#I love the little sprinkle of grey on his temples
Text
Me:
#I seriously gasped#how many times do I have to fall in love with you old man 💪#I love the little sprinkle of grey on his temples#the glasses#stubble#everything#🥹🥹🥹#david tennant#tenth doctor#doctor who#dt#ten x donna#fourteenth doctor#Doctor who 60th
297 notes
·
View notes
Text
Theme 27: 🫦 Smokey Shamey 🫦
I hope @gallacrafts will indulge my curveball take on the Smokey Shamey theme, as I rock up with some: Smokey Eye Make Up Looks
DEBBIE
To me Debbie will always be the little girl who never got that princess party she dreamt of, hence a pink smokey cat-eye, finished with pink glitter highlights.
MANDY
I am leaning into Season 6 Mandy, with a classic black liquid liner cat-eye and a matt grey smokey eyeshadow. Understated and classy, while still being playful and sexy.
KEVIN
There is nothing more durable than a smokey eye in brown, blended out to skin colour - one of my favourite make ups for a rainy day at the farm, because it will still look pretty decent by the end. Solid and dependable, just like Kevin!
IAN
I’m normally a big fan of contrast colours, but if you’re a redhead with pretty green eyes then you lean into that green as hard as you can!! We’ve got two shades of green (light on the lid, dark in the crease), blended out into a shimmery gold, green eyeliner on the lower lid, and black eyeliner & mascara on the upper.
MICKEY
And finally we have the OG black kohl smokey eye - perfect for our little trash panda! You want your black eyeshadow to be highly pigmented, and don’t be afraid to get a bit messy with it. You’re a Milkovich, not a Chanel model! On top of the black eyeshadow we have some black glitter, for depth. And of course it wouldn’t be a Mickey look without some characterful brows and chewed pink lips!!
And then of course post Season 4 we get Mickey ‘I Just Want Everyone Here To Know I’m Fucking Gay’ Milkovich, the bravest little thug muffin on the South Side, deserving a special rainbow smokey eye look in his honour!
Some make up ramblings behind the cut, for anyone interested :)
I get most of my make up from the cheap counter at whatever pharmacy I'm in - teen brands are great for cheap yet decent quality items!
However I do have some preference in terms of performance for certain things.
I love my EcoTools make up brushes. You can pick up a pack of 5 brushes for a tenner, but if you can find the set of 2 double headed brushes - Eye Enhancing Duo Brush Set - you've got all you need for a smokey eye look in two handy brushes! I've been using mine for years with no bristle loss or decrease in quality. Very very happy with those!
Eyeshadow - I'm a slut for a MAC pallet. They're not all as good as each other, and occasionally you get an eyeshadow that barely leaves any pigment on your skin and it's infuriating! But 80% of their colours are great. And you can buy colours individually on their website / at a MAC make up counter, and then you can fit them into a non branded make up pallet you pick up at amazon or your local pharmacy for a couple of quid, allowing you to put together you're perfect personal pallet!
Barry M does little pots of loose pigment in ALL the colours of the rainbow, called Dazzle Dust, and they are amazing!! Please do take a few days of experimenting if you are not used to working with loose pigment, as it can get MESSY lol A good trick is to go heavy on powder foundation under your eye prior to starting your eye make up, so any loose pigment catches on a layer of powder that you can then just brush off with a big powder brush.
I also have little pots of glitter (purchased from a craft store) in all the colours of the rainbow and a small bottle of stage make up adhesive. You will find there's a million different glitter adhesive gels and fix it sprays, some of them may be amazing, however many of them are going to work the exact same way as a simple application of some vaseline would. Depending on the effect I want I either use a small paint brush to very precisely apply glue and glitter pieces (glitter eyeliner, cut brows with glitter lines, individual glitter dots), or alternatively I use a lip gloss or similar sticky clear substance and sprinkle the glitter (for glitter blush, glitter temples etc.)
I have bought many a mascara promising many a thing (longer, thicker, fuller, rounder, magic in some way or other) and honestly, I have never been able to tell the difference between their performances. As long as it doesn't clump and go tacky after a week of use, it's fine by me.
For eyeliners - I have a few choice colours in MAC, but for the essentials I love essence cosmetics, which are one of the teen brands I mentioned above. Their liquid liner pens (24ever ink liner for example) are some of the best I've ever used, and they're like £2.50 each. Otherwise, I like eye pencils you can sharpen for the exact precision I desire, not the waxy sticks inside a plastic case that you operate like a mechanical pencil. Those are a big no no.
Okay, that's all I can think of on the fly.
Please add your favourite make up brands and tips and tricks in the comments! I love to learn from other people!
46 notes
·
View notes
Note
Seeing Rhett’s stubble slowly greying at the sides and running your hands over his cheeks in the morning 🥺🥺 I’m so in love with Dilf!Rhett
gosh i adore this so much!!! thank you for this 🥹
you awake with your head on rhett’s chest, the thud of his heartbeat against your ear. the early morning light shined through the thin curtains, enveloping you in warmth. you could hear rhett’s soft snores, his chest rising and falling slowly.
you braced your head on your hand, raising up to look at his face. he looked so peaceful, face free from any worry. his temples were greying a little more every day. he swears it’s because of the girls (who act just like him) but you don’t mind. it makes him look so incredibly sexy. his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks, and you counted the small freckles that were across his nose for the millionth time.
as it got colder, rhett let his facial hair grow out a little more. it was almost a full beard at this point and it was sprinkled with grey hairs. you couldn’t stop yourself from raising your hand and running it across his cheek, fingers brushing against the patch of grey around his chin.
“quit starin’ at me, woman,” rhett said when he stirred awake, a lazy smile appearing. his voice was so deep and raspy from sleep. you leaned down to press a kiss to his temple and then his cheek.
“can’t help myself, you’re just so sexy. grey hair and all,” you said before pressing another kiss to his cheek. he opened one eye to look at you and his smile grew wider.
“wanna take a shower before the kids get up?”
“absolutely.”
189 notes
·
View notes
Text
Floral
Sirius wasn’t a gardener. He did not have the patience nor the carefulness such a task demanded. The gardens at his family’s sprawling summer estate filled with blood-red poppies and gardenias were a terrible reminder that even the most beautiful things they touched could be tainted.
Years ago, Sirius had been baffled at the floral scent of lilac and lavender in the amorentia potion they had brewed for class. James had smacked him on the head and said with great surety that it must be the perfume of some bird that he was in love with. Sirius took offense, saying he never could be that involved with anyone, really. Even then his eyes tracked Lupin’s quiet disinterestedness in the topic. He had this feeling— he wanted to shout don’t worry! I won’t leave you for some woman! Though it was a rather strange thought for a boy to have towards his best friend.
When he had moved into the little Lupin cottage nestled in the Cotswolds, it was a dreary, deathly cold March. He was recovering terribly, always bad when taken ill, but Remus was patient. Was kind. It shouldn’t have surprised Sirius that Remus was well-versed in the business of caring for delicate things.
Still, he looked out onto the front yard with some interest one chill Spring morning to see the fresh tender shoots of wildflowers in the brown earth.
“Those are daylilies.” Remus said from behind him, handing a mug of warm tea over. Sirius hummed in affirmative, not one for talking these days.
“And over there-” he pointed to a great bush that had new buds of growth. “Is mum’s rhododendron. Under the awning is a few lilacs. I planted wisteria up the eastern wall last year, so we’ll have to see if it takes.”
Sirius watched him as his friend spoke. His nose was in profile, large and stately. He had a few streaks of grey at the temples. One of his front teeth was crooked. There was a sprinkling of freckles at the corner of his brow and Sirius right there, in the skin between the blemishes, deposited a prayer.
If anyone is listening, he thought, let me live to see the wisteria bloom.
@wolfstarmicrofic
#wolfstar#wolfstar microfic#remus#mauraders#lie low at lupin's#what does it mean when you love someone?#it means waiting for the flowers to grow#writ
64 notes
·
View notes
Text
finally wrote sth jakshegersjk,
summary: boy writes prayers for new boy in class
wordcount: ~840
enjoy! {??}
✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──
His mother knocked outside his door, “Have you drank your milk, Bren?”
“Yes, mum!” he called, “I’m doing my night prayers,”
“There’s a good boy,” she smiled, “don’t tarry so late- get in bed as soon as you can, understood?”
He nodded, not realizing she couldn't see him.
She walked away, mumbling more to herself, “Can have you late for school tomorrow,”
His gaze remained on the open moleskin journal. Page blank, cover worn. A stubby and chewed pencil rolled between his fingers as he recollected his memories.
“He’s foreign, you know,” one girl started, her voice low, “moved here after his house burned down,”
“Really? How dreadful! I heard he wasn't from here…somewhere up north instead,” her companion tittered.
“Look at his eyes,” a boy whispered to his group, “so empty,”
Another nodded, “He’s got scratches all over him, mate… that's why he’s dressed in that shirt…”
At the front of the classroom, the teacher sighed to herself, “Tried to throw himself in after realizing his parents didn’t make it out…little sister too,” she leaned forward and pushed her face into her hands and uttered a small prayer, “Dear Gods, help this boy if his heart remains pure. Let him smile again…”
Bren kept quiet as he arranged the class shelves, it was his turn this week. He stayed quiet, listening to the whispers throughout the school. When he could, he tried to catch glimpses of the new boy’s face.
He was pale and skinny. Pale and cool-toned, what one would see as deathly with his closed demeanor. Patches of red flushed over his cheeks at times when the heat hit him outdoors. His eyes –as many noted– were dark. Deep irises framed with greying circles of skin, and wispy lashes.
He kept his thick hair open, the length just brushing his shoulders, covering the nape of his skinny neck. The darkness of his hair over his forehead, the long sleeves of his clothes, and the paleness of his skin all made him look smaller than he really was. He only spoke when spoken to, which was really only limited to questions from teachers.
The students had all decided to give him distance, worried the overstimulation would scare him off. They’d been taught to respect all and pray for the good of all.
Bren gripped his pencil tighter and began scribbling down his prayer.
“To Moon-boy,” he read as he wrote.
Many called him Moon-boy, or Moon. Since it was his surname, and his physical seemed to match the moon’s.
“This is Bren, Bren Warent. I’m in your classes, Moon-boy…” he paused for a moment, rethinking his selection of words.
“This is me praying for you. I don’t know if you pray. I don't know anything about you, to be honest. But my Ma and the temple say we should pray for all, especially for those who need guidance... You are included in both of those categories.”
He inhaled deeply, it was imperative that he read this out loud, or else the spirits wouldn't heed him mind. They weren’t as fond of paper.
“I hope the fairies visit you this night, Moon-boy, and the one after that, and the ones that follow until you regain your light. Until you have found your path from the Gods…I hope the fairies visit you on their light-bugs. I hope they enter your bedroom quietly, leaving their light-bugs outside, brushing their feet on the window sill before resting on your head….”
Images of the tiny, luminescent spirits danced in his mind. Their delicate wings folding and unfolding behind them.
“I hope they sprinkle powdered beauty on your eyes, so you can see how beautiful the world is. I hope they rub glowing mushroom oils and herbs on your nose, so that you will be able to enjoy your home meals. Smelling the comfort. I hope they sprinkle reassurance around your ears, so you hear the beautiful sounds of the birds at dawn and dusk. I hope…I hope you hear that someone loves you. I hope they rub honey balms over your lips, so you speak true, so you can pray, so you can smile. I hope they kiss your cheeks, Moon-boy. I hope they kiss your cheeks and hands so you can feel the warmth of human contact, and the comfort in your skin.”
Bren turned to the window, seeing a bird nuzzling another under a branch.
“I hope…I hope they rub stardust over your eyes, so you can see how beautiful you are. Because, Moon-boy, you are very beautiful. Your pink cheeks, your small smiles, your big, dark eyes. You’re very beautiful Moon-boy.”
Bren closed the book, hoping the Gods and spirits of the night heard him. Hoping his prayers would reach him.
“You’re so beautiful…” he muttered, staring at the stains over his journal for a moment. Before tucking it away.
He crawled into bed, and as sleep began coming to him, a small voice began humming in his dream.
“To Warent…This is…it doesn't matter- You call me Moon-boy…”
✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Idiot,” Kaoru says, annoyed but also amused. “You’re not twenty-one anymore.”
“Thirty isn’t old,” Kojiro insists. Yet just last month they’d found the first sprinkling of grey hair at his temple.
Kojiro’s reaction that night showed the true depth of his vanity, but Kaoru refuses to risk his hair to try dying over them. Hiromi only made one teasing comment when Kojiro complained about it to him, while Ainosuke had called him Daddy and summarily got himself banned from Sia la luce for a fortnight.
It’s not surprising this had happened, not when his father went from his first grey hair to completely so within the span of five years. With any luck Kaoru won’t have to deal with a husband who suffers the same fate. Not that it makes any odds to him.
“No,” Kaoru agrees, sticking his hand into the bathwater to check Kojiro doesn’t have it too hot to be good for him. “But Reki and Langa are almost a decade younger than you.”
