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queenshelby · 3 years

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Let’s Get Kinky

31 Days of Kink: Day 9 (Early Release)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut, Daddy Kink, Age Gap

Words: 1,659

Imagine being Cillian’s much younger girlfriend. He has been busy and stressed lately, working on a theatre play and you have been aching for him.

Lately, he hasn’t given you much attention and you decided to tease him the way you knew best.

Cillian hated it when you referred to him as ‘daddy’ in a sexual way. After all, he had about twenty years on you. But you enjoyed getting under his skin in order to get your way. It usually worked and you often managed to awaken the dominant and kinky side in him.

***

‘Guess who’s been a naughty girl today’ you smirked, lying on the bed completely naked, your legs spread widely as he walked into the bedroom somewhat exhausted.

‘I wonder’ he winked before having a chuckle about your comment. ‘I am going to have a shower babe’ he then went on to say after giving you a quick kiss, disinterested in what you had to offer.

‘I will just have to touch myself then Daddy’ you pouted as you slipped your hand in between your legs suggestively.

The word made Cillian cringe but you certainly got his attention now. He turned around and looked at you with wide eyes.

After playing with yourself for about two minutes while Cillian watched you, you got of the bed and walked over to where he was standing.

‘I am so fucking wet for you Daddy’ you whispered into his ear while you grabbed his hand and placed it in between your legs.

Cillian cringed again but let out a ragged breath at the same time as he could feel your soaking mound with the tips of his fingers.

With a quiet sigh, he guided you back onto the bed.

‘Be a good girl then and lie down, eh’ he instructed after giving your ass a quick smack, knowing how much you liked it.

‘Yes Daddy’ you giggled, causing Cillian to chuckle.

He positioned your head so he could see your face and maintain eye contact as he sat beside you. He ran a finger down over your breasts, eliciting a whimper from you immediately.

‘Shh…stay still and quiet for me darling, don’t make a sound’ he crooned and saw a slight nod of your head in response to his words.

Cillian let his fingers linger on your breasts before moving down your stomach slowly. He then continued, drawing his hand down your leg, before running back upwards over your inner thigh. Your legs were still relatively close together, but he didn't make any effort to part them. He passed over your pussy with the slightest of touches, causing you to moan again.

‘What did I say?’ he asked sternly in response to your moan.

‘That I should be quiet’ you said, biting your lip.

‘Correct’ he said as he lowered his head down and kissed over your breasts.

Your nipples were hard, your breasts swollen with arousal. You arched your back, trying to tempt him into touching them, but he resisted the temptation you offered him. You almost whimpered as his hand moved lower to rest over your belly. He slid his fingers across your stomach a few times, lowering towards your pussy with each pass, making you give voice to your whimper when he stopped his hand just about your mound.

Resisting the urge to move your body again to tempt him and show what you wanted, you gazed up into his heated eyes as he slipped a finger downwards, between your lips and over your clit, delving lower, seeking your wet core.

Cillian glided his finger through your wetness, easily parting your lips as he pressed in. There was no resistance as he felt your legs and thighs relax outwards to let him in as he delved deeply into you. He curled his finger inwards, finding the little spongy area inside you, pressing upwards. His thumb was resting over your clit. He held his hand still, applying pressure, knowing that you would be fighting the need to move against his fingers. You began to rotate your hips in small movements making him give you a stern look again as a warning.

‘I am in control today. You don't move or make a sound!’ Cillian growled at you, wanting to see your reaction to his strict inner Dom. He began to rotate his thumb and press his fingers against the ridged G-spot within you. Your eyes were closed as you pushed your head back into the mattress and bit your lower lip. He knew that he could make your cum in seconds if he wanted, he could feel the muscles in your legs trembling, and he imagined titillating currents ran from your pussy along your nerve endings to push your closer to the edge of ecstasy.

You shifted your ass, trying to feel more pressure from his fingers. You knew you shouldn't move, but you were so close it was almost painful to find your climax just out of reach.

Cillian's fingers continued their rhythm, pressing hard into you but circling gently around your clit. You were so wet, he was finding it challenging to resist stopping to taste you, which would be his usual approach by this point. You tensed, and he knew you was almost there. Your hand moved onto your breast, and he immediately withdrew his fingers, cutting off your impending orgasm.

‘That was naughty’ he chastised as you gasped, widening your eyes and flinging your hands from your body, knowing he had caught you doing something you shouldn't.

He had known that at some point, you wouldn't be able to resist helping to reach your climax, no matter how hard you tried to obey his commands. It was at that moment of climax, just before the first release, that you become unaware of your own actions.

Cillian was aware that time was running short, so to press his point with you, he undid his belt buckle and slid his belt through his jeans' loops. He lifted your hands up and slid his belt around them, pulling your wrists tightly together. The tail of the belt passed through twice, forming a knot. Then he placed your hands above your head onto the pillow.

‘No touching!’ Cillian growled.

Looking straight into your eyes, Cillian stroked his hand down your body again. He thrust two fingers into you without warning this time. He knew it wouldn't take long to get your back to where you had been. He wanted you to have that internal fight within yourself as your mind battled your body between self-control and the desire for release. He settled into a rhythm again, slowly building the pace. He stroked around your breasts and teased your nipples with his other hand to show your that he understood your needs.

You felt your body immediately begin to respond. Your eyes closed once more, and your chest heaved as your breathing deepened. Your whole body was outstretched, elongated on the bed from your hands above your head to your legs extending downwards as your hips push up to meet his internal touches. You tried to stifle the sounds escaping your mouth, but it was all too much for you now. Biting your lip, you momentarily opened your eyes to look for Cillian's reaction. Surprisingly he smiled down at you, lowering his head to kiss your lips which you savoured hungrily.

‘I feel you getting close again. You want to come, don't you?’ he crooned and saw the enthusiastic head nod.

Pushing your head back and stretching your arms tightly above you to touch the headboard and show your obedience, you kept your gaze locked to his. His fingers continue to press into you, and he rotated his thumb on your clit. You felt the tingling tendrils of pleasure running through your as your pussy tightened around his fingers.

It killed Cillian to watch you writhing in pleasure under his hands and not bury himself inside you. His whole body sung with his own need, and the temperature in the room was soaring as he held your climax just out of reach for a few minutes more.

Your head stretched back as you arched impossibly higher. Your breasts were standing firm, your nipples were erect, rising and falling with your heavy breathing. You were struggling to maintain control. Your entire body was quivering, and your body glowed with the sheen of perspiration. You began to fail to stifle the sounds of your desperation for release.

Cillian felt you tighten all over, your lips closed, your eyes ablaze, screaming for satisfaction. Your eyes were pleading with him as he held you frozen in time for a few more seconds; your whole body began to tremble violently when he lowered his mouth close to your ear to whisper.

‘Cum for me baby. You can let go now’ he said and barely completed the words when you exploded, your body jerking and spasming as the climax took you over.

Your head pushed back abruptly as the first wave of your orgasm flooded through your body. You stiffened then crumpled. Your body tensed and weakened with each successive wave of the wildfire that travelled through your body, reaching every nerve ending. Eventually, you slumped, your body like that of a rag doll. You could feel Cillian undo the loop of his belt and slip it out through the buckle, releasing your wrists. You lay still, feeling unable to move now that you were free of the restraint.

‘Rest while I shower and then I might let you come again when I get back’ Cillian instructed.

‘Yes Daddy’ you winked, causing Cillian to cringe once again and playfully roll his eyes at you.

‘Good girl’ he winked as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Tag List (Cillian):

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang @0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney @missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy

Cannot Tag (please check your settings):

@l0tsofpennies @trolleydolly @avonlady1985 @chrisevanshoeee @daydreamingnymph @fookingshelby

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #Cillian Murphy x Reader #cillian murphy imagine

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awanderingdeal · 3 years

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Hello there! Would you please consider writing a fic where maybe Leo or a fan wears a dress or paints his nails or something else feminine and gets bullied online so the entire team then starts wearing dresses out in retaliation? I think Leo is the perfect example of flipping the V to normative gender ideals

Hi! Thank you for this ask. I hope you don't mind, but I kind of took this as inspiration and ran with it. I used Finn just because it fits my own personal headcanons that he would be the one that would be a bit more adventurous fashion wise, although I definitely agree Leo is the nail painter in that relationship! I hope you like it!

Apologies for the excessive use of italics in this fic!

CW: food mentions, some swearing, implied Instagram bullying and a child with very mild illness (hay fever).

Rating: T

Let me know if you think I missed anything or need to change the rating.

All characters in this fic are from Sweater Weather universe and belong to @lumosinlove

“Are you going to take that dress off?” June asked, blowing on the undercoat she’d just applied to her nails. Finn’s eyes dropped from the TV screen to the black fabric draping over his body. He brushed his fingers over the material, enjoying the texture of the sheer polka dots that decorated the dress. From afar, they were difficult to see, but at this distance they shined. His own little secret.

“No,” Finn replied, the word slipping from his mouth felt foreign, as if he hadn’t chosen to say it. “ Is that okay?”

“It’s generally considered polite to ask before you borrow people’s clothing, but sure, why not?” A loud cheer erupted from the TV notifying Finn the score on the basketball game he had been watching had changed. He desperately wanted to check it, but he continued to hold June’s gaze. “The Knicks,” June offered and Finn breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you going to wear it out later?” She didn’t wait for his reply, proffering two bottles of polish for Finn’s perusal, a redcurrant and a mauve.

“The red,” Finn decided after a beat. “No, I think I’ll get changed before we go to the theatre.”

“Alright then,” June hummed, glancing at her cell. “Logan is trying to call you, by the way.”

“Yes, my cell, I know exactly where that is,” Finn muttered to himself, stabbing at the remote to pause the TV. It took a few minutes of searching, the device hidden between the folds of the bean bag he was lounging on, but eventually Logan’s face was filling all 6.1 inches of the screen. “Lo!”

“Hey.”

Finn loved the greeting on Logan’s tongue, one of those that he never seemed to be able to stop his accent dripping through. Finn thought perhaps the sentiment was painted on his face, Logan peering at him curiously through the lens. “Isn’t that June’s dress?”

The dress. Finn had forgotten all about it. “Yes.”

He hadn’t meant for the reply to be said with such abruptness, but it felt good, all the tension coiling in his chest being released in the word.

Logan’s expression was challenging, similar to that June had given him earlier. “I was just going to say you look better in it.”

“Oh.”

June unfurled her legs from beneath her, throwing herself into view of the screen, her left hand held awkwardly in front of her. “I’m right here, Tremblay!”

***

“Love, you need to get out of the kitchen. You’re being very distracting.”

Finn frowned at Leo’s statement. “I’m not doing anything?” And for once, he wasn’t. He wasn’t trying to guess the weight of irrelevant objects. He wasn’t playing with the stray bits of dough Leo had left aside for decoration. He wasn’t even relaying facts about his current favourite interest. Finn was just watching.

Sometimes he liked to do that. He liked seeing Leo’s long fingers curled around the handle of the knife, his movements fluid and confident, his expression soft with quiet concentration. Occasionally, he’d cock his head, humming contemplatively and Finn could take the opportunity to offer his taste buds.

“It’s not a you problem, it’s a me problem,” Leo chuckled, setting the knife down on the chopping board. “I keep looking up and you’re just -” Finn followed Leo’s gaze as it wandered down to the exposed skin between Finn’s t-shirt and his skirt. “- I’m trying to meal prep and it’s going to take all week at this rate.”

The t-shirt had belonged to Logan, an old Harvard hockey throwback that had managed to make it through several wardrobe purges, so, whilst it was wide enough for Finn, the length was awkward. He hadn’t really considered his boyfriend’s reactions as he’d cut the item to fall several inches above his belly button, the crop looking far more purposeful than it previously had.

“Oh this old thing, I just threw it on,” Finn smirked, as he pushed off the counter he'd been leaning on. He rounded the island, stealing a carrot as he passed, until he planted himself in front of Leo. "Do you want help? It'd be quicker?"

"Now we both know neither of those things are true." Leo raised a critical eyebrow, his laughter smooth and sweet. He turned to face Finn more fully, his hand reaching to pass the forest green material of Finn's skirt through his fingers. "I like this colour on you."

"It has pockets! I totally get why Lily's always shouting about them. They're very convenient." Finn shoved his hands in the well-concealed pocket, pulling his cell from its depths. "See."

"Nice," Leo said, his smile making the edges of his face crinkle. "How about you let me finish up here and then we can find Lo and get his opinion on this outfit?"

"Fine," Finn groaned, resisting the temptation to draw Leo in a hug, and perhaps something more. "I'm gonna go and look over that report the accountant sent over. Do you want me to check yours over too?"

"Please," Leo nodded, his smile growing wider. "You're the best."

"You feed me, I make sure you don't get arrested, that's what relationships are all about, right?"

"Right," Leo ran his fingers over the skirt one last time and stepped back to put some space between them. Finn turned to leave, barely getting a few paces in before Leo called him. "Wait!"

"Yeah?"

"Just one kiss now would be okay."

Finn shook his head, letting Leo draw him back in with a chuckle. Leo's hands, always warm, settled on Finn's waist and he leaned down to press their lips together.

***

Finn winced as Aveline sneezed again, the forceful burst of air covering his sweater in droplets. He felt sorry for her; she was struggling with a bout of hay fever that was making her red-nosed and irritable, but the sweater was one of Finn’s favourites. A vintage, hand knitted blue thing he’d found in a thrift store in Cambridge for an absolute steal. Back then, it had been the scene of Bambi and his friends on it that had grasped Finn’s attention, however, he’d come to love it for its perfect fit and the fact it never failed to spark a conversation.

“Harzy, thank you. You’re a lifesaver.” Finn tried not to let his relief show too much seeing Kris’ approach, his arms outstretched to gather his daughter. “I can’t even put her down to go to the bathroom at the moment without her screaming.”

Finn chuckled, holding a wriggling Aveline tighter to stop her launching herself before her father was close enough. “Papa!” she cried, the exclamation melded neatly into a large yawn.

“Come, mon chou,” Kris soothed, letting Aveline bury her face into the crook of his neck and playing a gentle pattern with his fingers over her back. “Let’s go and see if Vroom-vroom has any magic up his sleeve, ey? He always knows what to do.”

“Vroom-vroom?” Finn whispered the question.

“Sergei,” Kris explained with a gleeful smile despite the tiredness etched into his face. He shifted Aveline into a more comfortable position. “Thanks again for holding her.”

“Anytime.”

Finn had barely been alone in the Dumais’ second living room for a minute when Katie came crashing in. He wondered briefly if he should redirect her back to the other room where everybody was gathered, the thought quickly interrupted by Katie tugging on the hem of his skirt. “Can you spin again? Please?”

Unable to resist her large doe eyes, Finn twirled for her, his skirt swirling and billowing around him until he began to go dizzy.

“Encore! Encore!”

Finn didn’t need Logan around to translate that for him, he’d seen enough Broadway shows to understand the request.

“No more, Katie Belle. I’m going to puke,” Finn laughed, lifting Katie into his arms. “You’re growing too quickly! I swear you were only this big the last time I saw you,” he teased, spreading the thumb and index finger of his free hand a few inches apart.

“I’ll be as tall as you soon!” Katie giggled, patting Finn on his head.

“Then you can carry me,” Finn teased. He was just reaching to bop Katie on the nose when the unmistakable sound of a camera shutter closing grabbed his attention.

“Logan!” Katie gasped, struggling in Finn’s arms for a second like little Aveline had done. “Put me down.”

Finn obliged, watching Katie run toward Logan with a fond smile.

“Did you fix it?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

“Ouais,” Logan nodded, “I gave it back to Maja.”

“Merci, merci, merci!” Katie wrapped her arms around Logan’s hips in a hug before running off, presumably to find Maja.

