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ruewritesoccasionally · 20 days ago

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The "Almost" Moments | Terry Richmond

pairing: teacher!terry richmond x black!mom reader

warnings: fluff, fluff and more fluff

summary: a compilation of moments stolen and moments gained between terry and certain parent.

word count: 2.3K

a/n: request from my girl - @atasteofmir

The classroom buzzed with the soft hum of crayons scratching against paper and the occasional ripple of giggles from the reading corner. Terry knelt beside one of the desks, brow furrowed in concentration, but not with frustration. His large hands moved with careful precision as he adjusted a little girl’s grip on her pencil.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice gentle, thumb brushing lightly along her fingers to reposition them. “Nice and loose. Don’t strangle it, sweetheart - the pencil didn’t do anything wrong.”

She giggled at that, looking up at him with missing teeth and ink smudged on her cheek. He smiled back, fond and warm, then stood with a low groan - his knees weren’t what they used to be.

He moved from table to table like that, patient and soft-spoken, offering praise as naturally as he breathed. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, tie a little loose by now, as he crouched again to tie a stubborn shoelace for a boy who had already tried (and failed) three times.

“There,” he said, tugging the knot snug. “You’ll be zooming across the playground in no time.”

The boy grinned. “Thanks, Mr Richmond.”

Terry gave a wink, brushing the dust from his knees as he stood once more, taking in the room like he always did - a quiet headcount, a moment of peace.

That was when he saw her daughter - sat at the back, nose in her book, with her lunchbox already halfway unpacked though it wasn’t even close to break time. A bright snack pack peeked out from the zippered pouch, folded neatly, like everything else she touched.

Terry strolled over and crouched again, voice dropping just slightly.

“Did your mum pack this?” he asked, lifting the snack with a soft smile.

She nodded, not looking up from the book.

“She says you forget to eat. She said you’ll get all sleepy again.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, warmth blooming somewhere behind his ribs.

“Yeah? Guess I’ve been caught, huh?”

The little girl shrugged, matter of fact. “Mummy says teachers work too hard.”

Terry’s throat went tight for a moment. He looked down at the note tucked beside the snack - folded paper in her handwriting, looped and lovely.

It didn’t say much. Just Don’t skip lunch today - there’s more where that came from. And a tiny smiley face.

He tried not to overthink it - he really did. But he always knew when the snacks were from her. Thoughtful. Practical. Like she’d packed a bit of herself into them. Like she couldn’t help but be kind, even in the smallest, quietest ways.

Terry folded the note carefully and tucked it into his back pocket.

“Tell your mum thank you,” he said softly. “That was really nice of her.”

The little girl didn’t look up, but she smiled.

“I think she likes you.”

Terry froze, caught mid-step as he rose.

His heart gave a stupid little thump.

“Oh, yeah?” he managed.

“Mmhm,” she said, still reading. “She smiles more on school days.”

He didn’t know what to say to that - so he just ruffled her hair gently and turned back toward the front of the room, the corners of his mouth twitching with something he wasn’t ready to name.

Not yet.

The school day wound down the way it always did - with mismatched mittens, forgotten jumpers, and high-pitched goodbyes that echoed down the hallway like bird calls. One by one, the kids filtered out in a flurry of backpacks and brightly coloured coats, trailing crayon drawings and half-finished crafts in their wake.

Terry stood by the classroom door with a soft smile, shoulder leaned lazily against the frame. He offered gentle waves to parents as they passed, bending occasionally to help zip up coats or remind a child not to forget their bookbag again. It was quieting down now, just a few stragglers left - including her little one, who sat cross-legged by the reading corner, humming to herself as she flipped through the same book from earlier.

She was always one of the last.

Terry didn’t mind.

He turned back toward the girl just as the familiar creak of the hallway door opened behind him - and there she was, breathless and radiant.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, brushing wind-blown hair from her face with one hand, her coat half-buttoned and cheeks a little flushed from the outside chill. “Got caught in traffic after a meeting.”

He straightened without meaning to, suddenly far too aware of the way his tie was crooked, and his sleeves had wrinkled. Her voice - low and warm, just the slightest bit husky - wrapped around his name like something intimate.

“Thank you for staying back, Mr Richmond.”

That did something to him.

The way she said it - like it was a private joke, soft on the edges, a little playful - made something twist low in his chest. Made him forget whatever he'd planned to say. She probably didn’t even realise the effect she had on him. Or maybe she did.

“No trouble at all,” he managed, voice a shade deeper than usual. “She’s been good as gold today. Kept me company.”

Her eyes crinkled when she smiled - tired, but so bright it made his brain short-circuit for a second.

“She always says you’re her favourite teacher,” she said lightly, stepping into the room. “I think you’ve ruined every other grade for her.”

Terry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as her daughter bounded up and clung to her legs.

“I’ll try not to let it go to my head,” he replied, but his eyes lingered, just a little too long - on the way her hand curled instinctively around her daughter’s hair, stroking it absent-mindedly as they chatted.

She wasn’t dressed up, not really. Just work trousers and a jumper, sensible boots, a scarf loose around her neck. But Terry noticed everything - the faint scent of something floral when she stepped a little closer, the curve of her mouth when she laughed, the way she looked at her child like nothing else in the world mattered.

He felt like a fool.

“Have a good weekend, Mr Richmond,” she said eventually, gathering the little girl’s bag over one shoulder. “Don’t forget your snack, by the way. She’ll ask if you ate it.”

He smiled, half shy. “Tell her I saved the note.”

That made her pause, just a heartbeat and when she looked at him again, her eyes had softened.

“Did you?” she asked.

He nodded, quiet. “Made my whole morning.”

There was a beat of something unsaid between them. Then she nodded once, almost bashful.

“See you Monday,” she murmured.

And just like that, she was gone - hand in hand with her daughter, coat fluttering behind her as they disappeared down the corridor.

Terry stood there for a long moment, staring at the space she’d just occupied.

God help him.

Another day followed on from that; the classroom had settled into its midday rhythm — a soft hum of little voices, crinkling wrappers, and juice cartons clicking open. Terry sat behind his desk, half-pretending to mark some worksheets, but mostly just keeping an eye on the room.

He didn’t usually eat much during lunch - too busy making sure sticky fingers weren’t painting the tables or someone wasn’t trying to trade a banana for five gummy bears.

But today, there it was, a little lunchbox tucked neatly on the edge of his desk. Something about it made him pause.

Inside, he found a granola bar and a sandwich wrapped in parchment. Nestled on top, folded in half, was a small note in soft purple ink:

“Just in case you forget again. Don’t make me send a full meal prep next time. — M.”

Terry stared for a second longer than he meant to. His lips curved, slow and helpless.

He didn’t need to read it twice to know who it was from. Terry laughed softly, his throat suddenly tight. The sound was gentle, almost fond, like it came from somewhere deep in his chest.

He unwrapped the sandwich carefully, like it might fall apart if he rushed. Like it meant more than it should.

Because, honestly, it did.

He felt ridiculous, a grown man undone by peanut butter and a granola bar - but there was something about her thoughtfulness that clung to him all afternoon.

It stayed with him through phonics and finger painting, through storytime and scribbled spelling tests.

And when the end of the day finally came and he heard her voice in the doorway again, saying his name in that low, warm way that twisted something inside him?

He was already gone.

The school car park was nearly empty, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement. Most of the parents had already come and gone, but she’d stayed behind, chatting briefly with the headteacher before emerging with a box in her arms - supplies for the bake sale, if he remembered correctly.

Terry spotted her from across the lot, and before his brain caught up, his body was already moving.

“Let me help you with that,” he offered, reaching for the box just as she adjusted it against her chest.

Their fingers brushed, warm skin on skin, and the touch was brief, but electric. It grounded him and rattled him all at once.

“Oh thank you,” she said, letting him take the weight from her arms. She smiled, a little flustered, and pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Then, for the first time, she said it.

“Thank you, Terry.”

His name on her lips - not Mr Richmond, not the usual school-friendly courtesy, but soft. Familiar. Like she’d been holding onto it for a while and finally decided to use it.

He almost dropped the box.

Almost said something stupid.

Almost kissed her then and there.

But instead, he just swallowed hard and nodded, carrying the box to her car in silence while trying not to fall apart completely.

Because that name, from her, meant something.

And now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

It had started drizzling just after lunch, a slow, misty rain that made the whole building feel quieter somehow. Terry noticed her daughter wasn’t her usual cheerful self. Her face was drained, movements sluggish. One of the teaching assistants offered to escort her to the front office, but Terry had already set down his clipboard.

“I’ll take her,” he said, gently resting a hand on the child’s shoulder. “Come on, sweetheart.”

He walked slowly, crouching to her level to make sure she was alright, every step a small ache in his chest. When they reached the office, he didn’t hand the phone to the receptionist - he called her himself.

He told himself it was to be thorough. Just protocol.

But truthfully? He just wanted to hear her voice.

She answered on the second ring, worry already thick in her tone. And twenty minutes later, she arrived - a blur of damp curls and a dripping umbrella, the rain clinging to her coat like silver.

She burst into the room, eyes wide and scanning. “Sweetheart, are you alright?”

Terry stood to the side, hands in his pockets, trying to act composed. Her daughter perked up a little at the sight of her, nestling into the familiar comfort of her mother’s arms.

But Terry couldn’t look away.

God, she was beautiful. Hair damp, cheeks warm, eyes full of love and worry. And she was right here, inches from him and he wanted to wrap her in his embrace. Shelter her from more than just the rain.

She glanced up and caught him watching.

He offered her a small, reassuring smile. “She’ll be just fine,” he said gently. “I thought you’d want to know right away.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something. Maybe thank him. Maybe something more.

But then the receptionist spoke, breaking the moment.

And Terry was left standing there, heart pounding, soaked in everything he couldn’t say.

Friday rolled around, almost too soon – Terry loved the weekend of rest ahead always spent those two days missing the buzz of chatter. The last parent had left twenty minutes ago. The halls had fallen quiet, the buzzing lights overhead the only sound left. Terry stood near the classroom door, flipping aimlessly through some worksheets, pretending he wasn’t waiting.

Then her heels clicked down the corridor.

She looked a little windblown, like she’d rushed to make it in time, cheeks flushed from the evening chill. He straightened without thinking.

“Sorry I’m late,” she murmured, her voice low, her smile soft. “Didn’t want to miss the chance to check in.”

She stayed for longer than necessary. They talked, about her daughter, about the school fundraiser, about nothing at all. The air grew heavy with something neither of them named, something that had been building since the first day she said his name with that teasing lilt.

She leaned a little closer when she laughed. His hand brushed hers once when passing her a newsletter. Neither of them mentioned it.

As they lingered by the door, her eyes lingered too.

“You’re good with them,” she said softly, gaze dipping to his mouth and back. “But you’re terrible at hiding a crush.”

Terry blinked, caught completely off guard. “That obvious, huh?”

“A little.” She grinned, slow and warm and absolutely stunning.

And then - bold, quick, she leaned in and kissed him.

Not quite on the mouth. But not quite not, either.

Just enough to make him lose his breath.

“I’ll see you Monday, Mr Richmond,” she whispered, her smile a secret just for him.

And with that, she turned and walked away, heels clicking, curls bouncing, like she hadn’t just wrecked his whole night with five syllables and a kiss that wasn’t quite innocent.

Terry stood frozen for a second, blinking.

Then leaned against the doorframe, dazed and grinning, like a man who’d just been hit by something divine.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @notapradagurl7 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @wildcardmelaninfreak

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#ruewrites #aaron pierre #aaronpierre #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre x black!reader #aaron pierre fluff #aaron pierre fanfic #terry richmond #terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond fic #terry richmond x black!oc #terryrichmond #terry richmond fluff

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creekfiend · 1 year ago

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I wanted to make a bonsai kitten recovery post that outlines some of the stuff that I've been doing. Because I don't think that you need to ✨see a therapist✨ to start dealing with a lot of this stuff and I get really frustrated when that is the answer that everyone is constantly giving. Firstly a disclaimer, because I know what website I am on: this is a guide for things that have worked for me! I am not everyone and if there are things on here that do not work for you or even that you think are stupid, that is fine, but please do not make it my problem. If you are reading it and you're like "that sounds like it would actually be detrimental to my specific mental health because of my specific issues" then please disregard it. Use your critical thinking skills and do what you think is right for you!

My second disclaimer is that I didn't make any of this up myself; most of these are collected from various places either in therapeutic guide books or various websites about emotional regulation etc. Some of it is stuff that I have extrapolated from those places based on experience with what works for me or does not work for me. A lot of the way that I treat myself when I need to get my body and brain into a place where I can think about stuff productively is actually directly from gentle parenting guides, because frankly cptsd recovery stuff is very often like parenting a toddler. And the toddler is you. ALL THAT SAID,

The first skill that I had to get good at, that many of the other skills depend on, is to learn how to understand when I am Reacting to something. If I am Reacting it is extremely likely that that's going to only escalate the situation and make it much worse. I HAVE to be able to tell if I am Reacting emotionally to something in a way that is coming from a place of fear and panic. This is important because it involves not being prescriptive about your emotions. You could be Reacting to something that you do not logically feel is at all justified in making you feel that way and that doesn't matter! You can't be doing math equations to try to come to the answer of how you SHOULD be feeling; you have to be observing your mind and body to see how you factually ARE feeling and then respond to THAT. This can be really hard to learn how to do especially if you were abused as a child. (If you cannot think of yourself as someone who is abused as a child perhaps it would help to think of yourself as someone who simply was not taught various emotional regulation skills for mysterious reasons that have nothing to do with your parents' inadequacies.) I need to be able to glance inward and see what the physiological reaction that I'm having is and identify whether or not I feel like this is the biggest emergency in the world that needs to be addressed right now immediately! That is a sure sign that Mr Fight and Mr Flight are in the building and it is bad to make declarative statements or important decisions when that is the case. So, I have to work on dismissing them first. That is literally the first step to any of this. One of my friends calls this "fire mittens," which is to say, if you are wearing mittens that are on fire and you try to touch stuff, the stuff will also become on fire. You have to put the fire out first before you can touch other things.

Once I have determined that I am indeed Reacting and in a physiological state of fear, I have a document in my notes app that is a "what to do when you are in fight or flight mode" guide and it has several helpful things that I will try to outline here.

Firstly, the really important thing for me for trying to get back into an emotional state where I'm capable of making decisions and being thoughtful is to feel safe and comfortable. So I actually have some stuff in my document that is straight up just like "go in the blankie nest. put on this specific music album. light this specific scented candle." etc. You might want to have a specific food or drink that is comforting to you or some other sort of stim toy that helps you regulate. If there's any calming medication or supplements for anxiety that you take as needed, now is also the time to do that. Physical sensory grounding is really important for this. This is probably especially true if, like me, you are neurodivergent, but I think it is also true for everyone because we are animals! And you can't just think about it, you have to actually do it. Which sounds obvious but is the thing that has often tripped me up in the past. Once you start getting into the habit of actually physically doing this it DOES become easier though.

One of my rules is that if I want to respond to something but I am in fight or flight mode, I don't get to respond to it for at least 24 hours. I'm only allowed to respond once I've gotten myself out of fear mode. If it is some kind of comment on Facebook that has set me off, often this means that 24 hours later I realize that I actually don't want to get into it to begin with, which is great. If it's something that is pretty serious and interpersonal with a friend, sometimes that means I have to communicate to them that I'm going to take a while to process it and then get back to them. IMPORTANT: You CANNOT do this passive aggressively or else it undermines the whole thing. You can't phrase it in a way that will make your friends think that you are guilt tripping them for "making" you feel a way. It is VERY tempting to do this when you are in the first stages of trying to form this habit and you simply need to resist the urge because it will render this step worthless. I know. It sucks.

If I am feeling fearful and insecure about friends or loved ones, I also usually try to spend some time thinking about the people that I love and care about. Because often this stuff manifest for me as insecurity that the people that I care about do not care about me, or that they think that I'm being annoying, or that they are secretly thinking mean things about me. It's obviously not good for me to constantly be imagining that the people in my life who I care about are actually avatars of my own insecurity who are here to tell me that I'm secretly fundamentally unlovable! But crucially also it's ALSO not fair to those people to imagine them as that. They are not that guy, they are their own complex human beings with their own lives and experiences and interiority. So sometimes I do thought exercises where I will imagine my friends or loved ones doing things in their everyday lives and I will think about them as people and I will think about the things that they like to do and the things that they say and the places that they go, and I will try to imagine them fondly in those circumstances. This helps to remind me that they are just people and that the scary puppet wearing their faces is not real. To this end I sometimes will have a document of screenshots of things that they have said to me that I can use to reality check myself. I personally find reality checks to be essential for a lot of this. Things can feel true when they are not true at all. Things can feel wrong when they are actually true. The point of most of these exercises is to gently remind myself that those feelings are normal for me to be having, but that I do not need to let them dictate my responses.

It is crucial throughout all of this that you are nice to yourself. You can't talk to yourself in a mean way while you're doing this, or you will not get to a point where you are feeling safe enough to react from a place of not-fear. You can't make yourself feel ashamed or defensive for your emotional reactions. This is the particular area where I find gentle parenting protocols helpful. You HAVE to be patient with yourself.

Ok that's all for now bc I ran out of steam but I will try to think of more to add on another day maybe. Godspeed everyone

#dysfunction junction #bonsai kitten problems

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shidouryusm · 2 years ago

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✿༝༚༝༚ Wrapped in red ✿༝༚༝༚

・❥・Kuroo x reader

・❥・synopsis-> hey siri, what are the consequences of surprising your fiancé with a lingerie under a coat for his birthday?