“Langa’s made of rubber,” Kojiro complains, wincing as he adjusts his position. “I can’t wait until they go back to college.”
“You miss them,” Kaoru reminds him.
Kojiro huffs, slapping his palms down on the top of the water so it splashes up. None of it lands on Kaoru’s kimono, thankfully, so he survives the activity without harm.
Kaoru straightens up and pulls his fingers through the unruly locks, curled slightly by the steam. He rubs his thumb specifically over where the greys grow mostly hidden and Kojiro stares mulishly up at him.
“No more idiocy,” Kaoru murmurs. “You’re too big for me to carry home.”
“Don’t know I can promise that,” Kojiro admits.
Kaoru shakes his head, knowing he can’t truly expect Kojiro to outgrow his desire to try new things, to push himself harder and further at every opportunity. Reki and Langa have only been back a day and here they are, nursing a pulled muscle in Kojiro’s back because he thought he could keep up with two twenty-one year olds fuelled by adrenaline and a free kilo of pasta.
Indulgently he presses a kiss to Kojiro’s forehead, gives his hair one last pet and turns to leave him to his bath. A damp hand catches his wrist.
“Where are you going?”
Kaoru makes a halfhearted attempt to pull his hand free but Kojiro doesn't budge, just turns his expression more pleading, a little more pathetic. “Are you leaving me alone?” he ask.
“You’re soaking the muscles in your back, Kojiro,” Kaoru reminds him.
“So.”
“Do you want me to just stand here and watch?” Kaoru asks him.
Kojiro snorts. “Of course not.”
He tugs at Kaoru's wrist again, pouting harder so his bottom lip distends.
“Me laying in your lap rather defeats the point,” Kaoru drawls.
“I don’t see how,” Kojiros says. Kaoru sighs and his husband whines; “Please, Kaoru.”
Kaoru tells him it’s annoying when he does it, that his little puppy-dog eyes do nothing to Kaoru to change his mood or opinion.
“I’ll sit at the other end,” Kaoru offers and he honestly doesn’t know a better way to say I love you than offering to sit with the taps digging into his spine. Yet Kojiro tugs on his arm again, pitches his face so pathetically heartbroken that if something important were at stake Kaoru might genuinely think him in trouble of crying.
“You’re a menace,” Kaoru mutters. “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m in pain,” Kojiro corrects, giving Kaoru one last tug. “Come fix it.”
Kaoru pulls his hand free and Kojiro lets him go this time; probably because he has some sixth sense that tells him Kaoru’s only doing so to start shedding the layers of his kimono.
Finally he settles back, leaning against the slightly sloped edge with a contented sigh. Kaoru makes quick work of the silk as he can without leaving it in a crumpled mess that will be a nightmare to fix later. He undoes the loose ponytail laying over his shoulder and tries not to burn under the heat of Kojiro’s gaze as he stands there naked to pile all his hair atop his head in a messy bun.
When Kaoru throws his leg over the side to step in at the other end Kojiro whines again, holding both his arms up in a clear indication to invite Kaoru in for a cuddle.
“Kojiro,” Kaoru starts.
“Please baby,” Kojiro begs.
Kaoru sinks to his knees in the hot water, crawling between where Kojiro’s are parted, waiting for him.
“Tell me if I’m causing you pain,” Kaoru insists, turning so he can settle as he usually does with his back to Kojiro’s chest. Water laps dangerously at the lip of the tub.
Kojiro pulls him in tight, sighing as they align perfectly, “Never.”
Kojiro cups water in his palms and lifts them, pouring it down over Kaoru’s chest. He pets back down after, hands lingering at Kaoru’ nipples, rolling a metal bar beneath the pad of his thumb. Kaoru slaps his hand away.
“No,” Kaoru snaps.
“But it would make me feel better,” Kojiro tries.
“You’d throw your back out even more,” Kaoru mumbles.
Kojiro tries it again, pinching the bud between two fingers this time, Kaoru doesn’t slap him away, too busy stroking his palms along the muscled thighs bracketing him in place.
“You can ride me,” Kojiro says.
Kaoru gives a weak laugh. “So I can put your back out, then?”
Kojiro gives another sigh, but he really sounds amused more than displeased. “Fine,” he says. “I guess this will do.”
His arms wrap around Kaoru’s waist clinging tight to him so he can’t escape until Kojiro lets him. Not that he wants to, of course.
Kojiro nuzzles the back of Kaoru's neck, drops a whisper soft kiss against his hairline and lets out another sigh.
“Thank you,” Kojiro says, right against his skin.
“And you say I'm never nice to you.
#matchablossom#a little risqué#my writing#eliotfic#bath cuddles#kojiro nanjo#kaoru sakurayashiki#kojiro x kaoru#sk8fic#myficlets
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Grey Rainbow" (2016) starts oddly, for a BL. During the opening credits we see mostly straight couples; the opening dialog presents gay marriage as a lecture-room topic, and then we meet our couple, reunited after being parted by circumstance for a couple of months (the time span is unclear).
They bicker like lovers who are getting a little tired of each other, until it develops that they are just roommates--or so it seems.
See what I mean ? Stay tuned. The fact that in the signature shot used at the front of the episodes Nuer has a bandage on his temple--and the somber hues of that same image--should maybe alert the viewer to the ultimately tragic nature of this story ...?
(An irony, considering l'm watching this series while KinnPorsche is front and center of each week, is that Nuer's opposite is called ... Porsche.)
"Do you know what I really wanna do most ?" "I want to travel alone with you, to somewhere far away ... far enough that no one knows us ... holding hands, and hooking arms over neck ... without having to care about what others think." "When will I be able to do that ?"
"Have you ever loved me at all ?"
A lot happens after the middle of Episode 2: Nuer's Jane breaks up with him, declaring him to be (not in these words) bisexual--whereupon he goes a little berserk and slugs her new boyfriend. Thus, the bandage on the temple--is this the first BL nursing carried out on the curb in the dark ?
By the end of the episode the two have become one. "You can't break up like this. I'll tell Jane she was wrong." Nuer: "What if she was right ?" They kiss. Porsche's soliloquy, above: Nuer wasn't asleep after all, and heard all of it ...
By the end of Episode 3 (of four hour-and-a-quarter eps) both sets of parents have gotten the news: their only sons are in love. Nuer's maa takes it hard at first, but comes around; Porsche's paw passes out at the table (nice timing, P ?) and wakes in a hospital bed only to start cussing out his wife. Bad scene, Bix ! After more fatherly histrionics, Nuer tells Porsche that he can't take it and is ready to quit the relationship. Aw, geez ...!
Yes, I know this story doesn't turn out rosy--I was told that, going in. But isn't there a pall hanging over this tale, more or less throughout ? From the title, to the dark signature image, the somber music often heard, and the curiously affectless Porsche, there's a downbeat atmosphere created and maintained, that the sunny smile that flashes periodically across Nuer's funny face can't really overcome.
So it's come to this: l'm taking bets with myself on who gets bumped off before this is over. (Call it a defense ploy against the angst of impending tragedy ?) Right now, Porsche is unreasonably insisting that Nuer remain in Jane drag for their visit to the temple to pray for Jane's recovery--thus he deserves to die, sez I.
But of course that's just a misinformed guess. The death when it comes, though sudden, is surrealistically announced just before it happens. And the aftermath is dreamlike--or it would be if not for some more of the clumsiness that mars this production at certain moments. Most jarringly, who is the girl we've never seen before but who Porsche seems to know: which little girl now a teen (?) is she supposed to be ?
Not a satisfying ending, l'm afraid, though there's an effort made to get us past it. There were a few sweet moments throughout the story; I won't say it was a waste of time. For 2016 perhaps it's as much as we could expect ?
The final lines, spoken by Porsche: "Being gay, unlike being a drug addict, isn't a choice; it's natural." (I paraphrase). There were other and longer lessons for the audience, about acceptance and forgiveness, sprinkled throughout. The actors and the acting were fine. The latter half of the drama was set in rural Chiang Mai, with domesticated elephants filling out the cast of characters. About five hours running time in total.
I'm sorry this four-part miniseries didn't inspire a more spirited or informative review from me. Maybe next time ...?
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
twilit study date
— herrscher of sentience x fu hua
genre : fluff
warnings : none
wordcount : 2,390
summary : every night, a certain little headache comes knocking at hua's door. but it's finals tomorrow, and hua really should be studying tonight.
outside her window, the night has devoured the stars and the flickering streetlights with fog and gloom and pools of mud gleaming like mercury in the shallow moonlight. the city is sleepy and slow, barely blinking and finding the moon higher than it was a second ago. nights like this are best spent in the comforts of a warm duvet, lost in a fantasy world, gradually inviting sleep to come and turn the words in her book into an ephemeral reality in her dreams.
but instead, here hua is, leaning down her window to peer at the lone figure standing on the porch, her forehead is bleeding and aching from when she opened the glass only to come face-to-face with a pebble thrown straight at her face.
"juliet, oh my dearest juliet," the girl below proclaims. "let down your hair, for your knight-in-shining-armor is here to save the day."
"that's not how it goes," she hisses, pressing a hand against her brow. "and quiet down. my dad is already asleep."
and so, her headache for the night has found her way into her room once again. she scales the wall nimbly and hops up the window sill, effortless with a breathless laughter that spills from her cherry-stained lips and crinkled eyes. her grey hair is messy and half-tied, half trailing down her neck like an inky waterfall — she is the antithesis of a gallant knight, but her smile is charming and lovely, nonetheless.
"hi," senti says, bright like a firework blooming in dusk. slender fingers reach down, threading with strands of hua's hair to press a light kiss against it. "i'm here again. did you miss me?"
"no," she responds dryly, and steps aside to let her in. she laughs and brings with her the smell of petrichor and dew, like the cool midnight air on a wild road trip to nowhere. "we were literally together just a few hours ago."
her lips curve into a pout as she falls down hua's bed, arms spread wide. and just like that, she’s more at home than fu hua ever looked in her own room. "well, i'm sorry for having feelings, you stone-cold old timer."
hua shakes her head and sighs fondly. her brow throbs painfully, but a quick glance at the mirror shows a minor red gash by her temple. it’s nothing serious, but senti sits up and narrows her eyes when she sees the wound.
“hey, old timer. where’d that wound come from?”
hua lets herself be dragged down on the bed while senti stands up and pads to her bathroom. the light flickers on, and hua takes a moment to indulge in the way she is so familiar with her room already, like she has lived here for her whole life. “i don’t know. a certain someone that was throwing rocks at my bedroom window in the middle of the night, probably.”
“oh.” the sound of rummaging pauses. “that’s on you, though! why’d you open the window when you knew i was throwing rocks at it?”
“because you were throwing rocks at it.” she removes her glasses and rubs her eyes. senti comes out of the bathroom with a med kit on hand and promptly climbs up her lap. “what was i supposed to do, just let you wake up my dad from all the noise you were making?”
senti puffs her cheek until she looks like a chipmunk. it is endearing and childish that hua can’t help but laugh a little.
“hey, stay still,” she grumbles. she is usually so rash and brutal, but tonight, senti’s hands are as gentle as glasswork, spinning threads of molten light as she dabs an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against her wound. it is night and the stars are dim, but hua can already see a dawn sprinkled with a rainbow-gold in her eyes.
when senti’s gaze drifts down to meet hers, hua pretends she hasn’t been staring. she clears her throat. “you do realize i’m usually asleep at this time, right? and you would have wasted a trip coming here?”
“nope.” she pops the ‘p’ and leans back to look for a bandage. idly, hua reaches up and tucks her hair beneath her ear. a golden hoop ring winks at her. “i was gonna wake you up if you were asleep. although, now i’m curious. why’re you up so late, old timer?”
hua just sighs. senti finishes bandaging her wound with a proud flourish, before leaning in and pressing a kiss against her brow. “i was studying for the exam tomorrow.”
“huh? we have an exam tomorrow?”
hua is not sure why she’s even surprised.
“you haven’t been listening in class, have you?”
“nope.” she sounds so proud.
hua really isn’t sure why she’s still surprised.
she pushes her off her lap and leads her to sit on the spare chair by her study table. it’s something she bought in secret after senti first started to crash into her room at night, but it’s not like it ever gets used anyway.
she pushes her off her lap and leads her to sit on the spare chair by her study table. it’s something she bought in secret after the first few weeks senti started crashing into her room at night, but it’s not like it ever gets used anyway. as soon as hua has sat down her own chair, senti ditches hers and climbs up her lap instead, and wraps hua’s arms around her waist.
she rests her chin against her shoulder and quietly laments the stupid exam tomorrow. it’s so late and the night breeze sounds like a lullaby; by her bed, her alarm clock glares at her in red and neon.
“so. what’re you reviewing?” senti asks.
“math.”
