#I’m baked so the filter is nowhere to be seen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writerlyhabits · 3 years

Text

Knead You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 12.0k

Summary: Baking with Bucky was a treat better than what came out of the oven, even when the night turns sour.

Ch 7 of the Neighbors Series | Masterlist | Ch. 6 | Ch. 8

Warnings: mild cursing, idiots in love, excessive pining, Bucky’s military days, a closer look at Bucky’s past with Hydra than we’ve seen so far, White Wolf makes an appearance, mention of minor character death and grief, Rebecca Barnes cause I can’t help myself, I think that’s it? Lots of fluff really. This is the longest thing I’ve ever written, so I think that deserves its own warning 😂

AN: Holy shit this is long 😂 I will not apologize, because everyone already knows I’m overly-attached to these two, but I will say that these chapters were never meant to be 12 thousand words long 😂 There’s uh… there’s a recipe they make from the gem that is @bdylanhollis on TikTok. He’s been making a lot of depression-era recipes recently and just has made such wonderful inspiration 😂 Thank you as always to my dearest @deceiverofgodss for helping get this posted in time for our sweet Bucky boy’s birthday!! It has nothing to do with his birthday, but it’s the thought that counts, right? 😂 I hope you enjoy 💖

You groaned as you rolled over in your bed, wanting nothing more than to remain there all day. Your body was still slightly sore from the night before, having been thrown around by the super-soldier next door more times than you dared to count. You were exhausted, even after falling asleep during the movie. The one you had watched on the couch… but here you were in your bed.

“You could stay, too,” you had whispered as Bucky continued to hold you close, unable to filter yourself in your sleepy state.

Another groan left your body, draping your arm over your eyes in embarrassment. You couldn’t believe yourself. Had you really asked him to stay? While he was lowering you into your bed? The man had carried you there, and you asked him to stay. What were you thinking?

“Maybe another night, peach.”

His words echoed through your head, remembering how gingerly he’d kissed your knuckles as he detached you from around his neck. A new wave of embarrassment crashed against you as you remembered clinging to him like your life depended on it, though the blow was softened by how unbothered he seemed to be about it. He had been gentle and soft as he cared for you, smiling fondly at you… and he hadn’t rejected you. And was it… a promise of it happening again? Was he entertaining the idea of ‘next time’?

You brought your hands back down to rub your face, forcing yourself awake, and proceeded to run your fingers through your hair. You felt your cheeks heat back up when you remembered the feeling of Bucky’s hands in your hair after he’d taken the time to release it from the confines of the retro updo.

“Ah shit…” you breathed, as images of the condition you’d left your apartment in the night before came back to you. You pulled yourself reluctantly out of bed, slow and groggy as you began to put one foot in front of the other, but when you took a second to look around you, you stopped in your tracks.

The polka-dotted dress you’d thrown over your desk chair was placed delicately in the hamper, and the shoes that you’d kicked off had been set down neatly beside your closet. Feeling much more awake, you ventured through your bedroom doorway, glancing into the open bathroom across the hall to see the counter clear of any of the tools that had been used the night before. The living room was much the same way, the pile of bobby pins you knew had existed on the coffee table nowhere to be seen, and your belongings set neatly on the table by the front door. The candle on the kitchen counter had been blown out, the blanket on the back of the couch straightened, each throw-pillow put in its proper place… and the door was locked behind him.

You couldn’t do much more than sit dumbfounded on the couch, knowing that after Bucky had catered to you, carried you to bed, he took care of your apartment. He had shut everything down for the night, from the movie to the mess you’d helped him make earlier in the afternoon, and it made you feel warm.

“Maybe another night, peach.”

Maybe there will be another night… where you might be able to hold him through the night, wrapped in his strong arms for longer than a few hours at a time in awkward positions on your couch. Thoughts like these invaded your mind, haunting you for longer than you’d like to admit. It made movie nights particularly difficult to focus on, curled up into his side like always, yet wide awake with the notion of what might follow. And it wasn’t like trying to sit away from him would help. He’d find his way over to you like it was second nature, and you certainly didn’t mind.