・❥・ word count-> 5.6k words (nobody look at me)

・❥・content warning-> mdni, explicit smut, fem!reader, cun!lli!ngu$

・❥・a.n -> this is the last time I'll be reposting this if tumblr still doesn't like me I got nothing to do. Tagging a bunch of my mutuals so that atleast they can enjoy. may your cheese rot tumblr. Also happy kuroo day ignore I'm this late everyday is kuroo day stfu. dividers by @cafekitsune , @benkeibear and @quirrrky

Kuroo can feel the chills of the winter already settling in mid-November. The expanse of his living room is veiled with a thin layer of frigidness. The tiles were cold and a siren of silence rings through till the ends, until the little clock resting on the small table breaks through the curse with the beginning of a new day. 17th November. He stares at the clock. The slick hands points to 12, busy announcing his 29th birthday. It is a small, black, cat shaped clock that you found from god knows where and gifted him out of blue. Your justification being “it looks like you”. Kuroo snickers at the sudden wave of memory.

A whole lot of other things around his house are also extensions of you – the little section of potted plants on the shelves, the matching coffee cups, the red mittens hanging over the oven handle, kitchen magnets comprising pictures from both of your trip to Paris. They all are like pockets of your shadow scattered around, giving little hints of the day when you’ll ultimately mark your reign as the Mrs. of this house.

But as of tonight, each of them wildly indicates your lack of presence. Kuroo discerns that the silence was not any call of winter, rather it’s the sheer absence of your chortles and excited squeals around the house, especially tonight.

Kuroo was never that big on celebrating his birthdays, being on a competitive position in corporate asked for lot of compromises and Kuroo had wired himself to do that in his early years on job, not caring about forgetting his birthdays and stuff. Still, he manages to dig up time when it comes to yours or others. The man that he always is - relentless in his acts of services.

However, you being around never quite made it possible for Kuroo to actually forget about his day. Always the more excited one, the best planner and as always, a little better than the previous years. Whether it be by throwing a grand party in a club for him or just by yourselves, with home cooked mackerel and rice, catching the golden sunset above and just savouring the day with a casket of good memories to look back on. Or it may be simply you by his side that makes each of his birthdays something to look forward to, even while being clutched by stress and non-stop work.

He was indeed getting spoiled by such pampering because, as of this moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to be around you. To bask in the incessant warmth of your hugs and engulf himself in the pool of your kisses. Fuck. he really wishes you weren’t drowned in your work right now just so your singsong voice of Happy Birthday could reach his ears the first. He peers at his phone, several texts from his co-workers and friends wishing him were flooded in his notification bar, along with your last text, sent over an hour ago.

Love♡♡ : work is so crazy right now, they should pay me for even gracing them my time this late >:(( anyways, good night. love you tets <;33

Nothing after that. He stares at the text. You weren’t online which meant you are either too busy in work or have already fallen asleep…without wishing him?

A small twinge of hurt pinched his heart at the thought of it. Although he tries to reason it with your pressure at work. But it’s been like this for a few days, you completely submerged in work, barely getting the chance to even facetime, not being overly zealous atleast 3 business days before his birthday.

The little red demon above his head tries to play tricks yet his heart works with rationale – leading two projects at the same time meant things will slip up. Distance may be bound to form. Who knows? even paths of life may deviate from one another and eventually-

His train of thought cuts short by the sharp ring of the doorbell. It’s 12:30 already. Kuroo internally pleads that it’s not some surprise by his former teammates because without you, he doesn’t think he will indulge even a slightest bit.

The door swings open and so does kuroo’s jaw. You, in your full glory, a ginormous beige jacket wrapped all over you, hair dishevelled from the wind, yet framing the most beautiful face in the world, stand at the threshold, panting and holding a large box of what seems like a cake.

“Oh my gosh tetsu, I was almost about to punch the baker. Dumbass messed up my whole timing”

Kuroo was still busy steadying himself but he shifts from his place, allowing you to scoot past him and settle yourself in the dining seat, placing the cake there.

Weren’t you asleep? Weren’t you way too busy to come? What is going on?

He looks at you, making yourself comfortable at his space, like you are just meant to fit inside these 4 walls. The frosty silence suddenly vanishing by the cauldron of warmth you bring with you everywhere. He can’t wait for the day when it will be regular sight.

“Baby, are you gonna stand there the whole night?” you giggle, striding towards his still figure beside the doorway. You hook your arms around his waist, your head tipping back as you stand on your toes, planting a soft kiss over his lips.

Kuroo’s eyes flutters shut as he draws himself into every fleeting moment of this kiss. His hands find your cheeks and large palms cradles them as gently as a rose petal, head dipping down to take in more of the feeling of your lips against him. The taste of your cherry balm engulfing him.

You part from him, merely inches away as your lower lips bruses against each other. You whisper into the small gap, “Happy Birthday, my love. I’m not too late, am I?”

“Doesn’t matter when your wish is what makes it worth. I almost thought you forgot” he hums, hands curling up against your neck, urging you to look at him. You crane your head up, meeting those honeyed eyes pooling with a multitude of emotions.

“Awe you miss me that much? I have been real quiet this year on purpose. Trying something a little different”, you cheekily say, poking your tongue out. Kuroo quirks an eyebrow, “always a step ahead, aren’t you?” he pecks your forehead while a small whisper of “I love you. Thank you for making this day something to look forward to” grazes over your skin. Your feel the kaleidoscope of butterflies zooming inside your ribcage, for the way his words echoed through the drums of your heart. As if the resonance between his and your heart just created more love to harbour.

"Tetsu", you grab his face, dipping his tall frame downwards to place another kiss. This time between his eyes. Hoping this kiss was equivalent to the million words he said with those gaze a few seconds ago.

You take his hand, pulling him towards the cake, “now now, it’s not the time to be all mopey. I fought for this cake and now you get to commemorate this day of high significance”. Kuroo chuckles, you were full of beans indeed.

To think just a few moments back his thoughts were spiralling, he registers that that how much you being by his side grounds his inner monologue of hidden insecurity. Kuroo is always the epitome of confident man but the inner cloud of anxiety yet rumbles time to time. Until, your presence acts like the yellowy sunshine after rain, banishing any grey thoughts that dare to delude him.

“Why such high significance, may I ask?” you roll your eyes, amusement twinkling in your eyes and you answer like this is the most simple question ever, “Because you got to be born and be my boyfriend and then my groom-to-be, duh”, wiggling the left ring finger, you laugh. Shaking his head, he tunes into the peals of laughter with you. He cuts the cake, feeding you a piece before noticing you were still in your coat.

“Baby, are you that cold? You know you could wait a bit more for your winter cloth haul” he gestures at the neck high coat. You squirm a little. He finally noticed.

“y-yeah, I know. there’s a…reason”, you send a sheepish smile on his way, effectively avoiding his gaze.

Kuroo reaches towards you, curious at your shift in demeanor. He leans down, meeting your gaze with his ever sharp ones and you found yourself faltering a bit, heartbeat pacing higher than normal.

“Princess, are you okay? you got a fever?” he runs his hand over your forehead to which you shake your head. Taking his fingers in yours, your fingertips glides over his knuckles. Unable to stall in any longer, you slung your arms around his neck.

“Actually, I have your gift”, bringing your mouth closer to his ear as you whisper, “right under”, you murmur. His hand is now brought on your lower back, the feel of your skin right underneath the coat, clearly evident.

Kuroo sucks in a breath, catching on to your innuendo immediately. Palms migrates towards your shoulder blades where he can feel the thin strap and bare skin over the coat. Curiosity killed the cat and now he just got fucking murdered.

“Hmmm? Should’ve said it earlier, princess.” kuroo hums, a mellowy timbre coating his voice. You gulp audibly, anticipating his moves.

His hands trail over your shoulders, reaching up and stop around the collar of your coat, playing with the top button as he flashes his Cheshire like smile. Demeanor changing from concerned to smug in a flash of light. You keep your eyes on him, heavy breaths escapes your nose and mouth. Kuroo leans forward, his voice now merely a whisper tickling your ears.

“Should I guess what my present is?” he asks coyly. You can feel the teasing glint the words carry.

“You can open it already, y’know?” your voice had an air of neediness, wanting nothing more than to indulge in his touches and losing yourself in him for the night.

Kuroo tuts, shaking his head in faux disappointment, “tsk tsk tsk. it’s my present, princess. Let me enjoy it. in my way”. With that, he flicks the button open, his eyes catching a hint of red around your neck. A dark chuckle escapes his throat.

“Red, huh? You surely did some homework before”, another button pops open, this time, the base of your throat open up and a little red ribbon wrapped around the middle like a bow greets him.

Kuroo felt his heart thrumming loudly, imagining what he could find after fully unbuttoning your coat. The suspense of the act spiking his blood and rushing downwards towards his crotch, he can already feel himself getting hard. God, you really knew how to outdo yourself every single year.

Kuroo presses a kiss right beside that bow, feeling your erratic pulse against his lips. It curls into a smirk, right against your skin. You tip your head back, eyes closing and hands finding their way to the hem of his shirt.

“Uh-uh, princess. Not so early.” Kuroo envelopes his hands over yours, before bringing them together behind your back, caging you between his hold. His right hand, once again, flits back in its previous mission while his left hooks both of yours ; effectively locking them behind your back. “Not until I’m done unwrapping my present”. A kiss plants underneath your ear; the skin tingling with its effect.

“You sure are taking a hell lot of time” you scorn. Kuroo chortles, popping another button open. This time a part of your sternum peeps out, he can make out the hint of cleavage from the skin exposed. More blood runs downwards and kuroo fights the urge to tear the coat off and bend you against the table to ravage you then and there.

“Good things take time, princess. Moreover, you seem to enjoy it.” Kuroo muses, his hips roll against yours and you could feel the hardness of his crotch brushing up against your lower belly. “Take this as a punishment for being late to my birthday” he opens another button and the lace cupped cleavage makes their way.

“But it wasn’t my fault.” you pout. You’re so adorable, kuroo thinks. He laughs under his breath before pressing a soft kiss against your cheek. His hands trail over your sternum, dipping down towards the fat of tits spilling out before he ghosts over them ever so slightly, drawing a whine out of you from the untouched touch.

“Oh but you were…” he drawls, “to think you went outside like this. Being a naughty little girl, are we now, princess?”. You open your mouth to say something but his lips silences yours. His tongue almost immediately finding its way in your mouth and playing with yours.

The kiss was sloppy with the way kuroo laps at your top lip, engulfing it in his mouth, saliva smears over your upperlips and drips down your lowers. The steamy makeout session in addition to the his hips grinding against your coat covered crotch leaves you staggering.

One by one, he unbuttons the whole coat till the end, each time kissing a part of you he passes in the process, to all the way down, where he is kneeling. He looks above to see your figure hugged by this beautiful dark red fabric, only covering the bare necessities.

He is eye level with your bare thigh, the plush skin adorned by a thin lacy garter, linked to the equally thin panties with a small band of cloth. You feel his hand runs across the back of your thigh, the cool band of your engagement ring gliding smoothly over your skin. The pads of his fingers dip down a little deep when he reaches your almost bare ass.

“Fuck. what I’d do to you” you hear him murmur against your lace clad thigh. He scrapes his teeth against the fabric, peeling it off and exposing the beautiful skin out. The sharpness of his teeth mingles with the softness of his lips as he sucks and nips at the skin, leaving a purple well of mark around that area. Your breath hitches as you feel the dull throb of the hickey while he continues his ministration all over your inner thighs.

“We better take this to the room before I end up taking you right here” his teeth still ghosts over your skin, now attaching around the band of your garter, tugging it gently before releasing it back, the elastic smacking your skin, causing a whine to tumble out your throat. His actions causing your pussy clench around the fabric.

He continues his journey up with his mouth before reaching your pussy. The material doing nothing to hide the outline of your cunt and looking closely enough he sees the dampness that is caused by your arousal. His fingers join in, smoothing upwards over the fabric gently. A moan leaves your lips, with the way he is being tantalisingly slow. If you could, you would have shoved his fingers inside.

“Already wet and I barely did anything, baby. Wait for the real action atleast” his voice sardonic and praising simultaneously. He plants a kiss right over your crotch before trailing upwards.

“Tetsu, you little-” you whine to which kuroo snickers. He loves you to death but he loves it more than anything when he is edging you and you are writhing and pleading.This is when he gets the chance fill you to brim with pleasure. The power surge he gets from this is immeasurable, when nothing leaves your mouth except his name.

“What, my darling?” kuroo kisses below your navel, his lips smoothing over the surface with no friction. He peppers your stomach with nips and kisses before reaching under your breasts. A small kiss between the valley of your tits and then he finally rises up. He caresses the sides of your breats before holding you by your waist, squeezing you gently,pulling your figure flush against him. His hardened member now rocking against you with less obstruction.

Kuroo tugs the coat off of your shoulder and it pools around your ankle, revealing your whole set to your fiance. Kuroo gawks at your figure, as if time stopped its track for him to drink your body with his eyes.

“God you’re fucking beautiful” his voice low and husk filled. Kuroo peppers kisses on the curve of your shoulders, hiking his lips up into the crevice of your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses trailing towards your jaw.

You have always been the prettiest for him but this colour on you has popped out every feature of yours in the most alluring, elegant way. Kuroo huffs out short breaths as his eyes find it difficult to tear away from you, he eyes you from down to up before his eyes land on that ribbon.

Oh fuck that ribbon. The way you made yourself like a present, kuroo is positive there isn’t any better gift in the whole planet than the one before his eyes. His lips find you again, passion and lust permeating through the kiss. His hands reach up to your breasts and he gives them a good squeeze. The nipples pert and poking through the cloth against his palm.

He guides your body along with his towards the bedroom without breaking the kiss, stumbling along the way but nonetheless reaching towards the edge of the bed. He pushes you, still connected with your lips, cradling your head before you fall into the heap of soft mattress. His body hovers over yours and one of his knees positions dangerously close to your cunt.

“We gotta take this off before I tear it and that is the last thing I wanna do” kuroo husks, his hand deftly working their way to take off the top.

Not that it did anything to cover what’s underneath, yet as he removes the bra and sees your tits spill out, he couldn’t help but take one in his mouth. Fondling the other one with his hand.

The feel of his mouth finally somewhere on you has you teetering on the edge, you let out out a moan. Your hands rake through his ink black locks while he tugs you nipple with his teeth. His knee presses against your almost bare pussy the sensation spikes your insides.

Your hands reach for his shirt once again, urging him to take it off , to which he obliges but not before remarking something about it.

“Can’t wait to see me naked, guess I can indulge in your desire a little bit”, you roll your eyes. Smug bastard. You feel him shift downwards, his knees touching the floor while leaving you sprawling on the bed, he adjusts your legs around his shoulders before scooting downwards.

His hands plays around your nipples, twisting and turning while his mouth travels south. He lets his teeth do the work, pulling at the underwear and tugging it off of you, finally letting the sight of your clenched cunt soothe his eyes. The way he keeps a unbreaking eye contact while doing the dirtiest of act makes your arousal seep down your cunt even more. He tugs the panties halfway through before teething at the garter again, slowly dragging it across you skin and pulling it off.

“Practising for the big day, princess” he grunts, taking them off of you fully. You let out a light croon, even amidst the unholy acts of provocation, the gentle reminder of your promised near future sends you into a blissful train of thought.

Kuroo’s sharp nip at your inner thigh brings you back. He stares at you with drooping eyes, silently challenging you to not break the contact as he lowers himself over your slit. He licks a stripe of your pussy, the feel of his tongue like millions of fireworks inside your nerves. You silently breath out a gasp while kuroo begins his onslaught of kitten licks over your cunt. Gradually reaching to your clit. He presses a kiss over the nub before capturing it with his mouth, gently sucking on it.

His tongue flicks your now swollen clit as you rock your body, bringing him closer, as if it’s anyways possible. Your mingled sounds of squeals and moans and whines mixes with the soft squelch of his fingers entering you. He prods them gently over your walls, knowing where to stretch and poke to evoke the most raw reaction from you.

“Tetsu…fuck...aah..” your voice are nothing more than little tufts of breaths as he shifts his pace every so often, while never leaving your puffed clit unattended. The alternate of his tongue and fingers works wonders to roll you over the edge.

“Cum for me, baby” you hear his raspy voice vibrating across your skin, he sloppily makes out with your slit before driving his tongue inside, his face tilts as he tries to reach as deep inside you as he can. The grip of his hands on your thighs tightening. His cock feels heavy and the burning desire to replace it with his tongue flames his inside – but not before he makes you cum like this atleast twice.

Two of his fingers drum over your clit while his tongue prods inside you. His jaw hurts but nothing matters when he gets to see the expression he draws out of you. Mouth falls open, while your head tips back. Not giving a damn about keeping eye contact because fuck if you could have exploded out of your body, you would.

Kuroo groans at the irresistible feel of your essence around his tongue, “tastes so good for me”, he hums around your pussy. You could feel the wave of arousal waiting to burst and as you hear the words escape his mouth, your body reacts on accord. Back arches beautifully as you release yourself against kuroo’s lips.

Your mind levitates in the cloud of bliss while you feel Kuroo laps at your essence, the drag of his lips against you too euphoric. to joyful to get down from. But even while being on the daze, you feel Kuroo going at your pussy once again.

“T-Tetsu…hnnggh”, you can feel the added force that his tongue applies as it drives inside you once again.

“You thought I’d leave you to come around my tongue only once.” he rasps, his nose brushes against the overstimulated clit. He nuzzled himself against your cunt, his hands reaching over your ass and kneading the soft flesh. You let a wanton moan, too loud for the neighbours to not hear. Kuroo smiles, tongue thrusting inside your cushiony walls even more.

You could feel your body quivering, preparing itself for another wave of orgasm not long after the previous one. You tug at his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp. Your other hand grabs at your breast to hold onto something. A sight Kuroo savours from behind his bangs that cover his face.

“I’m gonna…” you whine, thighs jolting around his arms while he keeps them locked. “Make a mess around my face, darling. Let go.” Kuroo was getting delirious at your taste. His cock nearly bursting his load in his pants. He rubs against the board of the bed, releasing some friction. He can sense your orgasm looming and naturally, he increases the pace, tumbling you over the edge for the second time. His teeth grazes the clit, giving it some attention before a harsh suckle has you going for the 2nd time that night.

