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voiceswithoutlips · 3 years

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Calico - Chapter Two

— pairing: Hybrid ot7 x Human Reader (Female) — genre: hybrid AU , fluff, angst, slow burn (like real slow), eventual smut — word count: 2K — Rating: M — warnings: trauma, mention of past abuse.

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— chapter summary:

Y/N runs a animal shelter, Calico was built on a simple principle, to help those who were in need. What will Y/N do when her sanctuary is threatened by an unexpected hybrid?

— A/N: This is going to be a series, I’m just getting back to writing, so I’d really appreciate your input and feedback <3

Ch. 1 Ch. 3 Ch. 3.5 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6

I stumbled out of bed with a groan, it was almost noon and my hangover was killing me. Last night I was too stressed so I drowned my worries in a bottle of whisky. Why was adulting so annoying, ugh. The house was quiet, Jason had probably already gone to the shelter. I made my way to the kitchen, my zombie brain screaming for coffee. I like my coffee black and bitter, just like my soul. Kidding, I don’t have a soul.

My phone rang somewhere in the living room. The place looked like a tornado had torn through it. The floor was covered with papers and cushions and clothes and other unidentifiable mess. What the fuck happened last night? By the time I found my phone the ringing had stopped. 28 missed calls from Jason and 2% battery ...great.

I made my way to the exam room, the most likely place for Jason to be. It was just a five minute walk from the house. I was in my pajamas, my hair sticking out and the coffee cup in my hand. It was Sunday, I was grumpy.

There was a half-naked man sitting on the exam table, no not a man, a hybrid. His white fluffy tail was droopy. Long white ears poked from his long black hair, he desperately needed a haircut. His ears were limp on his back. There was a hole in his left ear, it was properly done but too big for a piercing. My eyes widened with realization, I’d seen that before on cattle, his previous owners must’ve tagged him.

The hybrid showed no reaction as I went to stand beside Jason, and directly in front of him. His upper body was muscular, he had a thick neck and washboard abs. He was gorgeous. He had a strong jawline, cute eyes and a small nose. The combination of cute and sexy was deadly. His hands were clasped together and he was hunched over, trying to make himself look small, not an easy feat to achieve.

“Y/N, this is Jungkook,” Jason introduced the hybrid. The bunny stiffened, he didn’t raise his head to look at me. What do I do? I wasn’t good with people, I preferred animals to humans.

“Hello, I’m Y/N,” I greeted. He was sitting so still that you would think he wasn’t even there. Was he even breathing? He was still looking down.

I looked at Jason, I didn’t know what to do. “I found him near the hatch this morning so I brought him in for a checkup.” I nodded.

“Are you hungry? I’m practically starving!” I asked, extending a tentative hand towards the bunny, palm up. He flinched. I kept my hand where it was. I would stand here for hours if I had to. My stubbornness knew no bounds. Minutes passed slowly, Jason was leaning on the counter perfectly at ease, he was a good actor.

Slowly Jungkook took my hand. “Let’s go have breakfast,” I whispered, a smile on my face as I slowly led him to the kitchen. Well kitchen was an overstatement, it was a small room with six refrigerators and two freezers, most of them contained medical supplies. A sad, overused coffee machine and a small stove for “Emergency Ramen”, it was our own special recipe.

I opened the fridge with a “No Science Allowed” poster taped to its door. I pulled out a bunch of greens to make a salad, rabbits need their greens. We always stocked the fridge for humans and the animals. I wasn’t a particularly good cook, I could cook enough to not starve but that was the extent of my cooking skills. A quick chicken salad, eggs and toast and a bunch of pancakes and breakfast was served.

Jungkook was still standing near the door where I had left him, eyes downcast, ears flopped. I was an idiot, a massive idiot, I assumed he would sit at the table on his own. Bad Y/N!

“Jungkook, come sit with me,” I mentally hit myself, it sounded like a command, I was terrible at this. I was used to animals, you tell them what to do, you can’t ask a dog if he’d like to sit with you, but Jungkook was a person. I can be an animal therapist but humans? They were beyond me. I didn’t know how to get to him.

He sat at the table. I pushed the food in front of him, expecting him to eat, another mistake. Hybrids are supposed to obey, they don't do things on their own. I was supposed to tell him what to do. I wanted to pound my head on the table. Stupid Y/N.

“What would you like to eat?” I asked in the gentlest voice possible, at least I hoped it was gentle.

No response.

“Go on this is all for you,” I tried to be encouraging.

Nothing.

“Tell you what, if you finish your breakfast, I’ll give you a treat,” his ears twitched. He tentatively picked up a fork and started eating. His movements were small, he barely made any noise as he chewed but at least he was eating.

I was still confuzzled, it is a word, a made up word, but then again all words are made up words. Confused and puzzled. I had no idea how to approach him, do I treat him like a human or a rabbit. The ‘treat’ card worked but will it work every time? He was taking small bites, I wondered if the food tasted bad. Maybe I forgot to add sugar to the pancakes? Did I forget to season the salad? I sighed internally. He needed a proper meal but sadly, Jason and I were terrible cooks. We lived on take-outs and ramen. Maybe it was time to learn how to cook.

I stood up, he froze. I had to get him used to people. I ignored his stiff posture as I walked to one of the freezers and pulled out a container that held my favorite ice cream. It was ‘ice cream for breakfast’ kind of day. I didn’t bother with bowls, two spoons and I was back in my seat.

“You know this is my absolute favorite ice cream in the entire world. It's called Chocolate Brownie Fudge with Marshmallows. It's like a little piece of heaven in a plastic container,” I offered him a spoon. He looked at it as if it was going to bite him. “Go on, it's your treat!” I encouraged with a grin. It was meant to be a small smile but he was too cute and the ice cream made me happy.

I dug into the ice cream as if my life depended on it. Jungkook watched me curiously, the spoon still in his hand. He hadn’t finished his breakfast but it was a start. For me, it was Sunday, the day where I threw caution to the wind and ate what I wanted. He hesitantly took a spoonful of ice cream, watching me as if I was going to pull the container away from him and tell him it was a joke.

As soon as the spoon touched his tongue his eyes lit up like christmas. “Amazing isn’t it?” I asked, taking another bite. He nodded excitedly. Apparently he had a sweet tooth. I pushed the ice cream towards him and watched him devour the whole thing in minutes. God he was adorable!

I settled down on the couch in my office, I desperately needed a shower but that’d have to wait. Jason had taken Jungkook back to our house, he was going to stay in the guest room for the time being. It's not like I was going to put him in the hybrid shelter building, nobody deserved that and he couldn’t stay as a rabbit forever.

I had a file in front of me, a file on Jungkook. All hybrids are installed with a microchip and registered in the hybrid database as soon as they are born ...or rather created in the labs. Hybrids couldn’t procreate, they were made in labs owned by big corporations. Jason had scanned Jungkooks microchip, the file contained everything about his life.

He was created in Corebear Tech’s lab and sold at the age of six to a wealthy family as a pet for their son. He was sent back to the company when he was twelve because he had grown too big for a rabbit hybrid. Corebear Tech then sold him to Apexi Pharmaceuticals and I guess that’s where Yonu found him.

I felt …I didn’t know what I felt. Maybe a sense of defeat. Jungkook was twenty-three, he was in that lab for eleven years. He was just one year younger than me. I was lost. I couldn’t even imagine what he must’ve gone through. There was no way I was going to let Apexi take him back. I called Song Hwa and gave her the file. After all we had evidence to collect and a case to build.

“Not this again!!” I ran through the front door as soon as I smelled smoke in our kitchen. Jason was standing in front of the stove fanning a pot with a newspaper.

“I was cooking rice, I don’t know what happened,” he said opening the windows.

I took a peek, the rice was black, utterly totally burnt. “Jason …you’re supposed to add water to cook it…”

“Oh,” Jason loved to cook, the problem was he just couldn’t. I was 200% sure that he was cursed by some evil witch. The moment Jason tries to cook, all hell breaks loose.

“You’re on clean-up duty,” I grumbled. At least it wasn’t that bad, the cake incident was still fresh in my mind. Once upon a time, when we still lived in our dorm, Jason decided to bake a cake …in a pressure cooker. Needless to say, it was a disaster. The cooker blew up, damaging half the kitchen. Thankfully no one was injured.

I softly knocked on the guestroom door. Jungkook had spent the whole day in his room, not that I blamed him. New place, new people, it was bound to be scary.

“Hey Jungkook, you want to come out for dinner?” I asked. I could deliver him ramen to his room if he wanted but I hoped he’d come out and eat with us. Yes, we were having ramen, Jason and I still lived as we had lived in our dorm, the only difference was our house was nicer and we had a garden.

Jungkook opened the door, he hadn’t locked it. He scrunched his nose as soon as he stepped out. The house was full of burnt smell from Jason’s cooking adventure. The smell must be stronger for him.

“Yeah, Jason tried to cook rice. Pro tip, never eat the food that Jason makes, he’s a terrible cook. Do you want to come eat with us?” I asked. I got a small nod in return.

“Let’s gooooo!! Do you like ramen? We have a really good recipe, well its nothing special, we just throw in some bacon and rice cakes and of course a fuckton of cheese,” I rambled as he followed me to the dining table. “You can never go wrong with cheese, unless you’re Jason,” Jason made protesting noises, I rolled my eyes at him.

Dinner was a bit awkward. Jason and I kept trying to make Jungkook talk but it didn’t work. The poor bunny hadn’t spoken a single word since he’d arrived at Calico. The only thing we got out of him were small nods and silence. I wondered if we should consult a therapist. He was human after all and he needed help.

I heard a sharp gasp from my left. Jungkook’s eyes were huge, he was frozen in his chair. He had accidently knocked the salt shaker off the table.

“I’m so..sorry. Please don’t punish me. I’ll do anything,” his voice was so small, it made my heart ache.

“Oh honey no!” I said as I held his hands. “It was an accident. You remember what I told you? This is a safe space, you’ll never be punished here. I won’t let anyone hurt you, okay?” I was mentally cursing myself for holding his hands on impulse. What if he didn’t like people invading his personal space? My worries were put to rest as he squeezed my hands.

“Okay,” he said in the smallest voice.

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oddsnendsfanfics · 3 years

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It’s the Best Time of The Year

Genre: Fan Fiction (Night Hunter) Pairing: Lt Walter Marshall /Reader Warnings: Pure Fluff! Get your sweet tooth ready! Rating: G Length: Drabble Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: A little fluffy, okay a lot of fluffy, Christmas-ish Walter.

Henry Cavill Master List

From outside the house, Walter could hear Holly Jolly Christmas blaring throughout, unlocking the door and trudging inside he kicked the snow off his boots before leaving them on the mat beside the front door. Typically, this would lead to him lecturing you about being aware of your surroundings. Anybody could break in and...he stopped seeing you and his daughter attempting to waltz through the kitchen.

Racks of cookies were littering the counter tops, various sized boxes took up what cookies didn't. Squares, pies, and handmade chocolates took up even more space on the table, spilling into the dining room. Someone had been busy. Blissfully unaware of his presence, you and Faye continued to laugh and dance. Aprons and cheeks covered in flour. Faye's dark hair had splatters of red icing here and there.

Foregoing the lecture, Walter gave in – this once. Watching for a few more seconds before clearing his throat to alert you of his presence.

“Walt!” You exclaim letting go of Faye, the two of you giggling like crazy, “You're home early.” You rush to give him a quick peck.

“Harper forced me out.” His laugh is soft and deep. Eyeing you and his daughter, he raises his brow. “Did I interrupt, ladies?”

“Not at all. We were working on dinner, while finishing up some baking.” You answer happily, smiling wide. The music continues to play, at a lower level, thanks to Faye.

“Hey dad.” The teenager hugs her father tightly. Kissing the top of her head, Walter takes a deep breath resting his chin there for a moment. “So, off early. Did Hell freeze over?”

“Language.” Walter mumbles, nudging her. “And no. I am home early, because I have decided to take a few days off. Harper decided I should start early. Come home and enjoy the chaos.”

“Excuse me?” Faye is wide eyed. “Did I hear that right? You, my father, Walter Marshall, are taking a few days off? Dad, are you dying?”

“No,” Chuckling Walter shakes his head. Sliding his arm around you, he pulls you closer. “I had some time to use and decided to spend Christmas home. Is that a big deal?”

Giggling, you wink at Faye indicating that there is more to this story than her father is telling her. Tapping her foot on the tiled floor, Faye wrinkles her nose. She's not buying it. No where in her memory, did she recall her father taking time off.

“Uh huh. Right, okay.” Rolling her eyes she scoffs.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Walter glances at you.

“Because you never take time off. Ever.” You answer for Faye.

When Walter had told you that he wanted to take Christmas off, it was startling. He rarely took time off and always worked the holidays. Faye would stay with her mother, while Walter practically lived in his office. “Crime doesn't take Christmas off.” He would fuss. In the four years that you had known Walter, two that you were together, he hardly took time off for anything. Upon further discovery, it seemed nobody could remember the last time the Detective took more than a day off. A whole week off, including Christmas, this really was some sort of Christmas Miracle.

“Which is why I have decided to take the time. Is it a crime that I want Christmas with my family?”

“No.” Faye shrugged. Stirring the sauce in the pot, Faye sighed. She was not buying whatever her father was selling.

“Why don't you run up, get changed, and we will have dinner nearly ready by then.” You gently pat Walter's chest, giving him another quick kiss. “Go, we can marvel at the impossible when you come back down.” Not missing the chance to tease him.

Shaking his head and muttering about what terrible influences you and Faye were on one another, Walter returned the kiss, before turning on his heel and heading to change out of his office attire. Downstairs you and Faye had reverted back to your antics, tossing a piece of lettuce at her you laughed when she smacked you with the salad spoon. Walter would pretend to ignore it, but you knew that he enjoyed the chaos. He especially loved that you and Faye got on so well.

He would tell you every time she came over, how much he loved that she had decided to love you as much as he did. It was pretty hard not to love her back. When you had started dating Walter, you knew he had a daughter, and an ex-wife. Both, who at times, gave him grief. You had quickly worked out that it wasn't in a malicious intent, they simply worried about him. Especially Faye.

“My god that smells fantastic,” Walter commented walking through the house to rejoin his family.

“Faye made it,” You beamed with pride, arms wrapping around Walter's torso. You loved how warm he always was. Even more so since the winter had once again came. Snuggling into his side, you felt him relax while you watched Faye finish dinner.

“And who made all these?” He gestured to the baking.

“It was a joint effort.” Looking over her shoulder from the stove, Faye answered with a smile. “We're taking some down to the station tomorrow.”

“They will love that,” Walter smiled softly.

“Since you're off for vacation, we could use the extra pair of hands.” Faye winked, sticking out her tongue. “Or if we take you to work, will you end up staying, because crime doesn't take Christmas off.” She did her best impression of her father. You couldn't help but snort a little.

“Hush, you.” Walter bumped you with his hip. “I can go to work and not work.”

“Oh really?” Faye challenged. “Why did you all of a sudden decide to take time off, anyway?”

“Well,” Walter cleared his throat, leaning over you to reach for a snowflake shaped cookie, “I wanted to take some time to celebrate.”

“Should we tell her?” You ask watching Faye's expression. Confusion growing.

“Think she can handle it?” Walter teased.

“Yes!” Faye urged, bouncing on her feet. “Yes, tell me!”

The suspense was going to kill her. There were a million things in her mind. Whatever her imagination was telling her, you could only hope this was going to be as good. Faye was a good kid, you had worked hard all afternoon, worrying that you would let the cat out of the bag. Walter would have been fine with you sharing the surprise, but you wanted him to be there, too.

“Okay, but I want you to know that this changes nothing. I am still going to love you and...”

“Oh my GOD!” Shouting and squealing, Faye waved her hands excitedly. “You're pregnant!”

Wide eyed Walter nearly choked on the second cookie he had swiped. Laughing, you can feel his heart racing like a damn cheetah. Her face was priceless, but it was time to break her poor little heart.

“Uh, no.” You pout and shrug. “No brothers or sisters, yet.”

“Okay, so then what...”

“We're getting married.” Walter announced, unceremoniously. His eyes bright and his smile infectious.

“Dad!” Faye exclaimed, her hands wildly waving in excitement. “You were supposed to let me help you. Holy shit, how bad did he screw this up? Where's your ring? He did buy a ring, right? I told him about the...”

“Faye,” Walter's tone was stern.

“He didn't screw it up, at all.” You pat his chest, beaming. “And there is a ring, but it had to be sized. I'll have it back next week, but I have pictures.”

“Oh my god, I NEED to see them!” Shouting happily, Faye forgot about the dinner she was making. “Let me see! I need to see it! Dad! This is amazing!” tears in her eyes she hugged Walter's neck tightly.

Hugging his daughter, tight, Walter felt a wave of relief. He had assumed that Faye would take the news well, but one could never be too sure in these situations. Letting go of his neck, Faye wiped her eyes quick, before attacking you in her next hug.

Excitedly squealing as she loosened her grip, Faye paused. “Who else knows?”

“Us, you. We wanted to tell you first.” Walter spoke, as he took over dinner.

“How long have you...”

“Four days,” You wipe your own tears. “Oh my god, Faye. It was so perfect and so unexpected. Your old man has charm.” You giggle like a teenager. “I was getting ready for work...”

“You asked her while she was getting ready for work? Dad,” Faye rolled her eyes at him.

Walter shrugged it off. Whatever, you'd said “yes” that was good enough for him.

You had been upstairs in your bathroom, getting ready for work, when you'd walked out to Walter in the hall way. Kissing you, he took a step back, revealing the black box in the palm of his hand. No words. No grand gesture. But you knew exactly what he was asking. Tears, blurring your vision you allowed him to open the box and slide the slightly larger than needed ring on your left hand.

“It was so cute, though.” You defend your fiancé – You can't help but mull the word over. It feels so...odd to think of Walter in such terms.

“Dinner,” Walter announced turning off the gas on the stove. Not that it mattered, the two of you were still talking about how he had proposed and the things you loved, verses what Faye would have had him do differently. Whatever. You two would eat when you were good and ready.

“This is so amazing! This is going to be perfect. Can I come dress shopping with you?”

“I would hope my maid of honour wants to come dress shopping.” Catching Walter's eye, you winked.

“Really? I don't know...wow.” Breathing deeply to steady herself, Faye shook with delight. “Really? You want me?”

“Yes, silly!” You exclaim, hugging her again. Oh god it felt so good to tell Faye the news. Your head would have exploded if you'd had to keep this quiet any longer.

Grabbing your hand, Faye linked her fingers with yours, the two of you twirling around laughing and chattering about weddings. Walter was comfortable to lean against the counter watching the two of you dance around like fools. Dinner would keep, he could heat it in the microwave later. Dancing and singing to It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas, you broke away from Faye, dancing over to Walter.

“May I have this dance?” You wink, pulling his arm.

Unfolding his arms, he allowed you to take his hand. Expertly twirling you around, Walter smiled when Faye whistled. Who knew her dad could dance? Moving you back to him, Walter held you against his chest gently swaying to the time of the music. He had spent a few nights this week dancing happily around the kitchen, living room, hell even the bathroom with you. It was silly, but Walter was beginning to enjoy the laid back approach to life.

“Faye,” Walter furrowed his brow, sighing. Pretending to grump as she recorded the two of you.

“What? You two are adorable. Dad, when did you get those moves?”

“I happen to be a fine dancer,” Walter let go of your hand, grasping Faye's free hand and taking her by surprise. Quickly handing off her phone, Faye carefully followed Walter's lead.

Laughing when Walter spun her around, sending her across the room, Faye caught her balance on the edge of the breakfast table. She could never remember her dad having this much fun or laughing this hard. Dancing around, you laugh when Walter quickly dips you pulling you back up and kissing you softly. Faye's mock retching noises going ignored.

“Thank you,” his lips against your, Walter smiles.

“For?”

“For saying yes and agreeing to marry me. For making me take time to enjoy my family.”

“It's nearly Christmas, Walt. A few days off, a party or two, it won't hurt. You work hard, sweetheart. You need to relax.” You lean into his chest, inhaling the scent of amber and sage.

Clearing her throat, Faye stood with a cookie in her hand, nibbling casually. “Uh, I know that you said I wasn't going to have a sibling, but um...could you not make one right now.”

#henry cavill #walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall x you #nomis #night hunter

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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

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Will You Just Fuck Me Already

A/N: Here’s another requested fic from my Ironhead Imagine Ideas list!! In which Will Miller is the biggest tease ever—he can spend hours with his fingers and his face buried between your legs… before he treats you to the world’s most epic sex. You’ve been bratty all day, so Will is gonna make you pay for your behavior in his favorite way: taking you to the edge, making you fucking beg.

Pairing: Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, teasing, edging, orgasm denial, punishment, dom!Will Request: This delightful anon request!

Word Count: ~2k

“Just a quick fuck before dinner, babe...”

“Will...” you squeal as you squirm your way out of his grip, trying not to cave in to the dominant way he takes hold of your hip. Softy slapping his hands away. “Stop that—we’re already late.”

Your insatiable fiancé clearly doesn’t give a shit about your fancy dinner date. “Dinner can wait.”

“Unlike someone who can’t,” you snap as you wriggle again from his ravenous hands. “Apparently you need to learn some restraint. Showing up late is rude.”