“oh.”
hua hums. she pulls the textbook nearer and picks up her pen. her penmanship is neat and precise, but even to her, it looks like a mess of equations and numbers and letters that don’t quite fit. there’s a doodle of her and senti in the corner – she must have been daydreaming earlier. she erases it before her girlfriend can see.
“you’ll let me copy your answers tomorrow, right?”
“no.”
“oh.”
hua hums. senti pouts down her, but she pretends not to see, busying herself with filing the pages of scratch spread haphazardly across the wood. she taps the book with her pen, and it sounds like the clock tick-tick-ticking in the background. she holds back a yawn. “that’s why you should study now so you can get a decent score tomorrow.”
senti groans, but there is no escape when she’s trapped herself willingly between fu hua’s arms and the table in front of them. outside, a lone car drives past, cutting a sharp path of life in the midst of the dark. when the noise has faded to silence and the dust settled back in, senti has already found a way to cuddle against hua’s chest, head nestled against hers.
every second that passes pours oil into hua’s lids until she can barely keep her eyes open. but that won’t do. hua might be confident enough to pass the test tomorrow, but now she’s more worried about senti’s grades. the girl is infamous for never listening but always passing exams, but her streak might break tomorrow, and it’s not hua’s business, but her head is already aching just thinking about it.
she pinches her thigh, and clings desperately to the razor-flourish of pain through her veins as she flips the textbook back to the first place and starts over. senti is quiet while she teaches the lesson – uncharacteristic of her, but her brows are pinched and she is biting her lip the way she always does when she’s concentrating. and hua knows this because she watches her in class a bit too much for her liking, and she knows that she feels shy when her red eyes dart over to hers, fall to her lips, and away.
her throat is suddenly dry.
but senti saves her from dwelling too much into it when she pushes their chair off the wall and whines loudly. hua covers her mouth so she doesn’t wake her dad up, but senti swats her hand away, huffing.
“this sucks,” she rants in a low whisper. “school sucks. the world sucks. i don’t wanna study anymore – school can suck my dick for all i care.”
hua chuckles and rubs her eyes. “you don’t have a d . . . thing.”
senti peers at her, cherry-lips quirked in a teasing smirk. “huh? what was that? hey, old timer, can you repeat what you just said?”
“nothing.” she clears her throat. “it’s nothing.”
a poke against her pink cheeks, chiming with a sadistic laughter. “i’m pretty sure it was something. hey. hey. come on, say it again.”
hua slaps her hand away and hides her face. “it’s unnecessary. let’s go back to studying.”
“aww why not? it’s literally one word, just say it. dick. it’s easy. d-i-c-k. dick.”
it’s too late for this. her cheeks are warm and senti’s laughter is pretty and gleeful. hua doesn’t have enough composure for this. “no.”
“sheesh,” she whines, and turns around so she is straddling hua’s hips instead. cool fingers graze against her neck, little sparks of electricity that send her heart into overdrive whenever they touch. “come on, old timer. i can’t believe you’re embarrassed about saying it. just say it once, pretty please?”
“no.”
her forehead aches.
“boo. you really are an old-fashioned boomer.”
hua doesn’t reply to that. she looks over senti’s shoulder and scratches ink on paper, though it’s nothing but gibberish that fail to make any sense. anything to escape senti’s searing eyes.
“ugh. fine.” fingers on her chin. hua looks up to sunset eyes that are luminous in the night. her smile is cheeky and pretty, and hua glimpses a hint of gold before her lips are on hers. a beat, and her body explodes into butterflies and fireworks trembling against the sky of her heart. the air is suddenly warm and sweet, intoxicating; she can taste a minty freshness in her lips before they part too soon.
“there,” senti murmurs. “apology kiss. feel better, old timer?”
it really is too late for this. hua closes her eyes, and sighs.
“no? you want another apology kiss?”
hua licks her lips in anticipation, but shakes her head instead. “there’s no need. if you’re really sorry, then go back to studying.”
senti leans away. “i guess i’m not sorry after all.”
she keeps quiet. senti peers at her patiently, but hua is a master of keeping the disappointed silence afloat.
finally, senti cracks. “hey, old timer.”
“what?”
she leans in, and hua flushes darker when she feels warm breath carress her ear.
“dick.”
hua pushes her off her lap. the rug softens her fall and mutes the crash into a light thump, but senti still dramatically groans in pain and curses.
“ouch! why are you so mean to me? i’m innocent!”
she rubs her fingers against her forehead. “if you don’t want to study tonight, then go to sleep early. i’ll wake you up tomorrow to study.”
warm arms snake around her shoulders, contrasting with the cold hands that rest on her arms. “why don’t you come to bed with me, then?”
“later. i need to study for the other subjects, too.”
“aw, come on.” she starts massaging her shoulders, relaxing her tense muscles. her fatigue is almost overwhelming. a yawn slips from her lips. “you’re tired already. just leave that for tomorrow, yeah?”
“but –”
her lips are on hua’s neck, peppering butterfly kisses over sensitive skin. she gasps; senti’s searing smile brands itself against her fluttering heartbeat. “come on, old timer. you know you want it~”
she moves away before the temptation can overwhelm her. “go to sleep,” she stresses. “you have to be up early tomorrow.”
“ugh, fine!” senti stomps over to the bed and crosses her arms. “another cold night spent alone while my cruel mistress slaves away to her work. ah, woe is me.”
hua closes her math textbook and reaches for her notes on history. “just go to sleep, sentience.”
“oh, so we’re back to a full-name basis now, huh, fu hua?” there is a childish petulance in her voice, airy and teasing and miffed at the same. “are you just going to pretend that everything we’ve been through is nothing to you now, fu hua? is that how you’re gonna go with this? really, fu hua?”
ah. so many dates and names. her vision swims. it’s already two in the morning. “just. please go to bed.”
“fine. but i’m stealing your piyo body pillow.”
ruffling sounds in the background. it’s getting hard to focus, even without senti’s distractions. maybe she should sleep it off and work hard in the morning, but she’s afraid there might not be enough time to do her daily morning training, teach senti, and review for herself tomorrow at all.
“at least piyo-san wants to cuddle with me. unlike a certain someone.”
hua doesn’t reply. she highlights a passage on her book.
senti speaks louder. “at least piyo-san is soft, unlike a certain pile of bricks studying math over there instead of cuddling with her poor, cute girlfriend.”
“i’m studying history now,” she says.
ah. the words are swimming in front of her now. she’s too tired to study. senti is on her again, chin rested on her shoulder, pouting. she has changed into one of hua’s spare oversized shirts, and hua tiredly nuzzles against her collar.
“i thought you were finally going to sleep.”
“i was trying to taunt you into sleeping with me.”
she chuckles. “i figured.”
“let’s go to bed, old timer,” she murmurs against her hair. hua feels a gentle kiss, and her lips tug into a small smile.
“fine.” she disentangles from senti’s arms and stretches her arms. “but i’m still waking you up early tomorrow, okay?”
“uh-huh, sure. whatever.” senti drags her back to the bed without listening. hua barely has any time to turn off the lamp first before she is practically thrown onto the bed. she laughs again and welcomes senti in her arms as she snuggles in for the night. her bed is already warm and it barely takes any time for her to fall to sleep. “g’night, old timer.”
“good night, senti.”
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
April Prompts #10 Sun and #11 Brass
Another lil entry for the April Prompts challenge
Sun & Brass
As glad as he is that it’s far, far behind him now, there's a part of Billy that wishes he could go back in time and see the shitshow that was his teenage life just once, one time so he could talk to his teenage self and reassure him that it's all OK. That it works out. That he gets…everything. Acceptance. Happiness. Love. With a guy. With the guy. Steve. The perfect one. The one who's currently basking in a golden glow because someone left the curtains open a crack last night and now there's a whole patch of morning sunlight spilling over one side of the bed. Their bed. Because they spend every night in a bed together because they live together. Happily.
And wouldn't that just be a thing to tell his younger self,
Yeah, I know, it sucks now, and you’re angry at the world cause it seems like it'll always suck for you, but it doesn't, kid, it gets better, so much better. Because you fall in love. And OK, yeah, I’ll admit that sucks for a while when you think it's just you, when you can’t see how it could ever be anything but just you feeling it. But then…then he tells you. He feels it too. And it's…damn, it's everything. Everything. All that shit you want but you pretend you don't cause you think you don't deserve it? Well you get it. I mean it, forehead kisses and holding hands and date nights and flowers and stuffed toys. He damn near breaks you with how much love he has to give. Wants to give. All to you.
Beside him, Steve shifts, grumbling in his sleep, and Billy reaches out to pull him closer, smiling when the little frown on Steve's face disappears the moment he's got his head resting on Billy's chest.
And it keeps on coming, Billy would say, all that love. Months of it while you both get out of that shitty town; years of it, through crappy apartments and crappier jobs. That love between you never fucking falters and then one day you wake up and you’ve gotten kinda chubby and he’s got a sprinkling of grey hairs that only make him look even hotter and you’re living together in your perfect little house by the sea with your fat-ass cat lounging on the couch. And you’re both still as madly in love as you’ve always been. Kid, you…you get it. All of it. Happily ever after. And he makes you realise that you did deserve it after all.
Steve shifts in his arms, nuzzling closer, smushing his face right into the crook of Billy’s neck and breathing deeply before letting out a sigh of absolute contentment, and Billy can feel the smile growing on his face.
And damn he’s such a sap. An absolute sap for you. For some reason, he looks at you like the sun shines outta your ass, like some love-struck Looney Tunes character, all heart eyes and dorky grins, and he spoils you rotten and it makes you want to be just as sappy too. To spoil him back. Cherish him. Makes you do shit like spend $50 on some ugly brass frog just because it reminds you of an in-joke you have, and it's worth every single penny to see how much he laughs when he opens it up and he freakin' loves that dumb ornament, he really does, he calls it Freddie and dresses it in a teeny tiny Santa hat at Christmas all because you gave it to him. That’s him. That’s your dork. That’s the man you love.
The thought of the ornament- currently sitting pride of place on their mantle piece with a teeny tiny cotton ball tail stuck to its ass as a nod to Easter- has Billy feeling a sudden, overwhelming rush of love for Steve. The kind of intense emotion that scared him at first, making him want to hide or run away, until he faced it head on and it turned possessive, almost feral, making him reach out with the desire to grab Steve and cover him in bite marks and hickeys, to claim him. And Billy's more in control of it now, letting it fill his heart without spilling out most of the time, but he still can't resist dipping his head down to press kisses against Steve’s temple. Three little pecks, their code from before. From right at the start when neither of them dared to say three little words out loud.
They both say those words every day now. Multiple times. Morning, noon and night.
But the old system still has its uses.
So just hold on, kid. That's what Billy would tell himself if he could. Just hold on. Cause you get so lucky. So damn lucky. You win the jackpot. It's worth the wait, I swear.
71 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Bad Day
Draco X Reader
Requested: @eve-mal1 Can you do a fluffy Draco where you’ve had a rly bad day and he comforts you x💕
A/n: Okay, so Draco might be the cause of your terrible day, but he had good reason okay? Post-War fic and some forbidden love sprinkled in there as well. Love you guys lots, let me know that you think.
I walked out to the top of the stairs and a large round of applause erupted. I took a deep breath and smiled softly, putting on a charade. I could do this. Everyone staring at me as I descended the stairs, putting in all of my effort not to fall flat on my face.
Ron came up beside me, to escort me. “Harry canceled last minute, he sends his regards,”
“What?” I squeaked. “But... he was supposed to...”
Harry was the reason that I had even allowed this stupid Gala to take place. He was the one who convicted me that I deserved it. Or at least that everyone deserved a bit of a break and to celebrate whatever they could. It was the reason I was in this constricting dress and pinching shoes with a hairstyle that could only induce a migraine.
“I know, but we need to go before people begin to get worried,” Ron urged.
“Right,”
Taking his arm, we mingled.
“This is... ridiculous,” I decided, among the throng of people, all congratulating and thanking me and Ron for our efforts in the war.
“Why do you think I’ve avoided them for so long?” Ron muttered.
The night was a blur for the most part, there were warm smiles and dancing, most of which I avoided for quite some time. Ron and I had gotten separated after a while and I was left alone. He no doubt went to find Hermione, and I didn’t blame him in the slightest.
“Miss Y/l/n,” A warm voice welcomed me.
I was met with dark brown eyes and a charming smile.
“Just Y/n, thank you,” I offered a polite smile.
“I came to congratulate you. You are a brave woman,” The man took my hand and kissed it.
“Thank you, I just did my job, that was all,” I blushed and looked down, feeling awkward.
“Do not downplay your achievements, it truly remarkable what you’ve done for this country,”
“Thank you,” I felt the blush on my face grow stronger and the need to flee growing stronger. For better or worse, I was given an out.
The glass of the great hall shattered black robes and masked figured flooding into the Gala. Amongst the screams and chaos, I drew my wand, ready. My eyes met Ron’s from across the way the same determination in his eyes. I lost him in the fray, throwing hexes and spells to take down as many black cloaked figures as I could. Yet, with each Death Eater I took down, five more took its place.