Your back arches, juices spraying out of your pussy. Kuroo is enthralled seeing you this dirty, this sexy, this sinful. You didn’t hold back your sounds either, sweet melodies of his name with pleasured moans ringing throughout the room and satisfying Kuroo’s ears as he succeeds in making you spent.

Not that he intends to stop yet.

Your body is still quivering, the afterwave of the pleasure still gushing inside your body. Kuroo caresses your thighs and hips, coaxing your body to relax.

“You did so well, my sweet baby. looking gorgeous cumming around my face like that”, kuroo engulfs your mouth, his tongue shoves yours around and you decide to suck the tip of his tongue, relishing in the tangy essence of yours. A moan erupts from the man above as your wrap your hands around his sculpted back, losing yourself in the kiss.

Kuroo helps you get down from the high before flipping you over. You notice the way he positioned you both, you are right in front of the dressing mirror.

When did he even do that?

Kuroo kneads your ass from behind, while another hand grabs your chin to make you look at the mirror.

“Eyes up there, baby. Watch how I fuck this little pussy into oblivion”, you can feel his clothed cock grinding against your ass. Whimpering, you wiggle back, feeling more of him, causing Kuroo to suck in a breath.

“Behave, darling.” Kuroo lightly smacks your ass, watching the flesh ripple and groaning at the sight.

You look over your shoulders at him. He looks so broad, the toned sculpture of his long hours at gym and sports really gifted you with a goldy sight. His face flushed with crimson and copper eyes blown out with lust. The contour of his abs to sexy to not gawk 24/7. His sweatpants are already hung low, cock whipped out, hard and swollen. The tip angry with precum dripping down the globes of your ass. You try to shift back, intending to return the favour he generously gave you a while back.

But Kuroo , not-so-gently puts you back on your position, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you against the sheets. Your ass hiked up more to flash the clenching pussy in the air. The cold draft blowing around your sticky folds making you shiver.

“Tetsu!” you exclaim, as he starts dragging his length over your folds, adding more of his arousal with yours, the spot lubed and moist for Kuroo to slide right in.

“What did I say about behaving, princess? Are you looking for to get punished?” his voice dark and menacing, only reserved for you, in the bed. You shake your head, eyes locked with his through the mirror. Your nipples brush against your sheets with the way you are bent, adding more to the sensation.

You try to tug off the red ribbon, not wanting any ounce of fabric on your skin when kuroo grabs your hand, harshly. Hooking it over your back, he hikes your body up a little higher, his cock straight against your fold, the tip hitting snug the clit. His eyes are narrowed, eyes a little menacing,

“Don’t you dare take that off. This stays on.” his voice low. You mewled an okay, too entranced with the way he looks behind your back to notice his manhandling.

“That’s my girl”, kuroo hums before sliding inside you with ease. The remnants of previous shenanigans making it easy. Your mouth falls in a O as you feel the ridge of his cock gliding past your walls. With each of his inch bottoming inside you, you let out a moan, voice deliriously filthy. The sounds like a dulcet for him.

He rams the last of his inch at once, making your body lurch forward. Your face scrunched in a beautiful frown, teeth digging at your lips. Hair falls over your face as you dip your head down to adjust to his size. Kuroo becomes too busy admiring your features through the mirror. You look like a goddess, a goddess he brought down on her knees before him.

He was probably too enticed because it wasn’t until the roll of your hips around his pelvis that dragged him down to where he was. “T-tetsu. movee” , he hears your plead.

“As you say, baby girl.” kuroo starts drilling his cockinside, sliding in and out of you, the head colliding with the gummy walls near your cervix. You were pushed forward with the intensity of his thrust yet the feeling of his prominent vein grinding inside your wall was too heavenly to complain.

It was him and you, intertwined with each other, knocking the door of lust but beneath it was promises of love.

The grip of his fingers around your hip was deathly. It sure is gonna leave a dent. Kuroo grunts and groans as he watches the base of cock froth with both of your juices. The squelching sound everytime he enters you fills the room along with the slaps of the skin.

You could feel his balls hitting you right above the clit, light strokes against them making you dizzy . His hands snakes around your stomach, reaching your clit. He takes the nub between his two fingers, rolling them around and pinches it. You squeal at his actions, back bending away from him, but the grip of his arm around keeps you flush.

“Your pussy is made right for me. Almost made me bust a nut the moment I slid my cock inside, sh-shit. so fucking tight and clenching” , his words are so vile, yet so sweet to hear. He bends down, back flush with his chest as he presses a hoard of kisses around your nape and shoulders. Suckling the skin and leaving out purple marks in its wake.

“Tetsu..more…you feel so good against me” you cry, eyes rolling with the way he is snapping his hips against yours. The constant assault over your g-spot inside and the clit outside once again announces the impending avalanche.

“More you say? Greedy girl.” he rasps before hoisting you up, one hand still playing with your clit while the other finding your left breast.

Cupping the whole fat of it, he squeezes the mound hard. His hips unrelenting with their strokes. The bed creaks from the sudden movement. The headboard banged against the wall once. Now the neighbours are definitely gonna know.

“So fucking beautiful. Truly the best gift ever, princess. I love you so much”, you turn sideways to face him, his molten amber eyes mirroring the heart eyes you are sending him across.

You capture his lips in a soft kiss, your hands reaching his face to cradle the sides and pulling the front tufts a little. Vibrations of hums and moans share between you two in the kiss, while both your bodies work on their own accord. The golden light of the lamp falls over your skin, the golden iridescence reflecting of your skin makes you nothing less than a fallen angel. The halo like glow of your body makes Kuroo's heart gallop loudly. Makes him wonder how he managed to find someone as perfect as you are.

“Look at the mirror. See how ethereal you look while taking me like that. God really took time while making you” , you chuckle at his cheesy words. No matter how dominant he acts in bed, at the end it was still your dorky, corny Tetsu.

You zero in the way he fucks you, the outline of his cock visible as he drills into you. A dragged moan fills the air. kuroo kisses around your temple, his thrusts erratically hits you, losing rhythm. You realise he’s close, so you arch your back, feeling more of him inside. Fucking himself inside you.

Kuroo hisses at the act, his fingers pinching your clit in return. Your walls clamp around his shaft, making him lose all the threads he had been holding onto ever since he buried his face in your cunt.

“Shit, baby...take me…take all of it. Let's cum together”, his babbles choking in his throat as he thrusts in you one last time before warm ropes of his cum fills your pussy. You came around the same time, pooling his thighs with hot, sticky mess.

He kisses you throughout the high, a level of euphoria never felt before. He realises he didn’t use any condom today neither did you retorted against it. Kuroo slides out of you, your cunt clenches from the lack of his heavy cock. He gently lays you down, bringing a wet towel and cleaning off the spilled cum from your thighs and his. Your face beams with the post-coital bliss as you spread your arms over your head, breathing heavily.

“You good?”, kuroo asks, his voice regaining the gentle hold back. You nod, closing your eyes and relaxing yourself.

“If I knew you’d go this crazy over a lingerie set, I’d have thought it through before buying.” you breathily say, seeing Kuroo’s face turn a little red. The debauchery dawning on him a little.

“You could wear an overalls over a trash bag and I’d still fuck you the same. It’s you who’s this hot”, Kuroo plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek, his hands smoothing your hair. He scoots you over, finding himself a space beside, pulling you against his side. His fingers work through your scalp while you find warmth in his body.

The comfortable setting almost lulling you to sleep before you lurch up, face palming yourself. Kuroo sits back, concerned at your sudden leap, while you look at him with guilty eyes.

“I forgot your actual gift at home, while being too excited for this one.”, you hide your face between your palm, whining and falling back on his chest. A hearty laughter rolls out of Kuroo at your state while he rubs your shoulders. His mind already bent on to tease you.

“Wanna suck me off to balance that out?” kuroo sends a sly grin your way, his voice holding a glint of tease but really not expecting you to wallow in.

To his surprise, you part away from his chest, face filled with a challenging gleam. Without any words, you straddle him, holding his cock by the base. A dopey smile spreading all over your face.

“Say less. I’ve been meaning to do that since forever.”

a.n-> aint nobody leaving the house without giving him a sloppy. if tags dont work and it flops then im giving him an even intense sloppy

comments, likes, reblogs are appreciated

tagging : @stsgluver , @kuroosexuall @shotorus + @satoruhour @hannzai @tetzoro @mrs-kurooo @quirrrky @pastelle-rabbit @planetnini @selarina @sookisaurus @itadorey @utahimeow @this-is-still-mia @kamorikiri @shoyostar @screampied-main

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

In The Cold

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, social dejection, mentions of religion, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Your Christmas is set to be a lonely one, but you do your best to share the cheer with your only friend.

Character: Arvin Russell

Day Seven of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - cottage!core

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The tension is something you’ll never be used to. The silence is as bad as the hushed voices and the sneering side looks. It's all so suffocating.

So much as you might’ve earned your judgement, it cannot make them righteous. What was it the pastor extolled; ‘let he who be without sin...’ And why is it that the stones they cast are aimed at you and not the man who joined you in your misdeed? The very one who cozened you into the act?

Henry still sits on the town council, he still goes home to his wife and other children, he still gets a ‘good morning’ or a ‘good day’, and none bat a single eye along the pew. You can’t even get the same from him these days. He’s a stranger now that your dresses are too tight and your gait is wider and wobbly. Now that his adultery has grown inside of you and continues to, he runs from it.

You pay at the counter for your meagre fare. Janie fired you not long after the minister’s scolding and none-so-subtle remonstrance of straying innocence. Like your mother and father, she abandoned you to your dejection. You would not stain her Christian mantle.

The shopkeep, Ted, packs up your goods in the bag without a word. He drops your change on the counter and turns away as you gather it up. Despite that, you still thank him. You lift the bag and hug it above your bump.

You keep your head down as Esther steps up to the counter with her basket. She makes a comment about the holiness of the coming holidays. Of how Jesus’ birthday should be kept sacred. You know she means you to hear but you don’t show that you do.

You step out into the chilly winds as they swirl around with a gust of powder. You nearly collide with another as you do. The chuckle that comes with the near-catastrophe eases your nerves. In an instant, the weight is scooped out of your arms.

“There ya’are,” Arvin greets. He’s the only person in town who talks to you.

In fact, he’s the only reason you have a place to lay your head. He did up his old shed so you could live there for a while. A barter you insisted on. What would people think if you accepted his invitation to stay in the spare room? Surely worse than the already do. He does not deserve to be tainted by you.

“You all done for the day?” You ask as you keep your arms crossed.

“Oh yeah,” he answers brightly, “what’d you get? Anything good...” he sniffs the top of the bag, “I smell cinnamon.”

You chew your lip, “yeah...”

You glance at him. He wears his fleece lined denim jacket, the collar greyed with age and a button missing on the right chest pocket. It’s not really enough for that kinda cold. Knockemstiff lives up to its name quite often and the winter will be sure to freeze your bones.

“Sorry, I’m being nosy,” he chuckles. “You want some candy? Got some in my pocket. Mr. Callahan sent them in with Edwin.”

“Oh, no, I’m okay,” you blow into your woolen mittens. It’s bitter these days. “Um, I was hopin’... I could make ya dinner tonight. Since ya done so much for me. ‘Fraid I don’t got much else to give right now.”

“That’d be awfully nice,” he accepts with a bounce in his step, “here.” He shifts the weight of the bag into one arm and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a long shape wrapped in brown paper, the top twisted and tied with ribbon. “Butterscotch.”

“Arvin, I told ya--”

“I got lots,” he insists.

You take it with a thank you. You continue down the packed snow. He’s entirely oblivious to the way Charmain passes with a glare but you feel it in your chest.

“I was thinking, before the baby comes,” you swallow as the thought bubbles up from the pits of constant dread. “I should leave.”

“Leave?” He wonders aloud. He looks over at you as snow gathers in his hair, the cold nipping pink his cheeks. He’s two years older than you but looks and seems much younger than you. “Where to?”

“I got an Aunt a few townships over. She’s the only one still answering my letters. She never had no kids of her own. They all... none of ‘em made it, ya know? I been writing to her and that.”

“Oh,” his disappointment tweaks in his throat. “Well, you don’t gotta, you know? I don’t mind ya stickin’ ‘round.”

“I mind. You been so kind already. Once I got the babe, no one gonna take me then neither. No work here, and I’ll be lucky to get a pew on Sundays.”

“Yeah, well, all these folks be saying they’re godly and how do they act?” His tone edges hotly. “Ain’t godly to turn a soul out. My mama always said so. No soul’ll make it through this world with a dent or two, but the lord’ll forgive.”

“Mm, she sounds like a nice lady,” you say.

“She was,” he sniffs. “And so I wouldn’t be puttin’ no shame on her memory by bein’ selfish, ya know? So’s as long as you need it, the shed is yours. I told ya, though, there’s a room inside.”

“No, no,” you loosen the ribbon and peek inside the paper. The candy stick of twisted sugar is all shades of caramelly brown. You smell it and it plucks at your bottomless hunger. “I don’t mind it. Pa never had the stove goin’ less the snow was past our knees. He always says, if you’re cold, put another sweater on.”

“Huh,” he scoffs darkly.

“What?”

“Yer pa’s the reason you’re in my shed,” he harrumphs. “Sorry for sayin’ it, but I wouldn’t take no advice from a man who’d disown his own blood. He’s the one brought Henry ‘round. They still gettin’ drinks down at the tank.”

That information is more chilling than the cold. You didn’t know that. You try not to hear things about your father or the man who put this curse in you.

“I...” he begins crisply, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t gonna tell ya.”

“Woulda found out soon enough,” you shrug and shove the butterscotch stick in your mouth. You suck on it pensively. It’s sweet but you can hardly enjoy it as your eyes burn with a glaze of tears.

“So,” he coughs, “what’s for dinner?”

You pop your lip off the candy, “it’s a surprise,” you say.

“Oh, I like surprises,” he smiles, not that he ever really stops. Not around you.

“Well, I hope you like this one,” you drone.

💝

You wash the plates from dinner as dessert bakes in the oven. The smell of cinnamon fills the house as you hear Arvin tinkering in the next room. He’s always messing around with something mechanical. You’re not always sure if he’s fixing them or just taking them apart.

You dry and stack the dishes away. The old house is cozy, quaint. You know it belonged to his parents. It’s still strewn with their memories. As if he’s preserving them in those walls. So you do your best not to disturb it.

You take the pan out of the oven. The rolled-out dough is perfectly baked and the colour is pristine. The shape resembles their namesake; elephant ears. It’s only dough, sugar, and cinnamon, but so so delicious. Your grandmother used to make them. Despite your current predicament, you’re nostalgic for the simper days.

You put one on a plate and peek at the doorway. You pause to dig out the parcel you hid under the sink then bring both items out to the front room. You keep the latter behind your back as you approach Arvin. He sits on the floor in front of the burning firestove as he pokes at an old clock with a screwdriver.

“Here ya go,” you offer him the dessert. “I could make some coffee or tea?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he puts down the clock and tool, then wipes his hand on the cloth draped over his knee. He reaches up to the take the plate. “Smells good.” He brings the dish down to examine the pastry, “what is it?”

“Called an elephant ear. Not super fancy.”

“Looks good,” he grins. “And what’s that?”

He lifts the baked dough and bites into it as he angles his head as if to see around you. You bring your hand out and present the parcel.

“Merry Christmas,” you say. “I know it’s not much, and a bit early but it’s gettin’ real cold.”

He places the plate on the rug and claps his hands off as he chews. His dark eyes sparkle as he takes the bundle wrapped in brown paper. He brings it over his lap and carefully unties the twine. You sway on your feet and rub your stomach as you watch anxiously.

He uncovers the knitted scarf and cap. He already has thick gloves that he wears for his work. He feels the wool and examines it quietly. You’re suddenly very unsure.

“You made these? For me?” He looks up. You nod. “Wow, it’s... you lined the cap?”

“I had a few old pieces I repurposed,” you shrug.

“It’s...”

“Not too much. I know. I’m sorry. I don’t make too much these days. People only hire me if no one knows and it’s gettin’ harder to sneak around.”

He huffs and shakes his head. He lowers his chin and pets the scarf. “It’s everything.” He continues to examine your work. “I hope you don’t mind, my gift’s not ready yet.”

“Oh, Arvin, you don’t gotta get me nothin’. You done enough.”

“I want to,” he says. “Now,” he lays down the wool on the rug neatly and grabs his plate. He uncrosses his legs and stands. “Why aren’t you havin’ some dessert? You need to sit down. Let that baby rest. He mustn’t sleep very much with you titterin’ around all the time.”

“He’s already titterin--” you go to argue and stop with snort. “I think he knows we’re talking about him.”

You feel your stomach as the baby kicks. Arvin watches your hand on your belly as his brows rise up his forehead. “You think it’s a boy?”

“Could be. Not too sure. Oof.” You twitch as the baby kicks harder. Then wince again as Arvin puts his hand on you without warning. It’s surprising but not unwelcome. His warmth seeps through your dress.

“Oh!” He exclaims as the baby beats on your insides. “I can feel him.”

“It’s a bit early,” you reach back to brace your hips, “he usually waits ‘til I’m in bed.”

He keeps his hand on you, watching your belly as the baby continues his dance. He seems awestruck by the ripple under your skin. You’re more exhausted of it.

“I’ll have your present ready soon,” he says. “Promise.”

💝

Arvin’s truck rumbles up to the house. You were surprised when he drove it into town today. He doesn’t usually start it unless he’s going to fetch firewood or going off for long trips.

You open the shed door, a blanket around your shoulders as you peek out. His headlights shine through the greyness. It’s still early by your count, unless you lost track again.

He hops out and stomps through the snow. He waves at you as his hair curls out from under the cap you made him. He wears it every day. You’re happy for that.

“Merry Christmas,” he calls out.

“Christmas... it’s still two days away,” you stay behind the door to shield yourself from the winds.

