#so that's probably a good indicator but you have to get pretty close. the urge to just pin my Bar card to my shirt....
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I'm on a work trip--it's a class of people in my field picked from all over the country, so I don't know anyone else here--and the info packet I got basically said "people have told us they wish they'd been given a chance to meet everyone else before the class starts, so if you want to do that, show up to the hotel bar at this time and look for people who look like lawyers."
and I know. that I should go do this, because networking good. but also. this is weirdly stressful. how do I make sure that a group of random lawyers knows I am also a lawyer while still being casual and chill but not dressed formally at all
am i going to have to take off my combat boots for this
#and put on regular heeled boots instead which is fiiiiine but ugh#i have zero anxiety on a normal basis so when i do have some level of anxiety i am tormented by it#and also ive been flying about all day and im kinda tired#but networking damnit#I am almost always wearing a tiny scales of justice#which were handed down from my mother#so that's probably a good indicator but you have to get pretty close. the urge to just pin my Bar card to my shirt....#like. this is fine. but meeting new people always takes Effort#especially with lawyers who tend to be a bit more conventional and also frequently older than me
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Steddie Sick fic pt. 4
Pt 3
Eddie wakes up and immediately feels his hackles raise. This isn’t his bed, this isn’t one of his friends' houses, hell he doesn’t even remember leaving Hellfire last nigh… oh because he didn’t. He fainted, but where is he now? And why is he still dressed?
He cracks one eye open to assess his surroundings, the room is nice, the bed doubly so. The pillow smells dusty though, like this room hasn’t been used in a while. His wallet and everything are still in his pants, it had been too humid for his leather jacket today, yesterday now, but nothing lends any details as to where the hell he might be. His shoes are even tucked away nicely next to the bedside table.
The smell of food hits him and stops all thoughts in his tracks. He’s still sore and his throat feels like someone took sandpaper to it, but his head is clearer today than it was yesterday and his stomach is growling. He gets his shoes back on and laced up before creeping downstairs as quietly as possible. There’s no pictures or anything to indicate who lives here but he’s seen Harrington’s living room before when he’d dealt. Why he’s here is still a mystery, Harrington hasn’t thrown a party in years.
“Hey, you’re awake.”
Eddie jumps almost a foot in the air as the man in question appears through the doorway to the kitchen. He’s barefoot, wearing a pair of criminally low slung sweatpants with no shirt and when did Steve Harrington get chest hair?! He sucks on his lower lip so he doesn’t drool and excuse me was that a once-over? Did King Steve just check him out? Oh his poor queer heart cannot take this.
“I’m working on breakfast if you think you could keep anything down for me.”
I’ll go down whenever you want big boy. Eddie mentally slaps himself before giving the other man a weak smile, “I’ll never turn down food but umm, why am I here?”
“You don’t remember?” Either his imagination is going wilder than usual, fantasies of biting Steve’s neck and chest notwithstanding, or Steve Harrington is giving him a disappointed pout.
“I was at Hellfire, and then I woke up here.”
“Come eat and I’ll explain.”
He trots after the younger man into the kitchen, ignoring the massive fuck off table in favor of grabbing a stool at the breakfast bar. He watches Steve cover a pleased little smile with his hand and he’s not sure what he did to earn it, he would like to so he can do it again, every day for however long it makes Steve do that. Steve makes up a plate for him with buttered toast and scrambled eggs, it’s not much but it looks good.
“There’s plenty if you want more, figured I’d start you off easy considering your fever was so bad last night you passed out at your game.”
“Christ, I did? Guess that’s why I don’t remember anything, maybe I got a concussion.” He shoves a bite of eggs in his mouth, they’re delightfully fluffy.
“I doubt it but I can check if you like, I’ve had several.”
“Umm, I guess?” Eddie shrugs and prepares himself to answer the usual questions that people ask when someone has possible brain damage. He is not prepared for Steve to come around the edge of the bar and physically turn Eddie to face him before lifting the metalhead’s chin with a finger curled under it and leaning in close to his face.
“Look right at me please.” He asks softly and Eddie resists the urge to blurt out ‘every damn day if you ask me like that’. Eddie can feel the warmth of Steve’s body so close to his own, the younger man almost close enough to have settled between his thighs instead. He barely holds back a whimper when Steve’s thumb brushes over his jaw, his fingers carefully tilting Eddie’s face as he examines his eyes for what feels like much longer than it probably has been.
“Your eye dilation looks normal, I’d ask if you see something you like based on how wide your pupils are but that’d be pretty unprofessional of me.” With a wink Steve steps back and walks back over to the stove while Eddie crosses his legs with a cough.
“W-what do you mean un-ahem-unprofessional?” His throat was scratchy from being sick, that's all.
“I’m going to EMT school. I know they think I don’t know that they know but Dustin is about as subtle as a bat to the face. And everyone keeps slipping me flashcards that are definitely not in my handwriting. It’s why they called me when you went down, I guess no one in your band could take you with them.” Steve starts eating eggs right out of the pan and tapping his fork over his plump, wet bottom lip and that should not be attractive what the fuck!
“So my van is still at the- school! Fuck what time is it?!” He starts looking around frantically even though he’s fairly certain no one thought to give Steve his backpack. Or his lunchbox.
“I already called the school, told a little fib about already being certified and that you’d be taking today and tomorrow off to recover from being sick. So you’re excused and Dustin or one of your friends can pick up your schoolwork.”
“Jeez man, thank you. I’d offer you a dime bag on the house or something if I had my lunch box.”
“How about you drop by movie night instead sometime? You could bring a few joints if you want.” Steve offers like they’re fucking friends or something, “You are good with the kids, they’ve been through a lot and the rest of us in the Babysitter’s club appreciate it. So you might as well join us for beers and movies and get the rest of the club package.”
“You need someone to help you veto the rest of the group's artsy movies don’t you?”
“Yessss,” Steve slumps against the counter with his head buried in his arms, “anything but another German expressionist film please!”
“Alright big boy I’ll give you a hand.”
Steve popped back up, cheeks flushed and a wide smile on his face, “Thanks Eddie, ugh I’m so happy I could kiss you!”
Eddie choked as Steve looked up at him, flushed and disheveled and barely dressed and he was not a strong man dammit!
“Never took you for the type to kiss boys Harrington.” Remember you’re straight and stop looking at me like that. Steve just shifts to where he’s leaning on his elbows, pushing his pectorals together in a way that would have made plenty of women jealous. He folds his hands and balances his chin on them, batting his eyelashes at Eddie.
“You’d be surprised.” He says slyly before nudging Eddie’s plate closer to him, “Finish eating before it gets cold, then I’ve got some pain killers for you and we can just crash on the couch for the day unless you want me to take you anywhere.”
“You, want me to stay?”
The smile Steve sends him feels undeserved, like he missed a chapter in this book somewhere. He and Steve had spoken maybe ten words to each other in high school and now he’s invited to have a movie marathon with the ex-king while he has a cold.
“Sure Eddie, I’d just be here alone otherwise.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want my uncle to catch this. Aren’t you worried about getting sick?”
The younger man shrugs, “Guaranteed the munchkins are going to get it, which means their siblings are going to get so one way or another I’m going to end up getting it too. Might as well get it out of the way now.”
“You’re not really anything like I expected.”
“Is that a good thing?” Steve asks softly, the first sign of insecurity Eddie has seen from him in their few interactions.
“Very Stevie.” He can only offer back honestly, the gentle smile he receives in return is like feeling the sun come through the clouds.
"Just no horror movies please, they can give me migraines sometimes." The younger man asks bashfully.
“That's fine by me sweetheart.” He goes back to his food and accepts the painkillers Steve hands him after.
He’s curious about what a day spent with Steve Harrington will be like.
Steve’s going to romance this cute nerd with a crush on him so hard. Thank you for reading!
#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie#steve harrington x eddie munson#steve x eddie#sickfic#emt!steve#steddiefic chronicles
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repertum
plot: no matter how much you want alhaitham, you don’t think you can ever have him. he may or may not try to prove otherwise // ft. lumine and nahida
warnings: afab!reader, 3.4 spoilers, smut but reader and alhaitham get blue balled, angst, fluff and comfort later. probably some incorrect game lore and timing/mechanics.
a/n: :)))))
EDIT: Part 2 (FINAL) | AO3 Link
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“I don’t–” You rush out before your breath hitches. “-- think this is a good idea, ah–”
Alhaitham keeps you pinned to the wall of your apartment, pelvis undulating against yours in an erratic beat. He drinks in every gasp that leaves your pretty little mouth, the same lips that have haunted his passing thoughts for the past month. His fingers dig into your waist and he leaves subcutaneous blooming sore spots on your shoulder and collarbone, relishing in your hisses of pain and pleasure, if the grip you have around his neck is any indicator.
Your words send a spike of adrenaline – he vehemently denies the possibility it may be fear instead – through his veins, to do anything to keep you right where he wants you, and he gives into the primal urge to dig his teeth into the very shoulder he’s been nibbling and sucking onto for the last ten minutes. The resulting yelp from you keeps him sated, and he places a soft kiss where he’d bitten you; a stark contrast.
Alhaitham lifts his head to look into your eyes, pupils swallowing over your irises and your eyelids half-open. He takes pride in having been able to push you towards such a state of inhibitions. “And what would make you think such a thing?” His lips ask against yours, tone dark with an alarming amount of clarity that you find absolutely unfair and unjust.
Despite his protests, there are several reasons why this isn’t a good idea. To be a scholar and also involved with the Akademiya’s former scribe? You’re practically begging to be academically slaughtered by the masses, as everyone knows Alhaitham has the ears of the General Mahamatra and, at times, Lord Kusanali herself. It goes both ways – having always been regarded as the level-headed, purely rational individual, most would agree that his current actions are the complete opposite. Those traits themselves are a recipe for disaster – sure, you could be witty and hold your own, but it was clear to you that you could not give him what he needs, he neither for you.
The sexual tension between you two is palpable. You briefly remember the day you first exchanged words with the man right before his new promotion. Both of you had reached for the same textbook one early, early morning, and being that it was the only copy in the entire library, you were determined to get your hands on it.
“I believe my hand was here first,” you said in a matter-of-fact tone. Part of you was screaming at yourself for even thinking about going against Alhaitham in any way, but this research paper is due next week and you will not let anyone hinder your progress. “I can give it to you when I’m done with it.”
Annoyance with a hint of amusement had crossed his features as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, the action drawing your gaze. The man had always been a great distance from you, but now seeing him up close, you can understand why some of the other scholars made it a point to mention just how attractive this man was. The brains, brawn, and looks all in a single individual? The archons were quite unfair, if you had anything to say about it.
“I believe the scholars understand they should not hinder any work of mine. It would be best for me to take it, and I will return it once I no longer need it.”
You wanted to wipe the smugness of his face. With a kiss or with a book thrown at him, you don’t care to differentiate – but the confidence he exuded was starting to irritate you, and you ignore the beginnings of an unwanted heat swirling in your core. “Well if the Scribe would so kindly lend it to me, I only need it for the next 36 hours and it will be all yours afterward. Surely your work can wait for that long?”
He took a step towards you to level with your impertinent gaze. Part of you thought you had had the higher ground, granted you were standing on a step ladder so you could reach the book, but you then saw that even with the extra centimeters, you were simply at about the same height as the man. Again, unfair.
“What is your name?” He interrogated.
“What is it to you?” You snapped back. If he really wanted to, he could demand to see your student identification credentials. But part of him wanted to hold back, to watch you bend to his will.
“I may consider granting you your wish if I can learn of your identity.”
The look of surprise on your face had been the beginning of his downfall. Normally the other scholars would have cowered beneath his presence by now. Yet the little spurts of fight from you had elicited some excitement from within, a feeling he hadn’t felt in quite a bit of time. Such emotions were for the weak for they clouded one’s judgment and logic.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I will take this and, once again, will return it when I am done with it.”
He outstretched his hand to lay his claim on the book’s spine, fingers pressing gently against yours that were still adamant in your pursuit. Both of you made it a point to ignore how the touch made goosebumps form on your arm, thankfully hidden underneath your clothes. The Akademiya’s Scribe knowing you by name never boded well, but it was 2AM and you were perhaps too desperate.
In a state of unfounded confidence and irrationality, your fingers moved to intertwine with his. Watching his jawline slack the slightest bit fueled you, and you dragged your hands off the shelf and pressed them against his chest. With it, you leaned into the bounds of his personal space, using everything you had left in you to keep his eyes on you. Perhaps his pupils had become dilated, you can’t remember at this point, but it was enough distraction for you to use your other hand to snatch the book from its confines between other hardcovers. Once acquired, you disentangled from his grasp and took hurried steps off the step-ladder, clutching the book to your chest. You backpedaled some decimeters away to create some much needed distance. Alhaitham seemed stunned into silence. Or perhaps he was plotting your murder.
“(Y/N).”
And before you disappeared around the corner, he called out to warn, “I will see you in 36 hours.”
For many weeks afterwards, he made it a point to alert you of his presence whenever you were in the Akademiya’s building. If you were furiously annotating notes from multiple annals spread across your table, he would saunter by and subtly brush his cape against your clothes. If you were simply reading for pleasure, a knee pulled up into your chest because fuck Akademiya propriety, he would make sure to sit at the table across yours and in a chair on the side facing you head on. Did he let himself stare at you too much, finding some enjoyment in watching your facial expressions as you read? Perhaps. If it was late at night and you looked incredibly stressed, he would invite himself to look over your shoulder and observe your information, only to point out some details and offer tidbits of advice. Sometimes you found yourself in deep, research-heavy conversations and got a taste of Alhaitham’s inner workings, which only made you want more.