Caught off guard, I was grabbed from behind. One hand covering my mouth, another grabbing the wrist of the hand that held my wand. The vice grip didn’t let me protest or break free.
“Come with me quietly, or your friends die,” There was something in his voice that I couldn’t place.
But I had no choice. We had just gotten through a war alive. I wouldn’t let their deaths come as a cause of my stubbornness. I went with the cloaked and hooded figure.
The assailant took me with him while Apperating. I barely found my bearings before I fell to the floor. The first thing I did was ditch the death traps that were my shoes. Then I turned on my aggressor, who had made the mistake of letting me go, wand still in hand.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you!” I shouted, my wand poised and aimed at him.
My kidnapper laughed, throwing down his hood, taking off his mask. I gasped. Silvery blond hair and cool grey eyes greet me. Grey eyes that held mischief.
“That reason enough?” Draco chuckled, throwing his mask onto a nearby bookshelf.
“You,” I growled, tightening my grip on my wand. “You...” There wasn’t an insult large enough to the anger I was feel.
“Put down the wand Y/n, you’re not going to hurt me,” Draco raised an eyebrow at me, his black cloak shrugged off and cast aside.
“But you! And the Gala! My friends! Those people!” I yelled.
“Are all perfectly fine.” The glint in Draco’s eye let me know that he knew something that I didn’t. It aggravated me to death.
“What game are you playing Malfoy?” I hissed. “We agreed,”
“We did,” He made his way toward me, taking the wand from my hand. “I missed you too,”
Sighing I gave in, allowing him to pull me into an embrace. It felt good to be home in his arms. It had been too long. I could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath he took, reminding me to steady myself.
“What were you thinking?” I whispered into his shoulder. “All of that for a few moments together? They’re going to come after you. You’ll have to hide again, and it’ll be even longer until we can see each other,”
He drew away, cradling my face in one of his hands. “No, I won’t,” A smile rested on his lips.
“What do you mean no you won’t?” I demanded, pushing out of his reach. “Death Eaters just attacked a post-war Gala! You kidnapped me! Merlin, they’re going to think I’m in actual danger!” My voiced reached a point of hysterics. “Draco what the hell were you thinking!?” The gravity of the situation weighed on me heavily.
“Hey, will you calm down for two seconds?” Draco took a step toward me.
“No! I will not calm down!” I shouted at him, “Of all the stupid, reckless, idiotic things you could have done!”
“I told you she would yell,” A new voice chimed in and my eyes met amused green ones and a tangle of raven curls. “We should have told her,”
“We needed to make it look real,” Draco refuted. “And she never would have agreed.”
“Harry?” I sputtered. “But... you... you ditched me!” I was back to yelling, jabbing a finger accusingly at him. “And you seriously let him go through with this plan!? I know you’re both daft, but this is low for the both of you!”
“She’s got quite a mouth on her,” Harry chuckled.
“Give her a minute, she’ll come round,” Draco grinned, looking at me, expectant.
“Refer to her in third person again and you’ll have bigger problems than my fury,” I hissed. “Now what the hell is going on!?”
“Are you ready to listen?” Draco asked, calmly—condescendingly.
“Don’t patronize me,” I snapped, crossing my arms.
“Oh good,” Ron burst through the door, “Hermione and I are in, everything else is taken care of.”
“Ron knew!?” I demanded. “Did everyone but me know!?”
Ron slowly backed away, and Draco chuckled, coming toward me again, with no fear that I might take a swing at him. It was a serious consideration.
“Harry, leave us for a moment?” Draco requested softly. The chosen one left without another word.
“Draco, what’s going on?” My anger had passed, and now I was scared and confused with more questions that loomed with the weight of the world than answers.
He took a deep breath in and pulled me to a loveseat in the sitting room we were in. I laid my head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around me.
“I don’t want to lose you again.” I whispered. “Just tell me what’s going on,”
“Harry and your other friends decided to help me getting back to you in a safe way that wouldn’t threaten either of our lives,” Draco began, shushing me when I began to argue back. “The Gala was put on with a few strings pulled from Harry and Hermione. Some of the attenders will remember the Death Eater attack, but most won’t. Those who do remember will test as if their memories had been altered, not the other way around,”
“Hermione?” I mused.
“Yours truly,” He grinned. “Give me a little credit, there’s only so long that I can stay away from you before I start to get creative. I figured out the spell a week ago. Hermione and I tested it on Ron and Harry. It worked.”
“You... created a spell for me?” I gaped up at him, settling into a warm smile. He pressed a kiss to my forehead and continued. Wandless magic began to undo my hair, and I could only guess that Draco was the cause.
“So, all we needed was you there and ready. Those who do remember would have seen kidnapped by yours truly, the other will think you’ve moved to America to escape the horrors of war,” He gestured here and there with his words.
“But that would mean that some wizards are thinking that I was kidnapped by a Death Eater,” I pointed out the flaw.
“Well, until it comes up in the Daily Prophet that you’re in America safe and sound, putting the entire thing to rest.” His victorious smile made me give up on the notion of any argument against his plan. If he believed it would work, then so would I.
“Any other questions?” He mused, standing.
“Why didn’t Harry show?” I pondered, letting him lead me down the halls of the Manor to our usual shared room.
“Because his word would be the end all be all. And it would create more rumors and conspiracies, and it was easier for him to miss the event all together,”
Draco opened the door to the en suite bathroom, revealing a warm bath and a dozen lit candles. The warm atmosphere wrapped around me like a thick blanket. Draco pressed a kiss to my temple.
“Go ahead and unwind. I’ll be waiting,” He promised, leaving me alone.
Scrubbing off the makeup and washing the hairspray and gel from hair, I felt a bit more like me. The bath must have been charmed to stay warm because though I spent quite some time processing and unwinding, it remained warm. But there came a time that I had to leave the warm silky water and make my way to Draco.
In one of his old t-shirts and sweats, I wrapped a house coat around myself and ventured out. Though, he wasn’t waiting in the bedroom like I thought he would be. Frowning I padded out into the hall, leaning over the banister, searching for some sign of life in the large house. And it proved useful because I heard the faintness of music coming from the great room. Making my way down the stairs I found Draco at the piano, playing softly. A melody that belonged to me. With the hearth ablaze and candles lit, the scene was enchanting.
“Dray?” I asked softly, not wanting to scare him.
“Have a nice bath?” He asked, coming over to me, his attire close to mine. I nodded.
“Did everyone leave?” I asked, looking at the large empty warm room.
“They thought maybe we’d want some time to ourselves.” He smiled leading me to the large sofa where blankets and pillows greeted us.
“They’d be right,” I smiled, curling up with him.
His arms wrapped around me, one hand drifting to my hair and running through the damp tresses. I laid my head back on his shoulder.
“You really put me through a hell of a day,” I muttered.
“I know, I’m sorry,” He murmured, kissing the top of my head. “But it had to work. I couldn’t stand another moment without you,”
A smile touched my lips. A house elf came with mugs of warm tea and assorted biscuits and sweets. I raised an eyebrow and Draco smiled, switching on the large TV that I had convinced him to install as a familiar melody of a favorite movie of mine began to play.
“Really laying it on thick, are we?” I laughed, settling down into the comfort of his arms and the pillows around us.
“You said it, I put you through a hell of a day. I figured I’d have to make it up to you,” With ease Draco pulled me into his lap, holding me closer.
“Even without all of this, you did manage to get us safe and sound together and I owe you a lot for that,” I intertwined my fingers with his. He held to my hand tightly.
“I had at least three ulterior motives,” He smirked down at me, causing me to roll me eyes.
“Well, I’m glad you did it regardless,”
“Anything to get back to you, my love.”
As the movie progressed, I sang softly to the songs on screen, eventually hearing Draco faint baritone harmonize with my gentle melody. And for that moment, I was certain, no matter what the day threw at me—be it Death Eaters and a stuffy Gala—I’d go through it all for Draco.
.
masterlist
.
more like this:
beautifully beastly
a death eater and a dancer
.
@coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18@whygz@crazywritingbug @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog@savingdraco @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen@hxneybgb @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte @braelynn-johnston @jiggllyy @darcypotter-blog @thiccheerioss@lottie289 @beautiful-pegasus@tceedlmao @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @dragonsandbread @the-queen-of-hell-things @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing @sunflowerxsadnessw @fattycooter @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy @strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge @ray-of-sunrise @artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl @quillsareforwriting @wollymalfoy @lilpieceoftoast @paper-cats @floweryjh @hufflautia @livize75 @annie-mcl @riathearora @live-like-luna @justathoughtfulangel @coconutdawn @skteaiy @naughtygranger @dragonsandbread @abundantxadorations @moony-artnstuff @and-then-a-girl-with-luv @1-800-luvsick @pandas-rice-field @in-slytherin-we-trust @emmaa-t @introvertedrae @infinity1o1 @echpr@dekulover @marshmallowtraver @cereuselle @lonely-skywalker @sleepysnapesnake @hoeforthefictional @coldlilheart @helen-paris @rosie-starlit-sky @vulture-withafile @hogstupefy @eveft @iraniq @groovyfluxie @cool-weirdo-wannabee-author @rosegold-thorns @criminaly-supernatural @ghostofdolans @mxl-foyrecs @ginger-haired-queen @bex4whovian @kellyrose193 @unlikelygalaxygiver @marvel-trash-was-taken @one-edgy-bitch@supersouthy @garbagejay@rejectedlonelyasianchild @lucymxwell @coldlilheart @elia-the-bibliophile @biggalaxydreamland @fuckbuckyyy @hopem1218 @youareinllve @tyrusparker @3rdofkingdomtrees @i-mmunity @zero-nightshade @graym01 @fandomtrash88 @snakey-drakey @ceeellewrites @thatguppienamedbae @pinkleopardss @angel-blogging @xhoney-bee-x @jovialthings @samanthahaigwood @minigigglybabi @clumsy-writing-rdb @lahoete @yourenotafailureoverall @m-winchester-67 @shiningstar-byulxx@clumsy-writing-rdb @dracosathenaeum @dracofeltonmalfoy @harryslouis @iilovemusic12us @itsbebeyyy @dumspirospero-1 @kaye-lantern @anerroroccurrrrred @franbow29 @big-galaxy-chaos @itsbebeyyy @gryffindors-weasley @ornella0910 @ultrabuzzlightyear @phantomface1983 @emmalee12 @kuyrukludenizkizi @aubreylovesthegames @deafeninglandpersonempath @ackermanbitch @oingo233 @drismultiverse-blog @majicbamana @harrypotter289 @marinettepotterandplagg @cupidpoison @brownwheatrice @introvertedrae @gryffindors-weasley @frecklesandfirecrackers @bitchinbadgers @mkstover @dracomalfoyreader @mortallythoughtfulgurl @sakumorubywy @smileycount @ceeellewrites @is-it-really-a-secret @blogforharrypotter @spencerreidisbootiful @lam-ila @justawilddreamerchild @heavenlyrainyparis @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room @dracomalfoyreader @spellbinding10 @justawilddreamerchild @queen-of-the-coven @potterpasties @trudabest @theonlystoriesiliketoread @daltonacademia @jemmakates @dannighost @imagines-andshizz @unstableye @hahee154hq @malfoystylinson @idkmanicantenglish @subpar-life @myshadowsingeraz @isabellamur @dracoswhore007 @subpar-life @sxphiemxlfoy @mxxnlights @malfoyyyyed @crabbygorl15 @legendarywinchester1 @alias07jef @hufflepuffprinces @youarethereasonimsmiling @mazerunnerrose @neomarker @confusedscreaminggremlin
#draco#draco x y/n#draco x you#draco x#draco x reader#draco x ravenclaw!reader#draco x hufflepuff!reader#draco x gryffindor!reader#draco x slytherin#draco x slytherin!reader#hufflepuff#slytherin#Ron Weasley#Hermione Granger#Gryffindor#Slytherin x Gryffindor#harry potter request#Harry Potter rewrite#harry potter fanart#harry potter blog#Harry Potter#draco redemption#draco malfoy redemption#redeem draco malfoy#redeem slytherin#draco malfoy x y/n#draco malfoy x reader#Draco Malfoy x OC#draco malfoy x#Draco Malfoy
166 notes
·
View notes
Text
There's a flower on his table-top. It's the last thing Tony notices; shrivelled, half hidden under a stack of folders with a leaf torn and browned.
He stares at it for a full five minutes, muscles tensing further and further until the wrench cuts bluntly into his right palm and he hisses as he drops it, feeling burnt.
It's a quick second distraction from that aged flower but it serves its purpose perfectly.
Tony turns away, calling for Dum-E to throw it into the trash.
-
Habitually, he drinks his coffee black and hot. No sugar, no milk needed. Just a quick fix to boost his system so it can function for another four hours.
Natasha catches him at 4am, wrapped in a woolen cardigan with an irritated frown on her pretty face.
She stares at him, and stares while he stares right back at her. It's like they're both trying to shift through words to find the right one to say.