This mentality had persisted into the next week, distracting thoughts of the man in question all that occupied your mind the following Monday morning at work, unable to stop yourself from messaging the super-soldier throughout your day.

What are you doing for lunch?

I brought the rest of the spaghetti from the other night

Traitor.

You couldn’t help but smile at his message, having threatened to lay his claim over it last night, watching as he kept typing.

I’m over by that little Greek place you like. Can I pick something up for you?

It’s like you know I can’t turn that place down

The usual? I can drop it off in 20.

You’re wonderful

I try.

See you soon, peach.

It’s like he knew you would try and make some sort of rebuttal to his message, quickly sending one that brought a familiar smile to your face, a smile that always followed what had become one of his favorite nicknames for you. You had to look away from your phone to avoid turning into a mess, catching River’s eye from her spot not too far away.

“Who’re you texting over there? You’re smiling like a schoolgirl, it’s gross,” she snarked, a grin of her own forming as she walked over to you and tried to snatch your phone out of your hands, your attempts to hide your facial expression from her futile. You were able to pull it away from her before she could grab it, shooting her an exasperated grin. “You know that was a rhetorical question, c’mon show me what he said.”

“Excuse you, nosy, what if I’d like to keep it to myself?” She merely raised an eyebrow at you, and you crumbled. “He’s coming over to bring me lunch.”

“In the middle of the day? What did you say he does for work again?” Your mind drew a blank at her question. This wasn’t one you had readily rehearsed.

“He’s uh, he used to be in the military,” you tried, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I think he was medically discharged? He doesn’t really like talking about it.” River nodded with a tight-lipped smile, holding up an arm in silent question; she was scarily observant, it didn’t surprise you that she’d noticed the ungloved hand while at the diner. You internally cringed at your response, but at least it was adding up, and you gave her a similar nod in confirmation. The two of you sat in silence for a few moments before she opened her mouth.

“What’s he getting you for lunch, I thought you brought spaghetti… with bacon?” You let out a laugh, happy for the subject change.

“It’s this depression-era recipe he found… it’s just as weird as it sounds, but I was in a rush this morning,” you reasoned. “He’s bringing something from that Greek place I told you about.”

“That’s nowhere near your apartment, what’s he doing over there?”

“He didn’t say,” you responded, having wondered the same thing yourself. But you knew better than to exchange what would end up being cryptic messages back and forth, waiting to question him in person.

“Maybe I’ll just ask him myself when he gets here,” River teased, and you gave her a disapproving look, the usual response to her empty threats of telling Bucky half of the things you’d shared with her. Hearing the words come out of her mouth seemed to solidify that Bucky was on his way to see you. At work. He’d never done that before.

“Hey, my hair isn’t horribly messed up is it?” You asked, looking around a little before finding something you could see enough of your reflection through to inspect yourself.

“You look fine… what is going on with you two?” she asked, her tone a cross between exasperated and confused. You turned back to look at her, eyebrows raised in question. “You cannot stop texting him, and you two were acting off at the diner on Saturday. Did something happen?” The events of the past week were playing through your mind, and you weighed your options.

River knew something was going on with you and Bucky. Bringing her to the Diner had been an occupational hazard, it only allowed her to put all the pieces from the stories of your neighbor together. Because of it, she got to see multiple different sides of your relationship, and it gave away more than you’d ever planned on revealing. Though you didn’t have reason to regret it too much, River would pester you for all the details at work and proceed to appear perfectly innocent in front of Bucky each Saturday night.

“That first night you came to the diner… I fell asleep on him on the couch. No no, that’s happened before,” you started explaining hesitantly, having to calm her reaction before she got carried away with the wrong details. “He carried me to bed, and I clung onto him like a koala. But when he did I- I asked him to stay.”

“You slept together??” She asked in a harsh whisper, and your eyes just about popped out of your head.