Tonight after a big project, he invited you to a drink at Lambad’s Tavern, though it was under the guise of needing some help bringing food back for his roommate afterwards, and you were going there anyway. Tucked in the corner, you, aided by alcohol, had let your inhibitions fall. You would need to be passed out to not feel the heat and weight of his gaze on you for the entire night, and you found yourself reveling in it. Yet it didn’t make sense – why would he find an interest in you, out of all the people within Sumeru? Alhaitham could have his pick of anyone, yet he decided to put his eggs in a basket with your name and face on it.
The thoughts stewed inside, even as he made a nonchalant offer to walk you to your apartment. “It is late, and you have no means to defend yourself.” That had been the end of it as he walked towards the path leading to the outskirts of the city, and you had no choice but to follow. At your doorstep, underneath a waning gibbous and cloudy skies, Alhaitham’s body language communicated his hesitancy in leaving you alone for the night, and with a swallow, you had invited him in for a cup of coffee.
He gave a nod. The door clicked shut. And as soon as your eyes with hints of lust met his, he made his move – surging forward to pull you into a kiss, and then spinning to press you against the wall with his thighs slotted between yours. The faint, yet unbridled moan for just mere kisses made his chest swell, and he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip.
“It’s just not – Haitham – a good idea,” you pant, thoughts back in the present moment.
“I disagree,” he retaliates, pulling back to remove your shirt. The rate of his disappearing self-control only increases when he does everything to commit this moment to memory. You’re so beautiful, he laments, torn between wanting to maintain the sanctity of your figure and forcing you to succumb and accept his attempts to claim you. He wants you to feel his kisses and bites for days, so you would never forget and inevitably crave his touch.
You don’t want to argue with him now, not when you finally have him in your hands. Your lips desperately meet his again as you unclip your bra and shrug it off. He follows suit and undoes his cape so he can pull his sleeveless shirt over his head, groaning when he pulls you close and his bare skin takes in the heat emanating from yours. Feeling your hardened nipples slide against his pectorals should not be so alluring, yet he finds himself wishing you two could stay in bed for eternity, naked and entwined and drunk on each others’ touch.
Fingers dig into his silver-gray locks and tugs, to which he answers with a punishing nip on your neck. “Bedroom,” you plead so prettily and he can only let you draw back to lead the way. He wastes little time in pressing forward until the back of your legs hit the bed frame, causing you to fall back. From mere kisses and heavy petting, the look on your face is already so sinful, and Alhaitham can’t help but imagine how you’d look once his cock was inside you.
“You siren and minx,” he sighs in faux displeasure, planting gentle pecks down your chest and abdomen until he hovers over the band of your pants. He tugs them and your underwear down with the aid of your lifted hips – and doesn’t miss the glossy thread of your slick from your vulva to the damp cotton. When it eventually breaks, he feels twinges of regret for not being able to catch it on his tongue and have a taste of you, like a man dying of thirst in the desert.
His hands have a firm grip underneath your thighs and pushes them towards your chest. Alhaitham curses when he has the full view of your pussy, puffy and wet and demanding any attention. “Haitham, please,” and you sound like you’re on the verge of tears.
“Hmm?” His voice teases as his fingers spread and his thumbs are so, so close to where you want them to be. Your pitiful cry is answered with– “Use your words. You surely have never had a problem with that.”
You beat a fist against his chest in retaliation, though there is little to no force behind it. The pathetic attempt at communicating your embarrassment is not lost on you.
Yet despite the heated blood in your veins, the near desperation to climb this high, your heart stills at the smirk sitting devilishly on his lips. You suddenly become hyperaware of every part of your body that he is seeing and touching, and the rational part of your brain returns once more to remind you, again, that this is not going to end well.
In the years that Alhaitham has roamed and trudged through the hierarchy and floors of the Akademiya, everybody knows he is not one for intimate relationships, whether it be deeper friendships or romantic partnerships. So for him to spend his precious free time with an ordinary scholar such as you, no legacy or prestige to your name – it made no sense. You are more than ready to understand that if this night were to run its due course, the end result would be the same if it were to never happen.
The dread that settles into Alhaitham’s body is murky and viscous as he watches sobering clarity fill your system, most noticeably in your eyes. Irises expanding, pupils shrinking, the life and spark from earlier swept away, don’t make much sense to him as you gently remove yourself from his grasp. “Y/N?” He inquires with some of the most uncertainty he’s felt in the last ten or so years. Adrenaline dissolves into veiled panic as he watches you slip on a new pair of underwear and an oversized sleep shirt.
“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling too well,” you supply in a meek voice, looking around and eventually finding his shirt from earlier. The man appears as dumbfounded as he can behind such a blank and austere face such as his, pulling the material back over his head and looping his arms through in a trance. He doesn’t remember following after you but finds himself back in your living room where his cloak had been haphazardly thrown onto the ground. With the way you slide it over his shoulders and make no mistake in securing it properly, he feels as if ice cold water has been dumped over his head.
And then you’re both at the front door and all he knows in this precise moment is that he really, really doesn’t want to leave.
“Thank you again for the drink,” you say, voice cracking near the end and gaze avoiding his at all costs. “You didn’t have to.”
Alhaitham chooses to say nothing, and despite how much the inner turmoil is wrecking your nervous system, you know this is for the best.
Right?
“Did I do anything wrong?”
Yes. No. Of course. Not at all. Maybe.
“No, I just don’t feel well. Maybe the alcohol isn’t agreeing with me.”
At the same time you twist the doorknob and pull, you stand on your tiptoes to plant a shaky kiss against his cheek.
“Goodnight, Alhaitham.”
It’s clear that he’s being banished now, door wide and a clear signal for him to leave. While he may want to slam the door back closed and demand all the answers he needs to the sudden change in your behavior, he simply nods and steps over the threshold, pausing when he fully steps into the hallway. The man doesn’t have the gall to face you straight on, but he lets you take one last look at his side profile, eyes glancing briefly over his shoulder.
“Have a better lie next time.”
This is for the best, you repeat to yourself minutes later when you’re curled underneath your blankets.Your breath shudders as the tears begin to stain your pillowcase, and before you slip into a fitful slumber, you worry about what dreams will greet you.
-
Alhaitham doesn’t see you for a whole week.
For seven agonizing days, 108 frustration-ridden hours, you are nowhere to be found or seen, as if you decided to hole up in your apartment and never leave your own self-made prison. It’s embarrassing, to a certain degree, just how much he’s been around the library, constantly on the lookout for your figure. Kaveh caught him reading the same page of a history book for at least ten minutes on one of those days, but chose to keep his mouth shut for once and snarky remarks to himself.
On day 8, Alhaitham wonders if he’s begun to hallucinate when he sees you in plain view at the market stand, attempting to barter with the owner to get a better deal on some vegetables. But it’s your voice he hears, your hands he sees, your hair that makes his fingers twitch in a thinly-veiled hidden desire to run them through. He’s left standing in the middle of the street looking like an idiot, yet others perceive his heavy gaze upon your figure to assume that you’re about to get into some trouble and the General Mahamatra was calling in a favor of some sorts.
On day 11, he catches you running up the pathway that leads to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, which is bewildering and confusing in its entirety. What business do you have being anywhere near the residence of Lord Kusanali? Even he as the former Scribe, favored and the most unwilling Acting Grand Sage, and one of the saviors of the Dendro Archon, has not been there since the whole hubbub died down, and it’s been months.
On day 14, you run into the traveler who seems to be making her rounds of saying goodbye to various citizens. Alhaitham had spoken a number of times about her and her travels and you knew her next destination was Fontaine. Not far from home, but far enough away to rid yourself of all these ugly, human emotions and get over this huge crush on the aforementioned man. With unfounded confidence, you call for her attention with shaky breaths.
“Can I help you?” She questions softly, not missing the clear distress in your body.
“My name is Y/N and, um, I’m a scholar at the Akademiya. Though I guess my attire gave that away,” you laugh nervously, gesturing to said clothing. “I’m, uh, an acquaintance, I guess, of Haitham’s? Anyways, that’s not really important, but you’re going to Fontaine, right?”
Lumine nods and stays silent.
Well, here goes nothing. “This might sound really weird but…can I come with you?”
Perfect, golden eyebrows rise in surprise – it’s not everyday a mere stranger so brazenly asks to travel with her, especially to another nation.
“I have some research that is taking me there, but I’d prefer not to travel alone. I was going to leave soon, but just now when I heard you telling people goodbye, I thought I’d try to ask? I’ll pay for your help, and I can even help you find and cook food! Hopefully you don’t find a Vision-less person like me a burden but I promise I won’t get in the way.”
Lumine looks you up and down once more while her thoughts process. You look harmless and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have another set of hands along the way. Fontaine really wasn’t that far away once they crossed the border. It was becoming clearer to her that you truly did need to get to Fontaine, and not just for research. Perhaps –
“Could it be that you’re running from something?” She asks with curiosity.
“...wow, nothing really gets past you. It’s more like…someone,” you confess, sheepish and embarrassed.
“Are you in danger?”
“Not at all, no!” With hands waving in front of you, you speak with clear denial. “I’m trying to figure some things out and, well, I’d rather do it when I’m not constantly at risk of bumping into him.”
“Clearly I don’t know the details of your situation but…wouldn’t it be better to just be honest with him?”
You take a glance in the direction of the Akademiya and allow a bittersweet smile to grace your lips. “I think my honesty would simply be a burden for him.”
“And you know that because…?”
“Because he is that kind of man. There is no need for him to have a place for me in his heart. But I’m really bringing the mood down – could you please consider my offer? I forgot to mention I can be quite handy with a dagger if need be.”
Lumine and Paimon exchange a look, the fairy shrugging. “We leave tomorrow at first light,” the traveler speaks up. “Is that enough time for you to gather everything you need? If not, as long as we leave by midday, we don’t mind waiting.”
Perfect.
“It’s more than enough time. I pack light anyways.”
“We’ll meet in front of the Sanctuary then. Paimon and I need to meet with Lord Kusanali before we depart.”
You barely get any sleep that night, a ball of nerves and excitement. Your neighbor has been kind enough to hold your spare key to check in on your apartment every once in a while, waving you off when you begin to discuss forms of repayment for their generosity. The last time you ventured out of the main city and its surrounding areas was perhaps a few years ago to get a look at the famed Palace of Alcazarzaray. Alhaitham had briefly spoken of Kaveh a few times, though his tone was an odd amalgamation of genuine respect and scathing admonishment. In fact, you met the architect once when he came to the Akademiya to ask (more like loudly demand) for a copy of their house key. That was one of your first deep dives into how much of a teasing asshole Alhaitham could be, and you had already been spending most of your hours with him.
Fontaine has only ever been presented to you in sketches and paintings, so for a chance to see it in person…you can’t wait.
When your alarm goes off, you practically jump out of bed, throwing on your travel attire that you had set out the night before. With your research materials in a bag and travel essentials in another, you give one last look at your apartment. Who knows when you’ll be back?
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It had been a long time since your girlfriend and you went on a romantic date, so you were both very excited to have been able to book a decently fancy restaurant.
Waiting in line to be seated, you couldn't help but admire her. She had gone with a fairly modest look--a knee-length skirt and a white button-up blouse--but per usual, her curvy body made the clothes look so, so much better. Her wide hips and butt made that skirt skin tight, and that shirt? The buttons around her massive breasts were struggling to stay closed.
Giant gaps between the buttons made looking through her shirt even easier, and that's when you spotted the overflow of her 36Js.
"Are you full again?" you whispered to her, nodding toward her breasts.
She nodded, which only made them jiggle. "Yeah, but I pumped before we got here so I should maybe be okay."
A flash of blue vein from the gap in her shirt made me question her reply.
The waiter led you to the table. When she plopped down in her seat, a pang rang out; one of the buttons on her shirt had popped and shot across the table to my plate.
Her cheeks flushed, and she mumbled an apology to the waiter; as to be expected, his eyes were glued to the pair of massive breasts that caused the whole commotion in the first place.
"We need a chance to look at the menu," you tell him.
"Oh right, menus." He sounded just about as distracted as you felt the first time you saw the crease where your girlfriend's already huge bras were cutting into her expanding mammaries.
You watched the waiter adjusting himself as he left.
"So you pumped before we left, huh babe?" An accusing but playful smile crossed your lips. "How much?"
"W-Well, I fed the boys first." She tried pulling the edges of her dress shirt to cover her deep cleavage, but there was absolutely no hope. "But after, I guess..."
She murmured something, avoiding your eyes.
"What?" you asked.
"I said," she replied in a soft whisper, "just under a gallon."
A gallon?!
Good God it was hard not to stare at her again. No doubt, in an attempt to relieve some of the weight off her shoulders, she had rested her massive milkers on the table and let out a sigh. Despite the bra--which looked ridiculously small on her at the moment--her nipples were starting to poke through. She really hadn't been joking when she said her supply had increased. As it was, your chest freezer at home was stocked so full extra milk she hadn't needed, and there was only so many places accepting donations.
How her body had decided she needed to make even more, you weren't sure. But this girl looked so close to bursting, which made your dick twitch with urge.
After an hour of waiting for the waiter to come back, you notice your girlfriend shifting in her seat a bit. The blue veins that usually indicate how full she is really started to make an appearance.
The last time you touched those veins when she was this full... you shift in your chair, very aware of your erection pressing against the bottom on the table.
She places a hand atop her left breast and frowns.
"Everything okay?" you ask her.
"Uhh... maybe?" She feels the right one in the same manner, her expression getting increasingly more worried.
"Maybe?"
"My pump broke mid-session," she confessed, staring down at her breasts. She hoisted them up, her fingers sinking deeply into the flesh as she checked how full she really felt, sloshing around the milk. Precum dampened your tip. "They're still pretty full, but I think I should be okay until we get home."
