#let them have their cosy and quiet domesticity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vesper-tinus · 1 year

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begs you for more simon content, but maybe where he tortures his girlfriend with his awful dad jokes? xd idk if they qualify as dad jokes they are kinda dark 💀 the dog one haunts me

Hello! I'd be happy to!

Unfortunately, I am nowhere near as hilarious as Simon and Co., but I wrote my favourite pun, and hopefully that will be sufficient!

𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐮𝐧𝐬. Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female ! Reader

Summary: Waking up in the morning, you are faced with the consequences of having the King of Jokes in your home. Requested by anonymous—thank you very much for the interest! I hope it lives up to your expectations! Keywords: Established relationship—married, female ! reader, though only mentioned once in spouse-title (Mrs), a pun(?), romantic fluff. Wordcount: 1062

You wake up in your spacious bed. Alone, but with a light heart knowing that Simon is not far. Not only is he a light-sleeper, but also an early-riser, and part of you wonders if it's genuine, or something that has been learned. Drilled into him from years of military duty.

Though sometimes—most of the time—he remains next to you until you wake up.

He would never confess to it, but he enjoys watching you. Peacefully sleeping. Safe. A content expression on your resting face. He takes in every detail of you. From the fluttering of your lashes to the faint wrinkles beneath your eyes. The lovebites he left on your skin; the sleep lines the linen also left, and he smiles to himself at how lovely you are. How human it all is. How domestic.

Those quiet moments to himself are what grounds him. Most mornings he struggles to keep his hands from caressing your face, lest he risks waking you.

But on this particular morning, he is not beside you. So you abandoned the cosiness and warmth of your bed, course set, leisure-wear on, as you leave to find your husband.

You tiredly stretch your arms as you venture towards the kitchen of your shared home, yawning as you go. The house is peacefully quiet, but a different kind of quiet. It's silent, yes, but the closer to the kitchen you get, you hear stifled sounds of what makes home a home. The idle stirring of a spoon, the crinkling of a newspaper. The sounds of life. The sounds of living. The sounds of Simon.

Home is said to be where the heart is, and Simon is yours. Heart and home.

“Mornin’, love.” Simon’s voice is peaceful in the morning, but with a hoarseness to it that reminds you of how hard he worked you last night. Your legs certainly remember. “How’d you sleep?” he asks, looking towards you; hand outstretched for you to take. Inviting you into his space.

“Good,” you respond, coming to stand beside him, hand in hand. You lean down to press a kiss to his temple, and you feel Simon gently rotate the wedding band around your finger; you suppress a slight shiver feeling the engravings upon it. “Yours?”

“Perfect,” he hums contently, turning his head to press a kiss to your throat. “Kept the kettle on for you,” he murmurs softly against your skin, and you have to suppress another shiver.

“No breakfast?” you ask.

“Thought we could eat together.”

“Clever boy.” And for that comment, you are rewarded with a squeeze of your rear, his palm hot against your skin. A pleasant laugh escapes you as you wiggle out of his grasp to assess the breakfast situation, leaving your husband to his paper.

You hadn’t expected him to be a newspaper sort of man, but you’ve enjoyed learning all those little things about him. There’s always that feeling of pride in your heart of knowing that he lets you see those parts of him. That he is comfortable enough to share himself with you.

Simon absentmindedly stirs the spoon in his mug of tea as he listens to you working the kitchen. Slow and methodically, just like his mind. His lips slip into a secretive smile, partially hidden behind the newspaper. He steals glances at you between boring articles, his eyes often falling to your hands and how skillful you are with them. Both in and outside the bedroom.

You consider turning on the radio for some static, but decide against it. There is something blissful about the shared silence. How comfortable you both feel saying nothing, yet exchanging glances that speaks volumes.

The silence is only broken when Simon’s voice disturbs it.

“Some American celebrity died. An actress. Decently young, too.”

“Another one?” you call over your shoulder, shutting the fridge door with your hip, milk in hand. “I feel like everyone is dropping like flies these days… What's her name?”

Simon shrugs, feigning ignorance as he flips another delicate page of the newspaper. “Reese something-or-other,” he offers with another noncommittal shrug.

“Witherspoon?!” She was so good in Legally Blonde!

“No, with a knife.”

…

….

…..

The silence that follows is deafening as you turn to look at your husband.

Your husband who is looking much too smug for your liking. Smiling like a cat that had cream for supper.

You stalk towards him, the carton of milk discarded on the kitchen counter. Breakfast officially on hold.

“Simon”—you grab his chin with little strength, tilting his head back as you lean forward—”that was awful.'' It’s difficult to resist the instinct to laugh as your husband hooks his arm around your waist, feeling no remorse for your predicament. Gentle fingers resting on the dip of your hip bone—comforting, securely. You practically melt against him, it’s difficult not to. Some of your previous disgruntlement and tiredness dissipating with each gentle rub of his fingers.

Unfortunately, it’s all a clever ploy to lull you into a false sense of security, and once he knows he has you, he strikes.

Taken by surprise, you’re easily pulled forward. The drowsiness of a lazy morning having left you light on your feet. Simon managed to manoeuvre you into his lap. Your back to his chest as his muscular arms circle around to cage you against him. Newspaper discarded on the table.

“You’re a real piece of work, Riley,” you grumble with mock-annoyance, your eyes narrowing. The joke itself was fine, hilarious even, but the fact that you (literally) fell for it? There’s no coming back for that, and Simon is the kind of man who will hang it over your head.

“Me-Riley, or You-Riley, ‘cause if I’m not mistaken,” he says, “which I’m not. You took my surname, Mrs. Riley.”

“Fuck you,” you huff, cheeks warming at the flirtatious tone.

Simon has the gall to chuckle at you. You feel the vibrations coming from his chest against your back, and it makes your heart flutter beneath your ribcage. How easily you fall for his wiles, it’s almost unfair, but somehow, you cannot find it in yourself to be anything but grateful.

So you chalk it up as a win for him, and let yourself lean against him. Laughing as you replay the pun in your mind, and Simon has never heard a more beautiful sound.

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gretahayes · 1 year

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literally nobody fucking asked but here's my idea for a core four repair shop au.

they're young adults, like 21, and are out to forge their own paths as heroes and stuff. they're back together as a team—the four of them, again and always—and go to a quiet town with minimal, if any, other hero activity. tim's a city boy, but he makes the commute to the nearest city to get resources and stuff, and they've got a zeta back to gotham since everyone else can fly/has superspeed to get back to their cities.

they buy a nice house tucked away, get it soundproofed, and decide to renovate it themselves despite tim quite literally begging them to let him pay for someone else to do it.

while making a mess of the renovation, they find a quaint little shop for sale and are enamored by it, so they (read; Tim) buy it, and set up a shop, because hey, why not, and they put their plentiful skills together and make a repair shop.

(it's got no name, because they couldn't think of one, but they call it the fixing shop. locals call it that too, and when anyone needs something fixed, they take it to the fixing shop)

what does it repair? well, everything.

that's not a joke. if you broke anything, there's at least one of them that can fix it. from cars to metalwork to tech to dolls, if it's fixable, they can fix it.

the shop's a mismatch of several different workstations, an interior designer's worst nightmare, but it's cosy. homey.

there's general prices in their heads but like none of them are really doing this for the money? so it varies based on circumstances and how hard the job is.

if a kid comes in crying with a broken toy, cassie fixes it and accepts whatever the kid can pay for payment—if nothing, she does it for free. some snobby asshole comes in wanting to fix the expensive car they crashed while drunk driving and kon fixes it, sure, but the bill comes up to close to a million. and kon's sort of the only one that can fix it this well? so the person just pays and leaves, fuming. a distressed college kid comes in with a cracked to hell laptop but they can't afford another one and tim makes it good as new—the several, several parts he replaced make sure of that, like seriously it's barely the same laptop anymore—for ten bucks. he refuses to be paid any more. a nervous teenager comes in with a ripped dress, bart stitches it expertly well—and expertly fast—and charges fifty cents.

locals wonder about their scars, wonder about where their families are, wonder about the visitors they get, wonder how they have so many skills, but the core four just smile and say "trade secret"

if you come at the right time, kon's pulling a fresh batch of pastries or cakes or various other sweets from the oven and he hands them out. they're ma's recipe, made with love and all, so of course they're delicious.

cassie's finishing university locally, her mom wanted her to, bart and kon do it online, so their working hours are a bit odd. but they did accelerated classes and busted their asses to graduate a year early, so they're really proud of themselves.

tim finds ways to occupy himself.

it may or may not be a hotspot for supernatural activity, but they made friends with the creatures so it's fine

when cissie needs a break she comes to stay with them and everyone's happy. sometimes anita carves out time to spend in their peaceful little safe haven, and greta comes and goes when she has the time.

it's almost sickeningly domestic. sometimes after a fight they stumble home bleeding and sweaty and hurt, but happy.

#my rambles #yj #core four repair shop au #cour four #cassie sandsmark #tim drake #kon el #bart allen

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toomuchracket · 9 months

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he would want to rent a cottage/cabin or something like that (cotswolds/Joshua tree/nice/Yosemite) and play house with you when you’re not already living together. just cooking, exploring, fucking, sleeping and talking alllll day

combining with I feel like the vibe would be to get out of the city and just have some decompression time in the countryside. Regardless of AU, girly is working in a major city, Matty is jet-setting and both are likely city fatigued and need to spend some alone time with a beautiful view and about that holiday thing… i’ve had a really fluffy & romantic brainrot about driving to the english countryside with matty :’) not thinking about that one video OR maybe ireland?? i think it would be the cutest either during summer of autumn. don’t really have anything too specific in mind. (except they’d obviously have a lot of sex lol and if they’re staying at a cute b&b place they’d have to try and be pretty quiet because the walls are sooooo thin) just super cute, domestic cottage core/english murder mystery vibes and That’s so funny you should say that abt going away bc i’m on my way home from a weekend up at my family’s cottage up north and i would have loved to bring him along like a little lapdog in a purse 😭 like lazing around riverbanks, cuddling up and sharing a joint by the bonfire, finding cute little trails and having impromptu picnics sksndkdnfb

this to me feels quite birthday party coded, quite early in the relationship before you move in together, and before both of you busy little bees have properly developed the rhythms of being together and working and whatnot! anyway, it comes about because both you and matty are finding london exhausting, and you have the same week in late june free, so matty's like "fuck it. let's just go away for a few days, just us and mayhem and nothing and nobody else. i'll drive, we'll get a cottage somewhere nice and we'll just... relax", and you're like "that sounds dreamy let's do it". and in my head you literally stay in kate winslet's house from The Holiday (despite the fact it is not real), that cosy little cottage in the middle of a literal field - as soon as the door is opened, mayhem bolts in and settles himself somewhere unknown, which makes you both laugh (you find him later on a chaise longue in a spare bedroom snoring his sweet head off), and matty takes the opportunity to be like "i'm being so gratuitous here but just let me have a moment" before he scoops you up bridal style and carries you in, kissing you as he sets you down on the kitchen counter. you're like "we've been here five seconds and you're already acting like some austenian romantic hero. this is amazing. hitting several of my fantasies if i'm honest", and matty giggles like "give me five minutes to bring the bags in and then i'll carry you to bed and hit some more of them, if you want" - you're like "ok but if you take your shirt off while you bring in the bags you'll have hit another one already", and matty rolls his eyes but does it anyway because tbh his one goal in life is to turn you on (and oh, watching his biceps flex and back muscles ripple does it to an insane degree). so yeah, that's the first of many sex sessions in the cottage, after which you get cleaned up and redressed and walk hand-in-hand into the little village nearby to get some shopping; fancy wine, cheese, bread, fruit, all that good stuff, and ingredients for a proper cooked breakfast for the next morning, before heading back to just sit in the garden and watch the sunset together with your little cheeseboard dinner and a bottle of wine and honestly a joint too. matty abandons his "i am not letting you fuck up your lungs" bit so you can get high with him, and you sit giggling and kissing until you're sleepy and the two of you decide to go to bed - you fall asleep almost instantly, because of the wine and the weed and the fresh air.

the next morning, a lie-in after a great long sleep - more sex, then a shower, then matty cooking breakfast while you sit on the sofa with mayhem and coo at him (which makes matty go all gooey lol). it's not too hot or sunny, so you decide to spend the day taking mayhem for a loooooooooong walk along the river; he goes in for a swim and its the happiest you've ever seen him. naturally, matty considers moving out of the city then and there lmao. the three of you end up in a pub beer garden for dinner, you and matty chatting nonsense over your pints, before heading back "home" and having a bubble bath together with some wine, which inevitably leads to yet more sex. it's a perfect few days, which is something matty addresses when you're cuddled into his chest, listening to the birds and watching the sunlight stream through the curtains, on your final morning in the cottage - he's like "this has been perfect, waking up and spending my days with you. don't wanna go home", and you're like "neither do i. want to just be with you all the time". and then matty has an absolute eureka moment and says quietly "will you move in with me, please? really don't think i can go back to living alone and making breakfast by myself. s'a lot better when you've got your arms wrapped around me lol", and you kiss him softly and say "yes, i will", and you do!! i also think you write a little free-form essay about the trip when you get back to london, with an epigraph from another of your fav classic romantic female authors that perfectly describes how you feel about your own love interest: "whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same" <3

#mads answers asks #matty asks #fluff asks #moots <3 #into the birthday partyverse #toomuchracket best bits

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i-write-boop-spoops · 1 year

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Steven Stone and his S/O living together headcanons

first headcanon of the year, so yall know it's gotta be with my boi steven!

just some cute domestic fluff. gn! reader, not proofread lol

Enjoy!

When Steven asked you to move in

Randomly one rainy day as you watched a movie

Cuddled up on his couch in Mossdeep

You couldn’t even fathom saying no

It meant a lot, him offering you his space, his time, for the foreseeable future

And it just solidified how strongly he felt for you

Plus, it was such a quaint litte home by the sea!!

Steven… well he’s never really lived with someone before

Sure, he’s lived with his father

But that was when he was a kid, in a huge mansion, with a flurry of nannies and maids

Totally different to two adults moving in together

So it’s definitely an adjustment

Though he’s still very excited!

