnal God!Darling who will abuse the cult pampering system... because that is what I would do without hesitation when I’m free from Modern Day duties that eat away at my health and sanity bit by bit with every hour I spend working like a mindless zombie from dawn to dusk, juggling home life that is filled with bothersome troubles that never change.

I’m also a night owl, caused by both insomnia and because it is the quietest hour that I cannot help but want to relish in since my life is filled with so much loud noise it gives me daily migraines... but of course, habits are formed from repetition and I will always wake up at 4-6am like a dumbass thus suffer the consequences the next morning.

Uhh... and I guess there might be OOC stuff?? Characterization who? Also Self-Indulgent again?? Super Self-Indulgent??? Letmeenjoysleepingandbeinganocturnalcreatureplease--

Morning tends to consist of Zhongli coming into your room, leaving the tray of breakfast he prepared on the coffee table near the sofa in your room before he walks over to kneel beside the bed where you're happily dozing off on, a hand moving to gently rest on the small of your back to rub small circles with his thumb. He’s softly smiling the whole time, looking at you with such adoration and fondness with how relaxed you were. As much as he wants to let you sleep in, he knows what would happen if a mortal body doesn’t move that much on a daily basis.

He'll try get you to wake up without being too loud, and if you ask for affection (kisses in particular, because I’m an affection and touch starved bastard), he will give it to you without hesitation and pepper your face in adoring kisses before carrying you off to the sofa so you could eat. He will feed you himself if you’re still too sluggish.

Will also put you in his lap if you’re nodding off, mostly to prevent you from hurting yourself (and because he enjoys the close proximity, if you allow it).

On rare occasions, Childe will be the one to wake you up in the morning instead whenever Zhongli is busy, letting you snuggle in bed a while longer if you want a few extra minutes before smothering you in his affections as he whisks you off from bed to get ready for the day and drop you off in the kitchen where breakfast is waiting on the table.

He will feed you himself if you're still drowsy, looking at you while cooing as though you are the most precious little thing this world has ever given life to (and to be fair, you are the most precious person to him with his family).

Will give you more cheek kisses if you’re still half-asleep, or in-between spoonfuls as a way to let you know you’re doing great... and because why not. It’s a rare moment to have, since Zhongli does hog a lot of your time.

Noon/Afternoon usually has Venti to keep watch over you if you ever choose to nap somewhere random around the teapot outdoors, or somewhere out in the wilds of Teyvat where the weather is just right and the surroundings are generally quiet. If you were outside of the teapot, you’d also have either Kaeya, Xiao or Kazuha to accompany the two of you depending on where you are for extra protection (per Zhongli’s safety precaution).

Venti will hum a song, and maybe strum a calming tune while you nap, happily basking in the gentle breeze and warm sunlight as the day goes by in a very peaceful and quiet manner. If lunch time comes around, he’ll try to wake you up as gently as possible, but finds it difficult to disturb you when you look so comfortable and peaceful right now. (And usually, this has you missing out on lunch if Zhongli is too busy to check up on you. Don't worry though, he'll make sure the packed lunch is empty before the old man drops by and that you did eat something.)

Kaeya will take the chance to cuddle with you, usually keeping you between his legs while you're using his chest as a pillow as your head is tucked in the crook of his neck. He's going to keep a loose hold on you, arms wrapped around your waist while occasionally shifting in case you're uncomfortable. He's smiling the whole time because you're so cute when you sleep like this. (Will occasionally give you kisses on the crown of your head if you don't mind it. Man wants to spoil you with so much love if you allow him to.)

Xiao is 100% attentive to all things in the surrounding, wanting to keep you safe from all potential dangers and will not relax while you're in such a vulnerable state. He will, however, melt when you sleepily call for his name while lazily reaching for him in such a lazy, but cute manner. Just like that, he's right by your side, asking for whatever you need. He's still on guard, but whatever you need, he will be there to provide... kisses and snuggles included, even if he’s struggling to be open about it.

Kazuha would be smiling serenely, occasionally brushing the hair off your face if it gets in the way of giving you proper sleep. He would take care of problems that may arise before it reaches you, and if you ever have trouble trying to be comfortable, he’ll let you lay your head on his lap while he gently pets your head in such a soothing manner that the nap turns into full on sleep... his legs might go numb, but he just couldn’t wake you up when you looked so peaceful sleeping right there.

Sayu will always accompany you when you’re in Inazuma, mostly because she could find an excuse to sleep with you around when you are getting ready to nap. She’ll be quick to defend you though, because if you get hurt, she’ll lose that excuse and she’ll struggle to find peace to sleep for a while without having people tailing after her.

Dusk/Evening you’re decently awake (or rather, barely awake), Zhongli’s not letting you sleep anymore until later into the night. Ei would keep you company, the time when it’s not so busy for her as things settle down and allow her to spend time with you. She’s honestly just internally squealing when you end up holding onto her hand or sleeve if you’re too groggy to walk by yourself and properly guide your own feet.

Sometimes the Kamisato Clan would be the ones to accompany you, per Ei/Raiden Shogun’s orders. Ayaka used to be on-guard (because how did someone who was barely standing on their own two feet turn the Raiden Shogun into some excitable puppy??) when she first met you, but she got over it after realizing you’re not a bad person after spending enough time with you to see it.

Thoma sometimes coddles you, knowing well enough that you were just tired from the stress of the daily life you used to have when you told him once during a day when he was left to take care of you... He does his best to make sure you were enjoying yourself in the city, keeping a watchful eye in case you’d trip on your own feet.

On rare occasions when even the Kamisato Clan is busy, Kujou Sara would be the one to care for you... as foreign as it was in the beginning, because you’re so idle and pretty sluggish most of the time, but she grew to find these times relaxing. Of course, she is ever watchful for all problems, and when you were awake enough, would be helpful with your foreknowledge if you do remember everything well enough.

When Night falls upon Teyvat, you are fully awake, if only for a while until you grow exhausted again. In these moments, they would all try to spend time with you and gain more of your attention... but aside from that, you would often take strolls on Watatsumi Island, if only because you do sincerely enjoy the scenery the island had during the night... but other times, you would either take a stroll at Starsnatch Cliff or Qingce Village.

Kokomi would be with you, walking alongside you while she admires the sight of your relaxed, fully awake expressions that mostly appears at night. She would keep each of these moments to her heart, knowing that if her God loved Watatsumi as it is, then all her efforts into protecting it was worth it... plus, there was something nice just knowing a God like you enjoying the natural sight of her home while taking a nightly stroll.

Gorou trails behind you like a puppy, basking in the attention you give him and will always be ready to defend you. When you talk, he is absolutely silent, wanting to hear your voice in its more clearer form. He will not be happy if someone interrupts you, definitely will snarl at them if you don’t keep him in check... but aside from that, he will stick close to your side while you’re at Watatsumi Island as your guard with Kokomi.

Diluc will be by your side during the night when you’re in Mondstadt, always looking away when your gaze is directed towards him but otherwise would observe you closely... since he often sees you when you weren’t fully awake. He enjoys seeing this side of you more, and while he does find your sleepy self to be adorable, he likes knowing that you’re aware of everything... It gives him a peace of mind when you do acknowledge his efforts.

Midnight rings clear into the night, the clarity of your mind would return into its sleepy state. You would return back to the Teapot and get ready for bed, tucked in comfortably by one of your acolytes before you slumber until morning rises once more and repeat your day... Sometimes, if you’ve relaxed enough, you might be fully awake for the whole day.

Of course, that is a rare moment that might not always happen, but if you were truly awake for a whole day, none of your acolytes are going to miss this chance and might fight to have your full attention if you don’t give them the satisfactory amount, unless you put your foot down and make sure they behave.

Aside from that, your cult will always be there for you, ready to take care of you and give you all the affection you want.

#self aware genshin #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #I don't know how to self-care #I'll just give myself this and share it to everyone #*wheezes from stress*#I should sleep #but brain got 50+ ideas #skjsksjksjskj #I had this in my drafts since the Greeting post lmao #Finally done with this #Even if I don't really like how it ended #But brain is dead so this is all I can do for now #Not going to revise this

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miekasa · 3 years

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the babysitter’s club (1)

+ pairing: levi ackerman + (fem) reader, featuring bright-eyed but very easily intimidated interns and part-time babysitters eren and armin who are trying their best

+ genres and warnings: modern au, parents au, fluff, yes the dog’s name is captain and he’s tiny what about it

+ summary: eren and armin are good subordinates, who happen to be pretty good babysitter, too. usually.

+ word count: 2.7k

+ notes: this was just something fun i edited and reworked again, also to provide some more insight about dad levi and my oc kids; this focuses only on holden, who is the oldest of the bunch, but you’ll more about the rest as they go

It’s not that Levi doesn’t trust Holden’s babysitters, he just would rather watch over her himself. Moreover, he would rather have the time to spend with his small daughter instead of having to leave her in the care of someone else who isn’t you, but sometimes life gets busy, and babysitters come in real handy.

He still doesn’t understand why Erwin would schedule the both of you to attend such important work-related meetings on the same weekend; much less, to send you half-way around the world for yours, and then book Levi for damn near twelve hours on a Saturday. He would murder Erwin if he weren’t his direct boss, and a long-time friend. But shit happens, and while it’s a major inconvenience and pain in his ass to be working on a weekend, it’s good to know he could rely on the brats at the office to step up on such short notice.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that if anything happens, I won’t hesitate to dismember you,” Levi says calmly, closing his briefcase after triple-checking its contents.

“Of course,” Armin stiffens visibly, awkward laughter seeping through his words, “Eren and I would never let anything happen to Holden.”

To his left, Holden has already tugged Eren to the coffee table for a game of children’s Scrabble, determined to show off her new skills. Levi smiles slightly as he remembers playing the game with her last week, and how awe-struck she was to have seen Levi create a word bigger than “unattainable”—which is currently the longest word in her four-year-old vocabulary. But he’s certain she would have no trouble beating Eren.

He gives Armin a slight nod. He knows Holden is in good hands; or good enough hands with Armin, anyway. It’s not the first time the duo has babysat, and for as air-headed and clumsy Eren could be at the office, he seemed to be pretty damn good with kids if Holden’s attachment to the brunette was anything to go by.

Levi recounts that you’ve questioned on multiple occasions why Eren was so dedicated to being your PA when he seemed to have a potential career in taking care of, and maybe even teaching children. Not that he’s not a good assistant to you, but he’s certainly not as organized or detailed-oriented as Armin. Levi shrugs away the thought. Eren’s career choices are none of his business; his only concern is that he keeps his daughter safe and sound.

“Right. My card is on the kitchen island, you can buy lunch and dinner or whatever, I don’t think there’s much in the fridge,” Levi informs Armin. He looks briefly to the clock on the wall; he really should get going. “Remember to walk Captain at some point, and no matter what Holden says, he absolutely does need a leash on him. If Erwin isn’t being a complete asshat, I’ll be home by nine. (Y/N) will probably still be on her flight, so call me if you need anything.”

Armin nods enthusiastically, promising Levi that they would take care of everything. They’d better.

“Alright, I’m heading out,” Levi announces, pulling his keys from the table near the door, “Be good, Holden. Tell Armin and Eren if you need anything.”

Holden’s head perks up at the sound of her name. Elegantly, or as elegantly as a four-year-old can be, she stands from her seated crisscross position, to run over to Levi by the door. He should remind her that she should use walking feet inside the house, but he can’t bring himself to, instead crouching down to meet her height.

“Bye, daddy,” she tells him sweetly. Levi reaches a hand out to ruffle the top of her head, much to the small girl’s chagrin. She sports a grimace almost identical to his as he reaches up to try and smooth out the aftermath of her father’s affections, “Daddy!”

Levi can’t help but chuckle, reaching two fingers out to poke at his daughter’s forehead. “Be good. I’ll be back soon.”

“Mommy too?”

Levi sighs, “No, mommy doesn’t come back until Tuesday.”

“That’s four days away,” Holden’s doesn’t hesitate to express her dissatisfaction. Levi nods, a little proud of how quickly she’d calculated that in her head, “Can Eren stay until Tuesday?”

“No, Eren cannot.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Holden crinkles her nose. Levi really has got to do something about her fascination with Eren.

Holden looks backwards to where Eren is still seated around the coffee table, he and Armin watching the father-daughter duo. After reconciling with the fact that Eren does, in fact, have his own home to go back to at the end of the day, Holden turns back around, and holds her hand up, palm facing Levi. He does the same, bringing his larger palm to hers, so that her hand is pushed against the middle of his.

Not one for hugs, kisses, or larger displays of affection, Holden simply turns her palm so that her hand grabs around Levi’s as best as possible, hooking her thumb around his pinky finger—what Levi’s heard the young girl call a hand hug.

“Bye, daddy,” she repeats, squeezing his hand, “Come back soon.”

Levi bends his fingers to wrap around her hand, “I will.”

“Keep an eye on her,” Levi reminds Armin and Eren, after standing back up and gripping his briefcase in his hand, “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

“Holden never causes trouble,” Eren says in response, but his words are spoken in coos to the young girl, who’s already back at his side.

Levi scoffs, “I was talking to you.”

“We’ll be fine, boss, don’t worry,” Eren chuckles with an awkward blush, “We love looking after Holden.”

“I’m not your boss,” Levi deadpans, double-checking his pockets for his keys, “You’d better hope everything is fine. Call me if anything happens, I’ll be back soon.”

With one final round of good-byes, and a wave from his daughter, Levi’s out the door, and stepping into his car with a grimace. It was just one stupid day out of his life. Besides, Holden would be fine with Armin and Eren; she always is. Levi is just grumpy that he can’t be the one to spend the day with her.

He sighs, reluctantly, putting his keys in the ignition. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could come back to Holden. Everything would be fine in the meantime; for now, he had to focus on how he was going to get himself to sit through Erwin’s long-ass meeting.

“Levi! Hi! Um… okay, so don’t freak out, but Armin and I are at the hospital with Holden right now—don’t freak out—because there was a small incident at lunch—don’t freak out and fire me please—but! It’s all gonna be okay, they’re already treating her and she’s doing fine now, so don’t freak—”

“Tell me not to freak out one more fucking time and I’ll castrate Armin and feed you his balls myself.”

“You sound a little freaked out,” Eren placates, wincing and holding his phone away from his ear when Levi growls in response.

“You have five seconds to tell me what you two idiots did to my daughter and explain why I shouldn’t decapitate you immediately.”

“It’s a funny story, actually—so, um, we think Holden might be allergic to nuts…?”

“What do you mean might be, Jaeger?”

Eren can feel his heart in his throat. He eyes Armin on the other side of Holden’s hospital bed. He looks no better—color almost completely drained from his face, but Eren doesn’t think he can say much else to his boss before his knees give out from underneath him.

“Uh, well, it was a lot of technical terms, and—I—um, actually I’m going to let Armin explain!” Eren hurries, all but chucking his phone at the unsuspecting blonde.

Armin’s blue eyes look almost grey with anxiety, but before he can protest, Eren is flailing his hands and pointing fingers and reminding him that Levi will kill them both if he doesn’t start talking.

Reluctant, and terrified, Armin finally lifts the phone to his ear, stuttering out a pathetic hello, but Levi cuts him off before he can say anything else.

“Save it. Send me your location, and pray I don’t kill you when I get there.” Armin chokes out a “yes, sir,” before slowly bringing the phone down to his side.

The good news is that Holden’s allergic reaction wasn’t too severe: her throat had been irritated, and hives had emerged as a result, but it hadn’t been closing up. And luckily, Eren had the endurance to run nearly a mile and half with a four year old tucked under his arm; because with the traffic Armin observed whilst he and Captain huffed and lagged behind, it would have taken thrice as long to get Holden to the ER had they waited and called for an ambulance.

Even better was that Holden was an unnervingly calm kid, even whilst having an allergic reaction. She looked almost back to normal now, save for a few red looking blotches on her neck and upper arm; and seemed more than content to be watching a video on Eren’s phone, despite the situation. She was a little bummed out to find out that she could never eat the new ice cream she liked so much ever again, but she seemed to quickly get over it once Eren reminded her that there were lots of other flavors out there for her to try. Flavors that wouldn’t make her choke to death.

Still, Eren and Armin could probably kiss their jobs goodbye, seeing as they had nearly just poisoned their bosses’ daughter. Holden seemed to like them enough, but, unfortunately, Holden wasn’t the Ackerman who signed their checks.

At the very least, Eren doesn’t think you’ll be too upset with him. He doesn’t think you’ll be ecstatic to hear that while you were away on your already inconvenient work-trip on the other side of the globe, that he also managed to land your daughter in a hospital bed… but you were the more forgiving one. Then again, maybe not so forgiving when it comes to the health and wellbeing of your daughter.

Eren falls back against the wall in dread. You weren’t even in the same country as him and he was worried about what you might say or do to him. Levi was probably less than twenty minutes away and fully capable of beheading him.

“You… uh, you think the Interior Branch is still looking for interns?” Eren breaks the silence, looking towards Armin, who’s taken the seat next to Holden’s bed, petting Captain robotically as the dog sits in his lap.

“I don’t think it matters,” Armin responds, “They won’t hire corpses.”

Fifteen minutes, and several run red lights later, Levi is bursting through the doors to the pediatric wing of the emergency room. He doesn’t care about the old woman at the reception yelling at him for causing a ruckus, or the other parents, doctors, or visitors eyeing him for marching around like he owned the place. Holden was in there somewhere, and he was going to get to her.

“Holden—oh, god, Holden,” Levi coos, frantic, as he marches into Holden’s room, scurrying to the side of her hospital bed. A cold hand reaches up to stroke her face. Angry, red bumps litter the sides of neck, her cheeks are puffier than usual, and the perimeter of her mouth seems a bit irritated, but Levi is relieved. She’s okay, his baby girl is okay.

“’M fine, daddy,” Holden assures him. She’s almost overly-perceptive for her age, able to pick up on her father’s out of character antics, and does her best to console him. “Eren ran with me all the way here when I started coughing and itchin.’”

Levi nods, the dark grey splotches in Holden’s eyes bringing him comfort, ensuring him that she was okay. “They gave me a shot, and I don’t like needles, but I didn’t even cry at all. Ask, Armin and Eren, they saw! Captain, too.”

“Brave girl,” Levi smiles, reaching his hand up to push her hair out of her face then leans over to press a kiss to her forehead.

Levi had almost forgotten that Eren and Armin were in the room until he hears a blundering cough from behind him. The younger boys look petrified, Eren practically shaking in his shoes, while Armin doesn’t even have the confidence to look him in the eye.

“We’re really sorry, Levi,” Eren apologizes, voice scratchy and wobbly, like he’d been the one to just get a shot, “We didn’t know—and when she started coughing and saying she couldn’t breathe, I swear, I ran here as fast as I could—”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s… fine?”

Levi sighs. Maybe he’d been a little harsh with them on the phone, letting his emotions get the best of him. He’d already been pissed off enough to not have the time to spend with Holden this weekend; hearing that she’d been hurt was just the final push over the edge for him, but it wasn’t necessarily Armin or Eren’s fault.

“I didn’t know either,” Levi exhales, reaching at hand out to pet the top of Holden’s head again, the young girl now distracted once again by the phone in her hand, “She’s never had a reaction to anything before, and neither (Y/N) or I have any strong allergies.”

Armin shuffles where he’s standing. “The doctor said she might be allergic to tree nuts. We, uh, we gave her pistachio ice cream after lunch.”

If there’s anything concerning Levi, it’s that they gave Holden ice cream before dinner, but he supposes he can let it go for now.

“Eren told me to try it, and it tasted good, daddy,” Holden interjects, “Before I started coughing, it was good.”

“Ah, well, you can’t—you shouldn’t eat things that make you feel sick!” Eren stutters loudly.

“But it was good,” Holden pouts, “And you said to try new things, Eri. I won’t know if it makes me sick if I don’t try them.”

Levi holds back his laughter. He knows that Holden definitely wouldn’t want to try the same same flavor again knowing now that she was allergic to it; she was just pulling at Eren’s leg. Levi would have to keep an eye out for the stuff anyway, especially if her oh-so-precious Eren has expressed any former love for it.

“Um, Levi, sir,” Armin calls, pulling Levi’s attention towards the blonde, “We didn’t know if (Y/N) would have landed already, but do you think you should call her, to, um, let her know?”

Levi’s face pales three shades when he realizes that none of them had already informed you that your daughter was currently hospitalized with a new found allergy.

“You can call her,” Levi says, a shudder in his spine at the thought of relaying this information to you, “That’s your death sentence, not mine.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #eren x reader #aot fluff

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loversandantiheroes · 3 years

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Okay my whiskey fantasy. It’s a holiday, anniversary, I dunno. But he comes home. You’re in lingerie, teddy, the garter belt, the thigh high tights (I am having an absolute brain fart and can not remember the name), the high heels. you’re cooking him dinner in it. Somethin real texas for dinner. He wants to immediately fuck yiu, BUT NO he has to WAIT bc its dinner time and you worked hard. He’s waiting, and he’s watching you, you’re bending over at the stove, all that. Dinner is served, you —-

You lounge on the table to eat like a decadent and gorgeous pain in the ass, so he can see you’re whole body while he eats, forced to be patient. You’re being an absolute menace. He’s running his mouth the whole time OBVIOUSLY. Then he fucking wrecks you

No Candles Necessary

As I am a bonafide yeehonk foole (and I have the t-shirt to prove it), I could hardly resist this idea. Nonny, I hope like hell I did you proud.💗

Shameless Whiskey/F!Reader smut (18+ and yes that means you), 5.3k+ words (they just wouldn’t shut up), mildly beta’d and lightly edited.

Warnings: established relationship, unsafe food preparation practices, light foodplay (it only goes in appropriate places I swear), egregious dirty talk, improper use of a dining table, Switch!Whiskey returns, Switch!Reader by extension, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, PIV sex, unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I fictionalize), cream pie (bc I’m lazy quite frankly), actual pie (peach!), a little soft schmoop in between the smut just because I can.