That made more sense, but it only riled you up more. Despite feeding your twins and pumping out a near gallon, she was still making so much milk. Even getting home didn't necessarily mean relief; she could overstuff our kids with as much milk as they could guzzle, but she would still probably leak and fill a bucket with this new supply increase if she didn't have a pump.
They already looked so, so full... would she really last an hour?
Twenty minutes and another button bursting open later, the waiter still hadn't returned.
Guy's probably jerking himself silly over those tits, you thought. If it were you, you'd probably have done the same.
A baby started crying behind you. Your girlfriend looked over at it as its mother tried to stop its fussing, but to no avail.
"I hope he's okay," she whispered.
"He'll be fine."
She nodded, but still didn't take her eyes off them. The baby continued crying, and after a minute, the fourth button on her shirt popped. She barely noticed it, or the fact that the table on which she was resting her breasts had started to tip.
More than that though, two wet spots appeared where her hard nipples were soaking through the shirt. They started as tiny little specs, making you think something had splashed on her at home point, but it only took a few minutes of the damp spots spreading quickly for you to realize what was going on.
"Thought you said you'd be fine," you teased.
"Hmm?" Her motion of looking back at you only sloshes her breasts around more. How could she look so innocent on her face but have such full breasts, begging to be sucked on?
You nodded down to them, and that was when she jumped up and saw the pre-dinner plate had a pool of milk in it already.
Hot in and of itself, but her action had popped the final button off her shirt. If her tits had seemed large before, she was absolutely massive now that there was no shirt to keep them contained. The bra that was supposed to support them basically looked like a tiny string bikini top now, essentially useless as a steady stream of milk ran down her breasts, and both nipples were letting out spurts.
Embarrassed, she tried to wrap her arms around them to cover herself up, but there was only so much she could do.
Your member throbbed, begging to take even just a tiny lick of the stream.
All that milk in her, and you guys were an hour away from home with a broken pump.
Licking your lips, you couldn't help but revel in what you knew would be the answer to what she needed.
You couldn't wait to drink her dry.
---
🐮
#tw lactation kink#lactation kink tw#massive breasts#breast expansion#huge cleavage#huge natural melons#mommy milkers
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Kim saw the moment Chay realized something about him was different. Seconds after digging his hand into Kim’s boxers, and he froze up like a deer in the headlights, greeted by well-groomed hair and distinct wetness.
“... P’Kim?”
Kim realized, about five minutes too late, that he probably should have warned Chay first. Given him some indication that he wasn’t exactly what he presented to the rest of the world. In all the ways that mattered, sure; Kim walked the walk and talked the talk, and while there were thousands of people every day calling him pretty, none of them would think to call him anything other than a man. But that didn’t change the fact that Chay’s fingers were cupping the soft curve of his mound, and not the hard dick he’d been expecting.
“Problem?” Kim asked. He kept his voice neutral even as he felt his face flush, his body braced for rejection, and didn’t allow himself to break Chay’s wide-eyed stare.
Rather than jerk his hand back and call an end to this whole thing, like Kim expected, Chay quickly shook his head and crowded even further into Kim’s space. Close enough for Kim to feel Chay’s warm breath on his face.
“No! No, I just—I’ve been thinking about this for so long, I was researching,” the way Chay looked away from him, somewhere over his shoulder, with an awkward little giggle, told Kim that his research was probably porn, “and I don’t… know what to do? With this?”
Kim would really like to be having this conversation without a hand in his underwear. But Chay was on top of him, between his legs, pinning him to the couch with his hand and weight. Kim couldn’t get away if he wanted to, not without hurting them both. Except then Chay’s fingertips started to wander, calloused from his guitar practice, grazing against him. A light little scrape that had him clenching around nothing.
“It’s okay, though, it’s good!” Chay quickly reassured. “Really good. Everything about you is so good, P’Kim.”
Kim… didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know what to do with the warmth filling him, that had nothing to do with his arousal, pooling in his chest and curling up around his heart, soft and satisfied. It felt like a lifetime ago that Chay stumbled his way through a confession that he liked all sides of Kim; somehow, Kim didn’t expect him to like this one, too. Didn’t expect to be met with such open fondness and eager desire. He hadn’t let himself think about it at all. It felt like too much to hope for, until they were making out on the couch and Kim was consumed with so much want that he forgot to be afraid.
“The thing is, though… I definitely don’t know what to do. Tell me?” Chay asked. He was sweet, all big brown eyes and unsure little smile, like he didn’t have his hand halfway down Kim’s pants.
Kim let the tension bleed out of him. He hitched a leg up around Chay’s waist and wrapped his arms over his shoulders, drawing him into a filthy kiss. Not much of a direction, but enough of an answer to make the other boy shudder. Chay dipped his hand lower, until his fingertips passed Kim’s clit and brushed the gathering wetness between his thighs.
“Oh, P’Kim,” he whispered. “Can I—”
“Yes.” Kim canted his hips up, letting his head fall back onto the cushions when Chay lightly, so lightly brushed a thumb against his clit. It was a heady, torturous feeling, teasing him. He pushed on Chay’s hand, guided him lower. “C’mon,” he urged. Chay bit his lip as he slid one finger into him.
It wasn’t too much. But it was strange, the sensation of something inside of him. Kim rarely fingered himself; he preferred to abuse his clit for the fast orgasms. The only sex toy he owned was a vibrator, and he never let anyone fuck him. But now—he wanted Chay inside of him. He felt his cunt throb with it, and he knew Chay felt it, too, with the way he gasped and pushed in just a little deeper.
“Wow, you’re—you’re really wet, P’Kim.” Chay watched him, wiggling his finger a little bit to feel Kim’s slick walls, but not otherwise moving. He was so shy, kind of just… sitting there, knuckle-deep in Kim’s cunt. “Tell me what to do?” he asked again, already starting to withdraw, then push back in again.
“Fingering me isn’t any different than yourself,” Kim said, grinning at the scandalized sound Chay made, like Kim had no right to go around assuming something like that. He didn’t deny it, though. He didn’t ask for any more clarification, either, and Kim knew he was right.
#cookie writes#kimchay#more trans kim smut!#actually im editing the old one finally#which is why this might seem familiar
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Mal/Jay for soulmark AU
First touch to your soulmate leaves a mark. It makes for interesting tales, on the Isle.
Something knocks on the window of the Bargain castle and Mal startles from her sleep: Surely, she was imagining it?
She lies motionless, listening, and again: A pebble against her window.
She throws off her cover and stalks over to the window, peeks out by the side of it: She doesn’t really expect a raging crowd with pitchforks or even just bored and bloodthirsty pirates under her – Maleficent’s – window, but one can never be too sure.
But no, there is only one figure down below.
Only Jay, half hidden in the shadows.
She opens the window for him, waits for him to scale the wall like he usually does, but–
There is no sound. No movement.
Just Jay, holding his side and gesturing towards the back door that he shouldn’t even know about – Mal shivers as she hurries to open it. She doesn’t bother with a weapon or even her gloves, she barely remembers to grab an old jacket against the cold.
Barefooted, she runs through the halls of the Bargain Castle, prickling her ears for any sign that her mother noticed.
She hadn’t yet– she hadn’t.
Breathless and holding her breath anyway, Mal opens the door for Jay. He stumbles in immediately after, the metallic smell of blood with him. Mal scrunches her nose at that before zeroing in on Jay again.
She breathes in sharp when she realises how bad he looks: „Jay–“
He smirks at her – smirks at her! – and says: „Didn’t know where else to go.“
The smirk falls off his face soon after that, leaving only an expression of pain.
„Come inside,“ she urges, grabbing at his arm. It’s okay, because he has his leather jacket on, and barely anyone dares to spy on the Bargain Castle anyway.
„Who did this to you?“ she hisses as they start walking and she notices he’s limping too, holy Evil, he’s limping too–
She knows she should be quiet so as not to temp mother’s attention, but she thinks she needs to know what happened to him more.
„Hell Hall,“ he forces through his teeth and first of all, that’s a what, not a who and also:
„Why the fuck were you at the Hell Hall?!“
„Father,“ he says, „Less talk and more saving me?“
He tries and fails to smirk again.
She… can do that. She supposes she can do that. So she grits her teeth together and leads him to her room as fast as he can walk, which is a good deal slower than she would like.
Fucking Hell Hall of all places, what was Jafar thinking?!
Nothing much, she supposes, and look at Jay now. Though if it hadn’t been a direct command but rather a stupid fucking idea of Jay’s to impress his ruin of a father, she‘s gonna skin him alive right after she is done with this.
Jay, that is.
…And Jafar too. Just for good measure.
Finally, they get back to her room and she guides Jay to an armchair her mother deposited in there, probably to have something resembling a throne for when she decides to grace her room with her mighty presence or what. It’s barely standing anyway and half-eaten by moths.
She helps Jay sit into it.
„Wait here,“ she says. She closes the door and hinges a broken broom under it to give herself at least an illusion of a barrier, and then she goes to get the first aid kit.
She has it stored high up, almost in the roof, wedged in between the beams along with all of her good shit – one of the few benefits of having a tower room, she supposes. And besides, she enjoys being high up.
She snatches the kit stored in a run down sac, grits the cloth in between her teeth and swings down; she lands almost directly in front of Jay. Nice.
„Nice move,“ he grunts out and she preens just a little.
„How bad is it?“
„Cruella’s bear trap,“ he indicates towards his leg and she hopes it isn’t broken, that it wasn’t just adrenaline holding him up.
„Knife.“ His side.
He moves his hand out of the way for her to have a look and shit, that’s bleeding, like, a lot. Mal is pretty certain that ain’t good.
But if she got her human anatomy right – and she should, she got an A from that class in Dragon Hall – no important organs were hit.
She presses her hands to the wound as he didn’t have the good bloody sense to put his back and hisses: „Whose knife, Jay?!“
„Not telling you until after this,“ he has the audacity to tell her, „You might just get up and try to kill them, leave me to bleed to death in this fancy chair of yours.“
The fact that he is right doesn’t make it any less annoying.
„There are worse places to die, I suppose,“ he muses.
„Fuck you, Jay. And keep pressure on that yourself so I can actually do something about it, will you?“
Her hands are bloody when she pulls them away and she absentmindedly wipes them on her thighs. She opens her first aid kit: It’s not the best, but it’ll do. It’ll have to.
Just one more thing:
„Temporary damage control until you can get to any of the healers, or should I take care of it completely?“
„Completely. ’M not going to the port and Gothel’s been in a mood the last few weeks. Now get on with it– please“
Last few weeks, Mal is sure. About the same time she started gaslighting the Isle to believe the colour has always been in her hair, obviously.
She snickers at Ginny’s misfortune.
Now, cauterise the wound or stitch it up?
Both’s gonna hurt like a bitch.
She wipes her hands on her thighs again.
She’s always been clumsy with a needle, so, cauterisation it is. And the wound didn’t look that deep anyway, did it?
She pours some alcohol she haggled off the Mims onto a knife and sticks it into the nearest flame, holds it there until it’s burning hot: Jay obediently moves his hands away and bites down on his sleeve as not to scream.
Mal closes her eyes as the skin sizzles.
She pulls the knife away and pours more alcohol on the fresh scar, uses a bit of cloth to wipe down the blood.
Wait.
She’s pretty sure burns are not supposed to be this colour.
Like, at all.
Horrible idea settles on her mind and she wipes the blood of her own damn <i>gloveless</i> hands too.
She sits back at her heels and closes her eyes just so she wouldn’t need to look at Jay and their matching fucking soulmarks –
She should– she should kill him. Let him die. Make the mark go away again, make her mother proud.
Why didn’t she do that?
Why?
Jay is still seething in pain, oblivious to what is happening and if she puts on the bandages now, the pain might blur into one for him. She moves mechanically.
Why doesn’t she let him die?
As she finishes wrapping his side, he comes back to himself and, noting her expression, he asks: „What’s wrong, Dragon?“
He slurs just a little.
She shows him her tainted hands.
„I should have let you die. I should have killed you while you were out of it,“ she informs him.
He tenses up, preparing to throw himself out of the window, she supposes, as he says, carefully: „You didn’t.“
She just shrugs. She has no excuse for herself.
„I didn’t,“ she echoes back at him.
„Can’t get rid of this pretty face,“ he jokes, and Mal throws the rest of the bandages at him. It’s not like they’re sanitary anyway. She could – should – still change her mind, doesn’t he know?
They stare at each other for few long moments that feel more like hours, really.
Neither of them moves.
Jay slowly relaxes again.
She looks at her marked hands, folded in her lap.
„So,“ Jay offers finally, „Let's never talk about this again?“
That could work, she supposes. They don’t need to be promenading around, showing off their marks like certain people. They can pull this off.
„If you can handle not stripping down for every pair of pretty eyes,“ she jabs at him without her usual venom.
„I’m not sure however will the Isle live with that loss.“
Egotistical bastard.
She pulls at her hands, at her forever-tainted fingers and palms.
„…Gloves?“ he asks.
„Forgot them – because of you,“ she manages to say it in an accusatory tone, instead of the „Because you scared me, I was worried about you,“ that is on her tongue.
What she says is not a lie.
„I can get you new ones. For the trouble.“
Yeah, no.
„You’re going nowhere until we take care of that leg too,“ she informs him and he settles back into the chair without argument.
„And you didn’t tell me whose knife it was.“
He tries that bloody smile on her again and stretches out the leg.
With only a minute level of satisfaction, she pours the alcohol onto his open wounds.
He gasps at the pain and then says: „I’m– I’m actually not sure. Kind of a blur, y’know?“
Well, that just means Mal will have to deal with all of them, how lovely.
„Stupid fucker.“
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Defying Certain Death Part 10
Copied from my DeviantArt account, a non-sexual G/T vore story featuring adults along the lines of the lion and the thorn fable. There will be tons of hurt/comfort aspects, lots of safe vore. That is the primary focus in this.