Eventually she turns away and leaves.
Tony's not surprised, nor is he going to admit it bothers him more than he likes to think.
-
Clint is blunt. And brutal.
It's perhaps all the times he'd fallen on his head throughout his life, that he doesn't shy away from calling Tony an asshole, face forward.
"You just gotta destroy someone else along with yourself don't you?" His words cut like daggers.
-
If he's honest, Tony cries.
Two weeks after that dried rose, he stares at a teardrop on its spot. He hates the stream that doesn't stop but guess that's the price he has to pay for breaking someone's heart.
It's a strange sort of thing, to notice a drop of clear liquid before realising what it is and then, where it's from. Humiliating too. For Stark men don't cry but Tony always manages to break that streak somehow.
No wonder Howard hated him when he was alive.
-
It's the sight of Steve that does it in the end.
Forlorn in his long cotton sweatpants and thick beard and he's as good as he'd last seen him, or maybe better. But his blue eyes shine less, like something's hardened over them and when they meet Tony, they stare right through him as if he's a stranger.
And that's way too brutal than what he did, Tony thinks.
Indifference versus rejection and the former will always be the grand prize winner.
-
One night, after four months of turning away from each other, Steve comes to stand by the window where Tony's at; nursing a glass of whiskey for his rotten heart and his presence is so thick that it moulds around Tony like a warm cocoon. Comfort which he's been yearning for ages now within his reach but it's not really his to own, is it?
They don't speak. They don't look. They simply stand there right next to each other as if testing their boundaries and it goes on for hours and Tony feels tired; his eyes burn with sleep and whiskey but something in his veins pleads him to stay cause it knows if he leaves now, this will be it.
He doesn't leave.
-
Two days later, Steve puts a strip of bacon on his plate of breakfast and carries on flipping pancakes like there is nothing out of normal.
Clint's bite of waffle catches dust on its fork while his jaw hangs slacken staring at both of them.
Natasha's smirking, but it's barely there, for barely a second before it's gone behind a mug of jasmine tea which scents the whole kitchen.
Tony chokes on a strawberry, is what all of them think, but really it's a huge lump of tears stuck in his throat which grows and grows until Sam whacks him on the back with all his strength combined.
"Jesus Christ," he hisses between shaking his head.
-
Someone tells him on a Saturday, while the Sun is pouring hot into his workspace that Steve is still hung on him as he was before the mess.
Tony puts a name to that someone when he discards his goggles and meets piercing grey eyes behind a swath of long brown mane and, "My God," he says, "Do you have no plans to cut that lump of grease, Barnes?"
-
One day, he passes by a flower shop on the busy New York street while in search for caffeine post board meeting and it's a slight hesitation in his steps before he hurries along that sits with him until the dead of the night and he recalls vividly the smell of that dried rose he trashed that day and the ache in his chest which feels better now and he's thinking and thinking and -
He orders a bouquet the next day.
100 red roses within a mass of baby breaths and it's delivered to the garage, not to its intended recipient because Tony is still not sure this day.
And he still isn't sure even after a day, and another and those roses lose their luster and they wilt and they rot and Dum E kindly blends them into a smoothie which Tony pukes into the toilet bowl a week later.
-
The thing is, it's not the roses but Steve that he isn't so sure.
Sure, Barnes was a twittering little nosy bird who sprinkled some hope in Tony's dead garden. Sure, their friends tease them during battles or sometimes some random moments when their eyes meet, or fingers touch or Steve places an extra pancake on Tony's plate or when Tony gives Steve's shield back looking shinier before ever -
Sure, there are instances but, nothing was ever said between them after Tony tossed Steve's heart into the trash can and everything feels broken still sometimes when it's only two of them in a space together.
-
Courage comes in the form of a death threat when a rebar goes through and through Steve's chest but it barely misses his heart and Tony loses his shit like never.
If ever Rhodey has seen him so still, it is now by Steve's bedside smelling miraculously of both blood and antiseptic. Even Pepper couldn't get through him, in the end.
It takes 10 days and three hours for Steve to open his eyes and the first thing he smells is sweet floral.
Almost too much to the point that he scrunches his nose. Too much that he forgets the pulsating pain at his right temple and the tearing one in his breastbone. But he sees Tony in the mass of red, white, yellow and almost every other color in a rainbow and he understands immediately where the source of it comes from.
"Maybe I went overboard," Tony rubs his nape, looking oddly out of place but beyond desperate.
Steve's hand, already in his, gives a good squeeze and he feels better, marginally, but still unearthed. Like he shouldn't be here, but he couldn't help himself because he needs to and he just has to.
Steve croaks, "Just a little," and the twitch of his mouth gives more hope than a lake to a man in a desert. Tony drinks all of it like a starved man and he lets out a sigh he's been holding for ages. And the apology too, slipping through his lips into the clasp of both of their hands.
"I'm sorry," smelling sickeningly sweeter than the rose which came with Steve's 'I love you' eight months ago and it makes Tony wince.
Steve's silent through it. Through another hour Tony spends rambling over nothing and everything because Steve hasn't said anything and even then, even when Tony leaves, closing the door behind him, Steve doesn't say a single word.
-
"Maybe you're wrong," Tony wants to tell him. It's the only reason why he climbs out of his workshop at 3 in the morning because that's when their resident Robocop comes out for late night munchies.
And he almost says those words because that pair of shoulders are familiar as well as the black hoodie draped over them, except the owner of that body turns and Tony stops dead in his tract, breath caught in his chest because that is not Bucky Barnes but Steve Rogers.
And then he turns 180 and bolts out of the kitchen.
-
Once upon a time, the only person who'd dare to call him coward to his face would have been Rhodey. But now he's got like 10 of him and everywhere he turns, he seems to run into one of them.
"What are you running from?" Bruce asks him one day and Tony almost tells him. Almost. Cause it's Bruce and he would never judge but that is about it.
Something about all of this with Steve makes Tony feel like he should be judged. Bound to a stake and forced to face his judgement day because that's what he deserves for breaking Steve's heart.
So he opens his mouth, and he closes and he shakes his head and pretends Bruce never asked him a thing at all.
-
And then Steve walks into his shop - Jarvis, that bloody traitor - and Tony is so shocked about this turn of event that he misses the close proximity Steve puts himself to Tony when he asks roughly, "Did you forget I almost got killed?"
When Tony shakes his head mutedly, he asks, "Then you don't care to see if I recover. Is that it?"
Aghast, Tony opens his mouth to protest but Steve doesn't let him.
"You spent days sitting and mourning by my bed when I was unconscious and you bought so many flowers as if you wanted to bury me in them. Did you want to bury me in them? Is that why you're running away from me now that I'm back alive?"
And that hurts because, "How dare you?" Tony whispers, breath lost in boiling blood and he blinks back hot tears, looking up at the man he loves.
Those hardened blue eyes melt and they shine with tears when Steve cups his face and demands, "Then why are you avoiding me?"
"Honestly? Cause I think you hate me," and there it is. The ringing truth which Tony didn't know existed until it comes tumbling out of his mouth and his throat pains when he tries to swallow a building lump cause it hurts to look at Steve when he looks like he's been cut by a thousand knives.
So he tries to turn away but Steve pulls him into a bone-crushing hug and hisses into the crown of his head, a remarkably unfamiliar word to ever be directed at Tony Stark.
"Idiot."
76 notes
·
View notes
Text
Christmas Biscuits
words: 2287
warnings: swear words, a tiny bit of angst, mentions of death (this sounds kinda bad, but it’s actually really fluffy)
A/n: this is my first ever fic and I’m really insecure about my writing. Please be kind 🥺💖 (gif is not mine)
Writing challenge by @mypoisonedvine
“This one, daddy, this one!” Bucky chuckles as he looks towards his toddler, who sits on the kitchen isle in front of a box full of biscuit cutters. The three year old holds up a huge reindeer cutter and smiles toothily at her father.
“Dude, it's way too big. We won't even be able to fit four of those on one baking tray. Why do we even have one this large?” The teenager stands to the left of her sister and looks at Bucky with a questioning gaze. Her hair is lazily put into a low bun and an ugly Christmas jumper adorns her body.
“Eileen, don't call your sister 'dude'”, the teen rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh, “Whatever” He makes his way towards the toddler and gently takes the reindeer out of her hands, while sending his oldest a warning look. “You heard your sister, baby. Let's choose some smaller ones” he explains and pulls the box towards himself.
His eyes fall on a Mickey Mouse biscuit cutter and a smile takes over his face. He grabs the desired object and places it on the isle, “When your sister was in kindergarten she made this all by herself. We use these every year. They are very special to me”. The little girl holds up the cutter to inspect it and then looks to Bucky. “Special?”, she asks.
He nods and watches as his youngest daughter holds the cutter towards her big sister. “We use this one, yes Isla?” Eileen smiles, accepts the object and places it on the counter next to the dough. She shakes her head lightly and grins at her father, “I can't believe you've kept this all these years”
Bucky shrugs and continues searching the box for appropriate biscuit cutters. “You gifted this to me, of course I kept it. You looked so proud when you brought this home, I'll never forget. Also, I'm pretty sure your father would have beheaded me if I even thought about throwing this away”, he pauses, just for some seconds, “We were probably as proud as you, if not more”. Bucky fetches a star and a smaller reindeer biscuit cutter out of the box and hands them to the toddler.
Eileen hums before turning towards her little sister, “Do you like ones dad chose, Sarah?”. She nods and holds her arms up, silently demanding to be carried. The older girl obliges and puts the toddler on her hip, so that they can add the new cutters to the counter.
Bucky joins his children with another biscuit cutter and the dough in his hands. He places both items down and grabs the rolling pin to flatten out the dough. “I remember how much papa loved baking biscuits. He'd always let me decorate them, even though he was so much better at it”, Eileen says while putting Sarah on the counter and holding her waist, in case she'll fall down. She eyes Bucky hesitantly.
He stops for a moment to collect himself and then forces a smile on his face, “He always loved everything you did. You were his little superstar. There wasn't a thing you could have done wrong. You've always been his pride and joy”. Bucky continues rolling the dough, “He always felt bad about actually eating them. He couldn't bear to destroy your art”
“That's what I've got you for though!”, his oldest giggles and gently pinches Bucky's tummy, which makes him release a high pitched shriek. Sarah begins to laugh loudly at her father's silliness and tries to tickle him as well. The man however grabs her hand and pulls her little body towards his chest. He quickly presses a kiss to her forehead.
“Alright, I think we can start cutting. Sarah, baby, do you want daddy to help you?” The young girl nods and claps her hands in an excited manner, “Please, daddy!” Bucky grins and encourages his youngest daughter to choose a cutter. Eileen quickly fishes for her Mickey Mouse one, a smile upon her lips. Sarah takes her time to think, before she carefully picks out the star shape. “Good choice, bug!”
The family spends some time on cutting and baking multiple batches of biscuits, laughing and smiling. After a couple minutes, Eileen starts to play a Christmas playlist to which they sing to. Time was flying and soon they found themselves ready to decorate their goodies.
Bucky forces Sarah to put on an apron and ties her dirty blond hair back into a ponytail. Eileen mixes different coloured icings and opens some sprinkles and edible glitter. Her father eyes the glitter and sighs, “This is going to end in a mess, right?” The older girl smiles sheepishly and her father accepts his defeat.
“Alright then girls, let's get going”. Eileen takes on the job of delicately dipping the biscuits into the icing while Bucky desperately tries to stop his toddler from pouring a whole bag of sprinkles over one single biscuit. And like anticipated, once Sarah finds the glitter, it's over. There's glitter everywhere. In his hair, in his children's hair, on the counter, the floor and of course, on the baked goods.
Once they finished all the biscuits and stored them, Bucky leans against the counter, utterly exhausted. His eyes drift to the clock. It's already 6 pm and he still needs to cook dinner. Upon seeing his father so tired, Eileen slides next to him and places a hand on his, “How about we order some food? We can even choose something healthy, if you want to” He raises his eyebrows, “Healthy you say?”. She nods and Bucky narrows his eyes, “Who are you and what have you done to my teen?”
His dramatic reaction causes her to snort and shake her head. “Well, do you want me to order something or not?”
———
After devouring some nice Italian cuisine and doing a whole lot of dishes, everyone is laying on the couch, tired, yet satisfied. “I'm glad baking biscuits is an annual occurrence. This shit is way to exhausting”, Eileen yawns out and cuddles up to her father, who lifts up an arm to pull her towards him. Sarah is already fast asleep on his belly. Bucky gives his oldest a warning nudge for using a swear word, but quickly presses a kiss to her temple afterwards.
“Papa hated when I swore. And he always heard it too! I could have been on the moon for all I care and he would have still known”, she complains with a light smile on her face. Bucky chuckles and begins to play with her hair, “You could always hear him yell 'Language!' whenever someone used a bad word”. He sighs, “Your father was a good man. He only wished for the best for you and your sister”. Eileen remains silent.