Finn crossed the room, opening his arms for Logan to walk into. He rested his chin on Logan’s head, breathing in the familiar smell of his shampoo. “What were you up to?”

“Just taking a photo of two of my favourite people,” Logan mumbled into Finn’s chest.

“Can I see?”

“Oui, it’s very cute. ” Logan stepped back, pulling the photo up onto the screen. It was a nice one, both Finn and Katie’s head tipped back slightly with bright laughter. Finn tracked down the photo, Katie’s legs clinging to his waist where the faux leather skirt started. He breathed in, filling his lungs with air and then expelling it quickly.

“Post it.”

Logan looked at him, eyes wide. “Are you sure?”

“Not really, but I’m fed up with changing my clothes all the time and I’m surprised I haven’t been papped anyway. I’d rather do this on my own terms. It’s a fucking skirt, it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Tell me to do it again,” Logan reached out a hand, squeezing gently as Finn took it.

“Post it.”

***

“Stop reading,” Leo sighed, plucking Finn’s cell from his hand.

Finn matched his sigh, burying his head into his hands. He didn’t need to look at the screen anyway, the words burned into his eyes. How anybody had looked at a photo of two people, one of whom was a child, laughing and had churned out hatred was mystifying to him. Finn had been expecting that though, he’d been around long enough to know there were some assholes out there. When he’d replied to one of the nicer ones he hadn’t really considered how he would feel about that going viral. About becoming the face of something he hadn’t really asked for.

Roaringlion17: Harzy! This fit is spectacular, I love the skirt <3 I just wanted to ask if you are trans and what pronouns you would like us to use?

OfficialFOHara: @roaringlion17 Thank you! He/him pronouns are great! I’m not trans. I just think it’s dumb that boys can’t wear skirts. Or dresses for that matter. I like clothes, not boxes.

The reply had now been featured on every gossip column possible and was beginning to filter into more esteemed news too. One of them had even called him, the face of a revolution, which had made Finn cringe. He supposed it was better than the hateful slurs his PR team were battling to keep off the photo.

“Hey,” Logan took the seat next to Finn where he’d slumped himself at the dining table. “Look at me.” Finn lifted his head, meeting Logan’s eyes, the deep green something he wanted to get lost in right now. He thought Logan was going to ask for the thousandth time if Finn wanted him to delete it, but all he got was the fierce, determined gaze Logan sported on the ice. “This is going to pass. Tomorrow, somebody will cheat on somebody and you will be old news. Do you want to see something?”

Finn nodded. He didn’t know what he was consenting to, but he trusted Logan to make it something that would make him smile. Leo dragged another of the chairs around to sit on Finn’s left hand side, setting his confiscated cell in front of him, the Instagram app open to Thomas’ profile. Logan leaned forward, tapping on the latest photo.

Thomas’ smile was wide as he sat on a window sill, kicking out the long zebra print skirt cloaking his legs. The caption underneath read ‘You’re just jealous that I wear it better than you! #boyswearskirtstoo’

“That’s -”

“Wait a second,” Logan reached for the phone again, setting it down with a picture of James’ visible. He was wearing an ochre coloured corduroy skirt that clearly belonged to Lily, the fabric straining on thighs. I’m feeling myself in this, tbh. Please hold whilst I order one in my size #boys wearskirtstoo.

Finn snorted, the sound wet with the tears he was struggling to hold back.

The hashtags kept coming.

Cap and Loops in their respective jersey’s tucked into pleated skirts. These Lions know fashion is not gendered #boyswearskirtstoo

Ollie in a shimmering gold knee length piece. Shine bright! #boyswearskirtstoo

Nado, Kuny, Smitty and Kane, arms slung around one another's shoulders, all wearing varying shades of pink. On Wednesdays, we wear pink #boyswearskirtstoo. Finn would bet good money that Kuny was behind that caption.

Dumo, Sergei and their wives, alongside their troupe of children, each one of them wearing a different coloured tutu. Dumo had opted to just include the hashtag, or rather his social media team had, because the man himself most definitely did not know how to upload the photo.

Kasey and Natalie looked effortlessly cool dressed in white tennis skirts and floral bomber jackets. I’m not sure what all the fuss is about? #boyswearskirtstoo

Alex was wearing a very similar black skirt to Finn's in his photo. Who wore it better? #boyswearskirtstoo #thatsmylittlebrother

“He’s an idiot, but I love him,” Finn laughed wetly.

“There’s more,” Logan smirked as he tapped at the screen again, almost brimming with an excited energy. He placed the cell back down, leaving his hand to block the next photo a little longer. Finn grabbed the device as soon as Logan revealed the image.

It was perfect.

Leo and Logan lounged on the sofa, a little further apart than they would normally sit. Leo clutching his favourite mug and Logan with sketchpad in hand. They both looked easy in their outfits, as if the skirts were a part of them. Leo’s was long, hitting just above his ankle, a navy lining coated in a tulle that was embellished with celestial bodies. Logan was looking at the camera, his eyes just visible under the brim of his cap. His skirt was shorter, the denim flaring over his thick thighs. In this house we respect people’s right to wear whatever the fuck they want #boyswearskirtstoo

Finn stopped trying to fight the tears, letting the moisture well in his eyes. “Thank you,” he choked out, pushing himself from his chair. Leo and Logan had their arms around him before he could ask. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.” He couldn’t seem to make the words stop, his body shaking with sobs, his boyfriend’s arms remaining sure around him until Finn wiped at his face and muttered an apology. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Leo swept his thumb over Finn’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “What can we do? What do you need?”

Finn let out a heavy breath, leaning into Logan’s hold. “I think I want to send a thank you to the group chat and then snacks and cuddles? I can deal with the world tomorrow.”

“Okay then, snacks and cuddles. We deal with the world tomorrow.”

#finn o'hara #leo knut #logan tremblay #rating: t #cw: food #cw: implied bullying #cw: swearing #cw: minor illness #sweater weather #lumosinlove

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mintchocolatechipnut · 4 years

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bakugou cooking for his crush

Okay I just had the cutest idea: Bakugou falling for a classmate that's a really good eater. One day she stumbles across his food in the common fridge without knowing he cooked it. She steals a bite and is smitten with his food. And Bakugou, having seen the whole thing, becomes smitten with her.

Note: How this idea came about I have no clue... I just remember writing the entire thing on my phone at my grandparents’ house and really having fun writing it. To be honest, I don’t have the best grasp on Bakugou’s character, but I tried... For all my fellow food lovers out there!

Tags: more tooth-rotting fluff (the domestic kind), attempts at showing character development through cooking, Bakugou’s tough love (but of course, you’re here for that)

Word count: 3.5k

So I'm imagining that Bakugou likes to keep his cooking skills on the down low, because who knows if idiots like Kirishima and Kaminari show up and start whining at him to cook them food, and he doesn't want to be teased as being 'domestic'

He doesn't think there's anything wrong with cooking since he's able to take care of himself and his health, but if his squad saw him in the kitchen in his apron he wouldn't ever be able to live it down

That said, he brings his freshly cooked meals into his room and opens his windows so the smell doesn't linger, and he stores his leftovers in the deep recesses of the fridge where no one would ever think to look, not even food thieves

Luckily or unluckily for him, you were no ordinary food thief.

Bakugou is on his way downstairs because he's feeling peckish and wants to heat up some of the leftovers of his favourite dish, so imagine his shock and anger when he sees you and Sero poring over the blue Tupperware housing his food

Before he can take a single seething step, though, you've already spooned a bite into your mouth

His eyes widen, and now he's really mad that an extra like you had the audacity to eat his food

But then you let out a near inhuman noise, and it sounds… intensely satisfied?

'Oh my god, who cooked this?' Unable to contain your excitement you're shaking Sero by the shoulders, lips drawing up in a contented smile. 'This is the best thing I've ever tasted!'

For some reason, Bakugou's not so mad anymore. Obviously because for an extra like you, at least you had taste

But something about the pure joy in your expression made Bakugou feel… guilty that he was going to stop you

It's absurd because if anyone should be feeling guilty, it's you

As he's thinking this, the snap of the closed Tupperware brings him back to his senses, and all of a sudden he's fleeing the scene so he's not discovered

He's even more bewildered because there's no reason for him to be running away, and he hates running away

But somehow he felt a bit awkward and… embarrassed after hearing what you had to say about his food

With that he decided that he'd let it go once, and maybe seal his container a bit tighter

But he's sorely mistaken the next morning at the breakfast counter when you begin gushing about his food once more

Remember when he thought that you should've felt guilty for eating his food? There's not an ounce of shame in your words, though.

You tell the story of your tastebuds' meeting with heaven when you and Sero found a container full of something inside the fridge, and out of curiosity, you decided to take a peek

'I didn't mean to eat it, I swear I didn't! But it just looked so good, and I could imagine how it tasted… but boy did it taste so much better than that!'

Bakugou's left reeling at this praise, and there's an uncomfortable feeling upsetting his stomach as he tries to wolf down his cereal, trying not to think about how your words made his ears burn

Then the punchline: 'If we have a guy in our class who cooks like this, I'd marry him in a heartbeat!'

Bakugou nearly spits his milk

Luckily no one notices, and are instead calling you out for your food thievery or watching your animated hand gestures

On his walk to class, Bakugou has no idea how he feels about this; he just wants to banish it to the corners of his mind so he wouldn't have to waste time thinking about something that shouldn't have mattered so much before

Right before he steps into class he's met with a flashback of your smile when you ate his cooking, and suddenly a plan pops into his brain

…

You show up in the kitchen the next few days, wanting to see if the 'blue Tupperware man' struck again with his fantastic dishes

More often than not, you're met with disappointment, but your eyes light up when you see the familiar blue sticking out in your vision when you open the fridge one day

You're shocked to find a note attached: 'To Y/N: I know you've been eating my food. You can only have a bite of this, but not one more. Don't think I can't tell if you do, I WILL know.'

You're all around mortified, though you realise you really shouldn't be: practically everyone heard your declarations of food thievery that day

But the last line drove home the fact that the person who cooked this was here, and was indeed a student

The first thing you do is scan the area behind you for any immediate signs of life, in case the chef had been watching you

But when nothing turns up, you shrug, and rub your hands together in excitement

You swear you could hear stifled laughter, but the lure of the food in front of you was too much to overcome in favour of an investigation

As you eat and, once again, fail to be disappointed, Bakugou's eyes are trailing your face

There it is: the same expression, if not even better than he remembered, that you put on when you ate good food

And suddenly, Bakugou wants to see that expression more

The next few times a similar note addressed to you accompanies every meal, but when you tried to reply you wouldn't get an answer back

Then one day, the notes just stopped. You felt sad for a while, but then perked up when you saw the contents of the Tupperware, containing some of your favourite ingredients

From then on it was a given that you could eat from the blue Tupperware, and not more than three bites

You still cringe at the stinginess, leading to Bakugou muffling his chuckles every time

He doesn't come and watch you eat every time, because it's creepy, for one thing

But sometimes he'd be in his room, just knowing that you'd be tiptoeing down the stairs in anticipation of what's in the fridge, and a small grin would tug at the corners of his mouth

He'd also made it clear that no one else would attempt to try his food. Once Kaminari tried to sneak a bite, but when he opened the container the stench of rotting beans knocked him out

Bakugou cackled as he dragged Kaminari back to his room, but not before switching out the containers with the one meant for you

He's also quick to throw anyone who's out to discover him off the scent (ha)

Besides doing so in the literal sense, as with Kaminari, Bakugou makes sure to stay out of everyone's radar in the kitchen, and even goes as far to put your portion in a separate pink Tupperware, with your name on it

Yeah, no way would such a sappy move be from blasty boy Bakugou, right?

You'd been playing this game for a few weeks now when you just can't take it anymore

Bakugou awakes one morning to discover a text message from you in the group chat:

'To the person who always leaves me food (aka blue Tupperware!!), please PLEASE show yourself! I really want to get to know the person who makes such wonderful food!'

He felt his heart swell, and he's painfully reminded of your first words of how you'd marry him for his cooking

He's grateful he's blushing alone in his room

At this declaration in the group chat, however, more and more 'investigations' are popping up

Deku is a particularly difficult person to distract and Bakugou hates it

But so far he's been keeping it together, all he has to do is stick it out a bit longer

That's when Mineta of all people tries to impersonate him

Bakugou's infuriated when he's checking on you one night and you fish a note out of your container

'What's this?' you muse aloud, and begin reading it out aloud, much to Bakugou's benefit, 'Meet me behind the dorms tomorrow after school. I'll show you who I am.'

Bakugou knows it's definitely not him who wrote it, but he can't stop the rage arising in his chest when he sees your eyes light up in excitement

Who is this impostor and when and where would they like their ass being whooped?

Bakugou decides once again to investigate in his usual ninja fashion that he's perfected from watching you

He follows you to the back of the school discreetly, where you bounce on the balls of your feet in impatience

Suddenly a familiar purple head emerges from the bushes, and Bakugou has to physically restrain his palms from crackling

'Mineta?' He's happy that your eyebrows furrowed at the sight of him, but he's suddenly left reeling when he has an introspective moment about why he's been playing this game all along

He felt too afraid to face you. Too afraid to show his domestic side, and too afraid to come clean and say he cares. He knows he doesn't have the best personality in class, but he really wants your impression of him as ‘blue Tupperware’ to stay untainted and pristine

What would you think, then, if you discovered that your mystery chef was the abrasive, antagonistic Katsuki Bakugou, who didn't seem to have an ounce of empathy for anyone? Even worse, would you believe him even if he told you?

More than what it would do to his reputation, he realised that he didn't want you to see him in a bad light at all.

However, he's also mentally kicking himself because now bastards like Mineta can come and impersonate him

However, the words that leave your mouth makes him still

'You're the Blue Tupperware guy? Prove it.' There's a challenging smile atop your lips as you stare down Mineta, who falters from his previously smug swagger

'What do you mean? I cook you food, you love it. That's all there is to it, right?' A derisive laugh leaves you.

'Then tell me the names of the dishes you've made for me.' Mineta stands stock still, trying to comprehend what you've just asked of him. The beads of sweat now trailing down his neck don't escape your notice.

After some painful stammering and guesswork, then a beat of silence, you sigh. 'I kind of thought this would happen.'

'However, if it really honestly had been you, I wouldn't be mad. Because if I knew you were the one cooking with so much care and love, I'd still thank you for the meals.'

Bakugou's head goes blank. His hands begin sweating uncontrollably, and he's brought back to his senses when he hears his palms pop.

As he controls his quirk he's desperately trying to make sense of what you just said, but only one word rings out clear and true in his brain.

'Love'.

And suddenly he's trying not to grin at your epic shutdown of Mineta, trying not to feel his heart flutter when he pictures your multitude of expressions in all their glory, and trying not to remember the feeling of when he'd lie in his bed at night, the last thought he has before he drifts off to sleep being 'what should I cook next?'

He's in love with—

The sounds of footsteps coming in his direction shake him out of his reverie and he all but dives behind a pillar as you march off, leaving Mineta in the dust

Before the purple-haired pervert can leave, however, he's suddenly held up by the collar of his shirt, eyes wide before a murderous red gaze

'Try one more thing with her and I'll make sure you don't wake up the next day.'

…

From then on, Bakugou's mood lifts considerably.

Not only is he confident Mineta wouldn't rat him out (all he has to do is shoot him a glare), but he's eternally proud of how you stood up for him

Speaking of which, can he take your words you spoke to Mineta that day to mean that you wouldn't at all feel uneasy with whoever Blue Tupperware was, as long as you knew it was really him?