His cupboards are so bare oml

In terms of both food and cooking utensils

You’ve barely placed your first moving box

Before you’ve dashed to the nearest grocery store

And bought a cart’s worth of pantry and freezer staples

(You’re also gone ahead and ordered MANY kitchen gadgets, that Delibird should be here with them by tomorrow)

Despite Steven insisting that it’s your home now

He pays for practically everything related to your house

He’s such a sly bastard about it too

Like he keeps ‘forgetting’ to set you up with one of the bills

Or he already has his card out by the time your cashier is done ringing up your shopping

While it is very nice to be looked after financially

Especially by such a stunning male specimen

You still want to contribute, even in a minor way

He does eventually relent and let you pay for the PokeStarFlix subscription and some milk sometimes

The house has a very specific feel to it

Fresh, slightly sweet, slightly salty air

Always a touch cold

Tidy and spare, but still cosy

Noticeably warmer and homier since you’ve moved in

Steven definitely likes having someone who cooks in the house

Whether you only know how to make ramen or are basically a god in the kitchen

There is just something just so wonderful about a homemade meal to him

Especially by the person he loves most in the world <3

You know he’ll be hugging you from behind as you tend to something on the stove

While he is forbiddenfrom even touching the oven

He does try help out by cutting veggies or doing the wash-up after

Of course, he would never pressure, or even expect, you to cook for him

He’s more than willing to take you out for dinner or have something delivered

Even hire a chef for a day

You think that last option is a little much but you appreciate the sentiment

Surprisingly, despite Steven being a wealthy heir and all that

He’s actually quite… competent about looking after himself and his space??

He cleans up after himself

Vacuums, dusts, mops, etc.

Even does his own laundry

He LOVES his steamer

Though most of his stuff is dry-clean only so his washing machine is not used too often

At first, Steven is firm on keeping his office as his space only

He has a lot of paperwork to do and rocks to inspect

You don’t mind, since you get the run of the rest of the house

This rule doesn’t last long however

He’s quickly come to love just having you around

He’s lowkey clingy like that

Your presence is so comforting to him

So, he starts encouraging you to come sit in his office

“It’s a quiet place to read,” he’d say

“There’s a socket for your laptop,”

“You can keep your craft supplies in there,”

“You’re beautiful and I really want you near me while I work,”

You don’t really need convincing haha

Making your own little corner

Which you decorate with your favourite stones and some of your work/hobby stuff

When you’re in there together, you tend to keep to yourselves, yet still relishing in each other’s presence

While you both sneak glances at each other

And occasionally get up to give each other kisses

Steven still travels from time to time

You were already used to this from before you lived together

But going from waking up to him every day to sleeping on your own for a week or more

Does make your home feel a little empty

And your heart a little achy

Enough to make you stop Steven from doing his thing?

Absolutely not!

You can’t not let the guy whose last name is literally Stone hunt for rare stones!

Or do his job!

Plus, he always invites you along, so it’s not like he’s intentionally ditching you

He even gives you the option of joining him on his trips a little later on if it suits better

It is nice after a long week to just hop on a plane and stay somewhere exotic with your hot, eccentric boyfriend

Relaxing with Steven is somewhat of a funny sight

You’d be in your favourite hoodie and sweats/leggings

Hair not done

And he’ll be in a crisp shirt and slacks

Freshly showered, shaven and styled

Even a waistcoat/vest!

To him, no blazer = fun, casual

His pjs are so fancy and formal too wtf

Though he is not opposed to getting matching carbink or tinkaton onesies

The quality of your toiletries after moving in? Out of this world

Steven gets the good stuff

Luxurious creams, hydrating lotions, masks that leave your face so soft

And he’s totally willing to share his haircare/skincare products with you

Or buy you the ones specific to your wants/needs

You love, love, love rainy mornings in Mossdeep

Waking up next to your silver-haired dreamboat

Snuggling under the covers

Listening to that gentle pitter-patter

Before eventually pulling yourselves out of bed

Getting yourselves presentable

Then you put together some breakfast while he makes coffee (about the only thing he can compentently make)

And you sit together and idly chat and just bask in each other’s company

Just very peaceful and lovely

Which is a good way to describe your home with him :)

#steven stone headcanons #steven stone x reader #steven stone fluff #steven stone #champion steven #champion steven x reader #champion steven headcanons #champion steven fluff #silver haired dreamboat

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viperbarnes · 2 years

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Fifty First Dates [1/3]

[40s!Bucky Barnes x Reader]

Summary: Bucky Barnes has found his perfect girl, the only trouble is, she can’t remember who he is. That’s alright though, if he has to wake up everyday and meet her for the ‘first’ time, he absolutely will.

Warnings: memory loss, the reader is named, likely nothing else

Notes: This is a 50 first dates AU, obvs! it’s also a post-war AU. please let me know if you’d like a tag when i upload part one!

Brooklyn, New York – 1948

Bucky Barnes groans in regret and displeasure. The cold air leaking out of his open refrigerator makes him shuffle his feet, the autumn morning already far too crisp for his sock-less toes. With another grumble of forlorn misery, purses his lips and pushes shut the door.

Neatly curled letters stare back at him accusingly from the shopping list his mother had written for him two days ago, somehow having made itself invisible to him until well after it’s use ran overdue.

Bucky scowls at the note, leaning one hand tiredly against his small kitchen bench as he chews on the insides of his cheeks.

Sergeant James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, Howling Commando and Cap’s best friend. He could take a shot from a mile away and hit his target every time, but god forbid he need to remember the milk.

Or the bread.

Or the eggs.

His stomach growls then, as if rubbing in his current predicament, and Bucky sighs deeply, pushing off of the counter and checking the time on his watch. It was still before six, the schedule ingrained in him by the army well and truly outstaying it’s welcome in his civilian life. It would be one thing if Bucky even had a job to get up and get ready for, but as of right now, he was content living off his saved paychecks, relearning what it was like to be home again.

He ambles through a morning shower, and dresses smartly in a neat day-suit. Job or no-job, people often recognised him now, he couldn’t get around all scruffy-like, like when he’d been a street kid with Steve.

His stomach growls again as he closes and locks his apartment door behind him, placing his hat on his head. For a moment he considers going back inside and calling Steve up, asking if the punk wanted to meet to get breakfast, but he refrains.

A brief few flashes of domestic newlywed life between Steve and Peggy run through his mind, and Bucky decides quickly that he’d rather not disturb them.

The city has woken up some more since he’d first discovered his barren wasteland of a kitchen, and Bucky finds that despite his rather pressing hunger, he quite likes meandering slowly, people-watching and observing. He lived in a new neighbourhood now, only a couple of blocks away from his Ma, really, but he hadn’t grown up around these particular streets, and although they were still Brooklyn, they were new.

Bucky was still getting to know the layout of his new neighbourhood, where the stores were, and how long it took to walk from A to B… He isn’t surprised when he catches sight of a diner he doesn’t know, and hasn’t noticed before, but he’s well and truly starving now, and the joint looks cosy, so he slides inside to the chime of a tinkling bell.

Immediately Bucky feels the air change, the hustle and bustle of the street outside silenced and replaced by the quiet ambience of the restaurant. A radio competes with the sizzle of a stove in the kitchen, the sounds only just loud enough that Bucky can make out the replay of last night’s game, and a chef who paces in and out of view whistling jovially over both.

The diner is quiet, but he’s not surprised for the time, only a few patrons sat at either the bar or in booths along the wall, though they mostly seemed to be school kids catching a before-class meal. Bucky decides to go for the bar, passing several of the already-seated customers, and finding himself a spot for himself towards the back end of the place.

A waitress appears from the kitchens then, her eyes falling on Bucky right away, as though she were so used to the usual sights of her workplace that any deviation stuck out like a sore thumb.

“I’ll be with you in a sec, honey!” she assures him warmly, her accent buttery and definitely not New-Yorken. Southern, maybe, and he refrains from rolling his eyes at the cliche.

Bucky gives her a nod and tight lipped smile, watching for a moment as she passes by him, his eyes lingering on the tray in her hands and the plate of hotcakes that lay upon it. The smell of syrup and sugar makes him blink, and Bucky isn’t sure he can remember the last time he’d had honest to god breakfast food.

Not since the war, and certainly not for many years before it.

He watches as the waitress comes to a stop five or so seats away from him, delivering the plate to its intended customer, a pretty young woman who pauses writing just long enough to smile and thank the other woman before she returns to her book. His gaze lingers on the plump pout of her lips as she blindly brings a forkful of pancake to her mouth, syrup dripping provocatively over the plush skin before she can quickly catch it with her finger.

Bucky swallows and looks away, internally berating his own manners. Three years at war, and suddenly openly staring at a dame was alright? He shakes his head and plucks up the menu laid in front of him, eyes scanning the options.

“Coffee, hon?” The waitress appears back in front of him on the other side of the counter, pot in hand, though she hardly waits for his response before flipping over and filling up the mug in front of him.

“Yes, please,” he replies anyway, gesturing toward her with a nod.

“Cream?”

“No, thank you.”

The waitress smiles almost knowingly at him as she moves to place the coffee pot down, and pulls out a notepad and pencil.

“You don’t look like a cream kinda guy,” she tells him wrly, but before Bucky can process that, she dips her chin at the menu in his hands.

“Can I get you anything this morning?”

Bucky drags his eyes back to the words on the page, his eyes briefly flickering to his left, the smell of the hotcakes still tempting him, and he sighs, putting the menu down.

“The pancakes, please,” he asks, as if it were inevitable.

“Is that all, honey?” the waitress, he can see now her name tag reads ‘Carla’, asks. She doesn’t bother writing it down, simply pockets her pad and pencil.

“Yes ma’am.” He gives her a mock salute, which makes her smile widen just slightly.

“I’ll have Big Sal start workin’ on those right away,” she shakes her head a little as she moves away from him, and Bucky vaguely hears her shout back his order into the kitchen.

For the next half hour, Bucky slowly makes his way through his coffee and meal, flipping through the newspaper a previous customer had left behind. He’s just about to give up on deciphering whatever code the financial pages seemed to be written in and head home, when the students in the booth begin to file out. They call out their goodbye’s to Carla and Big Sal, one of the boys holding the door open for the rest.

As they finally leave, and the door begins falling closed once more, a strong gust of wind sends a chill through the diner like a wave, the bell above the door ringing loudly, followed by a startled gasp.

Bucky doesn’t have time to really see what's happening before several loose pages blow past him, scattering all around the diner before the door swings shut and the pages fall flat. His newspaper is ruffled violently, and he scrambles to contain it.

“Oh my gosh!” he hears a voice exclaim in panic, looking up just in time to spy you jumping up from your stool, frantically collecting up the nearest papers. On pure instinct alone Bucky stands too, carefully peeling pages off of the diner floor, glancing up when he senses you nearing.

“Thank you so much!” you say, rather frazzled upon seeing the papers in his hands.

“Of course,” Bucky smiles, dumbly staring back at you for a few seconds before he snaps out of it, and glances down at the sheets in his hands instead.

However, what he sees makes him blink, confusion colouring his features for a second as he takes in the images sketched all over the top page. Slowly, his eyes find yours again, understanding now why you were no less relaxed, even though your works had been rescued from the wind.

Your face is pained and clearly embarrassed, guilt written into your expression as you stare back at him sheepishly.

“I– I’m sorry! I was just practising and– well, you can only draw salt and pepper shakers so many times before you–!” you cut off your nervous rambling, and Bucky realises he still hasn’t said anything.

“You drew these? Just now?” it’s a dumb question, but it’s the frist thing that comes out of his mouth as he glances between you and the sketches. He would have thought they were photos if not for the pencil lines and smudge marks. Three sketches of him fill the page, all in various poses he must have taken up over the past half-hour. Bucky finds himself genuinely astonished by your ability, and how quickly you’d whipped up such incredibly detailed pieces, seemingly just for fun.

“I, uh… yes… I’m sorry...” you confess, sounding as though were preparing for him to be irritated by your focus on him.

“These are amazing,” he blinks back up at you, jerking when he realises he’s still just holding your things, and thrusts the small stack of pages toward you.

Clearly you didn’t mean to get caught, if your nerves were anything to go by, and he didn’t want to make you feel even more embarrassed.

At his compliments though, your nervousness dissipates completely, and you straighten up, beaming brightly at him as you accept the papers, tucking the lot under your arm.

“Thank you so much!” you gush, before ducking your head slightly again.

“But, I am real sorry about the spying… normally I’d ask folks first, but you looked very invested…” you explain, gesturing to the newspaper he’d left crumpled on the bar.

Bucky barely even glances back at it, already shaking his head as a smile curls his lips.

“If only all spying involved getting drawn by pretty girls,” it had been a hot minute since Bucky Barnes had flirted with a woman earnestly, innocently. Certainly not since the war, anyway. Since coming home Bucky had felt little like the man he’d been before, and had steered clear of dancing and dating in general, except for a few instances during the first year he’d been home, when he’d spent evenings propping up one end of a local bar, a quiet venue full of fellow veterans, where he’d met a few women who, just like him, hadn’t wanted to go home alone and be left with their thoughts.

None of those times had made him feel even a little bit like the skirt-chasing who’d been making every girl in Brooklyn swoon since he was sixteen.

Bucky’s heart speeds up in his chest.

What if that wasn’t the right thing to say? What if you thought he was strange? You really were lovely, and it wasn’t exactly as though he were looking for dates right now, but standing directly in front of you, Bucky felt a lot like this were life or death.

“It’s probably a lot more boring though,” you say slowly, your own smile growing shyly, like you were proud of your answer, and Bucky feels a shred of his self-doubt peel away. Your eyes flickered between his and the floor, a girlishness taking the place of any previous anxiety.

“I dunno, this comes with breakfast,” he shrugs, feeling his own trill of pride when you laugh, full and genuine, head ducking lower as you shake your head. He becomes aware suddenly, that you’re both standing awkwardly in front of the bar, away from your seats.