Barrett is and adult giant standing 85ft tall and Hope is an adult human at 5ft 6. Barrett does not eat children at any point.
Warnings: Unwilling Prey; Fatal Mention (Implied future); Characters in Distress
Future: While this part is relatively tame, future parts include fatal vore and violence. Barrett, the giant, is not a good guy, so will be doing some occasional bad things.
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Hope sighed, uncertain about the best way to answer. “Well... I’m not entirely sure about the distance... a storm took out almost everything I had growing, so I made this trip to get enough to start over. But the reason what I grow is valuable is because it is typically found a great distance away, too far to easily travel. I had to sell the last of my supply... and most of my other belongings, to be able to afford to make this trip... My best guess is my village is about fifty or sixty aroys from here.”
Barrett paused, shocked at the distance. An aroy was about a full day’s walk for him, and she had come that far? No wonder she sold her whole stock, she must have paid someone to make a portal. And it meant she probably hadn’t thought she’d be able to go back for some time, if at all. It only served to increase his curiosity about her, leading to more questions rather than answers. “So what are your plans then, Hope?” “I… I’m not entirely sure. I was just going to continue gathering plants, get some sprouts started, and head in the general direction of home. I hadn’t decided if I’d go the whole way or settle somewhere between here and there.” “Well consider my offers… I could provide you some things from my collection, and you’d be set...”
He paused suddenly when he caught a scent, one that reminded him of the need for him to get food. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air a bit, smiling. About time he found something. “Hope? I’ll be getting you out shortly. I’ll be sure to put you near some water so you can clean up while I hunt.” “Thank goodness... despite your reassurances; this is still pretty scary for me.” Barrett turned, heading first towards where his sense of smell indicated water to be closest. It looked like a lake that the mountain river lead down to... and was likely where the caravan he smelled was heading. He was pretty sure they were far enough that Hope wouldn’t see or hear anything while she washed up... He had a pretty good feeling that if she knew what kind of prey he found, she would probably be upset. He may have nothing against hunting humans and similar prey, but he didn’t want to upset Hope if it could be avoided. Not after all she did for him.
He made his way to the lakeside, closing his eyes briefly as he knelt down. He would be ravenously hungry once he got Hope back out, and he wasn’t looking forward to that feeling of desperation. But it would no doubt be horribly traumatizing to Hope if he didn’t get her out first. Thankfully, bringing the girl back up wasn’t too difficult. Do to the potential risk that came with their habit of consuming live prey, they were able to bring back up anything they swallowed with relative ease. Before long, his small rescuer was back in his mouth, and he opened it slowly with his hand held out in front of it, letting her crawl out on her own. His stomach was already complaining at its emptiness, but he focused on how much he owed Hope, and the presence of nearby prey, to resist the urge to swallow her back down again.
He lowered her to the ground near the lake and stood, not wanting to linger near her while his need for food was so strong. “I’ll return soon,” he said simply before turning and walking between the trees nearby. He almost immediately heard the sound of Hope going into the water to wash off.
After he had gone a bit of distance, he crouched lower, moving more quietly as he caught the scent of the humans and horses of the caravan again. He smiled, looking forward to a meal of more than just a couple mountain sheep. But he’d also have to be careful not to eat too much. After all, he’d had significantly less food for a few weeks, so his stomach would have shrunk. Eating as much as he might normally have could very well kill him. Perhaps he could save some for later... That might work.
Ears perked as he heard the humans in the caravan talking. He continued moving forward slowly, only stopping when he could just barely make out the road between the trees ahead. They were getting closer... why run after them if they would come right to him? He could wait a couple minutes. He could even get them to stop right in front of him. Just listen to them get closer, then lunge once they were in sight.
Barrett carefully grabbed a fallen tree from the nearby woods, moving it to block the road. As he did this, he heard a word that drew his attention to their conversation. “...syor when heading this way. They had his road off limits for a while because apparently some were crossing further past the mountains and took out some of the travelers along this route.” The voice sounded male.
“So what changed? Why is the road cleared for general travel now if it wasn’t before?” The second voice also seemed to be male, although seemed younger than the first.
“Well, the town ahead has defenses against their kind, but having the road at risk cut off supplies from them. Way I heard it; they hired a couple of terran geomancers to make sure it wouldn’t be a problem anymore.”
“How’d they manage that?”
“I don’t know the details. Try asking Marie, she’s always listening in to the latest news and stuff.”
“Hey Marie!” Before they younger of the men could ask, a female voice spoke up, “I overheard you. Loud as you two are, it’d be impossible not to have heard you. Yes, I know about it, way I heard it they were supposed to make it impassable, but decided it would be easier to bobby trap it... Shit, can we talk about this later? Looks like you two boys are going to have to clear the road ahead.”
About this time, Barrett was finally able to see the two horses pulling the pair of carts coming around the bend. He smiled as the first came to a stop, and the second soon after it. The pair of men riding in the first cart got out to move the tree, and Barrett stepped out behind the two carts. The woman driving the second cart screamed as his shadow passed over them, and the two men turned around just as Barrett reached over to grab them.
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#giant tiny#size difference#dcd#gt vore#soft vore#terrasyor#defying certain death#safe vore#syor#barrett#barrett the giant#unwilling prey#g/t vore#vore writing#my writing#my stories#my stuff#barrett and hope#hope and barrett
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HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
This might not grace the date, but I'm writing this half an hour before midnight but to celebrate I got a little treat for you guys, hope you enjoy!
edit: aight i missed the deadline but HAPPY LATE HALLOWEEN
Consider this a make-up for not being able to update Heartstrings, I promise the next chapter will be worth it, but I'm just a tad busy at the moment to properly render it public <3
(we putting those onesies to good use here lmao)
EDIT2: this may have been a future scene in Heartstrings however this was mainly just for halloween, its just a side story but can be taken as whatevr you like
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SYNTAX X READER
Lego Monkie Kid
Context: It's Halloween baby, and you're lucky Syntax decided to play nice and let you dress him up. You're probably the only person he'd ever allow to expose him in that way, so you'd better not fuck this up. Unfortunately, you decide to be a brat.
CW: Language, light suggestive themes
‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹
It's getting late.
You wait by the car with bated breath, eyes scanning for your partner and wishing he'd just materialize there. Unfortunately, Syntax is taking his precious time with the costume you'd picked out.
He's doing this on purpose.
You saw his smug smile before he vanished into the bathroom, caught the way his eyes flicked shamelessly over your figure.
Yes, he doesn't approve of your costume choice, but he certainly sees no problem in having you wear it. The green triceratops onesie is large and baggy, hardly complimenting your body but proving itself worthy in other areas - such as with pockets and a large, cute hood.
Ah, there he is.
Your eyes snap up as the spider demon strides outside, having been staring at the ground, lost in your thoughts.
With a careless eye roll, you wave him over. "Took you long enough."
"Apologies, but I had a difficult time getting past the ridiculousness of your fashion choice, darling," Syntax hums, giving himself a cool once-over before looking up at you. "What is it?"
You cock a brow, all mirth and no pity. "No need to apologize, Dino Boy. It's cute that you feel the need to, though."
"Are we on a tight schedule?" He deadpans.
Well, yes and no.
You are free to trick-or-treat anytime, but people normally close shop after 10 p.m..
Your glare shifts sideways, a fateful indicator of the half-truth in Syntax's statement. His smile merely grows fondly as he watches you start the engine and kick the car into gear. He loves getting on your nerves and reminding you exactly how much he adores the way you try and fail to comeback him. However, there's that infuriating bratty side to you that, although is no match for his wit, never fails to irritate him. It renders his thoughts utterly hazy, and perhaps that's the beauty of it.
You don't need smart comebacks. Your attitude gets you anything you want, and he knows you know it.
"Won't you drive?" Syntax says, gesturing to the open road.
You're staring at him, making goosebumps rise on his arms. But you see no problem in admiring how he looks, smiling wryly. "Sure. No harm in etching you permanently in my memory, though."
He grits his teeth. "Darling, we'll be late."
"You think we have to be on time for Halloween? Ha, maybe the costume does suit you. Dinosaurs have pea-brains, too."
"(Y/N)-"
"Aaaand we're off!" You say, tapping tunelessly on the steering wheel as you edge the gas pedal so suddenly it urges Syntax to grip the arm rest tightly. He sucks in a heated breath, sharp eyes going to glare at the smug smile painting your pretty little face.
Oh, he'll get you for this.
For forcing him into a humiliating outfit for an equally pointless event. For being a brat and making him look like a fool.
However, he's content to bite his tongue and sit back. He'll watch you drive silently, not just to admire your figure or to keep from distracting you, but to allow a plan to evolve. Revenge tastes sweetest on unsuspecting victims, after all.
You, on the other hand, are blissfully unaware of your partner's conniving.
Honestly, you're happy Syntax is doing this with you.
The two of you are heading to the most festive neighborhood in the city. They tend to leave the streets decoration-free until a few days before Halloween, though, to get the biggest reaction out of onlookers and trick-or-treaters. And boy, do they play their cards right. You've seen old posts on social media regarding Halloweens of the past, and a large portion is centered around the neighborhood you're driving to.
Syntax has no clue.
He, assuming he hasn't spoiled it for himself by scouring the internet, will be utterly blown away by the sheer creativity and raw horror of every house's decorations. He doesn't know about the screaming ghouls, the dolls that jump out at you, and the fog that gives scarers the perfect weapon; surprise. Sure, there are a few houses that host little to no decorations, but the ones that do are a marvel.
You spare a glance at your partner. He notices instantly.
"Looking sharp, dino dude."
Green eyes slide down his frame, weeding out the parts he doesn't like. "I look hideous. Onlookers will wonder if I've gone crazy. Are we there yet?"
"Heh, you must be really stressed," you tease, wearing a shit-eating grin. "This is the only day of the year where wearing crazy outfits is normal. Don't you know that? No one will think you're crazy unless you act like . . ." You give him a once over, unimpressed; "yourself."
Oh, he does not like your tone of voice. Amusement, directed at him? You might as well be burning his pride at the stake.
"I'm not stressed, I-"
"Also, yes, it's just around the corner," you interrupt, eyes glittering.
Syntax's breath hitches. He rewards you with a filthy glare, tempted to advance his unspoken warning by bringing out the spider enhancements. Unfortunately, the costume prevents that course of action, curse you and your rotten intuition. He sighs darkly. "That's the second time you found it convenient to interrupt me."
"Oh, is it really?" You feign shock, eyes big and apologetic. It royally pisses him off. "I'm really sorry." Your smile returns, and you drop the act while murmuring; "Wasn't much to interrupt, anyways."
"Hm? Care to repeat that?" Syntax says, forcing calm. You will not best him, not tonight.
Not even in that adorable onesie. Green. His.
You simply shrug, voice calm and innocent. Brat. "Nothing."
He contents himself with the citizens beyond the tinted car window. Eyes half-lidded, he observes their outfits, the silly costumes they'd chosen for this useless holiday. He could be doing something much more productive right now, like being nestled in the comfort of his workspace back home. You'd make him a cup of tea of coffee, settle in the padded chair he'd permanently borrowed from the furniture store. You'd fall asleep to the mechanical sounds of him tinkering, and after the long hours are up, Syntax would wrap you in a blanket and carry you to bed.
You were always quiet, exhaustion rendering you obedient. Syntax smiles to himself, hand going to grip his chin to conceal his amusement. Yes, you behaved when you were tired.
Perhaps he'll get the same result by running you ragged on this little event.
Approaching the outer edge of the neighborhood, you park the car and shut it off. With one last outfit inspection, you and Syntax hop out and meet at the front of the car.
For once, Syntax isn't looking at you.
He's momentarily distracted with the sights before him. You find yourself entranced at his obvious wonder, admiring the way his eyebrows jump up, lips parting slightly. "So? Was it as dull as you expected, or . . ?"
"Not dull, no. I wasn't expecting this."
"And you said Halloween is a silly holiday for childish shenanigans."
He catches the mockery in your tone as you step in front of him, expression challenging as you rest your weight on the balls of your heels. A mere eyebrow lift is your only reward. "I rest my case."
Syntax doesn't mind your heated glance, returns it even as you both begin walking the sidewalk.
Your hands are stuffed into your pockets (you'd also stuck your tongue out at him). "Don't you worry. I'll have you writhing in the grip of regret by the end of this."
"No need to talk about yourself so highly, darling," he quips.
Ah. Syntax feels before he sees you move. On your tip toes, you urge him to halt with a simple prod of your pointer finger against his sternum, hidden under a low-hanging tree. Bringing your mouth to his ear, you allow your tone to drop. "I know you don't hate the costume, Syntax."
The spider demon stiffens before he can stop himself, and he wishes he'd pulled the hood up to spear (Y/N) from this opportunity. "My outfit is awful. Of course I'd hate it," he grits out, focusing on a certain crack in the ground.
You hum musingly. "Wasn't talking about your costume."
Syntax's eyes flick wide in realization, at how you've clearly one-upped him. Seamlessly.
Before he can reply, you kiss his ear and exit his personal space bubble, your presence a mere ghost against his body. Of course, Syntax flushes deeply, fighting to suppress his pride. You're getting to be quicker on your feet. Now, you're all bright eyes and grabbing his hang, pulling him closer to his fate.
It takes a great deal of effort for Syntax to unclench his jaw.
He takes a deep whiff of cool air, blows it out steadily, and tries not to think about how small your hand is, clasped in his own.
Your first stop is a lovely house swathed in spider webs and tombstones. Feet stick up from the lawn, webbed corpses hang like cold symbols of doom along the house walls. But at the end is a shiny orange bowl in the lap of a stuffed scarecrow.