Now he's stuck with thinking of ways to shoot his shot

Little does he know that chance might come sooner than he thought…

One day he's running late because his work studies ran overtime

He'd planned to make something a little more complicated and out of his repertoire, though it may take him longer than usual

Though when he'd discovered what you liked to eat through your conversations with friends and what you ate in the cafeteria, he didn't mind, couldn't mind the extra hassle at all

It's not a difficult recipe, but he knows that it'll be dinnertime soon and that'd be dangerous

He looks at the clock, noting the twenty minutes he has before the first students come trickling into the common room. You won't be here until thirty minutes after. So he locks himself in the kitchen and gets to work

(yes I now know it doesn’t make sense for him to not be discovered in the kitchen during dinnertime, so let’s just say no one usually wanders in because all the meals are usually laid out in the common room when dinner rolls around)

He's smiling as he spoons the freshly cooked food into the Tupperwares, letting it cool for a bit as he washes up

But when he turns around holding them in his hands to put into the fridge, he freezes

There you stand in the doorway, eyes wide

'... Bakugou?' Damn, he would've relished the sound of his name on your tongue if you hadn't been looking at him like… like that. 'Are you Blue Tupperware?'

As much as he wants to laugh at the stupid nickname, he knows how straightforward and sharpshooting you can be with your words and intentions. And so the only thing that comes out of his mouth is:

'So what if I am?'

A beat of silence, then two. And suddenly your face morphs from bewilderment to pure joy, maybe even purer than when you eat his food. God bless his eyes that could bear witness to that moment.

'It's you!' you exclaim and a laugh as hearty as your appetite leaves your lips, and he's just awed, amazed. 'Thank you for the food!'

…

The immediate aftermath was everyone gaping at the both of you as if you each grew two heads as you ate from your respective containers

Sitting across him, you ask, 'Well… why did you do it?'

He’d imagined that you’d ask something like that, and he’s prepared an answer for it, but the eagerness in your smile, along with every other eye on him, prompted him to instead blurt:

'To… to stroke my ego and shit.'

Everyone goes painfully silent except for you, who leans back and laughs, 'As expected of you, Bakugou! But either way I get to eat really well, so thank you!'

You've been saying thank you for a while now, but what he can't get out of his head is that you expected him to be all narcissistic about cooking you food for his own selfish reasons? Man does that hurt.

But somehow, the others buy it too (which just really goes to show how much of a jerk the class paints him out to be), and the case of Blue Tupperware is solved

Now all that's changed is you pop in occasionally when Bakugou's cooking, and there are nights where you eat together

Oh, and the fact that he now knows you can’t cook for shit

You’ve tried to help Bakugou cook before, but at the time he'd felt as if he was in for a very rude awakening

However you are a god at cooking instant noodles of any shape or kind, so much so that when he misses you (or craves you lol) he eats instant noodles

Then again they'd never taste quite the same as when you cook them asifkajdks

When he actually confesses it's when you, out of the goodness of your heart, ask if you can help him out once more

He always finds himself giving in btw

But then you burn another pot and it's tough not to get frustrated

He's under stress, the weight of his sweat on his brow coupled with his ever growing feelings for you leads him to have even less of a filter on his mouth

'You obviously suck at this.' he says, noting your sad puppy eyes and willing himself not to surrender. 'Just let me do it.'

'But I feel bad that you're always cooking for me, and all I do is enjoy it.' You're biting your lip now, and it's all Bakugou can do before he starts thinking about what it'd be like to push you against the sink and kiss you senseless.

'Nonsense. It's enough that you enjoy my cooking, so let me do it. Let me take care of you.'

That last part did slip out, as denoted by the look on your face

'Wow,' again your straightforwardness comes into play, 'that sounded like a confession right there if I've ever heard one!'

Before he can stop himself—'do you wish it was?'

'Huh?'

'A confession—do you wish it was one?'

He watches your cheeks go tomato red and you purse your lips

'Do you wish that I wish it was?'

Aw, now you just playin

'I'm not hearing a no.'

'Neither am I.'

And then you nerds proceed to stare each other down in a palpable silence, the only sounds being the bubble of the soup in the pot before you

Who confesses first?

'Dumbass. I like you.'

You instantly beam, and you jump into his arms, even though you're dangerously close to the fire. Bakugou blanches, then draws you away from the stove

'Oi, watch it! You could get hurt, idiot,' but you're too focused on the way his arms had naturally wrapped around you to keep you safe and shielded

'You'll protect me, won't you?' you say, smushing your cheek against his chest. Bakugou sighs and places a hand on your head soothingly

'You bet I will.'

Bonus scene! “And that's how your father and I got together,” you say with a smile, as your four year old son bounces excitedly in your lap, while your six year old rolls her eyes at the amount of times you've told this story. “Yeah, we get it Mom.”

Your son has a different take on it though. “Start again! Again, again!” You let out a sigh mixed in with a chuckle at his insistence, but just then the wafting aroma of shrimp hits your nose. You close your eyes as you feel footsteps coming closer, and the warmth of your husband leaning in close to you as he sets the table leaves you giddy.

“Okay, that's enough storytelling for today,” Katsuki grumbles, placing the shrimp pesto on the table. Your daughter instantly perks up at the sight; she might not be as good an eater as you are, but she has a particular fondness for pasta. “Yay! It's pasta time!”

You set down your son in his chair as his eyes gleam at the feast in front of him, then walk up to your husband. 'Thank you so much, babe,' you relish the sight of Katsuki's ears, previously stained red from listening to your 'story', turning even redder.

“If you really want to thank me, there's something you need to do,” Katsuki mutters in a low voice, his gaze surreptitiously looking down at himself. You follow his eyes, and immediately burst out laughing.

“You're wearing it for us!” You'd really like to capture a photo of him in the 'Kiss the Chef' apron you'd gotten him for his birthday last year as a gag gift. Could Katsuki turn any redder?

“Shut up! Who burned my other apron the other day, hmm?”

This time you blush. “Maybe it was an expert ploy to get you to wear this,” you laugh, and before a snappy retort can leave his lips, you're smothering them with your own mouth. “Love you.”

You embrace him, arms lazily reaching for the apron strings in order to tug them undone, but your husband is pulling you in too, hands on your waist as he tucks your head in the corner of his neck so you can't see him or hear his next words too well. But you hear them nonetheless.

“I love you too.'”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou headcanons #bakugo headcanons

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sxfterhearts · 3 years

Text

53. [4:07 pm]

➳ pairing: yugyeom x reader

➳ genre/warnings: fluff fluff fluff, baker!au, baker!yugyeom, exchange student!y/n

➳ word count: 2,040 words

➳ summary: “Sit down, I’ll get it.”

➳ author's note: rach-stop-mentioning-food-in-every-single-timestamp-challenge: failed. just the thought of baker!yugs and bread has me feeling all soft and gooey inside. which is why i whipped this one up! it has been a phat minut since i last wrote so yea :”) (also i should mention italicised are korean!!) regardless i hope this will help brighten up your day a little!! sending many warm hugs xx

Your phone screeched from its resting place on the other side of your room, signalling the start of your day. It was strategically placed atop your wooden, old-fashioned dresser, with the sole purpose of motivating you to get out of bed and turn the damn thing off.

With a groan, you stretched all four of your limbs, releasing a satisfied yawn as your joints popped after a good nights’ rest.

It was late afternoon. The rays of sunshine splattered deep orange and gold as it sneaked past the cracks the half-open blinds, painting your tiny studio apartment with lazy signs of life.

You dragged your sleep-ridden body to the dresser, still reluctant to start the day after what was an immensely taxing Friday night. Having just arrived in this bustling Korean city a mere two weeks ago, you were somewhat proud of yourself for landing a part-time job to support yourself when you started your semester of exchange. The only problem was, it happened to be a bartending job in a rowdier part of Seoul, commonly patronised by sleazy middle-aged men and their younger lady companions.

It wasn’t like you had much of a choice, anyways. Your Korean was still very much at an elementary level, which didn’t prove to be a hindrance in the bar you worked at. Most of the drinks were named in English, and the owner of the bar, a surprisingly kind, motherly lady in her sixties, paid you well above the minimum wage.

Still, it was your second Friday shift ever, and it clearly took its toll on you. Staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you cringed. The eyebags under your eyes were so dark it could’ve easily been mistaken as a smoky-eye look gone wrong; your lips were awfully chapped and an alarming shade of red, while a few nasty pimples threatened to break through the surface of your skin.

In other words, you looked like a wreck.

Grabbing your phone, you checked the time. Ten minutes past four. Oh no, you winced internally. You were going to be very late if you didn’t leave your house in the next fifteen minutes. As though an internal switch flipped on, you turned the shower to full blast and stepped inside, sucking in your teeth as the cold water splashed against your skin.

In eight minutes flat, you were tugging on your beat-up sneakers and dashing for the elevator in your only pair of clean, non-alcohol-stained jeans and a plain white t-shirt that you conveniently picked off the pile of dry clothes on your sofa. You jammed the down button a couple of times, all while checking the time on your phone.

“Shit,” You cursed under your breath. 4:19. You couldn’t wait any longer.

Throwing all caution to the wind, you sprinted down the fire escape and did not stop for a single breath until you reached the final destination: a charming little bakery across the road from your apartment.

Rushing to the bakery just before closing time had become a habit for you. Amidst the chaos of moving and finding your feet in this new city, the bakery and its never-ending stream of patrons were your source of stability. Not only was it less busy and crowded during the evening, but it was also much easier for you to snag a couple of good bargains in the form of randomly-packaged, discounted breads.

The fact that the cute baker was the last one in store and in charge of closing up was just an added bonus.

A high-pitched, annoying chime broke him out of his daze. With a groan, Yugyeom straightened his slumped figure and stretched his arms above his head, releasing a satisfied sigh as his backbone cracked.

It was late afternoon. The rays of sunshine splattered deep orange and gold as it flooded through the drawn, white lacey curtains, painting his grandfather’s bakery with calm and relief; a peaceful conclusion. The end of daylight was drawing near.

He wiped a stray trail of saliva off the corner of his mouth before sucking on a mint. Checking the clock that hang above rack upon empty rack which usually contained baked goods, his palms inexplicably grew clammy.

4:27, Yugyeom mused. He shook his head to clear his spiralling thoughts. Keep it together, dummy. Just because she came the past few days doesn’t mean that she’ll come today too. She has her own life, her own friends, maybe even a boyfri-

Oh?

Just as his mind was about to veer off course and crash into the thorny garden of unrequited love, Yugyeom caught sight of a blurry figure at the corner of his eyes. Intrigued, he stood up straight and watched as you appeared in front of the bakery’s double doors. For a few seconds, you simply clutched your knees and huffed and puffed. Yugyeom could barely stop the shit-eating grin that split across his face and had to bite down hard on his bottom lip to avoid looking like a fool.

Then, you did the unexpected. From the back pocket of your jeans, you pulled out your lip balm and applied it on your lips, using the bakery’s glass window as a mirror. At that, Yugyeom threw his head back in a hysterical fit of laughter.

It was hard for him to explain the feeling in his chest, really. The first time you walked through the doors of the bakery, eyes twinkling with pure wonder and amazement as you browsed the array of baked goods like how a girl would admire a display of diamond rings, he was screwed. You captivated his interest as you fumbled for the right number of coins to pay for your discounted breads, tongue stuck out and head tilted adorably while doing so. He gave you, the damsel in distress, a helping hand, by laying all your coins out on the counter and ordering them from lowest to highest value. Probably not the most helpful of gestures, but Yugyeom liked to tell himself that he was performing his civic duty by welcoming a visitor of Korea through non-verbal currency explanations and an introduction to the locals’ favourite breads, pastries and drinks. That evening, the two of you sat on the high table by the window, slowly savouring melon breads, injeolmi toasts, ang butter or red bean butter breads and an assortment of cream cheese breads. While the breads were wonderfully fluffy and the sweetness was at an acceptable level, Yugyeom instructed you to wash it down with an iced Americano.

Since then, the mere thought of the bakery, going to the bakery, its breads and pastries, its drinks and Yugyeom coated your insides with sweetness. Admittedly, the reason why you kept visiting the bakery was to create more memories with Yugyeom and ride the amazing sugar rush you felt whenever you were around him.

After rearranging your hair for the nth time, you bravely pushed open the doors and walked in at 4:29pm.

“Hello!” You called out in Korean as you waved at him, a wide smile plastered on your lips. There was an obvious language barrier (you with your kindergarten-level Korean and him with his Game of Thrones-standard of English), but it wasn’t obvious. The two of you came up with creative ways to break it down.

“Hi Y/N! Sit down. I’ll get it.” Yugyeom answered in English, emerging from behind the counter with his trusty English-Korean dictionary and a matcha latte he prepared in anticipation of your arrival. He walked towards you with an air of confidence, reminding you of a model in a fashion show despite wearing his typical slacks and white button-up, with sleeves rolled up and cross drop-earrings adorning his ears. Yugyeom quickly set the items down before pulling out a chair, nodding towards it to encourage you to sit.

You muffled a giggle at his gentlemanly actions, but complied, nonetheless. You glanced over to the boy, sipping on the creamy drink as he retrieved two large plates from the cake fridge. Sure, the assortment of cakes should have been the main attraction, but your eyes drifted and settled on the stern look of concentration on his face and his prominent collarbones peeking out of his shirt. Unbuttoned, you assumed, as he was going to be off work soon.

You were halfway through the drink when Yugyeom returned to the table. He noticed this and didn’t pass up the opportunity to tease you about it. “Is it really good?”

“Thirsty. I just woke up.” You admitted, cheeks heating up in slight embarrassment.

Yugyeom’s wholehearted laughter filled the entire bakery.

“H-hey! Bad boy… Mean…”

“No, I…” Yugyeom stifled another round of laughter as he tried to pull himself together. “Cute. You wake up, come to see me in bread house.”

“Not ‘bread house’, ‘bakery’.”

“Ah, thank you. Bakery.” He tested the word on his lips, getting used to the pronunciation. “Bakery…”

“What are these?”

Yugyeom handed you a small cake fork while taking a seat. “Here. This plate is for tarts, and this one is for cakes. The tarts have the same filling – custard. But we use different fruits, like strawberries, berries, grapes and peaches. Whatever’s in season, really. Strawberries and cherry tarts are really popular in winter. Try some!” He reverted back in Korean whenever he was explaining, which was a great opportunity for you to pick up new vocabulary.

It was also a fantastic opportunity to try delicious pastries. You rotated through the entire plate painted in shades of pinks and green, taking a bite of each tart. Yugyeom just sat there, head in his palms, and admired the slight changes in your expression whenever you tried a new flavour. As creepy as it sounds, watching you eat the food he prepared was gradually becoming his favourite pastime.

“Cherry! That one is the best! It’s…” You quickly reached for the dictionary, softly muttering to yourself as you thumbed through the pages. “Here, acid. Acid, not too sweet. The strawberry one too.” Your eyes crinkled at their edges as they met his intrigued orbs, proudly smiling at yourself for learning a new word today.

“The word you’re looking for is ‘acidity’. ‘Acid’ is for chemistry.”

“Acidity?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Yugyeom reached over, his huge palm caressing the top of your head before ruffling your hair. You pouted and feigned annoyance, all while your heart squeezed and pounded away in your chest.

“Hey…” You protested weakly.

Yugyeom’s hand retreated. He placed it on the table, right next to your smaller ones. The distance between your hands taunted him; tempted him to close the gap and intertwine your fingers with his. Honestly, Yugyeom wasn’t used to this; wasn’t used to feeling like his insides were going to explode. His mouth opened and closed several times as he pondered his next move, wondering whether it would overstep your boundaries.

But then you stared at him in anticipation with your beautiful brown orbs, innocent and confused, as your lips wrapped around the straw of your matcha latte. Your gaze asked him an unspoken question, urging him on.