“Are we going to visit papa tomorrow?”, she asks after a while. Bucky nods, “I was planning on doing so. Is that okay with you?”. The teenager mumbles a quiet 'yes' and yawns again. “Alright, my love. I think it's time for bed” She grumbles, but uses one of her hands to stroke some hair from her eyes. Sitting up, she yawns again and presses a kiss to her father's cheek, “Good night, dad. I love you”
“I love you too, dear. Sweet dreams”, he calls out to her retreating figure. The shine of the vanilla candles illuminates her form and Bucky can't help the warm feeling in his chest. Eileen grew up to be such a beautiful young woman and he realises again just how proud he is. Proud of her responsibility, her independence and her love for herself. It hasn't always been easy for her and she still pulled through to be her best self, which he can't help but admire.
Before he can get too emotional, Bucky gets up as well, careful to not disrupt his daughter's sleep. He blows out the candles, the smoke filling his nostrils with an overwhelming smell of vanilla. Steve always insisted on buying exactly these candles, for they calmed his mind enough to sketch a little, and really, how could Bucky ever deny his love? Now they are a reminder of him. His scent and laugh, the sound of his pencils scratching his paper, the feel of his lips on Bucky's own.
He shakes his head to rid himself of these thoughts and makes his way up the stairs into Sarah's room. He tucks her into the tiny bed and kisses her forehead, “Good night, baby. Sweet dreams. Daddy loves you”, he whispers.
On the wall across the door is the wall painting Steve made before their youngest daughter was born. He was so excited to meet her and made it his goal to create the most beautiful nursery for her. The underwater scene displays so much of Steve's character, from the way he carefully handled the brush to his determined, strong strokes. Bucky is happy that Sarah has this reminder of her papa, especially because she never had the chance to meet him.
He sneaks out of her room, switching on her night light on his way out. One of his hands rests on his soft belly and squeezes the fat that has collected there. A yawn ripples through him which makes him move to his own bedroom. There, the walls are shining in a light orange which creates an illusion of a bigger room, or so Steve used to say.
Bucky unzips his jeans and throws them on the growing pile of dirty clothes on the floor. He'll have to do laundry soon. His soft jumper joins his trousers, leaving Bucky in some grey boxer briefs. Too tired to bother putting on pyjamas, Bucky lets himself fall into the king sized bed, which stretches under his weight. He turns to his night stand and reaches for the framed picture that rests upon it. His fingers run over the soft wood of the frame, a small smile on his lips.
“Oh, Steve”, he sighs. Suddenly, his strong exterior is quickly crumbling and Bucky's lips begin to tremble. He takes a deep breath. “I miss you so much”, his voice is shaky from his efforts to hold back the tears. “I wish you were still here: Oh god, Steve”. He begins to cry, sobs echoing off of the walls, tears rolling down his puffy cheeks. The picture slides out of his hands and falls onto the bed. Bucky covers his face and tries to muffle the sounds escaping.
It's been over three years since, but he can''t move on. He can't and he won't, wouldn't dare to. Bucky is exhausted, mentally and physically. He's trying to be strong, for Eileen, for Sarah, for Steve. These children are Steve's biggest treasure and Bucky is going to make sure they are happy and safe. It's what Steve would have wanted and he can't fail him.
He tries to wipe the tears away, but new ones follow immediately. “Fuck Steve, I'm so sorry. I wish I could have done more”, Bucky cries and pulls the framed photo to his chest, curling around it as if he were to protect it, “I wish it would have been me!”. Sobs continue to roll through his body. He tries to breathe through his nose, to be calm and controlled, but the piercing ache in his heart continues to make him cry out. His soft belly shakes with each agonized shudder and every heartbreaking sob.
Once he's finally calmed down, he dries his cheeks and presses his lips to Steve's picture. The cold glass a stark contrast to Bucky's warm lips. Immediately, it begins to fog up under the man's hot breath. His fingers find their wedding rings, which he is wearing on a chain around his neck, and play with them. The metallic sounds when they bump into each other fills the void room and aid Bucky into finally resting. Just before he falls asleep, the words “with you 'till the end of the line” fall from his lips.
———
The next day, the Rogers-Barnes family is bundled up in thick, fluffy coats, scarves and hats to fight against the biting cold. They are cuddled up on a picnic blanket and warm their hands with cups of hot chocolate. Their breath fogs up the icy air and the smell of biscuits is prominent. Bucky looks down to Eileen who is feeding Sarah a reindeer treat. He smiles.
“Do you like your biscuits, baby?”. The toddler nods enthusiastically and offers the rest of her half eaten goodie to her father, a big, toothy grin on her face. He grins mischievously and eats the whole biscuit in one bite, which makes the younger girl gasps dramatically before bursting out in giggles, “Silly daddy!”
Eileen smirks and joins in, “Yes, silly daddy. He will never lose some pounds this way” Her hand pats his belly after she squeezes his admittedly pudgy cheeks, “but that's what we love you for, right Sarah?” The addressed girl nods, already on her next biscuit. Bucky smiles widely and throws an arm over his oldest and pulls her to his chest, “I know you're just jealous of my dad bod”, his hands stroke over his tummy in an appreciative manner. The teen hums an agreement and cuddles herself closer to her father.
“I guess your hugs have increased in efficiency”. The chubby man grins and kisses both of his daughters' heads. “Your papa loved it too. He'd always give me some nice belly rubs”, he tells her before looking over to the grave they are sitting next to,”isn't that right, Stevie?”
If you liked this or didn’t, please leave some feedback, it would mean the world to me 🥺
Be added to my tag list here :)
#myfestivevine#chubby!bucky#dad!bucky#chubby!dad!bucky#bucky barnes#james buchanan barnes#stucky#stucky fic#parents!stucky#bucky barnes needs a hug
182 notes
·
View notes
Text
Awakened
A slice of light shifted places
with a sliver of darkness
clouds unwrapped a storm
in the unwalled meadows of air
~Cora Vail Banks
It’s only her second day at Caer Dallben, when it rains the first time.
Not the first time in her life, of course. She’s well-acquainted with rain: that cold, grey, miserable substance whose frequency had made the cheerless interior of Spiral Castle even more chill and damp, its clammy breath impossible to bar out by shuttered casements or drive away with hotter hearthfires. It was the goad that had driven away what few rays of sunlight had crept past the walls to wink timidly within the fortress’s unfriendly courtyards. It was the unbidden traveling companion on their journey to Caer Dathyl, chasing them all from open meadows to the dismal cover of dripping trees, turning the ground to slippery, squelching muck beneath their feet, their clothing to sodden, dragging weight at their backs.
So it is unwelcome now, so soon, just when she’s getting used to working in the garden. She’s been happy, blissful even, surrounded by the sharp smells of sap and root, the green, light-filtering rows of leaves, the fluttering butterflies and droning bees. It’s hot work, but satisfying, and now this: this spotting of the bare earth at her knees, a warning message from the woolly gray smudge obscuring the summer sky, which up until now had been a sea of calm blue. Straightening from her task, she looks around, sees it coming: a curtain of haze blotting out the green hills to the southwest, its surface striped with darker streaks. A damp breeze lifts the sweaty strands of hair from the edges of her face like caressing fingers, but she feels nothing but resentment.
“Rain’s coming,” she announces, preparing to rise and dust off her skirts, but her companions, working in the rows nearby, only glance up mildly. At the sight of the oncoming shower, Coll smiles, his brown face creasing like the wrinkles on a drying apple.
“Ah,” he says, “good. Days overdue, that is. It’s good luck you are, love. Must’ve brought it back with you.” His hoe ceases not in its movement, a series of pulling slices so rhythmic and gentle that they seem unconnected to the weeds scraped root-bare at the end of his blade. Taran rolls his eyes, bemused at the comment, but, seeing her watching, flashes his lopsided grin at her before returning to his work.
She waits, expectant, but there is no indication of imminent departure. “Shouldn’t we go in?”
Taran glances up again, surprised. “Go in, why?”
She’s almost too astonished to be indignant at such a foolish question, but a little ire does seep into her retort. “Because of the rain.” The spots on the earth are now joined by others, freckling the dirt; a muted percussion like hundreds of tiny footsteps has begun to tickle at her ears, layered over by the warm gravel of Coll’s sudden laugh.
“We don’t stop work for rain, cariad - not unless it’s coming down like old-women-and-sticks! We’d get little done, else.” He grounds his hoe for a moment, and bends his back at a reverse angle, working out the kinks. “Summer rain’s a gift. Cools us down, and brings life to thirsty crops. You mark it, now - smell the air as it comes on. You’ll see.”
“But,” she stammers, “we’ll be soaked.”
“We’ll dry off,” Taran grunts, “nothing to fuss over. You’ve got spare clothes.” He glances her way again, looking somewhat askance at her confusion, and his mouth twitches wryly. “Come, Princess, you who are so proud of your ancestry. No one who claims kinship with the entire sea should be put off by a bit of rain.”
He’s called her princess for the last two days whenever she’s complained or gotten upset about something, a subtle dig that irritates her beyond speech, and stings, too, somewhere deep. She scowls at him and he shrugs, chuckling, grasps the handles of the wheelbarrow and trundles off toward the barnyard for a fresh load of manure, unconcerned with the rapidly-increasing sprinkle.
Bewildered, she returns slowly to her task of turning over the spent and chopped beanstalks, raking them into the topsoil, mixing and tamping it down. The top layer is damp now, beneath the pattering drops, as are her garments and hair and her bare forearms and feet. Rain mingled with sweat makes her skin salt-sticky, and she feels herself shrink small, trying to avoid the sensation. She works doggedly, swallowing further protest in embarrassment.
But she mutters to herself as the sprinkle turns to a drizzle and the drizzle to a steady pelting, and the water skims from the curls at her temples and down her cheeks, droplets quivering at the end of her nose, at the ends of her braids, washing the salt from her skin and down, carrying it into the earth.
The smell of her own body cooling, of the upturned soil, wet and glistening, rises to her face, fills her nose and mouth and lungs, and she pauses, presently, thoughtful. Smell the air as it comes on. Well, here it is, and the air is...is...oh.
She inhales, sudden and deep, conscious of the change, her fingertips tingling. What is it? Something rising up from the quivering turnip leaves or the rich loam, or condensing itself from the very air. Something rich, and deep, and vital; if green had a smell, if good had a smell, and sprouting and beginning and growing, it might be this thing shimmering savory upon her breath right now. She shuts her eyes, turns her face up toward the giving sky, and smiles without knowing it, sensing the pulse of life in the space around her, the fluid, ripe current of the rain mingling into the open warmth of the ground.
Sweetness fills her mouth in a gush of warmth, as though she’s just crushed a ripe berry in her teeth, and for just a moment, a suspended, heart-pounding second, she can feel every raindrop, not “the rain” as a formless mass of broken water, but each individual drop, as unique and perfect as if they were solid diamonds, or bits of crystal cut from the stars and fallen to earth. It’s a rush of sensation, a glimpse of something beyond her reach, and the glittering delight of it makes her open her eyes with a gasp, swept with a perception of something somehow familiar. The droplets on her arms and hands cling like tiny sentient creatures, unwilling to be separated from her.
Coll is watching her curiously from his row, and nods when she notices. “You see,” he says simply, with a knowing smile.
“What makes it happen?” she demands breathlessly. “Is it magic?”
He laughs again. “Bless you! It’s just earth and water and sunlight, mixed up and doing what they were meant to do. But together they forge life itself, so I suppose that is magic, of a kind.”
Water and sunlight, she thinks to herself wistfully, watching a droplet tumble from her fingertip. I am fire and water. I should know these things. I should...be able to.... Another drop gathers, its bottom edge swelling and rounding and dangling, and she tries to wrap her mind around it, to recapture that tingling moment of ecstatic awareness. The sweet fluidity teases at the edges of her mouth, but she does not know the words to give it form, and the drip falls, releasing its broken fullness to the earth. To forge life. She sighs.
Taran is returning with the wheelbarrow, his wet clothes sticking to him like plaster, his dark head sleek and shining —as drenched as though he’s been drowned, yet looking elated, brimming with energy. He dumps the barrow and shakes his wet hair out of eyes glowing green in his sun-brown face and he’s all brown and green, she thinks suddenly, just like the garden, and something in her chest twists and expands open with a warm and wistful ache.
He grins at her, that crooked streak of white. “Not washed away yet, I see.”
She forces herself to make an impudent face, because it’s what he expects, and because it’s more comfortable, by far, than the face that had almost been surprised out of her, which scuttles away and buries itself behind her consciousness, not ready to be seen by anyone.
“You need washing,” she retorts, “after carting all that manure. We could smell you before we saw you, so thank goodness for rain.”
He laughs, and throws a clod at her, earning a mild reproof from Coll.
Overhead, a ray of sunlight rips through the clouds, turning the tumbling drops into stars.