“No, not like that, get your head out of the gutter,” you scolded, your cheeks heating up at the thought. “He didn’t take me up on it anyway, but he said ‘maybe another night’ and I can’t stop thinking about it.” She looked at you for a quiet moment, processing what you were saying to her.

“Has anything changed?”

“Little things, like we’re taking baby steps in a certain direction but have no idea where we’re going,” you explained, and River simply looked at you expectantly, gesturing for you to elaborate. “I mean… he’s a sweet guy, he has been as long as I’ve known him, but he’s only gotten sweeter. After he carried me to bed he took care of my apartment, shut everything down, and picked up a little. We usually take turns cooking, but he’s taken over the past couple of times… And last night, he put on a record and started dancing with me in the kitchen.”

“Don’t tell me he does that all the time, I will hurt you,” she deadpanned, fully engaged in your predicament.

“No, we’ve never done that before, we usually just dance in the living room.” She rolled her eyes at you, but you continued before she could retort. “We had to stop when the pasta boiled over, but it was quite possibly the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me,” you gushed, unable to hide the wistful tone from your voice as you remembered the night before.

“This explains why the two of you walked into the diner holding hands the other day. Yeah, I noticed. I saw the two of you try to hide it when you got up to us,” she said pointedly. “What are you going to do?” Before you could answer her, you felt your phone vibrate in your hand.

I’m here when you’re ready.

“I’m gonna take everything he’ll give me,” you answered, turning away from her to go meet Bucky in the front of your building, and you had no doubt that her eyes were following you.

He stood beside the small waiting area, sunlight from the tall windows hitting him in all the right places, catching his blue eyes shining brightly in the light as he saw you approaching. He was clad in his usual, a plain t-shirt underneath his leather jacket, his dog tags resting on his chest. One gloved hand was in the pocket of his dark jeans, the other holding your new lunch, the smell wafting through the air absolutely divine.

“Hey peach,” he greeted, a soft smile spread across his face as you came closer. He opened his arms and you couldn’t help pulling him into a brief hug, noticing the cologne he usually wore to Morelli’s. Had he put it on to come see you? No, stop that. “How’s your day going?”

“Not too bad! It’s much better now,” you grinned, pulling back out of his embrace to look at him. His eyes danced across your face, lifting his free hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. “How about yours? What brought you out this far?” Bucky faltered a little before he was able to answer.

“I was just- I went on a walk, got carried away. Once I realized where I was I thought I would offer to get you food cause I know how much you like that place… it uh, made a good excuse to come see you,” he admitted sheepishly, his last few words trailing off quietly, but not enough to go unnoticed. It was cute seeing him like this, as much as his cocky confidence made your knees weak and your sides hurt with laughter, this softer side of him just made you want to hold him.

“Well, I’m glad you did,” you managed, cheeks hurting with the force of the smile that found its way to your face. “I- well, I’m glad that you came to see me, not just for the food,” you quickly explained, giggling as you stumbled over your words. He reciprocated, joining in your nervous amusement.

“I mean, what did you say that one time, I’m good for being a leg rest and a bringer of food?” he teased, earning a groan from you as you rolled your eyes playfully. “I knew what you meant, doll.”

The world around you was simply a blurred background behind Bucky, the sounds of people passing and work happening fading into the distance as you lost yourself in the gentle expression he was giving you. You wanted to be around him like this all the time, standing close enough to him to see his cheeks start to turn pink the longer he looked at you. You got to be the one capturing his attention, and it sent a tingly feeling through your body no matter how many times he’d done it.

“What are you doing after work?” he asked, bringing you back down from your spot in the clouds.

“Well, I actually was gonna see if you want to come over and help me with something?”

“Anything. Whatcha need?” he smiled with eyebrows raised sweetly as he waited to listen, and you had to look away from him for a moment, turning your gaze to the takeout box he was now handing over to you.

“I was gonna bake bread, there are a few recipes I wanted to try,” you admitted timidly, testing the waters. Taking your chances you looked back up into his blue eyes, finding them already looking at you, teeming with unspoken thoughts as he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

“I’ll be there.”