Permatag: @missredherring @dovesnroses @astroboots @magpierhymes @alienprincesspoop @aasimarr @maythxthirstbxwithyou @recklesswit

Pedro Permatag: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa (sorry bab, more yeehonk) @corvueros @thirstworldproblemss @littleferal @krissology @frannyzooey @forallthstarsinthesky @princess76179 @keeper0fthestars @venusandromedadjarin

Cooking your boyfriend a birthday dinner in lingerie is probably not the best idea you've ever had. The man isn’t even home yet to witness the trouble you’ve gone to, still wrapping up a day’s work at HQ after closing out another mission. So you didn’t jump right into cooking in your frillies. No, you did the bulk of the work in sweats and a t-shirt, only stopping to change once you were down to the last stretch and the steaks had come off to rest. You've got sense enough at least to put on an apron, not wanting to risk getting hot grease on the delicate fabric or the vast amounts of bare skin the thing doesn't cover, and while you've already donned the garter belt and stockings you've left your heels up against the island counter so you can slip them on quickly when you hear the door. Still you can't quite help but feel less sexy and more silly as you stand there carving up a pair of garlic butter basted steaks while your forehead prickles with sweat and your ass, covered by neither the teddy or the apron, feels ice cold.

The things I do for love of a goddamn cowboy, you think with a shake of your head. Your whole plan is honestly on the high end of ridiculous. But then Jack is a ridiculous man, and he always seems to drag you headlong into absurdity with him. Some days it's his only saving grace - the boyish playfulness that tempers his arrogance into something charming rather than infuriating. It seems only right to be a little ridiculous for the occasion.

Once the carving’s done you give yourself a second to go over the spread and make sure everything's ready to go. It's early yet, but you're expecting to hear Jack's key in the front door any minute. He's made no mention of returning home early, of course, but he is every bit the sort that would try to surprise you on his birthday, and you’ve developed an uncanny ability to anticipate his moves ahead of time.

As it turns out, you have just enough time to slip on your heels before you hear the front door open and Jack calls out your name. You allow yourself a moment of satisfaction - you do love being right when it comes to this sort of thing - and slip into your heels.

“In here, baby,” you call back, stepping out to lean against the door frame.

“Somethin’ smells like heaven,” Jack says, rounding the corner into the dining room. He stops dead when he gets a look at you, mouth falling open in surprise. He’s hung his hat at the door, his hair already flopping over in a revolt against the slicked-back way he styles it in the morning, his suit jacket still on and buttoned. “Looks like it, too,” he finishes, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. “I feel overdressed all of a sudden.”

You can’t help but answer that grin. “Happy birthday, cowboy,” you tell him, beckoning him over.

He all but rushes across the room to slide up against you, hands curling around your hips and playing with the tie to the apron. “Sure as hell is now,” he mutters. His palms slide down, cupping your ass to pull you in close. You bite back a hiss at the warmth, and he gives a low approving hum at the expanse of cool, bare skin. “Looks like I don’t even need to unwrap my present.”

“Patience,” you insist, pushing his shoulders back and grazing your lips over the tip of his nose as you evade the kiss he tries to pull you into. “No dessert until after dinner.”

“Dinner can wait-”

“No it cannot. I did not just spend the afternoon trying to keep hot butter off my tits so you could get impatient and let your supper get cold.” He traces a finger across your cleavage as you talk, tugging at the top of the apron to get a better look at the skin underneath. You feel the quip coming before he even opens his mouth, so you take the opportunity to give him a little push and show him just what he’s in for tonight. You bring up your hand, fingers curling under his wrist, turning his hand away and using it to pull him flush to you, the line of your thigh landing against the covered denim crotch of his jeans with just enough force to make him jolt.

“Be a good boy, Jack,” you say against his open, breathless mouth, “or you won’t get any dessert at all.”

Whiskey pouts, but his eyes have that dark glint that says he knows he’s in for trouble and he is just as pleased as punch about it. “You mean to torture a man on his birthday, honeybee?”

The smirk you give him makes his heartbeat kick up a little faster - you can feel the quickening of it in the pulse point against your fingertips. “Absolutely.” You stretch up enough for one brief, warm kiss and then step back, jerking your chin towards the dining table where there’s already two glasses of wine poured at the ready. “Sit. I’ll bring out dinner.”

He nods, tongue rolling slowly against his bottom lip. “Yes ma’am.”

His gaze is a heavy weight on your body as you walk away, raking down across so much exposed skin. You hear him groan at the sight, low and appreciative. He’s always been fond of seeing you wrapped up in lingerie, even more fond of tearing up the expensive scraps just to get you bare for him. You’d chided him about it the first time - the bodysuit he’d ripped clean in half from gusset to tit hadn’t been cheap, even though that little display had thrilled you far more than you’d ever want to admit - but he always replaced what he ruined without fail.

When you come back, divested of the apron with plates in hand, Whiskey is sitting just as instructed, elbow on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. He tracks every move you make, every sway of your hips, a playful smile hiding the effort of his restraint as you set his dinner in front of him. He barely spares the food a glance when you elect to forego your own chair and simply hop up onto the table, setting your plate near his and dragging over your glass of wine.

“You’ve outdone yourself, honeybee,” Whiskey rumbles, sliding a hand up your knee to your thigh, and he could not be talking less about the food.

You only smile, taking an unhurried sip. “Somehow I thought you’d prefer this to a new tie. How old are you now, anyway?” you tease.

“Sweet sixteen,” he says dryly, hiking an eyebrow while he squeezes your thigh for your cheek.

You chuckle. “Uh-huh, and I’m Mother Theresa.” You lean in, spearing a slice of steak on his plate with your fork and holding it out for him. “Now, I worked very hard on this, and I am going to be very disappointed if you try to skip dinner on me just ‘cause you can’t quit eyeballing your dessert. Open.”

He tips you a wink before dutifully opening his mouth, letting you feed him. The soft, indulgent moan that leaves him as his eyes slip closed is too subdued to be anything but real. “Honeybee that is gorgeous. My compliments to the chef.”

“The chef is glad to hear it.” You swipe your thumb over his lip, collecting the sheen of juice and garlicky butter and bringing it to your own mouth, delicately sucking it off. “Could’ve used a bit more rosemary.”

Whiskey shakes his head. “Mm-mm. This is perfection on a plate, baby. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The smile that earns him is genuine, and you bend to give him a quick kiss. He presses it, just a little, a swipe of his tongue that you open for just enough to nip at before pulling away. “Eat.” You gesture meaningfully at his plate.

All told, there isn’t actually much on it. Steak, roasted new potatoes, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. You’ve only served up maybe half of what you’d usually set in front of him for dinner, opting for more reserved portions. It’s a favor to you both - his patience wouldn’t last through a full meal without the need for physical restraints. There’s more in the kitchen, of course, and an actual pie for dessert if you happen to get that far. You’re both bound to be hungry again after.

Whiskey tucks in, fork in his left hand while his right stays comfortably curled around your thigh, slowly creeping higher and higher until he’s playing with the lacy top of your stocking. You give him a warning tilt of your head, your own fork poised halfway to your mouth. All you get in return is those plaintive, innocent puppy dog eyes of his, but his hand doesn’t advance further.

All in all you’re rather proud of his restraint, at least until one spear of asparagus manages to drip hollandaise down onto your cleavage. Suddenly that quietly repressed hunger cracks and he’s surging up towards you, mouth half-open and tongue peaking out, ready to clean you up.

But that won’t do. Not yet. Your reflexes might not be as good as his, but they’re nothing to balk at, either. You brace yourself back on one hand, leaning away and planting one of your high heels against his shoulder to shove him back into his seat. The look on his face is priceless; mouth agape and pupils blown.

Slowly you shake your head. “You know better, Jack.”

His eyes track up the inside of your thigh to the crotch of your bodysuit - or rather, the lack thereof - and the split strips of lace that don’t cover your mound, but frame it prettily for him. “Fuck, honeybee,” he mutters breathlessly.

Dinner and a show was always the plan. So you take your time, dipping your finger and swiping up the stripe of creamy yellow and holding it out to him. Whiskey stares you down as he takes the tip of your finger into his mouth and sucks dutifully, his tongue plush and soft and working against the pad of your finger the same way he worries it over your clit. A rush of heat rockets through you, leaving your belly warm and a sweet tingle tripping down your spine in its wake.

Biting your lip hard to rein in the impulse to just slide into his lap, you drag your finger out of his mouth. It’s what he wants; to make you break first, to make you lose at your own game. And where’s the fun in that?

“It is your birthday, so I’m going to cut you a little bit of slack, but if you can’t mind your manners and do as you’re fucking told, you’re gonna get a lot worse than a birthday spanking, pretty boy. Now, I told you: no dessert until you finish your dinner.” There’s precious little left on his plate; a few scraps of steak, a couple potatoes, one lone spear of asparagus. You stab this last with your fork and hold it out to him. “Last chance, baby. You open your mouth for me and be a good boy, and you can have me any way you want.”

Whiskey looks dazed; seething and starved and love-struck all at once. You don’t even need to look down to know he’s hard. But he hesitates just for a moment, whether it’s deliberate or accidental you’re not really sure - sometimes the man just really wants to be punished - but in that space you see his body jerk, hunching slightly as his abdominal muscles contract involuntarily. You follow the movement with your eyes and sure enough, there he is. Full mast and straining hard against thick denim.

Smiling sweetly, you wave the fork at him. “Your choice, Jack.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, and the roughshod timbre of his voice says it’d be a fine way to go.

Whiskey opens his mouth and takes what you give him.

You’re slow about it. Careful. Admonishing him when he tries to chew a little too quickly. Whiskey stares you down with eyes like coal seconds away from ignition. He holds your gaze while you slip another bite of food into his mouth, then lets his eyes slip down until they fix firmly on your half-exposed and already glistening cunt, and you know the moment you give him an inch he’s going to wreck the hell out of you for this.

When the last bite passes his lips he curls his hand around your ankle, squeezing. Always pushing his luck, this man of yours. You set his plate aside, glancing away like it’s no effort at all as he very methodically wipes his mouth with his napkin.

“Now can I have my dessert?” Impatience roughens the low gravel of his voice into something dangerously sharp.

You smile, leaning back on one hand. “There’s peach pie in the kitchen.”

He presses forward, left hand sliding big and warm up the inside of your thigh. The motion presses the leg you’ve used to pin him to his chair back until your knee is nearly flush with your chest, opening you up wider, the rush of air between your legs now shockingly cold against the wetness that had gathered there.

“Woman, the only pie I want a piece of is the one sitting right in front of me.”

The stretch along the back of your thigh burns, so you shift, hooking your leg over his shoulder instead. “I haven’t finished my dinner yet,” you protest cooly, reaching down to snag a strip of steak off your still half-full plate and popping it into your mouth.

Whiskey’s hands slip higher, and this time you don’t stop him, too busy sucking the buttery juices off your fingers. When the very very tips of his fingers brush the spread lace at the crux of your thighs he freezes, waiting for the rebuke, for fingers around his neck or your other heel to plant square in his chest. You consider it, sure; it’s certainly not a prospect without its merits. A man that enjoys being under your thumb is satisfying in a way that few things in life ever fully measure up to.

But honestly, you’ve worked hard enough tonight. Time to let him put in a little effort.

A tilt of your head and a curl of your foot against his shoulder is permission enough; slipping off the leash by way of a gesture, and the low smolder in his eyes blooms to a full burn. Whiskey stands to his full height, looming close enough for you to feel the heat bake off him as he shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons the cuffs on his dress shirt, rolling them up with a few quick turns of his wrists.

“Can’t let my girl go hungry now,” he hums in a voice like burnt molasses. “Lemme give you a hand there, honeybee.”

Smirking, Whiskey wraps an arm around you, brushing the tip of his nose against yours as you wriggle against solid heat of his body. His left hand wanders out of sight on the table as his lips meet yours, teasing your mouth open with the barest brush of his tongue, while his right hand trails warm and slow around your side and down and down to cup your mound.

It’s hard to believe you ever felt cold. You’re burning up now, skin flushed hot as his mouth grazes yours and breathes out: “Open up for me.”

And just like magic, you do. No input needed on your behalf; your mouth simply drops open and your legs shift wider in accommodation for him. There’s a clink of silverware and then he’s waving a fork at you, a strip of steak speared on the end. Whiskey’s eyes glitter as he pushes it into your waiting mouth. Each bite he feeds you is accompanied by a teasing dip of his fingers into your core, feeding you with his left hand while he touches you with his right. Your slickened folds part smooth and easy as he pushes his fingers inside you, a welcome but all too brief intrusion, before they trail up again to stroke at your clit. Again and again you rock your hips up, trying to encourage him to slip into you deeper, to give you a taste of the fullness and pressure of his cock, but every time his touch retreats.

You whine; a strange mix of frustration and pleasure. “Tease.”

“Takes one to know one,” he coos, the hand between your legs working faster. Heat builds quickly under his fingertips, a friction far more appetizing than anything else you’ve set on the table tonight. “You made the rules, honeybee. No dessert until after you finish supper. You do want your dessert, don’t you?”

He brings the next bite up, holds it tantalizingly close. You stretch out and he draws it back, and suddenly his fingers are rubbing a firm, determined circle on your clit. Your whole body jolts, gasping air with a pitiful little whine. There’s nothing but mischief on his face as he watches you, tongue sweeping against his bottom lip. He slows his fingers, brings the fork down again, closer this time. The food brushes your bottom lip before he pulls it away, fingers quickening again.

“Jesus,” you all but squeak. “Jack, don’t be mean.”

Whiskey gives you a considering hum, leaning forward to suck the sheen of butter off your bottom lip. “Oh darlin’ I would never,” he insists, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss that’s tender enough to be very nearly sincere if it weren’t for the fact that the motion of his hand never slows. A sweet, bright heat begins to build under his fingertips. “How could I be mean to my girl when she worked so hard for me, hm? I’m just paying that back in kind is all. You wanna come on my fingers, baby, you can do that all you like. I’ll make you come ‘til those pretty little legs can’t do much more than shimmy. You know I can. But you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ else until you clean your plate like a good girl.”

“H-ha-ah, fuck-how much more?”

He grins devilishly. “Just this last bite.”

“Oh you f-fucking jackass!”

Whiskey laughs. “Guilty as charged. Open up, baby, take what I got for you.”

He pushes the last bite past your lips and immediately delves his fingers into your warm and waiting cunt. The breath shudders out of you, fingers digging into the tablecloth as you try to hang onto enough composure to remember to chew and swallow. He’s slow for a moment, pumping and curling his fingers gently while he watches you eat. There’s a clink of silverware as he discards the fork and puts his arm around you, pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Good girl,” he murmurs sweetly.

Mouth empty now, you nudge your nose against his chin, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Jack-”

And then his grip becomes determined. The fingers inside you flex, the heel of his hand pressing hard against your clit and all you can do is cry out against the soft skin of his neck and hang on for dear life while he works you up and over the edge with shocking speed.

Trembling, you lock your legs around him as you come down, dragging his collar aside to bite lazily into the place where his neck and shoulder meet.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rutting up against the back of his hand between your legs. “How do you want me, honeybee?”

That earns him a breathless laugh, goosebumps raising along his neck. “It’s your birthday, Jack. What do you want?”

Whiskey’s eyes drop to your mouth and he makes a considering sound, pulling back to suck you delicately off his fingers. “I think I want your mouth. And then I think I want to fuck you right here on this table until that divinely sweet little pussy wrings me fucking dry. Sound good to you, honeybee?”

“That can be arranged.” His eyelids flutter as you reach down to his zipper, not even bothering with his belt before you reach inside his jeans and the button fly of his boxers to tug his cock free, cupping your fingers to draw his balls out, too.

You move to stand and he shakes his head, caging you in. “No. Not on your knees, baby. On the table. I wanna see you all spread out for me. My pretty little present.”

He helps you. Sweeps your hair back as you lie flat on the dining table, scooting back to let your head hang just a bit. It’s not exactly comfortable. The edge of the table digs into your neck a bit, and the way the blood rushes to your head is not entirely pleasant either. But you watch Whiskey pace around you to take his place in front of your waiting mouth, cock bobbing and just barely beginning to leak for you, and you feel a gorgeous rush of heat at the sight.

Whiskey slides his palm up your stomach to cup one barely-covered breast. “Gorgeous,” he mutters, squeezing. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“Jack.”

“I know, darlin’, I know. But my God you’re a picture.” He cups your cheek, absently brushes the corner of your mouth with his thumb before sliding his hand back to give your head a little support. “Open up for me, angel.”

And once again, you open up for what he gives you. The angle makes it strange, the topography of Jack’s body less familiar as he slips into your mouth, your tongue dragging wet and slow over foreign terrain. The taste of him, hot skin and the tang of bitter salt, that you know well enough. You close your eyes at it, bring your hands up to his hips to tug him slowly forward and listen to the way he moans.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, breathless and a little awe-struck. “Jesus fucking Christ. You spoil me, baby. Sweet as fucking honey, my god.”

A light touch against your breast makes you shiver, goosebumps raising as it draws lightly over your skin. A single fingertip, sliding the lace of the bodysuit aside to bare your breasts to the chill of the room and the warmth of Whiskey’s hands.

He mutters sweet things as he begins to move; sweet, tender, unconscionably filthy things. All the things you do to him. Do for him. The rocking of his hips is gentle at first, feeding you his cock inch by cautious inch. When he hits the back of your throat he pulls back on reflex, but the light scrape of your teeth and the sudden tightness of your grip on the plush meat of his ass sends him forward again. The angle eases the motion, and you relax into the pressure as he pushes in and in and...oh.

You feel the resistance at the back of your throat give gently; strange, but not uncomfortable. Above you, Whiskey lets out a pained groan.

“Shit. Oh shit yes, honeybee. Take it. Ohhh s-shit. Take all of it. Every goddamn inch. Fuck.”

And then his hips are flush with your mouth, the soft skin of his balls pressed up against your nose. Panting, he wraps a hand around the stretched column of your throat, swearing breathlessly. He moves, a small, careful thrust, and you can feel the tremor that ripples through him at the feeling.

“Just a little more baby,” he mumbles, pulling back until just the head of his cock rests within the warmth of your mouth. You suckle at it, working it eagerly with your lips and tongue while you breathe raggedly through your nose. Your hips jut up into thin air on their own accord, just as eager for him as your mouth is.

“I got you, honeybee.” The hand at your neck slips down, skimming over skin and lace until he finds your clit. The first touch jolts you, your cry stifled on his cock as you shudder up against him. “Good girl. I got you, baby. Jack’s got you. Keep going. Just a little more. Just a little more and then I’ll fill you right on up. Fuck my sweet girl’s brains right out of her head. Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever fuckin seen, baby, holy fuck.”

You moan something against him - pleasure, acquiescence, god only knows - but the sound of it is lost as his cock slides steadily back into your mouth. The pressure in your head is distracting, tears prickling your eyes when he pushes in deep, but the stroking of his fingers and the feel of him in your mouth, sliding hard and slick and effortlessly down your throat is far more consuming than the discomfort.

He rocks into you. Fucks into you. Moans and gasping praises falling thick and fast from his lips as he moves. You don’t need to feel the way his balls draw up tight to know how close he is, how tight he’s riding the line between what he wants to do and what his body wants to do. You’re lost in it all the same; his pleasure and the fraying thread of his restraint. Your own pleasure, building quick and low and locking down the muscles in your thighs until they tremble. You float in it, overwhelmed and dizzy, until, very suddenly, you break.

Whiskey curses, pulling back to listen to you cry out, to let you curl up and clutch at him as he pants above you, muttering broken, desperate please of: “yes god yes honeybee all of it, gimme all of it, every last bit.”

You’re a wreck in the aftermath; pliant and limp, face teary and slick with spit and precome. He draws you up, wiping your face with a clean napkin before pulling you into a kiss that steals away whatever remained of your breath. He gathers you up, turns you until you can wrap your still-tingling limbs around him. Nudges his hips against yours, his wet cock dragging against slick skin and fragile lace.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, trailing soft kisses over your face.

You have to clear your throat before you can respond, the sound of it harsh and ragged like an engine turning over. “Y-yeah. Yeah I’m good. Dizzy, but good.”

“You ain’t the only one, honeybee. Almost didn’t make it in time. Wanted to fill up that pretty mouth so bad. You just about did me in.”

He laughs and you join him, breathing ragged joy into each other’s lungs.

“Still want me to fuck you?” The question should be coarse, but somehow isn’t. Not with his sweat-slick forehead pressed to yours and his lips ghosting kisses against your mouth with every breath.

“So sweet,” you mutter, combing your hands through his hair.

“LIke hell,” he scoffs, holding you tight to his chest. “I ain’t and you know it.”

“You are to me,” you insist, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. He smiles, softens everywhere but that place that throbs with impatient heat against you. “Now fuck me, pretty boy.”

A flash of a grin is the only warning you get before he’s hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you to the edge of the table. “Yes ma’am,” he says obligingly, planting a hand between your breasts to push you back against the table as he lines himself up, sliding into you with one smooth, achingly deep stroke.

You moan, knees drawing up as his hips meet yours and he fills the space inside you that’s been aching for him all day. Whiskey lets out a groaning sigh, leaning into you like he wants to bury himself whole inside you. He hoists one of your legs up against his chest, nuzzles the inside of your knee while he tries to find his breath again. The length of him inside you is rigid as steel and blindingly hot, still so close to his own end that he has to wait, worrying his teeth over your skin, until the urge to just rut against you like an animal until he comes finally passes.

And when it does, when he opens his eyes at last, he looks down at you with a dazed, hungry smile. He presses a kiss to the tip of his finger and brings it down to your lips.

“Love you, honeybee.”

Heavy-lidded and so wonderfully full, you kiss his finger and arch your back. “Love you, too, cowboy.”

And that’s the last intelligent thing you manage to say. Finally - finally! - Whiskey fucks you, each pounding swing of his hips making the china rattle like nervous teeth. Your arms strike out, curling and flailing, trying to find something to grab onto as he fucks you. The heel of your hand strikes one of the wine glasses and sends it tumbling to the floor where it shatters. The breath leaves your body in tiny bursts with each impact; little monosyllabic cries punctuating each one.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” Whiskey murmurs. He cups your breasts, thumbing the pebbled sharpness of your nipples before his hands slide lower, finding the deep notch of the bodysuit between them. “Wrapped up so pretty for me.”

The lace tears away like it’s nothing, a clean rip down the center. Oh well. He’ll buy you another.

Whiskey folds over you, pulling you down closer so he can get an arm under your back, his hand grasping the back of your neck and pulling you up to meet his mouth. He’s still wearing his tie, the drape of fabric laying cool against your chest. Blessedly he’s not wearing his usual belt buckle. Foresight or oversight you’re not quite sure, but you’re grateful all the same as he grinds into you, a press of cold metal and leather against your belly.

He’s not going to last long, but it hardly matters. You’re too worked up, two orgasms down already, cunt so swollen and sensitive it’s hardly an effort to get you there again. But the feeling of him inside you turns that bright burn into something lower, deeper. Something that makes your muscles lock and tremble, straining up against him and gasping into his mouth.