Yugyeom dragged your chair closer his, eliciting a high-pitched squeal from you. He rested both of his palms on top of your knees, gaining your full attention. “I like…” Yugyeom paused, catching his bottom lip between his pearly whites as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. “I like this time with you.”

The soft giggle was purely involuntary, you swore to him afterwards. Yet, as you watched his expression flicker into one of panic, you were quick to cast out his worries. “No, no! Don’t get me wrong. Did you mean, you like spending time with me?”

“Ah, I was trying to be romantic. Stupid English…” Yugyeom cursed under his breath in Korean, unaware that you were familiar with the word ‘romantic’ due to the hours you spent (wasted) binging Korean dramas. “Yes, I do.” He said while squeezing your kneecaps in affirmation.

You had to remind yourself time and time again to keep calm in the presence of this charming man and his magical hands. “Me too, Yugyeom. You’re my favourite time of the day.”

Needless to say, your afternoon ritual continued for weeks and months to come.

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jonahlovescoffee · 3 years

Note

Hi hi! So I am most definitely here because of your little Valentine’s Day surprise! Hope you don’t mind if I join in? Well anyways here’s a short description of me: I’m Amber, 15 y/o , black hair, brown eyes, 5’2 I think? Around there I’m short 😋. I enjoy drawing/painting, reading, writing and listening to music. I play the guitar and that’s about as interesting as I get. This was so sweet of you to write these! 💕💕💕

i ship you with corbyn besson <3

✧ he’ll definitely join you when you paint/draw! he’s not an artsy person so he’ll just sit and chill at your side as you worked your magic with your art supplies, occasionally glancing up from whatever he’s doing to ask if you need water or remind you that it’s time for lunch/dinner, since you often get so carried away with painting/drawing that you’ll forget the time.

✧ being a supportive lil bean that he is, he’ll definitely secretly steal some of your paintings and frame them to hang them around his house and he’ll proudly tell everyone who visits that they’re all created by his talented girlfriend hehe.

✧ you love all the moral support he gives and you certainly love how much time he spends with you, but his constant presence can get annoying sometimes when you’re in the mood of drawing him and the last thing you want is for him to see it and tease you about it forever.

✧ yes, before i forget, i’m 100% there’ll be guitar duets happening on a daily basis! he’ll do most of the singing but you will join in every now and then. when you do, he’ll shut up immediately so he can hear you sing. you always say that you don’t have a nice voice but corbyn thinks the total opposite. he loves the way you have a slight blush as you sing softly, your voice as sweet as honey, never failing to warm his heart.

“hey, love! here’s your coffee,” he chirped, waltzing into the living room, keys jangling as he spun them around his finger once before sending them flying towards the coffee table. the bunch of keys landed on it with a loud thud yet he received no reaction from you, who were laying on the couch, deeply engrossed with the novel in hand, your mind already in another realm. he waved his hand in front of your face, causing you to grunt before pushing his hand away.

“stop that, corbs,” you said, still not tearing your gaze away from the pages that were filled with lines after lines of words in small print. “thanks for the coffee,” you reached a hand out to him, a silent request for him to hand you your drink.

“no kisses first?” he pouted.

you rolled your eyes playfully before closing your book for a moment to pull him down by his shirt to give him a quick kiss. you pulled away before the kiss could turn into something more, intending to get back to your book as fast as possible, so to his dismay, the kiss was nothing more than a peck, actually. “here’s your kiss. now let me read in peace, love you,” you sent him a sweet smile before reopening your novel to pick up where you left off.

he frowned. “baby,” he called, in which you replied with another grunt, not even looking at him. “baby,” he repeated but this time, you didn’t bother to answer him.

your book was getting more attention than he did and he didn’t like that.

“baby,” he started to squeeze his way between your arms so half of your vision was blocked by his head, his tousled brown hair tickling your face, diverting your concentration. you let out an exasperated sigh before answering him.

“what?”

“i’ll just take this, thanks,” he said and before you could react, he snatched the book out of your hands and scurried away.

“corbyn, give it back right now!” you screamed while running after him but of course, he didn’t comply with your wishes.

“come get it yourself, baby,” he challenged as he suddenly came to a stop, allowing you to catch up with him almost immediately. you reached for your book but he raised it above his head as soon as your fingertips brushed against the cover.

“corbyn, you better give it back to me or else you’re dead,” he remained unfazed by your threat.

“really? i doubt a shorty like you can do any harm to me, can you?” he teased, watching you with the utmost amusement as you stood on your tippy toes with your arms stretched upwards, still failing to reach your book. “you can’t even manage to grab your book from me.”

“oh, watch me,” you said, starting to jump but he managed to move the book out of your reach every single time you came close to touching it. “i hate you,” you stopped your futile attempts of retrieving your book and resorted to crossing your arms and glaring up at him.

“it’s not my fault that you’re short,” he laughed, patting your head. “i’ll return you your book on one condition: you’ll have to spend the whole day with me,” he grimaced at the book before continuing, “instead of this.”

“corbyn matthew besson, are you seriously jealous?” you asked incredulously. “of a book?”

“maybe.”

“fine, gimme my book, then i’ll shower you with all my love. do we have a deal?”

“yes, shorty” he said and handed you your book.

“and for the millionth time, i’m not short, i’m cute.”

“yes, you sure are, my love,” he said as he dipped down and connect his lips with yours.

a/n: haha thanks @hiya-its-amber ! i believe that everyone deserves some love from their lanes during valentine’s day so here i am! lol anyways sorry in advance if it’s not up to ur expectations :/

#wdw #why dont we #corbyn besson #daniel seavey #jack avery #jonah marais #why don’t we #zach herron #wdw imagines #corbyn besson imagines #happy valentines day

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posebean · 2 years

Text

dumbp day

#honeyworks #confession executive committee #aiyuu #shibasaki aizou #someya yuujirou #bean stop drawing them challenge failed

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appleoctopie · 4 years

Text

Winter Challenge | Day 2

Prompt: snowball fights Fandom: Stormlight Archive Pairing: Shallan/Adolin/Kaladin Sum: Shallan knew what would happen when she threw the snowball, but she did it anyway.

Notes: I would like to preface this by saying that I’m still only halfway through Oathbringer, and I have very little memory of the first book. But I love these three and I wanted to write something featuring them.

AO3

Shallan had seen snow many times before, but freshly fallen snow never failed to leave her awestruck. There was just something so magical about a pristine white blanket, untouched and unmarred by anything.

She’d woken up before either of her boys and used the moment of peace to do a quick sketch of her view. It was all beautiful; the trees splashed with snow, the dark slashes of crows flying overhead, and the icicles glittering in the morning light.

She was still curled at the window when Adolin shuffled out of their room, her sketchbook open on her lap even though she was no longer sketching. Adolin yawned, his unusual hair a ruffled mess and the clothes he wore to bed rumpled and askew.

“Hey, babe.” He smiled when he saw her, pausing just long enough to brush a kiss over her hair and glance out the window at the snow before he continued on to the kitchen. She murmured a quiet hello, watching him rummage through the cabinets and mutter to himself until he found what he was looking for.

Adolin considered himself a bit of a coffee connoisseur, only buying ethically sourced whole beans from the fancy stores. One time he went on a tirade about how preground lost all the flavor, and that they would be better off just drinking hot dirt water. Shallan had laughed, Kaladin had stared him straight in the eyes and grabbed a tub of Folger’s off the shelf.

Adolin had thrown his arms in the air and left in a huff.

"Want some coffee?" His question drew her out of her memory and a soft smile curled her lips.

“That would be lovely.”

He flashed one of his grins that she loved so much and started work on the coffee. The soft whir of the grinder and the delicious aroma of coffee beans began to fill the room. Adolin sang to himself as he worked, his voice low and soothing, and the mixture of scents and sounds began to lull Shallan into a light doze.

She jerked awake when the hand touched her shoulder, her sketchbook sliding from her lap to thump to the floor.

“Sorry,” Adolin said with a laugh. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He was holding a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and she accepted it with gratitude. He bent to pick up her sketchbook, flipping it closed without looking at the drawings, and set it on the table near her. Then he brushed a kiss to her cheek and headed back into the kitchen to grab his own mug.

“I want to go outside today,” she announced, sipping her coffee and nearly groaning. Although Adolin might be more passionate about coffee than she felt was necessary, she had to agree that the fresh ground beans were far superior.

“And do what?” Adolin joined her at the window, leaning with his butt against the sill and his back to the view.

She shrugged, cupping the mug between her hands, enjoying the warmth. “I don’t know.”

He chuckled, and opened his mouth to respond when a door opening had them both pausing and glancing down the hall.

Kaladin came out of his room, looking far more put together than Adolin did this early. His hair was pulled back into a loose knot, and he was already dressed in a pair of jeans and a navy blue sweater. He glanced at Adolin’s disheveled appearance with an arched brow, but said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Adolin huffed and stalked towards the room, pausing just long enough to set his coffee on the counter with a glare directed in Kaladin’s direction. The sound of him rummaging through the drawers echoed back to them and Kaladin grinned.

“Good morning, Shallan,” he murmured, pressing his own greeting kiss to her temple before heading into the kitchen himself. He started making his own coffee, the smell not nearly as tantalizing as Adolin’s, and by the time he had a mug in his hand Adolin was back and fully dressed.

He’d gone for black skinny jeans paired with a button up patterned shirt with a soft blue cardigan on top. He eyed Kaladin as he grabbed his coffee, clearly expecting something to be wrong with it, but Kaladin just raised his own mug in a cheer.

“Morning, Adolin.” He flashed a bright grin and Adolin muttered his greeting, returning to his spot beside Shallan. She shook her head, sipping more of her coffee as she stared out the window.

“I was just telling Adolin that I want to go outside today.”

Kaladin arched a brow and glanced out the kitchen window. “Do you even have snow shoes?”

“Well, no. But I figured I could just borrow a pair of your boots! I’m wearing thick socks anyways.”

“Last time you borrowed something from me I didn’t get it back for months.”

She rolled her eyes. “That was because it was a sweater and it was comfortable. I don’t expect your shoes to be flattering. You’ll get them back by the end of the day, I promise.”

“I could go buy you a pair of boots,” Adolin offered, and Shallan shook her head.

“We don’t get enough snow here to bother, but thank you for offering.” She patted his arm and glanced back at Kaladin. “Kaladin’s boots will be fine.” She finished the rest of her coffee in one gulp and rose to her feet.

“I don’t remember agreeing to this,” Kaladin said, but Shallan just raised her hand and headed into his room.

She could hear the quiet murmuring of conversation as Adolin and Kaladin probably bonded over how demanding she was. She grinned at the thought. They liked to act like enemies, bickering and fighting about the smallest things, but she knew they liked each other. She was there during movie nights. Adolin was a cuddler.

She found the boots with ease and returned to the main room. Kaladin was just finishing up washing his mug, her’s was already drying on the rack, and Adolin had claimed the seat she’d previously been sitting in.

“Found a pair!” She waved the boots in the air and Kaladin rolled his eyes, drying his hands off on a towel.

“You’d better return those by the end of the day.”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

She settled on a chair to start tugging the boots on. They were too big, but the thick socks she’d put on this morning when she realized it had snowed did their best to fill the empty space. She was just finishing up tying the second one when Kaladin joined her, boots already on his feet.

“So, what are we doing outside?”

She heard Adolin washing his mug in the kitchen and glanced at Kaladin with a shrug. “Enjoying the snow?”

Adolin chuckled as he joined them, grabbing his own boots from next to the door. Once they were all properly bundled up in coats and scarves Shallan threw open the door, grinning at the bright snow.

She practically pranced out into it, enjoying the way her feet kicked up flurries and left tracks in their wake. Her boys followed at a slower pace, the same soft smile mirrored on both their faces as they watched her.

Love filled her, warming her from the inside until she was sure the snow around her would melt. She couldn’t believe she was so lucky to get not just one amazing boyfriend, but two. She grinned and spun about, kicking up snow and laughing when Adolin flinched back from it. Kaladin just shook the snow from his shoulders with an eye roll.

“If you’re just going to prance about the snow then I’m going back inside. It’s cold.” He turned to do just that, but Shallan surged forward, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“No! C’mon, we can build a snowman.” He didn’t look enthused by the idea, but he let her tug him further into the yard, Adolin following behind them with a laugh.

It didn’t take long for Kaladin and Adolin to take over the building. In fact they each started building their own snowmen, trying to one up the other. Shallan stood back and watched them, an amused smile teasing her lips as they each tried to recreate her likeness with snow.

If she had to pick a winner she’d probably choose Kaladin’s. His lump of snow at least looked vaguely human. She was pretty sure Adolin was actually making a snow godzilla.

She wandered around the yard as they worked on their sculptures, pausing to take memories of the frost covered leaves and animal tracks in the snow. The world was quiet around her, muted by the snow and cold. She could hear Kaladin and Adolin behind her, and a few birds chirped in the bushes by the road, but aside from that it as quiet. It seemed she was the only one who wanted to be in the snow today.

A clump of snow fell off a nearby branch, thumping to the ground and giving Shallan an idea. She glanced over her shoulder at Kaladin and Adolin, they were still distracted by their competition, their snowmen looking less and less human as they added more to them. Once she was sure they weren’t paying attention she scooped up enough snow for two balls, patting them down until she was sure they would stay together long enough to hit their targets.

Then she stood and, after another quick check to make sure they were still distracted, she threw her snowballs.

She quietly thanked Kaladin for teaching her how to aim her throws, grinning when not just one, but both of them hit their mark.

Kaladin leapt to his feet first, whirling to face Adolin with fire in his eyes and a scowl on his face. She’d managed to hit him square in the back, right between the shoulder blades. It had been a good throw, one she was proud of.

Adolin leapt to his feet too, shaking snow out of his hair as he went. She’d hit his shoulder, the snowball exploding to cover his neck and head in frozen droplets. He frowned at Kaladin, his hands on his hips, and snarled something.

Shallan watched them both, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth as she clasped her hands behind her back and approached them.

“You’re going down!” Adolin shouted, scooping up snow as he did.

“Don’t start something you won’t be able to finish!” Kaladin replied, grabbing his own snow.

They ducked behind their snowmen and Shallan paused a few feet away, her brows aching towards her hairline. She wasn’t surprised that they immediately turned on each other, but she was amused that neither of them had even looked in her direction. She’d been prepared to plead innocence, but it seemed that wasn’t necessary.

A stray snowball whizzed past her ear and she laughed, sliding a few steps back until she was safely out of range. Then she settled into the snow to watch the show.

It was an impressive battle. The snow-godzilla lost its head, and Kaladin ended up taking a snowball in the face. Adolin managed to keep his face protected, but in the process he slipped and fell on his ass, coating his entire back in snow. A few balls flew a little too close to Shallan, but she just laughed and scooted out of the way.

She wasn’t sure how long they fought for, and she had the feeling they would never stop, but her butt had begun to go numb and her fingers were begging for a warm mug. She rose to her feet, dusting the snow off her pants and staring at her boys. They were absolutely coated in snow, looking more like snowmen than their creations, and yet neither of them gave up. She knew neither of them would until their fingers were falling off from frostbite, but that’s what she was here for.

Shallan walked between them and the snowballs stopped immediately. Adolin dropped his to the ground with a thud but Kaladin held on to his, eyeing Adolin with mistrust.

“Boys,” Shallan said, glancing between them with a soft smile. “You’ve both fought valiantly, but my butt is numb and I think we can all agree there is never going to be a winner.”

“I was clearly-”

“I was winning-”

They both started, stopping to glare at the other.

“Yes, yes. You were both winning.” She smiled at them and held a hand out to each of them. “Now, do you want to continue this fight, or would you like to come inside and have some hot cocoa with me?”