He pulled you in for one last hug and you held him close to you, careful to keep the box of food in your hands upright. He shifted in your arms ever so slightly while his arm held the small of your back, leaning closer to press his soft lips against your cheek, and the slight scratch of his stubble made you tense up against him. You felt like your feet were stuck where they were as he slid himself away from you, stopping to brush his thumb across your arm as he began to detach himself.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” he started, his arm leaving you as he slowly stepped backwards towards the exit, taking one last look at you. “See you tonight, sweets.” You could only manage a mumble of a parting statement, too distracted by him to function any further. His cocky grin returned to his face, almost as if he was satisfied with the obviously flustered state he was leaving you in before he turned on his heel, your eyes following him until he’d passed the tall windows outside and vanished from sight.

When you finally managed to start your return to River, she was already looking at you, her face telling you that she saw everything.

“So when were you gonna tell me you guys were dating?” she asked leaned up against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest while you sat down to start eating the food that was calling your name.

“I- we’re not…” As you thought about your words her brows raised accusatorily, and you rolled your eyes. “Look, I don’t know what it is, we haven’t talked about it or anything. We’re just letting it happen.”

“Stop fucking with me right now, please tell me you’re kidding,” she almost whined, quickly pulling up into the seat beside you, though the salad in front of her was an afterthought as she stared you down for an answer. “You’re telling me he kissed your cheek like that, but you’re just ‘letting it happen’?”

“Can we just eat? I- we’re figuring it out, okay? We’re just … taking it at our own pace.” River made no effort to hide her playfully disgruntled attitude as you explained your situation, neglecting to tell her that you were trying to give the 105-year-old man time to adjust to the feelings you were sharing on top of everything else he had on his plate.

“Fine. But if you could hurry it up, that would be greatly appreciated. You two are killing me over here.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

…

The knock on your door came a couple of moments after you’d closed it behind you, only having time to kick your shoes off and hang your bag on the hook with your keys. You grinned as you went to open the door to Bucky, who’d shed his leather jacket and gloves since you’d seen him last.

“Hey pretty girl,” he said sweetly, though you barely had time to react to his nickname as he moved in close to you, reaching his arms around your waist to haul you up into his arms. You wrapped around him instinctively, leaned back just enough to catch his easy, playful expression as he walked into your apartment, closing the door behind him. “How’d the rest of your day go?” You could only giggle in response.

“Are we going to ignore what just happened?” you asked as he walked into your kitchen, depositing you onto the kitchen countertop while he continued to give you a shit-eating grin.

“I said I would be your leg rest tonight, and I’m going to take my job very seriously,” he reasoned, and you rolled your eyes as you let out a huff of amusement.

“I can walk, Buck, my legs aren’t tired.”

“And we’re gonna keep it that way,” he told you while giving you a pointed look, a playful grin on his face as he set his hands on either side of your legs on the counter, your arms still resting loosely around his neck. “So, what are we making? Are you finally teaching me how to make your banana bread?”

“If I had bananas I would… But I did find a recipe I think you’ll like. It’s another one of your old depression recipes.” Bucky hummed in response, his brows raised while he listened, thumbs brushing the sides of your legs and his eyes never leaving you. “It’s for peanut butter bread, what do you think?” There was a warm feeling that engulfed you as you watched his eyes sparkle. You’d caught his attention… His entire body relaxed, the soft expression he was now giving you made you glad you were perched on the counter instead of having to trust your legs.

“That sounds good,” he sighed, and you couldn’t help but sit up a little straighter under his gaze, trying to hide the fact that his clear interest in the recipe was making you giddy. You waited a moment to let him elaborate, like there was a story about his past he was about to share, but that moment never came.

“I was also gonna make this recipe I saw for some sandwich bread… that would be where you come in,” you continued, poking his back with a pointed finger as you referred to him, a huff of amusement escaping his lips as he grinned. “Oh shit, I should feed my starter before I forget,” you said quickly. You released your arms from around him and pushed his chest so he would allow you to move, hopping off the counter before he could respond.