“Then push the goddamn reservation back,” he rasps, his hot mouth latching onto your neck, as one hand gropes under your dress to deal your ass a playful smack. “You know you want to. Know you want me more than food.”

Ugh—you both know it’s true. There’s no denying Will when he is in this kind of mood... which happens all too often. You’ve lost count of all the times you’ve given in. He knows that you’re a total slut for him and always have been.

But this time is going to be different. This time you’re going to keep him on his toes. Although Will knows you’re his to own, of course he knows... you can’t let him go on assuming that his dick is the one thing you’ll always want. “...what if I don’t?”

Will drops his jaw, the slightest bit. Blue eyes dark as he processes that shit. Confused and honestly in awe—you’ve never turned him down this way. Responds after a long, bemused pause. “The fuck did you just say?”

Averting your gaze, you try not to laugh at the straight up hilarious look on his face. “What if I’m actually more in the mood for a Michelin-starred amuse-bouche?”

“You can’t be serious,” he groans, like a dog going after a bone, barely able to handle how hungry he is. “Bitch, I’ll amuse your... bouche...”

“That’s cute,” you coo, kissing his cheek while he stands there unable to speak, as you head toward the door. “High time you learned some patience, Miller. You can have me after dinner.”

Will may have lost this battle, sure. But he’ll be damned before he lets you win this war. Shoots you a look savage enough to kill. “Babe, you’re gonna regret this.”

You sure as hell will; mark his words. Even more than you’d ever expected.

***************

To tell the truth, you know exactly what you’re doing. Will does, too. You’re goading him on with the goal of getting ruined. Playing coy, because you know that if you work your wooden soldier like a little wind-up toy, then you’ll end up good and destroyed. He’ll slam you up against the wall when you get home, and make you cum a million times before the night is done. Whip out his raging cock and rip apart your cunt. Which is exactly what you want. If this is war, you’re pretty sure you’ve fucking won.

Too bad this time you’re dead fucking wrong.

You’d been teasing him all dinner long. From the amuse-bouche to the salad to the soup course. That was probably the worst—you practically put on a porno with your spoon and didn’t care if it was wrong. Played into all your filthy thirsts. Ordered some sort of decadent bisque, white and creamy and thick. Let the delicate silver spoon linger against your lips, transgressing etiquette to let its contents drip, a little bit, so you could scrape and slurp the white stuff slowly off your fingertips. Meat for your entree, needless to say. Something creamy again for dessert, crème brûlée, which got him feeling some kind of way.

Now the two of you are finally back home again, and you can’t fucking wait.

Before dinner began, you’d honestly been teasing Will all fucking day. Woken up before him in the morning, denying him your usual kick-off-the-day sex without any warning. Hopped out of the shower before he could join in. Kept on making escapes and excuses all day and all evening. Repeatedly told him how busy you’d been, though you really weren’t even.

All damn day you were being an absolute brat. Now at last you’re all finished with that. Day is done, night is late... and you’re just glad that your wound-up soldier will finally be taking the bait.

Once he guides you inside and the front door is slammed shut, you’re all set to serve as his personal slut.

So you desperately throw your whole body against him.

Will doesn’t react in the way that you had been expecting; he doesn’t melt into your hands as you reach to unbutton his shirt. Simply mutters one word. “Bedroom.”

Blinking up at your beloved Ironhead, you take a hot minute to make sense of what he just said. The meaning should’ve been obvious, but your own raging hormones have turned you into an oblivious mess. Your own hunger to cum always renders you dumb. “Hmm...?”

“Haul that naughty ass upstairs and wait for me there,” he commands, loud and clear, every word an attack on your ears. “Naked on the bed. Both hands above your head. Don’t even think about touching yourself, because I own that cunt. No one else. Understand?”

Holy mother of hell... you attempt to obey, but you end up just taking a couple steps back till you’re pressed up against the far wall in the foyer. You’re unable to take your eyes off of your captain when he’s barking orders at you in this way. Try to answer him yes sir but it inevitably comes out as a desperate, unintelligible yelp.

Will just places both hands on his hips and expectantly purses his lips. “Well?”

You trip over the flat fucking floor as you hasten to do what you’re told like a good little whore. Who the actual fuck even are you anymore?

Without a clue just how much Will intends to torture you, just how long of a wait you have in store... you quickly strip naked and spread out on the bed, just as he’d said, and lay there waiting with your eyes glued to the door.

Ironhead always likes to win his battles fast. He’s all business, efficient like that. But when it comes to shit like this... well, this is different. Damn does he like drawing out the war.

When he finally enters, he’s never looked better. It goes without saying you’ve never been wetter. His shirt is off, letting you see every inch of his bare upper body, glorious and godly, the smooth sculpted muscles you love.

You honestly cannot believe you’re engaged to such a fucking heart-stopping hottie. Your gaze wanders all over his epic tattoos, lingering on your personal favorite, the one dedicated to you.

Your gaze can’t linger for too long. Without saying a thing, Will orders you to meet his deep blue stare—he never needed words to issue a command; he’s such a captain, such a king, that even his silence is strong. So you obey right then and there. Your fiancé, this flawless sex god of a man, has fucking plans to make you pay, for every damn thing you’ve done wrong.

He approaches the foot of the bed, raising one hand to rake through the soft golden hair on his head. Thumb of the other hitched in his belt. God, he wears those jeans so fucking well. You are such a damn whore for his hands... only thing for which you’re even more of a whore is the massive dick you can see bulging like mad through the crotch of his pants.

The force of Will’s gaze silently commands you to look back up at his face again. Aye, Captain.

Then the bastard has the nerve to ask a motherfucking question. “What did I tell you earlier tonight?”

Excuse me, sir? How dare you ask something like that? He asks as if you’re even capable of forming words, to give him a reply. Yeah fucking right.

Will takes a few steps closer, leaning down over your body on the bed. And you’re so fucking dead. “You really gonna start shit off this way? Two seconds in, already you don’t know how to obey?”

Sir... this is not okay...

“Remember what I fucking said...” he grunts, and then—sweet Jesus Christ—places a hand upon your thigh, dangerously close to your wet cunt, “...or else you’re gonna spend the next whole week waiting for me in bed. That what you want?”

Oh God. Oh God. How is it even possible for any human being to be so painfully hot? You force your breathless mouth to stammer out an answer. “N-no, sir...”

“That’s what I thought,” Will huffs, squeezing your tender inner thigh with a firm touch that’s somehow all at once both sensuous and soft, yet ravaging and rough. The kind of touch he knows you love. “You should’ve thought of that before you spent the whole day being such a goddamn brat. Denying me a piece of this sweet ass. This pretty pussy, every inch of this delicious little body that you know fucking belongs to me.”

“Will... f-fuck—” you gasp, as he tightens his grasp. “Fuck, I’m so sorry...”

“What was that? What do you call me?” he rasps, dealing your soft skin a sudden sharp slap. “I know you’re sorry, babe. Don’t worry. Know just how to make you pay.”

“Ugh—sir, yes sir...” you murmur. Honestly couldn’t be sorrier, for how you had behaved, all fucking day.

“Now what did I say?” he demands, moving in closer toward your dripping cunt with his dominant hands. “Tell me or else I swear I’ll never let you cum again.”

Fuck yes—fuck no—whatever you say goes, Captain. Somehow this man makes hell sound like heaven. His words, his touch... it’s all just going to your head. You want him so damn much. Whole body squirming on the bed. You’re so insanely wet, you’re almost squirting and he hasn’t even touched you yet. “You said... you said I would regret...”

He deals your upper leg another swat. “Go ahead, slut. Regret what?”

“Denying you like that,” you stutter, doing your best to obey your fucking sex god of a fiancé, the man who owns you like no other. “Being such a fucking brat...”

“That’s right,” he sighs, palms sliding even further up your inner thighs. “Now are you ready for punishment? Why don’t you go ahead and tell me, cunt... tell me what kind of punishment you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you plead, as his masterful fingers move closer toward your soaking heat.

Then the wicked son of a bitch snickers... no such luck, you figure. “Well, isn’t that sweet.”

You grovel on the bed, groaning through gritted teeth. “Sir, just—please...”

“Please what, you dirty fucking slut?”

“Please, sir...” you whimper, as you turn to mush beneath his fingers, melting at his touch. His hands hovering just above your cunt. All you can think of is the thick hard cock that you can still see throbbing through the denim of his crotch. It’s everything you fucking want. You’ve truly never needed anything so much. “Will... Will you just fuck me already?”

Will loves making you like this—all shaken, unsteady. Always says when you’re right on the edge, you look so fucking pretty. You sure don’t feel pretty right now. But the way that his eyes fucking sparkle at you, as he takes in the view, clearly he seems to think so somehow.

“Mmm, so greedy. So needy,” he taunts, as his hand comes within inches of your aching, dripping cunt. “You want me to just fuck you already? Is that what you want...?”

Without words, your whole body responds.

And without words, Will answers: you’re not getting fucked until he’s good and done. Till then, he’s gonna punish your ass all night long. Just as you had been doing to him all damn day.

Now it’s Will’s turn to make you pay, in his favorite way: by spending hours with his fingers and his face buried between your shaking legs... denying you the right to get fucked by him, or to cum—you’ll have to earn that fucking privilege—taking you to the edge... making you fucking beg.

***************

... Continued in Part 2!

Hope you enjoyed this, and would love to hear if you did!! 🤗💖

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libsterslobsters · 3 years

Text

Whole Lotta Love

Synopsis: For some people, Valentine’s Day is another word for "stress", especially when you don't know what the other person is expecting. Several years into their relationship, Bucky’s pretty sure he has a good understanding of the Reader, until a word from Sam makes him question everything he thinks he knows. The race is on to make their first Valentine’s Day since saying their vows a special one, but as per usual, fate has it's own ideas about what will make the holiday truly memorable

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Enhanced! Super-soldier Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions as well as speak every language)

Warnings: Smut, Fluff

Author's note: This fic contains references to earlier stories. For more information, click the series masterlist link. As always, the reader is unnamed so that this can be read as a self-insert, but at this point, I think of her as an OC.

The song referenced is Hearts Don't Break Around Here by Ed Sheeran

Series Masterlist

A The Song Remains The Same Fic

---------‐-----------------------------------

“So, Valentine’s Day.”

Bucky doesn’t look up from his laptop (or more specifically, the field report he’s typing) at Sam’s words. Despite his concentration, he can tell that his partner is staring at him, boring holes into his back with his gaze.

“Uh-huh.” He’s listening, but so far, he doesn’t care.

“What are you doing for it?” For Valentine’s day? Um…

“Not much.” It’s a Tuesday this year, right? Then probably working, like most other people, he’d imagine.

The room is silent as he types, so Bucky assumes that settles the matter. That is, until Sam mutters a quiet, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“About what?” How many paragraphs does he have to type before he can pass this off as a full report? When he joined the Avengers, he thought the hardest part of his job would be the bad guy of the week, not doing paperwork!

“You’re really not doing anything for Valentine’s Day? Seriously?” He nods absentmindedly and clicks the save icon. He’ll finish this tomorrow. It’s five o’clock. Time to head home. Home to-

“What’s your wife gonna think about that?” He shrugs and cuts the power to the laptop.

“She thinks that the whole holiday is a rip-off. See you Monday?” He turns around for confirmation, only to catch Sam staring at him, mouth hanging wide open. “What?”

“A rip-off?” Is he just going to be stuck repeating himself?

“Yep.” Told him that the first February 14th they spent together.

“And you actually believed her?”

He nods. “She’s not one to lie.”

Sam nods incredulously. “Uh-huh. And are you planning to ever have sex again?”

He’s not going to dignify that with an answer (because really, isn’t it obvious?).

“Fine.” Sam shrugs. “You do you, man. All I’m saying is, if I had a wife who looked like that-” he indicates the lock screen of Bucky’s phone (a picture of her laughing, telling him to put away the damn camera after wrestling the dog for the tie to her favorite robe). “-I’d have my V-day plans set up a month in advance.”

Normally Bucky would take what Sam says with a grain of salt, but he is after all a man out of time, so maybe it’s worth considering that his partner may be right.

“What would you suggest I do?”

“Outside of the bedroom?” He narrows his eyes at the Falcon. “Okay, bad joke.” Sam scratches at the back of his head, thinking. “I don’t know, man. That’s your girl. You know her best, but flowers are always a good place to start.” Good to know that hasn’t changed since the 1940s. Although, last time he brought her flowers, she spent the afternoon sneezing until he eventually convinced her that it was okay, he wouldn’t be offended, she should throw the damn things out. Then again, that was before she was a super soldier.

“Flowers.” He repeats, earning a nod from Sam.

“You can get creative. Do a little research. But I’m just saying, when a woman waits five years for you to reappear, the least she deserves is a few flowers.” On that, they can agree.

He must bid Sam some sort of goodbye and make his way through the Avengers compound, but he’s unaware of anything until he’s in the parking lot, sitting behind the wheel of his car, googling “What to do for your wife on Valentine’s Day.” There’s a web page that boasts twenty different selections. Might as well give it a look.

___________________________________________________________________________________

She’s nearly home when her phone dings with a text from Barnes. “Just got in. Forgot to get milk. Can you swing by on your way, or should I go to the gas station and pick up a gallon?” A frown forms on her face. It’s pretty rare that Bucky forgets things. Must’ve been a hell of a day at work, then. Either that, or his brain has completely turned to mush thanks to typing out field reports. Either way-

“I got it. See you in twenty.” She thinks about tacking on a “love you”, but the light turns green before she can.

The grocery store is packed thanks to so many people getting off work. There’s only three carts left, all with bad wheels. She chooses the least squeaky option and, grabbing an add on her way, heads into the grocery store. Milk, and if she remembers right from this morning, they’re running dangerously low on coffee and tea. Despite caffeine having absolutely no effect on their enhanced bodies, both of them are nightmares to be around in the mornings without their beverages of choice. Force of habit and all.

She’s halfway to the checkout when she sees it. A sign, decorated in garish shades of red, pink, and purple. “All Valentine’s Day chocolates 10% off.” Shit. Yeah, that is coming up. To tell the truth, she’d completely forgot all about that day halfway through February. For most of her life, it only meant giving homemade cards at school when most kids had store-bought. Then, once she reached adulthood, it was a reminder that she was destined to be alone. Who would want someone who’s on the run, and what’s more, sees the future? Once she and Barnes got together, it didn’t change much. That first Valentine’s Day, he mentioned the holiday, and she shut it down immediately. They were both broke (or at least, he had no legitimate way of making money while she was broke), and celebrating a mostly commercial holiday seemed like a waste. Plus, she didn’t want to put a strain on a new relationship. Over the years, the subject never came up again, and she’s content for it to stay a non-starter, thank you very much. In her opinion, you should show your partner you love them every day of the year, not shoe-horn it into one twenty-four hour period. Call her unromantic if you must.

She’s completely immune to the various displays of cheap chocolate in heart-shaped boxes and overly sentimental cards as she approaches the register and starts to unload her items. Milk. Tea. That one specific brand of coffee that he likes because, “It tastes like what we drank in basic training. Terrible, but I kinda got used to it, so now everything else tastes like it’s trying too hard.” whatever that means. He’s right; she’s tasted it, and it’s fucking awful. Still, every morning, he drinks at least three cups while she drains her pot of tea.

“You got a hot date for Valentine’s Day, hun?” The cashier asks her, never breaking her rhythm as she rings up the items.

She chuckles. “As a matter of fact, yes.” The cashier’s eye go wide, and she holds up her left hand. “And every other day.”

“Ooh, nice. How long have you been together?”

“Nine years.” Wait… “Or four years, depending on which of us you ask. He blipped, I stayed.”

The cashier nods. “So are you older than him now?”

Physically? They’re not completely sure, but if you calculate the times he was off the ice with HYDRA and add that to the age he was before the serum, then they’re not far off. But chronologically- “No, he’s still older.” And yes, it will always be funny that Sam responds with “Okay, boomer” whenever Bucky makes an outdated reference (even if he’s off by a good twenty years).

With a little more light chatter, she pays for her items and leaves. Now, for home.

As soon as she opens the front door, she’s greeted by their dog, Sarge, barking excitedly and hopping around like he’s on a trampoline despite missing a leg. Bucky’s not far behind, placing a quick peck on her forehead before taking the bags from her and unloading them in the kitchen. Tonight’s his night to cook, but unless her nose has suddenly decided to give out, he hasn’t started dinner yet. She doesn’t mind taking over tonight, and when he sheepishly apologizes while she begins her preparations, she brushes it off. Although, for the second time in an hour, she’s seen proof of his unusual absentmindedness. Oh well. She’ll ask him about it later.

Despite being relieved from tonight’s chef duties, Bucky stays in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar scrolling through his phone as she cooks. His expression is neutral, which can mean one of two things; a) he’s just killing time and there aren’t any interesting posts or articles vying for his attention, or at the opposite end of the spectrum, b) he’s deep in thought, possibly angry, sad, or even frightened, but he’s gone into Winter Soldier mode and shut down so that she won’t pick up on his mood. Damn the man and his poker face.

Eventually dinner is served and she sends him off toward the fridge in search of two beers while she serves their plates. Just as she’s spooning a generous helping of salad into her bowl, it happens. A vision, but a limited one. All she’s seeing is a phone. Well, that and the hand holding it. She’s not sure whether to be proud or embarrassed that she immediately recognizes the hand as Bucky’s, but that goes by the wayside as she takes in the article he’s reading. “Should you do something for Valentine’s Day even is she says no?” It’s a thread on some anonymous discussion board. The reply that has his attention is in reference to a now divorced individual who “was dumb enough to believe that, on our first V-Day as a married couple, she didn’t want anything.” Oh boy. Not good. This will be their first Valentine’s Day since exchanging vows, and if the fact that he’s read this reply (if not already read, will read soon) means that it’s at least crossed his radar that she might be feeding him bullshit. That’s not the case, but after his research, she knows from experience that no matter how much she tries to convince him otherwise, a small part of his mind will be stuck on, “But what if this is a big deal?” Which means-

“Doll, are you just gonna stand there with the salad tongs in your hand?” That snaps her out of it.

“No. Just a vision.” He frowns as she passes him his plate.

“Anything important happen?” Should she say?

“No.” She’s not sure if the smile or not, so she takes a bite from her roll to cover it. “Random sneak peek.” It’s not a lie. What she saw really isn’t important. Still, if he’s in that mindset, she should probably go on and do something for him just in case. After all, why should it only be the ladies who reap this holiday’s benefits?

___________________________________________________________________________________

Not flowers. That’s the one thing that, after copious amounts of research Bucky is one hundred percent certain about. They may still be a common romantic gift, but since they were also a go-to back when he was courting girls in the 1940s, it’s safe to say they’ve been overdone. Plus, he doesn’t really want to remind her of that time she had such a severe allergic reaction to the flowers he picked her on a walk through the park in Bucharest that her eyes nearly swelled shut and she sneezed herself sick. That doesn’t exactly seem like prime romance.

Chocolates or other candies have the same issues as flowers. Contrived and predictable. A bottle of wine is nice, but neither of them can so much as get mildly tipsy thanks to the super serum. The fourteenth is his day to cook, so he guesses he could do some reading and try to create something a little more special than spaghetti (he thought about going to a nice restaurant for dinner, but there’s a few issues with that, not the least of which is they’re likely to be recognized without their disguises, and he’d rather not look at his wife through sunglasses on Valentine’s day), but that seems a little underwhelming.

As he loads the dishwasher (she fell asleep half-way through the third episode of whichever nonsensical comedy they’re watching this week, so he sneaked back downstairs to clean up the dinner dishes), he thinks back to the dozen separate articles he read on the subject of Valentine’s Day gifts. Jewelry was a common theme, but that’s out. She’ll say thank you to his face, but worry about the cost behind his back. Plus, he has absolutely no idea what she’d like, and there’s no sense in purchasing something only for her to hate it.

Another common one was lingerie. Bucky almost choked on his tongue when he saw some of the examples given with that option. None of it looked comfortable (in fact, he’s still scratching his head about how you even put on one of the pieces that popped up on the web page) and he doesn’t want to give her the impression that she has to dress up for him. Even putting all that aside, he has no idea what size she’d even wear. He likes to think that he knows his wife pretty well, but somehow, in all their years together, it never occurred to him to ask her for her clothing sizes. That, and have you even seen the bra sizing system? Does it make sense to anyone, because to Bucky, it’s all gibberish. 32 B? 36 DD? What the hell? Somehow, when HYDRA was training him to extract information, they failed to go over the translation of a woman’s bra size. He supposes he could ask, but he’s not sure there’s a non-suspicious way to work, “Hey, sweetheart. What size are your breasts?” into casual conversation.

Sam said to get creative, so he tried to think outside the box. What’s something she really needs? A new vacuum cleaner is the first thing to come to mind, but he’s not stupid enough to think that would make a good gift. He knows she’s had her eye on a set of throwing stars, but that doesn’t seem to correlate well with what this holiday is all about. That’ll keep until her birthday.

He’s still wracking his brain for anything at all that might work when he feels a wet nose poking at his hand. Sarge. “Hey, boy. Has your mom gone to bed?” The response is a quiet “woof” and lick to his palm. He scratches the mutt behind the ears, smiling to himself as Sarge’s back leg thumps at the treatment.