She could see them debating, and for a moment she thought they really might make her go inside alone. Then they both stepped forward and took her hands, and even through the gloves she could feel how cold their fingers were.

She felt a little bad for starting the snowball war with the knowledge that there would never be a winner, and she thought about admitting that she’d thrown the first snowball. But then they were inside and Kaladin was pushing her down on the couch and Adolin was in the kitchen making cocoa, and then they were all on the couch together, a blanket thrown over their laps and cocoa in their hands, and she decided it was better left a secret.

#shakadolin #shallan davar #kaladin #adolin kholin #stormlight archive #winter writing challenge #idek how to feel about this #but it is done

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kiraawrites · 5 years

Text

2MSS #3: Silken Guilt

Day 3 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 1984

Constructive criticism welcome!

Putting my hands in front of the fire somehow made everything seem better. The night sky had engulfed the village; I could swear that I was the only one still awake. Tomorrow’s the day. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. The next day would be extremely important. My family had forced me to run for the chieftainship trial.

“Maybe you’ll prove that we aren’t weaklings,” they said. “Maybe we’ll matter to others.”

I looked over the hunting gear that was lying on my lap. This day had been spent nocking arrows and shooting at the targets my father had fashioned for me. In my head, I ran through the motions. A deep breath. Arms out before me, a sturdy grip on the bow’s wooden body. An arrow ready to slice the air. An eye trained on the quivering target. Hunt the most prey and then I can be chief. It’s not that hard. Running a hand through my bushy hair, I walked over to my bed. The stars are beautiful tonight. Hope they grant me luck. Sleep blanketed me in thick darkness.

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

“Gareth! Big day today. How’s my boy doing?” asked my father as I stumbled out of my room.

“I’m scared, Dad. I am.”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, have some baked beans. I had to sell the eggs to repair the hole in Ayla’s bedroom yesterday.”

He pushed the dish of beans across the rickety dining table. It’s the biggest day of my life and I’m having breakfast in a bowl that I can wrap my hands around. My sister was smiling sheepishly at me, her cheeks pink at having her name being mentioned.

“Ayla, I’ve been hearing that you’re being bullied at school. Is that correct?”

Her eyes turned a stormy grey as she nodded. Eyebrows creased, she answered, “They’ve been making fun of our house. I told them that I do my homework on the floor and they keep mocking me. ‘Look, Ayla’s worksheet is covered in orange dust because she does it on that ugly floor!’”

I took her hand in mine and rubbed it. “You need not listen to them. People love picking on others and we’re just unlucky. But I’ll do my best today and make the rest respect us. Believe in me, Ayla.”

A tear escaped from her eyes and dropped onto my palm. I cradled her head with my right hand and petted her hair. She was a mild sister. Mute when others laughed at her, wringing her hands together as she saw them overturn her chair and look through her school bag for the “poor people pencils”. These are the people I’ll provide for. I took my hands back and started on my breakfast. The beans were cold and mushy in my mouth, making my throat turn clammy. My father was watching us and now sat beside Ayla, putting her head on his shoulder.

I finished up the last scraps of my breakfast and rinsed the plate with the water in the dishwashing bucket. As I put it on the kitchen rack to dry, I gazed at my family’s small cottage. The roof built with straw was torn in some places, fine in others. I remembered the burning sun that attacked us relentlessly as my father, mother and I were putting up that roof. My mother was heavily pregnant with Ayla then. She would pant and heave continuously but was the hardest worker among us. She never stopped (despite us begging her to do so).

The spray paint vandalism had not washed itself off over the years. “Gareth’s a coward”, “F*CK THE FRUGS” and “move out of this place” were some of them. I could recall the first one fresh in my head. The school day had ended with the bell clanging, setting us free. I was the first to bolt out of class as there were no friends or parents to wait for; I had none of the former and the latter were wrapped up in farm work. Then came a shout from my back. Someone rammed themselves into my shoulder and spat into my ear.

I glared at the figure beside me. “Whaddya looking at?” the boy shouted. At least four others were gathered behind him. My pulse in my throat, I sprinted out of there. My shoelaces were trailing in the air as my school bag moved up and down. They were light-footed and kept up with me easily. Trailing me all the way back home, I shut the door on them with the greatest strength I could muster. Sweat ran down my body and mingled with the tears that dotted my shirt. The click of a cap being taken off. The hiss of the spray paint running down the walls.

I shook as the boys painted my house with those red words of shame. Stuttering, I asked them to stop through the locked door. They burst into laughter. “Never erase it, or we’ll come for you again.” My father returned home half an hour after they had left. He glared at the fresh paint and gasped when he saw my bawling figure at the doorstep. Taking me in his arms, he kissed my forehead and told me that everything would be all right.

It was after that day when my father taught me how to fend for myself. We would box in the small patch of land behind our house that was not dotted with crops. I grew familiar with close-quarter hand to hand combat. It was the only thing I was respected for, as I could break apart brawls with ease. But the reality was undeniable: their taunts, now only with words, were still no less painful than before.

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

“All young men of Thellinde! Step right up to claim a taste of power and glory!” hollered a burly man behind the registration counter.

Hordes of other guys from the ages of 18 to 25 were in the buzzing plaza that barely fit them. Each had their bow in hand. Some had it polished, engraved with their name or that of a lover’s. Mine was plain and fashioned from a fallen branch that curved enough to be a bow. I felt tiny. My head barely reached most of the men’s shoulders. Perhaps because I was 18, but it was not much of an excuse. Murmurs trailed me as I worked my way to the desk.

“Are you really signing up, Gareth Frug? Run home to your farm. I think it’d be better if you never came here instead,” said Anthony Winter, flashing me a sceptical look. “My dad gave me this dagger. Neat, ain’t it?”

It was more than neat. The handle was engraved with his full name and the silver blade was symmetrical. It glinted threateningly in the morning light. Without thinking, I placed a finger on it.

“Back off! You dirty rat, I’ll make sure you pay for this,” he roared. Ashamed, I sprang back into the shadows. After signing up, I stayed away from him as much as I could. They gave all of us huge cloth sacks the size of our bodies.

“Remember the rules. The man with the greatest number of prey hunted is the new chief. As the current chief, I look forward to meeting the new one after these four hours,” he said, puffing his chest out before the crowd. “If you want this silken mask, you shall have to prove yourself.”

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

The forest was neither dense nor sparse. Light easily illuminated its depths. I soon caught two rabbits, unaware as I snuck behind them. Those long ears have failed them. The wind seemed to encourage me; the breeze was gentle and whispered with delight. I grinned despite my own struggles, as I slung my catch over my shoulder. Minutes passed slowly as I crept through the forest, ears and eyes alert for any movement.

It took just about an hour to ruin my mood. Anthony had spotted me and ran over with a smug smile on his face. His catch was heavy and near-bursting. It hung behind him like a trophy; he was an obvious front-runner of the competition.

“Hey, peasant. Give me your bow.”

I turned and shook my head, looking at him in confusion.

“Mine broke. You know you’re not winning, so hand it over.”

My eyes stung as I strode over, my hands balled up in fists. He raised his eyebrows in amusement as my smaller figure approached him. I spat, “Say that again. I dare you.”

“You know you’re not winning.”

“Idiot. I’m never giving this to you.”

“To your detriment,” he replied. His arms encircled me as he forced me against a thick wooden trunk. My sack fell to the ground and the animal carcasses spilt out. His large palms seized for my throat, but I punched him in the jaw. His head spun as he backed away, drawing out his dagger. I lunged for it. Landing on him, I pushed his arm to the side.

We wrestled for the weapon. Prying it out of those huge hands was no easy feat. Rolling around in the fallen leaves, our limbs flailed about. At last, I grabbed hold of its handle. I was choking on my breath as I swiftly plunged it into his throbbing chest. He gave out, limp, beneath me. His tongue lolled in his mouth as his eyes rolled back.

No. Did I kill him? Tell me I didn’t. Heck, the punishment for this is an exile. My family! What have I done? Blood rushed through my head as I gathered up his load. Might as well seize the dagger. I could sell it in some faraway marketplace. Just have to hide it. Racing away from the crime scene, I proceeded with my hunt.

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

The four hours had passed and a cry of the bugle called us back. I tried to dispose of the guilt that had been haunting me but it only took deeper roots in my conscience as I struggled weakly. At the plaza, the other men seemed to have had the time of their lives. They beamed at one another, showing off their catches as a display of prominent masculinity. Names were read off as they counted prey.

As I pulled up to have my bag — Anthony’s, actually — measured, I shivered. What if they can tell? Their approving nods comforted my aching heart. I returned to my previous position at the outskirts of the crowd, now unburdened by the remnants of the hunt. Except for the dagger. What if I accidentally left it in the sack? At once, I grabbed the pouch slung about my hips to check. It was there. Sighing, I turned my attention to the village chief. The silken white mask gave him the appearance of a ghost with a live body, his muscular arms twitching with excitement.

“We have totalled the number of prey. A shocking feat, for this, has been the highest in centuries! Of course, there are some hunters still out there — too enraptured to hear our glorious bugle, I suppose,” his voice rang out among the hundreds gathered. “Let us announce our winner!”

My throat tightened. I clenched the pouch tightly as I gritted my teeth.

“Gareth Frug! An underdog of our society has proven himself. Come here, new chief!”

If only they knew.

I stepped up to face the surprised audience, bodies still in their disbelief. The regular speech breezed through my lips. It was difficult not to break down from the crushing weight of wrongdoing. The chief handed over his silken mask to me tenderly. As I faced what was now my people for the first time behind this mask, I wept.

“I am filled with the greatest joy. I have worked hard for this day. Thank you, thank you for letting me be chief.”

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy

Author’s note

I’m so happy that I managed to write this much in a day! I didn’t get to do much else, but I did wake up pretty late so perhaps that’s why.

#writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #my writing #writers #kiraawrites #prose #2 month short stories #2MSS

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internetremix · 5 years

Note

In IR lore, what are the personalities of your personas? Basic likes and dislikes?

Kristen: Goggles is An Child and behaves as such. She's very cheerful, very curious, a bit mischievous and also 100% obsessed with making fanwork of her internet family... like a goddamn weirdo. She'll usually be hanging out with everyone, spot some sort of inspiration, squeak with joy and then rush off to write or draw. She's also the defacto leader of the Smol Squad, which is composed of herself, Shyner, Jojo and Chi-chi, and she's usually the one squeaking out ridiculous plans in muppet for dumb shit like stealing cookies and trying to trap people in fanfiction scenarios. She likes to help and can often be found doing such things as assisting Xander in his many schemes or just popping up to provide shit like charts or hold things for other people- basically whenever it would be funny to have some goddamn muppet backing something up.

She loves plush toys, particularly Crockernanner, and also loves sugar, star decorations, and cuddles. She likes being picked up and loves attention, and she's pretty consistently attached to at least one person, often her big brother Split if she's not with the Smol Squad. She is in eternal war with Phill since he bullies her constantly, and will occasionally try to set up elaborate traps for revenge only to fail miserably. Also she's a huge weeb. She does not like to sleep and will often go days without it before being dragged off by some bigger person to take a goddamn nap you ridiculous child. She is also very afraid of thunderstorms, she doesn't like loud noises or the dark.

She also has... various flaws and problems. But those are spoilers and I have no idea when/if we’ll be doing story stuff with IRsonas so I don’t want to give too much away with that.

Sorry this is very long, I think about my child a lot.

Jojo: JoJo is also a very happy child... like, stupid happy all the time. Like, they don't really have a concept of being angry. they're either manic happy or a bit sad. They love to find any way to make anybody smile or laugh, whether it be a somber happy, or a crying fit of laughter. They thrive off of happiness. They're a bit mischievous as well, and will try to play pranks and swipe things to chew on. They'll just appear in random places you'd never expect. like, in the pantry, the vent, or in your drawer. They chew things all the time to keep their dragon teeth sharp! They do tend to come off as obnoxious and kind of useless sometimes? But that's ok.

They love happiness, rocks, swimming, sandwiches, Vanilla coke, coffee, pianos, stars, ghost stuff(horror genre), and laughter. JoJo is pretty similar to Goggles now that I think about it x_xJoJo is best friends with Phill, and will always be on him in some way. Like his leg, back, holding onto his scarf by their teeth, etc. They're also very close with Goggles and Shyner, and Scott (even though Shyner tries to chase JoJo off with knives, JoJo will take it as a game of tag or something)JoJo doesn't like being yelled at or being told to go away. They get spooked easily by loud noises. They always get paranoid when they think someone is mad at them and will go to ungodly lengths to make them not mad or slightly annoyed with them, which sometimes makes people more annoyed with them than they were before.

JoJo is just an exaggerated version of me XD

Atwas: Atwas is fairly easy going. They make light of things often, and often hide serious sentiments behind jokes. They’re the type to roll with goofy and silly situations, and are very “yes and” type that enjoys escalating things in the name of light-hearted fun. They enjoy playing pranks, especially ones that take advantage of their hologrammatic nature (being able to enter and ‘possess’ electronics is something that they take advantage of often). Being technically in the cloud and a part of the internet at all times, they will often chime in with fun (often unrelated or humorous) metrics about situations and people as they occur—and often forgets that having a HUD isn’t something everyone has access to.

Being ‘technically’ invulnerable, atwas isn’t phased by the more dangerous things that go on in the IR tower, but usually prefers being a spectator or commentator as opposed to being an active participant in general shenaniganry. They don’t have any particular animosity towards anyone, and will occasionally help manage technical parts and functions of the tower.

They enjoy things like tech, cold weather, tea, fun statistics, darkness; and aesthetics like Film Noir and Retrowave.

They dislike things like excessively hot weather, being interrupted, getting too personal, having to put in a lot of “effort”, and being out of the loop.

Shyner: Shyner can easily be summed up to a tsundere in denial, and is the definition of an agent of chaos. If something goes wrong, she’s the one pouring a trail of kerosene to let the fire spread. She's loud, impulsive, and really doesn't give two shits. While quirky and charismatic, she’s also sarcastic and witty, reveling in the amusement of making fun of others. She’s often stubborn and impatient, thinking highly of her own beliefs and angered by those who dare to challenge her ideals. She also lacks a filter, and enjoys garnishing her words with colorful profanities. Filled with gripes of past trauma, she’s engaged in a constant internal war of turmoil and grief. She’s incredibly cautious and closed off around those she doesn’t trust, and can be very selfish. Despite this, she’s loyal to the few people she cares about, going out of her way to put them first if a dire situation were to arise. She’s also very sneaky and mischievous, often finding amusement in spying on others. Her MBTI is INTP-T.

Her hobbies include stargazing, ghost hunting, spying, and Satanic worship. She enjoys melancholy vibes, horror movies, animals, thunderstorms, and has an unhealthy obsession with sweets. Yes, this child will stab you without hesitancy if you take her cookies. She dislikes seafood, big crowds, kiddie leashes, and is afraid of experiencing intense emotion she doesn’t understand.I love my satanic smol bean very much. If I may be so bold as to dive into the nitty-gritty psychology, Shyner possesses many flaws, a lot of which I personally struggled with growing up. She is a reflection of my past self, some gripes with my current self, and the perception of how I could have turned out if I hadn’t met my family at IR. Hiding behind the exterior of being a merciless bully, she still has an intense internal desire to be a good person, but gets frustrated and often derails herself in the process of fighting her desire to act on impulse. She keeps most relationships with people at arm's length, fearing that if someone were to think highly of her, it would only be a matter of time before they’re disappointed. If we were to go full-fledged story mode, she would most definitely have an intense character redemption arc, making the revelation that being shitty to those who care about her isn’t the way to run from her problems and hide away from her own sense of self-insecurity/hatred.