“Jaaaack,” you whine, arms locked around his neck.

“Yes, baby,” he groans, voice quivering with every thrust. “Fuck yes I’m right there too, c’mon. Come with me, honeybee, come with me.”

His rhythm falters, grinding deeper and deeper, and all that strained tension in your body snaps like a rubberband. You sob, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt, twisting and jerking as you come apart under him.

All Whiskey can do is growl as you bear down on him, gritting a litany of “yes, yes, fuck yes, god yes, that’s my girl that’s my girl that’s my fucking girl.” And then he’s gone, too, driving into you with a sudden jolt and crying out against the side of your neck as he comes.

You’re holding him too tight, clutching him to you as you both lie there, panting and shuddering, a spreading stain of red wine pooling next to your head.

“Jesus,” he whispers, tries to shift up to find your mouth, but even that amount of drag on his oversensitive cock is enough to make him hiss and jerk. “Fuck.”

“Mm-hm,” you agreed dumbly.

Whiskey lets out a growling hum, smoothing your hair. “You good, honeybee?”

You trail kisses up to his ear, still breathless. “What do you think?”

He wheezes a laugh. “I think I gotta replace a lot more than your frillies this time.” The laugh turns giddy, and Whiskey presses his forehead against your temple. “And I think I’m hungry.”

“Pie in the kitchen,” you mumble, too drowsy to do much more than nuzzle into the damp tangle of Whiskey’s hair.

“What kind?”

“Peach.”

He hums, smiling drowsily. “My favorite.”

You give a slow nod. “I know. Happy birthday, Jack.”

He kisses you, slow and sweet. “Best I ever had,” he murmurs.

#Anonymous #agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #citrus variations

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psychewithwings · 3 years

Text

Pt. 1 A Visitor... Once Again Kirishima x Goddess!reader

hello hello, this is my contribution to this months bnharem collab! The theme was ‘mythology and lore’ and hit very close to my ancient greek loving soul. We have so many wonderful writers and artists that have worked hard so pls check out the rest of the collab here!!!

I’ve been rather ill and so I’ll be breaking it up into parts, part 2 will be out as soon as I am feeling more myself (which will hopefully be next week). Please enjoy a story about 2 of my favourite characters. Kirishima Eijirou, as his hero self (tho with a demi-god twist) and reader! as Kalypso, the goddess, daughter of Atlas, the titan who holds up the sky. Her curse is that she is forced to live alone on an island and fall in love with any visitor who falls to her shores. Once she falls for them, she is forced to ask if they would like to stay and she may grant them immortality if they say yes, and if not? They may leave. They have no way of leaving the island until she falls in love. She is a kind and wonderful character and I have a lot of love for her, (perhaps I relate to her a bit too much) so it is an honor to tell a new version of her story.

This is set in present day even tho Kalypso is an ancient greek figure, Kirishima is about 25-28 here? Pro hero Kiri!

TW: a small sex scene in the beginning, little bit of dirty talk, penetration

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“Fuck, thats it baby, feel it going all the way inside? Feels good right?” You moan into his neck, “s-so good.” He starts to thrust in and out slowly. Your nails dig into the muscles of his back… his… names and faces are unimportant blurs as he continues to thrust inside. Each drag of his cock hits each sweet spot and taps against your cervix. “Fuck~ you feel so fucking good darling, so-fucking-good, perfect, fucking perfect… yeah that's it clamp down on my cock, massage it with that perfect pussy.” His hand slips between your sweat soaked bodies and rubs quick circles over your clit. “Gonna cum for me baby? I can feel it, you’re about to gush~” You cry into his neck, soft tears of ecstasy hitting his skin. You’re close, so very close-

“Hello? Hey!!! Is anyone home?? Hello?”

You open your eyes and the man above you, the cock inside you, all falls away. It had all been a dream… a delicious, wonderful dream. A dream that had been ruined by an incurable racket. You stare groggily at the ceiling. The ache in your core of having been so close to cumming now boils into a rage. “Hello?!?! Is someone here? Hello??” Your brow crinkled in confusion as to who the rasping voice belonged to. You check to see if you had somehow managed to flip the tv on but the screen was dark. “Does anyone live here?” It dawned on you then… It’s a visitor.

You check the clock that blinks 5:37AM. You groan into a pillow and kick your legs in an attempt to relieve the ache. Your bare thighs are covered in your arousal, which has turned into your frustration. You stay lying still in hopes that he will go away, leave you alone, never return. “HELLO????!?!” But he had to stop screaming and it didn’t seem like he was going to until he came into contact with someone… You knew the nature of the curse well enough at this point but you would try to rebel as long as you could…

You flip the covers off of your body and slowly walk to grab a robe to cover yourself with. You stare at your reflection in the full length mirror while you finish tying the robe. “We got this,” you point to yourself, “no falling in love this time, no falling in love no matter what, ever again, you hear me?” You nod back to yourself. “Pinkie swear.” You touch pinkies with the mirror and laugh coldly. “No more foolish love,” you sarcastically remark before opening the french doors and stepping onto the balcony.

You stare down at the man who had been shouting for so long and your heart drops. He’s beautiful, red hair hanging in his face, still wet with the sea. His body must have been designed by the muses and chiseled by delicate hands. It’s clear even through his clothes. Son of Ares? Or even Zeus perhaps? He is interesting, never had you seen a demigod with such clear physical strength and kind eyes. The combination was rare. He gives you a grin which then fades to surprise. “Oh- I am so sorry, my manners,” he laughs nervously before slowly kneeling on the ground. “Great Goddess, I humble myself now in front of your grace and all encapsulating beauty…” You roll your eyes hoping he will take the hint and shut up. It wasn’t any different from the men before him… It was the same shit as always, though you were disappointed, this one seemed different upon first glance. “...your magnificence is profound, you are both elegant and ethereal in your just standing there-” you cut him off before he can continue the asinine speech. “Ya done?” you ask bluntly.

His eyes grow wide and he softly utters a “what?” You roll your eyes and lean on the gold railing. “Dude, it’s 5am, you’re yelling and ranting, can ya just get to the point?” He remains on his knees in a bow. His pitch varies with confusion as he speaks. “My ship, uhh I crashed it on your shore, and I was hoping that you could umm, maybe assist me in getting home? I-” he hangs his head for a moment, perhaps in exhaustion before continuing. “I have no GPS, no compass, not even a map… if I could do it without bothering you, I would, nothing you for help isn’t very manly... but please Goddess, please help me get home.” You sigh, century after century of the same request has really weakened your patience, though he had asked nicer than most. “You’re stuck here for the foreseeable future,” you smile slightly. You wait for the look of annoyance, frustration, fear… but it never comes. In fact he gives a slight half smile as he stands. “Well, nothing we can do?” he asks. “‘Fraid not,” you sigh. He starts to say something else but he winces. “Are you okay?” you ask, genuine concern bleeding through the nonchalant tone you had been practicing the past milenia. He nods and grabs hold of his side. “I got a little beat up, but don’t worry goddess, ‘tis but a flesh wound,” he tips his head down. As he raises his head he looks deathly pale. “Hey sit down okay?” you call down to him, but it’s too late. His eyes roll back and he collapses. “Shit-” you mutter to yourself as you run down to him.

He lays there in a crumpled heap, his breathing shallow. “Wish you’d said you were hurt first dummy,” you grumble before assessing the situation. You need to get him to the herbs and the back porch. This wouldn't be easy, he’s big, huge really. But he collapsed on his side which makes things easier. You hook an arm around one of his and the other around a leg. It takes a lot and it's a staring but you manage to lift him on your shoulders. If your father can hold up the sky, you can surely carry this brick house of a man back to the bed on the porch.

You step into the house while fireman carrying him to the screened-in porch to lay him down on the daybed. You place him carefully in the soft, green covers and he whines softly. “You’re gonna be just fine,” you reassure gently. Your back porch was reserved for growing herbs, arts and crafts, summer sleep, and it occasionally became a makeshift infirmary when visitors came to you injured and in need of patching up. It happened once every few centuries…

You grabbed some fabric scissors and cut away his shirt to reveal what had been ailing him. You hoped for a broken rib, those were easy to heal with a careful dose of leaf from the widows bone flower and some angel root. But what lay beneath was worse than imagined. A deep gash in his side had tried to close over and heal but it’s irritated, angry. The wound is oozing a sickly yellow pus and iridescent ichor. The skin around it is red with infection. This is one of the worst you’d been brought with. You touch his head, it’s hot and sticky with sweat. This wasn’t good. “Wait here, okay?” You grab a clump of angel root and take it back inside to the kitchen, setting it in a pot of water to boil. You grab a cloth and wet it under the sink in cold water.

You place it on his forehead and sit on the bed beside him. His face was relaxed and he was even more beautiful now. You brush the hair from his eyes and smile down at him, there was something familiar about him… like you’d met before. Though no one could return to Ogygia.

You lean down to where you can speak over his heart in a language that cannot be written or replicated... But the meaning of the words would go something like:

You are healing

You are youthful and strong

Your heart knows how to heal because it is made of love

Pure love can heal anything

You are healing now

You repeat this chant until you hear his breath deepen and watch the cut sooth. It’s a small enchantment but it has done its job. Sure, you’re no Circe, or her brethren, but you’re an enchantress all the same.

You rush back inside and grab the angel root, that's now wet and flexible from being submerged in water. You lay it across his wound before wrapping it carefully. “There now, wait here and I’m going to get you some nectar to drink,” He doesn't respond but his face is relaxed, less anguished, less in pain. You sigh in relief, hopefully that will be enough to close the wound in a day or so, else he will need to be stitched up.

You return with a small bottle of nectar and a dropper to feed him with. You coax his jaw to relax with your hand before dropping the nectar slowly onto his tongue. “You heroes are an awful lot of trouble… you know that?” You continue to feed him slowly so he won’t choke. You sigh in relief as the colour returns back to his face. He’s so beautiful he’s almost glowing, you start to reach for him, to brush the hair from his eyes but you stop yourself and turn away. “No, no love this time, remember?” you say to your reflection in the glass of the windows.

His eyes flutter open with long slow blinks. You watch as they focus on you. He blinks again. “Elyssium,” he breathes and you can’t help but chuckle. “No, Ogygia,” you correct gently. “I’m Eijirou,” he smiles. You laugh again. “No no, this island, where you are is called Ogygia, you aren’t dead,” you assure. He blinks up at you still and you curse the gods for creating him to be so breathtaking. “And what are you called?” he asks. He attempts to sit up but finds it difficult. You place your hand on his head, it’s warm and you can feel his brow relax against your palm. “You’re much better now, but just take your time…” His hands touch his torso and then move to his head. “You healed me?” You nod, “I’ll have to sew this one the rest of the way, it was quite deep.” He circles his hand around your arm, his thumb stroking soft circles. “Thank you, goddess,” he murmurs. You pull away, his touch sending lightning down into your fingertips. You don't remember the last time you had a visitor on this island of yours… but none of the previous visitors seemed to matter anymore, even though each one had stolen your heart some way or another. But no- no love, not this time, not now, not again… It hurt, but you suppressed the feelings of desire and brushed your hands down the front of your robe. “It’s nothing, but for the love of the lethe, stop calling me goddess. Kalypso is fine, just Kalypso.”

He grabs your hand as you turn to leave, “thank you... Kalypso, thank you for saving my life.” In all the years you had been saddled with this curse, it was rare for the visitor to say your name... and none of them, had said your name quite like that.

You pull your hand from his grasp and make sure not to look back, even though you want to. “You’re welcome,” you answer simply, “I’ll uhh- get you some water.”

to be added to the taglist

#kirishima #bnha #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x you #kiri #eijiro x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnharem #bnharem collab #august collab

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honeyhenry · 3 years

Text

Sweet as Pie

With some much needed time off, and excitement crisp in the air, you had flown over to Jersey with your husband Henry for Christmas to stay with his family, and they had been delighted to have you both back on his homeland. You settled in to Henry’s old room, unpacking all of the gifts you had brought for his family. You knew his nieces and nephews were going to love you even more when they saw what would be lying for them under the grand Christmas tree in the living room. Secretly, you were their favourite - not that they’d ever tell their poor Uncle Henry.

The large home is tidy, but scattered with family members in every room, all feeling at home in the place where Henry and his brothers grew up. You’d been able to catch up with the relatives you didn’t often see, and promise to spend some quality time together over the holidays.

It was so sweet to watch all the children’s faces light up on Christmas morning. You were glad that you and Henry could be spared an extra few moments in bed, being the only childless couple in the house. Yet moments later, Kal had leapt onto the bed - much to Henry’s annoyance; “down Kal, careful now” - as soon as he had heard the pattering of his small friends’ feet out in the hallways. And what Kal wanted, you usually gave him.

Which is why, at 6.45am, Kal dragged you and in turn, dragged Henry down to the living room where the rest of the family sat, with the kids lit up like the Christmas tree that their plethora of presents laid under, grinning to their bleary eyed parents who’d barely had a wink of sleep on the cold winter morning.

“You’d think after 6 years it gets easier” you’d heard someone murmur, and so you’d decided to put the kettle on for those poor souls. Luckily for you, 45 minutes later, you’re able to snuggle back into bed with Henry, warming your feet on his legs to annoy him. You kiss the offended pout right off his face, before feeling his beefy arms wrap around your waist. It’s the last thing you had recalled, as you dozed off in his arms only seconds later, feeling his fingertips rub against your hip softly.

------

The kitchen was bustling with about 10 bodies all completing their various tasks; cooking, washing, baking, roasting, timing and tasting. Well, you had kicked your husband out of the kitchen for sneaking a taste of your dessert before it was ready, chastising him out of the door.

“You can either help properly or go and play with your siblings” you had bargained while he’d grinned, leaning against the doorframe. He raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down like you were a pastry he was keen to ravish himself; “But who is going to compliment the chef?”

With that, you’d folded your arms across your chest, blushing at his words. The cheek of that man was not lost on you, and it still got you every single time.

And you loved him for it.

------

The meal was a total success. A wonderful soup starter, followed by a small appetiser, and then the most magnificent turkey. Feeding over 20 people - now probably closer to 30 if you were to include the children who were growing up so quickly in front of your eyes - had proven to be difficult, but it was a challenge the family had clearly tackled before.

You had been so excited to prepare the desserts, and present your dish. However, halfway through the day, somewhere between the main course, watching your nephews with their new toys, and the dessert course of the delicious homemade Christmas feast, you’d fallen asleep on the sofa completely tuckered out. Your legs rested on Henry’s lap as he’d covered you with a hand-knitted blanket that he’d once slept with as a boy. Henry’s mother speaks up, careful not to wake you. She has a gleam in her eye, not that you or even Henry notice, too wrapped up in your own cozy sleepy bubble together by the fire.

“Dessert can wait” his mother says to the gaggle of children and adults swarming the living room, “go out and get some fresh air.”

She turns to the children, specifically. “Do not disturb your Aunt, okay?”

------

Your cheeks are warm as the fire heats the living room, and after a particularly competitive game of rugby with his brothers, nieces, and nephews, Henry quietly checks on you. He had left the room earlier when you had shifted your legs slightly, taking the opportunity to get some fresh air himself. It had indeed been a long day. His brothers had questioned your tiredness briefly, making sure you were well. With the knowledge that you were simply sleepy, they had begun to joke that you obviously just couldn’t keep up with the rest of the Cavills - despite having married into the family for 2 years and been around for the holidays for 4. Henry had promised them that you were fine - that you still weren’t used to the long trip back to the island for the holidays.

Not exactly a fib, he’d thought.

Kal was laid beside you, loyal as ever, watching out for anyone who may disturb your rest, sending a rumbling growl towards anyone who approached. Except Henry.

While checking on you now to make sure you were still comfortable and resting well, he smiled, taking a picture of you wrapped up cosily by the fire, at peace in his childhood home, completely at rest and ease with him and his closest relatives. Petting Kal softly, he thanks him for looking after his mama so well.

“So?”

His mother, he hears. She’s alone for once as there was no one rushing to check for updates on food, no enquiries about the house, or any funny stories woven into a ten minute tale from her grandchildren. She’s alone, with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows raised.

Henry stands up straight. There’s nothing that can wipe the tremendously cheesy grin off of his face. He can’t even speak. Even after dessert had finished, you were the one who would be doing all the talking, the telling, the explaining.

“Mum-”

“Henry. She’s not ill. and i know you’re sensible enough to not be up the whole night with your wife...at least under my roof. So…?”

He looks over at your peaceful form, and then scratches his neck, blushing at being caught out, but also ecstatic that he can finally say something about it.

“She’s eleven weeks. We’re expecting a baby next summer”

With that, his mother almost leaps with joy over to her son, who she hugs closely despite the obvious height barrier.

“Oh i knew it, I knew it! I’m so happy for you Henry, for you both. I thought, ‘She normally loves that bread for starter’, hm? Oh my boy! A father!”

With her proclamation, Henry finds that he has tears in his eyes as he holds his Mother close, finally glad that it’s not just a little secret between the two of you - well, the two of you and Kal, who had already been a stellar protector and big brother.

“We had planned to tell everyone after dessert…we’ve known for nearly 2 months and it’s been killing me that I couldn’t say. We’ve had to be so careful-“

“Henry?” he hears your quiet voice from across the room, as Kal’s collar jingles. He turns to see you sitting up from your nap with Kal booping his nose at your stomach. You’re scratching at his head, thanking him for being such a wonderful boy, while looking up at the two Cavills.

It takes less than a second for you to realise what is happening in front of you. Your jaw drops and louder than your previous call, you exclaim, “Henry you told her?”

“She worked it out! Practically forced it out of me.” he grins, holding his hands up as his Mother pretends to smack his arm.

You stand, watching not to step on Kal or any stray Legos that your nephews have left strewn across the floor, and walk over to hug her. She’s been so caring and kind since you’ve joined the family all those years ago, and you know that she will be an incredible Grandma to your little one.

Breaking apart from the hug, you find Henry pulling you to him carefully, letting you melt into his side. Kissing your forehead he asks, for your ears only, “Good sleep? No pains? Sickness?” He has a small crease of worry between his brows and you always do your best to soften that small tense area with regular updates and sweet kisses.

“Yeah i’m okay honey” you reassure him, patting your stomach, “this ones growing up a storm in there”.

And they really are. Henry’s mother cannot believe she’s seeing it, and mostly can’t believe she missed it. You’re already showing, but a large loose sweater -probably one of Henry’s old ones that has since become yours - over your dress, has hidden a sizeable roundness to your stomach that you were excited to finally show.

“How did I miss this!” Your mother-in-law gasps, causing you to grin, and Henry’s chest to puff with utter pride and excitement.

“I know it’s bordering on having too much to eat, but we’ve been hiding it for a couple weeks now. Doctor thinks that baby’s gonna be big. Just like their daddy.” You explain, giving your stomach another gentle rub, surprised to find Henry’s hand there on it already.

If you’d thought Kal was protective, Henry was another thing altogether.

He’s still grinning as you kiss him, before you pull away to speak more to his mother about all the details, especially when you’ll be coming over to Jersey again. Kai follows you closely, making sure you’re staying safe. He’s known that there’s something up with his mama, there has been for weeks, especially with the way his master looks after you now.

Henry, deciding to be sneaky while the two women in his life are currently distracted chatting, takes another taste of the dessert you made, now set out on the kitchen. The worst part is, he thinks he’s got away with it.

He realises he doesn’t the second you smack his hand from the dessert.

“Strike two Mr Cavill! Step away from the pie.”

“And if I don’t?” he raises an eyebrow, watching your reactions as you hold a butter knife in your hand trying to look at least vaguely threatening - failing miserably. “Maybe i’ll strike out tonight, hm?” he continues with that wonderfully mischievous glint in his eye, taking cautious steps towards you. “You look even sweeter than your pie with this little bump here. Maybe I’ll have a taste later after all.”

Henry’s mother had not been right in her assumptions, for under her roof, you and Henry were not sensible at all.

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

please let me know what u think! i am v nervous to post but excited!!!

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill writing #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #henry fic #cavillry #henry cavill fluff

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ohmycenchaheart · 3 years

Text

Came across these headcanons that I’d written post the finale because I refused to accept the show ending like that. I refuse to believe that after everything they’ve gone through, Cha Young and Vincenzo cannot be together. Sorry PJB, but that’s not happening (even if it was sorta realistic and brilliant). Anyway. This is what I’d have loved to see play out.

Homecoming

It happens on one of their game nights. Game day became game night because Cha Young often has trials at the court these days.

They’re playing Mafia again. Of course they are. And when Cha Young ends up as the Mafia, she thinks momentarily of a compliment, indulgently given over cups of Makgeolli, that maybe she truly did believe in the Mafia.

Their game is interrupted by the arrival of two of Geumga Family’s honorary members — Ahn Gi Seok and Cho Young Woon, who are lovingly welcomed with hugs and pats on the back. Because it’s not often most of the family gets to be together (most and not all, because one of them is always missing).

“Well, my old-looking hoobae and I were wondering if there’d be room for three more players at tonight’s game night…” “Yah, Ahn gun, we’ve been the ones drinking, but it seems you’re the one who is drunk,” says Mr. Tak. Upon which, Mr. Cho adds, “Ahh, you see, we brought an old friend along.”

And it is then a familiar voice greets them. “Annyeonghaseyo.”

To say that the Geumga Plaza family collectively loses it would be an understatement.

Mr. Nam is the first to tackle Vincenzo with a hug and his trademark “Byeonhosa-nim!”

Cha Young stands at the back, elated and trying to process if this is really happening, while Vincenzo gets hugged by the rest of the family. With a knowing smile, Yeon-Jin reassuringly squeezes Cha Young’s arm, while her husband gushes over Vincenzo, and others wait their turn to hug the now returned man.

When it is her turn for a hug, no one misses on how Vincenzo is the one to initiate the hug. No one even remarks on the soft look both their faces sport, or how their hug lasts a few seconds longer than the others’.

And then game night isn’t game night anymore. Over Tteokbokki and beer, Mr. Cho and Mr. Ahn reveal how they worked it all out, using their agency and the guillotine file to clear Vincenzo’s name and let him come back. On Vincenzo’s part, he still has his secret island, but he has moved his Italian family somewhere safe, and left someone very capable in charge. It’s not that he has changed his ways, no, he is still the man he was when he left. It’s just.. it was about time he returned home to his family.