“I’m Bucky,” he offers, gesturing with his hand back to your seat, and somehow in the same movement, smoothly sweeping his own coffee several places up the bar so he’s able to seat closer to you. He leaves a stool between you, for propriety's sake, but even as you take your seat once more, tucking hair behind your ear, you turn in to face him.

“Effie,” you tell him. Bucky can’t help himself, he repeats it outloud, probably looking like a fool in the process, but he doesn’t care.

You talk with each other all morning, as if you’d known each other your whole life. He discovers you’re art teacher at the nearby community centre, that on every day off you’d come and have your breakfast at the diner, and that you lived with your father a few blocks away. Bucky is delighted to find you don’t recognise him, nor were you very familiar with his celebrity, and he tells you stories from the war, pride swelling his chest every time he makes you laugh.

Carla interrupts every often to ask about the status of your coffees, and Bucky isn’t enamoured so much that he misses the slight stink eye and coldness the waitress greets him with now, but he understands that you were a regular. Carla most definitely held a fondness for you, and this was his first ever time visiting the diner. He can’t blame the older woman for feeling protective, especially when you seemed to have an air of naivete.

Almost two hours pass before you catch sight of your watch, balking momentarily.

“Oh! The time!” you gasp, hurrying to gather your sketchpad and pencils. Bucky stands quickly as you do, pulls out your stool slightly, though you hardly seem to notice, too flustered now with packing up your things.

“I’m so sorry, I have to go before the markets close!” you explain, stuffing your things into a large folder that you tuck under your arm, before rifling around for your purse. Bucky quickly holds out his hand to still you, shaking his head with a small smile.

“Please, let me,” he pulls his wallet from inside his coat pocket and tucks a twenty into the handle of his coffee cup, just as Carla approaches quietly to collect the plates.

“Keep the change,” He winks in a friendly manner, but only receives a tight smile in response. It doesn’t sway him though. Not after the morning he’s had.

You call out your goodbye’s to your friends at the restaurant, and even Big Sal pokes his head out of the kitchen to wave to you. Bucky holds the door as you shrug into your coat, tuttering worriedly under your breath as you spill out onto the street at last.

“Thank you, for breakfast and for your company, Bucky,” you slow for a moment to face him and smile sweetly at him. Bucky is forced to clear his throat and blink several times, distracting himself by placing his hat on his head as he attempts to stifle the sudden rapid beating of his heart.

“Of course. Anytime you want it,” he refrains from calling you ‘sweetheart’ or ‘dollface’, not wanting to seem opportunistic.

He really had enjoyed talking to you.

“Any time?” you question sheepishly, cocking your head.

“You wouldn’t happen to be free again tomorrow morning for breakfast?”

Bucky’s heart does somersaults in his chest, and he rushes to nod and stammer out a response at the same time.

“Yes. definitely,” he confirms, still nodding, which makes you giggle.

“Same spot, same time?”

“Absolutely,” he’s still nodding, and you’re still giggling. He feels like he’s sixteen all over again.

“Okay, well… I’ll see you tomorrow, Bucky,” you reluctantly step back from him, beginning to walk away, but before you do, you turn and give him one last smile and wave, sending his heart spinning all over again.

It must take him several minutes to get a hold of his breathing again after you leave, and you’re long gone by the time he shakes his head and straightens up. He catches a glance inside the diner of Carla watching him sternly, and he can only shoot her one final friendly smile.

In time she’d realise there was nothing to worry about with him. Especially since Big Sal’s was his new favourite breakfast place.

---

As usual Bucky is up before the sun, but today is different.

He spends extra time in front of his mirror, taking his time shaving, making sure not to cut himself, he even bothers to style his hair for the first time in a long time, fussing over his parting and the volume. He doesn’t put on his best suit exactly, he didn’t want to look overly formal, but he does wear one of his nicest day suits, the pinstriped navy blue one that brought out his eyes.

It’s strange to Bucky, who’d been on probably a hundred dates in his life, that today fls so important, but somehow, he just does.

He had the same sort of feeling in his stomach that he’d had the day Steve and the rest of the 107th had marched back into camp back in ‘44. Bucky had watched Steve, now four times his previous size and jumped up on super soldier serum, and he’d known deep down in his soul that everything was about to change.

As Bucky prepares to enter Big Sal’s now, he feels the exact same way.

He takes a deep, calming breath and smooths his hands over the front of his suit. It wasn’t a bad feeling by any means, just significant. He pulls open the door and welcomes the tinkling bell overhead, but all of his senses are completely focused on searching for you.

He’d arrived earlier than agreed, hoping to beat you there, but he knew there was a chance he might lose. Still, when he spots you at the counter, sat on your stool, he doesn’t expect to be met with quite so-a-familiar sight.

For Bucky, today had felt monumentous, and yet, it seems for you to be a day like any other, perhaps. You weren’t looking out for him, or waiting, or even paying attention to your surroundings at all. In fact, you already had your plate of pancakes in front of you, your eyes trained on your sketchpad, one hand absently hovering over the fork beside you.

Bucky’s heart jumps and his stomach sinks, and he checks the time on his watch, a sick feeling building in his belly. Had he gotten the time wrong? Had you been waiting for him for who knows how long and had gotten tired?

Some of the confidence is knocked from his step, but he calms himself once again and squares his shoulders.

Yesterday you’d both already eaten by the time you’d gotten talking, maybe when you’d asked him for breakfast you’d just meant the same thing!

Bucky takes careful, slow strides towards you, waiting for you to maybe look up and notice him, but you don’t. Carla hovers at the far end of the bar, refilling some salt and pepper shakers, and he can’t even find comfort in her disapproving stare.

“Effie?” he keeps his voice from wavering as he finally comes within talking distance of you, ducking his head low as if to check if it were really you. Surprisingly when you look up at him it’s with a slightly startled gaze, and you blink rapidly as though you’re shocked to see him standing there.

“I’m sorry, sir, do I know you…?” your voice is hesitant and unsure, and Bucky can’t help the visible confusion that spreads across his features at your own unfamiliarity.

“I… yes, it’s Bucky… from yesterday…” Bucky swallows anxiously as your eyes search his face, puzzled.

“Yesterday? I’m sorry, I think you may have the wrong person…” you try to explain, pulling back from him slightly, and yet you speak with such conviction that if Bucky hadn’t been there, didn’t have the memories so clear in his mind, he would have believed you.

“Effie, I’m confused, we met yesterday morning here at breakfast, and you asked me to meet you again today,” Bucky tries to keep his head, tries to make calm, logical sense of the situation, despite his rising heartbeat and his quickling panicking mind. You shake your head again, and reel back even further from him, turning your body away as you frown deeply.

“That wasn’t me. Yesterday morning I was at work. I didn’t come for breakfast, I only do that--”

“--On your days off,” Bucky finishes your sentence, and you shut your mouth tight, staring at him in alarm.

He’s relieved when he sees Carla suddenly spot him, her eyes widening as they flicker between you and Bucky. Suddenly she’s darting around the counter, all but running toward the two of you.

You look back at the older woman, panic written across your features, even as she passes you by and grabs Bucky by the arm.

“Carla?!” Your voice wavers and your stool screeches on the floor as you hurriedly stand.

“Sal! Call Tom!” Carla calls over her shoulder to the man who had suddenly appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Bucky opens his mouth to ask just what the hell was going on, but Carla’s grip on his arm tightens, and she drags him away from you.

It’s not until the waitress has pushed him outside that Bucky snaps out of his shock, and he tugs his arm out of the shorter woman’s hold, and spins to face her.

“What the hell? What the hell is going on?” He tries to keep his voice low still, but gestures through the diner window where he can now see Big Sal escorting you into the kitchen, his arm comfortingly slung around your shoulders. His frustration falters when he gets a last glance at your face, genuine fear and panic etched into your features.

Carla looks flustered and she lets out a heavy sigh, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Look, you seem like a nice enough fella and all, but Effie’s not like other gals,” She tells him. Bucky shakes his head in confusion.

“What? What does that mean?” he implores, and Carla sighs again, before cursing under her breath.

“She was in an accident!” Carla relents at last, digging into the front of her apron and fishing out a pack of cigarettes and matches, quickly lighting up. Bucky straightens, blinking as he processes the information.

“Two years ago, after she came by for breakfast, she was hit by a car on her way to the morning markets. Must have hit her head or something’, they don’t know, but now she can’t make any new memories,” Carla reveals after letting out a puff of smoke.

Bucky’s mind reels.

“She wakes up every day, believing it's the twenty-fourth of June, 1946,”

“Wha– but– she’s an art teacher! She was telling me all about–”

“–She used to be an art teacher. The twenty-fourth was her day off, so she never actually has to take her class. She hasn’t taught since the accident,” Carla cuts him off, sounding solemn. Bucky can only continue to stare at her, and after a moment, she digs out her cigarettes and offers them to him. With little thought, Bucky takes one, and lights up for himself.

“How does she never figure it out? I mean, she has to realise, right?” he asks after he’s finally gotten a hold of himself again. Carla switches from foot to foot and taps off her cig.

“Her Father doesn’t like to upset her, so he plays along every day. She comes out for breakfast, wanders the morning markets for a while before she stops by the bakery and butchers on her way home. They all know about her condition and do their best to play along as well,” the waitress tells him, but Bucky just shakes his head again.

“But what about the things you can’t control? What about today?” his voice is soft enough that his words don’t sound accusatory, but Carla still frowns at him.

“She has her bad days, of course! She’ll be upset and confused but her father will explain everything to her. Then tonight she’ll go to sleep and in the morning she won’t remember a thing.”

Bucky stays quiet for a while, thinking everything over, chewing on his lip. Next to him, Carla puts out her cigarette under her shoe before turning to him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Like I said, you seem like a decent fella, Bucky, but Effie’s not the girl for you,” she gives his arm a squeeze, before letting her hand drop. Bucky looks up at her mournful expression, and he gets the feeling that she really was sympathetic to his situation.

“I think it’d be for the best if you don’t come back here again, alright?”

—

“Wait, so… she wakes up everyday and does the same thing? Again and again?” Steve holds out his hand as he interrupts Bucky’s story, a deep frown knotting his brows together. Bucky sighs deeply, but nods as he takes a hefty swig from his beer.

The two men were currently standing surrounded by tools and various pieces of wood that apparently amounted to a baby’s crib, though so far they’d only managed to build half of it, before realising it was all wrong, and had to start again.

“I guess she had a plan for her morning, which makes things easier, I guess…” Bucky mumbles, sighing again.

“I dunno, I just can’t stop thinking about it,” he continues after a pause, pressing his finger to his temple.

“I mean, say it were me, and I had a bad day where you had to sit me down and explain how for the past two years, you’d play along every day, letting me do the same things and going nowhere,”

Steve looks up at him as he speaks, frowning again.

“I’d be angry that you, and everyone else, were keeping the truth from me. I’d be pissed off that you were all just lying to me,” Bucky shakes his head, and gestures widely with his free hand.

“Yeah, it isn’t the route I would take either,” Steve hums, folding his arms over his chest.

“But, Buck, it’s not your responsibility, and the waitress is probably right; maybe you should stay outta her way from now on…” the blond suggests, catching his friend’s eye, before both men take a sip of their drinks.

Bucky shifts in his place, chewing the inside of his cheek as he thinks everything over for the hundredth time since yesterday morning.

“If I could find a way to… to fit into her routine, is that wrong? I mean– I could talk to her Father about it all, I could–”

Steve cuts him off again.

“Buck, think about this. Everyday she’d have no idea who you are, and you’d start from scratch. For what? To what end, exactly? There’s no future there, Bucky.”

Bucky glares at his own hands. He shouldn’t be worrying about all of this still, he should have found it easy to forget all about the girl from the diner, as easily as she would forget him

But he can’t. He doesn’t want to.

“You know that I’ve struggled since coming home, Steve, but yesterday morning when I woke up thinking I was going to get to see her again… It was the first time in a long time it felt like I had something to live for,” Bucky tries not to let his voice shake when he speaks, and fixes his lifelong friend with the most serious expression he can muster. Steve shifts, uncrossing his arms and looking out the window for a second, before meeting his eye again.

“I– she made me feel like maybe I did survive for a reason… I don’t care if everyday I have to start again, I… I think she’s worth it, Steve,”

A hand lands on his shoulder, much like the previous day with Carla, but this time, Steve uses his hold on him to pull him in closer, embracing Bucky tightly.

“Just be careful, Buck. If things don’t work out, that doesn’t mean you didn’t still come home for a reason, alright? Make sure you do this for the right reasons,” Steve tells him gently. Bucky nods against his friend’s arm, and when Steve pulls away again, he keeps a hold on Bucky’s shoulders for a moment longer, before clearing his throat and stepping back. Scratching the back of his head as he focuses now on the mess of parts all around them, Steve hums nervously.

“Come on, we told Peg we’d have this done before she gets home,” Steve squares his shoulders and rolls his neck. Bucky also takes a look at the parts around them and shakes his head.