You fight a mischievous smile, nudging Syntax forward.
"Go on. Grab some candy."
The spider demon spares a glance over his shoulder, eyeing the families wandering the sidewalk. "Shouldn't we leave the cavities for the little ones?"
Harsh much?
You give him a harder shove, and he stumbles towards the lonely scarecrow sitting in the chair. "Nah, you'd much rather satisfy your sweet tooth."
Syntax frowns deeply, glad his expression is concealed from you, as you are indeed correct.
Grudgingly, he selects two candies and retreats.
"Happy?"
The grin you've been fighting this whole time promptly emerges, setting your face and cheeks aglow. "Oh, totally. I never knew snickers were your thing. Maybe you should eat one before we continue; you're not you when you're hungry."
Your little jibe makes Syntax want to smart-mouth you to death, want to spring his spider limbs into action and suspend you over the town.
But that would only be another win for you.
Adorable little brat.
Nose upturned, Syntax walks straight past you - but not before grabbing the back of your hood and yanking it roughly over your head. It renders you helpless and blind, and your hands shoot up to fend him off as you yelp impudently. The spider demon chuckles in obvious amusement, his gait now a pleasant stroll now that he's had his fun.
"Come now, (Y/N), I thought you were excited for this," he hums, watching you struggle to lift the hood. "Or do you give up?"
Your bright eyes spear him indignantly. "Fuck you."
"I'll take that as a no."
The next house presents the both of you with a whole different theme, this one stuffy with fog. You both curiously eye the garage doors, painted red with bloody handprints. An equally crimson trail leads to the bowl of candy positioned by the front door, almost hidden from view. Ominous figures guard the treasure, identities concealed with dark rags and cloaks. You're unable to deter whether or not they're real people, or just figures bought from the store.
Nonetheless, you're eager to let Syntax go first again.
"There you go, dino dude. There might not be much left, and I can always get some at another station," you say, feigning politeness. Your warm smile seals the deal.
Oh, oblivious, pretty little Syntax, unaware that his next course of actions will set his pride aflame.
The spider demon flashes you a cocky look, eyebrows raised at your display of kindness. To allow him first dibs, to forfeit what precious few cards you hold in this game you two are playing? He'll never let you live this down.
"You're too kind," he purrs in wicked amusement, striding confidently forward. The hooded figures remain motionless. "Don't worry, you won't regret-"
A shrill scream fills the air.
Syntax jumps back, eyes wide and arms raising to block the attackers. "Ohfuck-"
In the process of doing so, he drops the pillowcase - practically empty, but for future candy storing. One of the figures is responsible for Syntax's sudden movements, having rushed him at the last second, at the precise moment he let down his guard to fish out his choice candies. They were the ones who shrieked, and it even sent chills down your spine.
But a laugh bubbles in your throat, then a cackle, then you snort with amusement. "HA! Nice one, guys!"
Syntax straightens, wide eyes darting from you to the three figures who are suddenly moving, high-fiving each other and laughing among themselves. Breath somewhat uneven, he collects your pillowcase and tries to regain his composure.
Fuck.
That scared him. Or, well, surprised him. Damnit, he should've sensed something was off the moment you'd dropped the sass to let him go first.
He glares when you rush past him to get a high-five for yourself (not before giving him a shit-eating grin). Then, you grab some candy and part those devious lips of yours. "That was fire, guys. He totally deserved that, been acting like an asshole this entire time. He didn't even want to go out! Just wanted to stay home and tinker away . . . so thank you."
One of them laughs. "Damn, you put up with that?"
"I have to. He'd die without me," you say, slowly peeking over your shoulder to give Syntax the haughtiest, most self-satisfied smirk you've ever pulled off. It's almost impressive how badly you want to get under his skin.
After a few short rounds of useless small talk, you finally wish the hooded figures good luck and proceed down the driveway, chuckling to yourself. The spider demon spares no effort to give the scarers the filthiest look he can muster, but he's not sure they even noticed. He's already been reduced to a helpless hobo due to your incorrect recount of events. So a swift turn of the heel and he's catching up to you, heart still off-beat.
You are so. Fucking. Irritating.
At the next house, he casually grabs your arm. "Why don't you go first this time."
You don't miss a beat. "What, you scared, dino baby?"
"No. But I think you deserve a little fright this time around, don't you?" He fires back, cocking a challenging brow.
An amused hum. "We'll see."
Syntax watches you approach the trick-or-treat stand; a quaint blow-up attraction with skeletons and pumpkins lining the walkway. Arms crossing over his chest, he drums his fingers impatiently, eyes spearing the back of your neck. God, he wants you close to minimize the risk of getting lost, but the way your acting has him wanting to be as far from you as possible.
But he's supposed to be investing all his efforts into exhausting you tonight. To render you helpless and kind once again. His sweet, little angel.
Eyes widening, he watches as you retrieve some sweets.
No jumpscare.
No loud, voracious noises.
You return to his side (right where you belong), clean and free from panic or fear. Syntax merely stares down at you in surprise.
His obvious frustration and indignation has you smirking devilishly. With a light snicker, you grab his collar and tug him down to eye level, winking. "Nice try, dino baby. But the universe loves me."
With that, you reach behind him, snatch his hood, and tug it up and over his face.
Payback is a bitch.
Syntax stiffens at your movements, but his face is hidden by the triceratops hood. His face is hot as you raise a hand to cup his cheek. Your smile softens fondly, as you trace his jawline and duck to peek under the edge of the hood. "You okay under there? Thinking about giving up? 'Cause if the universe is on my side tonight, you're totally screwed. In the ass. Royally."
The spider demon contemplates your words, eyes on the floor. He doesn't pull away from your touch. "Perhaps . . . you may be right."
"See? Wasn't that hard now, was it-"
He suddenly lifts his head, green eyes flashing under the hood.
You stay quite still as he straightens slightly - just to have a fair amount of height over you - and looms over your smaller, fluffier figure.
"That may be so," he says, pausing to let the shameless wrath of his words sink in. "But the universe won't be able to protect you from the consequences of your actions. Tonight, in your bedroom. Royally," he finishes darkly.
Swallowing air, you offer a cheeky smile.
God, it's so fucking hard to combat him when he's like this. It has you sheepishly rubbing your arm.
"Maybe that's not a bad thing," you try, wanting to kiss him to stop his heated taunts. That should shut him up, as it's worked before whenever Syntax has the high ground.
However, a kiss is not what saves you, it's the citizens.
Syntax seems to realize them approaching and finally tears his eyes from your face to look around. Tonight shall be your night. He will discard any notion to combat your behavior and instead indulge in your silly antics. To secretly coax you into feeling safe and secure (it's more fun to surprise you than have you suspiciously awaiting his actions). Funny, how fast his itinerary shifts focus. But his own words have lit a spark, put a spotlight on an idea that will certainly have you back to your kind, caring self by the end of tonight.
So with a new plan etched in his mind, he bears down on you a warm smile that fills you with confusion.
"I believe we have houses to visit, my love."
You stare. "Huh? But what-"
All right, he'll bite. He's not even trying and you've suddenly lost the sass he's been brooding about all evening. "Worry not. You look darling in that costume and I would like for everyone to see that."
Syntax doesn't finish that sentence. He doesn't need to. You're his.
Perhaps having twin costumes shall reaffirm that. Curse you and your unintentionally brilliant ideas.
You offer a small smile. "Well, I'm glad you've come to your senses, spider dude."
He's the one to take your hand. "As am I."
#lmk#lego monkie kid#lmk syntax#syntax x reader#fluff#tw suggestive#romance#no angst here we only do fluff#they're in love#tall vs short#halloween special#oneshot#lmk oneshot#guys it's 2am this was fueled by music#TOTALLY kid friendly music#y/n is a brat#syntax is losing his patience
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Marelinh week 2022 prompt 1 soulmate
@xanadaus @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss
Link to ao3
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My eyes linge on the sunflower tattoo on my wrist. The petals have a slight yellow tint like they've had for the last two days indicating that my soulmate is close by. I’m fighting the urge to take my highlighter and scribble it in like an empty coloring book. I look back down at my homework, the lines blurring together signifying that I have been at this for too long even though I only have half of the page filled out, and that's only the first of seven pages. I shake my head and close the textbook “Hey dad i'm going to go for a walk be back in a little bit.” I hear something muffled that I'm going to say is agreement and step outside pulling on a light jacket before hedging out to the woods behind our house, following the worn trail and passing the occasional old fairy house that I made as a kid. When I see the bright flowers around a fallen tree I know I reached my destination, its a little clearing not to far into the woods I use to come to as a kid when my mom was having a particularly bad day. I hear a branch crack and turn around seeing dark hair and taking a step back tripping a falling straight into a bed of flowers, “Oh my god are you ok?” a light voice comes from above me and I open my eyes seeing black and silver hair covering a girls face “Yeah, just think I fell onto a rock” I say and the girl puts out her hand helping me up “Thanks, I guess” I say now that she's not leaning over something with gravity against her I see she has a really pretty silvery eyes with very kissable lips. “You guess?” she asks with a hint of annoyance “Well I mean if you weren't here to surprise me I wouldnt of fallen and wouldn't need help getting up.” I state smiling “Oh well i'm sorry I didn't know I needed to announce my presence in the middle of the woods.” she chuckles “Well maybe you do who knows but better safe than sorry we don't want anyone falling on rocks, so what's your name?” I ask “Linh, yours?” “Marella” “I like that Mare,” I usually hated it when people gave me nicknames but she made it sound so nice and warm “hey is back ok it seemed like a pretty painful fall?” Linh reaches over to my side and I flinch away her hand retreats “Sorry I shouldnt of,” “No no it's fine you were just being sweet, um im good will probably have a small bruise but nothing a balm cant fix.” I laugh awkwardly wanting to get past the last few minutes. “Well at least you fell in some really pretty flowers I mean look at that pigment.” Linh kneels down to examine a flower closer and it's the first time I actually am paying attention to them but Linh's right. They are beautiful and that yellow color is gorgeous. It's just like the one on my tattoo but brighter. They're actually just like my tattoo not just the color but the shape a thin stem with wide petals I look down and gasp “What's wrong?” Linh asks “look at your arm.” I say my eyes still trained on my wrist “Oh my” I hear her breath I look over at her and she has the same thing, our tattoo aren't just outlines anymore there in full color with yellows and orange green on the leafs and even some brown at the bottom and behind it are streaks of blue and purple that look like someone took a paintbrush to my skin. “So maybe its good you caem here.” I say and look at my soulmate “Maybe” she laughs and all of a sudden I am too. We stay there just talking for another hour, I talk to her more than I think I talk to my best friends but there is something about her that makes me just want to open up and its not just because she was my soulmate there is just something intoxicating about her. I learn she has a twin brother and is adopted by a nice gay couple and she has an adopted brother her favorite falvors are lemon and cherry. I could talk to all night but as it starts to get dark we realize we should probably get going and extrange numbers before turning in opposite directions to head home. I found out she lives on the other side of the woods and were we met in almost exactly in the middle. I look behind me and see Linh doing the same thing we share a smile and I have a feeling that im not going
to be able to sleep much to night because of her and im perfectly ok with that.
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What are telltale signs for you that what you're sending an editor is actually close or even matching their taste? I'm thinking of how so many passes have some sort of form language (keep me in mind for more/would love to connect etc) that doesn't actually seem genuine. What seems genuine to you (aside from lengthy feedback obviously that explicitly says you're close)
Well - I certainly hope MOST things I'm sending to editors are at least CLOSE to matching their taste. I sure as heck do enough research about it! And the fact that a lot of those things SELL is a pretty good indication that I'm right. It would be quite pointless to send things I don't think they'd at least like, you know?
Personally I think "keep me in mind for more" or "would love to connect" ARE genuine phrases, trite though they might sound to you. (Like "hope you are well!" -- I mean could there be a more trite phrase? But I DO hope they are well, actually, regardless of that being a cliche or whatever.)
For my own part, anyway, I would never (NEVER) say I wanted to see more / connect if it wasn't true -- I have enough on my plate without urging people to send me trash I don't want to see. So if I say those things, I mean them! And I have to think that editors are the same way -- obviously they can't buy everything, and they might not LOVE everything I send -- but I feel like they should be able to understand *why I sent it*, and if they trust my taste, they would like to see more / connect / whatever, even if THAT THING wasn't for them for whatever reason.
If it was really truly ALWAYS a miss with that editor, like they gave me no encouragement / were quite terse / just ignored me constantly OR said I was targeting them incorrectly (which they WOULD say if that were the case), well -- if they were rude about it, which would be quite rare, I'd just take them off my sublists entirely. Otherwise I might reach out and say something like, "Hey, it seems like what I'm sending is a miss for you every time -- I'd love to hop on a call and see what you are looking for so that I might calibrate my submissions more appropriately." or "Hey, no pressure, but the radio silence makes it seem like you might not be actively acquiring at this time. Should we take you off agency sublists for the time being?"
Point being, obviously very personal emails or calls that are declines, with feedback and apologies and all the rest of it, mean it was probably a very close call. But I have no problem with nice form-ish replies either -- I don't think getting one of those means I'm doing something wrong or targeting them incorrectly. I just think it means that they can't or don't want to buy that thing at that time and are too busy to get into it, and that's fine, hopefully we can connect on something else soon!
(And I officially have NO IDEA if that answered your question lol)
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9, 14, 29, 30 >:3
9. What are your file name conventions
hmmm. I don't have anything as Specific as your file names, but my file names are usually one or two words, that indicate (only to me, and for a short period of time) what the thing is. So, for example, we have "car", "squid", "Beach", "Beach looks back", "good girl", "cuddle", "McDonald's", "druid", "sipsip", you get it. The ones where I'm fucking around without direction are the worst because I never share them and I never finish them and I end up trying to save three different files as "pose" and then change the name to something that doesn't mean anything to me.