“Two days!” He claps as he approaches. “Since you gave me my gift early, I got yours ready too.”

“Mine?”

“Mmhm. You’re not the only one who can do surprises. So pack a bag.”

“Pack...” you wonder.

“Ah, ah, just get a bag, alright?”

You can see him jittering in excitement. You hate to dampen that but you also feel bad. You made him a hat and scarf. He’s got something planned out that’s gonna at least cost him gas and his time.

“Oh...” you murmur.

“Don’t,” he wags a finger. “Really, come on! I wanna get there by dark.”

“Alright, I’ll be fast.”

You gently close the door and retreat. You can’t deny him. His words trouble you though. By dark? How far are you going? You don’t want him to do too much.

You don’t have a lot to take. A few dresses that still fit, some stockings, your sole pair of boots, your coat, and other things just in case. It doesn’t sound like you’ll be coming back tonight.

You come out in your coat and boots as Arvin keeps the truck idling. He meets you near the hood and takes your bag before he helps you up into the front seat. He gets in the other side and puts your bag between you.

“Do I get a hint?” You ask.

“Nope,” he shifts into gear. “Just hold tight.”

💝

It’s a few hours before Arvin stops. Your eyes scour the sentinel pines all around and fall upon the painted wood of the cabin’s face. The porch pillars are stained a dark blue as the siding stands as white as the snow. It’s only the edgework along the window frames and door that make it visible amid the winterscape.

You gasp, “Arvin?”

“Surprise,” he exclaims.

“What...”

“My grandfather built this place. Ma’s dad. I been workin’ on it,” he proclaims.

“Workin’ on it?”

“Yep! Ma wouldn’t want you raisin’ that boy in a shed.”

You mull his words and stare at the cabin. “Arvin, my aunt--”

“I know, she’s a nice woman by the sounds of it. She can always come see us but you know, not many place around that’ll be as nice as her. Not when’s they see a mother with no husband.��

You shrink down. He’s right.

“But I’m not--”

“Like I was saying,” he interjects, “you’re gonna be a mama. Means you need a proper house.”

He doesn’t wait for you to argue. You don’t have any to offer as you reel in disbelief. Why would he do all this for you? It’s not his baby. You’re not his problem.

He comes around and offers his hand. You climb out, gripping him tightly, as you flick away your tears. You sniffle and keep your head down as he leads you across the snowy yard.

“You’re upset?” He asks as he kicks snow off the steps.

“I’m... surprised,” you croak, trying to hide your face. “Arvin, it’s too much.”

“Not much at all,” he counters. “But I got a new stove in and the fireplace real nice since I redid the bricks. And I got it all wired up to a gas generator.”

“Oh,” you puff out as you climb the steps, still latched onto him. You hiccup as your tears flood over.

“Oh?” He echoes.

“Arvin,” you babble behind your hand. “Why-- why would you go and do all this for me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He tugs you toward the door.

“But...” you choke on your words.

You kick off your feet before you enter. He moves behind you, guiding you from behind with his hands on your arms. He stops you in a dark doorway. He lets go of you and you listen to him shifting around the dimness. He shines a flashlight into the front room.

“Once I get the lights on, it’ll look better,” he assures.

You shake your head, “it’s too much.”

“Nothin’s too much,” he argues again. “Look, you need this place and you need me. You need a husband, don’t ya?”

“Husband? Arvin, you can’t--”

“I wanna.”

“But--”

“Baby boy’s not mine. No one else needa know. Them folks in Knockemstiff, the don’t go so far. And the next one will be mine. Maybe a girl--”

“Next one?”

“Uh huh, gonna give this one lots of brothers and sisters,” he puts his hand on your stomach.

“I...” your heart sinks from on high.

He’s quiet, measuring the silence as you do too. You peer into the front room then wince as he turns the light in your direction. You shield yourself as it shines in your eyes.

“Well, you gonna tell me no?” His voice is low and silty. “Cause I don’t think no one’s gonna take you away from me. Ain’t no one else want you.”

It’s like a knife sinking into your gut. Your frown and grab his hand, trying to shove it off your stomach. Why would he say that? He twists free of your grasp and clings to you instead. He turns the light under his chin so it casts his features in a sinister glow.

“Without me, you and that baby’d be frozen to the side of the street,” he sneers. “All’s I’m tryna do is give you everything, you could at least do the same.”

#arvin russell #dark arvin russell #dark!arvin russell #arving russell x reader #the devil all the time #fic #december daze #navy and roo's sleepover #dark fic #dark!fic

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captain-huggy-bear · 11 days ago

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Cowpoke

Series/AU: Small Town AU Pairing: Rancher/Homesteader!Jack McBain x Fem!Reader Warnings: N/A Summary: Jack's not the biggest talker to people, but he sure is sweet to animals. Notes: I'm not an equestrian nor a rancher nor a farmer so sorry if any of this is wrong, I tried not to do anything that would be too specific. Thanks to the anon that requested something along these lines 🩵 Writing Masterlist

Jack has never really liked people. The exception historically being his beer league hockey team, his family who now live 2 states away, little kids and Mrs Butcher who brings cookies to the ranch from time to time. More recently you'd made your way onto his list of acceptable humans.

There's a reason Jack doesn't go into town often, a reason he doesn't really date much (not to mention how badly the last woman broke his heart), and a reason he avoids others. He hates small talk, hates making polite conversation to most people. You? You he doesn't mind so much, talking doesn't feel like a chore with you, you let him be quiet when he needs to be and you let him yap when he wants too. The perfect balance in your new, blossoming relations...and then there's the animals.

The chattiest he's ever been is with them. Like he's suddenly found all the words he's been saving up for the past 2 decades. You don't see that side of him, not often around the Ranch and when you are it's usually evening, the animals put away to bed already while Jack makes his dinner.

Today's an exception, you find yourself driving down the dirt track road, pulling up outside the farm house Jack had fixed up with Dylan, the blue painted shutters, the swing he'd built on the porch. Your reasoning? You missed him. You just wanted to see Jack, even if that meant doing chores around the farm on one of the hottest days of the year so far.

"Jack?" When you knock, you don't get an answer, pushing the door open and wandering the halls. It's empty. No Jack, no Dylan. Just a bunch of wild flowers on the kitchen counter in an old jam jar and the barn cat that had stopped being quite so much a barn cat and instead become a housecat, Tractor (named after the tractor in which he was first discovered).

You give the cat a quick rub down until he gets fed up, black mittens batting at you. Taking your queue you make your way back outside and start to wander until you hear that low rumble that is Jack's voice.

"I know, good girl...shhh, c'mon, it'll feel better once i'm done, okay?" His voice rumbles, soft, low, reassuring. More words in one sentence than you've ever heard him speak to someone that wasn't you or one of the guys.

It stops you for a moment, feet stilling, frowning because you're unsure who he could possibly be talking to like that...part of you, the damaged part, the part that's had too many men break your heart jumps to the thought that maybe there's another woman at the ranch. Still, even with that thought, you force your feet forward until you round the barn, finally seeing Jack.

He's absolutely gorgeous in the hot sun, shirt off, broad shoulders bare and sun kissed, work jeans tight across his thighs, boots on as he takes his old horse, Sunny's, hoof between his legs, hoof nippers in hand as he tries to trim them while Sunny tries to shrug him off. The old mare tied to the hitching post to keep her from moving away as she shifts uneasy.

Sunny kicks a back leg out behind her even though Jack isn't anywhere near it to get hit. You lean against a fence post to watch as he balances the nippers on his lap, free hand coming up to stroke along her neck in soothing passes. He pats her neck before reaching for the nippers again.

"Don't be like that, darlin', shhh, just let me trim this hoof for you, you old nag." He's admonishing but still soft as he tells her off for trying to get rid of him, it makes a smile start to form on your face, head tilting as you watch him with soft eyes. Each word makes you melt a little as if he's talking to you and not an ornery old mare. He's still got that stupid moustache across his lips, but the rest of his beard is starting to grow in a little now.

Sunny tries to toss her head at him, nickering as if to tell him to piss off and he just laughs at her low in his throat. The sort of laugh that rumbles out from deep in his chest.

"Yeah, yeah, I don't like trimming my nails either but the old lady doesn't want me scratchin' her so I do it. Sometimes you gotta do things you don't want to, girl." You're not sure if being called an old lady in your 20s is a compliment, but from Jack? From Jack it sounds almost like a proposal, the sort of name that warms you inside like a warm bowl of soup on a winter's day. That he's thinking of you even when there's no reason to.

You watch as he works his way around each of Sunny's hooves, trimming them even as she shifts, even when she tries to kick. Not once does Jack lose his temper, he just speaks low and soft. Soothing her with his words and calling her every sweet name he can think of as if that will make her less irritated with him.

"All done, old thing," He pats her on the rump, tossing the nippers off to the side and reaching in his pocket for her favourite treat, a peppermint. The hard feelings are quickly forgotten as she eats the peppermint, Jack untying her from the post only to have Sunny shove her big head at him searching for more treats.

"Alrigh', alright', you can have one more. But, only one, darlin', can't be giving you too many now." Still you watch as he gives her more than one, 3 more eaten in quick succession before he ushers her off into the pasture with the other horses.

It's like you've seen a whole other Jack. The Jack that talks soft, not just to you, but to animals. The Jack that's patient for the select few. The Jack that for his big size knows how to be gentle. The ache it leaves in your chest is made even worse as his big fluffy cream livestock dog comes barrelling towards him, Dozer, all but tackling Jack.

Jack falls back onto his backside, big dog sat in his lap like he's not 80lbs of muscle and fluff. Nose nuzzling into Jack's cheek with the enthusiasm only a excited dog can provide.

"Shit, Dozer, easy now...Jesus, you're going to take me out and then who'd feed ya?" The overgrown puppy just licks at Jack's face as he tries to push him away, leaning back with a booming laugh as he avoids a kiss to the lips from a dog that recently killed a coyote only 4 nights ago.

"Yeah, yeah, love you too. Go do your job, you soppy thing." Jack shoves Dozer off gently, the big fluff ball, looking over at you and barking once in greeting before running off to patrol his patch. Dozer finally gives you away, Jack looking up and over at you from his place on the ground, face falling into a look of sheepishness like he didn't expect to be caught giving his horse too many treats and letting his livestock guardian dog knock him to the ground.

He's quick to jump to his feet, hands brushing dirt off of his ass and smoothing down his thighs. "Hey, baby..."

"Hey, Jack," You swing yourself up and over the paddock fence, a little slower than Jack would have done, worried about falling flat on your face. Not that you need worry about that when Jack's already there, hands on your hips to support you and make sure you don't slip or fall.

"I didn't realise you were comin' over..."

"I missed you, big guy." You say it because it's true, but also because you don't want to make him more self conscious, not wanting to bring up his chattiness towards the animals. Not wanting him to ever stop it.

Jack flushes bright red from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, eyes softening, mouth slipping into a smile like he's already forgotten that you caught him with Dozer in his lap.

"Missed you too, sweetheart," The kiss he gives you is so sweet that you melt into it, fingers slipping to his bare shoulders, warm from the sun, your own shoulders relaxing at the taste of him against you.

And like that it's so easy. So easy to not give in to the temptation to tease him. So easy to let sleeping dogs lie, so easy to know that you're with a man that talks to horses like they're sweet old ladies when they try to kick him, that lets his livestock guardian dog be a dog and not a worker even if for a moment.

So, yeah, maybe you could tease him, but a man like Jack? A man that says so few words already? He doesn't need that. He needs to know you accept him as he is without reservation. So instead you just lean into that kiss and hope he can feel every ounce of yearning for him that you hold in your chest, every hope that he never changes, that he doesn't become one of your what ifs.

#small town au #jack mcbain x reader #jack mcbain/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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yuurei20 · 8 months ago

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Dialogue Comparison: Playfulland (Chapter 1)

Proofreading by the wonderful @/aoi-hitomi-50 ♡

Original Ace: Tch. You don't want to treat your cute underclassman to something~?

EN Ace: Tch. C'mon, can't you do somethin' nice for your plucky underclassman?

(It’s not uncommon for the word “cute” to be removed from dialogue on EN.)

Original Fellow: My name is Fellow Honest. This here is my protégé Gidel.

EN Fellow: I am Ernesto Foulworth. And this here's my bosom buddy, Gino.

Original Fellow: Those who are close to me even call me things like 'Honest John'.

EN Fellow: Some of my closest friends have taken to calling me Honest Ernesto!

Original Jack: Hey, Fellow-san clearly seems older than us, and you're suddenly calling him without honorifics?

EN Jack: Whoa, hey. Mr. Foulworth's clearly way older than us. You can't just go around calling him by his first name.

(It’s fun to track the creative solutions EN creates for when characters make “yobisute” comments! Also seen in Harveston with Idia and Sebek.)

Original Kalim: They're all colorful and shiny, so pretty~.

EN Kalim: They're all colorful and sparkly!

(EN also removed the word “beautiful/pretty” from multiple places in Kalim’s dialogue in the Cloudcalling event.)

Original Ace: ...the Housewarden is going to give me the scolding of a lifetime.

EN Ace: ...the headmage would be royally ticked.

(“Housewarden” is consistently changed to “headmage” in Epel’s dialogue, so it’s difficult to tell if this is a mistake or an intentional change.)

Original Ortho: I'm always telling my brother 'Go to class!' too, so skipping might not be good.

EN Ortho: My brother always says I should go to class, I don't think skipping would be a good idea.

(Possibly subject pronoun confusion on EN? Which sometimes happens! More here)

Original Floyd: Yeah, you know~ Usually you're a shore crab, but today you're like a spider crab.

EN Floyd: Y'know, it's true! You're normally a mitten crab, but today you're more like a fiddler crab.

The Japanese word for “spider crab” literally means “long-legged crab” in Japanese, which led to this comment from Ace in the original game:

Original Ace: What's with that comparison... I don't really get it, but if you mean my legs look long, I guess I don't mind~♪

EN Ace: Those analogies make no sense… but I guess if you're saying I look like a dapper musician, I'll take it.

(It’s not unusual for references to characters having long legs to be removed from EN, also seen in Book 5, Book 6 and a vignette.)

#twstdialogue #playfulland #twisted wonderland

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fandomaddictwut · 10 months ago

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Some student at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters: Mr. Logan, you’ve been alive for a long time, right?

Logan: Sure, kid. Since sometime in the early 1800’s. Why?

Student: Is there anything you miss from back then? Not like a person, y’know; we all miss people. But something you thought was gonna be around forever, or at least a long time, and it just isn’t now.

Logan:…what?

Student: Y’know, like a place or an animal or something. Maybe a food or a kind of transportation or a style of clothes or whatever. What’s something you miss from the past that’s not an individual person?

Logan: Oh my god. I…never really thought about that.

Logan: Um…passenger pigeons were pretty cool, I guess. I liked steam trains. Not great for the environment, but they were pretty neat. Also, old-school bananas tasted way better than whatever tf passes for bananas now. And Yellowstone before cars was…indescribably beautiful. And hand-knit socks and mittens? So comfy, but I don’t know anyone who does that anymore.

Student: Aw, shit. There was so much cool stuff. And it’s all, like, gone now. :(

Logan: Sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to be a downer. Just…the world’s a lot different now. Not bad; just…different.

Student: …Yeah. I mean, healthcare is way better now, so I’m glad I live in the present. But that stuff…I’m sorry I missed it.

Cut to that student learning how to knit/sew/handicraft and making Logan and the other teachers and students handmade gifts. They’re not really good at first, but they get better and more intricate as the years go on.

Logan gets a pair of gloves with little button holes made for his claws to go through without ruining them. Storm gets a beautiful lacework shawl. Charles gets so many hats with pompoms and wears them with pride. Jean loves her infinity scarf, and Scott is so ecstatic over his little fair isle patterned earmuffs. Remy gets a playing card themed cropped sweater, and Rogue squeals with delight when she gets the softest, most beautiful pair of gloves she’s ever seen. And everyone gets custom hand-knit socks, even Kurt (that’s when the student first got into pattern creation: not a lot of two-toed sock knitting patterns out there, so they made their own).

Idk, just…fluffy x-men learning cool stuff about the past and keeping it alive in the present, just because.

#wolverine #logan howlett #xmen #charles xavier #jean grey #scott summers #ororo munroe #kurt wagner #remy lebeau #anna marie lebeau #knitting #old fashioned

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lupinsweater · 6 months ago

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Through the Years We All Will Be Together

part two →

Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader 🎁 1.9k words

⋆꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆ ꙳•❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

The snow was falling gently on the Lupins’ small cottage, covering the garden in a soft quilt of white. Ten-year-old Remus sat by the window, his breath fogging up the glass as he watched the flurries dance in the glow of the streetlamp. He wasn’t expecting company—not on Christmas Eve, when most families were tucked away with their own traditions.

He hugged his knees to his chest, trying not to think about how Christmas felt different this year. His parents had done their best—there was a tree, strung with hand-me-down ornaments, and the scent of pine needles mixed with the faint aroma of his Mum’s cooking. But the lingering silence was heavy. It was the first Christmas since it happened—the full moon that had changed his life forever.

Remus jumped at the knock on the door. It was sharp and clear, echoing through the stillness. His parents exchanged a glance from the kitchen, but before either could move, Remus was already on his feet.

The cold air bit at his face as he swung the door open excitedly, sending a breeze into the house that made the fireplace flicker. You stood there on the porch, bundled in a too-big scarf and a wool coat that was so large that it reached your ankles, the hem covered in slushy snow. Snow clung to your hair and shoulders, and your cheeks were pink from the cold.

“You came,” Remus said, his voice soft but tinged with surprise.

“Of course I came,” you replied, rolling your eyes with a grin. “What else was I going to do, sit around while my mum and dad have their boring Christmas party?” You lifted a tin wrapped in a bow. “She sent these for you. Said you need fattening up.”

Remus laughed—a real laugh, not the polite one he’d been using all day. He stepped aside to let you in, and you stomped your boots on the welcome mat before slipping them off, followed by your coat, scarf, and mittens.