“Feed… what?” he asked as he watched you reach into your pantry to grab the flour, bringing it to a jar you had sitting on your counter.

“I made a sourdough starter,” you explained, showing him the small mason jar filled more than halfway of dough-to-be. “You have to feed it before you can bake it. My friend said I’ll know when it’s ready to bake, so… I don’t know, I’m trusting my instincts here.”

“How often do you have to feed it?” He asked as you mixed the jar, adding the flour and water necessary.

“I read somewhere to feed it twice a day, so I do it before I leave for work and then again when I get home.” You glanced at Bucky to see there was still a hint of confusion on his face. “I usually do it before you have a chance to come over, which is why you’re only just seeing it now.” A grin spread across his cheeks at your ability to read him, nodding slowly as he caught up.

“It eats a lot.”

“Yeah, you two have that in common,” you teased as you finished up with the starter, taking the jar and the lid over to the man who was giving you a look of feigned offense.

“What does that mean?” He asked as he took the jar you were putting in his hands, sealing the lid tightly on the top before returning it back to you.

“It means they should do a better job advertising when you adopt a super-soldier how much you guys eat to support all that muscle.” You were graced with the sound of Bucky’s deep belly laugh as he clutched his middle, hunched over as his amusement took him over.

“Is that why you’re always going to the grocery store, sweets?” He managed through his laughter, and you couldn’t help but join his amusement.

“Yes! I don’t want it any other way, but you eat me out of house and home, Buck,” you poked, and one more bout of giggles took him over, a little more boyish than the last. The sound of it combined with the way his nose scrunched made you weak.

“To be fair, I’m the one cooking most of it, and I leave you plenty of leftovers,” he reasoned brightly, and you nodded in agreement. “Speaking of, I was thinking of making that taco recipe you taught me while you’re working tonight, what do you think?” He asked as he took the last few steps to get closer to you once again, taking you by the shoulders and looking at you for an answer.

“You know you don’t have to,” you reminded a little wistfully, coming out more like a sigh as you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling even further. His thumbs brushed comfortingly against you as he stood back up to his full height, giving your forehead a soft kiss.

“Tacos it is.”

You already loved cooking with Bucky, it had worked its way into your daily routines, but this was a dream. He was listening and watching intently as you made the loaf of peanut butter bread, laughing along with you at the interesting set of ingredients while keeping an eye on his own workstation. He moved through the kitchen with you like it was second nature, soft hands letting you know where he was around you, and you had to do your best not to let it send a shiver through your body each time. He would hold your waist in one hand while coming up behind you, bringing the wooden spoon to your lips as he had you test his handy work.

With the bread needing a little over an hour to bake, it gave you plenty of time to enjoy Bucky’s dinner, sitting next to each other on the floor of the kitchen as you watched the loaf bake at a snail’s pace. You caught him up with the events of your day, leaving out the conversation you had with River after he’d left. You’d tried to get more about his day out of him, but once again all he gave you was a vague errand before he came to see you, and an afternoon with Yori that went better than others.

The real fun started after dinner, having cleaned up and put everything away, and setting up to make the other loaf of sandwich bread. The recipe alone made you excited, having wanted to try it for a while, but it was Bucky’s behavior that made you burst into giggles.

“What is it?” he laughed with you while he very exaggeratedly moved his shoulders as he kneaded the bread dough, sneaking a glance at you perched on the counter just behind and to the side of him, a cocky grin on his face. “Am I doing it right?”

“Yeah Buck, you’re doing just fine,” you smiled, dropping his gaze when he turned back to the dough in his hands. You just kept watching him. He wanted you to, he wasn’t subtle in his efforts to make a show of his back muscles under the fitting t-shirt, and strong arms that you had a perfect view of. You only had a little bit of shame, knowing that if he looked back to catch you ogling the veins in his right arm and the moving plates of the left, you would turn an incriminating shade of red.