“What do you think we should get our girl? Huh?” There’s no reply (of course not, he’s talking to a dog), but he nods, pretending all the same that Sarge has offered up a suggestion. “A bone. Yeah, somehow I don’t think that’s her thing. Try again.” The dog blinks at him lazily. “No, you’re the one who wants new tennis balls. Not Mom. Although you’re right about her liking peanut butter.” At this rate, he might as well get her a bone and some tennis balls, because he’s sure not coming up with any ideas.

She likes music. The thought pops into his head while he’s brushing his teeth. All sorts of music. Over the years, he’s tried to make sense of the songs he’s heard her listen to, but has yet to find a discernible pattern in her listening habits. She doesn’t seem to stick to just one genre or era. More like she picks songs by how they relate to what she’s feeling at the moment. Wait a second-

“A mixtape.” His reflection mouths the words back at him. Despite technology having moved on from the days of burning CDs, she still has a thick stack of the disks stored in a cabinet and plays them on the regular. He’s even seen a few that she made herself, pasting together the songs she likes to make a “Cleaning mix”, “Workout Mix” and “Pissed off Mix”. Bucky’s sure he could figure out how to burn a CD, but it’s not like she’d be able to listen to that everywhere she went. That leaves a playlist. She uses one of those apps to listen to music on her phone, right? Surely he can put something together for her using that.

Quietly, he climbs into bed next to his sleeping wife and pulls her back against his chest, slinging one arm over her waist as usual. He closes his eyes, but his mind is alight with activity. A playlist. Of course. He’ll put some extra effort into whatever he cooks that night, stop by a bakery and pick up some sweet treats for dessert. Hell, maybe they’ll both dress up and act like they’re on a date. Then, once they’re sitting down to their meal, he’ll pull out his phone and hit play. It’s perfect. At least, he hopes it is.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Putting on a lacy bra and panties set underneath her regular work attire seemed like a brilliant idea this morning. Today’s a short day; she’s only got three classes to teach, and Rhodey called last night to tell Bucky that he’s suspending work hours at three pm “Since most people have holiday preparations to make.” Her plan was to be waiting on the sofa in the living room when he arrives home, professional button-down blouse open just enough for him to get a good look at what’s underneath, pencil skirt pushed up enough to reveal the stockings and garters she’s donned for the occasion. It’s fun, with just enough cheesiness to match this whole holiday. And, well, it’s a guarantee that by the end of the night they’ll be in bed together, both rumpled, sweaty, and satisfied. Perfect, right?

Wrong. On her drive to work, her skimpy underwear began to ride up, giving her a wedgie, and there was no way to adjust without running the risk of wrecking. She was so distracted by her discomfort that she missed her exit, and by the time she arrived at the college, she was running so behind that she didn’t get the chance to run to the bathroom and readjust. Her lecture on sentence diagrams was pure torture before the underwire from her bra decided to join in the fun and poke her directly in the ribs, but with that addition, she was especially impatient with her students’ tendency to joke around a little too much in class.

Luckily, she had just enough time to wrap the exposed metal bit in tissues before her next class, which eliminated the pain in her chest, but did nothing to alleviate the discomfort once her stockings began to slide down, having at some point disconnected themselves from the garters. She taught like that for the next two classes, but as soon as they were over, she pealed the whole ensemble off in the teacher’s restroom and changed into her gym clothes. Alright, screw the whole seduction routine. She needs to blow off some steam and fast, or else she’ll be in a bad mood all night.

That’s why, thirty minutes later, she finds herself in the training room of the Avengers compound, working over a punching bag. “Fuck-” Her fist connects, making the bag swing crazily from it’s hook. “-this- whole- day!” It goes sailing, and she feels a little better.

“Ouch!” The voice comes from behind her and she whirls around, gaze resting on-

“Sam.” The man in question holds up his hands in an “I surrender” gesture.

“Don’t shoot! I come in peace.” Rolling her eyes, she holds up her middle finger, receiving a snicker in acknowledgment.

“Just working off a little frustration before I head home.”

“Good.” Sam chuckles. “’cause otherwise, I’d be worried that when Barnes pulls out his dick tonight, you’ll bite it off.” She thinks about telling him that there’s no chance of that, but she might just cut off his if he crosses her. However, that jogs her memory.

“Has he left yet?” Sam nods.

“About an hour ago. Said he had to pick up groceries.” Shit. There goes her plan to shower, throw the damn lingerie back on and proceed as planned.

Bidding Sam a hasty reply, she makes tracks towards her car and, once inside, heads for home. Fine. New plan. She’ll shower once she arrives and then when the evening is drawing to a close, wait for him in bed. Nodding to herself, she puts the car in park and climbs out. Now, to psych herself up enough in the next few hours to put the damn lingerie back on.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Where did he go wrong? It takes all of Bucky’s self control not to spit out the spoonful of sauce he just tasted. This was supposed to be an easy recipe for Chicken Alfredo (or at least, that’s what the website boasted; he should’ve known better than to get his information from the internet and stuck to a good old-fashioned cookbook from the library). Not… whatever the hell this is. Maybe even if the sauce is nauseating, the chicken is okay?

He pulls open the oven door, and immediately smoke billows out, making his eyes water. Okay, chicken’s a little well-done. Who is he kidding? Black. The chicken is burned black. And the pasta… he lifts the pot lid and stirs, only to come to the realization that the pasta is completely stuck to the bottom of the pot. Wonderful.

It’s inevitable; over the years, he’s had his fair share of cooking disasters, but usually he does okay. Tonight though… who the hell up there did he piss off, because the only explanation for how badly this is going is his karma coming due.

Still holding the offending spoon, he looks over at Sarge, who’s staring at him, long pink tongue sticking out as he pants. “Trust me, boy. You don’t want any of this.” There has to be something else he can pull together on short notice. Normally he’d be worried that she’s running late without so much as a text, but today he’s relieved. At least if she’s running behind he’ll have time to… what? Maybe order takeout? Before she gets-

“I’m home.” Shit.

Sarge yips, shaking with excitement, and starts towards the kitchen door, then turns back, uncertain. “Go on. I know you’re dying to jump on her and lick her face.” Something they really should be training out of him because he’s getting too big for that sort of behaviour but, well… there’s a reason they call them “puppy dog eyes.”

Not needing to be coaxed, the dog takes off, tripping a little in the momentary lapse in his memory that he’s a tripod, but easily catches himself and goes on his merry way, leaving Bucky to clean up his mess. From the sound of things, a game of fetch is going on in the living room, so she should be distracted for a while.

He manages to pour the sauce down the drain and scrape most of the pasta into the trash while Sarge is acting as a decoy, but there’s absolutely no way he can dispose of the chicken without tipping her off (damn enhanced senses, it’s a wonder she hasn’t already smelled it). Finally, he decides to just go for it. She’s going to notice whether he throws it out now or two hours from now. Might as well get a head start on cleaning.

Sure enough, not ten seconds after he empties out the oven, he catches a movement in his peripheral vision, and the familiar sound of her breathing tips him off that he’s no longer alone.

“Hey, Doll.”

“Hey, Bucky. Did something burn in here, or-” He holds up the pan for her inspection before continuing his scraping.

“That’s one way to put it, yeah.” He slams the lid back on the trashcan and turns on the tap, intent on rinsing out the pan. “Another is whoever the god of culinary arts is has it in for me today.”

She chuckles. “You know, that would be funnier if we didn’t actually know a god.”

“Yeah, but he’s in control of thunder.” He meets her eyes, smirking slightly. “Although it did look like I electrocuted the bird.” Her lips quirk up into a smile, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her, cupping the back of her head gently to hold her in place when she tries to move away, muttering something about being sweaty.

He’s not entirely sure how it happened, but by the time they come up for air, her back his pressed against the wall and he’s got her pinned in place. Not that he’s complaining.

“Anyone ever tell you that the tip of your nose turns pink after you’ve been kissed?’ Her cheeks go rosey in response.

“I think so. One guy did. I told him it’s only when I’m kissed properly.”

He really would like to continue the playful banter, but there’s still the small matter of whatever it is they’re going to eat.

“What do you feel like for dinner tonight?”

“Apart from electrocuted chicken?” He responds with a swat to her ass, which earns him a snicker. “Let’s keep it simple. Pizza. Your choice of toppings.” Right, that’s easy enough. Plus, if they have to wait longer than thirty minutes, it’s free.

“Okay. I’ll order while you shower?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

He’s just pulled up the menu on his phone when the sound of her clearing her throat attracts his attention. She’s standing in the doorway, combing through her freshly let down hair with her fingers, a playful look in her eyes.

“Or you could join me. Just a mild suggestion.”

Dinner can wait for a while.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The Brooklyn townhouse they live in has many nice features. There’s a functional if small screened in back porch, big enough to hold a table for two and a grill. Two bedrooms, on the off chance someone from work needs to crash for a night or two. A kitchen with a dishwasher. A working fireplace. Good closet space. And an en suite bathroom.

Maybe it’s a little ridiculous to call a bathroom luxurious, especially when, in comparison to what’s featured in many brownstones, it’s more than modest, but she can’t help but think of it as such. There’s a double sink so that in the morning rush to get ready, Bucky’s able to shave and brush his teeth without having to wait for her to finish applying her makeup. Shelving above the toilet makes certain that even if the last person to shower took the towel with them, another one is on hand. Speaking of the shower, it’s not the largest one in the world, but both of them can fit in comfortably at the same time, which is what’s lead to their current situation.

She’s just finished allowing the water to course over her body, easing the sweat from her skin, and is about to begin the process of washing her hair, scrubbing her body, but she hesitates. She might as well ask. It’s only practical after all.

“Do you want to start now or get cleaned up and have dinner beforehand?” It’s obvious what she’s referring to, so she doesn’t bother to spell it out.

His brown knits, and if she didn’t know him as… intimately… as she does, she’d actually believe he’s confused.

“Oh, so you’re just assuming there’s gonna be sex involved at some point tonight?”

She shrugs, wringing out her hair.

“Seemed like a safe enough bet.” She glances pointedly between the two of them. “After all, we’re already undressed. “

His laugh is a quiet huff, barely discernible over the sound of the water. “Then I’d say start now, have dinner, then go for round two. Sound about right to you?”

She nods. “Solid plan.”

“Then get over here.”

Unlike the welcome home kiss they shared not half an hour ago, this one is less tender, more electric. Hands twist in hair, bodies press together. Tongues begging for entrance quickly give way to teeth nipping at bottom lips, an unspoken sparring match for who’ll be in control this time around. Ultimately he wins, grasping her hips and lifting as she wraps her legs securely around his back.

There’s no need for prep; the teasing of their earlier words is foreplay enough. Back pressed against the wall, her body easily welcomes him in as she braces one arm against the glass shower doors for balance. Any concerns about slipping and falling wash away as they move together like so many times before. She’s sure her nails will leave marks on his back, fingertips digging in for purchase and it’s a guarantee her hips will be littered with fingerprints from his grip, but she can’t find it in her to care, and if the desperate, bruising kiss assaulting her lips is anything to judge from, neither can he.

“So damn good, Doll.” It’s panted against her neck. “Always. So damn perfect for me.” All she can manage is a moan in response.

She feels him twitch inside of her and knows he’s close. So is she, but she can’t quite get there without-

As if he’s read her mind, he reaches between them to touch her where she needs it most, and on instinct, she readjusts, locking her arm around his neck to stay in place. “Let go, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” She couldn’t disobey if she wanted to.

“Fuck.” As her walls contract around him, he pulls out just in time to paint her middle with his release.

“That’s one word for it.” She’s still fighting to catch her breath, but she shoots him a shaky smirk, which he returns.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Barnes.” Snickering, she releases him to stand on unsteady legs and pecks his legs.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Barnes.” Maybe there’s something to this holiday after all.

___________________________________________________________________________________

“You want the last slice?” Bucky considers it for a moment before deciding-

“Nah. You can have it.” It may not be exactly what he planned, but it’s been a good night. Between the two of them, they’ve gone through two large pizzas while watching the new version of Beauty and the Beast (she rolled her eyes when he asked if this was her way of saying he reminds her of a certain hairy, horned character) in their pajamas.

“No, really. You take it. I don’t want it.” She nudges the mostly-empty pizza box towards him. The noise makes Sarge lift his head from where he was snoozing beside her on the sofa. That gives him an idea.

“I don’t want it either, but I can think of someone who does.” He cocks his head towards the now-drooling dog. “How ‘bout it, boy? Wanna help us out?”

Snickering, she picks the pepperonis and pieces of sausage and ham from the pizza, forming a pile. “Here, Sarge. Catch.” She tosses a coveted treat in the air, and Sarge’s jaw snaps, swallowing it whole. “Good boy.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“You know, I actually did have something planned for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She nods.

“Absolutely. Had a whole seduction plan laid out. Tiny underwear, lacy bra, and stockings with garters included.” Huh. Guess she wouldn’t have taken the “lingerie” option the wrong way. He’ll file that away for future use… along with a mental note to ask her bra size. “That is, until I tried wearing the damn things for longer than an hour. Turns out, hiding a dirty secret under your clothes is more itchy than sexy.”

He can’t help it. He laughs, producing a pout from her which quickly turns into her own quiet laughter.

“Well, that fits in perfectly with my fancy dinner going up in smoke.”

“We really do have shitty luck with the whole “romance” thing.” She’s joking, but he decides to respond anyway.

“I don’t know about that.” Entwining his fingers with hers, he lifts their hands, twin wedding bands catching the light. “You waited five years for me to reappear after the blip, and I convinced you to elope with me. Seems pretty romantic.” Although, that reminds him…

“Don’t move.” Releasing her hand, he stands and goes in search of his phone.

“Bucky, what-”

“Don’t move, Doll. Stay right where you are.” Ah. On the kitchen counter, just where he left it. Jogging back into the room, he resumes his place on the couch next to her. Ignoring her questioning gaze, he pulls up the app and, selecting the correct playlist, hits play.

Immediate recognition blooms on her face at the opening lyrics. “She is the sweetest thing that I know. Should see the way she holds me when the lights go low.” He’s not one for modern music, but when he was googling “songs for Valentine’s Day” and this one popped up, he couldn’t help but think that the lyrics were fitting.

“I didn’t know you’d heard this one.”

He chuckles. “Even old men have a few tricks up their sleeves. That, and a wifi connection.” She rolls her eyes but leans closer, which he takes advantage of to show her the playlist.

“This is the app you use, right?” Receiving a nod, he continues. “Feel free to scroll through and add whatever you want. I haven’t listened to all of them the whole way through, but they seemed to fit the mood.”

Her hand closes over his, covering the phone. “Thank you, Bucky. It’s perfect.”

As the singer goes on about how hearts don’t break around here, he presses his lips against hers.

“I love you, Doll.”

“Love you.”

Not bad for a disastrous Valentine’s Day. Not bad at all.

#marvel #the avengers #bucky fanfic #bucky x original female character #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky barnes smut #smut #fluff

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count-woe-laf · 3 years

Text

You can’t spell stargaze without gays

I write? Since when? Yes I’m aware the title makes no sense, I’m uncreative. This was supposed to be a late birthday present for @me-a-mess-morelikelythanyouthink but it’s super late now, I still enjoyed writing it and planning it with her, I hope you’re having a great day, Silver. I’m sorry I got science facts wrong and I don’t know how to end things or how normal people talk

Logan and Virgil are hopeless pining gay idiots with horrible communication skills, but they’re working on it. (Romantic analogical, very background royality and platonic dukeceit.) 1850 words

"Bring me a diet coke!" Virgil called to Roman as he ran out of the truck, through the gravel parking lot, and towards the bright 7/11.

Logan let out a small laugh from next to him. "You know he's going to spend an hour flirting with the cashier and forget."

"Yeah I know, it's fine. Surprising that he's moved up from panicking around Patton to flirting with him, that's what I call character development."

"Character development that's gone on for ten too many seasons."

"True. But while he's in there I have more time to spend with you," Virgil replied with a smirk, Logan's cheeks reddening.

"You all are disgusting," called Remus from the backseat.

"I agree," Janus sighed. "Though I can do many things, understanding allos is not one of them."

"Then get out of my truck," Virgil jokingly glared into the rearview mirror.

"It's Roman's truck-" Logan started, Virgil shifted his glare towards him. "Ok yeah, get out."

"Think we can find bigfoot, Jan?"

"We're only half an hour away from the city, try again," but Janus let himself be dragged out into the nearby forest.

Logan and Virgil were left alone, thoughts of what had gone on the past week between them running through their heads. The hand brushes, the late night phone calls, the hoodies, the excessive amount of feelings that for once, neither of them minded. There was always more to say though.

"You can see lots of stars from out here," Virgil commented rather nervously. "You should come outside with me and look at them."

It was an offering just for Logan. He was the only one allowed to stargaze with Virgil while others were flirting in a 7/11 and being chaotic in a forest. Logan and Virgil in the bed of a truck staring at the night sky. ...Well, one of them was looking at the stars.

"You know to stargaze you actually have to look at them, right? You can just look at me, V."

"Who's saying you're not a star? 'Cause you definitely are, love."

"Love?" Logan tilted his head towards Virgil's red face.

"Uh-" Virgil looked away quickly. "What is that constellation? It looks like a spoon."

"Do you seriously not know? That's the big dipper, it's part of the constellation ursa major."

"You're the science-y one here, how would I know?" Logan just sighed. "You should keep talking though, I love your voice."

"Oh… Well that's the northern star…"

"Why is it called that?"

"Um, it's the most northern star, I believe astronomers base things off of it."

Virgil snoted, "wow. Star dudes sure are creative."

Logan looked over, an indescribable emotion on his face. "Pardon me, but did you just call astronomers, 'star dudes'?"

Virgil stared back, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Star. Dudes."

"...I will defenestrate you."

"Oh?"

"Do you even know what that means?"

"Yeah," Virgil said. "It means you pick me up and I get to simp over your muscles."

"It also means I throw you out of a window."

"I'll take what I can get." Logan let out a fond sigh. "Ok 'cause your constellations are boring and factual- don't worry I still love them- but I'm telling stories now."

"You're going to kill me."

"In your dreams, babe."

"What's that supposed to-"

"Over there is Elenor, it kinda looks like a bunny, I know. Their boyfriend is Jesse over there-"

"Virgil I swear, I'm leaving you in the forest." Logan's words gave a much different meaning when he was struggling to keep in his laugh.

Virgil chucked. "Oh Logan, so naive, there's so much more. Those three stars? Yeah they're Bo Peep's sheep."

Logan choked, the statement taking him by surprise. "Excuse me? You can't just…"

"Y'know, from Toy Story? Doesn't she have three sheep or something? I swear that was a plot point in one of the movies."

"The threat of being thrown out of a window still stands, Virge."

"Good, now that star over there…"

"Her name is Jennifer, she got a constellation for making the best bean salad."

Virgil tried to hold in a laugh. "And what did you say that one was?"

Logan was so enamoured with Virgil's laugh that he almost didn't notice him intertwining their fingers. Almost. He still had to take a breath to regain his nearly non-existent composure. Although fifteen minutes couldn't have passed, Logan could tell that it was a good decision to accept Roman's offer for a fake road trip.

"That guy with the belt?" Logan continued. "He was the first person to invent clothes. Quite the fashion icon for his time."

"Oh yeah?" Virgil giggled and Logan's heart stuttered in his chest.

"Yeah, he was also the only straight man in his village. It was very controversial." Virgil hummed in response, trying to calm his laughter.

"We're pretty controversial."

"What do you mean by that?"

"We're lying in the bed of Roman's truck, well past midnight and the city limits, looking at stars. Janus and Remus are probably lost in the forest and Roman and Patton have probably gotten over their gay panic and are planning their wedding together."

"I'm not sure how that's controversial, but it is interesting that we've achieved nothing compared to them." Logan's eyes drifted back to the stars.

"I think not getting lost is a plus." He made a noise of agreement. "And uh… I know we're not as vocal about stuff like the others but… Dating you wouldn't be bad." It came out more like a question, causing Logan to look back at him.

"Fuck- I mean-" Virgil ran a hand down his face. "It would actually be really really nice if I could be your boyfriend because- ugh stop staring at me like that! It's just that you're really great and nice to be around and to talk to and I can't imagine you not being in my life. A-and I know we've been kinda sorta dating but you know how dumb we both are about romance and all that stuff- oh god this is romance, I can't believe that…

"I just really like you, Logan and I need to make sure you know that."

Virgil's words swirled into the air, into the sky, into that great expanse of stars and light.

They laid there and stared at the stars, thinking, considering, and a fair amount of staring on Logan's side.

He couldn't help it, really. He couldn't stop his eyes tracing the curve of his jaw, his bitten lips, the words that previously escaped them were still spinning through Logan's head. And Virgil's hair, his adorably messy hair that was usually hanging in front of his eyes, was pushed to the side, Logan could see a galaxy reflected in his beautiful eyes.

Virgil was his galaxy, his sun, his stars. He had kept him sane through years of school. He constantly went out of his way just to brighten Logan's day a little bit more, and brighten he did.

Virgil meant everything to him and he'd be damned if he went home tonight without showing him that.

"Didn't… Didn't you say you always wanted to go stargazing with your partner?"

"Uhh, yeah." Virgil replied hoarsely.

"I suppose you get to cross that off your list, then." Logan wondered how he suddenly had some semblance of smoothness to his words.

"Oh."