19 notes
·
View notes
Note
46 Argument leading to kissing/sex for percabeth 🌹
let the season ring in
in which it’s christmas and percy made a big mistake,, percabeth
Percy stares Annabeth in the eyes, a flame loose beneath the surface of his skin. There’s a wild look in her eyes, the grey of her irises swirling like a storm, lightning brewing.
“So that’s it? You’re not even going to say anything?”
Percy bites his lip. He knows that if he opens his mouth, he’s going to say something he shouldn’t. They’re already teetering over the edge of a dangerous tightrope, and if they’re going to be tumbling down, he won’t be the one to do it.
“Percy.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, even though he certainly isn’t sorry. He doesn’t even know what to be sorry for anymore. He wants to be mad at her, but he can’t even bring himself to do that because despite his wife standing with a gap between them, hand holding a spatula that seems about ready to go flying through the air towards his head, she looks too pregnant and cute for him to hold it against her.
Annabeth must be able to detect the hint of amusement in his voice because a second later, the rubber spatula with Christmas trees printed on it soars straight towards his face. He just barely manages to dodge it, looking over his shoulder in disbelief as it slams into the wall behind him.
“Annabeth!” he chokes out, on the verge of laughter.
“This isn’t funny!”
“I don’t even know why you’re mad!”
“You ate my gingerbread man!”
Percy accidentally snorts in her face as she starts tearing up over the cinnamon flavored cookie with teeth marks in it.
“It was my cookie—” She breaks off in a whimper. “You ate my cookie.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says, trying to step forwards to wrap her in his arms. She slaps his chest away. “Ow.”
“Fuck you,” she says, shoving him again. It doesn’t bother him because she’s not actually using any force. She’s really just faintly pressing her body weight against him. “I hope you’re happy. You stole a cookie from your unborn child.”
“I didn’t eat the whole thing,” he soothes. “I just bit the head.” Percy tries to bring her in for a kiss, but she growls.
“If you kiss me, you better take a guess as to which head I’m going to be biting off.”
The image is enough to make Percy cringe. “Please don’t.”
Annabeth scowls as his arms wrap around her again, but she doesn’t push him off this time. She rests her head against him, her stomach pressing into his. “I’m mad at you.”
“I know.”
“You don’t eat your wife’s cookie. Especially if they’re pregnant.”
“Of course,” he teases. “An oversight on my part.”
“Now I get to eat your cookie.”
“You can have as much as you want.”
That does bring a smile to Annabeth’s face. He’s just glad he managed to fend off the teary eyes that had appeared at first. She looks around their kitchen that looks like Santa Claus threw a tantrum inside of it, and he feels warmth creep down the back of his neck. She isn’t due until a few weeks until after Christmas, so this is their last Christmas just the two of them, and he intends to make use of every moment. He’s never been one for all of the homey activities, but there’s nothing he loves more than seeing Annabeth hold her hands out for him while sitting by the fireplace. He cherishes the way she looks at him when they’re standing in the moonlight, snowflakes falling around them, hot chocolate in hand. He doesn’t think they’ve ever been so Christmas-spirited in the past.
Annabeth makes her way back to the marble counter splayed with a colorful arrangement of candy and frosting. There are loose sprinkles just about everywhere, and in the center of the table, there are two gingerbread houses. Annabeth’s looks perfect, like everything she does — the walls are stable with the thinnest lines of frosting holding them together. She’s managed to construct the perfect icicles hanging from the ceiling. Percy’s isn’t as great — one of the walls are caving inwards, and the frosting he used is a little too stringy.
Percy is so distracted by the domestic scene that he doesn’t even realize she’s talking to him until a peppermint hits him square in the forehead.
He addresses her with questioning eyes, though kind.
“You look guilty,” she says. “Are you finally feeling the consequences of devouring my cookie?”
Percy smiles at that, her eyes sparkling. There are the tiniest glimmers of red and green in her eyes, the lights around the house reflecting off of her. “I was thinking about how excited I am for next Christmas.”
“Why’s that?” The smile on her face gives away that she already knows why. He decides to humor her anyways.
“In one year, we’ll be right back where we are. That time though, we’ll have a daughter.” Percy walks alongside the counter until he’s pressing himself against her back. He presses a kiss to her temple. “We’ll get to waste all of our money on baby toys and make gingerbread houses with her. With our baby. And you won’t even have to get me a present because our family will be enough.”
Annabeth shoots him a playful look. “Is my love not enough present for you this year?”
Percy hums, and she elbows him.
“Of course it is,” he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Anything you give me is enough.”
“That’s good to hear because you’re never getting another present from me ever again.”
“What!? Why!?”
“I’m still very upset.” Annabeth places the body of the headless gingerbread man in front of her house. The entire thing looks like a masterpiece, right up until the bite marks in the cookie. “You ruined it.”
“I’m sorry, princess.” Percy takes one glance at her face before he decides that she probably wouldn’t care about what he does next. He plucks the figure up from the house, pointedly biting down on the arm. Annabeth just blinks at him, and then she’s moving too fast for him to stop her before she’s prying his mouth open and shoving the entire cookie in his mouth. He nearly chokes on the crumbs, and he tries to spit it out, but she has her hand clamped over his mouth so he can’t escape.
Annabeth corners her against the counter, one hand reaching for the container of vanilla frosting. He could probably escape her grasp if he tried, but why would he want to? A devious smile on face, she scoops a glob out and wastes no time before smearing it down his cheek.
“Annabeth,” he sputters. She laughs in his face, and he has never been more endeared. He grabs her by the waist and presses his face against hers, spreading the frosting to her. She gasps loudly as it is smeared across her cheek and jaw.
“You suck,” she complains, but there is only joy in her voice.
“I love you,” he says, kissing the frosting away from her lips.
She doesn’t answer because he never gives her the chance. His lips are locked to hers, and she tastes of holiday spirit and sugar. He doesn’t look as he switches their positions so that she is pressed against the table. His hand sweeps across the counter, moving everything aside, and a second later he’s lifting her onto the table. He stays against her, breathing in the Christmas air and her, and he lets the season ring in.
206 notes
·
View notes
Note
If you're taking prompts I'd love to see Peter calling Tony Daddy and Tony kinda freaking out cause he doesn't see himself in that role, not even sexually. Cause let's be honest, that man's got some daddy issues hahah. Thank youu
I didn’t go as ‘character study’ as I could with this, because I thought we deserved some light-hearted crack fic. I hope that’s okay!
No TW. SFW.
“Am I... Am I old? Am I really that old? I mean, I know I’m no spring chicken, and I swear that’s a grey coming in at my temple, but-”
“You’re fifty-one,” Pepper reminded him primly, cutting him off before he could begin a ten minute tangent that would distract her from answering. She turned the page of her magazine and hummed thoughtfully. It wasn’t the first time Tony had worried about his age, but…
“What happened?”
Tony looked distant and distressed, staring at himself in the mirror. “Peter called me Daddy last night. Daddy. That’s not... How is that sexy, Pep? Fathers aren’t the thing you wanna be thinking about when you’re naked with someone.”
“Its a kink thing, Tony,” she explained patiently, rolling her eyes. “Nobody actually wants to fuck their father. Its more of a... Caregiving thing, I suppose. Receiving the love and attention they never did from their actual father.”
That apparently made it worse. Tony’s expression twisted and his lips parted on the beginning of a horrified psycho-analytic rant. Pepper tuned it out until she finished her magazine, sighing and pushing herself to her feet.
“Tony. Talk to him; if its not your thing, he’ll understand” she told him warmly but firmly, squeezing his shoulder before making a hasty exit. She was no therapist and had better things to do with her evening than listen to her ex-lover panic over his current sexual exploits.
She left Tony in her wake; jaw ticking and fingertips sliding restlessly over his temple where he was sure there was a grey lurking somewhere.
And Tony meant to take her advice, really. He meant to act like the grown ass adult he was, except...He was a chicken. A coward. This involved emotions and personal introspect and no doubt Peter would make it a Whole Conversation, so he just...
Ignored it. Buried his head in his work until the next time he found himself balls deep in his boyfriend, watching in horror as his lips shaped the word.
“Da-Mph!” Peter jolted as Tony clapped a hand over his mouth, looking momentarily confused before his eyes rolled back as Tony nailed him again, driving for that sweet spot to take his mind completely off anything except where Tony was buried inside him.
And it worked, except that it was the second time Peter had gone to say Daddy in sex, and Tony’s mind wouldn’t stop ticking over like a clock; fixated on it.
It ate away at him until he let out a groan in the lab, setting his wrench down and turning to Peter with squared shoulders.
“Do you see me as a father figure?”
Peter looked up, screwdriver hanging out of his mouth, one brow lifted quizzically. “Um?”
“You keep trying to call me Daddy and Pepper said it was just a kink thing but its happened three times now and I just... What do I do? Take you to football games? Call you ‘Champ’ while I hit it from the back? Attend family therapy with you?”
Peter’s expression lay somewhere between ‘which drugs did you take?’ and ‘you have three heads’. Maybe a little ‘I think I just died of embarrassment’ sprinkled on top for seasoning. The boy seemed to flounder for a moment, mouth opening and closing, before he folded his arms defensively.
“I thought that was what you liked!”
“What?”
“The... The Daddy thing. I thought you liked it. You’ve called yourself Daddy before and the magazine articles...”
Tony narrowed his eyes. “What magazine articles?”
Peter blanched. “Cosmo…?”
“Cosmo. You thought I liked being called Daddy because you read it in Cosmo.”
Peter blinked, blushed. Tony sighed. He supposed, in fairness, the fault somewhat lay with him. It usually did, in any regard.
“So... Not Daddy?” Peter asked after a moment, looking meek.
“Not Daddy,” he confirmed. Then paused. “Unless…? Say it again. Say it sexily.”
“Uh.” Peter seemed to flail for a moment, then pitched his best ‘come hither’ voice. “Please may I have the ultrasonic screwdriver, Daddy?”
Tony pulled a face. “Yeah, no. Not Daddy. But hey! There’s plenty of alternatives. Sir, for example. Or Your Majesty.”
“I’m not calling you Your Majesty.”
“Well, it was worth a shot.”
#fanfic#starker#starker fanfiction#starker fanfic#starker crack#starker fluff#ironspider#ironspider fanfiction#ironspider fanfic#ironspider crack#starker: fluff#starker: crack#fluff#crack#tony stark/peter parker#tony stark x peter parker#sie fics
214 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mafia Aside
pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader
summary: Despite being part of the criminalizing life in the mafia, Luca Changretta needs the surprise birthday for his girl to be perfect. Needs- all letters capitalized. [requested: @imaginesbymk]
word count: 3.2k
warning: halted smut, fluff, slight angst? angory luca
note: thank you so much @imaginesbymk for this request!! I hope this is alright! I felt like Luca was OOC though 🥺🥺
Luca’s eyes fluttered open from the rather merciless jab of the morning light. It was an unfair battle of swerving swords as he had just charged up his engine. A sigh brushed his lips when his back muscles sprinkled happiness at the finally fulfilling sleep which he had been promised at the end of the week. Six days of enduring work when you don’t want to; six days of sleep, if all hours of slumbering had been added up, would be equal to a day of working. To summarize it all up, Luca had been the dangling bait teasing himself over the warmth of his bed.
Now that it was finally the weekend he had been longing for for far too long, he couldn’t help but smear the aching muscles with the good news. The good realization which almost sounded fake. Almost as if it was a too-good-to-be-true sort of dream. However, with a pile of evidence and the remembrance of the promised day, every single tendon in his body melted into the warm bed. The warm bed he had his overnight breath plastered all over.
“Mhm.” The woman who had been hogging his body into hers hummed, annoyed at his excessive movements. She knew he was beginning to stir up; she hated it. Time was sure to be purchased for them to rest in bed. Y/N wasn’t surprised he had woken up at such an early hour in the weekend, it had been the same time he would get up of bed for work. The torturous hours of work had implemented the time to wake up in his head.
Luca groaned, his left side sore and numb, sleeping from the weight that had rested on his arm overnight. Pulling his arm away to feel shivers crawl up his skin from the lack of response, his numbness was overlapped by Y/N’s irritated sigh. With a huff she flipped to her other side, her back facing him, “Go back to sleep.”
The words fell off her lips in an exhausting trail, a string as evidence of spending a whole day at her future mother-in-law’s home to learn Luca’s favourite meals. While Luca busied himself with work, there was barely anything to do at home when he was away. Sure, Y/N could sweep some dust that reverts to its original home despite her relentless wiping; don’t even mention the number of times she had organized and reorganized the fridge. Her daily routine was so monotonous. It was dull and grey when she’s stuck in the walls of the home alone. That was until Luca would come back.
“I’m wide awake now.” He chided, pushing his body up to the headboard of the bed, eyes never leaving her resting body. Y/N groaned. It should’ve been a day of resting and possibly, a lot of cuddling in bed. His warmth was always there for her when her eyes were shut tight. Lately, work had been the blade grazing his back. In other words, it had been a pain in the ass. The corners of his lips crept up as she now faced him, eyes still glued shut.