“I say we call in the Commandos for backup. There’s no way you and I are getting this done on our own.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes/you #bucky barnes/yn #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x ofc

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hannahsmusings · 11 months

Text

Jackson

*Jackson was about to object, not needing to wrap himself up in a blanket but before he could even get words out, you were grabbing one and draping it over him, feeling like a child and feeling like he looked utterly ridiculous all wrapped up, looking up at you with an unimpressed look but he did feel so much warmer now, it being quite cozy but he wasn’t about to admit that out loud* Now I look just as ridiculous as you. *he motions to the blanket draped over your shoulders, letting out a low laugh as he looks back down at the board of food, trying to not focus on your doting, trying not to imagine what life would be like with you here with him, taking care of him and worrying about him, just like he was sure you did for your prick boyfriend who probably didn’t even deserve it* *he rolls his eyes to himself as he tucks himself further into the blanket, not noticing how non-put together he looked, unaware of his hair being a bit messy, completely oblivious to how you were admiring him right now* *he reaches a hand out and grabs another cracker with some cheese, popping them both into his mouth and chewing slowly, savoring the flavor, trying to force his brain to focus on the good food instead of how he desperately wanted to share this blanket with you, pulling you into his lap and giving you all his body heat, knowing he’d make some stupid comment about how being naked was the best way to stay warm and how you’d laugh, that twinkle in your eye only brightening as you stripped for him, his eyes completely glazed over as he stared at the fire, imagining the domestic and intimate bliss he’d feel and share with you, his heart breaking at this future he’d never have, with a woman he didn’t deserve in the first place* *he lets out a sigh before looking down at his own glass and swirling the wine around, needing a safe topic, not able to look at you, not fully trusting himself not to stare* I wonder how many emails I have right now… missed calls…

______________________________________

*giggles and shrugs at your comment* Ridiculous yes, but warm also yes. *grins happily, heart clenching at how soft and cosy you looked, this vulnerable side to you being so attractive, it making me want to crawl into your arms* *picks at some of the meat and vegetables as we both eat in quiet for a moment, sipping my wine and staring into the fire as my mind runs away with me, everything between us feeling so easy and allowing myself to indulge in the thoughts of if I wasn’t with Matt and if you weren’t my boss, and we were just two people sharing each other’s company, unable to help imagining curling up in front of the fire with you, seeming to crave this alternative reality I’d created* *glances at you as sees you were thinking quite hard top, admiring you for a moment before sipping my wine, sighing a little as you bring up work and that crumbling any dream I was having as I shrug* Probably a lot. Not anything we can do about it though, I’ll help you work through it all tomorrow. *murmurs softly, already knowing I was staying the night here and the thought scaring me at all, liking the idea of being with you*

#submission #hannah plot

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blu-joons · 2 years

Text

HUSBAND ATEEZ A⇴Z HEADCANON ⇴ Park Seonghwa

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Whenever he was around you, Seonghwa loved to at least have his arm around you. Being in a space with you and not having you by his side just wasn’t acceptable for him, he would find a way to get you and hold on tight.

B ⇴ BOYS

You quickly integrated with the boys, thanks to the advice that Seonghwa gave you. Before your first meeting he debriefed you on their likes, dislikes, and personality traits so that you could make sure to tick all of the right boxes and make sure that you bonded quickly with the boys by showing them how well you got them.

C ⇴ COMFORT

It doesn’t matter how busy he is, when Seonghwa senses that you need him, he makes sure to be there. The worst thing for him is when he knows that the fans have upset you, quite often he’ll comfort you first before politely reminding the fans that he’s happy, and that they should understand that too.

D ⇴ DOMESTICATED

Whenever he finds you doing something around the house, Seonghwa joins you in a heartbeat and offers his help. Although he’s not the best at noticing when something needs sorting out, as soon as he notices you tidying up the living room or starting to prepare dinner in the kitchen, he’ll be there, ready to assist you and complete all of the instructions that you have for him to do to get your jobs done quicker.

E ⇴ ENGAGEMENT

You had no idea that Seonghwa was planning to propose to you, and so when he did, it came as a complete surprise to you. He had made sure to keep everything as secretive as possible, relying on the boys to help organise details when he wasn’t able to get away from you to sort things out. They were more than happy to help Seonghwa out, knowing just how important the surprise element of his proposal was for him.

F ⇴ FAVOURITE THING

Seonghwa’s favourite thing about being with you was having someone there to go home to and talk to about his day, especially when his day had been a particularly long one. There was nothing quite like the feeling he got when he pulled up to your apartment and saw the light was on, feeling his stomach knot as he hurried to get out of his car and race up to your apartment the door to be able to see you.

G ⇴ GOING OUT

The two of you enjoyed both going out and staying in, it tended to revolve around what your plans were. You enjoyed exploring, and spending time with your friends too, but at the same time, the two of you were fans of a cosy evening at home too when you were able to spend an evening together and watch something.

H ⇴ HONEYMOON

Because Seonghwa was so busy, your honeymoon ended up being pretty lowkey. The two of you went to a quiet place just outside of Seoul, enough to escape and enjoy some time together, which was the main thing, but close enough that Seonghwa could get home if he was needed to get something done at work.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

Every day, Seonghwa made sure to tell you that he loved you at least once. It was the one fact that he never wanted you to forget, even if he was on the road or unable to see you for the day, he’d send you a voice note or a text depending on where in the world he was, and how busy he was to be able to talk to you too.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

You learnt very quickly in your relationship how Seonghwa acted when he got jealous, and that never seemed to change. Whenever you felt him creeping closer towards you, you’d know exactly what was going on, smiling across at him as you felt him try his best to hold onto your hand, letting him know that you knew exactly why he had suddenly appeared by your side, and that there was nothing to worry about too.

K ⇴ KIDS

The two of you both knew that starting your family was the next step after getting married, but you didn’t want to pressurise it. If it happened, then the two of you would be thrilled, having spent years joking around as the parents of the boys, but if the world wanted you to wait a while, then that was alright for you both too.

L ⇴ LAZY DAYS

You had a battle on your hands most days when Seonghwa had a lazy day with you to stop him from worrying about work still. Your lazy days tended to still be quite active, going somewhere in the city so that you could distract Seonghwa and try your best to give him a proper day off. You understood how important work was to him, but you also knew that at times Seonghwa needed to think about other things too.

M ⇴ MORNINGS

Every morning, Seonghwa would make sure that he was the first one up so that he could sort things out for you. He was one step ahead, leaving the bathroom free for you to use, preparing breakfast whilst you then showered, so that you would catch up to him in your routine to be able to sit down and eat together.

N ⇴ NIGHTS

You tried your best to do something together at night so that you could settle down with one another. Usually you watched a drama, something quick that didn’t require too much concentration so that you could relax.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

Seonghwa was obsessed with how caring you were, you often knew what he needed even if he didn’t. When he needed to relax, you’d refuse to let him do anything, knowing what was for the best for him most of the time.

P ⇴ PRECIOUS MOMENTS

The times when you would show up at the studio unannounced or sneak your way onto set to support him meant the most to Seonghwa. Seeing you in his work environment always made him smile, especially knowing that you had decided to see what he was up to, knowing that you were excited to see him at work.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

Whenever he does anything for you, Seonghwa likes to get your opinion on it, so he knows how to improve for next time. When he cooks for you especially, he likes your honest thoughts so that he can adjust to suit you.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

Your anniversaries are very important to Seonghwa, and so he will make sure that for each one he’s in charge. You’re the one taking care of him usually for the rest of the year, so on your anniversaries, Seonghwa makes sure that you take the time to rest, handling every single thing that happens on your anniversary.

S ⇴ SILENCE

When the two of you are working, you find yourselves able to enjoy quite a comfortable silence, however, as soon as the tension in the room changes ever so slightly, Seonghwa begins to worry. If he begins to feel like you’re getting frustrated, usually with your work, he’ll break the silence and check on you immediately.

T ⇴ TIPS & TRICKS

Seonghwa’s trick for making your marriage work was making sure that the two of you stayed excited by things, you both made sure to organise plenty of things to do so that you could make new memories together.

U ⇴ UPSET

He hated seeing you teary eyed, Seonghwa would try his best to support you as soon as he noticed you crying, cheering you up along the way.

V ⇴ VISITS

Quite often when you knew how hard the boys were all working, you’d stop by with food, not just for Seonghwa, but the others too. As much as you were there for Seonghwa, you knew the other boys loved when you treated them too.

W ⇴ WISH LIST

He had never really believed in the power of wish until he met you, surprised his wish for a future partner had come true with you.

X ⇴ XXXX

There’s very little that Seonghwa enjoys more than the chance to tease you when he kisses you. Quite often he’ll push the boundaries as far as he possibly can until he gets the inevitable reaction out of you.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were his favourite, there was no one more important to Seonghwa than you.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

Your favourite thing to do at night was play with Seonghwa’s hair at night, knowing how much it helped him sleep. The strands of hair would usually still be a bit damp after his shower, but you never seemed to mind.

---

Masterlist

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deyarc · 3 years

Text

visitors

pairing: sherlock holmes x gn!reader

warnings: none

word count: 1380

author: darcey

summary: mycroft makes for a terrible babysitter, so maybe sherlock and his beloved, could hold the solution to cure enola’s boredom.

Enola lay on the sofa, arms crossed and staring up at the plain ceiling. She was bored. Unbelievably and utterly bored. Mother was gone for the day into town, and she was home alone…as long as you didn’t count Mycroft, who was sat in the first-floor study, doing whatever Mycroft did all day.

He had been instructed to look after her, and yet he had not even aimed a single syllable towards her. She would be offended, but she had reminded herself that it was perhaps best that he kept quiet, as it seemed the only things her dear brother had to say to her were pointed comments about her appearance, or even perhaps the task she might have been performing at the time. She found herself constantly wondering; “Who asked?”

Because she certainly hadn’t.

Enola turned her head slightly towards the right and glanced at the grandfather clock that stood a few paces away from her. Twenty-five past two. She still had a substantial amount of the day left. What a pity.

It was then, that she heard the front door open, and quiet voices sounded from the entrance hall. Visitors…how exciting! She swung her legs off the sofa and got up. Dashing out of the room, and into the hallway, she let her mind wander for a few brief seconds, and think about who could be standing at the entrance of her home.

Obviously, it wasn’t Mycroft. It could be Mother, but it was not like her to come home 4 hours early from a trip into town. Charles, the sheepdog from down the road? No… goodness no! Dogs had no business opening doors.

But the longer Enola considered it, why not? If dogs wanted to enter a home through the front door, who should stop them? Common sense, she realised. How silly of an idea was it to think that a dog would wish to enter through the front door instead of the open gate at the back of the kitchen that’s especially fashioned for domestic pets? The answer was very. This ruled Charles out as well.

It was as Enola approached the entrance hall that she realised her blindness. A stranger would never be let in so quickly into the house, so it was obviously someone they were familiar with. Her realisation was indeed confirmed when she actually peered into the hall and found her…favourite brother, Mr Sherlock Holmes. Moving her gaze to rest just behind him, she also found his beloved.

Enola may have been wrong in guessing who the visitors were, but she would be lying through her teeth if she said she wasn’t glad that these were the people who were to grace her with their presence.

“Enola! Dear sister, how are you? We haven’t seen each other in months!” Exclaimed the previously mentioned Sherlock. He smiled warmly toward her as they both moved to embrace.

“I’m quite well, brother. It’s been ever so boring with just Mycroft here with me. I ensure you and your sweetheart have arrived to rescue me?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, only half-joking. You laughed, before moving forward.

“I trust Mycroft has been watching you like an eagle, dear Enola?” You enquired while taking your darling man’s hand within yours. He squeezed ever so gently, as he usually did. Enola of course noticed and raised a playful eyebrow.

“If shutting himself inside his favoured study, and not speaking a word to me is what you are referring to, then indeed he has!” She quipped, starting to walk out of the entrance room and into the formal living room.

She and Mother hardly spent time in here, only greeting guests, when they seldom passed by. It was in the warm, cosy living room upstairs that she had spent all morning trying to find some entertainment.

All three of you took your places on a sofa, Enola choosing one across from both you and Sherlock. Sherlock laced his fingers with yours, and pulled them into his lap, before looking toward Enola once again.

“Sister dear, I suppose you are curious as to why both me and my other half came here today?” Enola nodded, smiling.

“I must admit, it is somewhat of an unusual occurrence.” You let out a small breathy laugh, finding yourself to have missed the young girl’s little comments here and there.

“Well then, we shall keep you waiting no longer.” He paused for a split second and glanced at you. You beamed at him, and squeezed his hand, urging him to continue.

“The reason we travelled to you today, was to share some happy news. I am happy to proclaim that I shall be taking this one, right here-“ He gestured toward you, making Enola grin even wider as she turned her glace toward you. “-To the courthouse down by Baker Street, to sign some very important papers with me.”

Enola let out an excited shriek before clapping her hands together excitedly. “You’re getting married? To each other? This is fabulous news!” You furrowed your eyebrows if only for a moment, to consider her latter question. ”Who else would we marry?” You asked, the smile that was working its way onto your face giving away your amusement.

She shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea! But you simply must tell Mycroft just this instant! It may lift his foul mood, and goodness knows that would do me a world of favours.”

Sherlock agreed, laughing along with you. “Yes, I do suppose we should go along and inform our other brother of the news.” He said, standing up with Enola, and tugging your arm gently along with him. All three of you rushed along to the study.

“Mycroft? Open the door, we have something to discuss with you!” You exclaimed, tapping your knuckles against the wood a few times. You heard some shuffling, and a lock slide open. Then suddenly the door you leaning on flew open. You almost toppled over into Mycroft, had Sherlock not reached for your waist with both hands to stop you.

You released a quick sigh of relief and spared a grateful glance toward your lover before turning toward the man before you.

“You two? When did you-? Never mind, what is it then? I have lots of work to do, and hardly any time to accomplish it, so a quick debrief would do very nicely.” He informed you curtly, eyeing the messy-haired Enola with something akin to...distaste.

“We are to be married next week, Mycroft.” You told him, offering a cautious smile. He raised an eyebrow, before lowering it slowly.

“Right. I must congratulate you both, should I not? I assume you are both overjoyed?” He asked, almost seemingly relaxed.

“Extremely” Answered Sherlock, with one arm hooked around your waist, and the other reaching to shake his brother’s suddenly outstretched hand. Even Enola seemed slightly surprised. The reaction you were all expecting was maybe a quick “Well done.” and a nod, before him inevitably turning back to whatever he was doing.

The brothers shook hands, as Sherlock patted his brother’s shoulder. “I should hope we will be receiving some similar news within the months to come? I hear you and Miss Harrison have been spending quite some time together recently?” He teased, still smiling kindly toward Mycroft. The elder brother frowned before stepping back into the study.

“No such thing has, and ever will, occur! I assure you, dear brother!” He exclaimed, before shutting the door quickly.

Enola burst into a fit of giggles, and you followed closely after. Sherlock looked toward both of you fondly, before clearing his throat. “Seeing as someone won’t be coming out of his room for a while…is anyone up for a spot of ice cream from the market to pass the time?” He asked.

“That sounds heavenly!” Enola exclaimed. You nodded along with her, taking the girl’s hand. Your trio walked back down to the entrance hall and stepped out into the early afternoon sunlight.

“Well then, Mr Holmes, lead the way!”