Phill: Phill likes mischief, bad jokes, sexual undertones, Jojo, sexual overtones, bullying Kristen, and the colour pink. That's it xD

Jojo: :D yay

Alex: Alex don't give a shit but is for whatever reason the bossman and is also as powerful as silver age Superman, just don't try actual murder of the crew and he won't yeet you into the sun

Moon: 2019 Moon is an idiot. If we didn't know any better, we would assume he was born from nothing but an old head of lettuce in Satan's refrigerator. Think like Scott from Monster Prom, but different. He knows his right from his left, but the compass is still just "NESW" to him. Impulsive, lovable, and kinda loud, this muscley dumbass will do practically anything you tell him to if he finds it enjoyable. When paired with a few people, he works well as a second to many dynamic duos. Brodingles and Moon/Split and Moon are two really good ones, dangerous shenanigans ensue. Can and will rap like a beast, any challenge to a freestyle will result in a career ending and a death being sentenced. Extroverted people pleaser, definitely shooting high to perform and when adapting to a character, goes a little too hard. This man played Gander in Charlottes Web and didn't stop making goose sounds for months. Did I mention he's also a disney princess? Singing, animals, mortal enemy falling to their death? Everything

Dawn: ToonWolf/Dawn's personality falls within the confines of recklessly adventurous who doesn't think things through entirely. They like to try and rope others into going on various hikes, treasure hunts, mythic/cryptid searches, etc. Unapologetic sailor mouth. They will fight for friends and family. Various animals, trinkets, treasures, and cool but useless garbage are brought back to the tower often (oops theres a liiiiiiitle bit of hoarding). Sometimes those animals consist of dogs, cats, lizards, bears, wolves, The Great Noble One, horses, lions, elk, you get the idea (Can I keep them?Pleeeeeeeaaaaaaaaseeeeee??????????).

Overall they are most comfortable and relaxed in/around water and likes a whole lotta things including sailing, swimming, adventure, stargazing, animals, mythology/legends, friends, family, and drawing.

They dislike waking up early, limitations, being talked down to, boredom, desert/hot/humid/dry weather, coffee, and the movie "Cube"

Tex: Tex is an avid cryptid detective + has a surprisingly good intuition when creating conspiracy theories about them to follow. Mm lots of memes and disguises. Smart, but usually just off on their own thinking about other stuff.Totally has a wall in their room dedicated to figuring all the cryptids out with like, red string and everything.

#whole crew #ask the ir crew #irsonas #sorry I know this isn't everyone we have a big crew and not everyone is up to answer this stuff #Anonymous

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goodoldfashiondemon · 5 years

Text

Meow Meow, Angel

This silly thing came thanks to this prompt. Thank you for the inspiration @niceandaccurateprompts !!

I’m open to ANY KIND of criticism, as long as is with respect :) Sorry for any grammar horrors errors, english is not my first language.

Enjoy !

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“What on Somebody’s sake have this mothefuckers done to me!?” the demon screams on his bedroom, but the only thing any other being could hear from that was a really high pitch meow. Crowley felt something strange when he woke up. Something seems… hairier than yesterday. And when that sounds came to his hears, he knew he was in some sort of a feline form.

Trying to understand how his new cat body works (being a snake does not help when you have to use a human vase, and makes it even worse when you have to use four fucking limbs to move around), he stumbled and fell off the bed. In the middle of the falling pun intended, an automatic reflex came to his spine and he took the ground on his four paws. “hum, who would’ve thought that was truth” he said to himself, feeling relieved that the nature and instinct of his new body came within the use of it, even though there was a demon inside of the animal.

Crowley didn’t have a lot of mirrors on his flat, but one of them was slightly off his bed’s feet, just in front of his night table. And that’s why he couldn’t see himself before, but now he would.

The vision was simultaneously delightful and terrifying. His ebony furriness with ginger points was long and soft to the touch, or so he presumed at the image the crystal gave him back. His eyes, as yellow as always, now not so odd to the vessel they were attached to, had their pupils wide out of astonishment and anger. He was quite an adorable yet fierce specimen if he can does said himself, and he couldn’t put up his mind whether he liked it or not, even though he knew he should’ve been fuming in rage by now.

“Enjoying the view, you treacherous bastard?”. The voice of Hastur echoed from the living room, coming from the TV, scaring the ever living meow out of Crowley.

Slowly but with the decision only a furious demon could have, he short the space between where he was and the source of the sound, meowing and hissing all the way down there. That was something snakes shared with cats: they became very much vocal when angry.

“Yeah, yeah, you are so full of anger” Dagon cried, almost falling for how much they were laughing at the scene Crowley was giving them. On the TV the show they were using was, of fucking course, some National Geographic’s bullshit. The demon kept meowing and hissing to the screen and thank Go-Sat-Somebody he can only do just that, because the blasphemies he was trying to express were far from allowed to be heard, even for demons such as them.

“You are going to be in that pitiful form for azzzz long azzzzz we wanted, you brat” Beelzebub’s growl was more of a challenge that a sentence “Now, be careful not to be li-“ but with a lower hiss, Crowley managed to shut down the device.

“So, I still have my demonic powers then” he thought. This eased him out just the right amount to figured out an idea. “Aziraphale! He could help me change out if this fluffy misery” he meowed and glanced at his plants, which had been observing the whole interaction and were rather amused at this new creature, wondering how any mobile being other than their intimidating owner would willingly come inside. He showed his canine to them, hissing a “what you fuckers looking at”, and they trembled in new-yet-known fear, kind of sensing their owners in that ball of fur.

Since the Bentley was out of his possible transportations and he wasn’t having none of this, with other low hiss he materialised himself in one of his favourite spot on Azira’s bookshop, and one he felt he may enjoy in this new form: a rather antique armchair, just in front of the angel’s work desk. In there, he could meow himself until Aziraphale understood what the ever-hating fuck were happening and, at the same time, look cute and have a lot of sunlight in him.

What he didn’t expected was his beans feeling the soft sensation of a human lap under them. Of course, he couldn’t notice this if it wasn’t for the quite gasp the owner of said lap let slide from his mouth.

Aziraphale was half sleep when he felt a weight on his thighs. Fixing his reading glasses, he glanced at quite a lovely feline, looking up to him where the load had been felt, with golden eyes, far too familiar. The stupor from waking up so fast made the angel don’t realise that eyes where, in fact, way too familiar.

“Why hello there, little one!” he murmured, combing Crowley’s back, making him purr without the demon even noticing or intended to. He turned around Azira’s lap a couple of time as he kneaded on that horrendous trousers he likes to wear so much, suddenly forgetting about everything but that gentle touch inside his fur. “Such a delightful creature, you are!”

The angel felt his legs vibrating under his new friend, and a strange warm ran throw his spine upwards, landing on the top of his head and he swore he felt his halo went brighter because of it. He didn’t know how this little being could found its way inside his bookshop, but he encountered himself petting his new friend with such care and love, that he couldn’t help it but think about Crowley.

“Ah~ my demon dearest” he sighed, and the cat softly meow at him, as if he knew the person he was talking about or, rather, he was the person the angel was talking about. “Oh? Isn’t your name by any chance Demon, now is it?” he asked, looking down with pure affection on his celestial eyes, making the demon both melted and scoffed.

Crowley meowed a little bit harder, trying to communicate with the angel, but failing miserably on this, letting himself go under the petting that hadn’t stop. He curled up on again on his own being, tighter than a normal cat (because once a serpent always a serpent) and start purring again, almost hissing.

“If it wasn’t, may as well now is” whispered the angel, and a collar miraculously appeared around the cat’s neck, as black as Crowley’s feathers (that, funny enough, were the same black as the cat’s fur), a nice silver plate attached to it, reading “Demon” in Aziraphale’s pristine gold calligraphy, very similar to Crowley’s (and Demon’s, funny enough) eyes color. “You remember me of quite a delightful being, you know?” Azira said to his (not so) new friend, who was oblivious under his soft and careful hands. “Delightful and magnificent, that is” he continued, with a bittersweet tone. “So full of himself and mischievous, yet so sweet and soft”.

Crowley lifted his tail, as a signal of protest. “I’m not soft, and you know that angel!” he meowed between the purring, making the angel awed out of pure tenderness. “Don’t ‘awe’ me, angel! Help me get back my body, so I can-” but Aziraphale just heard oddly offended meows, tickled him fancier than he could imaging. The only other creature that made him this happy was a not only sarcastically named demon.

“Oh Crowley~” he cried to the heavens “Why on Earth do you have to be so damn beautiful for a foul fiend such as yourself?�� his words full of sorrow. “6000 holy years we’ve been knowing each other, and through out the whole thing, you always found a way, in ever single era, to made me fall for you”.

The sole image of that sent an electric spam on both of their spines. The cat purred at him, just for the scare of it all, going even closer to Aziraphale’s stomach. The cat closeness made the angel realise that he was (or so he thought) talking to nobody. A chuckle escaped from his throat, because of both how ashamed he felt and how the vibrating sound the kitty was doing near his belly. He felt pity for himself, being a poor excuse of a holy creature, wanting Crowley in such hedonistic ways, not just once or twice, but though out entire centuries. His eyes met the cat’s, who was purring and kneading on his lap, anxiously trying to comfort him. After Armagedon’t, he could’ve swore he felt a rush of, for lack of better words, second changes running between the two of them.

“And yet, here I am, talking to this creature, so majestic yet so soft, such as you are,” Aziraphale murmured, looking up and thinking about the demon, “about how much you mean to me, because this is the closest I could ever fathom to say this kind of words”.

Crowley suddenly grow silent, his glazed eyes looking directly at the angel. He sat on his posterior paws and let go a wimp growl as he posed one paw on Aziraphale’s belly, as an act of both purely curiosity and encouragement.

“Well yes, my little Demon, that’s precisely what I said, you majestic little devil” he answered to the meow, softly, petting him between his fluffy ears, which made the demonic feline purr out of pure instinct, rubbing his head harder to that touch, elevating him a little bit “Oh, you would love to meet him, I assure you,” the angel continued, with a soft soothing tone “He is such a perfect creature, you see”. this word went out like one of Crowley’s purrs, his chest full of love. “He has always been there for me” the angel chuckled “Saving me from the guillotine, from nazis” a long sigh escaped from his mouth, one that can only a being in love could exhaled “from myself most of the time”.

The demon was so flustered, he was rather glad about being a cat because, you see, cats don’t get all red in the face because of an adorable dork such as his angel. Now, with both his front paws on Azira’s belly, he was trying to touch the angel’s face with his head, failing miserably, but drawing the attention of the angel’s eyes back to his.

“And he would love to meet you too!” Aziraphale said, a little bit louder than before. “I know he loves all furry dark creatures of the Creation, and would never hurt you” An idea crossed the angel’s mind which made him giggled “I must warn you, he have the tendency of hissing at things he don’t understand or knows at first, but he wouldn’t hurt you in any capacity. Even if he doesn’t want to recognise it, he is, at heart, a good person”.

And were those words, the exact same ones that he said to him almost a week ago in a table at the Ritz, that made Crowley snapped out of his feline prison, leaving a much-flustered demon sitting on the laps of certain red-as-a-sunset angel.

“Hum-… hey angel” he whispered, both ashamed and expectant. Because he was trying to comfort the celestial being earlier, his arms were on a tight grip around Aziraphale’s waist, and when he noticed it, he tried to back up. “I-ah… I didn’t know you would use this chai-…”

But Aziraphale, growing even more red on the face that he was before, didn’t give him any space to go anywhere but closer. He was hugging Crowley ever so tightly one could ‘ve thought the demon was about to break, yet soft enough just so Crowley could understand how very much appreciated he was about all these sudden circumstances. With a quick move, he closed the distance between the both of them in a tender kiss, and he swore he could felt his halo grow even brighter than before.

#good omens #fanfics #GOFDFanfics #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #crowley is a cat #aziraphale is adorable #aziraphale is a cinnamon roll #but what's new #crowley enjoyed being a cat

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succinct-assbutt · 6 years

Text

Pacify (Part II)

Summary: It’s only few days into his stay when Y/N and T’challa continue to grow closer, and Sam’s curiosity starts to grow. Warnings: None

Part ONE

@xxdarkdarlingxx , @toastedside , @dangittodd , @yolo9 , @lalasparkles

~*~*~

The next couple of days are a lot easier for the whole team. Tony takes it upon himself to announce the brief hiatus following the last mission, and everyone spends it appropriately, regenerating and regrouping in the best ways they know how. Clint takes to Archery; Natasha will never admit it but she’s a spa-day kind of girl, and Sam and Steve spend the day together because apparently even a blow as heavy as the one you took won’t tear them apart.

For you it’s training. It’s almost instinct, the appeal to stretch and exorcise your frustration through some sort of exertion because it’s the best way you know how to feel. The past couple of days have been rough. For everyone. Phantom faces and sullen slouches roaming the halls and barely anyone’s spoken up until this morning at breakfast.

Steam wafts onto your face as the coffee-maker fills your mug, the tenderness of morning a comfort this early. A burst of tawny slight silts into the building through the windows, strong enough to make you narrow your eyes. Sam stirs sugar into his own cup.

“I was thinking some combat training and then maybe weights? Or we could just go to the gym today?”

“No, I think the combat training will do. Maybe some laps.”

“Does it still help?”

The coffee-pot finally yields and you slide your cup out from under the spout. He casts his eyes up at you. It’s too early to think of anything other than getting some caffeine in your system and an excitement stirs in you just from the tickle the steam leaves on your face as you move to sit across from him.

Wilson is persistent. For as long as you’ve known him. He reaches across the table and taps the rim of your coffee with his spoon.

“Come on,”

“Sam,” You admonish without an upward glance. “You’re on thin ice..”

“You know I was hoping you, out of everyone, would…recover soon? I’m not pressuring you.” He sighs. “I just think the team could use your spark at a time like this.”

“So that’s why I should pick myself up? For everyone else’s benefit?”

“For the sake of the team. Plus you’re no fun when you sulk. I miss the constant annoyingness.” When he finally looks up at you there’s a mischief in his gaze and you stifle a smirk (but fail) as you stir your sugar, a husky voice at the door drawing you from your haze.

“IS there any more coffee left?”

You look up.

T’challa’s eyes are narrowed from the blaring light, as little of a morning person as you are from the way he grimaces at the brightness.

“Oh,” You pipe up. “I had the last one. Sorry. I can put another pot on if you want…?”

“It’s fine. And morning.”

“Your highness.”

“Kitty cat.”

You don’t notice Tony entering the room until he claps T’challa on the shoulder, your eyes drifting to where he and Rogers scud into the kitchen. Natasha follows closely behind with her fingers combing through the ringlets in her hair.

T’challa finds you at the sink, and he nudges you with his elbow, lips curling into a warm and knowing smile.

“Get any sleep last night?” he asks, not bothering to lift his gaze to you as he works his way around the coffee machine. You try not to watch him but it’s useless; your eyes are drawn to his hands. Calloused, quick, and it’s only then that you notice the little scar running from the inside of his palm up onto his wrist. Another curiosity born.

Cut to a few days back, you thought you know all there was to the Black Panther, but since he got here you keep finding yourself stumbling upon new truths, different dimensions of a personality you never imagined you’d ever have the chance to explore. He’s so different. A lot friendlier than you imagined and twice as charming. He sifts through the coffee beans with his hands and your eyes drift back up to his face.

The light cuts across his face just where his cheekbones stop, shadowing the lower half. The kitchen buzzes with chatter now that everyone’s awake—something sizzling on the stove, bowls being passed around the table.

And it’s comforting. The harmony of voices hidden in melancholy as the day unfolds, the luxury of Sam and the Captain’s good-natured bickering wafting over the room. A sign of healing. When the thought registers in your mind you find yourself easing up, letting the gentle warmth of summer careen over you as you lean back against the counter.