Inside, the warmth hit you instantly, and you rubbed your hands together. “Smells good in here,” you said, peeking toward the kitchen. “Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin!”

His Mum poked her head out, her face lighting up at the sight of you. “Merry Christmas, dear! Oh, those must be your mum’s famous shortbread.” She glanced at Remus, her smile softening. “Why don’t you two come sit down at the table? I’m almost done in here, and then you two can start on the gingerbread.”

“Okay,” you said cheerfully, grabbing Remus’ hand with your free one and tugging him into the kitchen with you.

The Lupin kitchen smelled like cinnamon, nutmeg, and a little bit of something lemony. You sat down at the table while Remus walked up to one of the cabinets, squeezing around his Mum to get to the drawer where they kept the cookie cutters.

“I don’t think we need the snowman one,” he said, pulling out a bent star-shaped cutter.

“But the snowman’s a classic!” you argued, shooting him a glare. “You can’t have Christmas cookies without snowmen!”

Remus rolled his eyes but placed the star cutter on the table. “Fine, but you’re decorating it. And you’re the one who has to explain why it looks like a blob.”

“It’s not a blob!” you protested.

“Last year, it was definitely a blob,” he said with a laugh.

“Well, this year it won’t be,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest defiantly.

Remus’ Mum finished mixing her bowl, and she poured the batter inside into a cake pan that got covered with cling film. She set the pan into the fridge and grabbed out the ingredients the two of you would need, as well as the recipe card.

“Alright, you two, the kitchen’s all yours,” she said, ruffling Remus’ hair with a smile despite his protests.

Remus pulled out two aprons that seemed about the right size, tossing one over to you as he tied his own. He looked at the recipe card on the counter, beginning to grab the measuring cups and spoons until he heard your protests.

Your back was facing him, your small fingers fumbling to reach the apron ties. “A little help, maybe?” you said with annoyance.

Remus laughed, coming over to tie the apron for you as you huffed at him. When he finished, you turned around to look at him, seeing the smug grin on his face.

“You’re too smug for someone who almost burned the cookies last year,” you said, crossing your arms.

“That wasn’t my fault!” he protested. “You’re the one who distracted me with your ridiculous reindeer story.”

“It wasn’t ridiculous,” you said defensively. “It’s festive.”

He shook his head, still grinning, and slid the mixing bowl over to you as he measured the flour. “Alright, then. What’s next, master baker?”

You squinted at the recipe card propped up on the counter. It was written in the neat, looping handwriting that you knew was Remus’s mum’s.

“Okay,” you said, reading aloud. “We’ve got to add in the spices and the baking soda, and then we’ve got to get another bowl to mix the other stuff.”

“Why don’t you do the ‘other stuff’,” Remus said, raising an eyebrow at you as he grabbed the spices and began to measure them out. He watched out of the corner of his eye as you added the brown sugar and butter into the other, mixing it with a whisk until your arms grew tired and you were satisfied with the way it looked.

“Help me with this part, will you?” You called over to him. “My arms are just so tired.” He shook his head at you with mock exasperation as he came over to look at the recipe card.

“It’s just adding in the eggs, molasses, and vanilla,” he said with a laugh, measuring the syrup and vanilla out. You cracked the eggs into the mixture; and he began to stir it in as you washed your hands of the slimy eggs.

“Now what?” You said, walking back over to him and peering over his shoulder to see the instructions.

“We’re supposed to cut the cookies into shapes, bake them, and then—”

“Decorate them with our amazing artistic abilities?” you finished, smirking at him.

“Or with lots of icing,” he said, grinning back at you.

Half an hour later, the two of you were elbow-deep in cookie dough. The table was covered in flour, and there were far more “blobs” than actual shapes in your pile of cut-outs.

“Why does this star look like it’s been through a snowstorm?” Remus asked, holding up one of the cookies.

“Maybe it’s just sleepy,” you said, snatching it from his hand and placing it on the baking tray.

He shook his head but didn’t argue, instead grabbing another chunk of dough to roll out. “Do you think Santa likes stars, or is he more of a gingerbread man kind of guy?”

“Santa likes everything,” you said confidently. “Except raisins. No one likes raisins.”

Remus laughed, and you couldn’t help but smile. His laugh was your favorite sound, especially when it came so easily, like now. He had been laughing less and less, these days.

“What do you think Santa does when Christmas is over?” you asked as you carefully placed another snowman on the tray.

Remus shrugged. “Probably sleeps for a year. That’s what I’d do if I were him.”

“You already do sleep for a year,” you teased.

“Not true!” he exclaimed, tossing a small handful of flour at you.

You gasped, staring at the white streak on your sleeve. “You did not just—”

Before you could finish, you grabbed your own handful of flour and flung it back at him.

“Hey!” he yelped, ducking.

Within seconds, the kitchen was a battleground, both of you laughing as clouds of flour filled the air. By the time you called a truce, you were both covered from head to toe in white powder, and the counter was even more of a disaster than before.

“You look like a ghost,” you said, giggling as you brushed flour off his hair.

“You’re one to talk,” he shot back, but there was a softness in his eyes as he reached out and wiped a streak of icing from your cheek.

Once the cookies were finally in the oven, the two of you flopped down at the kitchen table, exhausted but victorious.

“Do you think we’ll get in trouble for the mess?” you asked nervously, glancing at the flour-covered counters.

Remus shrugged. “Maybe. But it was worth it.”

You grinned, grabbing one of the bowls of icing and dipping your finger into it. “Want some?”

He made a face. “That’s raw icing! You’re going to get sick.”

“Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s just sugar. Live a little.”

With a sigh, he grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the icing, taking a small bite. His eyes widened in surprise. “Okay, fine. That’s actually pretty good.”

“Told you,” you said smugly.

As the two of you sat there, licking icing off your fingers and waiting for the cookies to bake, he felt a warmth settle in his chest. It wasn’t just the heat from the oven or the sugar rush from the icing—it was the simple, unshakable feeling that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

When the cookies were finally done, the two of you set to work decorating them. There were stars with crooked lines of icing, snowmen with lopsided scarves, and one particularly ambitious attempt at a Christmas tree that looked more like a green blob.

“This,” Remus said, holding up a star with way too many sprinkles, “is a masterpiece.”

“It’s a mess,” you said, laughing.

“Yeah, but we did them,” Remus said, his smile bright.

Neither of you could disagree, there.

“Hey, Remus?” you asked after a moment, your voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Yeah?” he replied.

“Do you think things will be like this forever?”

He frowned slightly, turning his head to look at you. “Like what?”

“You know. Us. Hanging out, telling stories, making gingerbread. Christmas.”

Remus paused, looking down at the cookie in his hand. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to respond, but then he looked up at you with a small, genuine smile.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think it will.”

You smiled at that, the kind of smile that made him feel like maybe things could be okay. Like maybe there were pieces of his life that hadn’t been taken away, that were still his to keep.

The clock chimed, and the sound startled you upright. “Midnight already?” you said, scrambling to your feet. “Mum’s going to kill me!”

You grabbed your coat, tugging it on in a flurry, and Remus helped you step into your boots before tying your scarf around your neck. You darted toward the door, but just before you stepped outside, you turned back, pausing in the soft glow of the tree lights.

“Merry Christmas, Remus,” you said, your voice warm and sincere.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, his chest tightening in a way he didn’t fully understand.

He watched as you disappeared into the snow, your figure fading into the swirling white. For a long time after, he stood at the door, staring at the footprints you’d left behind.

Years later, when he was older and the world felt heavier, he would think back to this day. To the flour fight, the crooked snowmen, and the way you had smiled at him, like nothing else in the world mattered.

#lupinsweater #lupinsweater’s 12 days of ficmas #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin oneshot #marauders fluff #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #christmas fanfic #christmas fic

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fattummyt · 2 months ago

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Broly/Gender Neutral Reader - Scent

Summary: There were few things Broly was unable to part with-- Bah's ear, being one of them. Most things he took his time easing himself into like citrus fruits and showers, but others were much more difficult to bear-- one of those being the removal of his shock collar.

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, implied relationships, gender-neutral pronouns, sleep, domestic, not canon compliant

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, Implied/Referenced Past Torture/Violence, Minor Injuries, Injury Recovery, Anxiety, Phantom Pains, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

Author's Notes: Y/N - Your name

Read it on AO3 here!

"Can I have my scarf back for a little bit?" The mere thought of parting made Broly's skin crawl, but after all, it did belong to you. "I promise I'll give it back before bedtime." Broly hesitated to move, long enough for you to notice something was off. "S-sure." He raised the scarf over his head, taking in the loss of warmth and the odd scent of his home. Is this how it always smelled? Why is it so cold all of a sudden? Thoughts began to pile up in his brain and before long he was fidgeting with the hem of his tunic again.

The red rash stretching around the base of Broly's neck was growing worse every night. When Bulma's father arrived to inspect it, after one look he gave you a diagnosis.

"This is no rash. These are self inflicted scratches."

"Scratches?" You asked. "How?"

Dr. Briefs inspected the massive hand resting in Broly's lap, standing intrusively close to the now uncomfortable Broly before waving you over to join him. You also looked, only to find his nails bitten down on each finger.

Broly, speaking for the first time since Dr. Briefs arrived, interrupted.

"What does… self inflicted mean?"

Dr. Brief paused, straightening his posture, as if just now recognizing Broly's presence. "That means you've got a nasty little habit there, son."

Broly didn't react, just blinking at the smaller man unamused and admittedly, even more confused than he was before.

Dr. Briefs turned to you, adjusting his glasses as he spoke. "He's been scratching himself in his sleep. It's really not all that uncommon, although, the location is fairly odd. Wait right here, I'll return with my tried and true method for curing this little problem."

The older man quietly exited the room and when he was far enough away you glanced over to find Broly, quietly biting at his thumb. You smoothed your fingers over the tender flesh of his neck, making him flinch at the sudden contact.

"I'm sorry, does it hurt?"

"No." He didn't look at you when he spoke.

You brushed his hair from his neck, revealing the full collar-like length of his scratches. His voice interrupted your worried thoughts, "I can still feel the shocks, sometimes. When I sleep. Sometimes when I wake up, I can still feel it tingling in my skin."

Guilt sat heavy in your belly as you recalled pushing him to remove the collar, before you could voice your concerns, in walked Dr. Briefs.

"I have some good news, son. For being such a good patient you get two prizes." He pulled two objects from behind his back. "A scarf and a pair of mittens."

You both looked equally as puzzled, before you interjected. "Did you take that from my hallway closet?"

He approached Broly, taking the fuzzy infinity scarf and wrapping it around Broly's broad neck and chin.

Upon inhaling, Broly was quickly overcome by your familiar scent.

Dr. Briefs tossed you the pair of familiar knit mittens.

"There. Now that scarf should distract you from the itching and the mittens will keep you from biting and scratching while you snooze."

"Wait, that's all?" You insisted.

Dr. Briefs chuckled. "Well, no sense in buying new fancy stuff when the old stuff works just as well."

As he turned toward Broly he took on a tense expression.

"Listen here, son. You kick that habit or else. Ladies don't like men with bad fingernails, or at least that's what Mrs. Briefs tells me--" "--Goodbye Dr. Briefs." You replied with urged movements.

He clasped his hands behind his back, turning to offer you a kind smile before heading to the door.

"Let me know how that works for him, Y/N. I am one Capsule Corp call away!"

As he left, you couldn't help but feel concerned for your other private belongings, but pushed that idea out your head as you soon noticed Broly seemingly deep in thought, completely oblivious. He wasn't biting his nails or fidgeting with his hands as he so often did when his mind was unoccupied. Instead the hyperaware man sat silent, eyelids heavy, seemingly lost in thought.

"Looks like it's already working. For being a bit peculiar, Dr. Briefs does know a thing or two after all." You didn't appreciate him volunteering your stuff, but far be it from you to take away something that makes Broly happy.

"I'm gonna go make myself some lunch, do you want anything?"

Broly didn't respond, instead letting his eyes fall shut, and his back hit the bed. You took that as your cue to leave, tossing the mittens on his bare chest. You smiled to yourself as you shut the door behind you, your departing footsteps barely audible over the thump of Broly's heart.

He wasn't sure how long he'd laid there like that, but it wasn't long before he had drifted off to sleep.

You were almost overjoyed when you saw Broly the following week after. The flushed red scratch marks across his skin were now just a memory. No surprise, considering he's a Saiyan.

"I haven't woken up at night at all." Utter amazement in his voice as he spoke. Before this he hadn't had a full night's rest since the collar was gone.

"I'm so happy for you, Broly!" A warmth tingled in his cheeks which he quickly tucked away behind your scarf after hearing that. You broke into a huge smile, a smile you only reserved for when you had a great idea. "Let's celebrate! I'll make some snow cones!"

"Snow? Cones?" Broly didn't follow.

"You've never eaten snow cones before?" "Why would I eat snow?" A pain welled deep within your stomach as you recalled the delicious frozen desserts of futures passed. "I'm gonna make you the BEST snow cone-- you'll love them! Vampa is perfect for it. I'll get some snow from outside."

In a sudden haste, you rose from the kitchen table and quickly got dressed, pulling on your coat and boots as Broly watched in confused silence.

"It could be dangerous outside, I should go with you." "I'll be fine. I won't be going too far anyway." It wasn't until now that you noticed your scarf still tied around his neck. "Can I have my scarf back for a little bit?" The mere thought of parting made Broly's skin crawl, but after all, it did belong to you. "I promise I'll give it back before bedtime."

Broly hesitated to move, long enough for you to notice something was off. "S-sure." He raised the scarf over his head, taking in the loss of warmth and the odd scent of his home. Is this how it always smelled? Why is it so cold all of a sudden? Thoughts began to pile up in his brain and before long he was fidgeting with the hem of his tunic again.

You pulled the now significantly warmer scarf around your neck as you turned out the door. "I'll be right back."

Broly didn't answer as you left, too overwhelmed-- too hyper aware of everything, every tick of the heater, every gust of wind that would rattle the front door. He didn't have it in him to deny you your scarf but he was quickly realizing he wasn't going to be able to adjust so quickly.

"Broly." Your voice echoed in the hallway leading up to his room but there was no answer. You sniffled as you approached his bedroom door. "Broly?" You knocked gently, earning no response.

Sure, Broly was no stranger to your struggle meals, but you worked so hard on those snow cones, you just had to see his reaction to it.

Being a worrywart that you are, you let your anxiety get the best of you, cracking open his door to find his room inexplicably empty. Just as fear trickled up your spine, you heard what sounded like a thud from your room, down the hall.

Quietly you opened the door, peering around to find Broly splayed across your bed, what looked to be child sized mittens tugged over his fingers as he laid face deep in your pillows, fast asleep. As far as you know Broly had never even seen the inside of your room, let alone laid in your bed. You wanted to be mad and annoyed, but the sight of his body causing your bed frame to creak with such agony almost made you want to laugh. You breathed a sigh of relief, tip toeing, albeit pointlessly, across the room to toss your blanket over him.

I guess I could sleep in his bed for tonight.

Read the fic on AO3! | Read more of my fics on Tumblr | Patreon | Website

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vintageshanny · 6 months ago

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Christmas Kisses

Content: Takes place in December of 1976 and mentions Elvis’ loneliness at that time. This is mostly fluffy, but there will be a second part with actual smut. This is basically my Christmas gift to Elvis, telling him how wonderful he is. ❤️

December 24, 1976

Josephine walked briskly down the sidewalk, her head tucked down, the cold air biting at her bare neck. She had forgotten her scarf, as usual. At least she had her mittens this time. She admired the soft red wool enveloping her fingers. The sounds of Christmas carols came pouring out of a nearby diner as a giggling couple flung the door open and raced through the cold to their car.

A faint smile tugged at Josephine’s lips as memories flashed through her mind like slides on a projector. She normally loved Christmas, but this would be her first one alone. The hint of a smile disappeared as that realization washed over her.

“C’mon, Josie. Move to New York with me. Why do you wanna stay in this dump anyway?”Phil had pleaded with her.

“I can’t just up and leave Memphis. My job is here. My friends, my home...”

“Well, I’m leaving with or without you. I’m not passing up this job opportunity just because you’re scared to try anything new.”

Josephine used her mitten to brush away a tear as the memory of Phil’s voice rang in her ears. Seven months should have been enough time to move on and find someone new. But somehow three years with Phil had made her lose all her confidence.

“You’re too sensitive. I don’t know how I put up with you.”

Trying her best to push the thoughts from her mind, Josephine focused on the cheerful Christmas lights adorning every house and business. Her brisk pace slowed to a meander as she reached her favorite part of the walk from church to her apartment – Graceland. She came to a full stop in front of the fancy musical note gates and admired the multi-colored lights lining the long driveway up to the house. She was fantasizing about walking up that drive and getting to see the house up close with her own eyes when she was startled out of her thoughts by a voice in the darkness.

“Can I help ya with somethin’, honey?”

Josephine nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw a shadowy figure emerge from the side of the little guard shack next to the gate. A shadowy figure that looked a lot like Elvis Presley himself. He was wearing a long red leather coat with a little matching cape over his broad shoulders. She swallowed nervously as she took in the full aura of his presence.

“Uh, I’m, um, I’m so sorry Mr. Presley,” Josephine stammered nervously. Even in the frigid air, she could feel her face flush warmly. “I was just admiring your Christmas lights.”

“Huh,” Elvis grunted a little bit and glanced over his shoulder as if he had just realized his lawn was covered with decorations. “What are ya doin’ walkin’ out in the freezing cold by yourself?”

“I-I was just on my way home from the Christmas Eve service at church,” Josephine explained. Her body shook with a shiver as a gust of wind came sweeping through.

Elvis smiled and nodded at her explanation, seemingly satisfied that she wasn’t some crazed fan trying to break into the house. “Well, it’s much too cold ta be out here like this, honey. Why don’cha come inside and warm up and I’ll call ya a cab or somethin.’” He took a step back toward the guard and mumbled something she couldn’t make out before the gate swung open.