The stars seemed awfully bright that night, especially in the way they reflected off Virgil's freckles.

"Is… Is that a shooting star?" Virgil lifted his free hand, tracing the bright line across the map of stars.

"There's no such thing as shooting stars." Virgil rolled his eyes. "But, I… do believe that's a satellite."

"Then make a wish."

"That's stupid and makes no sense, wishing on a satellite has no affect on my life."

"Just do it, my northern star."

Logan's red face was a reflection off the far away street lights, nothing else. "Am I supposed to tell you what I wished for?"

"Not really, but you can. I'd love to know what goes on in that brilliant head of yours."

"My head is empty, unfortunately." Virgil laughed, he did that quite a bit around him. "I wished that we'd have a good relationship. Apologizes, is that weird, or too soon? I… just mean that we're both terrible at communicating, I hope that we can improve together as a couple."

“Oh."

Although Virgil may not have realized it, Logan noticed as he lightly brushed his thumb over his hand. It was stupidly endearing and soft, just as Virgil was.

"That's probably the cutest thing anyone's ever said that slightly regards me."

"Glad I can be of service, darling."

"So darling is what you go with?"

"Would you prefer something else?"

"...No. If I can call you my boyfriend you can call me whatever you want." Virgil smiled. "…You're my boyfriend. That's nice to say."

"It is. I wonder how I stumbled upon a boyfriend as good as you."

"You- you need to stop doing that," Virgil blushed.

"I'm not doing anything!" Logan shifted closer to him, for heating purposes of course, it was a little chilly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know full well."

"Do I really, Virgil?"

"Shut up and look at the stars."

"Make me."

"Logan I swear-"

"Fine, fine, I will." Virgil mumbled thanks under his breath. "But they aren't as pretty as you."

Virgil let out a noise, a mix between a screech and a cough. There was no way he was showing Logan how fluttery his words made his heart feel. (Although he felt it was common knowledge among them.)

"There's around twenty minutes until the others get back, that's twenty minutes to mess with you."

"I'm already regretting this, Lo."

"As you should, my love."

Yes, their friends may have interrupted their stargazing a few minutes later. Yes, Roman may have forced Patton to leave his shift early resulting in one too little seats and an angry boss. Yes, they may have almost ran out of gas on the way home. Yes, they may have bought fries as Janus looked for a gas station. Yes, they may have fallen onto the floor seconds later. Yes, Remus may have jumped out of the car afterwards because he said it looked fun and almost sprained his ankle. And yes, Roman did have to explain the situation five times to his parents because they couldn't stop laughing about all the shenanigans they got into that night.

Still, Virgil's arm stayed around Logan's waist like it was the most casual thing in the world. Still, they shared a milkshake once everyone had given up on the fallen fries. Still, they were both filled with such a bright happiness that it was impossible to drag them down. And maybe they fell asleep on a video call that night. Or maybe Logan stayed over and they woke up with their limbs tangled in each other's, feeling content and appreciative of the other as they slowly woke up. Honestly, who's to say? It was just a good night.

#analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #hope y'all enjoyed this because I'm kinda proud of it #love you sil #ts logan #ts virgil #also yeah i have a taglist tell me if you want to be added #pen throws away a pen

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the-daily-multi-fandom-post · 4 years

Note

hello !! May I please have Shane Walsh x reader where reader passes out from stress please ?

Sorry it took so long to post. I hope you like it! 🖤 Let’s imagine Shane didn’t die and he was with them inside the prison! And that he’s not a bad guy and Judith is ricks child even though we all know she’s probably not his.- 😅😂

-this is long and half of it could just not be there and nobody would never miss it but I didn’t take it out. It’s probably obvious of what I’m talking about but it’s 2:28 in the morning so... enjoy! 🖤 sorry for any mistakes.

You were driving yourself crazy. Your group finally found shelter, somewhere you can call home. You prayed for this and finally your prayers were answered.

When you guys first found the prison you guys were so thankful. The prison was once just a building holding a bunch of prisoners to now being y’all’s home.

You were there when Lori died. You were a nurse before the end. You loved your job and when the end of the world came you were very Thankful for all the training you had.

You always helped Hershel when someone needed help or just help in anyway you could. You would go on runs, take a shift on watch, you would help clear out some of the walkers that lined the fence. School some of the kids since rick thought it was good if they still had an education -you just was always trying to help in anyway you could. But today was not your day. This is how your day went:

You were finally sleeping soundly. No longer listening to the moaning, groaning walkers. But rather listening to the quietness of the prison. You just enjoying the peaceful night. Shane, your boyfriend of three years, spooning you with his arms wrapped around your waist on the small bed. The two of you practically tangled together on the small bed.

The sun slowly started to rise, making the prison have some sort of light in there. It was about six in the morning as you started to wake up. Shane was still snoring as you woke. You moved slightly trying to get out of his tight grip. “Shane,” you whispered as he pulled you closer to him. He groaned putting his face into your neck. “Shane, I need to get up.” He opened his eyes. His brown orbs staring into your Y/e/c ones.

“Good morning, baby.” He kissed you and smiled. You smiled at him and kissed him back. “It’s time to get up.” You spoke, you were kinda upset with yourself, but you knew the two of you had things to do today. But sitting there in the bed was wasting daylight. “Five more minutes.” He mumbled as he kissed your neck. You hummed as you thought about it for a second. He kissed your neck and down to your collar bone.

“Shane.” You moaned softly as he kissed and sucked on your special spot. “We can’t, Carl’s right beside us.” You whispered softly. Making sure only Shane would hear you. “Then you should stay quiet.” He continued kissing you and smiled looking into your y/e/c eyes. He rolled so he was on top of you. He slipped your (his) t-shirt off you and you gave up fighting him from there.

“Good morning, Y/n.” Carol smiled as you walked into the kitchen. Carol was fixing some oatmeal for breakfast. She was smiling brightly as she looked at you. She seemed to have more of a smile now that her abusive husband was gone.

“Good mornin’, Carol. How are you?” Your voice was happy, as was your attitude even in the early morning.

“Just fine. How are you?” She asked you as she fixed you a bowl and handed it to you. “I’m good, thank you. You took the bowl telling her thank you and sat down at the table right near her. Giving her someone to talk to since barely anyone was awake.

Rick came in talking to Daryl and Shane right behind them. Shane’s face lit up as soon as he seen you. He waved as he, listened to Rick and Daryl talking. You waved and smiled as Carol started talking about supper for tonight.

“So I was planning on fixing some salad from the garden, do some fried green tomatoes and then a deer roast from the deer Daryl got yesterday.

“That sounds good.” You spoke, nodding your head as you continued to eat your food and talk to her. “I was wondering if you could pick some of the green tomatoes from the garden though. I was gonna go out there but I have to do lunch and the girl that usually helps me isn’t feeling well.” Carol added giving you a soft, friendly smile. “Sure.” You nodded wiping your hands against your blue jeans. “I’ll do it as soon as I finish up breakfast.” You told her with a smile. “Thank you so much, Y/n. Your the best!” Carol thanked her friend then went back to give some of the people who were lined up breakfast.

Just as you were finishing up breakfast Shane came sitting beside you. His own breakfast in his hand. “So, I was just informed I was on morning shift tomorrow. They also asked if you wanted to be on morning shift with me?” Shane asked Y/n with a smirk on his face. “Don’t be so cocky.” You teased him and slightly slapped his shoulder. “That’s fine, I guess. I gotta go. I got some things to get done today.” You told him. Giving him a soft kiss then getting up from your spot. “I Love you.” Shane said grabbing your hand before you could leave too soon. “I love you.” You answered him with a smile.

You were grabbing a bucket for the tomatoes when Maggie had walked up to you. “Hey, Y/n. I was wondering if you could take my shift on fence duty. I want to have some time with Glenn before he goes on a run this afternoon. You nodded giving Maggie a smile. “Sure, it’s no problem.” She smiled and gave you a hug. Thanking you as she ran off to tell Glenn she had time to be with him before his run.

It took about half an hour to pick enough tomatoes for supper. You also picked some of the fruit from the fruit trees and placed them in the bucket. When you were done, You gave the bucket to Carl to give to Carol.

It was barely 8:00 when you started clearing the walkers at the fence. It was you, tyrese and Sasha clearing some walkers. “I can’t believe they put us on fence duty.” Sasha complained, completely forgetting you were right there beside her.

You rolled your eyes as you stabbed the walker through the eye. “They probably want to see what your strong place is. Weather you better on fence duty or something else.” Tyresse told his sister. Trying to keep his sisters attitude down. “I mean, it’s not like I’m not thankful. I am, I mean they are giving us shelter, water, and food. It is the least we can do.” She added looking at her brother then to You who was still killing the walkers.

You were hot and sweaty. The hot Georgia sun shinning brightly down on your back. You were probably getting sunburn. You watched as the walkers slowed down. You took just a minute break. Grabbing your water that was right beside the fence. Drinking some of the refreshing water then going back to the fence.

“Hey, Y/n. Since there aren’t many out can we go take a break?” Sasha asked. You looked up looking at the twenty walkers that were lined down the fence. Not in one spot but all up and down the fence. “Umm..” you started looking at the walkers and then back to her. “I guess, just be quick, 5 minutes top.” You told them and they were quickly gone. Tyrese thank you and gave you a big smile. Sasha was gone ready not to be on fence duty.

You were there killing most of the walkers. You worked quick so luckily most of the walkers were dead now. There now were only two or three lurking out far away from the fence.

Your shift finally finished. Sasha and tyresse came, back but you were already finished. There wasn’t any walkers right there. You were putting the crowbar down on the table they had right beside the fence. Taking your water bottle and drinking some water and then you start walking towards the door to the prison.

“Hey, Y/n!” Carl called waving you over. He was right beside the fence where he and his friend was watching you killing the walkers. “Hey, kiddo.” Carl glared at her and she had to hide her giggle. “Sorry, sup Carl.” She re-greeted him. “Hey, Patrick.” She fretted the other boy. “What’re y’all doin’?” “We just wanted to see if we could help you. We don’t have anything better to do.” Carl spoke looking at h is “aunt Y/.”

You have known the grimes for years. That’s how you and Shane got together. You went to school with them and then when you went school to be a nurse you ended up leaving for a little while. But you always visited them. But as soon as you got to be a CNR (certified nurse license) you were always around them. Not that they were always in the hospital, but you had more free time then when you were in school. Lori actually set you and Shane up on a date. From that date on you and Shane we’re together. You were very, very thankful for Lori. Sometimes she was an bitch, but you guys were still friends through everything.

“Well, I’m not quite sure what you can help with. Did you do your school work?” You asked the two of them. The two avoid your eye contact and you chuckled. “We kinda didn’t do the school work.” You shook your head at the two boys and smiled at them. “Do you guys need help with your work?” Patrick was the first to nod and you understood that’s what they were coming out here for. Not to see if they could help you, but they needed your help for their school. “I’ll see if I can help you. I’ll see y’all in the library in 10 minutes. That gives y’all some free time before I go help. Tell the other kids if they need help to go to the library in 10 minutes.” The two nodded and started running to the other kids. You were glad that Carl had kids his own age to hang out with. It made you feel better about the prison. It may be a prison but the group changed it around so it felt like a home.

On your way towards the library Beth stopped you. “Y/n, can you take Judith? I really need a break?” You nodded as you took the 7 month old baby in your arms. The child smiled as soon as she was in your arms. “Thank you so much, y/n I owe you one!” You nodded as you walked towards the library.

You got to the library earlier then the kids. Grabbing the books that they were learning out of. You already knew most of what they were learning, but teaching it was probably gonna be the hardest. Making sure each of the kids understood everything, you prayed that you were going to able to teach them.

Flipping through a math book you had found in a run in a book store you copied down a few of the problems on a chalk board as a handful of kids started walking in there.

“Hi, Y/n.” Mika greeted you as she came over to see what you were doing. “Hi, Judith.” She smiled at the baby. “How are you, Mika?” You asked the young girl. “I’m good. What’re we doing for school today?” She asked you with a smile on her face. You never have met a kid that was so interested in learning.

“I’ll explain it all in just a second. Why don’t you go sit down over there at the desk?” You asked her with a smile.

“Alright, guys and gals let’s sit down.” You had lined the tables in a line surrounding you in the middle against the window. You had a desk with some paper, pens, pencils and books you were going to teach out of.

“Take one paper and one pencil and pass it down.” You told Carl who was at one end of the table and then handed him the cup of pencils. “Alright, were gonna do the least favorite first.” You started as you placed Judith on the high chair letting her play with some of her toys.

You were watching Judith teaching the kids helping them with their school work and making sure they were having fun while doing school.

“Alright, Mika. 30 divided by 90 equals what?” You asked the little girl. “It’s three.” You nodded with a smile. “That’s right! Alright, this one is for all of you. As soon as you do this problem you can be done math for the day. If we had thirty people here in the prison, and we had to give each person three meals a day. How many meals would we need a year. And remember there’s 365 days a year. As soon as you finish that hand me your paper and then you can take a break for luch.

You had the answer (which was 32,850). The kids worked while you picked up Judith who was getting a little fussy. You walked around bouncing the little one as Shane came in. You didn’t even realize he was even in there until a few minutes later when he had tripped over a stack of books in the floor.

Everyone had finished and handed you their paper. You were happy to see they got it correct. Some of the younger ones needed help, but the older ones who had already learned to do multiplication and dividing were great. Doing most of the problems with ease.

“Shane, what’re you doing? I thought you were going on the run with Glenn, and them?” You spoke looking at your boyfriend. He nodded as he looked the baby in your hand.

“I thought about it, but then Maggie wanted to go so she took my places and I stayed.” You nodded as he leaned against the desk. “I just came here to see if you wanted to go get lunch together.” You smiled as you looked at your caring boyfriend. “Sure.” You told him. With Judith on your hip and Shane by your side you guys made your way to eat lunch.

You thought you were going to be able to sit down and enjoy lunch but you weren’t that lucky. First you had to work on of the kids who broke their finger by getting their finger accidentally shut in a door. Then you had to stitch up one of the young adults from Woodbury that had an accident with a knife they were playing with.

“I guess I should stop playing with knives.” The man spoke to himself. You chuckled as you finished up the stitch. “Yeah, your lucky you didn’t hit a vein.” You told him as he sat on the chair in the infirmary. “Well, I think your good. Don’t do too mucc you’ll rip the stitch and it’ll hurt like a bitch.” You told him as he stood up from the chair. “Thank you.” He told you and you nodded.

Leaving the infirmary you went back to the kitchen to get some lunch. Lunch was way pass over. The kitchen was already cleaned, none of the food left out for You. Which made you grow annoyed. You walked back out of the kitchen and went to go back and work the fence.

“Hey, Y/n!” Rick called you from his spot in the garden. You smiled while walking over there. “Hey, Rick what’s up?” “I was wondering if you were up to go for a quick run? We need a few things and I forgot to tell the other group. You’re one our best supplies runners so I figured if you weren’t doing anything you could go for a quick supplies run.” You nodded, telling yourself it’s just one thing they need. It’ll be quick twenty minutes top.

“Thank you so much! Here’s the list.” He gave you the list and you looked over it. Medicines, pads and tampons, baby clothes, toiletries, batteries, flashlights and more.

“If you can’t get what’s all on the list don’t worry about it. We can get it another day.” You nodded looking at rick with a stressed smile. “Don’t worry I’ll try to get all of it.” He nodded and gave you a hug. “Thank you, y/n. -oh also Shane has some free time you might be able to get him to go on the supplies run with you.” You nodded as you pocketed the list. “I’ll go get ready.” You told him and he nodded.

You grabbed your backpack with some supplies if you have to stay out for the night. (Emergency food, water, extra flashlight.) You grabbed a couple empty duffle bags and went towards your white ‘89 Chevrolet crew cab. truck. You asked Shane if he was going and he said he was so he met you at the truck. You drive and he rode shot gun.

You were driving down the rode just enjoying the quietness. No hearing anyone asking you to do something. It was nice. You were wore out, but you knew you needed to do this for the group. It was the least you could do. Shane stared at you. He could tell you were wore out. It kind of worried him. Thinking you may be too wore out to do the run safely. But he trusted you and trusted what you said. He smiled as he had a plan.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today, Miss Y/l/n?” You looked at him with a knowing look. Shane had used a strong southern accent and you knew what that meant. He was trying to get you to laugh and smile, but you like to mess with him. Keeping a frown on your beautiful face which made him upset. Because he always loved seeing your smiling face.

“Well, Mr. Walsh. I ain’t gotta clue what your talkin ‘bout. The only person who calls me beautiful is my man.” You his your smirk in a frown. “Your man?” He asked looking at you confused. “Yes sir, my man is waitin’ for me at home. You know, he calls me beautiful too. But he also make sure my lunch don’t get taken up while I’m workin on someone who’s hurt.” You copied the southern accent.

His mouth was gaped he understood what you were saying now. “Well, maybe he was a bit busy doing something. And he thought the people in the kitchen knew you were gonna be back?” He offered you. “Well, he’s gotta make it up.” “How so?” “Well if a man really wants me. He’ll figure it out.”

You pulled up to a small town. About twenty minutes from the prison. Pulling in front of a small country store you looked at Shane with a serious look.

“Alright this is the list of things we need to get. We get what we need and get out. Don’t waste bullets. Use them when it’s needed. Knives only.” You told him and he nodded. You smiled leaning in and giving him a small peck of a kiss. “Alright, lets go.” Handing him a duffel bag and getting yourself one. You pulled out your hunting knife holding it up in a safe way as Shane pulled out is gun, just in case you opened the door and it be a lot of walkers there.

The run went alright there were a couple walkers were found in the store. You managed to get some of the things off the list. But by the time you got back to the prison you were wore out and still stressed. You were worried the things they had on the list were needed as soon as possible. You just worried yourself.

You managed to eat supper then you went straight to the showers and then went to bed. Your head was pounding as you sat on your bed. You tried to drink some water to get rid of the head ache, but it was still aching. You held your head when Shane walked in.

“You okay honey?” You looked up at him. “I’m fine. My head just hurts.” He nodded as he walked over to you. He looked like he just got out of the shower. His hair was wet and he had clean clothes on. He was just wearing a white shirt and a pair of pants. His feet bare as he took of his boots.

Your eyes were dropping as you slowly started to pass out. “Y/n?” He wrapped an arm around you and your eyes finally closed. You passed out from all the stress and from all of the things you’ve done today. You were just so wore out, your body just shut down. You did too much and this is your body telling you that. Shane tried to wake you up. Try to see if you were okay.

He picked you up and took you to Hershel. Luckily it wasn’t late and Hershel was still awake. “Hershel!” Shane called as he carried you inside the cell. “Shane, what happen?” Hersel looked over You trying to find any wounds to figure out why you were passed out.

“She passed out. I don’t know why. She was complaining about a headache before she passed out.” Hershel looked you over seeing no wounds then he remembered all you did today. He knew you were stressed. You told him the other day you were getting stressed. Shane Laid you onto the cot. “She passed out from stress.” Shame looked at Hershel confused. You hadn’t told him anything about being stressed. He knew you were, but not to the point of passing out.

“She’ll be okay. She’ll wake up in a few minutes.” Just as he said that you started waking up. You sat up holding your head. “Good morning, Y/n.” Hershel greeted you giving you a soft smile. You smiled at the old man but you were confused. “What’s going on?” You asked. “You passed out from stress. You do too much.” Hershel said as he took your hand in his. He felt your wrist feeling your pulse making sure your heart beat was good. “You need to rest. I’m glad Shane was with you when you passed out. You could fell and hit your head.” You nodded as you looked at Shane. Giving him a soft smile and taking his hand in yours. He rubbed soft circles on your hands.

You guys went back to bed. You laid down and smiled at Shane as he laid down beside you. “Thank you, for everything.” You gave him a soft kiss and pulled back. “You don’t need to thank me.” He told you as he wrapped his arms around you. “I love you.” He mumbled softly. You smiled and kissed his cheek. “I love you too.”

*****

Ugh, the cringe. This I feel like is one of the worst I’ve ever wrote in my life. It makes no sense and to me seems rushed. So sorry if you don’t like it. 😅

#shane walsh #TWD #twd shane walsh #twd rick grimes #twd carl grimes #twd carol #twd imagines #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh x reader fic #shane walsh x reader imagine #shane walsh x reader fanfiction

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scaredofchange · 4 years

Text

Monsta X Imagine - In love with an overweight, self-conscious person.

Brought to you by an overweight, self-conscious person.

I wrote this for fun and I hope you’ll all enjoy it. This is for you, and you only, you beautiful fucking masterpiece.

_________________

SHOWNU

Sweetest man EVER. He would take care of all your needs, such as getting you chub rub cream when you walk too long in shorts or massaging your feet.

Is very protective of you and would do anything to make you happy.

Knows all the places you don’t like to be touched (if you have any) and respects your boundaries like the prince charming that he is.

If someone would dare hurt you by saying shit about your body, he’d be the kind of man to get scary angry, but in a very calm manner, and would probably ruin the person’s life with a simple look.

Would shyly comfort you after.

Absolutely ADORES being the big spoon so he can feel your whole body against his.

Sweet, sweeeeeeet, sweeeeeeeeeeet love-making. He wouldn’t stop telling you how much he loves every single part of you.

WONHO

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Like, for real.”