The three also let the plaza people know how well Han Seo has been recovering after undergoing numerous surgeries, and how they hope he will be joining them back in Seoul after completing his rehabilitation therapy abroad. Mr. Nam wonders if that means they’ll be getting a new intern at Jipuragi sometime soon.

When Hee Soo accidentally drops her napkin and bends down to retrieve it, she catches the two lawyers holding hands under the table, while being the perfect picture of nonchalance. She smiles and doesn’t say a word.

When the family has finally finished catching up, and sleep gradually takes over them all, the group decides to disperse.

Before leaving, Mr. Lee and Yeon Jin let Vincenzo know what time his goddaughter will be awake the next day, so that he can finally meet her.

Cha Young and Vincenzo make their way to the footbridge (a place where some of their fondest memories linger still despite all the time that has passed) because there’s something Cha Young has to let him know: she might have (read: definitely has) taken over his old apartment.

It was honestly a matter of convenience, nothing else. For those days when work makes her put in longer hours, and it’s easier to sleep at the apartment rather than going back all the way home. Plus, she already had the spare key and it was easy to negotiate with Mr. Cho (who didn’t charge her a penny for the place, as if he’d dare). It had nothing to do with the fact that on days when Cha Young found herself missing him more than usual, curling up in this apartment brought her comfort. With all his things still there, sometimes it felt as if he hadn’t left.

But of course, Vincenzo already knows all this. Mr. Cho had already filled him in.

And so they make their way to the apartment 606. It still is sparsely furnished like the way it was when he lived there, but there are a few new additions. His couch has more pillows and a soft throw blanket. His living room table is littered with case files and a familiar bunny massage stick. In the kitchen there are boxes of ramen and instant coffee mix, and cartons holding makgeolli bottles. In his bathroom, there’s an extra toothbrush and a small make up bag by the sink. Bottles of shampoo and perfume and soap that smell like her now stand next to his old toiletries. It makes him smile because it feels he never left, like they’ve been living here together in this tiny apartment all this while, his world and hers mixing together. He won’t admit how many times he’s dreamt of this -- just them and the life they’ve made together.

When he enters his room, he finds half his closet space is taken over by her “emergency wardrobe”... And it seems his old Booralro sleepwear has somehow made its way to her pile of clothes. In Cha Young’s defence, despite looking silly, that silky nightshirt is ridiculously comfy, and it’d be such a shame if she let a limited edition piece of work go to waste. That she kept it because it reminds her of him remains unsaid.

The one addition Cha Young has made to the apartment that Vincenzo loves the most is in his room. Atop the dresser, next to all his lighters and Inzhagi’s bird food, are three photo frames. The first has a picture of him and his mum. The second is the portrait of the two of them with Cha Young. And the third is the picture from their fake proposal that the art gallery had emailed them. It’s funny how, despite spending all that time together, this was the only photo they had together. Vincenzo thinks it’s time they change that.

They both stand by the window, and when Inzhagi finally comes by to say hi to his old friend, Cha Young is reminded of a Shakespearean quote — Journeys end when lovers meet — because lets be real, Vincenzo’s true love is this pigeon. Vincenzo is highly offended when Inzhagi shows preference to the bird food Cha Young has laid out for him, and not the one Vincenzo has to offer. Guess Cha Young’s diligent feeding of the bird during his absence has secured her a new friend.

Given the late hour, it only makes sense that Cha Young sleep over. And traditions must be continued, so some ramyeon is made (this time it’s two servings because no matter what Cha Young says about not wanting ramyeon, Vincenzo remembers his lesson all too well) and bottles of Makgeolli are consumed.

The two wake up the next morning, all tangled up on the living room floor, in the space between the couch and the coffee table (that is now pushed aside). And despite the uncomfortable floor, it’s the soundest sleep they’ve both had in the last year and half.

But they need to wake up soon and head out. First stop coffee, a quick check up on their gold, and then to meet his goddaughter over whom he has promised to look after. And after that, a quick stop to their old Bungeoppang stand (if it’s still there) and a drive to where their parents now rest.

This, Vincenzo thinks as he holds an asleep Cha Young in his arms, is what it means to finally be home.

#can we just get a season 2 where he finally comes back to her never to leave #vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #cha young #vincenzo x cha young #chacenzo #chayenzo #vincenzo headcanons

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agent-absinthe · 3 years

Text

foreigner’s god pt. 1

marvel. bucky barnes/reader. canon divergent. heavy fic. 5k+

Blaire Briar gets through the day by telling herself that James Buchanan Barnes and the Winter Soldier are two different people. It makes knowing he’s been pardoned and walking free easier for her to process. Only when she’s forced to assist on a mission with him on the team roster her carefully constructed coping begins to crumble. Forced to finally deal with their shared trauma Blaire and Bucky begin the difficult process of healing. The process is made more difficult when Bucky realizes that despite everything he has feelings for her.

warnings: assault, rape/non-con, violence, blood, sexual content, language, No Snap AU

“Sir, I can’t take this assignment.”

Director Coulson looked up at the woman from his desk where he had been staring at the phone, currently on hold with Stark, a record 48 minutes now.

“That assignment requires your skill set, I would think after complaining of not feeling useful you’d be happy for the opportunity.”

“Sir,” she tried again- almost pleading, “I cannot take this. Not with this team.”

He leaned back in the chair and considered the woman in front of him. Special Agent Blaire Briar, who worked mainly as a grunt in Comms for recon teams. Except when her special talent of Energy Vampirism brought her out into the field. Although she wasn’t used often for the skill set, when it was needed she became invaluable. Briar started out as an intern for Shield brought in by Maria Hill on a Stark recommendation- a series of personal traumas set off by Alexander Pierce led to her current position.

“The team was hand picked and is non negotiable. Captain Rogers prefers to work with those he trusts and he says he needs you, this isn’t a request.”

“I have trauma with the Winter Soldier. I can’t-”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Coulson corrected feeling guilt at her desperate expression, “he was pardoned so as far as the government and all other agencies are concerned all reparations are paid. Any personal feelings are just that- personal- and are to be dealt with in your own time.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You’ll be reprimanded and will most likely cost thousands of people their lives if not more. I know that’s not something you want on your hands Agent, so just take the assignment. You’ll be back in comms by the end of the weekend if all goes well.”

This was fucking bullshit.

Blaire couldn’t see straight as she stomped down the hall back to comms, gripping the wall from a sudden bout of nausea that overtook her. The folder was delivered to her in the afternoon by a security personnel and at first she had been thrilled to receive the assignment. There were ruins on a small island off the coast of Ireland thought to contain a training base for Hydra recruits. Files inside the base could provide names of remaining Hydra agents, contracts and agreements that the terrorist organization made, among other intel that could be incredibly useful. It sounded interesting and she was itching to get out there and live a mission instead of listening in on one.

“Whoa, you ok? Jesus, Blaire you look like you’re about to throw up.” Hill’s voice sounded like it came from far away even when she put a concerned hand on her back.

“Tell me this job is worth it.”

“What?”

“I need you to keep me from walking the fuck outta here. I can’t do this shit anymore, I can’t fucking do it. I could be at Stark Industries or- or working with Strange or pouring goddamn drinks at Starbucks getting verbally abused by assholes.”

Her hands were on her knees now as she tried to focus on her breathing and stave off the panic attack building in her chest. She was too young for this kind of stress. Was any of this worth it? The manilla folder containing her assignment was tossed to the floor, open on the team roster page so his name glared out at them.

James Buchanan Barnes

When Maria saw the name she knew what was wrong immediately and knelt in front of Blaire, hands on her cheeks so she had to focus on her.

“Hey, hey, hey breathe for me, Briar. That’s it. Listen, they’re two different people- two completely different people.”

“I know that. I know.”

“You can do this, you’re strong and I know for a fact that you’re too much of a bitch to let something stop you from doing your job, right?”

Briar laughed at that, the laughter dissolving into tears momentarily before she regained her composure, “right.”

“You are the only one that can help them on that mission, you’re the one that’s gonna be calling the shots. Now let’s go ahead and go down to development so we can get you measured for your gear.”

“Are you listening to me, James?” Dr. Raynor asked with a forceful tap of her pen against the notepad to get his attention.

“Not really.”

She sighed and started writing waiting until he looked up with irritation before continuing, “I said done correctly this could be an opportunity for you to cross another name off the list. Emphasis on done correctly.”

Bucky let out a breath he was holding in and turned to the window so he could pretend not to hear what Raynor was saying. The therapist was right and so was Steve when he approached Bucky last week to let him know about who they needed for the recon. He’d apologized to people he tried to kill easy enough, but it didn’t feel like there was a proper way to apologize for what he did to her.

“And what am I supposed to do when I see her? Just walk up and say sorry? It’s like you and Steve live in this perfect little world where forgiveness is just handed out the minute someone says sorry.”

“Steve and I live in the real world where we face our problems-”

“Oh, here we go.”

“-where we face our problems and hope that we can be forgiven for any harm caused. You’ll be working with this girl so you will have to face it sooner or later, make sure Rogers is there when you do it if that will make you feel more comfortable. That’ll be your homework until our next session- try to come to terms with what happened and make an effort to talk to Briar.”

It was just the same shit Steve told him over and over. Dr. Raynor sure as hell couldn’t know what he was going through even Steve didn’t understand this part of adjusting.

Of atonement.

When he closes his eyes and concentrates he can still see Pierce with a smile telling him about a “special” side mission, a “treat really”, that he wanted The Winter Soldier to complete.

Her apartment was quiet when he entered through the bedroom window to begin the first step of the mission. Placing a small hidden camera in the framework of her gaming setup tucked in a corner across from the bed. When he walked into the rest of the home he was stopped by a curious mew and looked down to find a fat, grey cat weaving between his legs. The cat observed him for the rest of the camera placements and sweep of the apartment, disarming any weapons he found. A loaded gun under the sink, a taser between couch cushions, and a knife on the bathroom vanity.

“Your target’s not on her way yet so hang tight. Fix the camera in the living room while you wait, I want it more focused on the couch and turn on your body camera.” Pierce’s voice came over the earpiece sounding almost bored as he sat at his desk and looked through the new feeds.

He gravitated back to her bedroom when he wasn’t given another task finding that the room was pleasant to be in. Warm and dim, smelling like the floral perfume bottle he inspected earlier. The cat followed and jumped to the bed meowing at the soldier in annoyance when he didn’t pet him. Something like muscle memory took over and Bucky lifted his flesh hand out to the cat who purred rubbing it’s face into the palm.

“Good cat.” He mumbled earning another meow and purr.

After a few more minutes of radio silence he sat, the mattress and box spring groaned under his weight and the softness felt foreign. When another minute passed he leaned back in the unmade bed and didn’t move as a purring weight laid on his stomach. It was all so...comforting. Only when his eyes began to close did the earpiece screech on.

“Target’s in transit, be ready when she gets there-”

The front door opening interrupted Pierce, “Tikki! Where is my fat little man?”

Tikki jumped off of him and he could hear the cat meowing to it’s owner as she walked to the kitchen, tossing her bags down on the way. The woman looked normal enough to him, a little heavy for an agent but nothing he couldn’t handle.

“She’s worn out from training but we still don’t know how long her power can last. You need to get the implant in her neck to block the absorption if she tries anything.”

Bucky fished in his utility belt for the dime sized, pronged disk and held it in his fist as he stalked closer to the kitchen. She was singing to herself while stacking up dirty dishes to make room for a take out bag.

“Thank god I got there before they closed and yes they did give me some grilled chicken for you, Tikki. Such a fat kitty, lucky you’re so cute. Sure as hell don’t keep you around to pay rent, you’re a freeloader and you don’t even care!”

Pierce was telling him to proceed, but Bucky stood in the doorway and watched her set a small bowl down in front of Tikki who ignored it to eye him and meow louder, suddenly puffing up as if realizing that the strange man was now a threat.

“What’s the matter you crazy cat? That’s all you’re getting so deal with it.”

A low growl and hiss.

“Jesus Christ, what? Is there a fucking-” She started and turned around only for her voice to die in her throat as they stared at one another.

“Ok, Bucky?” Dr. Raynor repeated.

“Ya ok.”

This was it. They were getting briefed this morning then they’d be flown out, Blaire could barely stand without shaking so she sat at her small cubicle in comms until it was time. She should have known that Steve would try to play good guy and come find her.

“Hey, Blaire.”

“What do you want?”

“Briefing is gonna start soon, thought we could walk down there together.”

“To make you feel better or me?”

The super soldier leaned against her desk and crossed his arms, “you know I wouldn’t put you in this position if I didn’t have to. There’s no other way for us to get through those doors, trust me we’ve tried.”

“Let’s just get it over with.”

She wasn’t trying to lash out at Rogers on purpose but it was hard to control her anger when she felt this shitty. Steve and her used to be good friends, introduced by Tony who thought Blaire could make the soldier blush, they ended up balancing each other out nicely. After what happened with the winter soldier and Shield they grew apart not talking unless Tony had a gathering they were both obligated to attend. It was a loss on both ends when they stopped hanging out, the easy back and forth humor between them almost nonexistent now. It was early enough in the morning that the pair walked in silence without many other agents around until Steve broke it.

“I know I don’t have any room to say this, but Bucky’s a good guy. Begged me to find another way so you wouldn’t have to see him, tried to back out of the mission, he feels like shit about this and he wants to apologize to you.”

Blaire already knew where this was going, “and you’re the buffer?”

“His therapist suggested it. Dr. Raynor.”

That wasn’t something she expected. Therapy was a good sign, taking the therapist’s advice an even better one. Blaire wasn’t stupid she knew that Barnes was under the influence of years of systematic abuse when he attacked her, practically brainwashed and nearly physically impossible for him to defy an order. He was a victim too. That’s what made being angry at him still so hard.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Steve opening the door to the conference room to see Barnes pacing. The hair was shorter and the arm was new, but his body had the same heavy muscle and wide stance. She found that she couldn’t look at him when they finally made eye contact, not directly anyway. Focusing instead on the zipper of his gear or scruff on his chin.

He’s handsome. Why the fuck does he have to be handsome? It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. The world was playing some kind of fucked up joke for her to still be attracted to him. That wasn’t new of course; she found him attractive since she first saw the winter soldier in photos and videos from the attack on Fury in Pierce’s office. She had been standing there staring at the holograms when Pierce made an offhand remark about it, teasing her for her flushed cheeks. Now that she knew he was the one who ordered the attack the memory made her boil with shame.

“Agent Briar.” At least he was trying to be polite.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

“I-” he stopped, his adam’s apple bobbing with anxiety as he swallowed. “I am no longer The Winter Soldier, I am James Buchanan Barnes and you’re part of my effort to make amends-”

“Your therapist knows how to write a good script.” Blaire interrupted.

Steve didn’t make a move to intervene and stayed off to the side sipping a coffee and watching.

“Look, I know that you were not in control of yourself when it happened and because of that you are also a victim in the situation,” she said it slowly trying to sound reasonable, “There isn’t a lot that you can apologize for. Pierce is the one who owes me that and he’s been dead for a few years now so I doubt I’ll be getting it anytime soon.”

“Thank you for understanding, not a lot of people do, but I still have to tell you how sorry I am for the pain that I caused you. I want to try to make things right or as right as they can be.”

“If you really want that then you’ll interact with me as little as possible. Please understand that it’s not personal. I just can’t fucking look at you.”

Barnes nodded quickly, the words cut him to the core in a way he had never experienced. Yet he still apologized, still at least tried to make amends with Blaire and despite her blunt reaction he hoped Dr. Raynor would consider it a success.

“Yeah, of course. I can do that.”

Bucky thought he was doing a good job with it so far too. He stayed in the flank of the group during the mission and got to see her work after she was able to duplicate an energy reading and get through to the bunker. Three Hydra agents crumpled to the floor as soon as they rounded a corner to stop their progress, Briar released the pent up energy she absorbed from them at the next group they came across. Leaving their bodies broken and bloody in a heap against a wall.

“Hey, Cap why the hell did you drag me outta bed on a Saturday? Looks to me like Miss Atom Bomb here’s got it covered.”

“Miss Atom Bomb sounds like way too pretty of a hero name for me, Sam.” She laughed tossing a smile back at the Falcon, “guys on the Strike team just used to call me Leech.”

“Those guys were assholes.”

“Ya, they were pretty awful most of the time. M’not gonna be able to keep it up much longer though, I fill up on too much and I burn out quick. I got a few more bursts in me before I start seeing doubles.”

The bunker ended up being an intel goldmine opening up several leads for the team to follow in their mission to eradicate Hydra once and for all. Being part of that kind of adrenaline high in person had made Blaire even more dizzy than her burn out, no wonder field agents dreaded being behind a desk. It wasn’t until they were strapped back in the plane with the sun rising that she was beginning to feel that same dread. She was dirty and tired but helped more in this mission than she had almost her entire time in Communications.

“How ya feelin’, Briar?”

“Like shit, Romanoff. How about you?”

Natasha laughed and handed her a rations bar, “good to see you out in the field. Started feeling like the boy’s club for awhile.”

“How on Earth will you cope with my loss come Monday?”

“A quick word with Coulson and I won’t have to cope with anything.” She offered. Producing another rations bar from her pocket like a bribe.

“Nat, I can’t. Look at me, I’m not fit for field work-”

“You just obliterated more than 50 guys in that bunker and I’ve seen your hand to hand combat, it’s not bad.”

“Ya but I’m about to fucking pass out now. I mean- it’s complicated.”

The assassin stretched out and settled in next to Blaire trying to think of a way to talk her into it. Wanda and Vision were off trying to live the domesticality that Tony now had, leaving their team bare bones. There was no telling when or if Thor would show back up from trying to fix shit back home, they were missing a super and Blaire seemed the best fit.

“You wanna be in communication so bad then why don’t you be our guardian angel when we don’t absolutely need you in the field? It would get you out of that cubicle more often anyway, sure we could talk Coulson into a pay raise too. Plus you’ll get to listen to my voice and boss Steve around, what more could you want?”

“You’ve operated without a guide in HQ for so long. No one’s gonna buy it.”

“They will if Golden Boy and Wings asks.”

Blaire took the second ration bar and rolled her eyes, “I’ll think about it.”

She ended up taking it of course once Nat wanted something she almost always got it, Blaire sure as shit wasn’t going to tell her no. For the most part it started out really well with the exception of a few hiccups in finding her place on the field when it came to real action. Off the field was a different story- Blaire knew how to operate a team in a way that both got the job done safely and felt like borderline workplace violence at the same time. Bucky tended to be the target for the latter on most missions.

“You don’t listen! Jesus fucking christ I am going to buy a goddamn adult tether backpack for you! And ya know who’s gonna have to hold the leash? Wilson!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa don’t drag me into this. I’m doin’ my job.”

Bucky wanted to dig out the earpiece and throw it, “I still took care of it, didn’t I?”

“You fight like you have handlers still, Barnes. News flash, you don’t! I’m the one who has to file all the paperwork when you go off course on your own and cause mayhem and destruction like its the fucking Winter Soldier Show.”

All Bucky did was ignore her suggestion to not engage with the hostiles ahead until Natasha and Steve followed suit. There were only three guys from what he could see and a hostage was waiting for them with time running out so he did what he thought was best. There ended up being six instead of three and the hostage received a minor injury when he wasn’t able to get to them fast enough.

“Well, it’s over and done with now so could you just shut up?”

Everyone on the line went dead silent for a few seconds.

“Quinjet is waiting at the extraction point for pick up. Good job team, we look forward to your safe return to the hanger. Briar signing off.” Came the calm check out.

Sam landed next to Bucky with a satisfied chuckle, “oh you fucked up big time, buddy.”

“I hate you.”

She wasn’t waiting for them like she usually did when they landed, coming in a few minutes later with a small med team in tow to look over injuries. Barnes waved off the attempts to dab blood off of his brow where he caught a stray punch and focused on getting his gear off. Blaire wasn’t about to let him off the hook just yet, still too blinded by her rage to consider letting them both cool off before talking.

“That’s the third time you ignored me when I told you not to run blindly into enemy fire. What’s your problem, Barnes?”

“I’m not the one with a problem.”

“Are you kidding? It’s like you do this shit on purpose just to piss me off.”

“I do!” He yelled, turning around to make eye contact with her. “The only time you ever acknowledge me is when I get you riled up.”

“Oh, you poor baby do I not pay enough attention to you so you feel like you gotta act out?”

Bucky dropped the rest of his gear and started towards her, already feeling his energy dropping with each step from her defense. He didn’t let it show and only stopped when he was in front of her.

“You’re the one with the problem here. How am I supposed to fix this when you won’t talk to me? You won’t even look at me dammit! I’m the only one making an effort and I can’t let go of it if you won’t.”

Their voices boomed in the near empty hanger as Steve was making his way over to break it up after releasing the rescued hostage over to medical, fearing that he may be too late to salvage their already rocky relationship.

“What do you want, huh? You wanna hit me? Go on doll, take a shot and get it out of your system.” Bucky continued leaning down to her height tauntingly.

“Maybe I do.”

“Great, let’s go.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea-” Rogers started.

“Stay out of it, Steve!” They shouted in near unison before Blaire turned on her heel and began speed walking to the exit with Bucky right behind her.

The night air was shockingly cold against their flushed skin and it made Bucky think a little more clearly as the door slammed shut behind him. Only when he went to say something Blaire caught him by surprise with a haymaker to his cheek. Her punch held more power than he would have thought, momentarily knocking him off balance enough for Blaire to ram him. The impact of their bodies knocked both down to the wet grass as they struggled until she was on top raining half pulled punches down that she didn’t follow through with. Her hits fueled by emotion slowly got weaker and weaker until she slid off of him sobbing.

“I didn’t get mandated therapy. I lost my dignity and my job and my will to live in the span of a fucking week.” She choked out, nails digging into the artificial turf. “Then everyone found out it was Pierce that put out the hit and all that footage was just uploaded to the Hydra file. Oh don’t worry Blaire it’s classified it’s so classified but no we can’t delete it or anything sorry. I can get into it, I can see that file and I only have level green clearance. It’s just sitting there for anyone to look at it. My coworkers, bosses, the fuckin’ guys in coding. They can just type in credentials and watch me get raped.”

This must have been what Dr. Raynor meant by coming to terms. Pulling everything ugly out to the open so they didn’t have to dance around it any longer.