The coffee machine rattles beside you. T’challa changes the filter and flicks the switch on and the grinding returns, finally taking the time to avert his attention to you.

He tips his head to the side. “Not a morning person?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I’d say so. I can tell by how desperately you’re clinging to your coffee.”

You almost laugh at that, biting your lip and looking somewhere that isn’t the knowing brown eyes boring into you. T’challa lets out a quiet chuckle. The coffee pot gurgles to a halt and you watch him pour a generous amount into his mug, lifting it to his lips.

The two of you don’t join the rest at the table. There’s no room, anyway, so you don’t mind hopping up onto the counter, legs dangling like a doll on a shelf while the Wakandan King stands to your left. He crosses one arm over his chest and grips his cup with the other, and the two of you bask in the warmth seeping in through the windows.

“Are you going out with them?”

“Hm? Oh, no—Wilson and I have some plans, already.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, I think we’ll just stick to the initial plan. You? You know New York well enough to move around without a chaperone, your highness?” Your lips curve on their own accord and you lift your coffee, the steam coursing over your skin as you hold it at your mouth for a bit. “Gonna spend the day playing with balls of yarn, or…?”

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry, I had to.”

T’challa cracks a smile at your quip, a look that says ‘fine, you win this one’ because even he can’t help but chuckle, and you feel a pride swell inside you.

Everyone finishes their breakfast within the next couple of minutes. Sam stands from his seat and dumps his bowl into the sink, then saunters over to where you and T’challa down your second helpings of coffee (no such thing, you argue, as an exceeded limit).

“What are you guys talking about?”

“His Highness here is just telling me about his home and debunking all the lies I’ve been fed by the system—guess what? Turns out they’re not a third-world country in need of foreign aid.” Sam’s known you long enough to catch onto your sarcasm way before the punch line, and he plays along, eyes growing wide.

“Gasp.” He feigns, glancing at you.

You let out a breath of a laugh and sip your coffee. It’s cold and gritty and a lot less comforting as the first cup but tolerable enough for you to down it in three glugs.

“You know if you ever came by,” T’challa begins. “I could give you a tour of my sister’s lab. She’s a bit picky about who goes in there, but maybe she’ll make an exception for one of the Avengers.”

You glance up at Sam. “Apparently Tony’s her favorite.”

“I’ll try not to be offended by that.” Wilson quips, but it’s short-lived as he sobers up. “Listen, I’m gonna go warm up—meet you in ten?” He arches an expectant brow.

“Yeah, sure.” With an assured yes, Sam nods and then turns on his heel, the thud of his boot steadily fading from earshot.

It’s not an uncomfortable silence you’re left in. More like a suspense. You can feel the end credits of the moment and of your morning begin to roll as the day and its responsibilities beckon you, but it doesn’t fully register. At first. Then you hear a heavy inhale and a clap of hands, and you look to T’challa straightening out.

“Well.” His fingers loop through the belt hoops on his jeans as he looks at you. “Duty calls.” He says.

Sighing, you nod and slip off the counter. The ground is cold beneath your bare feet. When you dump your cup among the rest of the sullied dishes

“Unfortunately.” Your eyes flicker back to the King before you. “We can finish this conversation over lunch. Are you going out?”

“Sam and The captain wanted my company on a trip to the auto shop, actually. Rogers’ bike and all.”

“Ah.” For some reason there’s a sudden dip in your mood as you raise your brows, stifling any disappointment that will show on your face.

“But lunch sounds fantastic…”

“Not really. It’s just Wilson and I trying to whip up recipes we find online—if you’re into that…”

“Like I said: fantastic.”

A giggle bubbles from you and you shake your head.

“I’ll try and make it, alright?” He tips his head to the side.

You nod wordlessly, Sam’s voice wafting into the room from where he waits downstairs. It’s your cue, and a subtle smile twists onto your lips as you see yourself out, hurrying up to change.

~*~*~

Beads of sweat trickle down the sides of your face as rapid breaths rip through you.

From across the room Sam sways side to side as he pushes himself onto his feet, hunched over with labored pants slipping from him. He lifts his head to look at you, and you can make out the challenge behind them: the anticipation. You straighten out and take your stance, then it’s full force again: he throws a punch and you duck down to dodge it. You aim for his waist, ready to topple him over, but he’s twice as fast as you are. Either that or you’re just too predictable.

The wind is knocked out of you as he shoves you onto your back, arm barred against your throat. The air is thick with both of your labored breaths and this close it’s even harder to breathe, the weight of the man above you almost suffocating.

He can’t help the smug smirk that stretches across his face. “Not fast enough.

“No fair.” You whine, shoving him away. Wilson moves enough for you to scramble to your feet, ready to strike, but the way he stretches and positions his hands on his waist in response tells you he’s done for today.

You scowl. The sky outside is beginning to grey, warning of a storm and thunder rumbles overhead. Summer showers. The sweat dribbling down your skin says just how much you could use some rain, you think as the two of you exit the training room.

“You’re not on form.” Sam says as you traipse down the hallway, dabbing a towel to his sodden face.

You trail behind him into the kitchen where he grabs each of you an apple, sweaty palms almost betraying you when he tosses it into your hands.

Your gaze bounces between the fruit and Wilson. He hops up onto the counter.

“There’s something on your mind.”

“What?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” He states. Tells you. There’s suddenly a lump in your chest and you can’t place the reason why “So. Are you gonna tell me or do I have to say it?”

“Quit the riddles: what are you talking about?” It’s a surprise your voice doesn’t waver when you force the words out.

“That Kitty’s got his claws in you. It’s pretty obvious.”

“Are we really gonna play this game? People this grown, talking like we’re back in highschool?” Your eyebrows lift in subtle shock but Sam only shrugs, taking a bite out of his apple. It crunches between his teeth, audible even from across the room.

“I’m just trying to help him assimilate into the team.” You argue.

“You’re trying to charm him.”

“Is that so bad? He’s a new and powerful ally we could use in the future. I’m trying to keep on good grounds. It’s not that deep.”

“Your training says otherwise.”

“Piss off.”

“I’m just saying.” Sam leans back onto his palms, shoulders jutting up as he smiles. “It’s a first. Somebody’s growing a little too comfortable around someone we barely even know.”

“That’s the aim, isn’t it? Getting to know him?” A warmth slithers along your neck and you can’t quite take it anymore, fingers bawling around the apple in your hand.

He doesn’t say anything to that, brown eyes lingering and knowing and you huff, exasperated and done with the conversation as you turn to go shower. He says something to you but you’re too far to catch any of it. It doesn’t matter. Good-natured teasing you try not to read into.

Only this time something nicks at your resolve.

And even in the shower it’s there. The hot water rinses away the sweat and the tension but it isn’t scorching enough to dissolve the stubborn thought lingering at the back of your mind. Sam’s words last all throughout the time under the water: charm. It’s not something you can turn off, you reason. In your line of work you’d been accustomed to the fallacy of charisma and friendliness just to get what you want, and that’s what irks you.

How little you’ve actually you changed.

Maybe you’re just less good a hiding it now. Maybe there’s a truth to Wilson’ words, you think, and the next thing you know you’re stuck wondering if T’challa himself has caught on…? Never the fool, he’s quick to learn whatever you put in front of him, and you figure his knowledge of your past is enough to hint at the truth:

Maybe you have been pretending. Just not exactly how Sam thinks.

~*~*~

Message me if you want to be added to the tag list. I hope you enjoyed; if so, likes, reblogs and follows make my day (trying to hit 2k by the end of the month which might be a bit ambitious but whatever lol). I’ll try and post more within these following days seeing as the heat is up and I want to get as much T’challa fic out for y’all as I can.

As always, have a great day!

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imagine-that-one-thing · 6 years

Photo

Ms Seattle.

Previous Chapters.

The hour and thirty-minute flight wasn’t too bad once Harry pushed coffee down my throat to help with my slight wine hangover, I am not like he who can drink and not have much of a hangover the next day. I guess you could say I am a lightweight. Harry was eyeing this girl on the flight that was across from us, of course, he was subtle and couldn’t get her number despite the fact I kept nudging him to at least take a chance and talk to her. But, he didn’t. He already wasted his time in Cali without managing to find a girl to try work his charm on. He was preoccupied with tasting new wines with me.

I profoundly sigh as we wander around the farmers market along the bay, a large cup of coffee in my hand with a double shot because according to Harry, I am extremely irritable without coffee, very more so when I have had a bit too much wine the night before. This makes it my second cup by now.

“Why so glum, darling? You still wine drunk?” Harry chimes, entertained by my heavy tempers and sluggish motions. I benevolently poke him while I roll my eyes and take a drink of my coffee that tastes divine — if anyone was wondering— Harry insisted on combining white chocolate syrup to it, needless to say, he executed a good choice. “Ouch, you still grouchy, eh?” Harry smiles that goofy grin of his, his eyes glistening radiantly with the delightful spring ray of sun.

“Not grouchy,” I shake my head in defence, trying my best to not sound too grumpy, truth is, I probably am being cantankerous, but it isn’t my fault, I am not a morning person, even when I am completely sober, but sunshine over here — Harry — is solely a morning person. “Can’t help that I am not like you and like a bloody Lion.”

“A lion?” Harry raises a brow while taking a sip of his coffee that isn’t nearly as strong as mine.

I nod my head, “yes, you tend to wake up early and be full of beans, but by the early evening, you are totally run out of steam. Just like a Lion.”

“And where on God’s green earth did you hear that?” … “Not run out of steam by early evening.”

“In some article I read, it is a thing, look it up,” I respond.

Harry chuckles to himself, “And what is your animal?”

The tone of his voice makes me assume he is attempting to mock me.

I shake my head while attempting to suppress my smirk written across my lips, “Doesn’t matter,”

Harry shakes his head, “Oh, no. Tell me.”

I bite my lip before taking a breath, “A wolf,”

Harry arches a sly brow, “I can see that, moody, feisty and will occasionally pounce.”

I roll my eyes at him, “Jackass,” I snicker while elbowing him tenderly.

“’m not wrong, am I, love?” Harry benevolently nudges me to my side with a cheeky tone laced with his voice.

“You are such a child.”

“Many people find that to be an endearing quality.” He is sarcastic as he speaks and continues to lead us along the path of the farmers market, passing by small little stands

“Harry, why can’t we go to the music project Museum?” I sigh.

“I love music, but I am on a break from it, love.” … “Thought you’d like the art museum… at least you can’t get drunk.”

“Oh, hush,” I gently hit his arm, “you encouraged my wine tasting, you are not innocent in this.”

“Whatever, Mia,“ Harry curls his arm around me and benevolently draws me in front of him as we walk through a crowd, "go to the right, love,” he informs me as he retains his hand on the small of my back while we bypass the groups of people and make our way to the right where the market expands out and gives us more room.

These pop-up markets are the best place to get the freshest—and healthiest—fruits and vegetables. Of course, Harry had to stop by here, he is a knack for healthy foods and sometimes boring things.

We stop at a small stand and I take the time to document the colours that I can see and the way the vegetables and fruits are placed specifically. I take a picture on my phone of the sweet display, hoping to use it as a spark for writing my next article.

Who knows? Maybe I can write about the significance of farming-markets and the exceptional organically fresh produce. I am sure Harry would love to read it.

I take the moment to focus on the foods as I glance at them, becoming intrigued when I detect an odd item, “What in the world is that?” I challenge while pointing to a red stalk resembling thing I don’t think I have ever seen in my life.

Harry laughs to himself, “that’s Rhubarb,” he responds, not even needing to ask the lady behind the stall to inform him of the vegetable.

“It’s a what?”

“It is one of the vegetables that isn’t a common plant in the garden—and it’s not sold at many grocery stores, Love.”

I pick it up and get a better look at it as if it is some new sort of thing I have just discovered, in my defence, it is newly identified to me. I haven’t seen it a day in my life and I have wandered this earth for about twenty-three years. “What do we do with it?”

“The stalks make good pies, chutneys, crisps, and cobblers, especially when combined with strawberries… might have to get ya to try it sometime.”

“Wow, And to think I thought you never left the bloody tour bus.”

“Oi, cut me some slack.”

“That’s right,” I chuckle, “you’d leave to get kale shakes and god-awful healthy foods.”

“That’s enough out of Ye.” … “Jus’ jealous you can’t cook like me,”

My eyes roll skyward at his commentary, okay, maybe he isn’t lying… I do wish I could cook like Harry. For someone that spends so much bloody time on a tour bus travelling city to city, he is one hell of a good cook.

We leave the small stall and continue walking, just keeping a typical conversation and observing the different surroundings.

Harry tenderly pulls me closer as his eyes dart around for an immediate way out of the chaos that is brewing before his eyes.

“Fuck,” he mutters, tenderly pulling me to the left before his plan of action fails. The two of us become surrounded by women and despite Harry needing a woman, I don’t think either of us are enjoying being surrounded by all these people. While Harry tries to contain the group and politely smile and sign a few things and take a few pictures, Harry and I somehow manage to part ways.

I attempt to grasp his lengthy frame but I am shoved too far back and I take the opportunity to wiggle my way out of the group of fans while he strives to battle his way through the melee.

I move away from the mob and dawdle alongside the dock of the ferry. I assemble on the edge and dangle my legs over the ledge while sending a prompt text to Harry to tell him where I am. I have been in these situations with him a few times in the past. They don’t really bother me much, it comes with the territory.

The sand looks floury underfoot and casts a feathery, sugar-white cast of hue as I take in a deep breath of the salty air. A single yacht bobs in the incoming tide while on the feathery soft sand sun glow tourists walk along the sand and the boardwalk of the farmers market.

“Mia, are you okay?” I hear Harry’s voice before I can manage to look up and see him walking towards me, he offers his hand and helps me up.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I wipe the back of my pants while he stares me up and down.

“You’re not hurt? Are you fine? I’m so sorry–“ Harry begins to fret like the overly protective one he is.

“Harry, stop worrying, I’m fine,” I roll my eyes, “are you okay? You seem to have had a few too many girls wantin’ ya,” I wink playfully and he rolls his eyes at me, “no, seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, better stick to jus’ one girl next time,“ Harry chuckles, "Before you ask, no, I didn’t get any of their numbers. Jus’ because I see women doesn’t mean I am going to jump on them.”

“Well, you’re on this trip to find love.”

“I am on this trip to enjoy time with you, beautiful cities and getting into photography… Our next destination awaits,” Harry gestures towards the ferry boat that is beginning to dock.

*** ***

“I’m so sorry, love,” Harry’s voice radiates from behind me and I glance over to see him extending his arms to a woman, “so sorry,” he again excuses and I raise a brow, a little interested in how high-strung and jittery he appears from accidentally knocking his lanky self into the woman.

She gives him a friendly smile and promises him she forgives him before she wanders off. Harry steps closer to me and I cross my arms over my chest, “ye’ couldn’t ask for her number? You’re wasting time,” I inform him, “she was pretty and tall, just your type.”

He hums, “Mhm, one issue.”

“What’s that? Your lack of confidence to flirt?” I ask point out how he refuses to make any sort of move so far.

“Oi, I have confidence, Mia,” Harry shakes his head in defence, “I can flirt.”

I disagree, purposely striving to pester him at this point, “You have no game, styles.”

Harry’s brows bump together in a scowl, “I do too.”

“So why didn’t you chat her up?” I challenge curiously,

“She has a ring on her finger, off limits,” he informs me and I nod. I am glad he noticed that, I certainly didn’t.

“You have a whole boat of women.” I spread my arms out wide, gesturing towards the large boat that surely has as least one single woman who would find Harry attractive. Hell, he is Harry Styles, who wouldn’t find him attractive?