“Oh, I shall.” He quipped, once again lacing your fingers together as all three of you made your way toward the carriage waiting by the lawn. I think it was safe to say that Enola’s day has just gotten a lot more interesting.

~~~

Thanks so much for reading! Feedback and reblogs are totally welcome!

#Sherlock #henry cavill #sherlock x reader #henry!sherlock #gn!reader #enola holmes #henry!sherlock x reader #henry!holmes x reader #shhh darcey's writing #deyarc

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fairyoftbz · 3 years

Text

serre-moi fort | j. changmin

🐈 pairing: bf!changmin x fem! reader 🐈 word count: 2.2k 🐈 genre: fluff, domestic!au 🐈 tw: none, maybe the overuse of nicknames (?) 🐈 synopsis: while changmin goes out for a run, you decide to do some self-care and unfold the hammock dusting on the side of your house. 🐈 a/n: part 4/14 of my french project!! with my baby boi changmin!! i am sorry if i still haven’t written your request or i take too long to finish it, but the inspo hasn’t been really present 🤕🥺 i’ll make sure to write more!!

╰☆☆☆☆╮

A yawn escaped from your mouth as you blocked the light out of your eyes with your elbow, feeling extra sleepy as your alarm clock hadn’t rung off yet. What a great mistake you did by accepting your boyfriend’s idea of starting to wake up early, you should have refused last night. You groaned as the annoying sound of an alarm finally rang, blindly searching for your phone on the bedside table. Changmin stirred on his side of the bed, turning to the side in great search of your body. Once he found it, he let out a sigh and kept his eyes closed, warm mouth resting against your exposed shoulder. Your hand settled on his forearm wrapped around your middle and you pecked his cheekbone, closing your eyes as you enjoyed the quietness of the morning for a while.

Changmin sat up after a few minutes, head heavily following the rest of his body. He stared at you still lying on your side, his hand gently rubbing your knee and he offered you a gentle smile when you opened your eyes to look at him. You mimicked him as he stood up, yawning as his hand rubbed his abs while making his way towards the kitchen. You deeply sighed as the birds started chirping, helping you slowly and start the day tranquilly.

Once you stood up, you went and opened the windows, letting the pale light and the fresh morning air from outside invading your room. The sky was still gloomy as it had just stopped pouring, the light fog due to the rain lingering around your neighbourhood, progressively disappearing as it rose in the sky. You wrapped your cardigan around your shoulders and joined your boyfriend in the kitchen, a hand gently stroking the back of his head, playing with the spiky, shorter hair. Changmin smiled at your display of affection and turned around to kiss you on the cheek.

“Are you eating this before going for a run?” you asked as you observed him spreading butter and honey on two toasts, only to find him shaking his head with a smile. “I was planning on bringing the toasts to my baby back in bed, but it seems like it’s too late,” he said, and your face fell, making your boyfriend giggle. “Oh, I didn’t know, Changmin. We’re so rarely together, I didn’t want to miss an opportunity of being with you,” you said, and he giggled, circling his arm around your shoulders. “It’s okay, Y/N. Let’s have breakfast together now that you are up,” he suggested and you nodded, kissing him on the lips as he handed you the plate he prepared for you.

Changmin sat across from you, a banana and a protein shake in front of him. He never liked eating a lot before going on a run, he hated working out feeling nauseous or having a heavy stomach, hence the super light breakfast. You, on the other hand, had worked out yesterday, and since you only did it every other day, it was your rest day today. Changmin only had the weekend to go for a run since his work was keeping him extremely busy. Living this kind of life wasn’t the best when it came to personal life, but he was passionate about his job, so it was natural for him to make sacrifices.

“I’m going, babe. I’ll be back in over an hour,” he said while standing up, winking at you as he placed everything in the dishwasher before disappearing back in your shared bedroom.

He appeared a few minutes later, all clad in black gym equipment with a rain jacket from his favourite football (soccer) team. He walked up to you, the plastic of his shoes squeaking on the tiled floor and kissed your forehead as you were drinking the rest of your orange juice.

“Have fun and be careful!” you said as he walked out the door, waving at you from the kitchen window as he walked past it.

Weekends weren't only meant for fitness activities, it also meant self-care for you. So, after brushing your teeth and changing into your home clothes, you decided to grab a book and go read outside. The temperature was quite chilly since it was still quite early, but the cold couldn’t reach your body as you were wrapped into Changmin’s long black hoodie. You walked across the living room and opened the sliding glass door, shutting it behind you as you put down your book on the wooden table.

Walking to the side of the house, you found the hammock you had decided to randomly buy while browsing the web, and it was one of the best purchases you did for your house after the pillow made for taking baths. You unfolded it and cosied it up a bit by adding some pillows and two extra blankets, comfortably lying in it after taking your book from the table.

You had forgotten how fascinating this book was, getting back into the story as soon as you read the last sentence of the previous chapter. Not even noticing your surroundings, the neighbour’s cat casually yet carefully walked across your small garden and meowed before disappearing under the fence, but you didn’t hear it. Your hand dangling outside the hammock, grabbing some petals of the flowers planted under you and playing with them between your fingers, carefully reading the story as you were close to finishing the book you had started a few weeks ago.

Slamming the book shut after reading the last sentence, you sighed and wiped the tear that threatened to fall from your eye and rested the book on the floor. Crossing your arms on your chest, you observed the light blue sky before sinking deeper into the hammock, the wind acting as a gentle caress as it blew on your face. Resting a foot on the floor, you gave a quick swing to the hammock before replacing your limb under the blankets, feeling it move side to side as you closed your eyes. The slow shift rocking you like a baby in their mother’s arms, and you fell back asleep right here, face tucked into your boyfriend’s hood over your head.

The neighbour’s cat came back a few minutes later and gently licked your hand dangling off the hammock, careful of not waking you up. It sat near the glass window, its whines stopping as you weren’t responding, too deep into Morpheus’ arms to come back to reality.

The three-coloured creature ran off as soon as the front door shut close, Changmin heavily breathing as he had just stopped his sports watch. Looking around the house, he wiped the sweat pearling off his forehead with his sleeve as he called your name, a smile forming on his lips as he saw you on the patio.

Just like you did an hour and a half ago, he slid the glass door open and closed it without making a noise, gently talking to the cat as it came to him, tail raising in the air while walking towards the sweaty man. Approaching you with the cat on his heels, he admired your sleepy face as your fist was resting against your cheek, pushing up the skin under your eye in a cute way. He brought the blanket further up to your chin and delicately kissed your forehead, the action making you shift.

“I’m home, sweetheart. I’m gonna take a shower and I’m yours, okay?” he whispered, and you lightly shifted in your sleep, repositioning yourself in the hammock.

Changmin gently pushed it to make it rock slowly, earning a muffled groan of happiness from your mouth. He beamed at your behaviour and told the cat to stay outside as it tried to come in with him, the animal letting out a frustrated noise but sat in the grass anyway.

Once your boyfriend reappeared from his shower, you were still comfortably tucked inside your new bed. With the towel around his shoulders, he was quick to toss it in the laundry bin and pull out the hairdryer. The muffled sound didn’t even make you move, the cat staring at your boyfriend as he quickly dried his hair in the living room. It had come closer just the time he went back to the bathroom to put the dryer away, stifling a laugh as the cat’s position. It was calmly sat on the patio, its wide, green eyes staring up at you as you slept.

Changmin chuckled at the innocence of the scene in front of him, the kitty suddenly looking away from you as he opened the window door. It only moved when he neared you, pacing under the fence like there was no tomorrow. He shook his head at the cat’s silliness and threw a glance at your sleeping figure, trying to think of a way to join you without waking you up.

You felt a presence near you as an arm delicately lifted your shoulders and upper back, careful movements moving around you. Lazily opening an eye, you noticed your boyfriend all fresh out of the shower, who was trying to get into the hammock without waking you up. Changmin miserably failed as you sat and you stood up despite his protests for you to stay in the hammock, lazily waiting for him to sit comfortably. You smiled when he reached out his arms for you to come and lay on top of him, his leg falling off the hammock as you comfortably laid back, your warmth kept and increased by your boyfriend’s body and hot shower.

“Hold me tight, please,” you whispered as you felt him giggle under you, arms securely wrapped around your figure. Changmin made sure that you were well hidden under the blanket before starting to balance the hammock again, closing your eyes as the comfort lulled you back to sleep. “I’m right here, love. I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered against the crown of your head before kissing it, weakly smiling as his calm heartbeat helped you fall back asleep.

Changmin delicately plucked out a flower under the hammock and played with it for a while before pushing your hair away from your ear and slid it on top of it. Smiling at the pretty view of you sleeping with a flower on your head, he held you closer to him, as if it were possible. He stifled a yawn as his workout tired him out, his chin resting against your head as it was his turn to doze off. __

You softly sighed and opened your eyes, a chest slowly rising and falling under your ear. You recognised your boyfriend’s fragrance as you hoisted yourself higher in his hold, delicately kissing the side of his neck. It was later in the day, you had no idea how long you had been sleeping for, but you were rid of any tiredness and felt at peace.

Changmin seemed to be quietly sleeping, his arm protectively wrapped around you as the other hung off the hammock. Something fell on his stomach from your head as you shifted, only to discover a flower with a smile. You stared at your boyfriend for a while and couldn’t stop smiling, but this delicate, romantic moment got ruined by the not-so-sophisticated grumbling noises coming from your stomach.

Trying to extricate yourself from the hammock without waking your boyfriend up, you felt his hand catching your wrist, his eyes slowly opening with a soft smile drawn on his face.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice deeper than it normally was. “I’m going to make us something to eat,” you spoke, and he sat up, motioning you to come closer. You obeyed and he reached out for something stuck in your hair, only to find a yellow petal of the flower he had placed in your hair while you were napping. You smiled at the sweet gesture and he got up as well, kissing your temple as he slightly limped and whined.

“Argh, I forgot to stretch,” he muttered as he made his way to the kitchen, wincing then hissing at his sore leg muscles. Shifting his weight on his hands resting against the kitchen counter, you compassionately rubbed his back as you got out a pan from a drawer. “I was too excited to come to cuddle with you, you seemed so peaceful that I completely forgot to stretch,” he said while wrapping his arms around your waist, earning a smile from you.

He peppered your cheek with kisses every time you moved around the kitchen, making a healthy brunch for the two of you. Once you were almost done, he let go of your waist to set the table, grabbing your shoulders and guided you to sit down to take the reins. Then, Changmin placed everything in the plates and served one to you, walking to his seat with his own.

You ate in silence, his hand linked with yours, the sun shining brighter than before as you finished eating. Changmin kindly rubbed your shoulder, whispering to go back outside while he cleaned and washed everything. You played with the cat for a while, giggling as you manage to place the flower on top of his head, the creature weirdly moving its head to get the thing off him.

Changmin laughed as he joined you on the patio, drawing his chair closer to yours and you kissed his cheek as he sat down.

Smiling to each other, you came nearer and delicately pressed your lips against his, feeling him grin in the kiss as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder blades. Once you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered the words you loved coming out of his mouth.

“I love you."

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Note

ohmyword if your doing req can u pls do another fluffy, domestic one bcos honeymoon morning is some i read daily AHAH maybe like the reader gets ill and toms away or something???? pls just anything fluffy

awh thank you for being so sweet abt honeymoon morning - I do think that's one of my favourite concepts ive done!! and I hope this suits what you want, im not so sure myself but I tried :)))

summary: you try to hide being ill from Tom before he leaves but inevitably it doesn't all go to plan

warnings: mentions of being sick, I think that's all - basically just fluff

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The night hadn’t really gone typically at all. Instead of relishing the last night with Tom for a few months, your body seemed to have different plans. Hence why now you were curled up in a ball on the sofa, staring blankly at the TV, while the washing machine whirred next-door in the utility room and the chemical smell of cleaning products enveloped the downstairs. At least when you were sick, you were a clean sick.

You were also a quiet sick. You had been pulled from your sleep by the uncomfortable heavy sensation from your stomach barely an hour after you’d both headed to bed. Why was beyond you - what had been important in that moment was to get away from Tom. He was flying back to set tomorrow (or given the early hours currently, lunchtime today was more appropriate) and only had a single day to settle before launching back into filming. So the poor boy was inevitably, given time zones, going to be running on poor quality plane sleep for the next couple of days - you wanted to five him a final night of peace, at least.

As a result, you’d crept downstairs and since then spent a large chunk of the night making good friends with the downstairs toilet bowl. Once you were absolutely certain there was literally nothing else in your stomach, you chucked some bleach down the loo; then stripped your *stained* pyjamas and chucked them in the washing machine; changed into some freshly washed stuff in the utility (comprising of joggers and one of Tom’s hoodies); before you could curl up in the corner of the sofa.

And that’s how you’d been for an hour or so. Still feeling grim, unable to fall asleep as much as you were trying to and generally just lying in a ball of self pity. And that was fine… until you heard the unmistakable slow padding of footsteps down the stairs.

“Love?… -hy’re you up?” His voice was drenched in sleep, making it pull on your heart strings, even before he had rounded the sofa and come into view. Dressed only in his heather grey joggers only, Tom’s curls sat ontop of his head wildly - sticking up at all ridiculous angles. And then there was his puffy eyes, barely open as he slowly processed the sight of you curled up on the sofa.

“Just couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to keep you up tossing and turning. Why are you up bub?”

“Don’t sleep good without you… you know kicking me and stealing the duvet and stuff.” Never one to maintain a level of seriousness and ‘soppiness’ - it was instantly turned back to the typical relationship of the two of you. While rolling your eyes, you still chuckled at him in the low light of the TV. Tom took the opportunity to perch on the edge of the sofa, sitting so he was grinning loopily down at you. “You fancied putting a wash on too?”