He looked strange without any of the guns and knives strapped to him, but it was still The Winter Soldier. Blaire knew that in an instant from the face mask strapped to him like a muzzle and the silver arm shining against his black modified jacket. She was frozen. Never in her life had she experienced Freeze instead of Fight, but then again she couldn’t remember the last time she was this scared. Thoughts ticked off in rapid fire until Tikki jumped up on the counter with a hiss breaking the spell. She threw the take out bowl of hot matzo ball soup that he easily dodged and turned around to feel under sink for the gun only to find it gone. A hand clamped something down on the back of her neck, his metal one coming down around her mouth like a vice when she yelled out for help.

“Any of your neighbors try to help they die.”

No, that wasn’t right. He sounded local, like he was from New York. That wasn’t possible. The metal crushing her jaw came off when she threw her elbow back with full force catching his ribs. It came darting back out immediately and shoved her to the kitchen floor on her stomach, his heavy weight on her lower back and ass was crushing as he straddled her.

“Fuck off! Better kill me because I’m not saying shit about anything.” She growled trying to buck him off.

There was no answer only his body going still like he wasn’t sure of the next move himself. Then the weight was gone and for a second Blaire thought that maybe she could get away or at least get to her phone on the counter and send a message to Shield. It was when she tried crawling away that she felt his fingers hook into her shorts and jerk them down.

“No!” More panic now than before. The prospect of death was always looming over her working where she did, but not this. Please anything but this.

With the shorts off she was rolled to her back as he straddle her hips, his hands trying to catch her wrists again while she fought. Nails raked down his face and neck, leaving rivets of red and tearing off his mask as they went. When Blaire caught sight of his face she knew it was over. There was no emotion there, just a slack jaw and blown out pupils. He was going through the motions like someone was telling him what to do, a machine being controlled by someone else. When the soldier did catch her wrists and pin them down with his metal hand he went still again, staring down at her as blood dripped off his face.

“I don’t wanna do this.” He suddenly announced maybe to her or to no one.

“You don’t have to! Just leave, just get up and leave. It’s not too late.”

She could hear the faint static buzz of someone screaming from his earpiece and then the slack look was back and her thighs were being kneed open. It was happening so fast and Blaire found herself completely powerless, he had done something to her to stop her energy absorption and without that she was just some intern with a little gun training. No amount of fight, of pleading, would help her now. Somehow that was more terrifying than anything else.

“Stop it! Get off me, get off! I’ll fucking kill you!”

The threats sizzled out into broken shrieks as he thrust into her hard enough to hurt both of them with no prep. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes from the pain and violation, droplets of his blood now falling faster onto her as he moved. Blaire tried catching his hip with her heel to get him off and keep fighting but the metal squeezed her wrists tighter in warning til they gave way with a crunch, his pace never slowing and only growing sloppier. The pain was too much for her to even scream for help, not that she’d want to. Didn’t need poor Miss Hoffman coming in here waving her cane to the rescue only to end up dead.

She looked past his blank face to stare at her kitchen ceiling focusing on the water mark in the corner she kept meaning to paint over. His flesh hand came up to her face to cover and turn it away as if he didn’t want her looking at him. The kitchen filled with the scent of soldier’s blood making her mouth taste like pennies. Droplets of it felt like scalding water as it fell on her check and neck. How long would it take to scrub his scent off? Her body couldn’t seem to adjust fast enough to allow her any relief but by the grace of whatever cruel god watched the display his hips stuttered and stopped. A sob bubbled up from the sensation- too hot and too full, seeping out of her before he even pulled out.

There was always a point in his missions where the targets gave in and stopped fighting. He watched that happen with this one after he stood. Watched her curl in on herself as she laid there crying with his cum dripping out of her and down the back of her thighs. Then he was back to her bedroom window without retrieving his mask or the blocking device, no longer listening to whatever was coming through the earpiece. Mind going absolutely haywire and telling him he just needed to get out.

“I’m sorry, Blaire. I didn’t know.” Bucky sat up with his own chest beginning to tighten at what she was telling him, it made him sick.

She cried harder and shook her head, “it’s not your fault, Barnes. No matter how much I want it to be so I wouldn’t feel so shitty for hating you. It’s not your fault.”

Without thinking Bucky leaned over and wrapped an arm around Blaire pulling her to his chest. She tensed at first but relaxed and returned the hug when she felt him begin to shake too. So they sat together on the wet turf and cried until Steve managed to herd them back inside thankful they hadn’t killed each other.

Bucky kept a hand on Briar’s shoulder as they entered, “Are we good?”

“Ya, we’re good.” She clapped him on the back and then punched his arm as an after thought, “but if you ever tell me to shut up during a mission again I’ll tell your therapist and make sure you have to go to sensitivity training. This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“I’ll only get a rise out of you when I want you to yell at me then.”

He watched her roll her eyes and could have sworn he saw the corner of her mouth turn up into a smile. That made him smile too and Bucky felt a new sense of ease. Unsurprisingly at his next session with Dr. Raynor he found it easier to open up.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes/reader #Bucky Barnes #marvel #rape/non-con #assault #fanfiction #ao3 #eventual fluff #smut #trauma #ok so i havent posted anything on tumblr in a long time but I really wanted to post this #kinda way out of my comfort zone as far as topics since i dont usually write so much trauma #next part coming in a few days since it's already written

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im-the-king-of-the-ocean · 3 years

Text

The Bitterness of the Earth

Jonmartin Week Day 3: Healing & Recovery // Self Sacrifice

I originally planned for this to be the first in a series of oneshots set in this fantasy au, but things didn’t go quite as planned (I didn’t get the other oneshots written in time for jmart week). So instead I think I’m going to restructure it as a short multi-chapter fic.

Enjoy!

@jonmartinweek

The first lesson Martin learned after transforming for the first time, when his mind was still realizing his body had switched sizes and everything was different and wrong, was never to interfere with the ocean’s whims.

The old sea captain who had changed him looked down upon his flailing form with uncaring eyes and told Martin it is their way. As one of them now, Martin is bound forevermore to follow their laws without question, lest they forsake him to return to his miserable life on shore.

Martin tried to gasp and beg, plead ‘no, no! Of course I’ll follow the rules!’ at that. The thought of returning to where everything ached and hurt and was never ending pain horrified him down to his soul. Neither words nor familiar sounds came out of his mouth, for it was gone completely. Instead, Martin made a gurgled, strained squawk with his new, unfamiliar beak.

Peter Lukas, the old sea captain, chuckled at Martin as if he could understand him. He rubbed a hand across his large, salt-speckled beard, took one final consideration of Martin, and then turned and strolled off into the thick fog that covered the docks.

It took Martin a handful of days, though time blurred together so he’d never be quite sure just how many, to adjust to his albatross form and learn to fly. It took significantly longer for him to gain the confidence to leave the shoreline behind and glide out to sea for the first time. It was almost two years before he realized he could purposefully transform himself from albatross form to human and back again.

It was not something Martin did often.

He kept to his role, gliding out above the waves, always watching, observing, but only swooping down long enough to feed himself when he felt hunger. High amidst the clouds, everything was easier. The world was quiet and calm, unbothered by his presence. Martin found it nice, pleasant, and came to not care how deeply he sank into the feeling.

Eventually, driven by the need to have a place to rest after particularly brutal storms, Martin found a small, isolated island to call his own. He never considered turning it into a home, but he did build a structure and fill it with books and other distractions for the few times when he felt like being human again.

Things progressed for years. Martin’s life remained peaceful, tranquil. Not much changed in the day by day for him. He could never bring himself to care too much.

...

As one unremarkable day dies and an equally uninteresting night begins, thick, dark storm clouds roll across the sky. Not in the mood to deal with the lightning spirits who would surely come out to dance, Martin hunkers down on his island.

He observes as wind whips the few trees and vegetation of his not-home and howls bitter agony. Waves roar and crash, wreaking havoc upon the beach. Thunder bellows. Lightning cracks across the sky in blinding flashes.

The storm reaches its crescendo somewhere in the hours just before dawn. The wind twists and twists. For a moment, Martin fully believes a tornado will form and sweep him off wherever it pleases. With a deafening snap, the sky cracks open. Something falls, tumbling through the funneling wind. With a mighty smack, it plunges into the ocean. Water shoots up and sprays in all directions. Waves roll, and then still.

Slowly, surely, as if nothing of note had happened, the storm subsides. The world calms back into silence. Martin blinks, and ducks his head back inside his shelter. He’ll wait until sunrise to take off again. Best not to tempt the powers that be so soon after they expressed themselves.

When morning comes, and Martin walks across the beach, indulging in the squish of the sand between his toes, he finds himself coming to a startled stop just before the spot where he usually gives up his human form. There’s something there. Someone. Someone with the warm, even breath of the living. A form, unceremoniously dumped by the ocean on dry land, where it naturally belongs.

Martin stares at it, uncertain of what to do. It has been so, so long since he’s come across another person, he doesn’t know how to, what to, should he…?

A muffled groan comes from the person, and an emotion long disused painfully twinges inside Martin. He smothers it back down and, when that doesn’t truly work to rid himself of it, resigns himself to dragging the person to his shelter. He doesn’t care what happens to them, Martin tells himself. He just wants the guilt that will accompany doing nothing to go away.

The person sleeps and sleeps and sleeps and fills Martin’s abode with the rich scent of earth, and life.

…

The first time Jon wakes, it’s in the unexpected way one does when they weren’t expecting to wake at all. Which is to say, he opens his eyes, sucks in a breath, and abruptly feels everything hurting, throbbing, all at once. He groans and tries to bring up one arm to shield his eyes from the too bright sunlight. He’s stopped, and shushed quietly. Calm, cool hands pin him down.

Jon thrashes. His throat is too hoarse to scream, but he won’t, he won’t. Not after everything he did. He stopped Elias—Jonah—whoever. He sacrificed his life. The world is better off for it. But, no. No. If he must live yet, then Jonah doesn’t get to keep him. Have him. Jon struggles, uncaring of the damage he does to himself or whoever’s holding him.

“Be still,” says a tentative voice, unsure of itself, like it’s not used to speaking. “You are very hurt.”

Jon relaxes. It’s not Jonah’s voice, dripping with condescending and self-satisfaction. Regardless of how much his head is swimming right now, Jon is positive Jonah is incapable of sounding so timid. He attempts to speak, to ask who the stranger tending to him is. He only manages a mangled whimper.

A dish is pressed to Jon’s dry lips. A trickle of cool, crisp water runs into his mouth and down his throat. Without hesitation, Jon slurps the water greedily. When he’s drunken all he can tolerate, Jon settles his head back down. He closes his eyes to give them a brief reprieve.

He won’t remember falling asleep until the next time he finds himself waking again.

…

Jon sleeps and wakes and sleeps and wakes in a dizzying cycle he can’t keep track of. Each time he stirs, it’s for a handful of minutes at most. Long enough to gulp down some water or what could possibly be soup broth offered to him. He groans and murmurs what are hopefully intelligible articulations of the questions his feverish brain comes up with; Who are you? Why are you taking care of me? Where are we?

His mysterious caretaker doesn’t offer explanations, only soothing ‘shushes’ that are so soft Jon wonders if he imagined them. The most Jon is able to feel the person’s presence happens late one night, when he’s jostled out of a nightmare into wakefulness. There’s hands on his shoulders. Jon almost screams at the physical contact. The hands immediately vanish.

“You’re alright. It was a bad dream. You’re safe. Nothing will hurt you here.”

Jon gasps. How can I trust you? is the question he wants to ask, but he can’t quite get those words out. He’s not scared of this person. If they wanted to hurt him, they’ve had ample opportunities. The question of trust, though, is something Jon’s not sure he wants an answer for. Not while he’s so vulnerable.

Out of the darkness comes a thick blanket of better quality than any Jon has noted so far during his stay wherever this is. It surrounds, and then swaddles him. No matter how hard he looks, Jon can’t make out more than his caretaker’s moving silhouette. It leans in close to Jon and he hears the words, “Sleep peacefully now,” whispered in his ear.

In the morning, Jon wakes. There’s no sign anyone but himself was ever there.

…

Martin paces across the beach. This is bad. This is very bad. Being around someone for so long feels uncomfortable, like something under his skin is aflame. No matter what he does, he can’t make the sensation go away. He wants it to. He wants to not care. He can’t.

“I just need to get him off the island,” Martin tells himself, while not sounding very convinced. “Then everything can go back to the way it was. Like it never happened.”

Is it technically even interfering if the ocean spat the man out onto the island? Surely, if it was the waves’ will to drown him, the man would have been gulped down long before he could ever reach Martin. Saving his life, therefore, wasn’t actually breaking any rules.

Martin pauses in his pacing, considering. He knows what Peter would say to him now. What Peter would have done in his place. He’s not Peter. Martin squeezes his eyes shut and clenches and unclenches his fists. No matter how hard he tries (and he’s mostly done his best to avoid having to try at all), he cannot bring himself to be cruel, or completely callous.

Martin sighs. He heads back into his shelter. He purposefully looks everywhere but the man he’s been nursing back to health. Martin reasons with himself that, if he is to make a voyage (a true voyage on a boat), he needs to take stock of what supplies he has.

He’s deep into counting what little funds he has and debating how to go about acquiring a boat when he hears a small, but pointed cough. Martin ignores it. He knows how to sail well enough. Once upon a time, he was part of the Tundra’s crew. That’s not the issue. Flying to the coast and acquiring a small dinghy to transport the man is. Martin will have to talk to people.

Maybe he could steal something? Scavenge from a junkyard?

There’s a second pointed cough. This time, it strikes Martin that someone had to have made it. Apprehension sinking in his gut, he turns.

Looking at him, studying him with what could be called a curious expression, is the man. He has warm brown eyes and tangled curly hair matted with sand and sea water. He clears his throat, making a hoarse, rough sound. Habitually, Martin reaches for the fresh water he’s been keeping for his patient and passes it over to him. He watches as the man’s long, spindly fingers tentatively reach out, touch the water gourd, take it, and then lift it to his lips.

It’s hypnotizing to watch the man drink. The way his adam’s apple bobs up and down as he gulps. How he pauses to take a breath and wipe his mouth on the back of a hand. It’s like he’s a beacon radiating warmth and life directly in front of Martin. The longer Martin stares at him, the more the chill that has cloaked him for years dispels.

Martin jumps back. He calls upon Forsaken to wrap him in its cold, comforting embrace. Fog rolls. The man makes a startled noise. Without thinking, Martin calls forth light mists and pushes them forward to shroud the man. He tells the mists to make the man sleep.

Martin exhales with relief when the man’s eyelids flutter and he slumps back down.

…

In the end, Martin leaves the man in an enchanted sleep, flies to the nearest continent, finds a wooden, one-man dinghy on a dock, and leaves a pouch with all the coins in his possession in its place. The sail back to his island takes some time, as he’s unused to traveling without a bird’s eye view, but Martin manages it.

The man’s state is unchanged upon Martin’s return. He slumbers uninterrupted. Martin gazes down at him, wonders at him, and then gently bundles him up in blankets and carries him to the dinghy. It isn’t hard. He’s a small, slight man.

The journey is a peaceful, contemplative one. If he’s being honest, Martin rather enjoys it. It’s been years since he last took the time to sail anywhere.

Reaching shore, however, brings back all his old anxieties and fears in a tidal wave of inescapable emotion. The first moment he sees land, Martin panics. What is he going to do? He can’t just unceremoniously dump the man somewhere. Not after all he’s done to take care of him. He needs to make sure he’s safe. At the very least.

Martin stays out at sea for a few days, floating, uncertain and nervous, until a fog bank rolls in from over the water. Under its comforting, concealing damp, Martin finally approaches the shore. He steps off onto the docks, the man held securely in his arms, and soundlessly walks off to find a hospital.

For three days and nights, Martin watches from windows, in his albatross form, as doctors and nurses tend to his man. He’s there when the enchanted sleep wears off and the man wakes and blearily looks around.

Martin spreads his wings and takes off before he can be noticed.

As he flies away, one of his feathers already loose and on its way out, drifts in through the window and lands on the floor of the man’s room.

The man turns at the movement, slides himself out of bed, pads over, and plucks the feather up between his fingertips. He studies it intently, an unreadable expression on his face.

…

There is a man in Jon’s dreams. One he doesn’t quite recognize, but who feels so very familiar. The man’s hair is the color of sand shifting on a beach. His eyes, the blurred blue-gray where sea and sky meet. His skin is vague, somewhere between seashells and fog. Sometimes Jon thinks his imagination concocted the man all on its own. A fantasy. A personification of the ocean to humanize his own experiences while lost at sea.

It’s a lucky miracle, the doctors and nurses of the hospital where he stays during his recovery tell him, that the dockhand who found him unconscious on his boat discovered him when he did. They feared the worst would have happened if no one had stumbled upon him. Jon silently nods along with their explanations. He doesn’t wish to worry them, or be argumentative over the matter. Even if his memory is hazy in some areas, he knows they wouldn’t understand the full story of what he’s been through. He doesn’t want to drag them into it either.

Jon insists on keeping the albatross feather he found on the floor, despite the doctors protests of cleanliness. He holds it at least once every day. Studies it. It reveals nothing to him. At the same time, he can’t bring himself to discard it. It connects him. To what, he’s not quite sure, but it’s not a connection he wants to lose.

When he’s finally discharged, Jon makes arrangements. He acquires a horse and rides across the land to a city tucked in the mountains. It would have been easier to hire an airship, certainly, but an unease in his stomach prevents him from taking to the skies.

Jon passes through the city until he finds the university it’s famous for. He inquires around and makes his way to an ivy-covered, lopsided but still standing, tower on the edge of the campus some distance from every other structure. Without knocking, he opens its door and walks up its spiral staircase all the way to the office at the top.

“Come in,” speaks a tired voice from the other side as he reaches the final step. “And tell me what you seek.”

Jon does as he’s bid. He walks into the office where books are stacked high against the walls. He places his albatross feather down on the desk in front of the seer, who quirks an eyebrow. Ever so carefully, Jon takes a folded bit of parchment out of his pocket and smoothes it out so the seer, a man with long, unkept black hair can read what it says:

My voice was once stolen. This is how I speak.

and a little below that,

I need your help to find the one who this feather belonged to.

#jonmartinweek2021 #the magnus archives #magnuspod #jonmartin #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #whirls writing

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aliveanddrunkonsunlight · 3 years

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food

Jaime x Brienne + alternate love languages

For @naomignome

Author’s Note: The previous ficlets, I was writing from their POV for each love language and how they receive that from the other person. Example: how Brienne hears/receives words of affirmation from Jaime. This is flipped, where I’m writing it from the POV of the person who is communicating the love (if that makes sense.)

They are both, somehow, alive. The sun peeks over the distant horizon. Carnage and ashes surround them, the stench of battle filling their noses.

Her chambers. Armor coming off with shaky hands, dirt and sweat stained bodies sagging as they fall into merciful sleep.

Jaime wakes, not in cold darkness as he expects, but with the quiet rustle of flames in the hearth. The floor is no longer littered with armor. It sits across the table and chairs, his and hers, polished so carefully, the firelight dancing in its sheen.

Before his feet hit the floor, he knows where he will find her. She is in the moonlit yard, helping the other men build the pyres. He coaxes her back to bed, somehow, but the next morning, he wakes to find her side of the bed already empty.

The circles under her eyes darken and grow deeper. The crease in her brow remains constant. It is on the third day when he touches her hand in passing, feels the cold clamminess of it, and worries she is turning into one of the creatures they fought. “Bed. Now.” he orders.

She objects, even as he steers her towards their room. She has to help rebuild. It is not your home, my lady. Unless you plan to stay. She has to protect Sansa. You are not Lady Sansa’s sworn sword. She has her guard. What will Pod think? The boy would not wish to see you ill.

He brings her broth and the freshest bread (for the latter, he might have bribed the kitchen maid to set it aside for him, but Brienne does not need to know) and she swirls the spoon like a petulant child until he threatens to feed her himself. “You’ll end up with broth slung all over the bed sheets,” he teases her, gesturing with his stump.

In the evening, Pod arrives with more hearty fare and another man carrying a pile of furs. “Before you object that we are stealing these from some unsuspecting soul who needs them when we have plenty,” he tells her after they leave. “Lady Sansa said she was happy to loan them.” He spends far too long arranging the furs and pillows on the hard stone floor in front of the fireplace before he approaches the bed and takes her hand. From the look on her face, she is too shocked to speak.

He arranges the furs carefully around her, Brienne leaning back against him, and he reclines against the legs of a chair. The somewhat uncomfortable seat is worth it for the little sigh she exhales when he wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on her shoulder, the two of them watching the fire.

She dozes against him and his heart quickens, listening to her steady breath, noticing the way her fingers curl against his thigh. I love you.

He has said it so rarely since they confessed their feelings to each other, afraid saying it too often would lessen its meaning.

The next morning, when they wake together, he asks her about Tarth. “Do you mean to return?”

A shadow passes over her face and her eyes shift away from his. “I should go and see my father.” It sounds like duty more than longing, and he is not sure what to make of that, so instead he kisses her and tells he loves her. It earns him a soft smile, and it is all so easy.

On the boat to Tarth, she is excited to show him her home. Her face is open and bright as she tucks her long body against his on the deck. They watch the island grow closer, Brienne pointing out things, her voice soft in his ear, making him shiver.

When they step off the ship, there is a cavalcade of men awaiting them. Brienne embraces one of them before stepping back and taking his arm, introducing Jaime to her cousin Endrew. “Where is my father?” There is the shadow passing over her face again and an inkling of understanding begins to form.

“He is waiting to greet you at Evenfall,” her cousin replies.

Except he is not waiting, he is still meeting with whatever Tarth farmer needs counsel rather than his own daughter, returned from war.

Finally, a man with broad shoulders and a portly belly appears in the doorway. He has the same broad face as Brienne, only his is half covered by a neatly trimmed white beard. He smiles and opens his arms for a hug, his gray eyes shimmering in the bright white marble of the entrance hall.

Jaime does not expect her father to be thrilled that she has brought the Kingslayer himself home, but there is skepticism and disappointment on Selwyn’s face which he cannot hide. Brienne asks if he wants to accompany them on a walk before the evening meal, but he brushes her aside, saying he has meetings and duties and and.

Brienne is oddly quiet as she shows him Evenfall. They take their walk through the grounds, just the two of them, but Jaime notices how she walks a few steps ahead of him, lost in her own thoughts.

Selwyn is polite, but not warm. At dinner, he asks about their journey, fills Brienne in on trivial matters around the island, but after the small talk is dispensed with, he has little else to say. No questions about Brienne’s experiences on the mainland, none about the man she brought with her.