He has those bewitching, tourmaline-green eyes that are adored by the fairer sex, he has those prominent cheekbones and quite honestly, handsome is an understatement.

“Mia, this isn’t the love boat. Bugger off,” Harry murmurs as he glances down at his drink and swirls the liquid so the ice jingles to the sides of the glass.

Harry takes a swig of his drink while I take a glance around, scoping out the women that pass us while they wander to the various sections of the ferry to get glimpses of the sunset as it casts itself over the Prussian-blue vault of velvet water below us.

I catch the elegant horizon of a warming blood orange hue that leads into an amethyst-purple tint and invades the April sky over Seattle.

Far out to sea, rivers of pulsing light saturate the sea with gold before the sea and sky melt into each other. The palpitating pulse of the ocean is steady and peaceful as we edge closer shore.

After the thirty-five-minute ferry ride to Bainbridge Island, that is meant to be rich in history, culture and natural beauty, Harry and I part ways at the edge of the dock.

Why do you ask?

A lady ‘accidentally’ managed to spill her drink on Harry as the ferry docked at port and I gently nudged him to take it as an opportunity. Fate, you could say. I know she didn’t inadvertently knock her drink into him, it was undividedly done on purpose. I can tell because of the way she appeared bashful when she apologised and the look in her eye. I hope she isn’t planning on going to Vegas anytime soon; she wouldn’t make a good poker player.

I watch them part ways and he glances over at me over his shoulder and I give him a smile before I turn to the right and stroll down to the sunrise-gold beach where my toes reach the sand through my sandals. I find a spot on the golden sand and sit down, enjoying the coolness rushing through my body and the soft grains sinking between my toes.

I take a breath of the salty air and smile to myself as I glance down at my phone and open up the notes I use for writing when I don’t have my laptop on me.

The seagulls squawk over my head and squabble for morsels left behind from the couple that were on a date a few moments ago. I move closer to the water’s edge and allow my feet to touch the edge of the rippling waves crashing against the sand. Between my swirling thoughts of possible things to write about for my next article such as my learnings of grape wine, the distillery and the beautiful fruits from the farmers market.

The water rushes over my feet and I smile to myself, realising that I am sitting in the gateway of paradise that is kindling its own symphony with each movement of the ocean.It’s beautiful, just beautiful.

I lift my head to glance out at the ocean and the way the sky has darkened and the sky now has twinkling stars radiating splendidly.

I wonder what they’re doing, Harry and Seattle girl. Knowing Harry he probably took her to a small dinner with a nice wine. Or he could be walking around the small town like the rest of the tourists that caught the ferry with us. I imagine Harry and his girl laughing down the streets that are lit up by city lights with the breeze of the ocean lingering around them. She’s probably laughing at his corny jokes and trying not to fall for that Cheshire charm that is bewitching.

I am suddenly distracted by a familiar voice, “Of course I find you sitting here writing.”

It’s Harry.

I cock my head to the side and watch as he walks closer with a small smile, “Shouldn’t you be on a date?” I challenge while I stand up and shove my phone into my pocket.

He shrugs, “perhaps, but the ferry is leaving in fifteen so we need to make out way back,” he flicks his head back over to the dock where the ferry remains.

“So, how was it?” I ask while we begin to walk back to the dock.

Harry stays very brief, not giving me much to work with. Honestly, he barely gives me anything to work with. I don’t even think he let her name slip. All I know is that he ordered the Shrimp, Crab & Scallops served in a creamy Alfredo sauce & tossed over penne pasta while she ordered a “house smoked” brisket on ciabatta bread topped with Mango BBQ sauce. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that he paid more attention to the food more than anything.

*** ***

I sit on my own while I stare out into the abyss of the ocean as the ferry rocks against the waves. The cold air swirls around me and I heavily sigh, trying my best to ignore the laughs of everyone around me.

One can only stare out at the ocean for so long before they become rather bored. I could move from my perched position and go scope out the single men on board, but to be quite honest, I am not even in the mood for that.

I kind of just went to hurry up and get to the hotel where I can curl up to the softness of the sheets and go to sleep. Seattle has worn me out.

I feel Harry’s hand touch my back before he climbs over and sits down beside me, “ye’ look like a lone wolf over here,” Harry points out the fact I have kept to myself and was just relaxing on my own. “What’s the matter? Are you cold?” He challenges, taking note of how my legs are curled up to my chest.

“No, I am fine,” I shake my head.

“Then what’s wrong? You’re not even drinking wine or trying to shove me into any other women.” … “You seem like you need cheering up,” Harry comments and I side-eye him.

I clear my throat, “don’t you dare tickle me.”

“Hmm, what’s the matter darlin’, you still wine drunk?” He chuckles and I roll my eyes at him for what is probably the hundredth time today.

Our friendship is based on eye rolls at this point.

“Do we have any other adventures on a boat or a ferry?”

harry thinks for a moment, “Not that I have planned, would you like another? Sure we can do some fishin’ in Florida off a boat.”

I shake my head, “No… don’t want that,” I chuckle, “I think I’m seasick, to sake the least,” I inform him softly as the sea breeze picks up around us and the sudden hurray of other passengers sound. I can only assume someone is celebrating a birthday or someone just bought a round of shots.

“Aww,” Harry coos, his hand rubbing small circles on my back.

“You should be getting back to Ms Seattle,” I flick my head over to where he was in a small group.

Harry chuckles nervously, “Ehh, a bit of a bore… Much rather stay here,” he responds before his arm drapes around me.

“She’s going to think you’re a player, Harry… The next thing you know you’ll be plastered all over the magazines and I will have to politely tell my boss that the articles are false.”

Harry shakes his head, “Didn’t tell her m’ name,” … “Not tha’ stupid, love.”

“What did you tell her your name was?” I curiously inquire.

“Until we get off this ferry, my name is Chandler.”

“Last name Bing?” I grin, a little amused.

“Don’t laugh, your name is Monica,”

“Very creative,” I comment, my eyes catching a glimpse of the moon that is like a ghostly-silver disc in the sky overlooking the astral-blue smoothness from the horizon in. “Why Monica?”

“Because she and Chandler were best friends.”

“No, they were lovers,”

Harry thinks for a moment and shrugs, “Yeah but not until the end.” … “Look at the horizon,” Harry points out to the horizon that has yet to change since the sky turned dark.

“It hasn’t changed since the sun went down, not too interesting,” I mumble as I lean my head on his shoulder, something I always tend to do.

In this friendship, his shoulder becomes my pillow at least once a day.

“Looking at the horizon helps with seasickness, silly. I’ll get ya some ginger ale at the hotel.” …

Harry keeps me occupied and laughing for the most of the Ferry ride, mostly telling me his ridiculous corny jokes that I am pretty sure he reads online late at night when he can’t sleep…

#Harry styles imagines #harry styles prompt #harry styles prompts #imagine harry styles #harry styles blurbs #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles preference #harry styles preferences #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles writing

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tagsecretsanta · 6 years

Text

From Vikapediathat

to @wonderavian

I do not own this piece of art/fiction. @vikapediathat is the original creator and has agreed to this being posted on this blog for Secret Santa 2017.

Prompt 2: Alan and Snow

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Title: The Chill That Can Touch A Warm Heart

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Sometimes, just sometimes, Tracy Island is just too hot and humid to do the most basic of actions as the heavy air made one feel gross.

Other times, deep space is just too cold and boring making one go slightly insane.

So Alan knew, when waking up to another day, he had probably drawn the short straw. Would it be a feeling gross day or a slightly insane day?

However, there are days that no matter how much action he doesn’t see, how much rescuing he doesn’t do, Alan savours every waking moment: The snow missions.

The sun combating the white cold sheet draped over every mountain and rolled across the horizon is a sight he believes is the most beautiful. Well, except for seeing a planet from orbit that is, but snow comes very close! Speaking of space, Alan is primarily the astronaut of International Rescue, he doesn’t get to go on missions to Mount Everest or the Southern Alps; that goes to Scott and Virgil, and Gordon if it’s serious. So it’s the days where the missions are super duper, really, incredibly serious that Alan is needed for a snow mission; his favourite kind of day.

————————————————

Days such as Tibet’s December 2058 avalanche that buried a helplessly small village more than 6 feet under snow are those incredibly serious snow missions. All communications and scanners were lost from the earthquake beforehand and it was the boys’ jobs to dig survivors out of the snow. This avalanche was Alan’s first snow mission, probably his brothers’ thousandth time (totally not exaggerating) and he kept his excitement under subtle smiles of joy.

During the trip half way across the world, Alan pictured stepping out of Thunderbird 2 into Tibet. He had a strong belief that the cold was going to hit him like the way Thunderbird 3 experiences the temperature drop during launch breaching atmosphere. After all, space and snow had record temperatures under absolute zero. It would be a refreshing change from island weather, or endless stars light years away, and he was ready.

As Alan stepped out of Thunderbird 2 just outside the subdued village, he was in shock: snow was warm, warmer than space. This was either because he was restless with excitement during Thunderbird 2’s flight, or that his uniform mesh was twice as thick as his brothers to balance his body temperature in deep space, or both! He was calm and unnerved by the paper-like qualities of the snow: thin sheet, loud when tampered with and pure white that it almost hurt the eyes. If Europa didn’t hold alien life, then Jupiter’s coldest moon had nothing to play against Tibet’s picturesque snow.

Even Gordon shivered violently after he fell into a 2 feet deep hole the avalanche had covered, a clever trap Mother Nature laid for hunting these rescuers. They all fell into these frozen pits sometime or another, but Alan’s body felt no need to shiver. This feeling of dropping into the cold matter would become useful to help dig out the men, women and children succumbed to the collective particles of ice. Scott sped the digging process up another way; using Thunderbird 1’s retro-burners to melt the snow. Alan was amazed by the way the snow turned from something so strong and chilling in numbers, to a bubbling warm liquid mess in mere seconds. Ice and snow were stone-cold strong but also fragile like a glass window: astounding, Alan could say the least. Thanks to Thunderbird 1, Alan was able to firmly set his feet on the roofs of the first couple houses; hearing the cries of an alive family underneath.

The rescue was a success, as per usual, no deaths but some medium cases of hypothermia which called for some extra blankets or an hour in the Thunderbird 2’s heat bed. Thunderbird 2 managed to transport the small village into the safety of Tibet’s Capital City, Lhasa, where all 75 villagers would be able to seek refuge. A good rescue Alan would never forget, not only because of the faces of joy the villagers wore when Alan found them, but because he finally experienced snow for himself. It was so close to drawing with the views from orbit, so close.

————————————————

Alan loved that first snow mission, that memory. The other few snow missions Alan’s had haven’t exactly embodied that same feeling, that same experience, he had in Tibet. But now, he was stuck with a scorching hot December day on the island. No iced water, swimming or shade could cool him down. All Alan wanted to do was jump out of Thunderbird 1 into Antartica as a counter attack to the equator’s summer. But it was not meant to be, as Thunderbird 1 was busy saving a group of rock climbers in Australia.

The boiling summer days turned into humid summer nights where Alan’s family was too tired to talk because it was the most hectic time of the year, Christmas rescues. Gordon was asleep before he hit the reindeer pillow. Virgil could do was space out to the Christmas tree lights, just in case there was another rescue. Scott groaned from his sore muscles as he tried to fill out remaining paper work at Dad’s desk decorated with red, gold and green tinsel. Even John cut communications for the night because he just wanted some peace and quiet. Alan had been quiet all day, now he was bored of the peace.

But there was always Brains to talk to, he was always upgrading MAX when he had the time. And Alan was right, down the main hangar Brains was upgrading MAX’s coffee machine.

“How about I taste test?” Alan asked, seeing Brains’ hands shake uncontrollably.

“T-t-t-t-that w-would be g-g-great Alan, t-t-t-thanks. F-f-f-four cups i-i-i-i-is enough c-c-caffeine for m-m-m-me.” Brains answered, stuttering way more than usual.

Brains really knew how to code a good coffee and MAX was looking like he needed a double shot himself. Seeing the milk swirl around on top of the liquified coffee beans reminded Alan of melting snow revealing the real ground underneath. Then with a little mix, the snowy white milk blended and disappeared. A sad thought but it gave Alan an idea.

“Hey Brains, any way you could build some machine to make it snow on the island?” He queried.

“A-a-a-alan, are you serious?” Brains replied, “The heat of the sun would make the ice melt in minutes.”

“So… would it be possible at night?” Alan asked again.

“W-Well, the h-h-humidity would m-make it melt much s-slower; So y-yes it would be p-possible.” Brains answered, the caffeine’s effects starting to wear away, back to his normal stuttering self.

“So, you can make a snow machine!” Alan exclaimed.

“Y-yes but w-why would we ever need o-one?” Brains questioned him.

“Well… it’s festive. Christmas always has snow, Grandma Tracy likes to go the extra mile with decorations. Christmas is her favourite holiday after all. And besides, snow is cool; literally.”

“I-I’ll see what I can d-do without creating c-complications to any ships l-launch.”

Alan smiled from ear to ear. “You’re the best Brains! Grandma’s gonna love it,” then he walked off back to his room for a good nights sleep. “And I will too.” He thought.

The next day went like clockwork; Alan failed to stay cool and was only needed once for a mission in orbit (some ship was flying out of orbit and needed to be dragged back, no biggie). The next night, the boys crashed on the couches and were ready to get some shut-eye -until Brains ruined their plans with a remote in hand.

“G-Gentlemen, Grandma Tracy and K-Kayo, Alan gave me a r-request last night for a final t-touch to our Christmas d-decorations that will certainly l-l-lighten your mood.” Brains declared from atop the lounging area. Alan’s eye lit up and focused intently on Brains.

“Brains, if it’s more fancy lights around the island, can it wait until after we get some rest?” Scott cried out.

“N-Not at all Scott, Alan has c-challenged me to do the i-impossible and I s-s-succeeded.” Brains replied. Virgil and Gordon stood up with their groaning joints and walked over to Brains.

“Overcoming the impossible is what you do best, Brains.” Virgil told him.

“So this is going to be very interesting.” Gordon finished.

“So stop stalling and show us the new decoration!” Grandma Tracy passionately ordered. Glancing in Alan’s direction with a smile on his face, Brains pushed the button. A whirring sound was heard high up into the island, but moments later the magic began.

White specks began to fall onto the roof of the villa, the leaves of the palm trees and the balcony of the lounge. All had their own unique design and chilling to the touch. Alan wanted to be the first outside with his close-first favourite particles of ice, but Grandma Tracy bet him to it. He wasn’t mad about it though, this was the happiest he had seen her.

“Oh I’ve missed this! I haven’t seen snow since... since... oh I don’t know when but that doesn’t matter.” She told her family with laughter to follow. The rest of her family joined her as the snowflakes made their hair white and the rest piling into little ant-hill sizes of soft slowly melting snow.

“Congratulations Brains, you’ve done it again.” Grandma Tracy acknowledged.

“D-don’t thank me, t-thank Alan for a-asking me t-to build this f-f-for you.” Brains replied. In a blink of an eye, Grandma Tracy’s arms were lovingly squeezing the life out of Alan. A few seconds later, and a bit of wheezing from the youngest, Grandma Tracy spared him.

“Thank you Alan, I’ve missed snow so much. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Grandma explained, obviously holding back a sob. Alan looked up to the starry sky now speckled with even more shining white stars that covered any trace of his own tears. He wanted to create snow for himself, using his Grandma as an excuse. But now she was overjoyed with the greatest present he incidentally gave to her.

Seeing her smile like a little kid as the snowflakes decorated her body made snow and space tie for second.

“Trust me, I’ve missed snow too. Merry Christmas Grandma.”

#Thunderbirds are go #Tag Team Secret Santa #Secret Santa 2017 #alan tracy #fanfic

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