“Oh, Mr. Presley, I couldn’t possibly impose on you like that on Christmas,” she whispered nervously as he grabbed her by the arm and steered her up the path.

“Ain’t no imposition, honey. And I can’t leave ya out here ta freeze ta death. Ya ain’t even got no scarf on.”

“What were you doing out here in the cold?” Josephine asked, inwardly cringing at how rude that sounded.

Elvis glanced over at her and smiled at the slight flush he saw on her cheeks. “I was jus’ deliverin’ the Christmas bonuses to my guards. I usually have a big party for Christmas, but this year I jus’-” he stopped short before confessing all of his emotions to a complete stranger. “Well, I jus’ didn’t.”

He thought of how he had ended things with Linda just a couple months ago, certain that Ginger was the one. Only to have that blow up in his face almost immediately. He’d been so upset that he canceled the rest of his tour, and he’d certainly been in no mood to host a bunch of friends he couldn’t trust. He tried to remember the last time he’d been alone for Christmas. Well, not completely alone. He had his Yisa here to cheer him up.

“I’m all alone this Christmas, too,” Josephine blurted out. “I mean, not that you’re alone. I mean, you’re Elvis Presley, so you’re probably never alone.”

Elvis chuckled a little bit as Josephine continued to stumble over her words. “Never alone, but in another sense, always alone,” he murmured.

Josephine looked over in surprise at this confession. She studied his handsome profile as they reached the door, but he pretended not to notice and simply ushered her inside. He had changed a bit from the way she remembered him in the movie magazines of her youth, but she couldn’t help but notice how good he still looked. Something about his extra bulk as he brushed against her in the doorway made her feel very warm inside.

“Daddy! What took you so long?” A sullen looking little blond girl came bounding over in a red flannel nightgown.

“Sorry, Yisa, I found a straggler outside. Ya don’t mind if she comes in and warms up a bit, do ya?”

“I guess not,” Lisa sniffed as she sized Josephine up. “As long as you’ll still read to me.”

Josephine noticed the tattered copy of “A Visit from St. Nicholas” tucked under the girl’s arm.

“Oh, that’s one of my favorites! Do you mind if I listen too?” she asked Lisa warmly before turning to look at Elvis and seeing a funny look on his face. Not mad, just maybe amused or bewildered at this strange woman showing up at his house and essentially inviting herself to celebrate Christmas with him and his daughter. “I mean, just while I wait for my cab,” she sputtered nervously. It was definitely amusement that flashed in Elvis’ eyes as he nodded his assent.

He took off his long leather coat and gloves and tossed them onto a chair, revealing his Christmas ensemble – black dress pants, a silk blue button-down shirt, and rings on almost every finger. It was Josephine’s turn to be amused when she noticed the massive wet circles in his armpits. She slipped off her own navy blue coat and red mittens and smoothed the fabric of her green velvet dress. Not wanting to intrude on the way Lisa was snuggled up to Elvis on the couch, she sat in a plush armchair across from them.

“You’re not gonna be able to see the pictures from over there,” Lisa announced. “You need to sit over here, on the other side of Daddy.”

Elvis grinned at Lisa’s bossiness and agreed. “That’s true honey, ya won’t be able ta see the pictures.”

Josephine tried her best not to blush as she settled in next to Elvis on the couch, so close that their thighs were touching. The warmth radiating from his leg mixed with the scent of fresh sweat, cologne, and cigars was almost enough to make her head spin.

“’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,” Elvis started out, his rich timbre warming the fibers of her soul. “Not a creature was stirring, ‘cept for that big ‘ol mouse!” he suddenly yelped and pointed across the room, pretending to spot a giant rodent. He and Lisa both dissolved into a fit of giggles when Josephine let out a scream and grabbed onto Elvis’ arm.

“You got her, Daddy!” Lisa squealed with delight.

“Ya sh-sh-shoulda seen your face,” Elvis could barely stop his laughter enough to get the words out.

Josephine could feel her face turning bright red, but their laughter was contagious, and she couldn’t help but join in. “I’ll get you back for that,” she teased.

“I’ll be ready and waitin’,” Elvis smiled. He finally pulled himself together to continue the story. By the time it was over, Lisa’s little head had dropped onto his arm, her eyelids drooping shut.

“Lemme jus’ get her up to bed, and then we’ll see about that cab, hmm?” Elvis said softly, scooping Lisa up in his arms. Josephine nodded, just now realizing that he hadn’t even called for the cab yet.

As she sat there alone on the couch, the absurdity of the situation really sank in. She was sitting in Elvis Presley’s living room, waiting for him to come down and...what? What was he expecting of her now? She swallowed nervously, wondering what she might have gotten herself into.

Elvis reappeared and seemed to confirm her suspicions that he was expecting something of her. He was now wearing a plush black robe over navy blue pajamas, his bare feet sinking into the carpet as he walked back toward the couch.

“Sorry honey, I hope ya don’t mind, but I like ta be comfortable in my home.” Elvis sat back down next to her, one of his legs jiggling nervously.

“Um, no, of course you do,” Josephine responded, trying not to stare at the little triangle of exposed hairy chest at the neckline of his pajamas. “Did you call that cab yet?” Her voice came out in a squeak, and Elvis looked over at her and chuckled.

“Are ya scared of me, honey? I ain’t gonna hurtcha, y’know.”

“No, I know,” Josephine mumbled, trying to force her voice to sound normal. “I just didn’t know if you were expecting, I mean, if you thought that, y’know, maybe you thought I was a certain kind of person for coming into a strange man’s home. I mean, you’re not a strange man, but I mean...I’m so sorry,” Josephine finally finished, her face on fire with nerves and embarrassment.

“Honey, I ain’t got any expectations, I jus’ thought we could sit and talk. I don’ know, somethin’ about ya jus’ makes me feel so comfortable, like I could tell ya things I can’t tell other people. B’sides, I’m sure ya wouldn’t be interested in an old man like me anyway.” A sad little smile flashed across his face, and Josephine could see the hurt in his eyes when he insulted himself.

“You’re not old! And I’d be very interested!” she blurted out before she could think about what she was saying. “I think you’re so handsome,” she continued in a whisper. “It’s just that it’s, um, been a long time since I was...with someone.”

Elvis chuckled as her face turned red again.

“I’m sorry, I keep embarrassing myself,” she murmured, covering her flushed face with her hands.

“Aww, baby, ya ain’t gotta be embarassed. I think it’s cute. I can see how sweet and sensitive ya are.”

“Too sensitive,” Josephine muttered. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“Yeah, me too,” Elvis smiled.

“Really?” Josephine looked over at him in surprise.

“Oh, yeah, honey. I’m an emotional son of a bitch.”

Josephine giggled at his description and started to let her guard down a little more.

“See, you’re handsome and funny. What’s not to like?” She surprised herself by leaning over and resting her head on one of his broad shoulders.

Elvis cleared his throat and looked away, wondering if he could or should trust her with his intimate secrets. But there was no point in pursuing this if she was just going to hurt him like the others.

“Wh-wh-what if there was a handsome and funny man, and ya wanted him ta make love to ya, and he c-c-couldn’t do it? Would ya still be interested?”

Josephine could feel the way Elvis’ shoulder had tensed up underneath her as he talked. Her heart hurt for how vulnerable he sounded. She tried to choose her words carefully.

“Well, there are a lot of ways to satisfy someone. it doesn’t always need to be just, um, traditional love-making. And I hope that this handsome and funny man would understand how very interested I still am and let me just hold him and love him. I would never want him to feel like he’s not enough.” Josephine turned her head slightly so she could see Elvis’ face as she slipped her arm around his soft belly. She noticed him blushing a little bit, but he let her hug him tightly while his own hand moved to caress her back.

“There’s not a lot of women like ya, y’know. I think ever’one wants some kinda fantasy man.” He kept his voice low as he continued. “And it’s not like I, uh, c-c-can never uh, y’know. It’s jus’ that I’ve been havin’ some problems with my health. And sometimes I-I-I can’t do things as often as I used ta.”

Josephine continued to hug him as she responded. “Elvis, I don’t know about these other women, I can’t speak for them. But for me, the fantasy of Elvis Presley is not about some superhuman entity who always needs to be performing and putting on a show. The fantasy is just you, the human being. Just spending time with you like this, seeing what a loving Daddy you are to your daughter, how you would invite a complete stranger into your home to make sure she doesn’t freeze to death, just talking to you. All these things are better than any fantasy I could dream up.” She looked up into his face and saw that his eyes were glistening.

“Sorry, somethin’ in my eye,” he murmured with a smile.

“Hey, I thought we decided it was okay to be emotional,” Josephine grinned. She leaned down and gave a soft kiss to that little patch of exposed chest.

“Sweet and affectionate,” Elvis said, that trademark crooked grin spreading across his face. “I think ya just might be my fantasy girl, honey.”

“It’s so strange, I’ve just never felt so close to someone immediately like this. I think I should be nervous, but your arms make me feel safe.” Josephine nestled further into him, wanting to feel engulfed by his body.

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

“Wow, we’ve been talking for hours,” Josephine noted the time on the clock. “I suppose we should call that cab.”

“When can I see ya again, honey? I think I’ll have a party for New Year’s Eve. Will ya come?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Unless I find some other handsome funny man to sweep me off my feet,” she teased, her heart swelling at the sound of Elvis’ laughter.

As they stood together on the cold porch, waiting for the cab, Elvis suddenly grabbed her in his arms and pulled her close. “Thank ya for..for bein’ so sweet,” he whispered before planting his soft lips directly on hers.

“Ohhh,” she moaned softly into his mouth as he slipped his tongue past her lips, the kiss growing deeper and more passionate until her body felt tingly with excitement.

“I jus’ want ya to know that I’ll do whatever it takes ta satisfy ya,” he grinned and winked, both of them noticing that something firm was pressing into her lower abdomen as he held her close.

“I have no doubt,” she smiled, giving him another peck before walking over to the cab.

“Down boy, ya gotta save that energy for New Year’s Eve,” Elvis murmured to himself as he watched her walk away. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this happy.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @whositmcwhatsit @missmaywemeetagain @lookingforrainbows @thatbanditqueen @be-my-ally @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @arrolyn1114 @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a

#elvis #elvis fan fic #elvis fan fiction #elvis x oc #christmas fic #i love this man

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weirdmarioenemies · 1 year ago

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Name: Mr. Blizzard

Debut: Super Mario 64

Who ordered the Funny Snowman? Not you, because this is a blog and not a restaurant, silly! You are just so silly. But between you and me, I am a fan of Funny Snowman, so I will humor you!

Mr. Blizzard is one of the first snowmen to appear in the Mario series, and the one who would become the most iconic and recurring. This is something he should be proud of, since Super Mario 64 has a bunch of snowmen in it! But one of them based his whole identity around missing his head, and the other one is an entire location. Gimmicks that make them memorable, sure, but not very versatile for future use!

Mr. Blizzard's design really notably uses billboarding, the graphical trick where a sprite will always face the camera, giving flat circles the appearance of spheres in a slightly blurry 3D world. Snowmen are SO orbs! Some of the most orbs guys I can think of! It was a very good decision. Mr. Blizzard is honestly slightly unconventional compared to other cartoon snowmen, with no nose- nay, nary a carrot- and a simple line mouth, rather than the typical "series of dots" mouth that we know and love. Instead, it has a blank, autism creature face, with its eyes and mouth seemingly made of the same material! Mouth made of eye, or eyes made of mouth? You won't know until you kiss him on the lips!

Nowadays, Mr. Blizzard uses a new design, which I also like a lot! This time he has a scraggly mouth because he is, as I assume he would say, "not too sure about this one, guys". He now has snow buttons on his torso, revealing that he was previously NAKED down there, and he also wears a bucket as a hat! That's one of those things that's so common in Japanese media, but in Western media it's always a top hat. So funny how one cartoon snowman had such influence on media! The average snowman-builder is much more likely to own a plastic bucket than a top hat!

Mr. Blizzard's main Thing is his single arm, adorned with a cute little mitten, which he uses to throw snowballs. Do you think that's like throwing his own flesh? I don't think so. If clothing buttons and igloos can also be made of snow, I think snow is just the building block of a snowman's world. But still, imagine some cattle throwing delicious meatballs at each other. Messed up! How would they even do that with hooves? Would they use their tongues like slingshots? What was I talking about? Where am I?

Oh yes! I am in "Snow World". Mr. Blizzard is a recurring enemy snowman, but Mario's world is also full of morally neutral living snowman, who DO have carrot noses, thank goodness. These snomonculuses are obstacles on snowy Mario Kart courses, but it's kind of rude to refer to them as that. Is a pedestrian an obstacle to a driver? Suffer, vehicles, as I wield my high level spell called "right of way"!

In Mario Kart Tour, these entities are exclusively referred to as Snowpeople! Gender? They hardly snow 'er!

#mr blizzard #snowman #snowperson #super mario 64 #mario #mario enemies #mod chikako

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seecarrun · 7 months ago

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It was snowing in Pallet on Christmas Eve, because of course it was.

Pallet Town, the perfect little romantic backdrop to Misty’s entirely unromantic holiday season, was being lovingly dusted in a fluffy blanket of white while the Christmas lights glowed warmly in the windows and the log crackled in the fire, while Misty was bundled up in a warm sweater, drinking hot chocolate, and smelling Mrs. Ketchum’s famous sugar cookies baking in the oven, just as painfully single as she had always been.

Bah-humbug.

“Any progress?” Brock asked, his reflection looking amused and—ugh, pitying, in the window.

“Does it look like there’s been any progress?” she snapped, probably a bit too harshly, in response, but Brock knew her well enough after all these years to not take offense, and plopped himself down next to her.

“It looks like Ash is outside having fun with his pokemon in the snow, and you are inside sulking about it.”

Misty glared at the scene outside, Ash laughing jovially as Pikachu and Bayleef teamed up with Gengar and Snivy to pelt him with snowballs. It was adorable. “I’m just watching in case he slips on some ice and falls on his ass,” she told him dryly. “Figured that might cheer me up.”

Brock snorted, but threw a comforting arm around her shoulders. He was warm and safe and she allowed herself to lean against him. “He’ll come around someday,” he said, trying to seem optimistic.

Misty had been telling herself that Ash would ‘come around’ for years. Every Christmas, every failed attempt to get him under the mistletoe, or give him a heartfelt present, or brush her pinky against his hand while hanging ornaments, all led to exactly this: Misty, alone, admiring Ash from afar.

Psyduck, all bundled up in a hat and scarf and little webbed foot-shaped booties Daisy had gotten for him after the time he managed to lock himself out of the gym in the dead of winter like the dense little duck he was, had waddled outside to join the party, Pikachu welcoming him with what looked like a very enthusiastic “Pika!”

Ash beamed at him as well, seeming to greet him excitedly, and then immediately looked around hopefully, like he expected someone else to be out there with him.

Next to her, Brock smirked and nudged her with his elbow. “I think he’s looking for you.”

“Oh please,” Misty sniffed. “He’s probably just wondering how Psyduck got outside.” Which was a good question, actually. Delia probably let him out, or at least that was what she was going to tell herself.

Ash frowned, turning back to Psyduck and asking him something. In response, Psyduck turned his head over to the window and pointed one of his pudgy little wings, directing Ash’s attention over to her and Brock in the window. A little, mischievous smirk began to take form on Ash’s lips, and he bent down to start gathering up some snow into his fist.

“What’s he up to?” Brock mused, just as a flying snow ball smashed into the window with a loud, dramatic ‘smack!’ scaring the ever-loving shit out of Misty, who yelped and nearly fell out of the chair, spilling her hot chocolate in the process. Back out in the yard, Ash was rolling with laughter.

“That asshole!” she cried, stomping over to the door and yanking her coat off the coatrack. She smashed her feet into her boots and threw open the door, pointing dramatically at Ash while simultaneously pulling on her mittens. “You think you’re funny, Ketchum?!” she yelled, marching out the door and slamming it behind her.

The slam of the door knocked the snowball stuck on the window back to the ground, just in time to see Misty pelting Ash relentlessly with snow, as he laughed and threw snow right back, looking as if all his wishes had come true.

Brock smiled. It was looking like Misty was making more progress than she realized.

Good for them.

#pokeshipping #car’s fanfiction #satokasu #just a little something to start off this holiday season :)#pokemon misty #ash ketchum

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ursuburbanmother · 1 year ago

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I’m On Fire, But I’m Trying Not to Show It || Chapter Three

Pairing: Angus Tully x fem!reader

a/n: Mothers and daughters?? Fathers and sons?!?

Word Count: ~4k

Find: Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Enjoy!

December 23, 1970

You’ve been stuck in your own mind all day. It's decided to shut down like a panic room and you can see Angus try to crack it open with his attempts at small talk. Mary and Mr. Hunham share uncomfortable glances at each other, slightly humored about the quiet lunch they are having that would usually be filled by chatter from you two.

Angus leans in close to your ear, “You said we would talk today.”

“After this,” you murmur, sinking into the wooden chair.

“If this is about yesterday, it was just a weird moment, it didn’t mean anything.”

“Stop talking,” you say as nicely as you can when you see Mary's eyebrow quirk up at Angus’s comment.

“I have a surprise,” Mr. Hunham suddenly announces. Your eyes snap to him, embracing the distraction. He brings out a platter full of Christmas cookies and places them on the table. “These were a gift to me, and I would like to share them with both of you.”

Angus is unimpressed and by the way he is scowling, he's upset too. “Look at them. Look at all the festive shapes. Snowflakes and gingerbread men. A tree. A little mitten,” Mr. Hunham picks up the red and white frosted cookie and takes a bite. “Mmm,” he looks pleasantly surprised.

“Thank you, Mister. This is really nice,” You reach for the snowflake. You’re not sure how well sloppy joe and sugar will settle in your stomach but you're willing to gamble on it. Mr. Hunham gives you a thin smile.