There is an absence. An absence in him, an absence which echoes in the halls of this castle. Echoes of her brother, her mother, her siblings. How much grief Brienne has known, true grief, not the false feelings he felt at the news that his eldest son was dead, the mask he wore at his father’s vigil. The dutiful son, the dutiful soldier.

No, Brienne still carried the memories of her loved ones within, a part of her so deep and recessed, even he did not have access. The longer they sit at her father’s table, the more Jaime realizes she never wished him to see it. Brienne did not want him to see how her father’s ignorance, his neglect, cast such a long shadow over his remaining child. But Jaime does see. The steel core of her begins to melt away. He watches those strong shoulders slump under the weight of childhood hurt. All those half-healed scars.

Brienne has never needed him to protect her. Not when they got taken by the Bloody Mummers, not even at the bear pit, not any moment since, but he wants to stretch his good arm down the length of the table, take up the Evenstar by his collar and shake him. Make him listen, tell him all the ways he should be on his knees thanking his daughter.

Jaime’s hand shakes, thinking of all the words he might use to explain what Brienne has done for him, much less half the kingdom.

She told me to live.

She allows him to simply be the man he always wished to be, because she knows he is capable. She does not discredit him for his faults, just as he does not discredit her for hers. It sounds emotionally distant to say they love one another justly, but it’s true. It is equanimity. Any space they are together is one where he can breathe, after decades of what felt like drowning.

He loves her more than he thinks he will ever be able to express, but he does not let it stop him from trying. Words and deeds and touch and the very air in his lungs.

I am so, so sorry, my darling, he tells her that night. She likely does not know what he means, it could easily be an apology for his reputation, the deed which cast the die for his life for so long. He means it as an apology, one which she will never get from her father.

The next morning, Brienne has gone down to breakfast before he wakes. Standing outside the great hall, he hears their voices echoing inside. “Will you live at the Rock then?”

“I--I always planned to serve in your stead, but I know that is not what you wished of me.”

“Nonsense, I only wished you to be happy.”

“I am.” After a moment, so quietly he has to lean towards the door to hear. “We chose each other.”

Upon hearing that, Jaime walks outside, needing fresh air. She finds him in the gardens, hand clutched around the seat of a stone bench. He tugs her down into his lap. “I am very proud of you.”

“Proud of me?” Her forehead wrinkles into that familiar frown. “Why?”

“Do I need a reason?” he asks in the moment before his mouth covers hers.

Their wedding party is tiny and Brienne refuses to have the ceremony in the sept, so they wed on the cliffs overlooking the sea. It is near sunset and light spills across the water in an orangey glow, shimmering in the gold trimmings on her wedding cloak.

At the small feast afterwards, her father reminds him that Brienne once swore she would only ever wed if the man could beat her in the yard. “She has already done that, my lord, I assure you,” Jaime replies in a voice which makes her whole body flush.

“That is when you were in shackles,” Brienne says, once they are alone in her chambers.

He laughs. “Well, it is too late now, my love. We are wed.”

Her blue eyes glitter at him from the other side of the room. “You mean you will not spar with me on our wedding night? I never knew you to be so dull.”

Jaime chases her around the bed, making her shriek with laughter, and when he catches her, they wrestle against each other on the mattress, both of them grinning like fools. “I happen to know you are quite good at the other type of sparring.”

“Jaime,” she chides him, but a soft laugh falls from her lips as she bends down to kiss him.

It is well past midnight when she drags him out to the yard. “You cannot let me win,” she warns him at one point as their tourney swords clash.

He chuckles between his gritted teeth until Brienne breaks the hold they are in. “You forget I am much older than you.”

“No excuses, old man,” she winks at him.

Jaime knows it is worthless to protest about his left hand. They both fought the dead. Only he likes when Brienne--his wife--can easily best him and it is difficult to summon up his usual competitiveness when she executes a particularly thrilling move.

He ends up in a rather vulnerable position, on his knees in the dirt, her sword pointed at his throat, only to revel in the slow realization dawning in her eyes. She’s won. That is until he bats her wooden tourney sword away with his left hand and tackles her to the ground. “You cheated.” she accuses, once they both get their breath back.

He smirks at her, slipping his hand underneath her tunic, delicate fingertips against her skin. “We’ll call it even.”

When her father passes, Brienne throws herself into all the things which need to be done. He is the one who coaxes her back to bed. She has to allow herself to rest. She has to allow herself to mourn. She’ll do no one any good running herself ragged.

This time, he does not have to bribe the kitchen maids. They make Brienne’s favorite dishes and willingly wake in the middle of the night to show Jaime how to warm milk for her, served with a dash of honey, to help her go back to sleep.

“We were very much alike,” she says to him a few days later, when they are walking in the gardens. “Headstrong. That is why we fought so often.” Jaime is tempted to tell her all the ways they were different, but it would not help anything. Right now, the most important thing he can provide is solace, not unwanted advice. “He tried so hard to understand me. He only wanted something to go right. To see me happily wed, except that was something he wanted. It was not what I wanted. So then,” she takes a shaky breath. “He finally let me go, even though I know he was mocked, chastised that he could not control his own daughter.”

“You represented him honorably. No one could accuse you otherwise.” He presses a gentle kiss to her temple. “And if they try, you can face them in the yard.”

She has not laughed since her father died, but she smiles then and squeezes his hand. “Thank you.”

Their fifth year of marriage, he arranges for their friends to travel to Tarth. It is an unrealistic request for most, he realizes, but everyone comes. Lady Sansa, his brother, Pod and Peck and Gendry, all of the people who know Brienne’s selflessness and his luck. There is cake and fruit and all manner of sweet things Brienne says she does not like, but which he knows she secretly enjoys. Meat pies and cheese and warm, fresh-baked bread. There is laughter and stories spun over a long meal and good wine. In some ways, it is a happier day than their wedding.

She laces her fingers through his and they lean against each other, listening to the others late into the night.

For her name day, he and the children bake a cake. Alex’s whole outfit is covered with flour and Alys’ hair is dusted with it. They insist on him writing the script in icing, even with his shaky left hand. When they present it to her that evening, she laughs in delight and kisses all of them, tears shimmering in her eyes. She presses an extra kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, darling.”

#jaime x brienne #love languages #fic: food

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ourstarscollided · 3 years

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jatp fanworks appreciation - day 1 (writers)

motivation - so in true me fashion and my aversion to brevity, i've made three (3) posts (see also artists, gifs/edits) to celebrate the wonderful people in this fandom who have made my jatp tumblr experience what it is; a community of people who simply shout into the void about their love of a ghost band and their fearless female leader. i've enjoyed simply being on the sidelines admiring everyone's love for the show, but i thought this would be a good time to really show my appreciation for all these wonderful people, because if i've learned anything from this pandemic, it's that there is NEVER a wrong time to tell someone that they are simply ✨the best✨.

disclaimer: i don't interact with most of these people personally and i simply absorb their content from afar and scream about how wonderful they are in the tags.

This list kind of became a fic rec, so if you're looking for some wonderful fics to read (or reread), I've also included my favs from the author here as well.

Okay this is gonna get a little long so please bear with me. But I just wanted to preamble this by saying that the fanfiction written by the jatp fandom is what resparked my love for reading fiction after about 3-4 years of not reading for leisure (be an adult they said. it'll be fun they said.). So I'm really grateful for that? I don't interact with a lot of people, just because it makes me a little anxious, but I will constantly yell about your content in the tags as if I were on a set of bleachers with a megaphone.

I also know there are so many wonderful fic writers out there (on Tumblr and not on Tumblr) that make amazing pieces of work, and this is just a tiny peek into that, and is not at all conclusive.

Without further ado here are some writers who live rent free in my head, in alphabetical order, so feel free to just skip to your name to avoid my rambling:

@bluefirewrites -> your Merry Ex-Mas fic had me on the edge of my seat every single time you updated. I am so in love with how you wrote the characters into this and at how many words you churned out for this fic. This was filled with so much adventure, and it was really welcome during a time when the world wasn't allowed to travel. And I simply love all the other drabbles and fics you write, but I especially enjoy the hilarity of Ray Molina, Crime Scene Photographer and Matchmaker.

@captainkippen -> I'm pretty sure Love Drunk was one of the first fics I ever read in this fandom. Your stories and your writing feel so goddamn real and I find myself so immersed in the worlds that you've created. I have reread most of your jatp fics and I still manage to find myself stupidly grinning at my phone each time. Your stories flow so easily and are such perfect characterizations of the characters we know from the show, but elevated to fit into your verse. I cannot say enough how wonderful your writing is and how talented you are!! (also a slight nudge that I am still very much following along with The Key and the Crown and I hope you continue it!)

@catty-words -> Your???? Exhaustive??? Music??? Lists???? The amount of work and dedication and microanalyzing that you put into pulling out every detail from each scene is so admirable. You not only manage to find the details, but you also give us EVIDENCE via your intricately selected gifs. You could've just put the video of the performance, but no, you take your time to find that specific 1 second shot to emphasize your point. And your little fics that you sometimes throw out into the world? They're so beautiful, and so fun to read and I enjoy them so much! (I am STILL screaming about this band's a snack) Thank you for validating my yelling in the tags, and for feeding my hyperfixation to this show. (I'm sad these lists are ending soon, but it's about the journey ya know?)

@lydias--stiles -> I don't even know what to say here because I've yelled so much about your fics that I feel like there's really nothing else to yell. Your Road Trip AU was also one of the first ones I read in this fandom, and really just made me go absolutely feral. Pretty sure I absorbed the rest of your fics in an ungodly amount of time and I just simply think you are incredibly skilled and talented. Every time you post a new fic I always wonder what it's like to be in your head because the ideas you come up with are so unique and so well thought out. Thank you for all the art you create for this show, I will constantly be in awe of you. (Special shoutout to the 5+1 fic that became a 31 chapter monster)

@pearlcaddy -> This list would not be complete if I didn't mention you. First of all, thank you for suggesting this wonderful week, it has been so lovely to see so much love being spread around today. Secondly, I never thought I'd find myself reading a Buffy or a Wizarding World crossover fic, considering I know nothing about those two things. And yet I found myself on various nights after work at 3 in the morning just silently screaming and/or crying into my phone. Your writing is so insane. Your world building is so insane. Your banter/dialogue is insane. The way you capture the love between Julie/Luke in different universes is so perfect. Thank you for gifting us these beautiful pieces of art, and I hope you know that you have at least made one person (me) a very happy reader. I also really admire your dedication to "this will only be a oneshot", only to write like 4 other POVs for it. (Special shoutout to 100 Bad Days)

@ruzek-halstead -> Literally every single fic you have written lives rent free in my head. The way you've managed to build this universe of different Julies and Lukes, and each one still captures the essence of them is astounding. You've extended their characters beyond what we know from the show and I am just in awe of everything you write. Please know that dead of night is both triggering to me and yet the most hilarious thing I have read. (Special shoutout to the Fake Dating Christmas AU and of course the Cinderella Story AU)

@serendipitee -> Your stories and your writing are absolutely magical. I think Write It Down was one of the first multi-chapter fics that I followed super closely and whenever you updated, I would literally drop what I was doing and read it instantly. You have such a way of building the plot and the characters for all of your fics and drabbles, and making the reader just want more. Please know that I am so obsessed with Oh, She Waltzed With the Dead and I cannot wait to see where you take the story!

@sunsetcurbed -> I have no words for your writing. I am simply in awe every time I read something from you. The way you've got down Alex and Willie's voice to a tee is so crazy good. You write their characters and their stories with such grace and care, especially with how you approach the topic of mental health. Thank you for all the research you do and for also writing in your own experiences. I literally binged the Princes Diaries AU during work and lost a good half day to it, and I regret nothing because that fic left me in SHAMBLES. I secretly adore the way you say you're going to keep a fic short, and end up writing an insane amount of words for it. (I have not yet left my obligated long-ass comment on Chapter 4 of the College AU yet because I am still processing the fate/destiny concept.)

@tangledstarlight -> Gahh. Rosie. Please. This is going to sound a little repetitive considering I just screamed at you last night, but now I guess I will just have to publicly confess my adoration for you!!! Thank you for being my first online friend in a very long time, and for putting up with me yelling at you about everything (and also nothing at the same time). I can't believe all it took was one message about your Royals AU for you to post it, but I will gladly take that credit any day. You are so so so incredibly talented with your writing, and your ability to transport me to another world while I read your fics is unparalleled. I adore the way you can come up with a new story to write every day, and then proceed to throw it into your pot of other WIPs. I am so so so so lucky to have gotten to know you and am incredibly grateful that I now have someone to cry about everything with 🧡 (If you read anything from Rosie, you need to read her Seasons/Long Distance Juke "friendship" fic and the Reggie x Photography oneshot that made me bawl my eyes out.)

@thedeathdeelers -> No thoughts. Just soulmates. Jk jk, you know I love your Reggie x Ray x Carlos fics, and I will scream in the tags about it until the day I get more of those fics from you. This is lowkey a threat, but wrapped in kindness. You are so wonderful to see on my dash (albeit scary at times because of the sheer amount of headcanons and theories running through your head), but you radiate such positive energy that it's impossible to not want to jump in and scream about soulmates with you.

Some special mentions to fics that also live rent free in my head:

@sunsetsandcurves wrote a Willex Cruise Ship AU inspired by a Simple Plan song and it’s something I never knew I needed until I read it.

@phantom-curve wrote a Juke fic based off of Coney Island and I would just like to say, yes, it did shatter me. (Here’s the fluff sequel that makes up for it though)

@unsaidjulie wrote the Juke dog fic of my dreams and I simply cannot express how much I want the Molina’s to have a dog now.

@pawprinterfanfic managed to get me incredibly invested in a Star Wars AU even though I know absolutely nothing about Star Wars. I just know that I would die for two (2) space boys.

@sanssssastark your Later universe made me realize that I do very much want there to be more mature content for this fandom (and you constantly deliver).

@theobligatedklutz wrote a Tangled Willex AU that makes me screech every time there’s an update. Just read it.

@alexthedrummerboy your talent knows no bounds when it comes to your Social Media AU. Also she’s written ORIGINAL songs for Alex and Willie?!?!?!

@gennified has this really wonderful modern take on pride and prejudice for Willex and I’m so obsessed with how much miscommunication there is.

@bananaleaves okay, I just found your Tumblr today, and I know you don’t know me in any capacity, but allow me to scream about THIS FIC RIGHT HERE. If anyone in this fandom is to read ANYTHING, it’s this fic. This was one of the best things I’ve read in a long time and absolutely wrecked me. Please just read this.

This turned out WAY longer than it was supposed to, and I’m SO SORRY. (I also tried to make sure I got everyone’s pronouns right, so PLEASE let me know if they’re wrong!) A final sincere thank you to everyone in this fandom who writes. Your talent knows no bounds. Gonna stop talking now before this becomes an essay....

#jatp fanworks appreciation week #fic rec #if i realize that i've missed someone i'm gonna bite the bullet and send an ask to you okay. i will not let my anxiety STOP ME FROM #YELLING HOW MUCH I LOVE PEOPLE'S WRITING!!#idk what else to tag this other than i genuinely think this show saved my mental health and so have all the fic writers.#gonna post this now before i chicken out oky aklfwjepofae #motivation monday

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sinkix · 4 years

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~ Haikyuu!! Boys baking with reader - Ft. Ushijima, Tendou, Oikawa, Hinata & Nishinoya ~

YO! SO UHHHH... I’M BACK??? I GUESS?? MAYBE??? After a little break I had this in my drafts for a while and realllyyy wanted to complete it since it’s such a cute concept. Honestly at this point my posting frequencies are so sporadic and random pls forgive me lmao.

@deathcab4daddy gave me the inspo to include Ushi and it was so funny coming up with ideas for him, he is no.1 country boi chef

Dude I’m listening to the Mario Kart soundtrack ‘Coconut Mall’ while I continue writing this someone save me. Like u think I’m joking. UR WRONG.

Ushijima:

The most straightforward yet idiotic baker you will ever come across.

Before you even THINK about performing step 1, he will read the entire fucking leaflet like it’s a Shakesperean monologue.

INGREDIENTS INCLUDED.

LIKE SIS I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW IT CONTAINS MONOCALCIUM PHOSPHATE THANK YOU.

I’m surprised he doesn’t count every single particle in the brownie mix.

You bought him a frilly cupcake-printed apron stating ‘best wife’ not expecting him to actually wear it

But since he’s secretly a big softie and treasures anything you buy he wears it proudly.

His stoic and dignified disposition is a comical contrast to the words printed on the front lmao.

Ushi best wifey bro.

The tight fit of the apron is pretty hot since it outlines every ridge of his pecs and tightly toned torso.

Gotta resist groping your mans while stirring the brownie batter.

tbh he’s more likely to grope you, he can’t resist that a$$.

And let’s face it he’s def an ass/thigh kinda guy.

Can and will try to casually initiate some form of unholy activities by lifting you up onto the kitchen counter, goading you to slowly lick the spoon and locking gazes before pulling you in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss to get a taste of the incomplete creation himself.

Ushi’s lips and brownie batter are a knock-out combo js.

Literally has the most serious face when he’s cracking the eggs into the bowl

The amount of concentration is equivalent to that of when he’s performing a serve at match-point.

HAS to set the temperature to the EXACT degree stated on the box

Everything is done by the book if you do one thing out of place he will pull you up on it lol.

“(Y/N) you were supposed to stir it for 5 minutes, not 7.”

When its done you feed him some and he can’t help but smile its so ADORBALE AHHH.

You end up eating most of it since Ushi doesn’t strike me as much of a chocolate/junk food lover.

STILL A VERY FUN BUT F R U S T R A T I N G EXPERIENCE.

Tendou:

The complete opposite of Ushi

Does everything wrong and the unconventional way.

Absolute disaster but doesn’t even sweat it since Tendou basically thrives in chaos and the disorderly.

To him instructions are purely equivocal, will read them for five seconds then toss them away.

Step aside Gordon Ramsey, Chef Tendou is here.

Despite doing everything the unorthodox way it still comes out amazing.

Like??? how???

Will cheekily place a dollop batter on your nose then lick it off fh3jkeffefds

Or if he’s feelin’ a lil freaky, he’ll swipe it off with his long ass finger and make you suck it clean, smirking at your submission as you coat his finger with your saliva.

oop-

Constantly cracking jokes and shitty food puns, pretending to drop the bowl to make you go into preemptive cardiac arrest before you can swat him with the spatula.

While you’re waiting for the timer to ping, Satori being the schemer he is will use this as an opportunity to pull some fuckery and tease you in any way he can.

u better be praying like bodhisattva TanaNoya rn because he is MERCILESS.

Suggestive comments, the brush of his fingers against your thigh, it’ll leave you A C H I N G in frustration by the end of it.

Unholy activities aside, once your baking session is completed you finish it off by feeding PHAT forkfuls of brownie to each other and giggling like dorks when it gets all over your mouth.

The jackass actually got a fingerful and SMEARED it over your cheek and forehead, drawing a little cross and snickering when the crumbs fall onto your nose.

Tendou was smart to draw a cross bc he gonna need jesus with the ATTACK you launch on him after that, which promptly leads to an all out food war in your kitchen that neither of you want to clean up after ward.

Don’t worry though it’s Tendou, he’ll somehow find a way to make such a mundane activity fun.

Nishinoya:

stirs WAY TOO VIOLENTLY

IT’S LIKE AN ELECTRIC WHISK ON OVERDRIVE.

IT WILL SPLATTER OVER THE COUNTER, CUPBOARDS AND EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR WITHIN A 1 MILE RADIUS.

You best believe he will try and eat some of the batter and you have to swat the spoon away from his mouth since he has NO REGARD FOR THE FACT HE COULD GET SALMONELLA.

Plus you know what Noya’s like once he starts eating something the whole thing will be gone in a matter of milliseconds.

He somehow managed to get Baking powder EVERYWHERE and even gave him self a little moustache with it.

The white substance kinda looked like something else but you didn’t really wanna say lmaooo.

could explain why he has so much energy all the time oK ILL STOP-

While you’re putting the mix on the tray he is SO extra and will do fancy lil swirls and over extend his arm like a swan to gracefully spread the batter

until he nearly fucking knocks it over.

During processing time since he is so excitable and impatient you best believe he’s gonna suggest a game of ping pong or something because my guy can well and truly never sit still.

ping pong match with the spatulas, kitchen island and a hard boiled egg.

Pls be careful he will rolling thunder that egg and pimp slap it so hard with the spatula it’ll damn near give you a concussion, not intentionally, but like protect your noggin. Wear a helmet.

For the remaining 5 minutes of baking time y’all just sit like kids in front of the oven and watching it rise like starved hyena’s observing it’s pray before demolishing it into sad particles of cocoa.

And lemme tell u, once the timer pings, that baking tray is free real estate for Noya. Half of your creation will be devoured before you can even put it on a plate and marvel at your handiwork.

He kicked your ass at spatula ping pong btw I’m sorry sweaty but short kings stay winning.

Oikawa:

Such a dramatic bitch like he got the whole she-bang going on.

Strapped with a pink apron, a whisk at his side and standing proudly with both hands on his hips.He is prepared like a greek gladiator going into battle.

You better believe he gonna make some snarky remarks and tease your method of doing things.

“Ah-ah-ahhh (Y/N)-chan you’re doing it all wrong, let me show you how a PRO does it.”

Proceeds to drop entire bowl on his foot and yelp like a little girl in pain.

Well and truly embarrassed with himself, you put a band-aid on his toe and he piped down after that.

Shattered big toe and mixing bowl aside, actually a really good baker??

He is a PRO at decorating, y’all decided on cupcakes since its literally his forte to make them look aesthetic and pretty.

You almost don’t wanna eat them from how good they look.

jk almost

You take it in turns breaking bits off and placing pieces into each others mouth with a loud “aaaaaahhh!”

Places a piece in your mouth, leans forward and locks lips with you in a soft, passionate kiss before pulling away and uttering the words “It tastes even better coming from your mouth ;)”

hnnnNNGGGGGGggGg.

You both whine and bicker over who cleans up after.

“You cleaaannnnn!”

“no Toru YOU clean!”

“but I made the cupcakes look pretty :(”

“not as pretty as you <3″

He did the cleaning after that.

Like just stroke his ego with some compliments and he’s whipped with a smug grin on his face for the next 30 minutes.

You decide to save the rest and bring them to his next practise.

Literally on the verge of tears when he sees you beaming and holding the platter of treats, Kiyotani mauls half of them in a matter of seconds to which Oiks gets salty over LMAO.