“Just close your eyes.” Although her lips were mumbling the words, each syllable lingered in the air for less than second, Luca managed to make of what she said. The Italian chuckled, his fingers brushing her hair.
“How can I? It’s morning.” Finally snapping her eyes open, she beamed at the man who wore his signature smirk. The infamous quirk of his lips. Rolling her eyes at the obvious observation, she shifted closer to the radiating heat of his bare chest. As her nose caressed his pillow, the scent of him warming up her lungs, she snuggled into the smell. The smell that would only plaster against the side of his bed with a diluted tone after he had left to do work.
“Thank you for informing me, Mr Changretta for I would be lost without your great insights.” He chuckled, head shaking as his fingers hovered over the jar of matchsticks on his bedside table (something Y/N had pestered over years). With the wooden stick pressed against his bottom lip, he nudged it with his tongue. The redhead of the match rolled from left to right.
“What do you want for breakfast? I’ll cook.”
Y/N quirked her eyebrows, “Oh, are you the chef for today, Mr Changretta?” Luca said nothing, the curled corners of his lips speaking for him. “Quit talking ‘bout breakfast. From now on, everything that requires going out of bed and is related to morning activities, are banned. We are cuddling.”
His string of laughter quivered through her draped arm that rested on his bare chest, sparking tingles of his husky voice. The woman didn’t bother to meet his eyes as her lungs were warmed of the addicting scent of him, “Cuddling is part of our morning activities.”
The Italian’s eyes didn’t quiver from her intense gaze as she pushed herself up to straddle his hips, her knees pooled into the mattress of their bed, “We haven’t cuddled this whole week,” Luca had to ponder for a second if what she stated was true. Despite his squeaking gears on replaying every day of the previous week, he was curious to how she could remember so. “There are other stuff we can do that remains in our... regulations.”
“Your regulations,” Luca chided, his matchstick pointed at her direction. “What do you have in mind?”
There was a glint in his eyes. The glint that Y/N had been so familiar with. The glint she had missed ever since Luca had wrapped his body around sheets of work. Tilting her head in lost of thoughts, she hummed while his hands were splayed against her thighs, “Not sure, it might take up the whole day...”
Every muscle in Luca’s body was pulled taut, dipped in frozen ice. Y/N didn’t notice. She didn’t pick up the way his chest went rigid, his chest barely moving a centimetre to respire, her focus heavily placed onto his reaction. As her fingers danced on his bare chest, thumb grazing over his recovering scars, Luca’s head stung of rapid thoughts. And that was when her body went flying back to her side of the bed. Scrambling to stand in the middle of the room, chest out in the open with a loose trouser around his hips, the Italian’s mouth parted. Mouth left wide open, she watched as he scurried to find the right words, “I have some... work to do.”
Luca nodded at his own words as if he was convincing himself to the new plan, liking the idea. Leaving Y/N all alone in their bed.
“What the fucking shit is this?” The Italian spat out. Well, the words and the saliva-covered crumbs of the cake that left an unpleasant aftertaste. The ceramic plate slammed into the wooden table, singing an echoing song before it was met with a splat from the fallen sample of the cake that was to be the birthday cake for his girl. How could such a shitty flavour be the cake for his girl? Everybody would choke and die if he was to accept the third sample he had tried for the day. The third sample. What a joke.
The first two was no different. It would just take a caress of his tongue against the crevices of his teeth to find the remaining residues of the previous samples. A man whose familiar with the taste of lingering iron would have a loaded gun in his hand. There was no way Luca would bring a cake that tasted like iron for a birthday party. A surprise birthday party at that one. The Italian hoped it remained unknown for he knew how some of his sisters could get a bit... mouthy.
The man who owned the bakery quivered in fear, hoping the warmness that streamed in his pants was not what he thought it was. Although his sister, Rosa, had assured him that the bakery had made countless unforgettable cakes for her and her love for throwing parties, Luca could not find a sole point that would match to his sister’s descriptions and her high set experience with the bakery. Or, maybe it was due to the fact that Luca had only wanted the best of the best. Usually, it wouldn’t be that hard to find the best firearm that suited him. But cakes? He had to pour a gallon of patience to hold himself back from storming out. Should’ve just asked mamma to make the cake.
“It’s pineapple cake, straight from Hawaii, sir-” Luca grunted out, shutting up the stuttering man. Fingers pressed into his temples, the Italian attempted at the silly advice of counting down, given by his youngest sister who had claimed Luca had wavering moments of temper. It worked.
“You know what? I’m not spending another hour shoving your cakes down my throat. I’ll take the chocolate, two layers, and put some fucking decorations on it, like sprinkles or some shit. Looks bland, whose funeral are we going to?” No one spoke up. Who would? This was the man who had strutted up and down the streets with his infamous patted suits.
“Luca,” Matteo called out, scurrying after his boss who had just splat a wad of cash. Why does it sometimes feel like he’s always chasing after a little boy who had just thrown a tantrum? “Where are we going now?”
“The party hall.”
“What does it take for you people to fucking get my words through your heads?” The running veins along his neck bulged, grazing to the surface of the air in pulses. Today must be a joke. Everything had tested him. It was as if someone was playing a game to see how short of a temper he has. Occasionally, he would be composed; he wasn’t one to spring to the bullet, head-first. Planning events was not rolling of dices.
Bodies quivered, shivering at his scolding as if a flock of wind had engulfed the warmth they once sheltered in. Luca had been mistaken as a cold man multiple times. It wasn’t hard for a stranger to take a glance at his posture and his gait, to not portray him as the wolf stalking through their buildings. That was what he was. If only they had done it right, they wouldn’t have to face the consequences. The line of men who had been assigned to the arrangement of the tables were abruptly yanked to stop their last-minute adjustments. To only be scolded as if children. Despite the growing orb of seething anger they had for being the stock of embarrassment in the room, they couldn’t do anything. So, they directed to a more acceptable choice, swallowing the fury down into an abyss, a void. Because who was mental enough to oppose what the powerful man said?
“Put that fucking table there, and move those three back.” With his fingers as the direction informant, the string of men dispersed without any mumbling. Not even one had slipped under their breath as the risk had been too high. The room had fallen into a defeaned silence, present eyes were stuck on those who had been responsible for the arrangement of the tables. However, with a quick glance from even his known bodyguard, Matteo, there were no longer on-lookers for they had resumed with their work.
Just four more days before it was the big day. A sigh of relief, mixed in with gratitude and joy fell from his lips, “Finally. See? It is better now.”
The intense whirlwind that had descended down from the ceiling had evaporated, vanishing into thin air. The heavyweight sitting on their shoulders were no more as sunshine glittered through the windows which had been protected with velvet curtains on the sides. They could even hear birds singing a song. A victory of a battle song. Except, the smiles on their faces had been wiped off when the man demanded, “Pass me the liquours we’re serving.”
Oh lord. Matteo felt as if his job was no different to clinging onto the clanking chains of a wild dog. The splatter of the whiskey he had allowed to smear a small area of his tongue was gushed back into the cup. His bewildered eyes and his furrowed eyebrows had been enough to scare the man who brought a sample of the whiskey, “Did you scoop up sewer water?” The terrified man shook his head, lips shut tight. “We fucking distribute alcohols and you got yourself the shittiest one.”
With a quirk of his eyebrows, the man scurried to the kitchen for another bottle. It was indeed going to be a long day.
“Did none of you write down what I said?” Luca’s eyes blared onto his accompanying men. All they could do was swing their jaw, eyes never meeting the man who had directed his anger towards them. Except for Matteo and Frederico. It seemed it was always them who had the courage to do so. Maybe it was because they had been used to the Italian, and his... personality. “Carlo, is there something missing?”
The brunette who held his fedora to his chest craned up his neck, young eyes landing dead-centre of Luca’s electrifying gaze, “The balloons and flowers?”
“Good, and where are they?”
“Luca, we still have four days.” Matteo spoke up when he noticed the man who was about to be Luca’s punching bag could not find the answer in his head.
Hair prickling like a dagger, it grazed Luca’s forehead as he reverted his focus towards his henchman, “I’ve been planning this shit for months. We have four days left? Everything should’ve been ready by now.” Fingers digging into the lapels of Matteo’s suit, Luca stared down, his figure towering prominently. There was a glint that sparked a bonfire in his eyes.
“Antonio, go with Carlo to check up on the balloons. Make sure there are two and a half dozen. You better fucking count each and every one.”
Antonio, followed by Carlo scurried out. The roaring noise of an engine faded into the distance. Luca cleared his throat, “Great. Let’s check up on the flowers.”
“Luca! Could you just shut up? Your presence is not needed.” Elena huffed out, the muscles in her arm urging for her to grab the nearest sharpest tool to remind her oldest brother he was as annoying as a screeching seagull. Her gaze craned down from his shadowy figure to the flowers in her hands. The task of flowers was given to Elena, the middle child of five, just three years younger than Angel. Luca glared at the bundle of mess.
“It clearly is. What are you doing with pink and blue?” Defeated, she leaned her back into her chair, her lazy eyes (not from her hard-working efforts but from the fact that her brother had ruined her mood) followed his fingers as he brought a pink and peach coloured flowers into a pairing. “See? So much appealing to my eyes.
Knowing her brother with his stubborn character trait, she could only roll her eyes and followed the man’s instruction. Luca stalked towards the balcony, the purple sky caressing his skin. Everything was going to plan.
“Where are we heading off to?” It might’ve been the hundredth time she had asked the driver, but it didn’t hurt to inquire. Maybe it had been for Matteo’s ears which had been throbbing with agonizing pain from the clueless passenger. Questions floated in his head: why had he been the one to be assigned to driving her to the party- surprise party? “Are we getting closer?”
His grip around the driver’s wheel tightened, the uncut nails dug deep into the polished wood. Matteo snapped his neck, a deathly noise popped into the air. It answered Y/N’s question. Even though all he wanted to do was scream for her to remain quiet, he had to remind himself that this was Luca’s girl. He would not come out alive at the end of the day if the Italian finds out about the mistreatment. The echoing voice in his head that called out the nearing to the party hall, Matteo wanted nothing but to halt the car. He feared he would swerve into a tree that would end the torturous journey. Just round this corner.
Matteo had been slightly difficult to get closer to, despite the counting years of Luca’s and Y/N’s relationship. Befriending Frederico was simple, sure, the man had been collected and quiet, but it was more tolerable than the hot-headed Matteo.
Y/N’s lips parted open to let out another question, but the screeching of the tires cut her short, “Here we are.” The driver didn’t even bother to crane his neck as she got out of the vehicle.
Y/N knew that she and Matteo had not exactly passed acquaintance. But, she did not expect him to zoom down the street, leaving her alone. She watched as the vehicle fade into a faint fog, her eyes blinking at what had just happened. Averting her gaze to the building he had dropped her off at, she couldn’t help but gulp. Associating herself with the mafia had meant a whole list of issues that could place a potential problem. Some normal things she could’ve done as a normal citizen were cut off, all for her safety. Well, that’s what Luca would say.
The corners of her lips curled down at the mention of the Italian. Even though he had promised her, assured every second he could- saying that he had planned something for her birthday, the distance between the two on the special day had only allowed her head to gush of overreacting thoughts. Y/N had tried her best to convince herself that Luca might’ve just been busy with work, while she had stumbled upon his other men enjoying their times in pubs. No matter her efforts in opposing the consuming thought, there was just evidence that something might’ve happened between the couple. She had even run her mind whenever she had occupied herself with work to think of what she could’ve possibly done to push him away. Did I do something wrong? Did I say something wrong? But, nothing.
When she had returned home from a leisure walk in the park, although, it was quite stressful for Y/N as she knew she had been sauntering on the green path with at least (to what she could see) three familiar men- Luca’s men, she laid her eyes on the box with a silk ribbon tying it, a note encased under the small bow. Wear this. Matteo will honk at seven.
Shoving down the idea of a trap, Y/N managed to grab all her courage and barge through the doors, “Surprise!” Frozen in time, all sorts of colours blinded her eyes; names of faces she could only recall if she walked slowly in deep contemplation.
“Buon compleanno, amore mio,” (happy birthday my love) The too familiar voice of a husky Italian whispered against the shell of her ears, the warm puffs from his lips grazing across her skin in shivers of coldness. “You thought I forgot? Never.”
#luca changretta#luca changretta x reader#luca changretta oneshot#luca changretta imagine#luca changretta oneshots#luca changretta imagines#luca changretta fluff#luca changretta angst#luca changretta fanfic#luca changretta fanfiction#luca changretta ff#peaky blinders#peaky blinders fluff#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders x reader#peaky blinders fanfiction#peaky blinders angst#peaky blinders oneshot#peaky blinders imagines#peaky blinders oneshots
272 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
idonotexisterrr
TRASHDRAAAW!!!
dadasbestestdaughter
Playground for the little Me
awesomeluks-blog
Sem título
phimhdonline
Phim HD Online
the-great-bbe
Becky's Bounty of Fanfic BS