Luckily, as he was wrapping up the dough to proof off to the side, the oven timer made the perfect distraction. You hopped off the counter to retrieve the loaf, moving to turn the low temperature much higher for the second bread. Almost the second you turned the peanut butter bread out of the pan, there was a super-soldier at your heel, drying his hands after he’d rinsed the flour off of them.

“How’d it come out?” he asked, looking over your shoulder.

“There’s only one way to find out…” You reached for a knife to cut off a slice, halving it and offering it to the man behind you. You almost couldn’t continue chewing the bite you’d taken of your own slice as you watched him lean further over your shoulder, vibranium fingers lifting your elbow to bring the slice in your hand to his lips.

You were even less prepared for the physical reaction he made once he’d had a bite, closing his eyes and his eyebrows making small movements as he knit them together, a variety of emotions going on at once. You could only watch as you enjoyed your own bite; the flavor was good, but you didn’t think it was quite deserving of the reaction playing out before you.

“Oh my god…” Bucky sighed, removing himself from around you as he tossed the towel in his hand on the counter. You set down the bread in your hands to get rid of distractions, worry starting to write itself across your features, wondering what could be going through his head.

Once you were turned back to fully face him, he had his arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace, burying himself in the crook of your neck. You moved to wrap your arms back around his neck, rubbing gentle circles across his back to try and provide some sort of comfort. The second your hands touched him, he released a shaky breath near your ear.

“It tastes like the one my sister used to make…” His soft words made your heart patter in your chest, and you couldn’t help but hold him a little tighter. “She used to send these little boxes when I was in the Army… She’d cram these long letters in there with a loaf of peanut butter bread just bursting at the seams.” There was a hint of a laugh in the way he said it, and you could picture the young soldier receiving a misshapen box full of snacks and his sister’s love. “She started baking a lot more when they died…. that was how she would cope with it,” he continued, impossibly quieter.

Bucky had mentioned his parent’s death in passing, only having gone into detail on one night when you had asked. It had been months ago when he had only just started opening up about his family, but it was the night you learned when to keep asking and when to let him open up on his own. Bucky was quiet for the rest of that night; he had been open with his answer, but you knew he’d closed himself off because of it, and you at least had the mind not to push. He told you how it had happened, about Becca coming home for the summer to help him sort everything out. He also explained how she had considered moving back home to stay with him, and how adamantly he’d urged her to go back and finish school.

And how it was the last time he ever saw his sister.

“I got a package from her every few weeks, and they made my day… I didn’t realize how much I missed them until… until I stopped getting them.” You were doing your best to hold in your own shaky breaths at this point, your heart breaking with each addition to the story. “I came back from being captured by Hydra the first time to a handful of bread boxes that had gone bad. And then I uh… I wasn’t exactly the easiest person to find, after that.”

There was no holding back the tears that had started falling down your cheeks, the waiver in his voice as he said that last sentence being the final push. You held him as tight as you possibly could, one hand rubbing his back while the other ended up on the back of his head as he nestled further into you. His hands held a firm yet gentle grip, as if you were the anchor keeping him steady as he allowed himself to feel his emotions for a moment.

It was hard to tell how much time had gone by when you finally pulled away enough to look at each other, feeling like both hours and mere moments had passed. His blue eyes were shining as they’d gotten a little watery, and you couldn’t help but offer a sad smile as he brought his hands to your cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to make you all weepy about bread, doll.” This time you managed a laugh, rolling your eyes at his comment as you placed your hands over his, trying to offer the same soothing comfort he was giving you. With your face in his hands, he pulled you closer to place a soft kiss on your forehead before moving to check on the other dough.

The rest of the night was quiet, but it was comfortable. The other loaf of bread came out beautifully, albeit much later in the night than you expected to be baking. And Bucky, ever observant, did more than his fair share to help clean up the kitchen and bid you goodnight, locking your door behind him as always.