Hinata:

So excited oh my god he’s so precious please protect him I will CRY-

Has a little sunflower apron on and JBJKNDDDKDW IM SMILING JUST IMAGINING HIM FIDGETING IN EXCITEMENT OVER THE THOUGHT OF BAKING COOKIES.

Yes you decided on cookies bc he goes rabid for some choc chip biccies.

You have to guide him v carefully because of how easily confused and clumsy he is.

Cannot for the life of him crack the eggs without getting a quarter of the shell in the bowl so you have to do it instead.

Has a surprising amount of strength and forearm power bc holy shit boy can stir FAST.

Hums a little tune while he does it and bobs up and down with a wide grin on his face it’s so adorable, he has such a gentle singing voice I can’t-

Attempts different shapes with the batter when pouring it onto the tray but fails pretty miserably lol.

he tried ok???

Once they’re done he takes the tray out of the oven and since it was heavy, subconsciously propped it with his knee and nearly dropped the entire tray from the pain. (I’ve actually done this before when making chicken nuggets I do not advise being that brain dead)

Had to put some burn cream on the bbies knee :’((

When you decided to dig in, he handed you a cookie that looked like a crooked circle and said he tried to make that one a heart and insisted he feed it to you.

Blushed VERY hard at the moment of silence and intense eye contact while he fed it to you.

Nearly short circuited when his fingers brushed against your lips.

Moe moe x100000000000000000000000000000

You offer to do the cleaning after because he hurt himself and you didn’t wanna make him do any work, but he still offered to wipe the surfaces for you bc he’s an angel <333

literally just wanna marry him.

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moonflowerlesbians · 3 years

Text

I wrote the 10 year anniversary fic

She's short but she’s sweet. Please enjoy.