He’d tell you that when you’d look at yourself in the mirror, not liking what you see.

Would always want you to be comfortable, either with what you’re wearing or with who you’re hanging out. “I just want you to be happy”.

Buys your favourite snacks without you asking because he’s that kind of boyfriend.

LOVES, and I mean LOVES, to grab your thighs during sex. It’s probably one of his favourite things on you.

Kisses your forehead and pouts whenever you feel bad about yourself.

If someone ever talks shit about your weight, he’d literally yeet them away (you know, with his giant biceps).

Would probably be able to lift you, not gonna lie. So, you could finally live that dream of steamy shower sex or ‘walk in the room bride style’ thing.

MINHYUK

“Babe, you are G O R G E O U S!”

I imagine him being in love with THAT ASS (!!!) would probably grab it whenever he could.

Literally gets mad if you talk badly about your body.

He’d grab your cheeks and tell you to shut up and kiss him, because “I don’t see any flaws, and neither should you.”

Lowkey wants to die between your thighs.

He’d die seeing you all sweaty after sex, barely covered by the blankets. “Are you an angel?”

He loves that you’re different and always reminds you how perfect you are to him.

Such a sweet man when he wants, type of guy who would look at you instead of the movie for the whole thing because ‘what did I do to deserve you?”.

KIHYUN

You DO NOT want to mess with Kihyun and his love for your whole fucking body. He’d throw fists at anyone who’d ever doubt it.

He’d go from “Fuck baby! You’re hot!” to “You are the cutest girl around” in a millisecond.

Highkey shows you off to everyone he knows. He’d want the whole world to know you’re his.

Buys you clothes and accessories that compliment your body type, and a lot of lingerie because he’d kill to see your curves in it and out of it.

He’d gaze lovingly at your body whenever he’d be on top like he’d admire a masterpiece in a museum.

When you’re on top though, he’d be too excited to do anything else but please you.

“Please, baby, love yourself, you deserve it so much.”

HYUNGWON

Morning, afternoon and evening naps all tangled up with you.

“Please y/n, stop moving, you’re my fluffy pillow now”

A total softie with you when you’re alone, wants you to feel loved 24/7

In public would show everyone you’re his by kissing your lips, for example, while waiting in line at the movies or randomly at a table in a restaurant.

Feels so comfy in your arms; he never wants to move.

Compliments your outfits every single day, “wow, have you seen yourself lately? I’m such a lucky man”.

Slow love-making because, your body against his? : he wants that feeling to last FOREVER.

Is SO DONE with everything but you and your magnificence.

CHANGKYUN

“Baby, you can do anything you want to me.”

Always puts an arm around you because he loves to feel you close.

Side-eyes people when you go out because you are HIS and his ONLY.

“Why are they looking at me?” you’d ask, super self-conscious, and he’d answer something like “you’re kidding right? You’re the most beautiful person on the fucking planet.”

If you’d talk shit about your body, he’d either go into a full-blown rant about our shitty society and the people who made you feel bad or he’d shut you up with hot kisses and a lot of ‘I love you’s.

Thinks you look good in EVERYTHING… and without ANYTHING (if you know what I mean)

Wants you to ride him 24/7 and is not shy to mark you.

Definitely an ass grabber during sex.

JOOHEON

Clingy as hell: he would love to grab E V E R Y T H I N G. Whether it’s your thighs, ass, your arms, breasts… name it, he loves it.

Always encourages you to wear the things you really want but you’re afraid people will judge you for.

“Listen, if you want me to go out butt naked so people won’t look at you, I’ll do it.”

Lowkey wants you to be naked all the time around your apartment because he can’t stop admiring you.

If someone dares to insult you, BOY!, Honey would send him to his grave. He’d literally spit fire.

Wants you to eat well (and by that I mean he doesn’t like it when you order only a salad because he knows you don’t want that shit). He thinks you should get whatever you want.

“I love everything about you, don’t ever doubt that.”

Hot, steamy sex. Kisses every curve and always wants more.

________________

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containsxmultitudes · 3 years

Note

Nick x Lucifer for the ship meme, if that works for you

Send in two (or more) names and I’ll fill all this out about the ship!

General:

How long will they last? - As long as Lucifer isn’t killing Nick. So probably longer than Nick would rationally prefer it.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - I wouldn’t call it love. But probably pretty quick into weird questionable infatuation and desire.

How was their first kiss? - I’m not sure when their first kiss would happen, but I can only imagine that physically speaking it’s a pretty good kiss. Nick in and of himself has a lot of practice and Lucifer has the benefit of grace touch which means it amplifies Nick’s enjoyment of it. Grace addiction.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Lol Lucifer. I say this because of the asking him to be the vessel thing specifically. (Although in practice marriage would not happen. But we’ll play in the theoretical space for a second just for the laughs.)

Who is the best man/men? - tbh no clue. Demons?

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - If we’re just saying all of this theoretically probably no one, or it’s demons. But if Nick had to pick it’d be his best friend. Who is a cursed immortal and is still a small part demon cause she’s like a previous anti-Christ’s great-great granddaughter or something. She’s not 100% sure herself.

Who did the most planning? - Neither of them. Maybe Lucifer. Nick ain’t planning shit for this.

Who stressed the most? - Nick. He’s stressed all the time anyway. It’s not even about the wedding it’s just his life.

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Hell if I know. God?

Sex:

Who is on top? - Lucifer.

Who is the one to instigate things? - Lucifer

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - Probably as long as Lucifer is interested.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Oh absolutely not.

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - Lmaooo absolutely zero.

How many children will they adopt? - So in theory the answer is still zero but like to play in the space maybe one. And it’s probably a fuckin demon of some sort. An anti-christ maybe at most.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Nick.

Who is the stricter parent? - Lucifer.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - there’s no stopping that.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Nick?

Who is the more loved parent? - fuuuuck. Um,,, we’re gonna go ahead and say Nick because like Nicks a family person so if he’s raising this demon child then he’s very nurturing and tries his best even though it’s a demon, or at least related to one. Like he’s aware that it’s gonna be trouble but like it’s a family bond thing for him.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? Nick. Lucifer is not allowed at the meetings after The Incident.

Who cried the most at graduation? - Nick.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Nick. Within reason.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Lucifer doesn’t eat so the answer is Nick.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Lucifer. He doesn’t eat so I imagine that if he’s choosing to do so that he’s pickier.

Who does the grocery shopping? - Nick.

How often do they bake desserts? - Not often.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Nick’s a vegetarian.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Neither.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Probs Lucifer for some reason.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Lucifer. And it’s probably not an accident.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Nick

Who is really against chores? - Not sure.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Nick

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - The only thing being swept under the rug is Nick’s emotions.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Nick.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Nick.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Nick

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - I mean if Lucifer likes his hell hounds maybe Lucifer.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Oh they don’t.

What are their goals for the relationship? - Nick’s goal is to not go absolutely insane.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Nick.

Who plays the most pranks? - Lucifer. The pranks are questionably intense to be pranks tho.

#paradiseturnedhell #ship meme #it’s perfectly fine by me

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walkingshcdow-a · 3 years

Note

And also Trevor and Finnegan

Ship HCs | Not Accepting!

@tinfoiltemplar

General:

How long will they last? - Depends on the verse, but I’m tempted to say for the rest of Victor’s life. (Come at me, Clare. I dare you.)

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - Victor? Oh, probably by the third time Finnegan kissed him on the lips and told him he was “a good boy” or called him “darling”. Finnegan? He didn’t notice it until about a year in and he went “Oh fuck.” because it was Too Late.

How was their first kiss? - Explosive, deepened very quickly, escalated even more quickly. There was no pretense about it.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Finnegan

Who is the best man/men? - Hmm...

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - I don’t know if she’s considered a bridesmaid, but I feel like Jane might end up with a very important role int he wedding or Victor’s one sister who he adores. It’s a very intimate wedding, lbr.

Who did the most planning? - I want to say Finnegan, but let’s be real. He dumped it on his publicist and event planner because he was busy helping Victor with his divorce and, you know, running FinneCorp.

Who stressed the most? - VICTOR.

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Victor’s parents, Shannon.

Sex:

Who is on top? - Finnegan

Who is the one to instigate things? - Both, definitely.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - I’m not timing them, but long enough to murmur fucking soliloquys to each other, I swear to god...

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - They do not, but I don’t think they mind.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - Three through a surrogate

How many children will they adopt? - They don’t. They might consider it, but it’s already a complex enough legacy and inheritance that they’re leaving their daughters... I feel like they would feel like it was irresponsible and unfair to haul a non-biological child into their lives without being able to guarantee him or her the same legal rights as their biological kids. As it is, I think that Finnegan worries that their youngest daughter won’t have the same legal protections as the older two because she’s biologically Victor’s. I think he’s very worried about inheritance law.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - I feel like Victor volunteers for this and Finnegan wonders why they even bothered with a night nanny if Victor is just going to rush in to save the day every time.

Who is the stricter parent? - They’re both pretty strict but about wildly different things. I think it might be safe to say it’s Finnegan because he’s more consistent. Victor sometimes blurts out things like, “You can do anything you want! Do you know I love you?” to their kids and Finnegan is like “NOT ‘ANYTHING’.”

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - I have a very vivid mental picture of Victor rushing after one of the Valkyries while she’s on a bike going, “Not in the streeeeeeet” while Finnegan stands on the porch with a cup of coffee. I know this picture is wrong because I imagine it at my childhood home and their time is split between fancy apartments, fancy houses, and a literal castle, but the sentiment stands.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Victor. Finnegan doesn’t eat and I worry that one of their girls is going to pick up his habits.

Who is the more loved parent? - Finnegan, tbh. I only believe this because Clare and I talked about how he accidentally convinces their friends he’s a spy and a vampire. He also isn’t Trying So Hard to win approval.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings?: Both. They would absolutely both go.

Who cried the most at graduation? - Victor but he cries a lot where the girls are concerned.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Finnegan. Victor thinks they need to learn the consequences. A mortified Finnegan Does Not Care and just doesn’t want his daughter to spend the night in jail. He thinks that letting her know he is Disappointed in her will be punishment enough. BOY is he right.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Haha

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Finnegan.

Who does the grocery shopping? - The at-home chef, but once a month, Victor and Finnegan go together.

How often do they bake desserts? - They try, but not often. I remember reading that Victor is a better baker than he is cook. I’d like to see him try to get Finnegan to eat a cupcake. Challenge: Issued.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Finnegan is a salad fan. Victor tries to eat balanced meals to model behavior for his husband and to get enough nutrition to support his own athletic zealotry.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Finnegan. I think about the scene in “Jane the Virgin”. I wanted to do something nice for you. But instead you cooked?

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Yes.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - Yes.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Housekeeping. I think they’re both relatively clean people, though.

Who is really against chores? - Finnegan. “We hired someone to do that, don’t worry about it.”

Who cleans up after the pets? - If it’s Evan, it’s Victor. If it’s the horses, it’s Finnegan or the stable staff.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Neither.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Finnegan

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - I’m so curious as to what either of them would do if they found a single dollar tbh.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - FINNEGAN. He sometimes convinces Victor to join him,

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Victor. Evan is HIS dog.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - For Christmas.

What are their goals for the relationship? - Ooof. I don’t think they started with goals beyond getting laid and escaping their existences for a bit. It got complicate when they caught feelings because then the goal was “don’t get caught” and Finnegan has a Secret Goal of “convince Victor to leave Shannon for me” that turned into “Get married”. And after they were married, it became “Have children and secure a legacy.” And once they have the girls - Like, honestly, they’re never satisfied. I think if you ask my meta muse, his goals are things like “marry Victor” and “raise our girls” and “have intensely hot sex until it’s medically unwise” and “DON’T LOSE VICTOR” because someone has floated the idea of killing him and even though that someone has retracted that plan, my muse wants it known (by the muns, not other muses, because ew vulnerability) that he wants to grow old with Victor.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Finnegan. I don’t think Victor could sleep that late.

Who plays the most pranks? - I don’t think they play legitimate pranks. I do think that Finnegan teases and flusters the hell out of Victor, though, and we’ll count it.

#x. asks #x. meme response #professorofpredators #tinfoiltemplar #;;headcanon | {finnegan}#professor-of-predators

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marvelmadam08 · 5 years

Text

The Princess & The Nomad (11)

With your hypnosis gone and your identity fully known, you and Steve reunite and pick you right where your left off. But with The Avengers disbanded and a new danger looming in the future, what’ll keep everything from falling apart?

Summary: After a quick birthday celebration, you and the others plan an impromptu trip to Norway.

Warnings: Mentions of previous smut, hints of Bucky x Reader? Final goodbyes

A/N: Sorry it’s been a while for an update, I’m jumping back and forth between this blog and my original pieces and looking into self-publishing. Lots of big things in the works. Also if you haven’t seen Message From the King you should, Chadwick does an amazing job in that film. Enjoy!

“How many hickies are you trying to give me?” You laughed slash moaned while Steve kissed and bit in random parts of your body

“One for every year you’ve been alive.” He kissed on your pelvic bone, the next spot for him to mark

“I’m 84.”

“Exactly, so let me continue before I lose count.”

“Yes sir.” Your fingers raked through his hair, watching him kiss down your body “Best birthday yet.”

“You made mine special, I’m returning the favor.” He bit down on your hip, holding you in place with his weight, you shuddered softly. When he was satisfied with his work Steve kissed up your stomach before lightly pecking your lips.

“You know we haven’t left this room since I got here. They might think we’re dead.”

“It’s not the worse way to go. And we did leave.”

“For thirty minutes, to find the kitchen. And you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” You nudged him with your foot, subtly reminding him of how carried away the two of you got when feeding each other strawberries. Ending up with the two of you hiding in the pantry, half naked and waiting for the guard to leave so you could return to the room.

“We’re lucky we didn’t get caught.” You started to move to the edge of the bed when Steve pulls you back into his chest “Steve-”

“I missed a spot.” He kissed on your shoulder blade

“We told Sam we’d hang out with them today.” You giggled and pulled away “It’s rude to decline an invitation the day of, especially without a viable reason.”

“I want you to myself, that’s reason enough.” Steve watched you move over to the full length mirror that sat in the corner. He smiled as you assessed the bite marks and handprints he left behind.

“Steve, I look like a dalmatian.”

He chuckled before he moved to get ready himself. Despite his not so subtle suggestion for taking a shower together, you didn’t want to run the risk of never making it out the room, so you decided to take separate showers. You watched Steve get ready, since you only had to shimmer on a new outfit, a long sleeved shirt, a scarf wrapped around your neck and long jeans, thanks to him.

“That’s not going to look suspicious.” He told you as you both walked back down to the study to meet everyone else “It’s the middle of summer.”

“Would you rather have me in a skimpy skirt and a low cut top, showing off?” You questioned jokingly

“If you wore anything of the sort, we definitely wouldn’t have made it out the room.”

“Holy shit, she can still walk.” Sam was the first one to open his mouth when you and Steve entered the study “And sporting a modest scarf, odd piece of clothing for summer in Wakanda.”

“My bikini is at the cleaners.”

“Happy birthday Kiddo.” Sam moves in to give you a strong hug

“Thanks Sam.”

“Didn’t think you two would show up.” Bucky said, leaning against the wall on the far side of the room “Guess I owe Nat fifty bucks now.”

“In American currency if you will.” Natasha smirked “Happy birthday, Rayna.”

It took you a second to remember she was addressing you. “Thanks Nat. Shall we go and eat, I’m starving.”

“Well you’ve been working up an appetite for the last two days.”

You all began to file out of the room back into the hall.

“Seriously, like rabbits.” Sam added “I pity who ever had the room next to yours- oh wait, that was me.”

“Sorry Sam.” Steve wrapped his arms around your waist and kissing you on the cheek.

“No you’re not. But you will be when Bucky and I tell (Y/N) all about the goat incident.”

“Stooping low Sam.” A light blush showed up on Steve’s cheeks

“What about a goat?”

“Apparently Stevie here missed you so much that he started having dreams about you.” Bucky started, trailing behind the group “Very vivid dreams, if you catch my drift.”

“So we’re camping out at Bucky’s place, resting as much as we can before we leave again. Steve, being the fossil that he is, fell asleep first. And starts talking in his sleep, calling for you.” Sam gestures to you

“I thought he was having a nightmare again, but when I looked up he was spooning one of my goats. And she was not happy about it.”

“Now the damn goat won’t leave him alone.” Sam laughed, you did your best to hide your amusement but failed horribly

“I’m sorry for laughing, but you have to admit it’s funny.” You said to Steve between giggles “I have tons of embarrassing stories from Asgard.”

“And you’re welcomed to tell us all about it over dessert.” T'challa greets you at the doors leading to a screening room. He reached for your hand to kiss it lightly “Princess (Y/N), happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

Fast approaching footsteps turned your attention to Shuri, who pushed her brother out of the way and wrapped her arms around you.

“Happy birthday. How are you feeling?”

Nat shot Sam a warning glare before he could say anything inappropriate. Steve did the same to Bucky.

“I feel great, no side effects that I know of so far.”

“I got you something.” Shuri reached into her pocket and pulled out a small gift box “Well I made it.”

Sitting inside the box was a bracelet made of round black beads with tiny engravings on them.

“They’re call Kimoyo beads, made from vibranium, they're multipurpose and have better reception than a cell phone.”

“It’s beautiful Shuri, thank you.” You slipped the bracelet on your wrist, they shift and secure themselves on your wrist so they wouldn’t move or fall off. You turn your hand over and the words ‘happy birthday’ shine from the beads “I just hope my powers won’t short it out.”

“It’s perfectly safe.” she assures you before turning to Bucky “Nice to see you again White Wolf.”

“Same to you Shuri." Bucky grinned

"Are you joining us for the movie?” Steve ask

“Unfortunately I have work to do in my lab, plus I am not old enough to sit in on adult conversations.” Shuri rolled her eyes

“Mother’s words, not mine.” T'challa argued “You will get your chance when you are older.”

Shuri mimicked her brother’s voice under her breath as she walked away, a guard right behind her. T'challa stood to the side to let the rest of you in the dimly lit room. The smell of food filled the room, over to your right was a table full of food complete with chicken and beef stir fry, dinner rolls, and few ribs and cesar salad.

“Whoa, you went all out Sam. I would’ve been fine with pizza.” You tell him

“I didn’t do anything.” Sam’s mouth was stuffed with half a dinner roll.

“My sister insisted, said that this should be a special birthday for you.” T'challa explained “Being back with your loved ones.”

“Oh now I wish she stayed.” You slightly pout “She didn’t have to do all this.”

“In her opinion it could’ve been better, but apparently someone ate all the strawberries that were going to be used for the shortcake.”

“Imagine that.” Steve gives you a small squeeze on the butt, you blush and bite your lip.

Everyone moved around the table, picking up different food to place on their plates. You end up drifting closer to Bucky by the crepes.

"So White Wolf? Is that what you're calling yourself now?"

He shrugged, setting down his plate to add more food "I kinda adopted it. I'm technically the black sheep here.... Well the white sheep."

"Do you like it here? You seem a lot more relaxed."

"Yeah, it's amazing. Everyone’s so welcoming, there’s little to no crime. And the sunsets are something out of movies." He gives you a friendly smile before averting his eyes again

"What's wrong?"

"Your scarf slipped." He reached up to fix your scarf back over a bite mark "Looks like everything between you and Steve is going good."

"Yeah, we said I love you for the first time."

He nods, examining a piece of broccoli. "Big step, possible wedding bells in the future?"

You blush and nudge him in his side. "I just got back, let's not jump to life altering choices."

"Alright. It's your day Princess- Rayna? (Y/N)? Which one are you going with?"

"Honestly, whichever you prefer. I have so many names at this point I’ll answer to anything.” you joke, sneaking a bit of frosting from a corner slice of cake

“Sure thing- Princess.” Bucky smiles before sauntering off to a plush chair in front of a large screen. Steve calls you over to settle in the seat next to him.

“So what are we watching? I have a year worth of movies I’ve missed out on.”

You all settle for a movie called “Message from the King”, even on their day off, Steve and the others never strayed too far from action. Although there was a lot of jeering when something unrealistic happened. Which was every twenty minutes. However, the film made you think of Odin and Thor, and how secrets tore you apart from each other, just like in movie.

“You alright?” Steve asks you, squeezing your hand

“I have another birthday request.” You tell him

“Please not here, don’t ruin the screening room with your non-stop super human, Asgardian sex-capades.” Sam looks at you with tired eyes

“It’s not that Sam. I want to go to Norway, it doesn’t have to be right now but the sooner the better.”

“What’s in Norway?” Nat asks, helping herself to another beer

“My grandfather, I want to see him.”

“Your grandfather, as in Odin?” Steve’s shocked expression spoke for everybody “The man who threw you out of Asgard?”

“Yes. He said we would see each other again before…” You looked back to the screen at the rolling credits, then shrug “I don’t know, maybe it’s a stupid idea. If he wanted to see me then he’d find me right?”

“You’ve met him already?” Bucky leaned in a bit from the other side of Sam

“Yeah, I sort of broke him out of a retirement home.”

“What do you get into when we’re not around?” Sam wondered

“I haven’t even got the chance to tell you about the huge python that nearly killed me.”