“May I go to the bathroom, sir?” Angus asks, already pushing away his dish and getting up from his chair.

“You may,” he sighs, watching the boy walk away.

“Well, I’m trying,” he says to the group, defeated.

You give him a weak grin, “These are good cookies though. If that means anything to you.”

Mary chuckles at your exchange. Mr. Hunham gets up and goes the same direction Angus had exited. Your eyes follow him until it is impossible for you to see him without breaking your neck. You turn to Mary who is close to finishing her cigarette. She blows the smoke away from your direction and pushes the packet towards you.

“Want one?”

“Oh. No thanks. That's Angus’s thing.”

“Alright. But don’t go asking for one later.”

“I won’t,” you laugh quietly. You hear voices in the hallway get louder. Angus shouts something you can’t make out and Mr. Hunham's response follows shortly after. Their noise fades away and you rub your tired eyes to snap you awake. You never could get enough sleep. You swear you could sleep for twenty-four hours and still feel groggy.

“What's going on with you two?” Mary asks.

“Angus and I?”

“No. You and the ghost that haunts the infirmary,” she took a sip of her coffee while shaking her head in amusement.

“My mother says I'm a bit of a blabbermouth. I don’t know if you want to hear the details,” you warn.

“Give me the reader's digest,” she pats the seat next to her. Bringing your coca-cola with you, you go cross over to her side of the table. “Okay. Tell me if you think I’m crazy-”

“I will.”

“-But Angus has been acting so weird. One second, he's all moody, a regular Holden Claufield, and the next he’s nice and being the Angus I’ve known all my life. I don’t know… Maybe he’s at the stage where his feelings swing around like a pendulum.”

“That's all-teenagers sweethearts. Even at adulthood, that pendulum never stops swinging. At some point it may slow down only for a gust of wind to return it into motion.”

“I mean he’s always been a little short-tempered, just never towards me. Yesterday,” you wonder if you are getting too personal now, “he called me selfish.”

“Selfish? The girl that just scarfed down a cookie to make an old man feel better.”

You shrug. You never knew how to take compliments. “I know I should just ask him what's really going on, but I don’t want him to blow up on me again.”

“If he does come to me. I’ll whip him into shape for you.”

“Thank you,” you giggle. “What do you think happened out there?” You tilt you heard towards the doors.

“Their usual bickering. That boy is probably paying the price for cursing Hunham out right now.”

“How long have you known Mr. Hunham?”

She paused before answering, “A while now.”

“Has he always been this… strong-willed?”

“Stubborn as a mule you mean? Yes, he has. Although the years have certainly hardened him more.”

“Why’s that?"

“Not sure. He’s a private man. I haven’t been able to pry anything out of him.”

“Not even when he’s,” you make your hand into a fist, extending the pink and thumb. You move it back and forth to mimic drinking from a bottle.

Mary cackles. “Not even then.”

…

The stupidest thing Angus had done was what he had done to you yesterday. He doesn’t know why he said it, why he had called you selfish. It just tumbled out. It was like he was a man possessed. But launching off a springboard in the gym in an act of rebellion was a close second.

He numbed the pain thinking of you. Granted if you were here, you would be lecturing him non-stop and telling him how he should have known better. But at least you would have been here, and he wouldn’t have to watch Mr. Hunham marinate in his misery. At least you would have been there to hold his hand as they popped his arm back into its socket.

Although his mouth had gotten him in trouble the last few days, it had been helpful in getting them out of the hospital insurance issue. And it was about to get him a free burger now too.

They had arrived at the local watering hole. It was jam packed with people getting tipsy with beer. He could hear the clink of billiards and the white noise on the TV.

“I think I’ll start with a beer. How about you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Tully. Get your cheeseburger.”

“They’ve got Miller High Life. The Champagne of Beers.”

“Oh?” Mr. Hunham said, but Angus could tell he was just trying to amuse him.

Angus shut the menu as their waitress came up the stairs to their little booth. “Okay, you ready to order? Oh!” she gasped as she turned to his teacher.

“Miss Crane,” Hunham touched his chest, “As I live and breathe. What-, what are you doing here?”

“Oh hi guys! Yeah, I always pick up a little extra work over Thanksgiving and Christmas,” Miss Crane explained.

It looked as if Mr. Hunham had been snapped awake, “Well, um, this is Mr. Tully,” he motioned his hand towards him.”

“Sure, I know you and your little girlfriend. You two are always glued together like gum on a pole,” Miss Crane said teasingly.

“Y/n L/n," he beamed, "she goes to the girl's school and we’re just friends. But um, we met outside Dr. Woodrup’s office. I was wrongly accused of blowing up a toilet,” he smiled as innocently as he could.

“I didn’t know about the wrongly part,” she shares a laugh with Hunham.

“He’ll have a cheeseburger,” he orders for Angus.

“And a Miller High Life please,” Angus adds quickly.

“Uh. No you will not,” Hunham says sternly.

“Where do you stand on Miller High Life, Miss Crane?”

“Well, like they say, it’s the Champagne of Beers.”

Angus turns to Hunham, “And she’s a professional.”

“Okay, one cheeseburger,” Miss Crane waits for him to fill the blank.

He relents and orders reluctantly, “And a Coke.”

“I’ll have a cheeseburger as well,” Hunham smiled.

“Two cheeseburgers,” she jots down the order on her notepad

“And a Jim Beam. On the rocks. Please.”

“Okay, you got it guys,” She smiles at them before exiting. Paul watches her go and Angus grins at the scene.

“Ouch. You two have chemistry,” he shakes his hand like he had touched a hot plate.

“Okay. That’s the Percodan talking,” Hunham dismisses.

“I don’t know. Seeing her like this, I think she’s pretty attractive,” he hopes his teacher will take the bait.

“Listen, you hormonal vulgarian, that woman deserves your respect, not your erotic speculation.”

Angus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, may I at least go to the bathroom? Sir?”

“You mean the payphone?”

They have a stare off before he runs off to the back of the restaurant. Angus scours any leftover change in his back pocket of his jeans. He finds enough to make a call. He scans the room, making sure that Mr. Hunham isn’t hunting him down like last time. He dials the number to the Barton infirmary and hopes you are lounging in your room.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he chants under his breath. Instead he gets the dial tone. He curses and slams the phone back to its original place.

…

You haven’t seen Angus since the morning. You've been spending all afternoon with Mary instead. You helped with the lunch dishes and are preparing the potatoes for supper later. Mary had a radio in the kitchen which you happily hummed to. Christmas music flooded your ears and reminded you of the holiday. In the halls of Barton there were no decorations, and one could probably convince a kid that the Grinch had stolen them in the dead of night.

“Mary, I'm done,” you proudly show her the bowl of potatoes. In your house most of the cooking was done by private chefs who came in and out so irregularly that you could never learn their names. Understandably, they didn’t have time to entertain a ten-year-olds insistent questions about what it meant to julienne a vegetable.

“Great. Why don’t you start boiling them and get started on chopping those mushrooms.”

“Okay,” you add water to a pot before adding the chomped potato. You find the mushrooms and cut them as thinly as you can. After you place them on the counter next to Mary who has already prepared everything else.

You admire as she adds them to a pan of melted butter. She drops salt, pepper, Italian dressing and other spices you can’t name, without even having to use measuring tools. “You’re Julia Child!” You praise.

“Just years of practice.”

“Hey, when do I get to sauté and mix things?” You get on your tiptoes to get a better look at the mushrooms turning a dark brown.

“When I know you won’t hurt yourself doing it,” she gave a pointed look at the bandaids on your fingers. You may have cut yourself in your first attempts at handling a knife. You hide the hand behind your back. “Sorry.”

You go to sit in a stool by the oven. You open a borrowed copy of a Kerouac book that Angus had in his suitcase. The Subterraneans, written in three days apparently and no offense to Jack but it shows. Mary notices your squinting as you go try to make sense of the writing, inching your face closer and closer to the paper.

“Are you planning to do something with that? The books.” Mary stops her stirring and lowers the heat of the stove. She walks over to you and glances at pages.

“What? Like with writing?” You ask, “I’m not sure. I know I should have figured it out by now but I just never got one of those woosh moments,” you sway your hands in the air.

“Woosh moment?”

“It's like what we talked about with the pendulum. I feel like I've been hanging still and waiting for the wind to send me on my way. I wait for it to push me with the strength of a tornado. Woosh. Almost to flood me with a feeling of knowing? I’m not the best at words…” you trail off.

“You're telling me nothing interests you?” She raised her eyebrow.

“No, a lot of things do. I want to do everything. Right now, for example, I feel like becoming a renowned chef,” you pick up a random bowl and start stirring it slowly.

“Try learning how to handle a knife right first,” she tuts.

“Practice makes perfect Mary,” you smile and look down into the chocolate substance you were messing with. “Cake or brownies?”

“Neither actually. It's more doughy than liquid honey,” she lectures you kindly.

“Right,” you say sheepishly, “I swear I’m smarter when it comes to other things. You should see me in civics class.”

“I believe you,” she winks, “Now get to preheating the oven, Betty Crocker.”

…

Angus goes off to play a game on the Pinball machine and to take his mind off you. It certainly helps him. Avoiding the prospect of getting beat up by locals and injuring another part of his body allows him to momentarily forget the stress he feels when he remembers how pissed you are at him.

Mr. Hunham and Angus eat their burgers quickly. To repay Mr. Hunham for saving his ass, Angus keeps his mouth shut every time he orders a Jim Beam. They leave after Hunham drops a rather generous tip for Miss Crane.

They're walking towards Hunhams car and Angus can’t resist the urge to ask, “Why’d you buy those guys beer? They’re assholes.”

“That’s one way to look at it. Hey. Catch,” he tosses his keys at Angus, who catches them on instinct.

“How many boys do you know who have had their hands blown off? Barton boys don’t go to Vietnam. No, they go to Yale or Dartmouth or Cornell, whether they deserve to or not."

“Except for Curtis Lamb.”

“Were you ever in the military?” Angus’s curiosity peaked.

“I tried to enlist in ‘41, but was rejected,” Mr. Hunham pointed at his eye, as if to say obviously. He tries to unlock the door of the driver's side to no avail. He points towards Angus,“I have to get in through there. Anyways, they made me an air raid warden. Gave me a whistle and everything. Helmet. Arm band.”

Angus opens the door, handing the keys off as Mr. Hunham slides in. He catches a whiff of Mr. Hunham unmentioned scent.

“Before we get going, can I be candid with you?”

“Mm-hmm,”

“You smell,” he states bluntly and Mr. Hunham deflates. Angus joins him inside the Nova, “Like fish. And it’s really noticeable toward the end of the day. I even smell it on your coat. Mind if I crack the window?”

“Trimethylaminuria.”

“Huh?” Angus frowns.

“Trimethylaminuria. Means my body can’t break down trimethylamine. That’s the smell. And, uh, yes, more toward the end of the day.

“Wow. Your whole life? No wonder you’re afraid of women,” he concludes.

“I am not afraid of women,” Hunham says, clearly offended. “Jesus H. Christ.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything. Dr. Gertler says I don’t always give consideration to my audience,” Angus exhales.

“Who’s Dr. Gertler?’’

“My shrink,” Angus wants to disappear.

“Has Dr. Gertler ever tried a swift kick in the ass?”

Angus figures he ought to level the playing field. “Okay, all right, now your turn. Go ahead, tell me something about me. Something negative.”

“Something negative about you?”

“Sure. Just one thing.

“Just one?”

Angus nods and he probably should be offended that he is taking an awful long time to say anything.

“You’re obtuse about your social relationship.”

“What the hell is that supposed mean?”

“You didn’t say I had to elaborate Mr. Tully.”

“Okay well now I want you to. Spit it out.”

“No,” he backs out of his parking spot and hits the road.

“Come on! Explain,” Angus tugs on Hunhams jacket.

“I hope you don’t plan to pester me all the way to Barton. It'll be an awfully long ride.”

He presses down harder on the gas pedal.

…

You had burned the cookies. Not that you could tell when you took a bite of it. The cocoa had disguised it and you had just finished patting your back when you had to spit the whole thing out into the sink. Mary relishes your misery and apologizes through her laughs, wiping the tears in the corner of her eyes.

So your two-course meal had been reduced to just an entree. After thirty minutes of searching and waiting on Angus and Mr. Hunham, you ladies decided to leave the capacious mess hall and have a TV dinner. If your mother could see you now you were sure she would have you arrested by the etiquette police.

Mary was flipping through the channels to tune in to her daily rewatch of the Newlywed Game. You stopped her suddenly, your hand on top of hers to stop her from operating the remote.

“Cactus Flower! I love this movie. Please can we watch it?” You beg, clasping and shaking your hands together.

“What’s it about?” She asks hesitantly, clearly wary about abandoning her favorite program.

“You’ll love it! Ingrid Berman has to pretend to be her boss's wife because he lied to his lover about being married and having kids and shit-,”

“Language.”

“-Sorry. And so now he has to pull off this big con, so she won’t leave his lying as-, butt,” you correct yourself. “Goldie Hawn is sooo good in this. She won an Oscar I think.”

“I supposed I could give it a try. If it bores me we are switching right back though.”

“Deal,” you giggle and scoot the plate balancing on your lap closer so you can dig in.

For the next hour, Mary seems content in watching the characters in the movie ignore and miscommunicate their feelings. Even shaking her head when they do something she finds ridiculous. Your eyes get heavy as the ending nears, your stomach warm and content with the meal you had and the glare of the television tiring your vision. You lean your head back into the couch cushion and close your eyelids. Distantly you hear Ingrid Berman and Walter Matthau confess their love before your world goes dark.

Slumped against Mary, you wake up for the second time that week by the same hands. Angus is shaking your shoulder gently. Your gaze falls immediately to the sling his arm is in.

“Angus! What the hell?” You whisper- shout, fixing your posture and wiping the potential drool off your face. You check to make sure you didn’t wake up Mary.

“It's okay, it's okay,” he reassures. “It’s not broken, or anything just dislocated.”

“What happened?’’ Your arm trails down from where the sling starts to where his hand hangs lazily out. "Is this why you weren’t at dinner tonight? Hunham too?”

“Uh yeah. I jumped off a springboard in the new gym,” he answers bashfully.

“Wow… you are so stupid sometimes.”

“I prefer spontaneous thank you,” he sits down next to you on the couch and lets out a sigh. Using his good arm, he lifts a plastic bag. “We went out to eat and I got you something.”

“Ooh,” You snatch the bag and open it as quietly as you can without crinkling the plastic. Inside the Styrofoam box there's a half-eaten burger with some cold fries. You snack on it anyway offering some to Angus who shakes his head.

“Mr. Hunham thought buying another would be wasteful. He assumed you and Mary would have probably eaten by then so I saved what I could.”

“We did and,” you motion to the plates, “I helped cook it!”

“Really?” Angus's eyes widened, “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“I saved you some cookies,” You pick up the dish of the burnt dessert. You have brought them over believing you had been exaggerating the taste.

You hadn't.

He takes one, clueless, and bites almost half the cookie off. You see him wince but still he continues to chew. He chokes it down and nods, “Not bad?”

“You’re such a liar,” you shove his head lightly. “I forgot to turn on the timer.”

“Yeah I can tell,” he takes your confession as his cue to spit the rest out into a nearby napkin.

“Thanks for this though,” you take a bite of the burger, “I had forgotten what fast food tasted like.”

“Don’t tell him I let you have it. Or that you saw me in fact. The whole arm thing is supposed to be secret.”

“Got it,” you extended your pinky for him to intertwine. He takes it but doesn’t remove his pinky after, instead he lets your connected hands fall between the both of you.

The TV is still on, except the volume is lower and an old black-and-white movie is on. You finish the burger and put the trash aside to throw away in the morning.

“Where is Mr. Hunham now?”

“Crashed as soon as his head hit the pillow.”

“So you want to talk now?” You look up at him.

“Umm, somewhere private though. Incase Mary wakes up,” he gets up, still connected to you by your fingers and pulls you alongside him. You pick up a discarded blanket along with you

“Okay. Where do you want to go?”

He walks you two out of the staff common room and you let him take the lead. Barton is cold even without all the large windows closed. It’s like walking through a haunted mansion, passing by old dusty trophy cases and pictures of past alumni. When you enter what you recognize to be the auditorium, thanks to the plaque next to the door, Angus strolls you two over to the stage. You sit on the piano bench and when he joins you, you cover him with your blanket.

You hear Angus let out a shaky breath and then see the winter air turn it into a small cloud of smoke.

Angus starts to speak, a tremble in his voice, “You’re the only person who thinks of me first know? Even when we were little, and we had a free pass to be totally self-centered you still never-. Like in middle school when you’d give me biology answers, or just now with the blanket! I have a jacket! I should be giving you the entire blanket. In fact, let me give you -, your just-.”

“It’s alright Angus,” you stop his rapid rambling, holding his face between your hands. “I already forgave you a long time ago.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” he chuckles, trying to divert his gaze but the soft hold you have on him keeps him still.

“I forgave you the second you walked in looking like a kicked puppy.”

He laughs at your words.

“Although I just want to ask what has been going on with you? I know you hate school and you're not incredibly fond of Stanely marrying your mom, but I feel like something has been bothering you. Something big.”

“I need to go to Boston Y/n,” he admits, hitting some random piano keys. The notes echo around the room.

“Okay,” you bite the inside of your cheek, “why?”

��It's snowing outside but it doesn’t feel like Christmas. But my dad, he would make it feel that way. So I need to see him and my mom had promised but you see how that turned out.”

“Oh Angus. This is why you kept bringing it up,” you gasp. “Jesus. And I had called you stupid, I’m the dense one for not connecting the dots.”

“No no. You’re not. I was being evasive. I guess I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I would have stolen Jason Smith's car keys had I known! We could be there by now, eating Clam Chowder by the bay. ”

“Nuh-uh. You’re way too of a goody-two shoe for that.”

“Well I would have followed you. Given an hour's notice, of course, to build my confidence.”