14. Any favorite motifs
God. Ok, ok ok.
I don't do motifs, because - and don't fucking come @ me for this - I draw but I don't do it Artistic Style? I don't trust my colours and backgrounds enough for that and I get frustrated too easy to get better really, but anyways - I would love to do one of those things of. Art in the center and then in the back stark contrast between single colour background + one stylized thing coming out of the character?
But uh yeah. Motifs. I really like eyes (have had three ideas of things that involve eyes opening and closing, did none of them), I also really like blood (again did none of it) and also things like. Tree roots/tree branches/deer horns. Oh. And mushrooms.
29. Media you love, but doesn't inspire you artistically
god ok ok ok ok. So. In the sense I think "that's pretty" but don't particularly feel the thing of "oooh I should do that" 3d models, but the stylized ones like in Disco Elysium or Borderlands. I like when people have an artistic vision and they get them through 3d models. This is most likely because I spent a long time hating 3d model art because of the games I saw using them.
Also, hyper stylized comics style. Sometimes I like them, but I almost never have the thing of "oooh, I should Do that". I had a phase where I kind of wanted to, but now I'm just not really into it.
I want to take this moment to also shout out a specific thing where I am "Oh my God I wish I did that" and like. Do full on 🥺 eyes at, but Do Not try to Replicate because I would Die I know I would, which are the kind of backgrounds that have a lot of stuff and it just feels *lived in*? Urg god. So good. (@/anonbeadraws and @/littlestpersimmon are some of the two that pop in my head for things like this, this, this and all of this coming but especially the last bit of the first page)
30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated
I'm the master underrater of my pieces, I am not qualified to answer this 😂 if anyone is underrating them I am the first in line. There is this Hau piece I am really proud of, but I have this weird relationship with it where I fucking love it when it's zoomed in, but on the full my brain keeps going Something Is Off, but also. I made it in December 2021 and I was proud of it and I am proud of it and I'm not fiddling.
(doesn't post the image like the question probably intends you to)
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Did Finnick romance anybody and if so who?
What are his hobbies?
YEAAHHHH OC QUESTIONS LETS FUCKIN GOOOO
Finnick romanced Lae'zel. He was incredibly confused and disoriented for most of act 1, operating with barely any memories and struggling with the urges, so he initially appreciated that she had a very straightforward direction. He also appreciated how tough she is, and how she's pretty pragmatic and supportive about the urges. She talks about her own "bloodlust" and encourages him to simply direct it toward their enemies, which he finds a lot more comforting than the other characters who mostly brush it off. She's also hot and kind of scary, so when she propositions him he agrees and the relationship develops from there. They also bond over dunking on Wyll and Shadowheart, because while Finnick is also mostly good-aligned he also just finds it really funny to watch people bicker.
Finnick was also very much in love with Gortash. I don't think it was reciprocated, at least not emotionally (they did probably bang), but I think Finnick had always been a failure to Bhaal because he was too shit at not caring. He loved Orin, he loved Gortash, he loved Bhaal even, and despite being desperate for his Father's approval and well aware of his weakness, his love for them all was still ultimately his downfall. Orin didn't get the jump on him because he was ignorant or overconfident, but because he trusted her. And he trusted Gortash to look for him. And he trusted Bhaal to keep him alive.
Finnick is pretty much 70% brawn and 20-25% heart in the main game plot. Very few braincells to his name. He doesn't remember why but the idea of becoming close to people again fills him with fear and loathing, so the way Lae'zel's romance starts out is actually perfect for him. He makes the connection between the urge's interest in Astarion ("a perfect, pretty corpse") and the fact that he's undead and assumes that the two are correlated and it's Kelemvor that's giving him his compulsions. He kinda sticks to that narrative up until the urge tries to convince him to kill Isobel, and he starts to accept that they might come from a more sinister source.
Since Finnick has none of his past memories he doesn't really remember ever having hobbies, but there are still remnants of them on him. Small burns and cuts on his hands from his interest in cooking (he would call his taste "adventurous". He's the one guy in your family that eats spiders and fish guts and always orders his steak blue, though he also tends to bring the corpses of humanoids and monsters he kills back to camp in the name of not being wasteful). Those burns extend up to mar unreasonably strong forearms and shoulders, indicating an interest in weapon smithing (to me, Finnick is the one that made Orin her signature dagger). I hc that it's Gale and Lae'zel respectively that get him back into these skills and take note of his unusual muscle-memory affinity to them. I feel like those two well-read nerds (but especially Gale) take one look at this amnesiac well-meaning murder himbo and decide to kind of take him under their wings in terms of figuring out his past and the origins of his urges. I reckon he also spars with Karlach a lot.
But yeah. I think about him and my other durge Filraen constantly, thank you for this opportunity to talk about him!!
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What I’ve Learned About Lilac Tree Care 🌿
They can be referred to as a bush, but the lilac in my yard is definitely tree status. I need a step-stool to reach the top shoots, even pulling down some branches to assist in reaching the even higher branches.
When I arrived in late Spring, the lilacs were already blooming and came out in full show the following couple of weeks.
I had just learned from tiktok about how perfumes in Paris are created by laying down each individual tiny lilac bud into coconut oil. The buds are changed out each day and over a few days the coconut oil holds the fragrance from the flowers. The oil can then be used to scent products or just be rubbed into the skin as a perfume.
When I next saw the lilac tree, the blooms were pretty much spent and I didn’t have time to try the scent collection method. So close!
It’s kinda like thinking of the perfect Halloween costume on November 1st. Now you’ve got to wait a whole year (minus one day) to enact your idea.
I guess I’ll only have had to wait 10 months to try capturing the fragrance of the buds, cuz I can start right at the beginning of the next blooming season.
In the meantime, I looked up how to address the green, fuzzy lichen growing on most branches of the tree. I learned when the tree is too damp due to not being thinned out, too many leaf clusters to let in light and circulate air, lichens grow.
It’s
(Oh, side note - I alway gather lots of random but specific bits of knowledge, not always setting out to, but facts pop up in what I’m naturally exposed to. I just realized, is that what I’m providing for you as a reader? You may never have your own lilac tree, but you may drive by one and note to yourself if you think the tree is too loaded with old leaf growth to allow enough circulation. I’ll tell you, I have no idea how I knew it was lichen growing on the tree, but I knew, and I was correct.)
It’s not going to cause the destruction of the plant, but the lichen does indicate a less than ideal set of circumstances and is a sign other things may need to be addressed.
So I set a mental note to go in with my pruning shears to open up the treetop. My first go was after dark and I had the natural night owl urge to get at the tree.
I ended up doing a couple more night sessions and a few daytime ones as well, becoming a bit more aggressive with how much I cut back each time because it wasn’t just about clearing away dead blooms and wood. Since the tree hadn’t been maintained for years, which is understandable cuz it bloomed beautifully each year so what’s the need, there were lots of parallel and duplicated branch growth. Meaning, too many shoots were coming from the same spot and absolutely blocking air flow.
I was glad I hadn’t set out to finish the tree maintenance in one go. It probably has taken me at least 3-5 hours so far and I still have some cleaning up to do on a tall side shoot.
Luckily, I let my flow state call me to it when trimming would act as a dopamine enhancer, not as a burden.
I’m curious, but haven’t looked it up yet, if the time of day makes a difference when trimming. I know some harvesting and planting produces better results at certain times of day. Like something is sweeter when picked in the morning, or something like that. Still, I’d put my flow state ahead of forcing myself to work within a specific window of time. I’ve got too many other personal parameters already causing limitations to entertain any more.
I’ve also looked up of it’s possible to transplant a couple of the smaller lilac trunks. It would be risky and I’d be sad to harm this 30 year old tree. Tonight while revisiting my lilac research, I learned that suckers voluntarily form near the base of the plant and those are easier to dig up when young to transplant and start a new tree. And if there are any buds left on a newer branch, I can cut that and attempt to sprout it and propagate a new tree that way.
Also, I confirmed coffee grounds in small amounts are good as fertilizer to add nitrogen to the soil. Epsom salt helps as well (and also good for tomatoes which I’ll be seeding soon).
One last concern for the tree is the weight and direction of the two biggest trunks. About a year ago I had propped each branch up with a two foot support. Thinning out the tree cover has definitely helped with weight, but I’m looking for a longer term solution and getting the branches even more upright, perhaps a metal fence post would be in order with some webbed strapping to gently tie back the limb.
And I could easily drive down the fence post cuz, guess what, one of the limb supports IS the fence post driver! lol. I just didn’t want to ram it right down into the roots and harm it. There’s very little space around the base of the tree to install supports as it up by against a fence. May also be the reason everything is reaching out to the side, away from the fence.
Ok, I think that all I know about lilac trees, except yes they like lots of direct light and if you’re doing this trimming, definitely have eye protection cuz when your neck is craned back to see where to prune the top branches those little dried flecks drop right down and it takes some fancy eye fluttering to f get the specks out.
Also, don’t leave any trimmed branches sticking out sideways at eye height. Ask me about my too close of a call!
Love you bye,
Zarah
P.S. Just remembered one last, last fact - when pruning, only clean up to a third to the branches at a time to not overburden and shock the tree. If there’s still more pruning to be done, it’ll have to be made up next season.
I’ll have to look at some before pics to see if I’ve reached this 1/3 yet. #fingerscrossed
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smart mouth
druig x fem!reader. oral (female receiving), d/s dynamics, praise, teasing, light spit play, orgasm delay.
a/n: i hate the end of this but oh well
word count: 900
“You’re such a smart mouth!” You accuse, hitting Druig on his arm and feeling your cheeks heat up when he only smirks and raises his chin. He steps towards you, slowly backing you up until your legs meet the foot of the bed.
“I can think of a few reasons you love my smart mouth.” Druig murmurs cockily. You roll your eyes, but are soon gasping as he pushes you back onto the bed with a firm hand on your shoulder. He’s above you now, gazing at your flustered expression, and slowly his eyes trail down your body. “In fact, I think I’ll remind you just how much you love it.”
He presses a heated kiss to your lips as his fingers find the hem of your top and draw it upwards, exposing your abdomen. Then he’s kissing downwards, his mouth trailing over your neck, down your clothed sternum, over the bare skin of your stomach. He grasps the waistband of your pants and underwear and pulls them down in time with his lips’ journey, with you raising your hips so he can take them off and toss them aside.
“Druig….” Your voice is breathy, shaking slightly with anticipation as he kisses and nips at the tender flesh of your thighs. “I-“
“Shhh.” His breath tickles your skin, making you tremble. He flicks his gaze up to yours, his eyes half lidded. “I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart.”
He hooks his arms under the backs of your knees, pulling your legs apart, and then slides his hands up to grip at your hips as he leans in. He blows softly on your center, smirking when you squirm and whine at the coldness against your hot, soaked flesh.
“Look at that pretty pussy.” He breathes out in that Irish brogue, making your stomach flip. “So wet for me.” You let out a soft moan at the first pass of his tongue, right up the dripping slit of your cunt, gathering the juices there. Druig hums softly, low in his chest.
“So sweet.” He murmurs, almost to himself. Then he licks again, more intentionally this time, his tongue breaching your folds and gliding over your clit. You moan again at the contact, your eyes falling shut.
“Keep your eyes on me.” You open them again at his command, and your heart skips a beat at the hungry gaze you’re met with. He never breaks eye contact as his lips latch onto your sensitive bud, suctioning firmly and sending shockwaves of pure pleasure through you. You struggle to keep your eyes open- curling your toes and jolting your hips rather than giving into the urge to throw your head back.
“There’s a good girl.” He praises, sensing your struggle and rewarding you for obeying him in spite of it. His tongue dips down to your entrance, tasting the fresh arousal that his ministrations have sent spilling out of you, and your thighs shake as his eyes roll back at the taste.
He devours you like a starved man- dragging his tongue up your slit, lapping at your entrance, sucking on your throbbing clit. His grip on your hipbones gets more bruising as your arousal grows and your body starts thrusting up to meet his mouth on its own accord. Then, just when you’re nearing your peak, readying to tip over the edge, he pulls back. You let out a frustrated groan, throwing your head back onto the pillows.
“Oh, my poor love,” he coos with mock sympathy, pressing tender kisses to your outer lips and the crest of your mound. “Were you close?” His grin makes it obvious that he knows the answer- how couldn’t he, with your fluttering entrance and lewd moans being such clear indicators of your impending release.
“You’re an asshole.” You pant, hands bunching up the sheets below you as they curl into tight fists. Druig’s grin only widens, and he gives your thigh a sharp nip that has you jumping in his hold.
“Am I?” He taunts, pulling back further. “I should probably stop, then.”
“No.” You gasp, sitting up on your elbows. “Don’t stop.”
“That’s what I thought.” Druig smirks.
You’re relieved when his mouth is back on you, licking and sucking and bringing you back near that blissful peak. Your thighs cinch shut, knees resting on his shoulders, trapping his head right where you want it so he can’t ruin your orgasm for a second time. Druig hums against your cunt.
“Cum for me, pretty girl.” The vibrations from his voice followed by the firm suction of his lips on your bud have you following the order instantly. Your back arches and your eyes squeeze shut as your orgasm crashes down on you.
Druig works you through it expertly, with soft flicks and gentle swirls of his tongue, just enough to draw out your pleasure without being overstimulating. The moment you squirm in a subtle show of displeasure he pulls away, leaving your chest heaving as you come down from your height. He crawls back up your body, his smirk now slick with your moisture.
“Open.” He mutters lowly, and your lips part wide without second thought. Immediately he’s spitting into your open mouth, his saliva and your own release bleeding onto your tongue, sweet and musky. “Swallow.” You again do his bidding, allowing the concoction to slide down your throat.