to be loved a whole life long

Rated T, ~2.6k.

~~~

What is an anniversary, really, if not merely a ploy to indulge in all of the little pleasures one denies on any other day? Saying, “oh, well, we ought to save it for a special occasion.”

And, what, Jamie thinks, is an occasion more special than the day marking the tenth year since she began this beautiful, insane journey with the love of her life. A woman so remarkable that Jamie almost can’t believe she’s real. Almost can’t believe that she can wake up beside the same person every morning, smelling the same fruity shampoo, spend the day working side by side, and still, every night, fall into bed, eager to pull Dani close. Then wake up the following day and do it all again.

It’s a stability Jamie never thought she would have. After years of bouncing from foster family to foster family, Bly was the closest thing to home she’d ever had. Until, that is, these ten, wonderful years with Dani in the flat they share above the little shop that they built from the ground up.

She thinks as much as beams of cozy sunlight filter through the gossamer curtains Dani picked out for their bedroom. She has an arm draped over Dani’s middle, her front to Dani’s back, her hand tracing idle circles on the plane of Dani’s stomach beneath her sleep shirt. Jamie can hear the quiet exhalations puffing against Dani’s wrist, which she’s managed to trap against her cheek. Jamie is certain she’ll be graced with complaints of pins and needles when Dani wakes. Jamie will laugh and offer to massage the numbness away, and Dani will roll her eyes but allow her limb to flop inelegantly into Jamie’s lap.

Jamie props herself up on one elbow, her fingers trailing a path from Dani’s midriff, up her arm, to brush a wayward strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Dani begins to stir as Jamie presses slow lips to the junction of her neck and shoulder, moves to the shell of her ear, her temple, the slender curve of her jaw.

Dani makes a noise low in her throat.

“Ah, there she is,” Jamie hums, her voice, though quiet, still too loud in the morning stillness.

“Thought we w’re gonna sleep in t’day,” Dani sighs, already preparing to nestle deeper into the blankets.

Jamie runs a playful finger down the bridge of Dani’s nose. “Already did that, love. ‘S nearly half nine.”

“F’rgot you get up ‘fore the early birds,” Dani grumbles, “An’thing past six ‘s late for you.”

“The plants wait for no one.”

“They’re plants. ‘S not like they have anywhere to be.”

“You don’t know that. Could have important plant business to attend to.”

Dani, at last, rolls over incredulously. “Like what?”

“Dunno,” Jamie shrugs, “but you’re awake now.”

“You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Mhm,” Jamie chuckles, “happy anniversary, baby.” Their kiss is languid, sleep-heavy. When they break apart, their foreheads still touch.

“Happy anniversary,” Dani whispers, thumb absently caressing Jamie’s cheekbone. Her eyes glimmer with mischief when she meets Jamie’s gaze. “Wouldn’t be opposed to staying in bed all day, though...”

“Need food first.”

Dani huffs. “Fine.”

“Thought we might try the new cafe on the corner of Leeland and Huntley for brunch. Apparently, they’ve got terrific blueberry muffins.”

“And you know this how?”

“Kid and her mum came through the shop the other day. Wee gremlin wouldn’t put the damn thing down,” Jamie gripes. “Got crumbs all over my daffodils.”

“She sounds cute.” Dani sounds almost wistful.

“‘Course you’d think so. Once a teacher, always a teacher.” She waves dismissively. “Or something like that.” Jamie rubs her palms together. “Right, then, up and at ‘em. Those muffins won’t eat themselves.”

“Didn’t realize you were so excited by baked goods.”

“Not the baked goods I’m excited for. I seem to recall mentions of returning to bed after food.”

+++

They are dressed and out the door in record time.

+++

They’ve closed the shop for the day, allowing themselves a brief reprieve from the discord of the wedding season. Every other day, it seems, a new blushing bride parades through their doors, followed by a mother or mother-in-law with a thousand questions and a dozen requests per minute. Jamie enjoys the work, truly. Seeing the delighted relief wash over the room as the arrangement designs are finalized is immensely gratifying. Almost as gratifying as watching her flowers, her precious creations, adorn ballrooms and churches, surrounded by people celebrating life. The joy of being alive.

She feels it now, she thinks, the sheer euphoria of existing. Here, walking down the street, a take-away cup of tea in her hand, with Dani’s arm roped through hers.

They are living on borrowed time, she knows, stark reminders of blue and brown present in every reflection. Every so often, Jamie catches herself longing, pleading for more time. She should be grateful for what the universe has gifted her. But, on days like these, days where the air is right and the sun is warm on her skin, she finds herself wishing for a forever that she cannot have. A forever unpromised to a monster that lurks beneath the most beautiful smile in the world.

She pushes the thought aside. Tomorrow is never promised. All she has is today. And she’ll be damned before she lets it slip away.

+++

They feed the waterfowl in the park with muffin crumbs. There are ducklings this time of year, and Dani’s gleeful cooing, high-pitched and elated, travels across the pond. Dappled shadows drape across her shoulders. Tree branches sway in a gentle breeze, casting a spotted cloak across the scene. Jamie feels the tension drain from her neck.

They sit, side by side, on the swingset, watching the joggers run past, waving at their neighbors and their golden retriever, the couple whose engagement party The Leafling decorated last month. Dani exchanges pleasantries with them all. It’s the Midwesterner in her, she likes to say, amicability is in her blood. Jamie does not understand, but she does her best to nod less than awkwardly while her partner makes smalltalk.

They stop for ice cream on the way home. It is a special occasion, after all, and the balmy June weather provides the perfect excuse to indulge in seldom-savored decadence. One, Jamie decides, they should absolutely partake in more often, if the child-like giddiness Dani expresses over cake batter ice cream is any indication. The crows feet at the corners of her eyes crinkle as she grins, and Jamie thinks she has never looked more lovely.

+++

A trans-Atlantic call to Owen foils their initial plans of baking their own lasagna after Dani lets slip that they weren’t planning to boil the noodles before layering in the sauces.

“For the love of God, please order in. The both of you are im-pasta-ble. It’s like I’ve taught you nothing.”

“That pun was weak, even for you.”

“This is what you’ve reduced me to.”

So, they call in a delivery order to the Italian place down the road. Jamie chivalrously offers to pick it up, and Dani ushers her out of the flat with a vigor that has Jamie raising an eyebrow. But, she simply shrugs and slides into the drivers’ seat of their second-hand pickup. The familiar rumble of the engine is comforting, the crooning of some jazz singer on the radio soothing background noise. Crickets chirp in the early summer evening.

She swings through the grocer to pick up champagne on her way home and juggles the bottle and the takeaway bag of food as she fumbles her key into the lock. Dani opens the door just as she’s about to turn the knob, and Jamie falls forward, Dani catching her by the arm.

“You alright?” Dani asks, but there’s an amused lilt to her voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. If you could just take…” Jamie’s mouth goes dry. Her face is level with Dani’s hips, which she has come to realize are covered in a velvety fabric she does not recognize. Her eyes flick up, coming to rest on Dani’s collarbones, the exposed skin of her arms, the accentuated curve of her waist. “You… I… uh….”

“You could’ve knocked, you know. I would’ve let you in.”

“I… yeah, could’ve… knocked.” Jamie realizes she is frozen in the entryway, jaw on the floor, and, in all honesty, cannot bring herself to care. Not when Dani is standing in front of her, clad in a gorgeous purple dress Jamie’s never seen before, her bangs styled to frame her face, while the remainder of her hair is pulled back. Jamie clears her throat. “You, ah, you changed.”

“I did.”

“You, you look…” Jamie searches for the right word, but none seem to encapsulate the overwhelming rush of emotion she feels, looking at the love of her life in the dim light from the bulb in the hallway outside their flat, on the tenth anniversary of the start of life she never thought she would have.

Damn the limitations of this bloody language. She can say “I got absolutely goddamn shitfaced last night” in a hundred different ways, but there is no succinct way to phrase, “I love you so fucking much and you are the most incredible person in the world and I don’t know how I got lucky enough to know you and I could spend the rest of my life holding your hand.”

It seems, at least to Jamie, a grievous failure of linguistic evolution.

“Beautiful,” she settles on, at last. “You’re so beautiful.” It’s not enough. But it will suffice.

“Come on, loverboy,” Dani says, tapping the bottom of Jamie’s chin with a slender index finger before giving a tug on her sleeve. “Food’s getting cold.” She’s blushing, though, a faint tint coloring her chest as she takes one of the plastic bags from Jamie. Jamie, who merely stares at Dani’s retreating silhouette before remembering she’s supposed to follow. She shuts the front door behind her and stumbles into the kitchen, setting the bottle and second bag on the countertop next to the stove.

When she turns around, Dani is in the living room holding a match to two candles set on a ceramic dish on their kitchen island. She’s laid out their nice dinnerware, which, really, consists of the four gold-encircled plates and matching napkin rings they’d found at an antique store in Milwaukee, back when they had been exploring the country Dani called home. A vase of roses is positioned on the coffee table, and it’s evident that Dani arranged them herself, and oh, oh, how Jamie loves her for it.

“Surprise?” Dani says shyly.

Jamie blinks at her. It’s all she can do not to break down. Instead, she settles for taking two bold steps to Dani's side of the counter and kissing her senseless. Dani lets out a squeak of surprise, but quickly relaxes into Jamie’s touch. She’s biting her lip when they separate, Jamie’s twirling the fine hairs at the nape of her neck as she presses their foreheads together.

“Let me change, and we’ll eat, yeah?”

“Sounds good.” Dani’s breathing is an ounce heavier than normal.

Jamie winks slyly, wanders to their bedroom and opens the closet, pulling out the first acceptable outfit she sees. She doesn’t have to change, she knows. Dani could care less whether she’s wearing a three-piece suit or sweatpants. (Though she suspects the suit might have the edge.) She dons a white, three-quarter zip and black slacks, pausing briefly to add a pair of black leather suspenders she knows Dani likes. Something about being easy to grab and pull.

Dani is struggling to uncork the champagne when Jamie returns to the kitchen. Her tongue pokes adorably out of the corner of her mouth, and her soft grunts of frustration are surprisingly endearing.

“Hand it over. Come on, now. Before you put your eye out.”

“I can do it,” Dani protests. “Just. Need to tweak it. A little.”

Jamie takes the opportunity to press against Dani’s back, her arms wrapping around to cover Dani’s hands where they fiddle with the bottle. For a moment, Dani forgets to be cross and reclines her head, resting it on Jamie’s shoulder. She sighs, relinquishing control, and Jamie huffs out a quick laugh. She holds the champagne over the sink to catch the overflow when the bottle pops.

Dani mumbles something about “having loosened it,” which Jamie meets with resolute agreement and a, “‘course you did, baby.”

The lasagne, an Owen-approved non-abomination, has been plated, Dani having evidently done so while Jamie was shucking her dayclothes. She pours them each a healthy flute of champagne and seats herself beside Dani, raising her glass.

She hesitates.

“Wait,” Dani exclaims, hurrying to the hall closet. She rummages for a second, bringing back the Polaroid camera Jamie had given her their first Christmas together. She checks the film, appears satisfied, and balances the device on an upturned colander to set up her shot. She sets the timer and sidles under Jamie’s arm, picking up her champagne flute. “Smile!” Dani beams.

When the image prints, the picture reveals Dani, with the biggest grin Jamie swears she’s ever seen, and Jamie at her side, looking positively smitten. The flash has illuminated the silver streaks in her hair, the lines embedded in her skin. Time has been kind to her, she reminds herself, others are not so lucky. And, in any case, when she looks at this photograph, she will not be looking at herself.

Dani kisses her cheek and moves her keepsake to the coffee table for safety. Too many important documents ruined by spills for her to risk it. She props it gently against the roses. It’s perfect.

Again, Jamie raises her glass. She inspects the contents.

Again, she hesitates. Then, a toast:

“To another ten.”

Silence.

Dani stills, looks at her.

Jamie can see the beginning of an argument forming on the tip of Dani’s tongue, and Jamie holds her stare. It’s a challenge. A dare, even.

They do not often speak of the distant future. Only when it is absolutely necessary do they broach the sensitive topic.

A world-weary smile paints Dani’s lips. Her eyes are burdened, the vivacity present mere seconds ago seemingly having vanished. She is tired. It shows in the slump of her shoulders, the crease of her brow, the way the giddiness of earlier has slunk away, leaving Dani bare-boned and fatigued.

She lifts her glass.

She says nothing.

“I love you,” Jamie murmurs after the faint clink of glass on glass. “So much.”

“Always,” Dani finishes. And Jamie knows she means it.

+++

They embrace beneath the sheets that night, sweat cooling in the dry air. Jamie’s fingers are tangled in blonde waves highlighted with grey. Dani’s breathing has evened out, short puffs tickling Jamie’s sternum, as Jamie contemplates the window over her head.

She has found someone to love, and someone to love her in return. Someone who will stay, even on the bad days. Someone who expects nothing and deserves everything.

Dani is everything Jamie thought she never deserved. Dani is good. Dani is good and exquisite and utterly unbelievable and, god, how Jamie loves her.

She loves waking up beside her every morning, and she loves smelling the same fruity shampoo on the pillow. She loves spending the day working together on the business they built from the dirt up. She loves falling into bed every night and pulling Dani close. Every minute they have together is a gift that Jamie refuses to take for granted.

To another ten years, she thinks, and allows her eyes to close. Dani sighs against her.

#hello lads look at me writing shit again #pls enjoy #I hope u like it #the haunting of bly manor #damie #damie fanfic #dani clayton #jamie #jamie taylor #jamie thobm #fic #writing #my writing #thobm fanfic #dani x jamie #jamie x dani

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ladyc0312 · 4 years

Text

A Jikook Guide to Run! BTS: 1-20

Hi all! Welcome to part one of my overview of all jikook moments in Run! BTS and Run BEHIND.

My biggest takeaway from these early episodes is that BH didn't quite know how to make a good variety show yet. Some of the set-ups are awkward and the guys are clearly still getting used to being on camera in this format. The jikook moments aren’t as frequent or obvious. As we go on, expect less “they look at each other in a maybe meaningful way” and more “then he sat down in his lap...” That said, this set of episodes includes both the priest skit and the cops skit, so if you’re into role-play, this was your era of Run!

Episode Guide under the cut, to avoid both spoilers and taking up half your dash...

UPDATED PER THE SUGGESTIONS OF SOME LOVELY COMMENTERS. THANK YOU ALL! New content in bold.

FYI: When you don’t see “BEHIND” descriptions or photos, it means there were no notable jikook moments. I’ve given each ep a general rating and a special Jikook-ery rating, both out of 5. YMMV!

Ep 1 (n/a)

The one that’s just a commercial for the V app

Ep 2 “The Greatest Man” (Ep: 3 / KM: 1)

The one with the most homoerotic series of challenges I’ve ever seen to prove who’s the “best” man

6:28 - Jimin TWICE randomly announces during musical chairs that JK will win

Not ikook-specific, but FYI, Jungkook REALLY likes being tickled. If you want a vague idea of what the beginnings of an OT7 orgy might look like, the scene at 2:09 is for you! And if you’re curious what each member looks like putting on lipstick and holding their mouths open, check out 4:24.

Ep 3 “Theme Park” (Ep: 1 / KM: 1)

The one at Six Flags that’s not worth watching unless you enjoy shaky camera footage of people screaming on roller coasters

5:44 - When Jimin is proud of himself for having ridden a coaster, JK goes to say something to him but keeps glancing at the camera self-consciously.

6:19 - With the camera further away, JK and JM talk with each other while waiting on line

7:06 - JK fast-walks to get to JM and then leans on JM’s shoulder to check the post-ride pictures

Ep 4 “30 Second Gate” (Ep: 1 / KM: 0.5)

The one where they do fairly boring challenges in a pool

5:26 - There’s a super brief instant of JK looking over at Jimin while shyly tugging on his shirt collar. Prob not even worth being noted as a moment, but JK looks so adorable that I’m including it anyway

Ep 5 “100 Seconds Sports Day” (Ep: 1 / KM: 1)

The one with a rather repetitive relay game

5:56 - JM playfully throws a milk carton at JK when JK fails to complete his task

7:53 - JK does some “teleporting” where he goes from being behind Suga in one shot to next to JM in the following one. He stays next to JM the whole rest of the time they’re mixing the drink.

Ep 6 “Sketch: Confession” (Ep: 2 / KM: 4)

The priest sketch that launched a thousand AUs...

3:30 - Jungkook comes in to “confess his sins” to Jimin, who is playing a priest and calls him “darling.” JK confesses to using Jin’s razor while also claiming to be the eldest in BTS. Jimin tells him that he’s so handsome, it must be that he’s blessed by God and can be forgiven for most things. Jimin tells JK to give him a hug to get forgiveness for his sins. As they hug, both are smiling and the onscreen text tells us how happy Jimin is and puts a little heart next to his face during the hug. Jimin strokes JK’s cheek after and it seems to make JK a little shy. Jimin calls out “bye, darling” as he leaves, then calls him “cutie” for the camera. For comparison’s sake, Jimin hits V on the forehead and makes J-Hope do 50 push-ups to earn forgiveness. He hugs J-Hope at the end of it and the difference between how that hug feels versus the one with JK is clear as day.

Ep 6pt2 “Sketch: Confession” (Ep: 2 / KM: 0 )

None (neither appear in this episode)

Ep 7 “Paintball” (Ep: 1 / KM: 1)

The one that reminds you paintball is more fun to play than to watch

I’ll be honest, guys, between the masked helmets they’re wearing and the constant cutting around, I cannot follow the paintball games in this episode at all. I’m going to go out on a limb and say nothing particularly shippy happens during them.

9:54 - JK picks up Jimin from behind and bounces him around for a while (we don’t know how long because the camera cuts before he’s done). It will be revealed in ep. 10 that this is part of JK’s secret mission, which is to get Jimin to say “please stop.” However, despite Jimin not looking thrilled at all the bouncing around, he doesn’t tell JK to stop.

Ep 8 “Treasure Hunt” (Ep: 2 / KM: 2)

The one where they run or ride ATVs to find flags in the woods

1:15 - Jimin says out of nowhere that he thinks JK is going to be running and tells him to be careful not to bump into anyone (I think - the subs are a little weird on this one).

13:09 - JK tries to take one of JM’s meal ticket flags. JM refuses and claims JK called him “trash.” JK (kind of?) denies this and throws his one flag on the ground in frustration. J-Hope grabs it and JK sulks a bit because he’s left with nothing.

13:33 - Jimin reverses course and gives JK one of his flags. JK is delighted. RM asks why (apparently he, Jimin, and V had a deal to share their flags?) and Jimin just responds that Jungkook is very cute (which the on-screen texts puts a heart next to). Jimin ends up giving a flag to V, too, but he makes him beg like a dog first.

14:16 - Jimin calls JK over and gives him a brief hug / pat on the back

Ep 9 “Bungee Jump” (Ep: 1 / KM: 0.5)

The one where it is what it says on the tin

11:25 - Some jikookers have reported hearing JK say an un-captioned “pretty” here (sounds like yebbeo or yeebeun in Korean). I’ll be totally honest that I can’t really make it out, but I will put this note here in case others with better ears than mine want to check it out!

13:59 - JM has his arm around JK at the start of the shot here

Ep 10 “Spy for Silmido Island” (Ep: 2 / KM: 2)

The one where everyone eats a meal as they learn how JK has been doing secret missions the last three episodes

6:16 - JK explains that he failed his mission to get Jimin to say, “please stop.” We see flashbacks of JK trying - in addition to the above picking JM up, JK also pulled on his hair and gave him a shoulder rub (there is no explanation for why he thought that would be something JM would tell him to stop), and spraying him with a water bottle. The main jikook takeaway from this and the confession episode seems to be that JM will let JK get away with anything because he think he’s cute.

7:00 - We see that JM inadvertently made JK fail his mission to feed the camera man because, when JK held out food, JM got JK to feed him instead

Ep 11 "Back to School" (Ep: 3 / KM: 1)

The one where Suga dresses as a girl and gets hit on by the rest of the band

21:28 - Despite Jimin doing nothing but smiling in the sketch, JK says he's the day's MVP and is weirdly sincere about it

24:05 - YMMV on jeon-lous, but he does indeed do the tongue thing here when JM is flirting with girl-Yoongi

Ep 12 "Cops" (Ep: 4 / KM: 4)

The police sketch that launched ten thousand AUs...

6:46 - "Detective" Jungkook pulls "criminal" Jimin away by his collar 8:41 - After Jimin acts cute and says he's bored, JK comes over and slaps his upper thigh before throwing Jimin over his shoulder and slapping his butt. When JK puts him down, Jimin just looks at him with a dazed smile for a moment before they continue on with the sketch.

9:30 - Jimin tries to flirt his way out of of JK’s interrogation, which JK says is for “setting fire to ARMY’s hearts with his smiling eyes.”

10:25 - After a brief interuption by “Captain” Suga, the interrogation starts having flirty vibes again, with JK smirking and making eye contact while Jimin acts bashful and speaks in a whispery voice.

11:00 - JK holds a fake gun on JM as he starts his “Lie” dance, during which he directs finger hearts towards JK. The camera focuses on JM and, by the time it shows JK again, he’s lowered the gun and put his other hand over his heart. The on-screen text says “Detective Jeon’s heart is attacked.”

12:55 - JM and JK switch roles so JM is the detective. He hits JK over the head with a book. JK has basically no visible reaction, but JM has clearly flustered himself.

Note: To explain my reasoning for these originally not being here - if you look at the other skits in this ep, they are all accusing each other of doing things to ARMY’s hearts and being weirdly flirty with each other. Like, this police station has some serious sexual harassment issues all around! That said, the vibes are unique with jikook and, upon rewatch, I came to agree with y’all that the above should’ve been included. 19:30 - Alternate version of the sketch where Jimin and JK have a dance battle that ends in both of them being put in the jail cell and told to dance.

BEHIND 0:58 - Jimin flirt-ily calls out "I'm bored; play with me, Detective" (presumably to JK since they're scene partners). Note: Adults saying they "played" with each other is a common way to describe hanging out in Korean and doesn't necessarily have the sexual connotations it does in English.

4:08 - Jimin stares at JK as he does squats

Ep 13 "The Spy Who Returned Part 1" (Ep: 4 / KM: 2)

The ones where they play games at an indoor water park

1:00 - Jimin does an exaggerated running motion and JK slaps him to make him stop, which JM finds funny

1:43 - JM has his arm around JK

6:00 - JK jokingly(?) tells JM his wet hair looks cool

11:12 - JM calls JK their team's ace and they whisper about who he should call out from the other team

Ep 14 "The Spy Who Returned Part 2" (Ep: 3 / KM: 2)

16:04 - JM jokingly hits JK for getting the answer super wrong and then they go down the waterslide together. (Note: I've seen some jikook-ers claim JK messed up on purpose so the game wouldn't end and he'd get to ride with Jimin, but I'm not sure there's actual evidence to support that theory.)

The moment that led to the picture below isn’t in the ep or the BEHIND, but I raised the episode’s KM score a full point for it

Ep 15 "The Spy Who Returned Part 3" (Ep: 3 / KM: 2)

TW for this ep: 5:14 - during the confessions game, Jin tells Jimin that whenever Jimin asks if he put on weight, Jin wants to say he looks like a pig. Jimin claims to not be upset after, but looks like he's going to cry and seems off for a while. Then, at 10:45, Jin reiterates that Jimin "got fat." Everyone laughs except JK, who widens his eyes and then starts chewing on his finger.

6:37 - Despite being on the same team as JK, Jimin joins J-Hope's complaints about JK coming to their room uninvited, saying that JK often brushes his teeth in their room. He accuses JK of buying the exact same toothbrush as Jimin’s and complains that they can’t tell them a part. JK says it wasn't him and then there's a weird cut to sometime later when Jimin is sitting back down again... Just prior to this, Jimin is looking unhappy as Hobi tells a story about JK seeing him naked, but it’s hard to tell if he’s reacting to that or feeling upset about Jin’s weight comments from the previous round.

16:02 - Jimin defends Jungkook against accusations that he's the spy

BEHIND 4:30 - Jimin sits on Jungkook's lap and, when he leans over to try to get Jin to give him food, JK puts his hand on JM's hip to steady him

Ep 16 "Snowpark Winter Olympics" (Ep: 4 / KM: 1)

The one where everyone plays winter games

4:35 - When JM and JK are the finalists for the sledding round, JM thanks the viewers for their support. JK asks "what does that make me?" and yells/sings badly, which makes JM laugh. I don’t quite get it, tbh, but they seem to be enjoying themselves

14:50 - JK helps JM get his sled in place

BEHIND 3:02 - JK smiles as he gets pushed towards JM on the ice

Ep 17 "Arcade Olympics Part 1" (Ep: 2 / JK: 2)

The ones where we are reminded that playing arcade games is more fun than watching people play them

All of this and next episode, whenever they all reshuffle positions, Jimin and Jungkook end up standing next to each other. This happens pretty frequently in Run BTS generally, but it was particularly noticeable in this ep since it's not like they're on the same team or anything...

4:16 - When Jimin does a dramatic DDR finish, JK calls attention to it. JM turns to him and they lock eyes for a second

15:00 - JK cheers Jimin's name when it looks like he's going to win the basketball game

BEHIND

3:36 - JK & JM play a 4D game together Also, JK has an interesting mark on his neck on his right side that does not appear to be there in the episode itself...

Ep 18 "Arcade Olympics Part 2" (Ep: 2 / JK: 1)

3:30 - JK tries (unsuccessfully) to coach Jimin on the driving game

3:45 - JK stands up for Jimin and says he's getting the hang of the game

14:36 - JM & JK laugh together at RM's failure

19:58 - It's not super clear, but it sounds like JK calls JM "Jiminie" at the end of his sentence

Ep 19 "Strike" (Ep: 2 / JK: 1)

The one where BTS go bowling together and end up bowing down to JK

4:47 - JK shares that he and Jimin used to bowl together

---

If there’s anything I’ve missed or that anyone has different interpretations of, I’d love to hear it.

More episodes coming soon!

#jikook #kookmin #run bts #jikook guide to run bts

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tenderlyrenjun · 3 years

Text

[2:05 A.M.]

You drag your feet into your bedroom and dramatically fall face-first on the mattress, mumbling something incoherent, even with the super hearing, through the blankets. Renjun closes the textbook over his lap, sitting up in anticipation for you to make an announcement. He waits another minute then reaches across the blankets to pull back your hair, checking to see that you are still alive. After he sees your blank stare (okay, crazy person), he reclines against the headboard, asking you to repeat yourself.

“We have to send Jaemin another letter.”

“Ah.” Renjun puts the contemporary art textbook on the night stand, freeing up his hand to thread his fingers in your hair. He outlines your ear brushing away a few strands to see your cheeks and moves on to the heaven’s pillar behind your neck, dipping two fingers in the pressure point. You jerk forward a little, unexpectedly relaxed by a treasure. Renjun thinks that you try getting into a better position and helps you lean on his shoulder. You kiss above his clavicle, wrapping an arm around it also, loosely hanging on him like a body pillow. “It’s late. Why are you studying at this hour?”

You know that he is talking about the family’s most recent addition, not the upcoming o chem exam that you are more than prepared for. Unfortunately, he has not been available in the last month to help train new members, with all the work he has for school, the internship, and Jaemin’s new stupid coven leaders rule that requires Renjun to be chained to a zoom meeting twice a day.

“The new recruit -”

“Aurora?” Renjun asks. His hand slides to your lower back, pushing you into his side, and he takes your leg, draping it across his waist. It is not your cycle to sleep yet, but the position brings a great sense of ease to your subconscious.

“Yeah,” you nod, verifying. You open your eyes slowly, tracing his pretty jawline as he takes a turn to close his eyes, almost equally exhausted. His arm raises behind his neck, acting as another pillow to slouch against. It feels like years since you two have been able to relax, despite having just went on a weekend vacation a few months before. You sigh one last time, melting into his collar during your exhale. “She’s only been a vampire for about a decade, and there’s so much to go over.”

“Any special abilities?”

Renjun leans over, manipulating your situations in a way that keeps him as the big spoon, an arm wrapped under your chin and the other supporting under your head. It feels even more comfortable. You shimmy toward his waist, hugging him even tighter.

“No,” you answer, shaking your face in his chest. Sometimes you wish his heart would be a little bit louder, because when it is this low, you know he will have to feed again, meaning that he needs to get up and you would be without a body pillow. It is the equivalent to a stomach growl. Although, his actual growls are pleasant in your ears. Still, you give in, slacking your grip enough, knowing that you likely need to drink something as well. Drinking in bed is something that he prohibited, after you ruined an 18th century duvet, but these informal meetings function like pillow talk, considering that the rather large water fountain by your window blurs out the conversation to outsiders. “She has excellent people skills, and she is very charming, but other than that, no.”

Renjun sighs. “We need to recruit new members with special abilities.”

You turn over, looking at the sparkles across his pretty cheeks, and tuck his hair behind his ears (it is not blocking his face, but the gesture is meant to be a tender display of affection, something to show that you love him). His strands start to neatly frame his forehead again, then you tangle your fingers in the ends. You reiterate his sigh, shoulders dropping with your hands.

“I know,” you tell him, fatigued by the politics and tensions. “I know, but I also don’t want to participate in another war.”

Renjun kisses the corner of your mouth, leaving his lips there too, to whisper cautiously, “It can’t just be Mark all the time. He needs a break eventually.”

“No, I know,” you lament again before repeating, “but I don’t want to participate in another war. I won’t be able to handle another loss like that.” The last war saw the complete annihilation of your coven, in terms of death and abandonment. Those who posed the greatest threat were slain without reservations, and neither of you ever heard from those who went off to fight after they left, so you assumed they either perished or took on an alias. No one won that last war, and everyone who fought assumed new identities hide the fact that they participated in the political upheaval. “And I don’t want to be like Doyoung’s elitist cult either.” The Kim Clan exclusively watched and turned noblemen for a few centuries in the late 13th century. They became the fourth largest coven, even to this day, with 29 people. “He keeps trying to absorb us; he wants you for his inner circle.” You bury your face in his chest again, trying to find comfort as his heartbeat slows and the breath leaves his lungs. “Everyone keeps watching over kids and mortals, waiting to turn them if they haven’t already, just for their potential abilities.”

“We’re all trying to protect ourselves,” Renjun reasons, combing the crown of your head. “We need to be able to defend ourselves, defend our people. We have nine members in their rooms right now, not accounting for the protection detail around the manor.” He sits up, pulling you with him, then he shakes you off his shoulder, awake. “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen and get something to drink.”

You fall back on him, hanging across his torso like asking for a small request.

“No,” he disagrees, dragging you off the comforter. “You’re not going to ruin another blanket. Come on, let’s get some blood and then we can finish talking about this tomorrow, when you’re not so exhausted.”

“Fine,” you cave, feeling slightly more enamored with him, a side effect of his special ability.

You slip off the duvet and accept his hand, trailing behind him through the corridor to the kitchen down the hall. He sets a teapot on the stove, straining a fresh pouch of AB positive over a few teaspoons of water, while you sit at the island, taking out two mugs from the cabinet below. You settle them across from Renjun and assume a seat opposite him, knowing that he will eventually lean over the top instead of sitting with you. When Renjun finishes his small tea ceremony, you stare at him.

“Is my presence enjoyable?” he joke while stirring a few sugar cubes. You nod once, slightly timid as he slides a cup to you, the ceramic squealing across the granite. “Well, then we will have to keep meeting like this.”

You roll your eyes, hiding a smile behind your nutrition. “Over talks about leading our coven?”

Renjun glares at you. “Stop using that word,” he growls. “It’s so ... cringey.” He shakes his head, “No, but I miss having these meetings with you and feeding with you.”

You sigh too, knowing what he means. The only time you even share a bed now is to sleep; your room is, otherwise, empty, for the most part. He is either studying, out of town, or in a meeting from time that the sun sets until it rises. And you are either training the new member, studying, or running one of your businesses, from the time the run rises until it sets. The moments when neither of you work are when you take time to relax a little bit, reset your minds from the 12-16 hour schedules. It gets hard, not seeing him, even if he is around the corner.

“I miss you, too,” you confess. You hesitate for a second, tapping the your nails into the ceramic teacup briefly. Renjun lowers his own mug, raising his eyebrow in a silent question, so you sigh .. again. “Do you regret signing up for college now?”

“No,” he answers near immediately, making you sit up straighter, at attention. Renjun groans. That is not entirely what he means. “I like going to college. I know it’s,” he hums, rolling his eyes and sucking in his lips jokingly (to which you roll your eyes, sarcastically), “trying, to you, but I really like it.” He walks around the island, hugging your waist from behind. “And I like that you’re doing it with me. Do I wish that we’re not the brink of war, or whatever the tensions are rising to, that keep making other clans enlist new members? Yeah, definitely, it puts a little dent in our 10-year plan, but I don’t regret this experience. I only wish to see it through.” Renjun rests his chin on your shoulder, not daring to meet your eye just yet, slightly scared of your reaction. You already were not on board with this decision (thankfully, he did not have to use his compulsion for this request, not that he would - you have free will either way, but you chose him in the end and he appreciates that). “Do you regret any of it?”

You place your hands over his, trailing your thumb across his knuckles comfortingly. He thinks, for a second, that you might answer yet, but you surprise him: “No,” you say honestly, “I don’t regret any decision that I’ve made with you.”

“Not even the time I convinced you to replace Ten’s entire blood collection with mentos in coke bottles?”

You smack his hands, then return to stroking them, alleviating any potential pain. “Do you have any regrets then?”

“Just the one,” he recalls bitterly. Renjun kisses your shoulder as another apology. Even a millennium later, he cannot believe that you forgave him, so he never forgets to show you that it was not the wrong decision to let him back into your life. “I love you.”

You spin around fully. “I love you too.”

“Wanna show me?”

#nct #nct renjun #renjun #huang renjun #renjun x reader #nct imagines #nct drabbles #nct timestamps #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles #nct dream timestamps #renjun imagines #renjun drabbles #renjun fluff #nct fluff #nct dream fluff

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ffastoriesforfatties · 4 years

Text

Fat people

“Ugh I don’t know why obese people can’t lose the weight, they’re just lazy you know!” Sam stood in her kitchen facing her boyfriend who was slowly picking at his salad resting on her island counter.

“I dunno Sam....” he had heard her rants on this so many times he barely registered them anymore “why don’t you get really fat and the loose it, to, to stick it to them” he threw out jokingly.

“Hey... that’s not a half bad idea” Sam stood there considering the idea, “Then no one could argue that it’s do-able,...” Dylan looked up in surprise, was she actually gonna do that???

“Wait Sam you can’t be serious, I was joking.”

“No no you’re right, it won’t even take too long, if I drop all my exercise regimes and quadruple my caloric intake the pounds will come on like nothing, and then I’ll lose it all, in the course of a year!”

“That’s actually crazy, you’re not gonna do that” Dylan stared at her in disbelief

“No I will, I’m tired of fat-asses acting like they can’t loose weight! I’ll just prove how easy it is when you’re actually trying”

~the next day~

“Whoa whatcha doing in here” Dylan walked into the bathroom to find Sam scribbling numbers into a notebook

“Oh hey, I’m just recording my starting weight and measurements- 28-24-30 and 126.4lbs !” Sam looked up from her pad and smiled at Dylan

“So you’re uh, really doing this?” Dylan asked somewhat confused

“Of course I am, I’ll just put on a lot of weight and then lose it, you’ll have your skinny girlfriend back in no time” Sam chuckled

~2 weeks later~

Dylan walked into the living room hearing Sam beckoning him

“Dylan honey can you please get me some more food?” She paused for a moment “like the pack of Oreos on the counter and maybe one or 2 of the donuts? Sorry, ummm let’s go with 3.”

Since Sam started this journey their apartment had been stuffed with the crappiest food that old Sam would’ve never laid a finger on. Dylan obliged and grabbed the Oreos and donuts and started to bring them over to Sam, when he saw her his jaw almost dropped, she was looking bigger than he had seen in-ever actually, she was certainly not fat but she was actually starting to accumulate fat on her stomach and thighs and it was clear she had been stuffing herself for a while since her belly looked engorged.

“Um here you go Sam” Dylan shuffled away after handing it to her almost unable to contain how much his brain was freaking out, Dylan had always had a secret attraction to fat girls but was always ashamed of it, so he dated Sam because she was the complete opposite, but now..

“Oh Dylan honey I *stuffes face with a mouthful of donut* know you hate to see me looking so fat but I promise Ill go back to bring skinny soon enough, I just have to prove my point”

Dylan sighed knowing she didn’t know the half of it.

~8 weeks later~

Dylan had been out of town on business and when he came in through the door he immediately heard a shrill scream followed by

“Dylan is that you honey? Can you help me with something?” Dylan obliged and walked into their bathroom to be shocked by what he saw, a probably borderline obese Sam stood infront of him, wearing nothing but a very very tiny thong several sizes small and a sports bra, or more likely old shirt pulled taught against her upper body, her belly was hanging over her pelvis and sticking out far past her still surprisingly medium sized tits, her sides were decorated with plump thick rolls, her arms looking akin to pillows as well as her thighs and ass, and her face was shrouded by juicy cheeks and a clingy double chin.

She was screaming in joy it seemed, she had just taken her hip measurements by the look of it and was trying to get a read on the scale

“Dylan can you please tell me what that says, I cannot see it no matter how hard I try”

Dylan still in disbelief walked to the scale and read the number “247.3” Dylan’s brain short-sercuited and Sam cried with glee again causing her body to jiggle. Dylan still just stood there in disbelief, as Sam gleefully wrote down the numbers.

“Isn’t it great? I’m getting so big!” Sam cried out

“Yeah it’s it’s great” Dylan was using every ounce of self control in his body “Wasn’t your old goal only 225 though?”

“Yeah but I figured it would be even better if I kept going so the-the before and after are better..-“ Sam trailed off getting lost in her notebooks measurements and clearly getting away from the point of this experiment and every second was torture for Dylan since he couldn’t tell her how much he was secretly, and shamefully enjoying the transformation.

“Hey hon can you help me get my waist measurement?” She held out the tape and Dylan grabbed it and wrapped it around her large gut taking a sharp inhale as he grazed her lovehandles, he met the ends at 60 inches

“60 even.” Dylan’s brain wasn’t even processing information anymore, he was just stricken with shock he couldn’t get over.

~later that night~

Sam sprawled out on the couch stuffed out of her mind when she asked Dylan to come over

“Dylannnnn can you feed this to me? I need the calories but I’m so tireddddd” Dylan heard her loud and clear and after careful consideration gave in and walked over to feed his beached whale of a girlfriend.

“Um alright, what do you want?” Sam motioned to a bag of cookies from her reclined position on the couch and opened her mouth read to be fed. Dylan hesitantly put a cookie near her mouth and she quickly ate it clearly in the habit, and Dylan repeated the action, with several of them before Sam asked him to bring her the heavy cream from the fridge, so he assisted her, and grabbed it from the fridge all while thinking about how the old Sam would’ve never even eaten 1 cookie, and would’ve never even bought the heavy cream in his hand.

Dylan got back to the couch and Sam immediately said “just pour it into my mouth it’s faster” and Dylan slowly poured it into her mouth, and Sam drank it with ease. When Dylan had practically dumped the entire carton into his girlfriend she motioned for him to stop and then let out a huge belch before grabbing the carton and finishing it herself

“Thank you hone-“ she cut herself off as she started to doze off from an apparent food coma leaving Dylan dumbstruck staring at her body, her belly was becoming ginormous and he found himself mezmorized by it before snapping himself out of it. But Dylan couldn’t resist and snuck off to the bathroom to help himself.

~another week later~

Since Dylan’s return and Sams increasing laziness and dependency Dylan ended up feeding her most meals in their apartment since Sam liked to pass out after she was stuffed. Sam has also far surpassed her original goal weight, but it didn’t seem to even matter to her anymore, she loved her new lifestyle, and was probably far too lazy to make any change regardless so for the mean time Dylan didn’t bring it up.

Later as Sam was laying in bed eating a donut with a glass of milk she watched Dylan come into the room and start changing for bed and Sam had an idea

“You know Dylan, we haven’t really done.... stuff....recently... and I was thinking maybe we could change that..?” Sam sat upright in bed trying her best to look seductive but was really just highlighting her rolls but that didn’t get Dylan any less worked up, who immediately understood what she was asking and standing there in his sweatpants getting an erection, that Sam definitely noticed and smirked at.

“I take that as a yes..?” And Dylan wandered over to the bed more ready for this than anything else in his entire life, after years of suppressing his attraction was too horny to care and pulled his boxers down as he climbed onto the bed over Sam.

Sam grinned excitedly as Dylan opened her fat filled thighs and ran his hands up and lifted her heavy belly so that he could grab her pussy. He teased his dick around the hole while he ran his hands along the dome of her belly for the first time feeling it in his palms. He grabbed Sam by her love handles and pulled them closer so he could slide his dick inside her while being harder than he had ever been before in his life. He started pumping in and out leaned over and kissed her belly (partially due to the fact that’s all he could reach due to its size) and grabbed her at the hips to keep her close. Sam moaned and rolled her head back, panting, savoring every second until Dylan open came inside her unable to hold it.

Dylan pulled his dick out and flopped horizontally onto the bed in shock and Sam just sat there panting probably tired from the minimal exercise (if you could even call it that) Dylan picked up on her breathing and decided to comment

“You know the only thing that used to make you that out of breath was hill sprints” Dylan chuckled to himself at the stark contrast from old Sam. “Also Sam, when are you gonna lose the weight? Weren’t you supposed to 40 pounds ago?”

“Oh uh yeah I’m gonna lose it soon, but what’s-whats the rush? It’ll only make my point, uh uh stronger if I’m bigger, when I finally.... lose it” Dylan chuckled to himself now knowing she was addicted to it.

“What, what’s so funny?” Sam asked hearing his chuckling

“It’s just, Sam you’re not gonna lose it. I’ve seen how out of shape you are, how much you love food? You just keeping telling yourself you will but we both know you’re not gonna” Dylan turned to face Sam and have her a very blunt stare

“Now that’s-thats just not true!” Sam started to struggle out of bed and get herself standing “See I’ll prove it right now! I’m gonna lose the weight starting now!” And she attempted to do a single jumping jack (which she couldn’t even complete) before clearly processing how difficult that was and how heavy she felt “well um I can’t start now it’ll throw off my measurements and weight for the um before and afters, I um need to get to an even number before I can even start to lose weight though, cause that’ll uh um be more powerful” she said staring at her pudgy feet “I’m only 271..”

“Well then let’s change that.” Dylan lead her to the couch her plump out of shape form struggling to follow, Dylan sat her on the couch and quickly went into the kitchen and pulled out an arsenal of fatty foods and brought them to the coffee table, he opened a bag of ding-dongs and held it infront of Sam until she took it in her mouth and Dylan proceeded to stuff her with ding-dongs and crackers and beer until she passed out in bliss at which point Dylan whispered into her ear “I’m going to make you so much fatter and you won’t be able to go back fatty”

~please leave me ideas or constructive critizim! It’s always appreciated

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