“...I don’t know just trying to be productive?” He was catching on, he was suspicious. You could tell. His eyebrows furrowed together and he delicately hovered the back of his hand over your forehead, feeling the undeniable heat radiate into his skin.

“And bleach?”

“Toilet needed doing anyway.” You mumbled, head turning to stare back at the TV- knowing his eyes were piercing into your soul. He sighed, in your peripheries you could see him shaking his head in slight frustration, as his hand reached for yours, giving it a squeeze.

“You’re ill aren’t you?”

“I’m alright-“ he cut you off with a low warning of your name, making you cower slightly because he’d caught you in a lie. “I threw up a couple times but now I just feel a bit ‘eugh’”. That was, to be fair, a completely truthful description of your evening and current situation. Maybe not put most eloquently but Tom definitely got the messsage, somehow reading your mind by lightly massaging your abdomen with his hand that wasn’t clasped with yours.

“Come on... let’s get you back to bed.” As much as you wanted to argue with him, it was clear any attempt would be futile. One of things you love so much about Tom is how fiercely protective he is of those dear to him. His circles progressively shrunk as he learnt who he could trust and who ... well he couldn’t. The culling had left a handful of people who were almost central to Tom’s life - somehow you’d managed to wangle your way into these select few too.

So no, there was not point arguing or suggesting he puts his own welfare first.

After putting you back int the double bed, Tom had disappeared for 10 minutes or so, when he reinterred the room it was clear he’d been busy. His tongue was stuck out in focus as he tried to balance different mugs and plates on a tray to you. Even if you felt shitty, for a moment by just seeing how far this guy had gone for you - you’d never felt better.

“Okay there’s some lemsip with honey to settle your stomach, water and a slice of toast just because you should probably see if you can keep something down.”

“You really are the sweetest.”

“And you’re the illest so get drinking love.” He laughed softly in the yellow glow of the bedside lamps that illuminated the room. It highlighted his prominent jaw line and the way his eyes crinkled in the corners and given your slightly off state, you might’ve spent a bit too long ogling at the man cosied up next to you. Never would there be a time you weren’t grateful for him.

Turns out you couldn’t keep the toast down but the experience was somewhat less horrific - this time you were spilling your guts out into your ensuite, while Tom held your hair and rubbed your back. Eventually things settled, allowing The two of you nestle back into bed, Tom wrapping his arms round your stomach to lightly trace random patterns on the skin underneath your hoodie - as you nestled back into his chest more.

“I really love you Tom”

“Love you darling, now get some rest and shout if you need anything.” You hummed lightly, almost letting go to sleep now your felt a bit less like your intenpstines were wringing themselves together. But not quite.

“I’m gonna miss you and your stupid face.”

“We can talk about that when your better” It was as if Tom thought whispering and drawing circles on your stomach was going to deafen you to his words. Yes your stomach wasn’t having a lot of fun and you were tired - but you were not deaf. It was oh so predictable too, he loved to be absolutely ridiculous. Indignantly you huffed, rolling over and eyeing him intently.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Just…. Just if your sick you shouldn’t be on your own. I could always just-“

“No no you couldn’t. You and me both know for a fact you do have a choice and even if you did it be pissing off a hell of a lot of people.” He pouted, you could tell even in the darkness of the night.

“I hate having to leave you though, especially like this.”

“Yes but you love your work too. I’ll be here when you get back… maybe just with a bit less intestines.” Laughing at that, Tom pulled you onto his chest, pressing his tips to the crown of your head as your burrowed into his side.

It can’t have taken more than 5 seconds for you to fall asleep, exhausted from the illness, the stupid time in the morning and maybe slightly for dealing with Toms idiocy.

You were awoken in the morning to Tom stroking your hair gently, all dressed and ready for his flight - but still finding the time to fuss over you and wanting to say a proper goodbye. After practically ordering his to leave… you best believe he dropped in the fact he’d got both Sam and Harry to come round as your babysitter.

He was an idiot. But he was your kind, caring , beautiful and loving idiot.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #Tom Holland blurb #Tom Holland angst

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path-of-my-childhood · 3 years

Text

Taylor Swift: Pop Star of the Year

By: Jonathan Dean for The Sunday Times Date: December 27th 2020

Rather than hunker down, the singer put out two albums in 2020 and won over new audiences. She’s the pop star of the year.

Taylor Swift met Paul McCartney in the autumn for a big interview in Rolling Stone. The two would have headlined Glastonbury this summer. Who knows if they will do that next year. Anyway, both recorded albums in lockdown, working from home like the rest of us. When they spoke, though, Swift had a secret. As well as Folklore, released in July, she had a follow-up record in the pipeline — Evermore, which was released this month.

Swift noted that the former Beatle was still so full of joy. “Well, we’re just so lucky, aren’t we?” he said. “We’re really lucky,” Swift replied. “I can’t believe it’s my job.” And she is right. Being a pop star is an extraordinary way to earn the living she does. But rather than accepting luxury and letting this tough year tumble on, Swift is also keenly aware what music means. Sad songs soothe, happy songs make us dance, but as fans of most artists waited for something — anything — this year, this 31-year-old released two albums that broke chart records, were critically adored and introduced her to people who once thought that she wasn’t for them.

“I’m so exhausted!” she said to the American chat show host Jimmy Kimmel, laughing, a few weeks ago, when asked if she had a third new album planned. “I have nothing left.” In addition to Folklore and Evermore, she filmed a TV special and even started rerecording her back catalogue, after a volatile dispute over who owns her work. By October I’d just about cobbled together my first sourdough loaf.

A decade ago Swift moved firmly into the limelight thanks to a squabble with Kanye West entirely of the rapper’s own making. In 2009, when Swift — then a nascent country music star — won the best female video award at the VMAs, West stormed on stage, grabbed her microphone and said that Beyoncé should have won. Swift was 19 — West was 32 — and she looked scared. This wasn’t just about her biggest moment yet being stolen, but also about her position in the pop hierarchy being questioned, very publicly, from the off. She stood there as that man bullied her. Apparently she left the stage in tears.

Years later West released Famous, with its infamous lyric “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex/ Why? I made that bitch famous.” The alt-folk singer Father John Misty also wrote about sleeping with her. Every time that sort of thing happened, a powerful man in Swift’s industry was reducing a successful, talented, younger female to the level of a sex object. It was back-in-your-box belittling — as it was when a TV host groped her. (She successfully sued him.) While Swift herself would retort to West, as her music became less country, more slick pop, such retorts felt forced and gave the rapper too much of her oxygen. A nod to him on Folklore comes with the “Clowns to the West” line, but it is a sideshow now, not a headline.

Not that Swift’s life is entirely her own. She’s been one of the world’s bestselling female artists for a decade, coupled with curiosities such as a well-orchestrated relationship with Tom Hiddleston that kept her in the spotlight. Like many twentysomethings, Swift spent her youth apolitically, only to receive flak for staying silent during the 2016 US election. This year she endorsed Joe Biden, but what if she had wanted to stay quiet? Would the media have let her? She is under so much scrutiny that, after she made an innocuous hand gesture in a recent TV interview, similar to one women make to draw attention to domestic abuse, this headline ran: “Some people think Taylor Swift is secretly asking for help in her latest interview.”

Like many at the start of the pandemic she felt listless. The world we were used to was a wasteland, and we could only find the energy to watch Normal People. Swift’s ennui, though, was, well, swift. Stuck in LA, she emailed Aaron Dessner of the beloved beardy indie band the National to see if he fancied writing with her. No fool, Dessner said yes and, mere weeks later, the duo — with help from Swift’s regular collaborator Jack Antonoff as well as Justin Vernon, from the beloved beardy indie band Bon Iver — released Folklore. The gang just carried on working and, five months later, gave us Evermore.

Creativity is not on tap. Indeed, this year is not one for judging what others may or not have achieved. However, the silence of many big pop stars is striking because they know that even a single would make someone’s day; distract for a while.

Everyone needed to adjust to working from home, but Swift was one of the only musicians who did and, by eschewing the arena pop of recent albums for something more subdued, organic and folky, she gave the sense that she was letting fans in more than ever. She was at home, like us. This is who she is, and the first single from these sessions was so cosy, it was even called Cardigan.

“I just thought, ‘There are no rules any more,’” she told McCartney. “Because I used to put all these parameters on myself, like, ‘How will this song sound in a stadium?’ If you take away the parameters, what do you make? I guess Folklore.”

Maybe it is tedious, for a deft writer with a career of varied, brilliant songs — Love Story, I Knew You Were Trouble, Blank Space — to find respect from some people only when artists who appeal to middle-aged men start to work with her. On the other hand, pop has never been particularly welcoming to many until it sounds like something you are used to and, with delicate acoustics and gossamer-like piano, Swift’s two new albums recall, sonically, Nick Drake or Kate Bush. Thematically, lyrics seem to come from anywhere. Daphne du Maurier, for one. Even the Lake District and its poets.

Some songs are personal. She is dating British actor Joe Alwyn, and on one track she sings, “I want to give you a child.” Make of that what you will. But these records’ highlights are not about herself, but others. “There was a point,” she told Zane Lowe on Apple Music, “that I had got to as a writer, [where I was only writing] diaristic songs. That felt unsustainable.” Instead, she does what the best writers do and mixes subjective with objective. The Last American Dynasty is a terrific piece of writing about the socialite Rebekah Harkness, who lived in a Rhode Island house that Swift bought and was, by all accounts, a bit scandalous. Swift tells her story almost with envy. Imagine, she seems to say, that freedom.

“In my anxieties,” she said in Rolling Stone, “I can often control how I am as a person and how normal I act. But I cannot control if there are 20 photographers outside in the bushes and if they follow our car and interrupt our lives.”

Then there is Epiphany. The first verse is about her grandfather, who fought in the Second World War; the second about frontline workers in hospitals now. Sung in a high register, it is suitably choral. Marjorie, on Evermore, is even better. It is about her grandmother, an opera singer who died in 2003. “What died didn’t stay dead” is the repeated line, and it is eerie, gorgeous. Swift sings how she thinks Marjorie is singing to her, at which point some vocals from the latter’s recordings waft in. Touching, but the real power is in Swift writing about vague memories of a relative who died when she was young. “I complained the whole way there,” she sings. “I should’ve asked you questions.”

In person she is warm like this, and funny. When Kimmel told her there were far more swearwords on Folklore and Evermore than previous records, she replied: “It’s just been that kind of year.” She is also odder than people realise. In the way pop stars should be. Obsessed by numerology, she wrote, on the eve of her birthday when announcing Evermore: “Ever since I was 13, I’ve been excited about turning 31 because it’s my lucky number backwards.” When I turned 31 I just wished to be 13 again, with all that youth, but then, maybe, she is just joking. “Yes, so until I turn 113 or 131, this will be the highlight of my life,” she said. “The numerology thing? I sort of force it to happen.”

Swift, of course, is far from the first pop star to become public property, or have a close bond with fans. This year, however, she was one of the few to show that such adoration is not one-way. She is, simply, a fan of her fans — from planting secrets in her artwork and lyrics, to recording two albums of new music as a balm for them when real life became too deafening.

“One good thing about music,” sang Bob Marley. “When it hits you, you feel no pain.” The 80.6 million who streamed Folklore on its first day will attest to that idea. So will the four million who bought it. Swift is pop star of the year, no doubt — leaving her peers in her wake, on their sofas, rewatching The Sopranos.

#thanks to anon who brought this to my attention!#🖤#taylor swift #the times #article #about taylor #folklore album #folklore era #evermore album #evermore era #twitter.com/hendopolis/status/1342959069792002050

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iwatobifuturefish · 3 years

Text

Cuddle buddies

Heyho and welcome to this fanfic!

This is a MC x Choi twins story but there is no twincest involved. I just thought that the twins are for sure touch starved and definitely need more cuddles - so here we go.

This also is the first part of the series (I want to write) called "Tales from the bunker and beyond". All stories will focus on cute and fluffy daily life and domestic encounters with MC and the tomato heads.

I hope you enjoy this fanfic! Please leave a comment if you liked it - I would love to read your feedback! :D

Cuddle buddies

Tales from the buker and beyond - Part 1

Pairing: MC x Choi twins

Read here in AO3

It had always been like this. Well, not always. But most of the time, to be correct.

Waking up cuddled up cosy in between the twins was nothing new to MC. She looked at the now peacefully sleeping men beside her and thought about the start of this. A smile crept on her face, remembering some of their sleep-encounters. But how had their now preferred sleeping arrangement and everything that came with it started?

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It was a quiet night in the bunker. Every member of the household (or should she call it “bunkerhold”) was fast asleep in each of their own rooms. Well, except for MC. She was tossing and turning in her bad, tormented by yet another nightmare. They had occurred more frequently over the last couple of days, but the girl did not know why. Her nightmares had always something to do with the twins. Either they were kidnapped by their father, snatched away by Rika, or trapped in the deepest chambers of Mint Eye. With a loud gasp MC opened her eyes and sat up straight in bed. Touching her face, she noticed, that her cheeks were wet. She had cried again in her sleep – nothing new. Looking for her glass of water the girl grabbed it with shaking hands. MC drank a big sip of water, inhaled and exhaled shakily. She could not fall asleep again, that was for sure. Slipping out of her bed, MC made her way to the corridor with wobbly legs. Right across from her room was Saeran’s. She needed to see that he was okay. She also needed to know that Saeyoung was okay, but she was worried to wake him up. The former secret agent was a light sleeper due to his nerve-wracking job. MC was really glad that he did no longer had to work for the agency.

Listening closely to her surroundings she could not hear anything. Yes, both twins knew how to sneak around the bunker. They could not let the habit of making no noise go so easily. MC decided to check Saeyoung. If he was here, she would definitely be a bit calmer. Right? And he would also understand that she was looking for his brother at…. How late was it? She did not know. Maybe the redhead was still awake. That would be even better.Feeling a bit securer now, the girl quietly and slowly opened Saeyoung’s door right beside Saeran’s. She was met with darkness, which meant that the man was asleep. Still, MC was relieved to find two sleeping figures on the bed. Wait. Two?She tiptoed in the room to take a closer look. Really, both twins were sleeping soundly in Saeyoung’s bed. Both wearing comfy pyjamas and being wrapped up like really cosy burritos in their blankets. MC smiled at the sight before her. The girl exhaled. Since when was she holding her breath? Now she could sleep again peacefully. But still, dread filled her when she thought about being in her room all by herself.