“The what?” Steve’s face grew pale

“Nothing.” You rub reassuring circles on his back

“You can tell us all about that on the way to Norway.” Natasha stood, Steve gave her a stern look “Clearly she’s made amends with him Rogers, don’t give me that look.”

“I think you should go.” T'challa chimes in “Family, no matter how dysfunctional, is all we have in the end.”

“Steve, I can understand why you don’t like him. But if he hadn’t cast me out then, I wouldn’t be here now.” You tell him “I’m going to say my last goodbyes to him. I’d like it if you were there, if not I’ll go alone.”

“After the year I’ve had, I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Steve wrapped his arm around your shoulders “Wheels up in thirty.”

“We can never have a normal week.” Sam muttered as he stood “I’m taking the dinner rolls.”

* * *

When Steve said he wasn’t letting you out of his sights he meant it, you figured that out when he had you sit in the co-pilot seat before the quinjet began to take off.

“Steve I still can’t drive a car, what in Norns sakes makes you think I can fly the jet?” You asked as he strapped you in

“You aren’t flying, I am and if you need to switch out with Nat then you will.” He assured you with a kiss on your cheek

“Enough, let’s get this show on the road!” Sam punched the roof of the jet, earning an annoyed look from Nat and Steve

You peaked out the window, over at Bucky who gave a small salute from where he stood, along with T'challa and Shuri.

“Why isn’t Bucky going? He’s not afraid to fly with me is he?” You wave back to them while Steve settled in. The last time you and Bucky were on the jet together, you had just tried to kill him thanks to Dr. Schmidt.

“No, he opted out of the trip, in case anything were to happen while we’re away.” Steve says “Buck doesn’t go on missions anymore. Not even small ones. Doesn’t want to risk- relapse.”

“Oh.. is he gonna be fine while we’re gone? I’d hate taking all of you away from each.” Tony was the first person to pop up in your mind, you promised to check in with him, told him he wouldn’t lose anymore family.

“Yeah, he knows we can’t stay too long to begin with, but it anything happens T'challa will get in contact with us.” Steve flipped a few switches on the console before the jet lifted off the landing pad on the ground

“So Rayna, how are we gonna find your grandfather?” Nat asks you once you’re out of Wakanda’s barrier

“I could ask Heimdall, he might know where my grandfather is, he sees all.”

“What do you mean?” Sam’s eyebrow lifted

“Heimdall was the bifrost keeper, until Loki falsely charged him for treason. He has the gift of sight, if he wishes to see you then he will be able to find you anywhere you are.” You explained

“Loki? I thought he was dead.”

“So did I, Thor still believes he’s gone.”

“When was the last time you spoke with Thor?” Steve was the one to ask this question

“Four months? Maybe five. He continued his search for the stones, he believes I’m still on Asgard.”

“Why didn’t you go to find him? Instead of come back here. I mean, if it were me I’d look for the person who could help the most.” Sam suggested

“The world may be small but the universe is infinite. Finding my father is like searching for an empty chamber during Ostara.” You laughed at your joke, the others looked around, confused “It’s…. Nevermind.”

You folded your legs into lotus position, and closed your eyes. “Heimdall, give me sight.”

You were by a creek this time, not too far from the marketplace in Asgard but still far enough so no one could see you. A light splashing drew in your attention, behind you Heimdall was kneeling by the creek, cleaning his face.

“Forgive me for the intrusion.” You tell him

“No apologies necessary Princess. Just glad you didn’t call an half hour prior, I was bathing.” He chuckled “You wish for new information?”

“Yes, I need help finding Odin. I know he’s in Norway, but I don’t know where exactly.”

“Unfortunately I am unable to locate him.”

“How is that possible?”

“Without the bifrost, I can only see so far. My powers are limited, and I will need them in the future.” He rose to his feet and began to stroll upstream, you followed

“But then how will I find him?”

“Magic, you did learn tracking spells during your time here correct?”

“Yes, but how will I be able to reach you? What if you need me? Or if my father is in trouble?”

“You are in tuned with every soul you meet, as Goddess of life and light you will feel if your loved ones are in danger.” He stared off to the distance “I must leave, use what you have learned Princess.” He paused “And I must apologize once more, for my wrongdoings against you.”

“There’s no need to apologize to me Heimdall. I have forgiven you.”

He nods solemnly “You really do look like your mother. Norns rest her soul. It has been an honor knowing you Rayna.”

“You speak as if this is the last time we’ll see each other.” He didn’t respond, only gave you a light hearted smile “Heimdall?”

You blinked and you were back on the jet. Steve was the first to speak, seeing the concerned look in your eyes.

“Did he tell you where Odin is?”

“No, he couldn’t. Without the bifrost his powers are getting weaker. But he said I should be able to find him on my own.”

“What’s wrong Ray?” Natasha asked when she saw your face

“I think that was the last time I was going to speak with him.” You wiped away the forming tear “I think someone found him.”

“I’m sorry Doll.” Steve reached over to hold your hand

“He was my last chance to find Thor, and protect my family. Last chance to return to Asgard.” You took a shaky breath, Sam was looking over the jet, his own paranoia setting in place. You felt his anxiety “I’m good Sam, just processing. The closer we get to Norway the easier it’ll be for me to find Odin. Maybe he can help me fix this.”

“I’m sure he can.” Natasha gave your shoulder a squeeze “Now about this giant python that nearly killed you.”

Taglist: @classybai @moisoverennyi-thestarlessone @floralandspice @bi-bi-bi-bisexualz @theonelittleone @grey-junior @marvelousbuckystark @captainsthor @sebbystanlover-vk @jovialcalzonepaperzine @chook007 @dontchawishyouknewhowtosalsa @geekysimmerthings @codename-buckybarnes @marvelfansworld @emmaschhh @bruisedfaye @mackyk06 @teamcap4bucky @paigeem96 @lily-horvitz @tshollandlove @nerdypisces160 @mrs-captain-evans

New tags: @imnotgonnafightyourwar @winnielinleigh @humongousflapcloudpatrol @tayya-esthetics @nickyl316h @seasaltbitch @lifeisalohaa @dragon--dragon @godlyyoongs @damngirl-youareincredible

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ficsandpieces · 5 years

Note

papa! QN - ♞: Caring for each other while ill (maybe kids trying to help take care of sick papa or s/o, or taking care of sick kiddos? Either will kill me ;v;)

YESSSSHHHH MORE PAPA!QN THANK YOU VERY VERY MACHOCHO

This is the last of the asks!

Thank you once again to everyone who sent in a prompt, I had so much fun writing them over the weekend.

papa!Reiji:

The papa who spends half his time in the kitchen cooking for his babies and the other half at their bedside, trying to cheer them up whatever way he can.

He wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off his sick babies, always hovering over them and touching them to check if they’re getting better or worse.

His wife has to drag him out of the room if the doctor ordered calm and rest for the sick. He’d sneak back in later, cradle a sick child in each arm and rock them to sleep with a lullaby.

If only one of them falls sick their sibling would be anxiously following him around the kitchen, trying to help papa cook because they wouldn’t be allowed to go near their sick twin, especially if it’s infectious.

He’d split his time between taking care of the sick and reassuring their healthy sibling that nothing's going to happen to the other one, and distract them with ideas of all the fun things they can do together once they’re well again.

When Reiji’s down and laid up in bed his twins would try to feed him his meals. Reiji has to open his mouth pretty wide to accommodate the two spoons being held up to him at the same time.

When bedtime comes around they’d crawl into bed with him and pat him to sleep with their little hands. His wife looks in and sees one of them curled up on his chest, the other tucked under his arm and poor Reiji looking as if he’s experiencing heaven and hell at the same time because his fever is raging and he’s sweating through his clothes but his babies are sleeping on him so he can’t move although he’d really like to get up to change his pajamas and use the bathroom but HIS BABIES.

papa!Camus:

Imagine a state of national emergency except on a smaller scale and contained to his house. Only the very best physicians are allowed to see to his daughter, even if they have to be flown in from Permafrost.

All the servants in the house would be put into standby mode for the entire duration of his angel’s illness.

He’d stand guard over his daughter’s bedside all night, holding her little hand and attending to her every need at the expense of his own sleep.

His butler mode evolves to butler!papa mode and it’s a force to reckon with.

If Camus should ever fall sick (perish the thought, the sheer force of his personality would drive out any viruses that dare to take up residence in his body) it’s his little girl’s turn to sit by his bedside. She’d read a book to him or play whatever instrument she knows to send her fallen daddy to sleep.

(Somehow I feel Camus would let his daughter learn the harp and they’d do the most elegant duets together. Behold the birth of the father-daughter pair with instruments large and heavy enough to smash someone to death if they wanted to.)

papa!Ranmaru:

The other papa who’s standing in the kitchen and cracking his head over what to cook that’s tasty, nutritious and easy-to-eat for little stomachs that can’t keep anything down.

His son who’s normally quite mature for his age gets clingy when he’s sick. Ranmaru would sit him on his lap and awkwardly rub his back while his heart is aching over how weak and ill his boy is. His son would have his head pressed against Ranmaru’s chest, one hand holding on to a handful of his father’s t-shirt.

(He doesn’t know that he accidentally ruined one of Ranmaru’s old band t-shirts when he threw up over him earlier. Ranmaru doesn’t plan on telling him.)

“You okay, kiddo?” “No.”

He’s also the attentive papa who’d be doing his best to pat his daughter to sleep, sticking cold patches on her forehead and arranging the covers properly around her.

When he tries to leave his daughter would somehow sense it in her sleep and start whimpering and stretching out her little arms towards him. He’d have to reluctantly wrap her arms around the nearest plushie he can find and tuck her back into bed so that he can leave her room even if it breaks his heart to leave her alone.

It’s the greatest test of his patience to coax his sick kids into eating when they don’t want to. He ends up freezing juice into ice-cubes and forcing them to suck on them since there’s no way he’s going to let them be dehydrated if they already can’t eat.

On the rare occasions that Ranmaru comes down with something his kids would try to cook for him, just like he does for them.

Most of their well-intended concoctions (e.g banana beef bowl with chocolate sauce and salad) were vetoed by his wife in favor of his health though.

They also get the idea to surround him with things that they think will make him happy and get well soon.

Somehow one of his bass ends up taking up the other half of his bed, a bunch of bananas on top of it. There’s a packet of beef jerky as well, in case Daddy gets hungry. The cat basket gets moved from the living room to the foot of his bed and the cats along with it.

When his wife checks in on him it’s to see his head cushioned by his children’s favorite plushies, an extremely large teddy bear on one side of him and an equally big Prince Cat on the other and Ranmaru himself drifting in and out of consciousness because it’s too warm, there’s too many things in bed with him and yet he doesn’t have the strength nor the heart to get up and sleep somewhere else.

papa!Ai:

So much research. So much data. So many questions for the pediatrician who has to resist the urge to throw Ai out of the consultation room.

Another papa who keeps vigil over his sick son’s bedside the entire night. His wife finds a cable trailing out of the master bedroom and into their son’s room because it wouldn’t do for him to run out of energy halfway through keeping watch over his boy in case he needs him for anything.

Would try out folk remedies to see if there was any truth in them. His wife had to remove the leek compress he wrapped around his son’s neck when he came down with a sore throat because the poor boy couldn’t sleep with the smell so close to him.

Makes sure his son takes his medicines on the dot. May take a sample of any medicine left over to analyze for future use.

Would try to break down and explain to his boy the illness that he’s down with in an attempt to make him feel better and not so afraid. It doesn’t work.

The only thing that happens to Ai is that his heart stops and he short circuits but give him a few days away and he’s back to normal. It’s canon that he overheats and came down with a fever once? Okay, we can go with that.

Would sit by his feverish daddy’s bedside, changing the damp cloth on Ai’s forehead that always gets warmer faster than usual.

Would also try feeding Ai, who has to bend all the way down to get to his son’s determined hand holding up the spoon and get dizzy from doing it too often.

He nods off to sleep while looking after his daddy. Rather than carrying him back to his own room, Ai lifts him into bed with him instead. His boy ends up curling up into Ai’s side to sleep while Ai is slightly mystified by how soothing a child’s warmth can be.

#utapriciation #utapri #uta no prince sama #papa!qn #reiji kotobuki #ranmaru kurosaki #camus #ai mikaze #papa!reiji #papa!ranmaru #papa!camus #papa!ai #headcanons #answering asks

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captainhuggermuggerus · 5 years

Text

Medusa of the Deep

This was getting ridiculous.

There were ten fishing boats in the village, with three to seven people on each. Well, there had been. Now there were only enough people for three of the boats, because the rest were all dead of jellyfish poisoning.

As to the rest of the men, who were supposed to handle this kind of thing. They had all refused to go back out into open water and deal with whatever was reaching up and killing their own. That left the women.

They were meeting at the church, supposedly to decide who they were going to make sweaters and socks for, since not everyone could get yarn and winter was coming. However, it was also to discuss the jellyfish problem.

Meg was the oldest, a short woman whose husband, while he lived, had told her she was never allowed on his boat lest she capsized it. She had gotten her revenge by not letting him in the house until he’d washed off every bit of fish smell.

The joke was that Meg had no sense of smell.

Meg was sorting scrap yarn from their indulgent summer projects. “Has anyone actually seen it, though? The jellyfish? Must be massive. And how do they keep catching it?”

“They’re idiots,” was Suzanne’s comment. Suzanne had gotten married last year and was expecting her first baby, which made her irritable. She loved children but hated being fat. Her husband sometimes slept at the pub because she was more upset as she got bigger.

Laurie rolled her eyes. She was the village teacher. “We know that. My husband says they keep catching her in the nets, and trying to put her back.”

“Oh, a her?” Meg asked, putting down the soft yellow yarn. “And how did he know the gender of a jellyfish? They’re blobs!”

That gave them all pause, and they stopped, looking at each other.

“Idiots,” Laurie muttered. Although she wasn’t clear as to whom she referred.

Meg started cackling. “They keep catching the same mermaid!” she chortled.

“Well, why don’t they stop doing that?” Suzanne grumbled.

Meg finally stopped laughing. “We need to go talk to her, see what can be done.”

“Why did they say jellyfish if she’s a mermaid?” Suzanne asked.

Meg was back to sorting the yarn. “The first ones anyone met were the ones with the long fish-tails, those were mermaids, but no one knew about the other kinds of tails for ages. She’s still a mermaid, she just probably has jellyfish tentacles instead of a tail.”

“And we will be able to talk to her…why?” Laurie asked. “Since she’s been attacking people?”

“Well, we aren’t going to drop nets and try to catch her!” Meg was scandalized. “We are going to be civilized about it, and discuss what’s going on, and come up with a solution.”

They all took a moment with that, realizing that, while they loved their husbands, they could be a bit dumb, and it had gotten several people killed.

Suzanne sighed. “We’ll have to go out at night.”

“I’m packing food,” Meg added. “Laurie, can we use your husband’s boat?”

Laurie shook her head. “Engine’s broke.”

“Suzanne?”

“It’s one of the new ones, I have no idea how it runs. What about you, Meg?”

“I sold Ted’s boat to pay off the house ages ago. I have a rowboat, though.”

“I’m not rowing anything,” Suzanne was final.

“I can,” Laurie added.

“So can I,” Meg decided. “You and I will row. Suzanne will keep things from falling overboard while we do.”

“Are you sure you should?” Laurie asked, concerned.

“I’m eighty-two, not dead. We’re bringing sandwiches. And apples.”

And so it was decided.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Suzanne was not impressed by the rowboat.

“It’s got seaweed growing on it!”

“That happens,” Meg agreed. “Hop in and hold the basket so we can push it out.”

Once they were out on the water, Meg and Laurie rowing-and Meg was trying to get Laurie to understand the actual rhythm-and Suzanne was clinging to the side with one hand, and the basket of food clutched the other.

They rowed out into the bay, Meg deciding where they should stop.

“Do you think the mermaid speaks English?” Laurie asked. “Because this could get complicated.”

“Well,” Meg thought it over. “Usually, they have some idea of local human languages. If not English, maybe she knows some Swedish or Danish, I know a little of those. Anyone else know any other languages?”

“French,” Laurie offered. She was a teacher, after all, French was a sign of a well-taught teacher, and also a governess, which she had been as well.

“What about you, Suzanne?” Suzanne seemed focused on not getting dumped overboard, even thought hey were barely tilting. “Gaelic.”

“Seriously?” Laurie was incredulous. “I didn’t think anyone knew that anymore!”

“Me either. Where did you learn?” Meg added.

“My great-grandmother, when I was little. Why are you pitching this thing every way imaginable?” she added, strident.

They were barely moving. “Sorry, dear,” Meg offered. “We’ll be more careful.”

Having reached the middle of the bay, they stopped rowing, and Meg lit the other lanterns they had brought, so they were in a blaze of light.

“Now what?” Laurie asked.

“Now,” Meg told them. “Now, we wait. Who’s hungry?”

They were happily into the sandwiches when the water suddenly bubbled up.

Meg put her sandwich down. “Oh, lovely, that must be her. Suzanne, lean to the port side, would you? Thank you. dear.”

The water bubbled up and the surface tension broke, revealing a dark head and two dark eyes, narrowed.

“Good evening,” Meg greeted her. “Would you like a sandwich?”

Eyes stayed narrowed.

“We wanted to talk to you, about what’s been going on in the bay, but like civilized people, over food,” Meg continued, fishing out another sandwich. “Do you like apples? I’m Meg, these are Laurie and Suzanne.”

Still nothing, but Meg offered her the sandwich anyway. Suzanne sighed deeply.

“We don’t have nets or anything boneheaded like that,” she offered. “We’re in a rowboat, for heaven’s sake.”

The mermaid raised one brow at that, a brow that didn’t have hair but the faintest suggestion of scales. Then, carefully, she extended one arm, and took the sandwich, raising her body halfway out of the water. To brace herself, she exposed a few tentacles, making sure to keep them outside the rowboat.

She took a bite of the sandwich. Meg had made egg salad sandwiches for all of them except Suzanne, who hated egg at the moment. She had gotten chicken salad.

“Thank you,” The mermaid’s voice was a deep rumble. “I’m Anya.”

“A pleasure to meet you!” Meg agreed.

Anya took a bite of the sandwich, and her eyes lit up. “This is good!”

“Egg salad,” Laurie offered. “Meg makes the best egg salad sandwiches.”

After they ate, Meg gathered the napkins up. “Now, we need to talk about the idiot men and what’s been going on out here. We’ve heard everything they’ve said-what about you? What’s been going on?”

Anya leaned on the rowboat, her tentacles curling underneath and up the other side so the little boat wouldn’t capsize. “I’m not sure. I got caught in a net, and they pulled me out, usually people apologize and let you go, but they seemed to think they could give me away? I hit someone getting off the ship. It was hard-tentacles don’t work too well out of water.”

Suzanne shook her head. “Idiots. Our husbands are idiots.”

“We knew that, though,” Laurie told her.

“And I thought that would be the end of it, since I hit someone with my tentacles, and I know they’re poisonous, and I went further offshore, so I wouldn’t interfere with their fishing. And they kept coming back, and I started to use my tentacles to defend myself, and I’m afraid people got hurt.”

“People got killed,” Suzanne offered.

Anya slunk down in the water. “I grew up in these waters. They’re my home, too.”

Meg reached over and patted her hand. “There, now, dear. We aren’t trying to make you leave. We need to provide a solution, that’s all. And your family was probably here alongside ours for years, and no one ever noticed the other. So, how did that work?”

“We had an agreement. We would drive the fish upwards, to the nets, and in return we would not be caught in them.”

“That sounds great,” Laurie commented. “We’ve had such trouble getting in good catches for a while now.”

Anya nodded. “And I don’t mind! I only eat the little fish, or the eggs. But I don’t want to be carted off somewhere.”

Meg was thinking hard. “We need to talk to the actual fishermen, but since they’ve been idiots and half of them are dead, they will appreciate the help. Even if we have to smack them with spoons. Can we meet back here in two nights?”

“Sure. Can you bring another sandwich?”

Meg patted her hand. “Of course, dear.”

. . . . . . . . . . . .

It took rather a lot of persuasion on Laurie and Suzanne’s part to get the men tot listen, and finally Meg was so irritated that she came into the church where they were meeting, threw a basket of partially thawed fish guts on the floor with a bang, and glared at all of them.

“You’re idiots,” she informed the now-silent church.

“Look, there are places down south that---” “Young man,” Meg narrowed her eyes. “Before Laurie came back with her fancy degree to teach-I love you, Laurie, you are a boon to this town, this has nothing to do with you at all-I was the teacher here. I took you outside and tanned your backside myself when I found out you were declawing all the cats based on one book that you should never have gotten. You are not allowed to make decisions like that. You have no respect for life. Anya-that’s her name-is a mermaid. She’s from here, just like we are. Her family used to drive the fish up for us, back when this town actually had money. She’s come back. If we work with her instead of acting like idiots, we can start to have something again.”

He opened his mouth, bright red, and then closed it. He really wished Meg would forget the declawing thing.

“So, she wants to not be caught in the nets. I think we can all agree that, since she will help-driving the schools of fish to the nets-we can all do that? This is a very simple equation, you know.”

The men looked at each other, somewhat shamefaced.

Laurie and Suzanne high-fived, knowing Meg had made the point for them.

“Good,” Meg announced. “We’ll go tell her. Don’t a single one of you make us liars.”