“Good girl. Now, what do you have to say to my smart mouth?” He murmurs, raising a deft brow.
“Thank you.”
#druig#druig x reader#druig x you#druig x y/n#druig eternals#druig smut#druig fanfiction#marvel#the eternals#eternals#eternals druig#druig imagine#marvel imagine#eternals imagine
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watch your mouth
includes. osamu miya x f!reader
cw. corruption kink, virgin reader/first time, osamu wants to breed u <33, dubcon, kitchen sex? [it’s in his shop so?], fingering, pierced dick [prince albert piercing], vaginal penetration, size kink, praise kink, tummy bulge, breeding kink, slight dumbification, creampie, thigh slapping?
wc. 3k
a/n. my piece for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab, thank you for letting me join!!
osamu miya likes to think he follows a strict routine. he wakes up early, shows up for his job, works, and goes home, waiting for tomorrow to arrive and the cycle to repeat itself.
but ever since you've entered his restaurant, you've become a part of his routine.
he sits behind the kitchen counter, watching in admiration how you tend to the customers. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't staring at your ass, but it’s not a lie if he doesn't say it right?
"samu?" there's that nickname again, the one you deemed him ever since that interview for the part time job. "this customer says you forgot to give her a part of her order"
"no i didn't"
"yeah, look" you approach him with the receipt in hand, pointing to a small part of the inked writing. "see?"
he can't see. or at least he can't see the receipt. he's too focused on you, pressing up against him. he knows you're not at fault, but you couldn't be that innocent.
you couldn't be innocent enough to not know the things you were doing to him, the things you were making him feel, the urges that blossomed with every lingering look and longing touch you left on his body. you just couldn't be.
right?
yet, even when his idiotic brother dropped by his shop and shamelessly started flirting with you, you, it seemed like you didn't catch onto what he was doing.
"what's the freakiest place you've ever had sex in?" the fake blond asked, and osamu would've stopped him, if he wasn't curious to hear the answer for himself. still, he doesn't drive his full attention away from the counters he's been wiping, seemingly focused on the simple task.
you chuckled awkwardly under your breath. "that's inappropriate, tsu-"
"c'mon, tell me" he bumps his elbow against yours "can't be that bad"
"no i-... i've never uhm..." osamu can tell you're stumbling and stuttering to find an answer, so he lends you a few helping words.
"'tsumu” he calls "will ya stop harrassin' my employees?"
"'m just talkin' to her samu, no need to make a big fuss" he downs the last of his food and leaves, supposedly in a sudden rush.
it doesn't seem like it’s been hours since then, but the moon hangs low, and the crickets sing outside the window in spite of the late hour. despite the passing of time, not a single word has been said between you and your boss about the conversation you had with his brother, and every minute that passes only seems to thicken the tension between the two of you.
"shit" you mumble, mostly to yourself. you didn’t expect him to shoot up from his place, bent down searching through the lower cabinets.
"watch yer mouth" he says, an evident frown on his face, where he would once smile at you and nod in greeting.
"sorry" you reply, lip pouting slightly while you cleaned off your finger with a paper towel "just got a papercut" the blood tints the paper red and you wince at the stinging sensation.
"here" he holds out his hand to examine yours, even though you already cleaned most of it off, there's still a slight trickle of blood. he wipes it out with the towel he always hangs on his shoulder.
as he cleans your hand, he can't help but think about how it'd look so pretty wrapped around his cock. it would certainly bring more relief than his fist after all this time he's spent thinking about you while stroking himself late at night.
it’s not the first time thoughts like these cloud osamu's mind, but this time he's a little less discreet about it. he stares at your hand like he wants to devour it, and you'd be a fool not to notice it.
"samu?" you call out to his faraway mind, and he snaps out of his thoughs, loosening his grip around your hand.
"right" he mumbles, clearing his throat "sorry"
"thank you" you almost whisper, if he wasn't so close to you, he probably wouldn't have heard it.
he turns and goes back to the cabinets, thinking about what you answered earlier. you'd never what? had sex? were you that uncorrupted?
it would make sense to him, and it would help ease the pain of seeing you let his brother flirt with you like he wasn't even there, but those are all selfish reasons he wants to believe, and he's too scared to ask.
apparently not scared enough.
“what were ya talkin’ about with my brother” he asks, nonchalant as ever, making your breath hitch as you turned around hesitantly.
“we were just chatting” you say, the slightest purse on your lips that tried to relieve the nervousness of the conversation.
“sorry about that” he apologizes. “he can be annoyin’ sometimes”
“oh no, he wasn’t” you lie, clenching around the table cloth you held in your hands. even if the talk had been going smoothly, you still felt on edge after the question his brother left you thinking about. “he was really friendly”
“really?” his hands find comfort in his pockets, and if you’d looked close enough, you would’ve seen the slight smirk in his lip, one that indicates how eager he is to hear what you had to say. “then why didn’ you answer his question?”
if only you knew how much it mattered to him, to know if you were a pretty untouched virgin or not. osamu miya likes to go for girls like you, college girls who look for a quick cashgrab as a part time employee, innocent little girls who unknowingly fall for his charms and next thing you know he’s ruining them with his cock.
but you feel different, you feel delicate. like a pretty piece of porcelain he might break if he continues to toy with you under his calloused hands. yet, he can’t help but think about how perfect he finds your body. perfectly ripe and ready to be filled to the brim with his seed, the perfect age to be plump and round with a child. his child.
“does it matter?”
oh, it does, especially when he pins you against the counter and grips your cheeks between his thumb and his index finger. “samu?” you ask, displaying that innocent look on your face he’d grown to hate.
“i told ya to watch yer mouth” his hands roam down your body until they grab at the back of your thighs. “now jump”
“samu i- i’ve never done anything like-“
“i said jump” hesitant with your actions, you jump and wrap your legs around his waist as he settles you on the shop counter, where he takes off your pants and runs a finger over your clothes slit.
“please” you grip his wrist and beg in hopes for him to stop, but he slaps it away, pinning them behind you with his other hand. he slides your panties down your legs and plays with your clit, circling the nub with his fingertips and watching as your expression changes from one of fear to pleasure.
“please what?” his breath shudders against your neck, where he nuzzles his head and finds comfort in your scent. he slowly inserts a finger into your hole, scanning your face and searching for any signs of discomfort, despite him practically forcing you into this position.
you’re not strong enough to answer him, too lost in the way his fingers feel inside you. you’d been too afraid to do anything by yourself, but god did it feel so good when you gave yourself up to him, slightly bucking your hips into his thrusting fingers and arching your back into his frame.
he’s fond of every little expression you make, the bite of your lips, the clench of your thighs around his hand, and the tilt of your head, willingly granting him access to the skin, all for him to mark, bite and suck. all for him to claim as his.
“d’ya like it?” he asks, putting another one of his fingers to use inside your tight walls, feeling them clench and suck his fingers back inside every time he was close to taking them out.
“yes! yes! i-i... mmh!” you can’t even finish the sentence, not only because you’re sobbing and clenching around his digits uncontrollably at the foreign yet pleasurable sensation, but also because his lips suddenly enclosed yours in a hungry kiss.
he didn’t even have to put up a fight with you, pleased to find you let him do whatever he wanted with your mouth. his tongue tangles with yours in a passionate clash of lips, until he pulls away at the feeling of your hips wildly bucking against his hand, a sign of your inevitable orgasm approaching.
“feels weird ‘samu! ‘s-‘samu please!” the implication of your sensations being new to you made his cock strained against his pants, threatening the thick fabric of his jeans to snap if he grew even harder. the tight knot in your stomach finally snaps when he curls his fingers, sending you into ecstasy as your vision blocked out and you moaned uncontrollably loud.
still, after everything, osamu hasn’t forgotten where he is, and he knows his shop isn’t a decent place to lose your virginity. so he puts you down with shaky legs and slips up your panties, catching you before your trembling thighs can treason you and make you fall.
“do ya have a car here?” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter and puts a hand on your hip, guiding you over to the door which he locks before he continues to walk to his car. the dim lighting of the parking made this the perfect spot, if he were to fuck you in his car, no one would see it. but he has self control, or at least he tells himself that.
“no, my friend usually picks me up” he hums an answer and opens the passenger door to his car.
“i live a few minutes from here” he explains “wanna come over?” he asks, fully aware that he’s taking a leap of faith and you could just refuse him. but that’s not the case, and he’s more than happy to see you hesitantly get in his car and put your bag in your lap, covering yourself as much as you can since he ‘forgot’ to give you back your shorts.
the short ride to his house is awkwardly silent, and terribly torturous. his hand had found home in your thigh, and it had only sent an ache between your legs like you’d never felt before, prompting a clench from your thighs every so often.
he wasn’t lying, he only lived ten minutes away from his shop, but the distance seemed so much longer when his lingering touch would leave you high with the need for more.
“you ready?” he asks, holding the door open for you again as he waits for you to take his hand and get out of his car. he’s quick with hoisting you up and wrapping your thighs against his hips, carrying you to his doorway and leading the way to his room. there, he gently placed you on the bed and stripped off his clothing, taking off the apron he should’ve taken off at the shop, his shirt, his pants and—
“eager?” he can see the wanting look in your eyes, he’d be a fool not to notice it. his voice only startles you out of your thoughts, enough to make you stand up and take off your shirt as well, now fully exposed to him if it weren’t for the bra covering up your tits. there’s only so much he can hold back, but right now, with those pretty puppy eyes you unintentionally give him, he just can’t help it when he takes off your bra and slightly suckles at your nipple, circling his tongue around your perky nub and watching your face warm up in embarrassment.
he takes you to his bed again, this time while he plants kisses all over your neck. he’s hungry with the way he nips and bites at the skin, leaving a trail of teeth marks that would need to be covered up in the morning. in the morning, because right now, you couldn’t be bothered to care about anything else other than the way he rutted against you.
his cock already seemed big when he hadn’t taken off his briefs, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he slipped them off and rubbed his tip against your clit, right?
he was huge, thick tip dripping precum, with a girth that looked too big to be real, pulsing against your pussy. he positions it against your drooling hole, using your slick to lube up his tip and feeling— metal?
you sit up, leaning against your elbows to see the prince albert piercing that runs along his tip, metal jewelry threatening to slip into your pussy, but you put a hand on his chest to stop him.
“i-it won’t fit!” you kick and shake your thighs around him, only for him to put your ankles together and fold your legs over his shoulder, pinning you down and slipping in the pierced head of his cock. you wince and gasp at the sudden stretch, silenced by his mouth clashing against yours, eagerly nipping at your bottom lip, desperate to drink in all your saccharine moans.
“good girl” he praises, slipping in inch by inch of his cock into your tight virgin walls “fuck- this tight little cunt is suckin’ me in, want ma cock princess? yeah? gonna stuff ya full of me ‘til ya can’t even speak, you’ll just be a dumb baby for me”
“hurts!” your words only drive him closer to shoving himself in one smooth thrust, but he holds back, he sees how much you struggle to take barely half of him, he wants to make this good for you to. he wants to make your first time your best time, the one you’ll remember and think about if you ever fuck another man. he wants to mold your insides to fit his cock perfectly, he wants to train you to be his perfect little girl who won’t find another way to get off if she doesn’t have his cock, he wants you to depend on him to always make you feel good.
“‘s ok princess” he leans down, folding you into a mating press as he kisses your neck and slips in the last of his cock, covered in a thin layer of white sheen. “my good girl, creamin’ around me” he mumbles against your ear while he starts a slow pace into your pussy, carefully rutting his hips into you, almost afraid he would break you. “so pretty”
“please!” you sob, tears stream down your face despite his carefulness, it would break his heart, but he can feel the way your own body betrays you, clenching around him and pulling him in for more of the delicious sensation of his cock dragging against your walls. “so big! c-can’t take it!”
“sure ya can, look” he puts a hand to your tummy, guiding you to do the same as he puts his hand over yours. there’s a small bulge, that appears and disappears whenever he thrusts in and out. “you’re takin’ it so well princess, keep yer hand right there” his other hand starts working tight circles against your clit, making you throw back your head at the sudden sensation.
“no! if you do that i-!”
“what are ya gonna do? cum? clench around my cock like yer doin’ right now every time i praise ya?” you fist the sheets to your sides, anything to relieve the aching between your legs and the tight knot that keeps forming in your stomach again.
“please don’t!” you desperately paw at his wrist, only to be slapped away and for him to increase the speed of his cock, rutting into your with more force. suddenly, the head of his piercing hits a different spot, one that left you gasping for air and arching your back against the mattress. “ah! right there- right there ‘samu!”
“yeah? you like it when i fuck ya right there?” he parrots, angling his hips at the same spot over and over, abusing it until he’s sloppily thrusting into you, on the verge of cumming and spilling all his load into you. “my pretty girl, moanin’ like a bitch in heat, all because i’m makin’ ya feel good”
“yes ‘samu! please please, please m-make me feel good! wanna cum, please!” fresh tears roll down your cheeks as you scream and beg for him, unwillingly rutting your hips against him as you cum around his cock, your high too much for your sensitive body as you whine uncontrollably when he doesn’t stop. you’re too overstimulated to say a word, gone too dumb on his cock to even realize that you’re babbling little nonsense words about how good you feel, and how much you want him.
“dumb lil’ thing” he says, giving one sharp, final thrust before he empties his load between your legs, deep inside you, careful not to move you too much in fear of his cum spilling out of your clenching hole.
he’s right, you are a dumb little thing, because as soon as he pulls out you’re desperately bucking your hips, blindly searching for him in hope he would fill up the sudden emptiness in your pussy, unintentionally spilling all his hard work between your thighs.