Trying to be as quiet as possible MC opened Saeran’s door. After everything that had happened, they both had agreed to take their relationship slow and figure some things out first. Saeran did not want to rush things and MC did not want Saeran to feel obliged to something he may was not ready for yet.

The girl scanned the room for the white-haired man, but nobody was there. Her heart began to beat fast in her chest. Where was he? Did someone take him away? Trying to calm her breath she closed the door again.

>Get yourself together, MC!<, she thought. >He is probably in the kitchen to get something to drink or he needed to use the toilet.<

Not thinking much about the decision her sleepy brain had made in that moment, she rushed as fast and quietly as possible back to her room, grabbed her blanket and then came back into Saeyoung’s room. The only space not occupied in the bed was right in between the twins. MC knew that she was probably sporting the biggest blush at the moment but did not care. Her mind and body just wanted to rest.Contented the girl snuggled deeper in her blanked. She felt save and comforted being so close to the two men. However, MC did not notice the two warms that wrapped around her body – one from the left and one from the right – and yellow eyes meeting green ones in joyful silence. She was already asleep.

When MC woke up the next morning, she was alone in bed and could smell the aroma of eggs and bacon in the air. Both twins greeted her with big smiles and warm good-morning-hugs in the kitchen.

°°°°°°

The next time it happened it was a stormy afternoon and Saeyoung had suggested to watch some movies. MC left the twins to have some brotherly bonding time while she went in the kitchen to bake some treats for the three of them. She hummed cheerly while mixing the ingredients and smiled softly whenever she heard something like:

“Look Saeran! Oh my god, he has a lightsaber!”

Followed by: “Woah! Can you build something like this, Sae?”

“Hell yes! Which colour do you want?”

MC finished baking and cleaning up the kitchen. She had been so busy that she had not noticed that the noises from the living room had grown quieter and quieter. Curious the girl took a look at the couch while putting her apron away. The scene before her was too cute.

The twins were sprawled out in front of the TV, where the credits just rolled. They had made kind of a nest with blankets and pillows. Obviously, both of them were fast asleep. Saeyoung had popcorn stuck to his chin and snored quietly, still having a can of PhD. Pepper in one hand. Saeran was curled up like a cat and… Was there a smear of chocolate on his left cheek? MC chuckled. They both were something special. She picked up the can from Saeyoung’s hand and placed it on the coffee table. The girl did not even try to get rid of the snack-escapade on both faces of the boys. She looked for a free space and snuggled into the nest as well. The twins really knew how to make a comfy sleeping space, MC had to admit before she drifted off to sleep as well.

Saeyoung was the first to wake up. Disorientated he looked around and remembered the movie…which he did not know the ending of. He shrugged and stretched. The former hacker smiled when he saw that MC had joined them again. Still, he was really thirsty and the PhD. Pepper he found on the coffee table was nearly empty. So, he made his way to the kitchen and his eyes stated to shine when he found the beautiful and delicious looking cupcakes on the kitchen counter. Grabbing another can of his favourite drink he quickly shuffled back to the living room to wake his brother up.

“Saeran”, he shook his brother’s shoulder.

“No, not that sunflower”, the other man mumbled.

“You are not in the garden, dummy. Wake up!”

Lazily Saeran opened his eyes and looked at his twin. Saeyoung could see that his brother did not like being woken up from his slumber.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve found something in the kitchen which you will enjoy for sure.”

The redhead winked at his twin and urged him to follow him.

Saeran’s eyes started so sparkle once he saw the sweet treat waiting for him. Both brothers took a cupcake and toasted to one another before digging in.

MC was woken up by hushed whispers. She sat up and looked at the twins before her. Both grinned at the girl.

“Good morning, sleepyhead”, Saeran said.

“Well, I only joined your cuddle session. I felt left out”, MC answered. “By the way, I made cupcakes…” She stopped to giggle. “…for you. But I guess you already found them.”

The twins looked caught.

“What gave it away?” Saeyoung asked.

“Well, secret agent 707, you both have frosting on your face.”

“Why didn’t you say anything!?” both brothers exclaimed at one another.

MC simply laughed and got up to grab herself one of the cupcakes. But she stopped to drop a peck to each twin’s cheek. Humming again and walking away she did not notice that their faces now matched their natural hair colour.

°°°°°°°

The third time was a bit different then the other two. MC was soundly asleep in her room. She had gone to sleep early after a long and tiring day. Sometimes her nose scrunched up in her sleep and she turned to lay on her side. The girl looked really cute. But was she having another nightmare? That were the thoughts of two particular people, who spied through a gap by the door into the room. The twins wanted to cuddle with MC again but did not want the girl to seek for them again after waking up distresses. They would rather have her sleeping save and sound and wake up refreshed the next day.

Looking at each other and nodding in agreement, Saeran and Saeyoung opened the door completely and made their way to MC’s bed. Each of them went to one side and silently raised the blanket to crawl under it. Once they were snuggled up you could here contented sighing in the silent room. MC mumbled something inaudible in her sleep, but a smile was shown on her lips and the nose-scrunching stopped. All three of them soon fell in a peaceful slumber, dreaming of only nice things.

MC woke up feeling really hot. The girl opened her eyes and tried to sit up but could not. Confused she look around and notices Saeyoung and Saeran next to her who had her embraced in both of their arms. Feeling happy she got more comfortable. That was when she noticed that she had slept through the night without waking up crying. The twins really were her knights in shining armour. Turing her head towards Saeran, she planted a small kiss on his forehead and then repeated the same with Saeyoung. What she did not know was, that both twins were already awake as well.

“Good morning, angel”, Saeran whispered from her right.

“Good morning, cutiepie”, Saeyoung rasped from her left.

“Well, good morning to you two”, MC greeted them and could not resist to leave a tiny kiss on each of their noses. “How come that I have such handsome company to wake up to, hm?”

The twins blushed deeply by her actions and words.

“Well, we didn’t want you to have a nightmare”, Saeyoung started.

“And we wanted cuddles”, Saeran deadpanned.

“Saeran! Don’t reveal everything!”

“Don’t care, want cuddles”, with that Saeran snuggled closer to MC wo giggled joyfully.

“Oh my, two cuddly knights”, she exclaimed. “How can I thank you for keeping my bad dreams away?”

“More cuddles?” Saeyoung asked and gave her the biggest puppy eyes.

“And your chocolate-chip pancakes”, Saeran murmured from underneath the blanket.

“Your wishes shall be granted!” MC spoke.

The girl laughed loud when the brothers fist bumped in victory.

After some more cuddles in bed and having fun while making the pancakes, all three of them were now sitting at the breakfast bar in the bunker’s kitchen and munched away happily on their pancakes. MC was happy with her life now. She had met two beautiful souls, who she would want to spend the rest of her life with them. Yes, both of them.

Like sensing her thought Saeran spoke up: “MC, if you want, I’d really like to share a room with you. At least for sleeping. I know that you like alone-time as much as Saeyoung and I do, so I really don’t want you to give up your room.” Suddenly he seemed really nervous.

“Saeran, sweety, I’d love to”, MC started but Saeran was not finished: “I’d like for Saeyoung to be there as well.”

A big smile grew on the girl’s lips and she said: “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Yahooo, I knew she’d say yes!”, Saeyoung cheered.

Oh, so the two had planned that. MC did not mind. Her smile only grew bigger when both twins pressed a kiss so each of her cheeks.

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Smiling again at the memories MC closed her eyes again. Breakfast could wait, she was so comfortable right now.

“What are you smiling about, princess?”, Saeyoung asked while kissing the back of her hand. Apparently, he had been awake, too.

“Oh, just thinking about you two.”

She felt a kiss at her left temple and a kiss on her right cheek and then strong arms wrapped securely around her from both sides. MC sighed contented. Falling asleep and waking up fore sure was not so bad when she was all cuddled up in a sandwich of her two favourite boys.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfic #my writing #tales from the bunker and beyond #saeyoung choi #saeran choi #MC x Choi twins #tomato heads want cuddles #fluff #all the fluff #mc x saeyoung #mc x saeran

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conceptadecency · 3 years

Note

N, W

Thanks for the ask! (For the Fandom ask meme)

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice)

Off the top of my head,

1. At the moment, more edgy PWP where Garak is actually kind of scary. I am totally into all sorts of iterations of garashir, be it soft and cosy domestic or disturbing or silly or Garak is totally submissive and wants nothing more than to be dominated by Julian (which your excellent Blue Ink is a fantastic example of, OMG, and which I write a bit of myself because I do love that dynamic a lot), but when I first got into the fandom, and when I got back into it more recently, there was a lot of ‘scary, dominant Garak’ sexy fic and now there isn’t and variety is the spice etc.

2. Post-canon garashir in which they do not end up on Cardassia. I do think it’s very natural that they do, given how much Garak longs to go home, but it’s fun to explore the idea of them ending up on Earth, like in my fic The Park, or on a Starfleet ship, like in @aurora-nova-fic‘s Starfleet spouse Garak works, or on another world, like the Vadari Chronicles (also by AuroraNova). But there aren’t many more examples that I can think of other than what I’ve listed here.

3. Readers interacting with each other in the comments of fics. I am not sure if other writers would like this or not, so I don’t tend to do it myself on other people’s fic, but occasionally two readers will get into a (short) conversation in the comments on one of my fics and I just love that. I would love to see it more.

W - 5 favorite ships and 5 kinks you like best for said ships

Ha, I’m not sure I have five ships, really, and I’m not sure I am really into kinks as such, more dynamics. Let me think...

1. Garashir - okay, like I said, I think Garak really likes to be dominated by Julian. He really likes it when Julian tells him what to do, orders him to get on his knees, and uses his body a bit for his own pleasure.

2. Jeeves and Wooster - I don’t know! I really like these two as a pair, but not sure about kinks. Maybe Bertie likes to be blindfolded and held down sometimes? Spanked a bit? Yeah, that’s kind of hot.

3. Garashir again - public sex, like in a closet in the Infirmary or a quiet corner of the station.

4. Garashir again - scent marking. I really like the idea of possessive Garak marking Julian, and Julian maybe not quite understanding exactly what that means at first.

5. Garashir again (SORRY!) - Some sort of cuckolding or hotwifing. Either Julian gets off on watching other men bang Garak, or Garak gets off on Julian going out and sleeping with other people (men or women or any gender, really, I headcanon Julian as up for anything) and then coming home and telling him about it and Garak getting kind of hot under the collar. ATTB most hotly.

#fandom ask #damnhardwork #dhw

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i-write-boop-spoops · 3 years

Text

N Harmonia Fluff Alphabet

One anon asked for an N fluff alphabet and another asked for just any N content, so I hope this sates you both!

Not proof read so rip me

Enjoy!

A = Activities (what do they like to do with their s/o? how do they spend their free time?)

Rather expectantly, N loves looking after Pokemon with you! Whether you’re playing with, feeding or tending to them, he really enjoys seeing you being so sweet and kind to cute little mons and giant scary monsters alike.

He also loves just snuggling up with you and playing with each other’s’ hair. He really cherishes that kind of gentle, intimate affection.

Other than that, he really enjoys doing mundane things with you, stuff like going grocery shopping, cleaning the house, gardening etc, even before you live together. There’s something very comforting about it.

Oh, and he loves dancing with you!

B = Beauty (what do they admire about their s/o? what do they think is beautiful about them?)

He admires your kindness obviously, but also your determination and resilience! He thinks you’re so strong, and in turn, it emboldens him too!

As for physical beauty? He loves your smile, even just a little quirk of your lips makes him so happy. It’s just so precious!

C = Comfort (how do they help their s/o when they feel down? what makes them feel better?)

N isn’t the best at this kind of stuff, but he definitely tries his best to offer you support. Usually he just sits with you and lets you vent, or cry into his shoulder, often bringing a cute pokemon with him to cheer you up. He also likes bringing you on walks, hoping it might clear your head.

His words of affirmation, though few, are quite powerful, so you know he means them.

When he’s sad, he’d like to be treated in a similar fashion, just quiet support and cute Pokemon

D = Dreams (how do they picture their future with their s/o and in general?)

N doesn’t really know how he wants his life to go, the only thing he’s certain of is that he wants to continue improving the relationships between humans and Pokemon, and that he wants to be with you for the rest of time.

E = Equal (are they the dominant one in the relationship or are they rather passive?)

Due to his lack of experience, he’s definitely more on the passive side, preferring to let you take the lead when it comes to dates and stuff. Though he has no problem asserting himself (gently) if he wants to do something else instead.

F = Fight (how quick are they to forgive their s/o? what are they like in an argument? who says sorry first?)

N hates fighting with you, absolutely despises it, so he tends to avoid it when he can. Inevitably, like in all relationships, you end up in a few spats. He’s never mean to you, but he does try talk over you and has a habit of just walking out instead of working out the issue right away. Really he just goes for a walk to calm him down, and he’s usually back in an hour or two, but you probably don’t solve your disagreement until the next day.

He finds it quite easy to admit fault and apologise, so you don’t have to weasel a ‘sorry’ out of him. And due to his earnest nature, you know he means it.

G = Gifts (what kind of things do they gift to their s/o? are they spontaneous or do they stick to special events like anniversaries?)

When N gives a gift, most of the time, he doesn’t even realise it. He just sees something he thinks you’d like and just gives it to you without a second thought. Usually it’s pretty flora or candy, occasionally it’s a plush. Sometimes you get gifts very often, sometimes it’s weeks, maybe months, between each present.

H = Heart Eyes (what are they like in love? is it obvious to others? how do they express their love? do they brag about their s/o to others?)

N can be described as blissfully confused when in love. So soft and blushy and not totally sure what he’s feeling, but he sure does love it, and you. His Pokemon friends pick up on it immediately and root for the two of you.

Unintentionally brags. He just thinks you’re swell and tends to bring that up often, but he’s not trying to gloat.

I = Impression (what first attracted them to their s/o? how accurate was their first impression to how their s/o actually is?)

You seemed to handle that little joltik so carefully as you returned it to its mother galvantula, without an ounce of fear or malice in your eyes, and truly only kindness in your heart. It made him feel so at ease, like he had found a kindred spirit.