That last, she added with a finger-shaking.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Over the next three months, the town had greater catches of fish than in the previous ten years. They were able to rebuild the library and fix up the school.

Meg also made sure they rebuilt the promontory walk over the deep part of the inlet. That was where, when she was a girl, the mermaids would come up to the surface, and people could talk to their aquatic counterparts. For a while, it was simply her and Anya. Then other people started coming.

And other mermaids.

When Meg saw ten of them, some medusas like Anya, others with fish tails, or wrapped in kelp, talking to the children that Laurie had brought down for the day, she knew the town was going to be all right.

If you like this, consider visiting my Patreon (Link in blog since I haven’t worked out how to add a link at the end of a post, sorry)

#writing #fantasy #mermaids #monster mermaid #mermaid

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ecovoyage · 5 years

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What’s the deal with palm oil?

You eat a plant-based diet. You never purchase or wear (advertise) clothing made from any animal. You don’t support businesses that pro-animal cruelty or anti-LGBTQ+ or pro-racism. You avoid aquariums & zoos like the plague and don’t buy fast fashion. You understand the false assumptions linking morality and distance travelled, morality and tradition/culture. morality and superiority. You wouldn’t dare purchase from Nestle or any of their smaller businesses. HOWEVER, you still eat palm oil.

So what’s the deal with palm oil?

I’m glad you asked.

Fundamentally, palm oil is the oil extracted from oil palms. Oil palm trees are native to West Africa. Today, however, the largest producers and exporters in the world are Malaysia and Indonesia. About 85% of the oil is used for food. It is found in over half of packaged foods at the grocery store, such as ice cream, shampoo, lipstick, detergent, bread, fast foods, and nut spreads, just to name a few.

Palm oil destroys the health of humans and non-human animals as well as the environment, and exploits workers and habitats every day.

Let’s start with the environment:

The tropical plants thrive in a wet, warm climate - the tropical rainforests. Unfortunately, these regions of rich biodiversity are being desimated at alarming rates in order to provide land for these huge plantations.

Palm plantations are the leading cause of rainforest destruction in Malaysia and Indonesia, and they produce 90% of the world’s palm oil (Rainforest Rescue).

Every hour, a rainforest acreage equivalent to about 300 soccer fields is cleared for palm oil plantations. At current rates, by 2032, 98% of Indonesia’s rainforests may be gone.

The loss of rainforests:

contributes to global warming emissions: the Indonesian rainforests grow on tropical peatlands, a major carbon sink. After clearing native trees, all remaining vegetation is burned and the land is drained. This process releases drastic amounts of CO2 into the environment. Clearing rainforests accounts for about 10% of TOTAL GLOBAL WARMING EMISSIONS.

Harms animals and their habitats - Rainforests used to produce palm oil are home to unique species of animals and plants, some found nowhere else in the world. Deforestation is destroying crucial habitat for endangered species including the orangutan, elephant, and tiger.

Pollutes the air - Burning rainforest lands to make way for oil palms creates significant air pollution. Exposure to the smoke from such fires is estimated to contribute to 339,000 deaths every year in Africa and Southeast Asia. Oil palm plantations also use copious amounts of chemical fertilizers and pesticides. In fact, fertilizer use in Asia increased by 1,900% in the last 40 years, primarily due to the growth of the palm oil industry. Damn.

Palm oil is also used for biofuel. Almost 50% of biofuel imported to the European Union is used for motor vehicles.

Okay, okay, so it’s terrible for the environment. And for human animals?

Palm oil ruins the lives of people who depend on rainforests for their livelihoods.

Up to 2 million Indonesians work in the palm oil industry. Laborers are subject to low wages for long hours of grueling work. Reports of forced labor and slavery are persistent and more than disturbing.

Child labor is another serious problem. The industry often compels children of palm workers to work, treat them poorly, and pay them dreadfully low wages (if they pay them at all).

The industry also violates the rights of indigenous peoples by seizing extensive tracts of their land (forced eviction).

The palm oil industry loves to remind everyone that it provides work for people. You know what else provides work for people? Prostitution. Three cheers for terrible arguments!!!

Health Impacts

Like all oils, palm oil is the extraction: what is left over. To make this analogy understandable, since most people aren’t eating palm trees anyway, let’s use the analogy of flax seed oil. Flax seeds, one of the world’s oldest crops, are loaded with omega 3 fatty acids, fiber, protein, and most importantly, carbohydrates (our primary form of energy!). The omega 3 fatty acids are crucial as the human body does not create its own ALA (alpha-linolenic acid). This nutrient helps to lower cholesterol, reduces artery inflammation, and even reduces the size of tumors. Flax seeds are also high in lignans, which have been shown to reduce the risk of cancer. Flax seeds contain up to 800x more lignans that other plant foods! The dietary fiber found in this seed are also incredibly important for digestion. People eating the government-backed diets (or worse) are at huge risk for Type 2 diabetes. Thankfully, flax seeds are effective at controlling blood sugar levels. Flax seeds are super versatile. Try sprinkling them on a salad, into a smoothie, on oats, mixing them into your favorite plant-based yogurt or ice cream, mixing them with water to replace an egg aka chicken period, use them to thicken anything you cook/bake. Lazy? You could even mix them into water to get that extra oomph in your day. ANYWAYS, back to the oil analogy! Despite the flax seeds amazing health benefits, that doesn’t mean it’s processing into oil keeps all these benefits. Imagine you have those beautiful flax seeds on your counter. They then go down an assembly line of underpaid, overworked laborers before entering a giant extraction machine. On the other end, after undergoing many different temperatures (oh yeah, real cave(wo)men stuff. just like our ancestors... sigh), and being exposed to various pesticides and pollutants along the way, the viscous material at the end is unrecognizable. Let’s start simple. During the extraction process (of all oils, bear in mind) nutrients are stripped away. The only macronutrient that remains is the fat (0g protein, 0g carbohydrates) and the sources of nutrients are low if not non-existant. Foods digest easier when they contain a balance of macronutrients. Oils also slow blood flow, increasing the risk of cardiovascular disease and has a negative impact on our immune systems. When these oils are heated, chemicals are released into the air; this increases our risk for lung diseases and other respiratory problems. Luckily, there are so many healthy sources of fat that are also loaded with other macronutrients and micronutrients (try a loaded sweet potato with plain peanut butter, banana coins, cinnamon, and sprinkle of seeds). Back to the point: this flax seed analogy is equal to the palm oil extraction process. Palm oil has about the same nutritional profile as olive oil and therefore is completely unnecessary. Palm oil contains large amounts of harmful fatty acid esters that are known to damage DNA and cause cancer.

Sustainable Palm Oil: Does it exist?

Good question.

Short answer? No.

Palm-oil forests certified as “sustainable” are being destroyed faster than non-certified land. Sustainability labels are leading to greater expansions of plantations, driving orangutans toward extinction and destroyed natural carbon-absorbing rainforests.

“The implication is that there is no reason for companies to claim sustainable palm oil and to use labels for certified products because, in terms of deforestation, there is no significant difference between a certified and a non-certified palm oil plantation. Both need (or needed in the recent past) the complete removal of the original tropical forest.” - Roberto Gatti, Agriculture Research Associate at Purdue University

Like most environmental issues, the products are pushed into the treadmill of production and facts are hidden, due to the power and riches of businesses and the government. Don’t fall for their destructive actions.

Alternatives

All oils are heavily processed and provide no health benefits (more information coming soon on my blog). However, palm oil is the worst of the bunch. If you must use oil, I recommend avocado oil as it has a high smoke point or coconut oil due to its mild taste and versatility. Coconut oil is great for skincare, haircare, and dental care! Lately I’ve been adding a step to my daily routine: Oil Pulling. This ayurvedic practice kills harmful bacteria in your mouth, reduces bad breath, helps to prevent cavities, reduces inflammation and improves gum health, and whitens teeth. How to oil pull? Put about a tablespoon of coconut oil in your mouth and swish around for 10-20 minutes. Then spit out the oil and brush your teeth. (Alternatively, keep a spoon with coconut oil in your mouth).

Anyways, back to palm oil.

Some final facts

More than 62 million metric tons of palm oil are produced globally on 20 million hectares of land, with projected growth of 5 percent per year until 2020.

Palm oil is sometimes hidden on the ingredient list. It may be: Palm oil, Palm Kernel Oil, Palm stearin, Palmolein, Palmitate, Sodium Lauryl Sulfate and many others. Sometimes it is simply “Vegetable oil.”

There’s nothing “natural” about the extraction of palm oil. After refining the flesh of the palm fruit and the kernel, the oil is modified for different uses. Milling involves the steaming and pressing of the palm fruit to separate oil from kernel and fibers. Crushing is performed by cracking the kernel to remove the shell and then crushing and pressing again. Refining is how impurities are removed from the oil. Fractionation is how oil is separated into liquids (oleins) and solids (stearing). Distillation is how oil is heated and cooled to extract fatty acids. Interesterification is how fatty acids are rearranged to change melting points. Glycerolysis is when chemical bonds are broken with glycerol to keep oil from separating with water.

How to recognize, avoid, and combat palm oil:

Enjoy a home cooked meal. Fresh ingredients good for your health, the humans, the non-humans, and the planet

Read labels! Know the equivalencies. Don’t forget cosmetics, food for your animal companions, and cleaning products

Google for alternatives! Hazelnut chocolate spreads are delicious, and they don’t have to contain any oil

Customer is king. Supply and demand! Reach out to retailers to create palm oil free products. So long as you keep buying them, you are driving production. As fewer people buy these products, businesses won’t keep producing it. This goes for all animal products as well of course

sign petitions and write your elected representatives! Online campaigns put pressure on policymakers responsible for biofuels and palm oil imports. Have you already signed all of Rainforest Rescue’s petitions?

Speak out & donate. Protest marches and street action are keys to change and threatens policymakers. People are also often hesitant to donate to charities, which is understandable - try The Oranguatan Project. After donating, you can see on an interactive map exactly where and how your money is helping stop palm oil production!

Leave your car at home. For more reasons than just palm oil!

Be informed and inform others. Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is also arguably the #1 reason why change doesn’t happen quicker. Big Business and governments would like us to believe that biofuels are good for the climate and that oil palm plantations are sustainable. Spread the word – share this information with your family and friends and encourage them to rethink their consumption habits.

**Use up the products already in your possession that contain palm oil to not create waste.

And remember, there is no Planet B.

Sources

https://www.rainforest-rescue.org/topics/palm-oil#start

https://www.worldwildlife.org/pages/palm-oil-the-hidden-truth-lurking-in-your-home

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/magazine/2018/12/palm-oil-products-borneo-africa-environment-impact/

https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-lifestyle/nutrition-and-healthy-eating/expert-answers/flaxseed/faq-20058354

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stereksecretsanta · 5 years

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Merry Christmas, @moretomhardy!

Happy Christmas, @moretomhardy!! I hope this fluffy piece of sap is to your liking. <3

Read on AO3

*****

life-shattering love

His mother never talked much about love.

She was quiet, but he’d see her watching his dad, and he knew she loved him.

His dad, when he did talk about it, said that love was life-shattering, the kind of thing that no one ever quite recovered from, something so deep and changing that he could always look back and say--this moment.

This is the moment I fell in love.

Loving Stiles was nothing like that.

~*~

He falls in love with Stiles the summer before college. It's a slow sticky summer, the whole world moving with a kind of mesmerizing laziness. For once, there is nothing trying to kill them. No witches in the woods, no pixies in the preserve, no selkies in the swamp.

(Stiles giggles around a spoonful of ice cream when he says that, sweaty and beautiful in the sunshine.)

He realizes he loves Stiles the summer before college, when they can finally breathe. Nothing is trying to kill them. The nemeton is healthy again, growing into a tree so massive Derek isn’t sure how anyone can not notice it, but it’s quiet, strengthening the land and the pack, all of its restless, destructive magic quieted by a spell Stiles created, that Kira burned through, that Lydia screamed into being.

Stiles takes to coming by his house, that summer, and Derek thinks maybe he’s bored--Scott and Malia are gone, traveling before Scott begins at UC Davis. Kira is still in town, but she spends her time divided between Satomi and a kitsune who wandered into Beacon Hills in February and promised to teach her.

Sometimes, Derek thinks he can smell that strange coach on her, but she blushes when he mentions it so he stops.

Lydia leaves after the summer solstice, in a wash of red hair and tears, and fierce promises to see them all before the semester begins.

“Do you think we will?” Derek asks, and Stiles shrugs.

Licks his lips and says, “Do we have lemonade?”

~*~

When he was growing up, they lived in peace.

There were whispers, lessons about what hunters were like, what they could do to a wolf pack. There was training in the woods--but those training games always felt like playing with his favorite sister and uncle, and not like something that would one day save their lives.

He'd hear Peter yelling at his mom, sometimes. That they were weak, that they would be hunted because of it.

But they lived in peace. In a golden haze of every good thing, where Derek was safe and sure that he always would be.

He never dreamed of something like the fire, or someone like Kate.

For a long time, he felt guilty, for not realizing that could happen, for not seeing the danger .

Sometimes, he still does.

They have never lived in peace. Scott, Stiles. The puppies that have gathered around them--they don't know what peace can be like. They don't understand games in the woods that mask training, don't understand telling legend and stories just for the sake of stories.

But as the quiet peace of Beacon Hills stretches and the sun-soaked summer turns, Derek wants to teach them.

He watches Stiles, and thinks that he would be beautiful, in the soft golden warmth of peace.

~*~

Stiles drags him to the department picnic for the fourth of July. Derek doesn't fight it, is content to let Stiles pull him with long fingers wrapped around his wrist and a hopeful smile. He dutifully carries plates of brownies and bowls of pasta salad and cases of beer. Parrish grins at him, tan and flirty from the edge of the water, and Derek flushes as he looks away.

"He likes you," Stiles says, softly, unwrapping another package of hotdogs.

Derek raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Not interested."

He doesn't explain more than that, just takes the hot dogs and chicken to where John is manning the grill. He gets a beer and a wide smile for his trouble, drawn into conversation with a few deputies, while Stiles bustles about like a particularly demented mother hen, and the sun beats down hot against his shoulders.

Derek itches to smooth sunscreen into pale skin, but wordlessly hands the bottle over. For the rest of the day, there is a white smear on Stiles’ shoulder and the scent of chemicals and coconuts mixed with grass and sweat and ozone. It's intoxicating.

Later, he piles plates high with chicken and the cucumber salad Stiles raved about, with buttery corn on the cob and creamy potato salad, and goes to find Stiles.

"Sit down," he orders, and Stiles watches him with a small smile, and deep knowing eyes. They sit in the grass, an ant tickling his ankle as they eat, pressed shoulder to shoulder as Stiles talks about growing up with the entire department as an extended family. Tara brings a plate of brownies and thick chocolate cake over to them and Stiles lights up, this lovely brightening that makes Derek's breath catch as the sun slowly sets.

They share the brownies and cake, and Derek doesn't watch the way Stiles licks the fork clean, but he also doesn't nudge Stiles away when he slumps against Derek's shoulder and tips his head back to watch the stars and wait for the fireworks.

~*~

Stiles spends a lot of time at his house.

But then--Derek spends time at the Stilinski house.

The sheriff mentions wanting to remodel the bathrooms and update the kitchen one night and Derek quietly offers to help.

"I worked in construction, when we were on the road," he says. "I liked building things."

Stiles watches him, eyes bright and curious and warm.

"I could pay--"

Derek waves a hand. "I'm not taking your money," he says, almost offended, and stands, gathering up the dishes from their dinner.

He hears Stiles as he turns on the water to soak the plates, his voice a low steady murmur, "Pack cares for pack, Dad. Let him do this."

Later, the sheriff finds him, while he's reading and waiting for Stiles to clatter downstairs to leave for a late showing of some superhero thing he's excited about.

"Thank you," he says, and Derek shrugs.

"I haven't done anything yet."

"No," the sheriff says slowly. "You--Stiles wanted to go away for college, and after what he and the girls did to the nemeton--he can't. Not really. And you--you're good for him. You always have been, even when I didn't like you. You keep him safe, and you make him happy."

Derek's heart is pounding and he isn't sure what to say, so he goes with the safe bet of saying nothing, just staring at the sheriff with wide, wide eyes.

Above them, Stiles shouts and there is a muffled curse as he slams into something, and Derek twitches to go to him. The sheriff smiles, softly, and pats his knee. "Thank you, son."

It aches, hearing that word. But not as much as it should, he thinks.

~*~

Lydia blows into town in a whirlwind of silk and curls and late summer heat, and he finds himself at her lakehouse for Labor Day.

Kira leans into him as Lydia and Stiles argue about how to make margaritas, and Derek digs his bare toes into the plush carpet, impatience and contentment warring for dominance in his chest.

"Sorry I was MIA this summer," Kira mumbles into his side and Derek wraps an arm around her, tugs her close and lets her scent--bitter and electric with a cut of jasmine--soothe the sharp edges Lydia always drags up in him.

Stiles doesn't love her, not anymore, but there is always something about her that lures Stiles in, away from Derek and there is a very petty part of him that loathes it.

"You needed the time," Derek says to Kira, and she hums, quiet agreement, and watches Stiles for a moment.

"What are you going to do when we're all gone?"

He doesn't answer, because he doesn't actually know.

But as he watches Stiles laughing in the water, tanned and beautiful in the sun, and dripping on him when he leans over Derek with a smile free of shadows, he thinks--they'll be ok.

Whatever happens.

He'll be ok.

~*~

He didn't always like Stiles.

That thought makes him laugh now. That there was ever a time when he didn't adore Stiles, is laughable.

But he didn't.

He didn't trust humans, and Stiles didn't understand werewolves, and was so damn determined to help Scott, the way Derek should that he hated Stiles.

And then there was the hospital and the pool, there was Peter and Stiles' presence, like he was meant to be there.

There was that other endless summer, when the betas were missing and Stiles was all that kept Derek from a slow slide into insanity.

There were so many little things, things that dragged him back to Stiles.

He doesn't know when he stopped hating the flailing sarcastic boy with his fierce loyalty and sharp, impossibly brilliant mind.

He doesn't know when he began to trust him, or when that trust softened into friendship and he has no fucking idea when it twisted into love.

He doesn't know why it doesn't terrify him--love has always been a sharp edged tool meant to cut and hurt him and those around him.

But Stiles--Stiles isn't like that. Stiles has been the steady shield between him and the world for so long that Derek can't imagine Stiles ever hurting him.

It's as laughable as a time when he didn't like the boy who has somehow become his entire world.

~*~

Stiles likes being in the house, and Derek likes having him there.

After the fire, he was never really comfortable in packs, with people who weren't Laura--it's one of the many reasons they never really settled down, why they were constantly moving, their thin pack bonds to each other all that kept them from going omega.

But he remembers long nights in hotels they'd crash in for weeks at a time, when Laura would sprawl on her bed and watch TV until her eyes couldn't stay open and Derek would read whatever book she'd found for him, and they were comfortable and together, alone with their thoughts and never alone because that's what pack was--it was never being alone.

Stiles is like that.

He'll come in and not even talk to Derek, just curl up in his favorite seat and read through his homework, making notes and exchanging texts with Lydia, while Derek reads in his recliner. Sometimes, Stiles would mumble a greeting and stumble into Derek's room, crashing out on his bed, and Derek would only go find him when his snoring got too loud, or his breathing dipped into the panicked uptick that meant nightmares.

Then Derek would slip into bed and curl around him, his hand spread over Stiles' rapidly beating heart, his voice a soft whisper as he promised the sleeping boy he was safe.

He fell asleep there, more times than he liked to think about, and Stiles would wake, slow and content, and it hurt, watching Stiles smile at him, soft and warm in Derek's bed because it meant everything to Derek and nothing at all to Stiles.

~*~

Fall settles over Beacon Hills like a lover, with a whisper of cool wind and a touch of snow, with the cascading color of the trees and the scent of pumpkin in the air, and Stiles shows up with a big bag and two rakes, his eyes sparkling as he drags Derek out into his massive yard to rake the leaves.

"I live in the forest, you idiot," Derek says, and he hates how fond he sounds.

Stiles grins and shrugs and says, "But if we don't rake, there are no piles to jump in."

Derek stares at him for a long moment, long enough that Stiles fidgets under his stare, and then he shrugs and starts raking.

He gets three blisters and his ears are freezing but it's worth it for the gleeful smile on Stiles' face when he launches himself into a pile of leaves and the giddy laugh he lets out when Derek slips into his wolfskin and barrels after him.

~*~

Later, Stiles curls up in front of the fireplace and Derek sprawls across him, and Stiles pets his fur, long soothing strokes until the boy and wolf fall asleep.

~*~

The house is cozy, a quiet, warm thing.

When he first started looking for a house, he was looking at big, sprawling things, and sleek cold places—and they never felt right.

“I get the oversized manors,” Stiles said, one night while he was looking at the listings, curled up next to Derek. “But what’s with the modern deco cold shit?”

Derek shrugged and picked at the fraying thread on his tshirt, avoiding Stiles gaze. “It’s what we lived in, in New York.”

Stiles is quiet for a long time. He doesn’t actually say anything, until he’s getting ready to leave, and Derek is biting back the urge to tell him to stay.

But he pauses, and looks back at him. “This isn’t where you grew up or where you were with Laura. This is for you—where you are now. Pick somewhere you’ll love.”

He did.