“no!” he grunts, slapping your thigh and grounding you to the mattress as you wince in pain, dark color blossoming at the skin where he’d placed the spank. “look what you’ve done, bad fuckin’ girl” he says, the sudden tone shift sends a tinge of fear all over your body, and you’re reduced to nothing but a kin to a stray puppy, a terrible look of guilt in your eyes, even if you don’t realize what you’ve done wrong.
“look at the mess you made” he mumbles, flipping you over and placing ass up “now i’m gonna have to fill ya up all over again”
©️ kaijime 2021 | all content belongs to kaijime, do not modify or repost
#tw. corruption#tw. dubcon#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x reader smut#haikyuu smut#haikyuu scenarios#osamu#osamu miya#osamu x reader#osamu x reader smut#osamu smut#osamu scenarios#smut#hqintheclub
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baby blue- b. barnes
pairings: bucky barnes x reader, tony stark bruce banner, steve rogers, sam wilson
warnings: child bucky, language, this is long. why is this so long
about: requested by @cherry-season (apparently can't tag you)! bucky turns into a baby/toddler and is clingy
a/n: okay so i know virtually nothing about three-year-olds. can you tell? thank you so much for requesting!! I had so much fun writing this <333
[@tylard-blog1]
bucky’s day wasn’t particularly fantastic to begin with.
he was already exhausted when he woke up in the early lights of the morning, his nightmares had kept him up all night-- which you theorized was due to the mission the day before that took place in one of the same hydra bases bucky had been held in. you had frowned when you realized it the day of, turning your attention to bucky and making sure he was okay with it because if he wasn’t, you would make sure someone else took care of it. he had insisted it was fine, even though the next night proved him wrong. you had done what you could, running your fingers through his hair and humming lightly until you fell asleep and he refused to wake you up, resigning himself to a sleepless night.
his morning started with his flesh arm reaching out to feel your side of the bed, hoping to find your soft, warm skin to pull you closer, but instead being met with the unkind sheets that missed the gentleness of your body. he had frowned when he realized you had already left for a meeting with some important hotshot in space with carol (you couldn’t find a better excuse to go get breakfast at your favorite alien restaurant with your favorite aliens) and wouldn’t be back for a solid few hours too long. groaning, and with no real reason to stay in bed for any longer without the excuse of getting to feel you for a few more hours, he dragged himself out of bed.
it didn’t get much better from there, because he was greeted with the sight of sam eating the last bowl of the last box of cereal in the whole damn tower because everyone rejected to go grocery shopping. since bucky refused to eat any of the frozen breakfasts tony loved so much and the stark kid swore were “the best thing ever,” he grunted at sam and walked away without eating, knowing he’d regret it later when his stomach would growl and you would immediately know he skipped breakfast.
for some unknown reason, tony had found out about bucky’s lack of things to do, and with a few winks and manipulative large-worded engineering phrases, convinced him to join him in the lab, which bucky had only really been able to see through the clear glass that separated the lab from the rest of the tower, and from the occasions where he would take food and drinks to you while you locked yourself away inside, building something alongside tony.
being inside, so close to the various machines and objects bucky cant begin to figure out the purpose of, his memories of being in school and at the top of his math and engineering classes bubble to the surface, filling him with the pride he remembers having every day at school. the thought that he could probably understand everything if you or tony explained it to him passes through his mind and urges him to ask tony to do just that, but tony beats him before he can get the chance.
bruce is eyeing them wearily from the other side of the lab, attention mostly on the test tubes in front of him. he gives bucky a smile when he comes in, but seems to ignore him for the most part until tony shows bucky to bruce’s work station, pointing out a blue liquid in a test tube marked TESTING. bruce’s neck snaps to them when tony open his big mouth, “you know, y/n was actually supposed to test something out for me today,” tony begins innocently, a suggestion laced in his words that bucky catches but decides to ignore because of the high he feels from understanding the equations scribbled on the clear glass, “do you know where she is?”
bucky narrows his eyes at him, then looks up at the clock, realizing it’s still a while before you get back, “not even on earth,” he recipes blandly, slyly sneaking a glance at the liquid for any indications of what it could be.
tony sighs dramatically, his shoulders sagging, “oh no, how do i test this now?” bruce shoots tony a warning glance that is blatantly ignored.
bucky’s shrugging before he can help it, the reminder that since you were going to do it, what could be the harm if he did? “i could do it.”
tony claps, “great!” he gestures to a door behind him, “please go in there to sign non-disclosure agreements and wash your hands.”
bucky’s shoved inside before he can fully understand the implications of his stupid offer.
-
the thought of asking the basic questions he should have asked before he agreed to test an unidentified liquid comes to bucky nearly an hour later, when the small vial of weird blue liquid sits in front of him, waiting to be drunk. tony and bruce sit in chairs a couple of feet away, clipboards in both of their hands, and interested expressions settled on their features.
“what does this do again?” he asks, squinting at the vial that he doesn’t notice tony isn’t looking at, furrowing his eyebrows when tony waves him off, “something super smart. no side effects or anything.” bucky’s eyes flit down to the little vial again, before they nearly bug out of his head at the humongous laser that is rolled into the room, “what the hell is that.”
“ah,” tony grins, bouncing from his seat to stand next to his invention proudly, “this is what you’re testing out.” bucky cocks his head at the man, “i thought i was drinking blue water. y/n was going to drink blue water.” tony shakes his head, adjusting some dials on the machine, “yeah, no, it was this. pretty sure i told you.”
“you didn’t-” bruce is looking at tony in concern, about to tell him to slow down so bucky has a chance to think all this through again and maybe ask if there is any chance the laser will melt him, when tony clicks a large red button and a bright white light clouds bucky’s vision just as he sees the clock on the exact same time he saw an hour ago, realizing the clock in the billion-dollar lab is broken, and you’re probably getting home any second.
“tony!” he hears bruce yell before his vision goes dark.
it’s only a second until he can pry open his eyes again, a hand curling into a fist, ready to pound stark into tomorrow when he can suddenly feel the nails of his hand digging into his palm. the surprising feeling of it where his vibranium arm should be forces him to look down at a small arm, fully skin and thin. he looks around, noticing his surroundings suddenly have grown very large around him, and the sound of his voice is higher when he tries to speak again.
“what the f-” he mumbles, cutting himself off when a sudden memory of his ma yelling at him to wash his mouth out if he wants to talk like that floods his mind, and he stares down at himself, eyebrows furrowing when he spots his short stature and the tiny hands and feet that look up at him. realization floods him like a wave, raising his chin at the two, tall, gobsmacked men in front of. “was that supposed to happen?” bruce asks quietly, nodding slowly when tony shakes his head, “no.”
there’s a light knock at the door, your hand pushing it open before anyone can stop you, and your tired face peeks in, a glowing smiling adorning your face and your eyes searching for your boyfriend, “hey, do you guys know where bucky is-” your voice cuts through the stunned silence, pausing when you catch the little boy’s eye. at first, you stare at him, your eyebrows pulling together as you get a good look at the familiar cerulean of his eyes and scan the clothing you’d seen on bucky before. for a second, everything is silent, bucky’s eyes are wide and staring as yours bore into them, searching for something you’re nearly touching until you gasp, “bucky?” you choke, reaching for him when he nods, his legs already trying to reach you as fast as they possibly can but they buckle. bucky realizes just then how old he must be now. “oh, baby,” you murmur, gathering him up in your arms before he can fall to the hard ground of the lab. “what the hell did you idiots do to my boyfriend?” you demand, turning to the two scientists who are going over tony’s notes.
bruce glances at tony, tilting his head at him as if to say him. you roll your eyes, not having any more information than when you asked, “tony?” you growl, walking over to the man, not missing the way little bucky’s hand grabs onto your shirt.
“it didn’t- that wasn’t supposed to happen,” tony defends weakly, a lazy shrug pulling at his shoulders. your eyes flash with velvet red, and, without moving a finger, tony’s pulled in front of you, wrapped in red swirls bucky can’t help but gawk at.
“fix it.” you order. tony nods, pursing his lips, “we’ll do that.” bruce looks a little taken aback, looking up from tony’s scribbles and equations. “i don’t think it’ll last more than a day,” he offers helpfully, “whatever it was tony was trying to do wasn’t either.”
bucky’s eyes start to droop, which he assumes is an effect of the sleepless night he just had on his infant body, something that usually wouldn’t affect him in his one-hundred-and-six-year-old self. he hums when he realizes the irony, leaning his head against the welcoming crook of your neck and catching your attention. you turn to him for a moment, softening a little before turning back to tony and glaring at him, “fix it.”
-
steve catches you when you walk out of the lab, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head when he spots the toddler in your arms, “holy shit, that looks exactly like bucky,” he breathes, scanning the dark mussed-up hair and stepping back when bucky opens his eyes. from next to him, sam looks from bucky to you, “did you two have a kid and not tell anyone, because this-”
“is bucky. that’s bucky.” you interrupt, looking at the toddler, “tony messed up with something and… this happened, i don’t completely… bucky’s a baby.”
steve raises an eyebrow, squinting at his best friend, “ha,” he laughs, “wow, he looks exactly like his pictures. he must be about three years old.” bucky blinks at him. “his ma said he was chatting up a storm at that age, though,” steve informs, looking back up at you. sam grins, “has he said anything? i kinda want to hear if he still sounds old.” bucky frowns at him, his pout deepening when sam bursts into laughter, “his grumpy face is the same!”
you look at your boyfriend, tilting your head and smiling a little when you realize he’s right, “you’re cute,” you coo now that you get a good look at him, “you’re so cute,” you murmur, poking his nose with your finger. bucky can’t help the blush that comes to his cheeks. but he slaps away sam’s fingers, scowling at him, “no.” he argues, “no.”
sam frowns, “no old man voice.”
“i hate you,” bucky says to sam, and you laugh, “i think we should leave for now. i need to figure out what will make three-year-old bucky not as grumpy.” sam looks at bucky’s furrowed brows and the same two little lines between them, his eyes flickering back up to yours, “i think that may just be a bucky thing.”
-
you bring bucky to the living room, sitting him down at the edge of the couch and crouching in front of him, watching him and his little crossed arms, bottom lip jutted out against his own will. bucky isn’t used to the emotional control of a child who’s three and can’t control the frustration that’s coursing through him at the moment. the only thing he knows for sure is that he doesn’t want you to leave him again.
“bucky?” you start, looking deep into the wide blue eyes that let you know it is bucky you’re speaking to. “what do you want to do? are you hungry? d’you want to sleep?” bucky shakes his head stubbornly at you, “i want tony to fix this.”
you sigh, “i know, baby. i do too, but until he finds a cure to this, you’re gonna stay small for a couple more hours.” he pouts at that, and you smooth your thumb over his cheek, “no pouting. we can do whatever you want, buck.”
just as he’s about to reject any idea you have, his stomach rumbles loudly, directing your attention to the arms that guiltily cover up his middle. “bucky... did you eat breakfast today?” you query, a lecturing tone sneaking into your words. “sam ate my cereal,” bucky grumbles, crossing his arms.
“bucky!” you exclaim, standing up to turn to the kitchen, “that’s no excuse. i told you you needed to eat--” you’re barely three steps into the kitchen when you hear the pattering of his feet towards you, grubby hands pawing at your legs.
“don’t leave,” he whines, hugging your ankles and sitting down on the floor, “you left all morning,” he mumbles, smushing his cheeks against your calf.
“i’m sorry,” you apologize, bending over to brush away the hair that falls over his eyes. “c’mere,” you murmur, reaching down to pick him up again and bounce him on your hip while you head to the kitchen. “what do you want to eat?” bucky thinks about it for a minute, before smiling, “i want pizza and ice cream.” you frown at him, “i don’t think three-year-olds can eat that. actually, i don’t think anyone should.”
after consulting google on what three-year-olds should eat, you have bucky’s head resting on your shoulder, refusing to let you put him down even as you made him the mac and cheese he had agreed to, still a little upset over the fact you wouldn’t let him eat all the other things he wanted. the only time he let you not carry him was when he was eating, still insisting you sit right next to him to watch as he smeared cheese all over tony’s expensive table.
“okay,” you whisper breathlessly after watching him eat his third bowl of the meal, “i think that’s good.” you shove the dirty dishes in the sink, washing bucky’s hands and wiping at him cheeks with a warm cloth to get the mess he managed to create off. “did you forget how to eat?” you wonder aloud when you finally fnish cleaning him up, watching his small shoulders shrug.
“what do you want to do now? anything you want,” you propose.
“i want you,” he says, reaching his stubby arms out, “cuddles. ‘m sleepy,” he yawns, making grabby hands at you when you take too long to pick him up. “bucky,” you chuckle, complying with him and bringing him into your chest, where he leans his head on your shoulder. “you sure you don’t want to play or something? you don’t want to…” you trail off, trying to think of what three-year-olds do, “walk or read or something?”
bucky grunts in your ear, his eyelids already closing again, “cuddles,” he repeats, balling your shirt up in his little hands.
“okay,” you sigh, bouncing him gently while you walk to your shared bedroom. you pick up a stuffed animal you brought for bucky from one of your most recent missions, “did you sleep last night? is that why you’re so tired?” bucky hums, cuddling further into your chest when you lay down with him on top of you. you hand him the little dog plush, pressing a kiss to his head when he takes the gift, hugging it with you. “honey, i’m sorry,” you frown, gently threading your fingers through his short hair, humming the same song bucky sings to you when you can’t get to sleep. it doesn’t take long to lull him into the calmness of rest.
you only wake up when the weight on you is suddenly multiplied, completely taking your breath away, “bucky!-” you exclaim, rolling from underneath him to meet his closed eyes. you shake your head with a light laugh, drawing a strand of hair behind his ear before you press your lips to his cheeks, snuggling in with him again, “sweet dreams, darling,” you murmur, placing the stuffed animal he dropped on your dresser.
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