Not only was he right, he also found his soulmate too,

J = Jealousy (do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?)

N doesn’t quite understand jealousy. Like, you love each other, what does he have to worry about? He likes your friends a lot, and he finds anybody who tries to flirt with you more annoying than anything else

K = Kiss (are they a good kisser? what was their first kiss like? where do they kiss the most?)

At the beginning, N’s kisses are sweet but awkward, he’s so new to it, so he’s a bit afraid he might make a mistake. As your relationships progresses though, he becomes more comfortable and confident with it, and kisses reflect that, so soft and caring and full of meaning

I did a whole thing about N and kissing here

L = Little Things (what are the little things they love about their s/o? are they attentive?)

Really what doesn’t he love? It’s not that he puts you on a pedestal, he just genuinely finds you amazing and he loves you so much

M = Marriage (do they want to get married? how do they propose? what would the wedding be like?)

N doesn’t feel the need to marry you, as long as you’re in love, that’s what matters to him, a piece of paper doesn’t make it any more valid than it is in his eyes.

That being said, if you want to get married, he’s down for it, but don’t expect anything sappy or traditional. No proposal, no huge event, just the two of you exchanging heartfelt vows at the courthouse, with matching rings.

N = Nicknames (what do they call their s/o? what do they get called?)

He doesn’t really use nicknames, just the occasionally “Love” or “Dear”

On the flipside, he loves your nicknames for him. Some of his favourites are “Cutie”, “Sweetie”, “Greenie” and “Nat”

O = Open (do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? is it easy for them to share?)

While I wouldn’t say N is an open book, he doesn’t really hide things from you. He tells you how he feels without much fanfare, and you’re made aware of his past quite early on, even before you started dating.

P = Pancakes (are they a good cook? how often do they cook for their s/o? breakfast in bed or fancy dinner dates?)

N’s actually pretty good at cooking, and tends to cook pretty often, especially when you’re on the road together. His meals are simple and comforting, sometimes spicy, lots of soups and curries and rice.

Since he’s vegetarian, he prefers to cook for the two of you instead of going out, since most restaurants don’t have great options for him. That being said, if you find a place with a good menu, he’s totally down to take you there.

Q = Quirk (a random quality/ability that is beneficial to their relationship.)

N does not understand the concept of BS, so you don’t have to worry about playing weird mind games to find out what he really wants. As a result, your relationship is quite chill

R = Romance (how romantic are they? are they cliché or creative?)

Again, he’s not traditionally romantic, but he does care about you quite a lot and loves making you smile. And while it doesn’t say “I love you” very often, he means it, and that is a lot more valuable than any serenade or flower bouquet

S = Sleep (who falls asleep first? do they need their s/o close to them? do they have any bad habits?)

If you play with his hair, he’s out like a light. While he’s cuddles are lax and loose when he’s awake, he hugs you like a teddy when he’s fast asleep.

His sleep routine is shit though.

T = Thrill (do they need to spice up their relationship with new things or do they stick to a routine? how often do they do new things?)

N loves the cosiness of domestic mundanity, so it’s safe to say he likes to play it, well, safe. It gives him a sense of comfort and stability that he really appreciates.

U = Unity (did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? what traits do they share?)

Through being with you, N learns to be more attentive and emotional (in a healthy way), and to appreciate humans even more. He also feels more human too.

While you already loved Pokemon, he makes you see how truly amazing and special they are, and treat them even better than you did before.

V = Value (how important is their relationship to them? what is it worth compared to other things in their life?)

Your relationship is very important to him, but deep down, you know his love for Pokemon trumps his love for you. Though it never causes an issue with you

W = Wild Card (a random fluff headcanon.)

Likes to make matching flower crowns for the two of you and whatever Pokemon you’’re with at the time!

X = XOXO (do they like to kiss and cuddle? are they upfront about their relationship or rather shy when in public?)

N loves fluttery kisses and really tender hugs and cuddles, ones when you’re loosely tanged together and gently stroking each other’s skin.

He is not a PDA person at all, besides holding your hand and the occasional kiss. Some of it is shyness, but it’s mostly because he doesn’t feel the need to prove your relationship to anyone. He doesn’t use affection lightly.

Y = Yearning (how do they cope when they spend time away from their s/o? do they miss their s/o?)

He’s pretty okay on his own, since he’s quite used to it, but he does still miss you a lot. He finds comfort in things that remind you of him, a certain scent, a flower, a sound, even a Pokemon, it makes him feel like you’re with him

Z = Zoo (do they have pets? do they want some in the future?)

N doesn’t have any pets, mainly because he thinks Pokemon are friends. How many Poke-friends does he have? Too many for even him to count. My man radiates serious Disney Princess energy with the way Pokemon seem to flock to him.

That being said, he’s not against good people having Pokemon as pets, so if you have pokemon, you know he’ll be the best dad to them ever.

#n harmonia #n harmonia x reader #natural harmonia gropius x reader #natural harmonia gropius headcanons #natural harmonia gropius #n harmonia headcanon #n harmonia headcanons #fluff #request

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Text

‘this is the trouble, even now, with being an archive’

or: Martin’s not the only one overly susceptible to the Lonely

nebulous post-160 domestic future, hurt/comfort and softness, jonmartin and the cottagecore life they deserve

Jon loses himself in the odds-and-sods shop.

The sign on the door makes promises of it being a cosy bookshop. And there are books, certainly, stalagmites of tomes and paperbacks and collections teetering graspingly up towards the ceiling.

The books are absent flatmates however compared to the boisterous gaggle of stuff that takes up room everywhere else. Teacup candles balanced on Norton Anthologies. A wooden rocking horse keeping the dusty Faber and Faber poetry company. It's bizarre flotsam of the most incomprehensible comforting sort, and it sometimes bustles its way to star in the shop's equally manic window display.

Which is why Jon first came in. He'd told himself that this trip into town was an in-and-out only affair; pick up the spices he couldn't get at the small-stocked village shop, buy more firelighters and return some of Martin's horde to the library from whence it came. He's entertaining some thoughts of making a start on pruning back some of the more frivolous bushes in the garden if the weather holds, though he knows his knees won't credit the idea by the evening if he does so.

But then he saw the pen in the window. Silver filigree engraved at the end like frost spiralling up a window, the base colour deep and blue.

And it's not anywhere near Christmas, and there's no birthdays for another few months, but Jon looks at it and he can see Martin sat in the two-seater in their living room, holding the pen, tongue between his teeth as he worries at words, scratching and rewriting and humming when he's caught upon a phrase he feels sits well.

He goes inside with all the furtiveness of a guilty cat. Maryam is at the counter today, and she beams to see him. And he intends – completely – to pick out the pen and be done with it. But Maryam gets talking even once he's pointed out and paid for the pen, and he's twisted up in the soft and easy twirl of her conversation. The pen does come with a box, a regular black affair, but she mentions that they've got in a few antique pen cases down at the back of the non-fiction isle – covering P for Persian Empire to T for Travelogues – and Jon fancifully commits to having a leisurely look because he's going to have to wait for the next bus back anyway, quite taken by the idea of being able to leave such a distinguished looking surprise on the side-table near Martin's armchair for him to find when he comes in from work.

He considers the cases with a furrowing frown, as though weighing up some great decision. For so long in fact, he doesn't notice the shop dip quiet, the muffled steps and page-flicking of other patrons muted to silent.

He glances up, around. Puts back the supple brown leather case he was thinking over, stepping out of his isolated row.

There is no one at the front desk. No one in the other shelves. Through the clogged-up and slapdash window display, he sees no one on the street outside and a sky starting to grey with the threat of rain.

He notices – far away, like glancing through the wrong end of a telescope – that his breathing is getting faster.

“Maryam?” he says, but his voice croaks heatless. He tells himself that he's too old for this now, to be taken in by such worn-down ghosts, that she's gone in the back, that it's just gone quiet, that's all. But the silence is a terror that begets greater, stronger strains, a cycling distress of pin-balling fears and memories, and there is no one around, no one coming, and the panting of his own body is so loud in such an empty space.

And he has always been more easily enveloped by some fears than by others.

He hears the wash of mile-distant waves, as though behind the shelves to the front of the shop, and thinks not here, not here.

He tries to shake his head loose of the fog beginning to bind it like cobwebbing wisps. But the world has such terrors in it, and the Archive keeps record of them all. And that's what Jon is, in the end. A dutiful collection of horror, cruelly moulded into such service by a long dead man. He's long since unshouldered the mantle of Archivist, yet Archive has proven to be such a long-lived, enduring post.

Behind his eyes, he plays out the washed-out retellings of all those almost lost to the Lonely.

He's the statement of Zoe Aristidou, who moved to a beam-bright city but brought her fog along with her, who lost her face amongst the impartial crowds, sanded away like a wind-abused statue.

The statement of Keira Hurley, who struggled to make friends, who drank thinking it might stuff up the gaping absence inside her where the fog was beginning to spark up like struck flint, who would lose her keys, and her wallet and whole days to unremembrance.

There is the echo of beachland nearby and Jon's lost sight of the shelves. The layering cares and carefully tended wards that make him up are starting to peel away.

He rubs at his hands and the colour wipes off like highlighter on whiteboard, smearing before vanishing, his skin blotching with an absent glass-colour of nothing at all. And it's not real, it can't be, it's years since he sighted this muted, mist-encrusted shoreline, the way it gnawed at and sapped Martin's skin translucent, younger then, his hair still unpicked by white.

But it's so easy to return here even after all that time. Like tripping over your own feet.

It is peaceful here. It always is.

Jon grips the pen, feeling the drunken choke of the statement of Keira Hurley, how it makes his legs unmoored and unbalanced, and he thinks no, no, I'm going to give this to him, I'll surprise him, I'll leave it on his side table to find when he gets home. And the statement is thick on his tongue, as he recalls how she woke up, head woozy, and she had not known where she was, had forgotten her address, her name, and the muted panic of her fear sleeked her face with tears, and Jon shakes his head fervently to try and clear it.

He thinks of how Martin will glow, pleased, will say something like you shouldn't have, or even, you know I don't need any more, and Jon will say, I know but I wanted to, I know but I thought of you, I know but I wanted to make you happy.

There is sand crunching underfoot as he walks, and he's getting lost.

He is the statement of Agneta Blom regarding her grandmother Ebba Blom, swallowed by the fog in her later years at a nursing home; the statement of Lakshman Hamal, the last member of his regiment far from home; the statement of Finlay Erskine, a lone lighthouse keeper midst a terrible storm.

And Jon is one man but he is also all these stories – he breathes in salt-damp from a wave spray that leaves freckles of water struck across his face, he feels the knotted ache in his legs from where he's crouched, tense and gripping his kukri for hours, the over-softness of blankets and pillows and the faded mist of lavender down an empty hallway.

He feels his fingers cramping around the sides of the pen, and he wants to think of Martin, to fill up with recollections of him, but Martin is someone Jon knows, someone Jon loves, and it is so very hard to remember he is Jon at the moment.

The fog that subsumes him like a dust cloud, it's muffling. Quiet. He who is Agneta Blom and Lakshman Hamal and Finlay Erskine and so many other names that are layering palimpsest over Jonathan Blackwood, he wanders the beach to the shoreline, letting the sea lap over his shoes. The sky is expectant with dour rainclouds, and his jean cuffs are getting wet, and he hears a distant tumult of voices ever so far off. Like a muttered conversation in another room, a tune playing in a building he is walking past.

“...call the school.... It's Mr Blackwood, Conor... one of his turns.... don't crowd the poor man, let him be...”

The Archive drinks in the flat, null landscape with interest and lets the fog bury into the soft spaces of him. It wants to walk out into the shallow waters and see what swims there.

There's a pen in his hand, and it's heavy, and it weighs him down shore-bound.

“Jon? Hey, hey, Jon. Don't go out so far, yeah?”

The Archive sucks in a breath. It is not salted with a harsh coastal grind, it does not bite at his throat. The air is warm, dry with indoor heating, and the people he is not, Agneta and Lakshman and Finlay and Mairead and Pavo and so many more witness to Forsaken, begin to slough off him like autumnal leaves.

There is a hand on his arm, someone being shushed, a breathing like someone's been running.

“That's it, you're doing so well, you can do it.”

He is Jonathan again. He blinks loose the crisping grains of salt that have begun to sediment in his lashes. There are tears streaming down his face, he realises belatedly, and he is trembling like he's freezing.

He looks at Martin who makes up such a happy horizon to be greeted by, looking down. His tie become loose, who has come from work, sweat-patches at the front of his chest, his throat and face reddened with exertion, who is still wearing his navy lanyard, has board pens clunking in his pocket. Martin who is grounding him.

“I...” he says, clearing his throat feeling stupid, and then he is thrusting out the pen almost bullishly. “I got you a pen.”

Maybe Martin doesn't understand how important it is for him to see. But he nods delicately, and carefully nods, takes it from Jon's shaking fingers – You shouldn't have, you know, he says like Jon's foolish, but fondly, ever so, just like Jon thought he would, and Jon almost sobs to be granted such a small victory.

“You wanting me to call Doctor Varma, Mr B?” comes the tentative, worried voice of Conor at Martin's elbows – sixteen, his voice breaking awkwardly, helping out in the shop after school; Jon remembers lending him books when he was a precocious, demanding child, voracious for knowing.

“We should be ok,” Martin replies kindly. To Jon, he says:

“Julienne's car's out front.”

Jon frowns, confused, before remembering – theirs is in for its MOT, Martin must have borrowed it to cross the three miles between the villages. There is something heavy around his shoulders, warm and scratchy, and he wants to wonder but the questions are sunken in the softness still lingering in his head.

“Do you need...?” Jon starts, and the words are thick and phlegmy in his throat. “The school...?”

“Julienne's covering my last class,” Martin says soothingly. “They understand.”

Jon nods. Years ago, he might have apologised, stewed in how much he needed Martin today, but time has wasted away those anxieties.

“Thank you for coming for me,” he replies instead, his voice still sea-bitten and hoarse, and lets Martin lead him wobbly-legged out of the door so they can drive home.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #cws for disassociation #cws the lonely #hurt/comfort

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