“I don't know,” Angus hits a few more keys, “Maybe this was fate like you said. It definitely didn’t deal me a cruel hand having me holdover here with you.”

“Yeah, the universe was certainly on our side for this one,” you move closer to him and put your head on his shoulder. “Hey, you think you can still play even with only one working hand?”

“I’m willing to try it,” he stretches his fingers, “What shall I serenade you with?”

“Something Beach Boys. In My Room?”

“You got it L/n.”

He plays much slower and his jaw is sharp, fully determined to get through the song for your enjoyment. He plays so gracefully you don’t even notice when he slips on occasion. You don’t mind it. It’s almost as sweet as a lullaby.

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #the holdovers

152 notes · View notes

calaisreno · 1 year ago

Text

Under the Weather

There are days when everything goes wrong. I don't mind, as long as you're with me.

1731 words / Prompt: Weather

When John pushes the door open, he’s hit with a Baltic blast of air from within. This is surprising; it’s a cold day, but generally 221B is a bit warmer than outdoors.

“What’s going on?” he asks the bundle of blankets on the sofa.

“Not much,” Sherlock replies. “Lestrade called with a case. I solved it over the phone.”

John lets out a sigh; it becomes a small, vaporous cloud. “I mean, why is it so cold in here?”

“The temperature outdoors is minus seven degrees. In here, it is four degrees above zero. Eleven degrees warmer. You ought to be asking me, why is it so warm in here?”

“I mean,” John says, keeping his jacket buttoned and sinking into his chair, “Why is it bloody four degrees inside our flat?”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say that? The boiler’s broken.”

“Have you rung someone?”

The blanket bundle sighs. “Mrs Hudson is away, visiting her sister.” He’s using his patient voice, which means that John is going to have to shout if he wants an explanation. “I don’t know how to fix a boiler, and there’s no service tag on it, so I don’t know who to call.”

“You might have looked in the phone book. They do list people who fix boilers, you know.”

Sherlock waves a hand dismissively. The hand is wearing a purple mitten, which probably came from Mrs Hudson’s knitting basket. “This is 2010. Who uses phone books these days?”

“Maybe the internet knows who fixes boilers?”

Sherlock wags mittened hands at him. “Fingers frozen. Can’t type.”

“And all day you’ve been waiting here for me to come home and save you from freezing to death?”

The pile of blankets mumbles.

“What?”

“I said, you’re better at dealing with boilers.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to call someone to fix a boiler, Sherlock.”

“Exactly.” A pair of grey eyes and a pink nose peep out of the blankets. “The electricity still works. Can you make tea? That might thaw my fingers.”

Cursing softly to himself, John fills the kettle. At least the pipes haven’t frozen, though that might be next. He sets it on the base, and flicks it on. The light remains unlit. “What did you do to the kettle?”

“Oh, erm. Why do you ask?”

“It’s not working.”

“It is a very old kettle. They don’t last forever, you know.”

“Oi!” He holds up the base. “Why is the cord no longer connected to the base?”

More mumbling. He catches the word experiment and something about microwave not working either…

Cursing a bit louder, John opens his laptop and searches for someone who will repair a boiler. He casts an evil look at the sofa as he dials the first one he finds.

A minute later he ends the call. “It’s after hours,” he announces. “And the weekend is just starting. I left a message.”

He tries three more numbers, then five more, leaving increasingly desperate messages.

For a moment he sits, eyes closed, and contemplates the long, cold weekend that lies ahead. Maybe the telly works, at least. He takes the remote and presses the power button.

“Cable’s out too,” Sherlock’s voice says. He still in his blanket pod, but knows John well enough to anticipate his thought process. “Ice on the lines.”

“Well,” John says. It’s all fine for Sherlock, who is in a cocoon, unaffected by the weather inside the flat. “I’ll be upstairs putting on my arctic gear.”

“I’ll call for takeaway,” Sherlock says.

John’s room is even colder than downstairs. This is mainly because water has been leaking through a hole in his ceiling. The hole is a surprise, an unhappy one. Not big enough to see sky, but enough to let water in. This morning, before it started to rain and the temperature began to drop, followed by ice and snow, the ceiling was intact. His room was nice and warm—and dry.

There’s no way he can blame Sherlock for the age of the roof, the weather’s bad timing, or the bad luck that hovers over John like a small, dark cloud.

He curses loudly as he opens drawers, hunting for his long johns and wool socks. Finding them, he sits on the bed and curses again as water soaks into his pants.

“Bloody buggering hell! What did I do to deserve this!”

The fates have no answer for this.

Finally, having discarded his wet pants, donned his long johns, wool socks, a pair of corduroy trousers that fit over the long johns, a polo neck pullover, and the warmest jumper in his drawer, he heads down the stairs, cursing at a volume loud enough for the other resident of the flat to hear.

The sitting room is silent, the lump on the sofa unmoving.

“There’s a hole in the roof!” he announces. “My bed is soaked through.”

“We could make a fire in the hearth,” Sherlock suggests. He’s poking his head out now, looking like a curly-headed turtle.

“By we, I assume you mean me.” John grabs the blanket off the back of his chair and wraps it around his shoulders before sinking into the chair. “Do we have any firewood?”

“A relevant question.”

“Look, I won’t mind burning some of your books if it’ll keep me warm.”

“My books are valuable. You might try burning some of those idiotic spy novels you read. But there’s some firewood downstairs, by the back door. I’m sure Mrs Hudson won’t mind us using it. Better than coming home and finding our stiff, dead corpses—”

“Let’s not talk about corpses right now.” Not while I’m thinking about killing you. “Did you order some food, I hope?”

“Angelo’s is closed, due to weather. I ordered Chinese.”

“Thank god.” John leans back in his chair. Every muscle in his back is tight from a very long day, and he’s shivering hard, wishing for a cup of tea.

He hears movement from the sofa and opens his eyes. Sherlock stands, shedding his blankets. He’s dressed in a pair of John’s tracksuit bottoms, John’s Christmas jumper, and wool socks that look suspiciously like they came out of John’s sock drawer.

He’s glaring down at John with concern (if such a thing is possible). “Stop shivering.”

“Involuntary response,” he replies, teeth chattering. “That’s my jumper you’re wearing.”

“I didn’t have anything warm enough.”

“You made fun of that jumper at our Christmas drinks thing.”

“Well, it’s more appropriate now, isn’t it?” He arranges one of his blankets around John, tucking him into his chair. Then he strides out the door.

When he returns with a bundle of firewood, John is reflecting that there won’t even be hot water. No bath to warm him up. Just Chinese food and blankets.

The fire is looking somewhat robust by the time the doorbell rings.

The Chinese food helps, though it’s been in transit long enough that it’s not very hot. Sherlock apologises for the tea kettle. And the microwave. When they’ve eaten, he collects the empty cartons and takes the leftovers into the kitchen.

“Fridge still works,” he calls out. “Just warning you, though. It will probably stop when the indoor temperature drops below freezing.”

“Look on the bright side,” John replies. “We’ll be stiff, dead, corpses by then. Beyond caring about milk for the tea we can’t make.”

Sherlock comes back with a bottle and two glasses. “Here’s something to warm us up.”

He hands John a glass and pours. “Happy anniversary, John.”

John laughs. “Right. One year living at 221B. I didn’t expect you’d care about things like that.”

“Why not? One year is the longest I’ve managed to cohabit with anyone. It’s been… good.” He sits down, his face pink in the firelight.

“It has been good,” John admits. He remembers the first time he came through the door, saw Sherlock’s clutter, and wondered what he was getting himself into. He remembers carefully probing, trying to determine whether Sherlock might be interested…

Well, nothing ever goes to plan. That’s the story of John’s life.

He leans back, all the weariness of the day dragging his eyelids down.

“John, wake up.”

“Mm?” He sighs and opens his eyes.

Sherlock is standing over him. “You can’t sleep in your chair. In the morning your neck will hurt.”

“True, but my bed has become an ice floe.”

“Sleep in my bed.”

“What? Oh, you’ll take the sofa.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “Self-preservation, John. Body heat.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We must sleep together.”

“Together?”

“It’s the only way.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

“Science, John. If your core temperature drops too low, you die. And all the firewood is gone, so we have to improvise.”

Improvise, indeed. The bedroom is colder than the sitting room, but the bed is large and, more importantly, not a frozen slab of ice. Keeping their clothes on, they crawl under the covers and move towards one another. Sherlock’s arms go around him, and John lays his head against Sherlock’s chest.

It feels like something they do all the time. Or something they should have done months ago.

John shivers a bit, not from the cold. Sherlock smells like kung pao chicken and expensive scotch.

“Skin-to-skin might be warmer,” Sherlock says. “We shouldn’t take chances.”

John giggles. “Is the boiler really broken?”

“Of course. Did you think I was only trying to get you into my bed?”

“Sherlock.” He feels Sherlock’s nose with his own. It’s like an icicle. “You could have had me in your bed a long time ago, if that’s what you wanted.”

Sherlock is silent. He buries his face in John’s shoulder. “Really?”

“I didn’t think you wanted that.”

“Neither did I.”

“Do you?”

“Everything went wrong today,” he whispers. “And then you came home.”

“This was an especially bad day.” John snuggles into him. “The surgery was full of snotty kids and over-protective parents. Nothing interesting, just mucus and vomit. I didn’t get any lunch. The bus was late. And when I came home, it was freezing. But you were here.”

“John.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t mind all the things that are wrong, as long as you’re with me.”

“Not that I want more misery, but…” John kisses his nose. “You’re the one I want to share it with.”

Sherlock kisses John’s nose, then his lips, lingering. “Let’s get these clothes off before we freeze to death.”

#mayprompts2024

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ihni · 5 months ago

Text

Kissing in the cold

For @harringrovewinterbingo, C1, "First kiss in the cold", and ALSO for the (free and downloadable) zine that a couple of us made recently :)

Rated: G, 1700 words, no warnings. (Also on AO3)

~~~

Stupid Harrington.

Stupid Harrington with his stupid perfect hair.

Stupid Harrington with his stupid perfect hair and stupid tolerance to the Midwestern winter cold.

It wasn’t Billy’s first winter in Hawkins, but it was definitely the coldest. It hadn’t been this cold last year, had it? And back then, he had strutted around in nothing but a buttoned-up shirt and his leather jacket. If anything, he should be goddamn toasty by comparison, with all the layers he was currently wearing – but no. Instead, he was huddled up in a truly hideous winter jacket and doing his best impression of a turtle with the way he was trying to withdraw into it, while Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High, strutted around with a smile on his face like he was enjoying the cold or something.

Case in point:

“Ahh, it’s crisp outside today, isn’t it?”

Billy shuddered – his body’s attempt at keeping from freezing to death, probably – and glared at him over the top of the scarf, which was wrapped several times around his neck and reaching over his nose. At the sight, Steve let out an amused snort.

“Too cold for you, Mr. California?”

“Fuck you,” Billy said, muffled by the scarf. He narrowed his eyes so Steve would get the gist even if he couldn’t make out the words. By the way Harrington laughed, he got it.

“Fuck me?” Steve said with a glint in his eye. “That’s not what you said last night, but sure, we can switch it up tonight if you want.”

Billy growled, but the effect was ruined by the way it transformed into a shiver. It really was cold. He glanced at the iced-over lake on which his sister was being taught how to ice skate (“You have to learn”, Henderson had told her excitedly, “because then you’ll know two ways to skate!” and that had apparently been enough to convince his pushover of a little sister), and wondered how he’d let them talk him into this.

Steve got real close and nudged his shoulder against Billy’s – a perfectly innocent gesture, should anyone happen to look their way – and also snuck in a quick squeeze to Billy’s left butt cheek, and.

Right.

With Steve asking him to spend the day with him and his gaggle of kids right after they’d spent the night together (in a comfortable bed, where Billy had been warm and sated and pliant), Billy hadn’t been able to come up with a single good reason to say no. He wished he had now, though, when his hands were cold despite the mittens, and his nose felt like ice. He couldn’t even feel his thighs anymore, and he was half-convinced that his toes would fall off when he tried to take off his boots once he got back inside.

He should have said no.

He threw another half-hearted glare at Steve next to him, trying hard to hate him just a little bit for this. But it was hard to hate him, when he was standing next to Billy on the frozen shore of the lake – staying with Billy even when he’d brought his own skates – looking at the ice skating kids with a proud smile on his face and a goddamn twinkle in his eye.

On Steve, the bite of cold only resulted in attractively rosy cheeks, and since he wasn’t even wearing a hat his hair was as perfect as ever. The few snowflakes that fell from the grey skies (Steve had laughed when Billy tried to argue that they may be an indication of a storm to come, and they should stay inside) stuck to the brown strands like small pieces of glitter. He looked …

Honestly, the word that came to Billy’s mind was ethereal, not that he would ever admit it. Besides, he was too cold for poetry.

“How much longer do we have to stay out here?” he asked, making no mention of the fact that Steve’s hand had snaked its way into Billy’s back pocket.

“It’s only been, like, half an hour.”

“Which is twenty-nine minutes too long.”

Steve removed his hand from Billy’s pocket (Billy refused to admit he immediately missed the warmth) in order to turn to him and place both of his hands on Billy’s shoulders. “You’re too tense,” he said and moved Billy gently back and forth by the grip on his shoulders, making Billy sway. “You’ll be less cold if you loosen up a bit.”

Billy burrowed deeper into his scarf and exhaled hot breath against his freezing nose. “It’s hard to loosen up when you’re a human icicle.”

“It’s easier to do if you move,” Steve insisted and looked pointedly to where the kids had discarded their shoes once they switched to ice skates – where Steve had also left his own skates. “Are you sure you don’t want to give it a try? I’ll teach you.”

Working his chin so he could struggle out of the scarf without taking his hands out of the pockets of his jacket, Billy said, with emphasis, “Over my dead, cold body.”

Steve winced a little at that and Billy felt a twinge of guilt over his word choice. After all, it had only been half a year or so since Steve had been kneeling next to Billy’s body on the floor of the Starcourt mall, thinking he was bleeding to death. Making a face, Billy reluctantly amended, “Maybe some other time. When the brats aren’t around.”

That drew a knowing smile out of Steve. “You mean, when there’s no one around to see you fail as you learn?”

Billy could feel his face burn. Stupid Steve, for knowing him so well.

As if knowing what Billy was thinking, Steve’s face softened and he called out to the kids, “Hey, assholes! Me and Billy are gonna take a walk so we don’t freeze to death. Call out if there’s a problem!”

Most of the kids ignored him completely, but Sinclair raised his arm in acknowledgement and little Byers answered, “Okay Steve.”

This hadn’t been Billy’s idea and was far from his idea of a good time, but he got along okay with Maxine these days and felt like Susan wouldn’t be too appreciative of him if he let her daughter walk through the ice, so he called out his own instructions; “Don’t die on the ice, Maxine!”

She gave him the finger – which looked hilarious, since she was wearing mittens and he couldn’t actually see the finger – and yelled back, “Don’t die in the woods, William!”

He briefly considered giving her the finger in return, but then he’d have to remove his hand from the semi-warmth of his jacket, and it just wasn’t worth it. Instead, he let Steve steer him away from the snow-covered beach towards the trees beyond their parked cars, biting down on a whine when moving made his legs even colder. Damn his stiff jeans.

“Where are you taking me,” he said, too cold to bother to make it into a question.

“For a walk,” Steve replied. “Like I said, moving will make it easier for you to relax, and if you relax more then you won’t be as cold.”

It sounded like it made sense, but moving right not sent stabbing pains up Billy’s frozen feet, so he wasn’t convinced. Perhaps Steve noticed, because he added, “I’m also taking you out of sight from the kids.”

And indeed, they’d made their way behind some trees, and while they could hear the kids’ voices and shouts from their ice skating shenanigans, they could no longer see them. “Oh?” Billy perked up at the possibility of some alone time, even out here in the snow. “Why?”

“To do this,” Steve said and reached out a hand –

– and pulled Billy’s hat down over his eyes. Billy yelped and stumbled, swearing loudly as Steve laughed from in front of him, but a second later Steve’s hands were back, pulling the hat back up and tucking the errant curls that had escaped back under the knitted cuff so they were no longer in Billy’s eyes. Billy – who hadn’t even thought to remove his hands from his pockets – threw his best glare at him as him, which had the effect that Steve’s laughter subsided and melted into a soft smile instead.

“Sorry,” he said, and to his credit he actually sounded somewhat repentant. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Not forgiven,” Billy deadpanned behind his scarf, making it clear how very not funny he’d found it.

“I actually wanted to get you away from prying eyes to do this, though,” Steve said, reaching out again – but this time, instead of pulling a prank, he gently started unwrapping Billy’s scarf. Layer after layer disappeared, until Billy’s face was free. Then he leaned in pressed a kiss to Billy’s lips.

Eyes fluttering shut and mouth falling open a little, Billy lost himself in the sudden contrasts of the kiss; his own warm lips against Steve’s cold, the warmth of his exhale against the chill of the air when he drew air back into his lungs, and his own chapped lips against Steve’s smooth, chapstick-covered ones.

He let out a little hum of contentment. “Mmm, strawberry.”

Steve let out a huff of a laugh against his cheek, and Billy could hear his smile as he said, “Just for you, babe. I know it’s your favorite.”

Billy surged in again and, between pecks, managed an “Okay, you’re forgiven” before deepening the kiss and swallowing Steve’s responding chuckle.

They pulled apart after a while, both of them breathing heavily and Steve still holding Billy’s face in his glove-covered hands. He looked at him with such a soft look that Billy felt an ache in his heart.

“There,” Steve said and leaned in to press one more peck to Billy’s nose. “All relaxed. Amit it, you feel warmer already.”

Smug was a good look on him, Billy decided. But as with with so much else, he wasn’t about to admit it out loud. So instead he raised one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know. It may be working, but I’m still cold though.” Steve’s mouth widened in a smile, and Billy could feel himself grin in response. “Let’s try it again.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #ihni writes #HWB2025

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