Because Stiles watched him, patient and waiting, and hopeful, every time Derek showed him a house, and because—

He was so tired of living in a graveyard, haunted by ghosts.

Still. It’s a house.

A small, cozy thing that he loves, that feels like his , like something he can build on.

But it's only when Stiles is there, his heartbeat steady and his eyes bright, that it feels like more than a house and a possibility.

It’s only when Stiles lazes on the couch or shuffles out of the guest room, when his breathing and heartbeat and arguing and laughter fill up the little house that it feels like a home.

~*~

The pack goes away to college and Stiles--doesn't.

Stiles, the one Peter always claimed was the clever one, the bright ambitious human who could give Lydia a run for her money--stays.

He gets offers. Acceptance at Stanford and Columbia and MIT, and he shrugs and declines each, even when Derek draws him aside and murmurs that money isn't a problem.

"I have scholarships," Stiles says softly, and Derek blinks at him. Staring because he can't understand this.

"I don't want to leave," Stiles says, simply.

"You've always wanted to leave," Derek says, blankly.

Stiles shrugs. "It's not so bad, now, is it? Things are quieter."

Dread pools in Derek's gut. "Do you have to stay," he demands. "Is that what the spell did?"

Stiles smiles at him, bright and warm. "Maybe I just found something worth staying for," he says, softly, before turning back to the apple pie he's making.

Derek lets him, let's him turn away and doesn't comment on the fact that Stiles doesn't answer him.

So they settle into life, without the pack, and if Stiles is around more, Derek thinks--it's normal.

With only the two of them here, they have to gravitate toward each other. Need each other's support and friendship, their pack more than they ever have before. It's comfortable to see Stiles sprawled on his couch, reading over his homework, to quiz Stiles on bio terms while Stiles makes them dinner, to spend the weekend with Stiles and John, working on the Stilinski house and watching old movies that are so terrible he actually likes them.

It's comfortable and easy and it feels so right it makes him ache.

~*~

Stiles isn’t life shattering. He’s something easy and warm, and he slips into love with him like he crawls into bed, settles into it with a long soft sigh and he wonders about it sometimes--because it’s not earth-shattering.

It’s easy.

It’s easy and terrifying and comfortable, the way Kate and Paige never were and maybe that is why when he thinks of loving Stiles, it makes him smile and his hands tremble with want and not fear.

~*~

He falls in love with Stiles that fall, forever long, with the scent of burning leaves in the air and his fingers cold where they grip Stiles’ elbow.

He falls in love while Stiles smiles at him, fond and warm and welcoming.

~*~

Stiles drags him to a party for Halloween. It's the first party Stiles has bothered with since he started at BHCC, and Derek hides his grin at Stiles’ nerves, slips into a leather jacket and a pair of jeans that makes his ass look great.

Stiles blinks at him, a fond smile turning up his lips when he sees Derek, but he doesn't say anything, and Derek--Derek doesn't say anything about the tiny costume Stiles appears in.

They get a lot of looks at the party, but Derek ignores them, keeps his gaze on Stiles, at the bright golden eyes and the flush in his cheeks and the smile so wide and happy as they dance that it makes him forget for a moment how much it hurts that Stiles isn't his.

~*~

The truth is--

He falls in love with Stiles, a slow slide that he only realizes that long summer, but something that has been building maybe since the day they met.

He falls in love with Stiles--and nothing changes.

Stiles invades his space, and drags Derek out of his brooding, plies him with food and random facts and idle musings. He’s there when one of his mother’s old allies arrives in Beacon Hills to renew treaties, and there when the same ally offers marriage to bind the packs.

He’s always there, and that--that means something.

“Maybe,” Cora says, when he Skypes her, “it means he cares about you.”

“Of course he does,” Derek says, immediately and dismissively. “I’m pack, Cora. He has to care about me.”

“I’m pack and I don’t give a shit about any of them except you and Stilinski.”

Derek smiles, fondly, “And Peter.”

“Sometimes,” she grunts and Derek grins.

“Are you gonna do anything about it?” she asks, and he cocks an eyebrow, earning a scowl. “He cares about you, Der. Are you gonna take a chance on that or are you going to pine indefinitely?”

He shrugs, and thinks, that is probably answer enough.

~*~

It’s not that he’s pining. It’s not even that he knows he loves Stiles, and that every night he comes home to find Stiles asleep on the couch, every text message he gets only reminds him that this brilliant beautiful boy is never going to be his--because he could try.

Stiles doesn’t talk about people, not since Lydia and the brief, over before it began fling with Danny.

But there is this ever present fear that if he says something now-- he’ll fuck everything he has with Stiles up, and he won’t get another chance.

“It might be worth it,” Peter says and he thinks about his life, without Stiles in it.

“No,” he says, soft and definitive. “It wouldn’t be.”

~*~

He's a little surprised when John insists he join them for Thanksgiving.

The work he's been doing on the Stilinski house is done now, and there's a preening sense of pride in it, in knowing that he did that for them.

He isn't entirely sure when he started consulting on cases with John--he thinks maybe over dinners, offering shy opinions between John and Stiles’ heated debates, all too aware of Stiles watching him with fond affection.

However it happens, the fourth Thursday of November finds him in the Stilinski kitchen, a bemused smile on his face as he watches Stiles and John. They’re arguing about duck and yams while Derek quietly cuts green beans for the casserole and there’s stuffing burning in the oven. It’s chaotic and different from any Thanksgiving he’s ever been to, and when it’s over, when he’s sitting with a glass of beer and a full belly and Stiles is leaning against his shoulder, eyes half-closed and drowsy, while The Matrix plays on low, he thinks--it's perfect. He thinks--he hasn't been sad and lonely all day.

"Laura loved this movie," Derek says, softly, his lips almost brushing Stiles’ ear, and Stiles laughs. Soft, a huff of breath against his collarbone that makes him want to squirm away and curl closer. He is aware that John is watching them, his gaze soft and warm, and for once, it doesn't make him itchy with panic.

"Mom loved it too. Said it was her payment for watching football and cooking all day."

John makes a scoffing noise. "She just liked watching Carrie-Ann Moss and Keanu Reeves in leather for an hour."

Stiles flails a little and John's smile tips evil. "She'd have loved you, Derek."

His whole face goes bright red, but Stiles' is soft and gentle, and moments like this--moments like this it's almost impossible to remember, Stiles isn't his.

Stiles isn't in love with him.

Stiles is pack, and a friend--his best friend--but he doesn't want everything Derek does.

And that is, surprisingly, ok.

"She would," Stiles says, softly, and his voice is heavy with meaning and it makes Derek's breath catch in his throat, and his fingers, on Stiles’ knee tighten just a little, a spastic little movement he can't stop and Stiles doesn't mention.

~*~

Sometimes, he can forget.

When Stiles is running on too little sleep and he's short tempered and bitchy, snarling at Derek while he studies and mainlines coffee and Redbull--when he hasn't showered or eaten anything but cold pizza for a week, when he sets up camp on Derek's couch in old sweats and only moves to race to college for his final before he comes back and throws himself into studying for his next test--moments like that, it's easy to forget.

But then there are moments like these.

When he comes home and Stiles is sprawled on his bed, face slack with sleep, skin still warm from the shower, smelling like Derek, and wrapped in his clothes.

And when he's like this, all of his stress and defenses stripped away, soft and vulnerable and willing to be so in a 'wolf's den--Derek is almost breathless with how fucking beautiful Stiles is.

With how much he wants him.

He watches Stiles for a long time, and then toes off his shoes and goes to make chili and baked potatoes.

When Stiles stumbles out of the room, summoned by the lure of food, a crease on his face from the pillow, he doesn't really stop until he crashes into Derek's side and makes a low, pleased noise, pressing his face into Derek's arm.

Derek breathes a laugh, and wraps an arm around Stiles waist, holding him upright while he finishes their dinner.

"How was it?"

"Horrible," Stiles groans, and he can hear the pout he knows is on the boy's face. "I hate it."

"Poor baby," Derek says, mildly and Stiles pinches his hip. Derek laughs. "How 'bout we eat and then you can pick whatever you want to watch--even one of your ocean documentaries--before you go home."

Stiles pulls back and beams at him, and it makes Derek's breath snag, his heart pounding because god.

He's used to Stiles, in his space, and beautiful, but he never really gets used to it.

And certainly not when Stiles is this close, his eyes flicking between Derek's and Derek's lips, and his heartbeat pounding steadily under Derek's hand where it's wrapped around Stiles’ waist.

"You're too good to me," Stiles whispers, and it brushes against Derek's lips. For a heartbeat that lasts forever--Derek wants to press closer.

For a heartbeat that lasts forever--he thinks Stiles will .

The oven beeps at them, and Stiles smiles ruefully before he pulls away and says, softly, "I'll make drinks."

They eat in the living room, and Stiles teases Derek gently as he navigates to a documentary that--thank god--isn't about the oceans and their nightmare creatures.

"You're a werewolf," Stiles says, fond and exasperated. "How are you scared of oceans?"

"It's too much water," Derek says stubbornly and because he knows it'll make Stiles roll his eyes and bite down on a grin and Stiles is beautiful, shining and warm at his side.

~*~

Sometimes, when he's alone, and the house is quiet, but the scent of Stiles lingers on the sheets, Derek will close his eyes and reach for himself, will wrap a hand around his hard cock and lazily jack himself off.

It's always lazy, just shy of teasing, and the fingers that brush against his hole are the same way--the same way Stiles would touch him.

Gently.

Reverently.

Teasing.

He pinches his nipple and twists, as he rubs over the head of his cock and he can see Stiles, that bright knowing grin that is telling him something , and he comes, gasping, moaning Stiles name.

He goes to sleep with the come drying on his chest, and it feels almost like a claim.

~*~

He falls in love with Stiles in the icy cold of winter, while snow swirls down around them and Stiles chatters around a Christmas tree and smiles at him, and there is something warm and big in his gaze, something that is terrifying and wonderful and he aches under it.

~*~

“He seems happy,” Lydia says and Derek glances at her, dragging his gaze from where Stiles and Malia and Kira are baking, studies the petite redhead. She's relaxed, more so than he's ever seen her and her gaze on Stiles is blatantly affectionate.

“I worried, when he said he was staying. After everything, Stiles deserved a chance to get out,” she says and he nods. Because it's true, even if the idea of Stiles leaving breaks his heart.

“And now?”

She tilts her head, swirling eggnog in her cup and finally shrugs with a catlike smile. “Not my job to worry about him. Stiles is a big boy and he's happy. That's all that matters to me.”

~*~

Christmas Eve, the pack gathers at Derek’s house.

Stiles is wound up over it for days beforehand, and Derek watches, bemused, as his little cozy house is converted from a cluttered bachelor's pad to a holiday wonderland, something out of a magazine that makes him a little bit anxious of bumping into anything.

Still. Below the scent of cookies and baked ham, peppermint and cocoa, there is the smell of Stiles, sugar sweet and content, and the pack, filling up the space that he and Stiles have somehow made into a home.

It’s loud, chaotic, the kind of chaos Derek remembers from childhood and forgot over the long quiet fall. Scott and Stiles break a lamp playing Twister, and a game of Monopoly gets downright brutal when Melissa joins in, but by the time the third rerun of The Christmas Story comes on, Lydia and Malia are talking soft and low about college and Scott is asleep on the floor, Liam’s head on his knee, and Stiles is tucked against Derek’s side, his eyes heavy-lidded as he leans into Derek’s warmth.

~*~

Cora used to wake him up on Christmas morning, before the sun crept up and Laura jumped on him, before the smell of Peter’s cinnamon applesauce and pumpkin pancakes woke the house. She’d crawl in his bed and stick her cold feet up against his shins and when he peered at her, golden eyes shone back, her little face bright with excitement that never seemed to dim. “It’s Christmas,” she’d whisper, and Derek smiled.

“Do you think Mom knew about our Christmas morning runs?” Derek asks her as he watches Scott stagger to his car, and listens to Stiles puttering through the house and Cora laughs.

“Of course she did. She was Mom.”

~*~

Christmas eve, his mom used to say, was for pack, and Christmas--Christmas was for family.

He isn’t sure how that ends with him in the Stilinski’s kitchen on Christmas morning, but with most things related to Stiles and his father--Derek doesn’t fight it much. He leans against the counter and watches Stiles making breakfast, and what he means to say is, “Thank you.”

What he says instead, soft and wondering, is, “I love you.”

~*~

The eggs burn, and Christmas smells like scorched eggs and spilt orange juice, and Stiles tastes like coffee and toothpaste and sugar when he kisses Derek, long fingers threaded into Derek’s hair, heart beating familiar and steady against Derek’s chest, and it feels...right.

Not earth shattering, the way he always thought love was supposed to be. It feels like a warm blanket on a cold night, like a steady hand on his shoulder and eyes bright and shining in the dark, whispered secrets and endless days, solid and safe and reliable.

“Shh,” Stiles murmurs, and Derek realizes he’s clutching too tight, and trembling against him, and Stiles’ thumb is brushing over his jaw, his eyes soft, soft, so fucking soft. “Shh, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

He does.

He always has.

Derek smiles and he sees John, a smug smirk on his lips as he steals bacon, before he kisses Stiles again.

~*~

He falls in love with Stiles over an endless summer and a fall that lasts forever, over an icy winter and years of saving each other and every day spent with him, doing nothing and everything, and sharing life.

He falls in love with Stiles as the boy stares up at him, a grin on his lips and the pack counting down behind them, and fireworks bright against the sky and the waning moon.

He kisses Stiles as the year ends and a new one begins and he falls in love all over again.

#moretomhardy #stereksanta18 #*fic18 #*gifts18

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theveryconfusedartistsart-blog · 5 years

Text

Flowisk (and Friskiel!) OTP headcannons!!

Awhile back, maybe a year or two ago, I got bored and looked up those ‘which character does what in your OTP’ and I made a list of headcannons for Frisk/Flowey(Asriel)!

At first I did it for fun, but later intended to use it to help me with writing my fic, but now it’s just sitting there, so I thought I’d share some of it! Keep in mind- that in most of these I also headcannoned the both them to be in their older teens/young adults (15/16 - 20somethings) because that’s where their ages are mainly set during the fic.

Don’t worry, everything is age appropriate!

1. Who is the early bird/ Who is the night owl? They’re both night owls, but Frisk is a lot easier to wake up.

2. Who is the big spoon/ Who is the little spoon? Frisk is logically the big spoon, I imagine if Asriel was in his real form they would switch around a lot.

3. Who hogs the cover/ Who loves to cuddle? They both love to cuddle, but Flowey would never openly admit that he does, unless he’s in his real form, then he’s a cuddle machine. Frisk hogs the blanket, they don’t mean to though.

4. Who wakes the other one up with kisses? Frisk!

5. Who usually has nightmares? Both, but Flowey’s are more annoyingly consistent.

6. Who would have really deep emotional thoughts at the middle of the night/ Who would have them in the middle of the day? Both would be night thinkers.

7. Who sweats the small stuff? Asriel/Flowey through and through

8. Who sleeps in their underwear/ Who sleeps in their pajamas? Since Asriel is fluffy, (older him) would wear lose clothes, sleeveless shirt or just pajama pants. Frisk (also older) would wear lose clothes too, but I wouldn’t put it pass them to want to wear cute pajamas and footsies.

9. Who makes the coffee (or tea)? Frisk is a tea drinker, Flowey likes coffee even if it’s not good for him.

10. Who likes sweet/ Who likes sour? Flowey loves sweets, mostly likely will only try sour things to prove his toughness, Frisk likes sweets a little better than sour as long as their subtle and not too fatty.

11. Who likes horror movies/ Who likes romance movies? Flowey is a picky connoisseur horror lover (you will only get him to watch romance in a movie if it’s part of a thriller or a horror movie) and Frisk loves romance but prefers comedy romances (will only watch horror if it’s a comedy horror film, or something like Warm Bodies) they settle on thrillers or anything else.

12. Who is smol/ Who is tol? Frisk is only smol in the relationship if Asriel is in his real form or anything other than the flower form, hah.

13. Who is considered the scaredy cat? If you asked, they would say neither, but Asriel/Flowey definitely has his moments that he’ll never admit to.

14. Who kills the spiders? NO ONE. NO ONE KILLS THE SPIDERS. FRISK FORBIDS. GET A DAMN CUP.

15. Who is scared of the dark? Frisk is, but they grow out of it over time, Flowey welcomes the darkness (and Asriel enjoys a nice nightlight because he doesn’t like to run into things)

16. Who is scared of thunderstorms? If they’re at night and extra loud, Flowey.

17. Who works/ Who stays at home? Depends, Flowey seems more likely to stay at home, but with the right push and self -esteem they’d both be workers.

18. Who is a cat person/ Who is a dog person? Frisk loves both, Flowey is wary of both animals (he’s afraid of dogs peeing on him/digging him up/eating him and cats have claws and are weird) but cats also remind him of Frisk in a way and both are very soft (Asriel probably is little more of a dog person)

19. Who loves to call the other one cute names? Frisk most of the time, but I’m sure Flowey/Asriel can come up with something.

(Yes, I know, I skipped over 20, shhhh, don’t worry about it)

21. Who has an obsession (over anything)? Flowey!!! (Frisk gets determined, but they don’t get obsessed) Little Asriel probably had a small obsession with stars and astronomy.

22. Who goes all out for Valentine’s Day? FRISK!!!

23. Who asks who out on the first date? Surprisingly Flowey, but he’ll never mention it being a date, Frisk will go all out for the next dates after.

24. Who is the talker/ Who is the listener? Flowey talks, Frisk listens. It’s always how their relationship has been since the start.

25. Who wears the other ones clothes? Frisk duh, but Asriel probably would wear their hats or house robes, Flowey will wear Frisk’s scarfs and hats when it’s cold. Everyone shares clothes here, it’s nice.

26. Who likes to eat healthy/ Who loves junk food? Frisk eats healthy fo sure, things like kombucha and Greek salad! Flowey loves all food, but yeah junk food is great too.

27. Who takes a long shower/ Who sings in the shower? Frisk takes long showers AND sings, Asriel’s showers are short but he sings for sure, Flowey probably likes to soak for a long time but is a very shy singer.

28. Who is the book worm? FLOWEY HAS READ EVERY BOOK AND BURNED EVERY BOOK. Frisk is a little too busy to think to sit down and read for fun, but they do like to read.

29. Who is the better cook? Surprisingly Flowey/Asriel, but this is a hidden talent to find.

30. Who likes long walks on the beach? Frisk. (Asriel enjoys the view but not the sand that gets stuck in his fur, and Flowey doesn’t like how gritty the sand is, it sort of hurts to travel in, he hijacks rides on shoulders)

31. Who is more affectionate? Frisk (Asriel is a very close second, depending where they are in the relationship, Flowey gets very, very affectionate but only behind closed doors)

32. Who likes to have really long (deep) conversations? Frisk, but won’t prod them out of Flowey. (But Asriel enjoys them too)

33. Who would wear “not guilty” t-shirt/ Who would wear “sin” t-shirt? Frisk wears the not guilty shirt, Flowey has the word ‘Sin’ drawn on his flower pot, this doesn’t change if he’s in real form surprisingly.

34. Who would wear “if lost return to…” t-shirt/ Who would wear “I am…” t-shirt? Flowey/Asriel would wear the ‘if lost return to’ shirt.

35. Who goes overboard on the holidays? Frisk, duh. (Asriel is a jolly close second)

36. Who is the social media addict? Neither, except maybe Asriel because he feels he needs to be up to date because he’s the prince and all.

37. Height difference or age difference? Flowey/Asriel is a little older and always going to be considerably taller, it’s great.

38. Who likes to star gaze? Flowey/Asriel!

39. Who buys cereal for the prize inside? Maybe Flowey depending on what kind of prize it is, Frisk gets excited for him.

40. Who is the fun parent/ Who is the responsible parent? Surprisingly, Asriel/Flowey is the fun parent, he has zero interest in his child seeing him as a bad guy, that’s his fear. Frisk is super responsible but knows how to be fun when it’s the right time.

41. Who cries during sad movies? Asriel and Frisk close second (Flowey will rarely cry, it depends on the movie)

42. Who is the neat freak? Probably Frisk, but I wouldn’t put it past Flowey for developing OCD.

43. Who wins the stuffed animals at the carnival for the other one? Flowey, he loves to show off, but Frisk is a little more precise and wins more.

44. Who is active/ Who is lazy? Asriel would be active, and Flowey becomes lazy if he’s in his flower pot for too long, and Frisk is average.

45. Who is more likely to get drunk? Frisk, since alcohol is technically poison for Flowey and Asriel is a good boy.

46. Who has the longer food order? Flowey because he loves food and Asriel because he’s a big boy.

47. Who has the more complex coffee order? Flowey.

48. Who loses stuff? Asriel . . . oh no.

49. Who is the driver/ Who is the passenger? Frisk drives!

50. Who is the hopeless romantic? Frisk, and secretly Flowey. Asriel isn’t hopeless, he’s a charmer, baby.

Okay, this post has gone long enough, maybe I’ll make a part two (yes, there’s more, these were a lot of fun to do!)

Here’s Part two!

#flowisk #flowey and frisk #flowey x frisk #friskiel #frisk x asriel #I am both sorry and not sorry for this being so long #and I know this is a art blog but it's turned into a fandom blog too so IDK

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