…

Bucky couldn’t stop smiling. To himself, alone in his apartment, thinking of you. The way you looked at him while he made a scene of kneading the dough, laughing on the kitchen floor with him, your gentle touches as you held each other impossibly close…

He wanted more. More kitchen shenanigans, more gentle touches, more forehead kisses, more dancing... He knew he shouldn’t, and some days he even felt guilty about it. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy what the two of you had… he just liked it so much, the need for it never to stop was all-consuming at times.

There was just something unexplainable that drew him to you, it had been there from the very beginning. It made his smiles reach his cheeks, his hands unafraid to reach out for you, and you made him want to actually be a part of this new life he’d been given. You gave him a distraction, something to occupy his thoughts and lead them away from a darker path, something to look forward to every day.

Bucky remembered the first time he’d kissed you, lips just barely touching you, kissing your forehead as you sleepily locked up behind him. It felt right. Every time he held you in his arms he watched you get flushed and shy as he continued, kissing your hands and your forehead and your neck…. It lit a fire within him. It was everything he wanted in this world, it made him feel alive.

The sound of shattered glass broke him out of his thoughts. A scream made his blood curdle, and his heart dropped through his stomach.

It belonged to you; a sound he’d never even heard in the farthest stretches of his nightmares, and one he never wanted to hear again.

He practically ripped the door of his bedroom off of its hinges, muscle memory taking over and leading him through his apartment while his mind went into overdrive. He had to get to you. He flung open the drawer of the table he kept by the front door, taking the sleek black ka-bar knife in his other hand. He hadn’t touched it since he’d moved in, the only form of weapon someone of his reputation could possess without cause for suspicion, sitting in his front table in the event he got uneasy or needed a quick escape. Bucky held it tightly in his right hand for the first time in months… he had to get to you right fucking now.

Bucky had his front door opened not even seconds after the sound of your scream had made it through his walls, and he saw you popping through yours across the hall mere moments after he’d done the same. You were almost as fast getting out as he was… Good. It would keep you alive longer.

“Bucky,” you whined, fear and confusion written in your expression and your body language, and he was quick to your side as you practically leapt into his arms.

“What happened?” he asked a little gruffly, his body slipping back into a very defensive place almost instantaneously. As he waited for you to gather yourself enough for a response, he brushed stray strands of hair out of your face to be able to examine you, making sure you were okay.

“I- I don’t know. I was in the living room … something shattered, I came to you,” you managed as you struggled to catch your breath, restless hands searching for some sort of hold on him. He took one of your hands in his free one, holding it firmly to bring your focus back to him.

“Hey, I need you to breathe … go to my apartment, lock the door behind you,” he nearly commanded, trying to prepare you for as many of the situations his imagination was concocting as he could. When you nodded, he swiftly tucked you behind him, his knife in the other hand at the ready.

The White Wolf entered your apartment, his steps impossibly quiet as he maneuvered through the familiar area, eyes scouring his surroundings with his weapon brandished. There was shattered glass in the kitchen, no open cabinets, nothing to indicate you had been in the area. The window across from him was intact; no shatters, no signs of entry holes. Not a sniper.

His mind was racing ten thousand miles a minute. What if someone was here for him… Who? Hydra? Why were they here, what did they want, why were they coming after you? If they’d taken so long to find him, how the hell did they know to go after you?

He stepped into the kitchen, moving carefully around the shattered glass as he knelt down to examine it. The fractures of the glass were erratic, having no entry or exit points. The doughy mess of your sourdough starter that wasn’t strewn across the kitchen laid amongst the shards, spilling out of the dented lid he’d sealed earlier, the rim still intact.

Bucky was able to release a breath of relief, one that quickly turned into one of amusement as he realized what had happened. The jar you’d had him seal earlier, with his super-soldier hands, had trapped the growing dough and gases from the yeast inside the jar with no room for release. So it made its own way out. He almost couldn’t believe what had happened as he stood up, making his way through the rest of your apartment to examine it for good measure.

“You can come on out, peach,” he called across the hall to you as he tucked his knife in his pocket, unable to hide his amusement from his voice as he stood in your open door waiting for you to emerge. There was a long pause, but still no response from you. He called your name to try and get you to come out, but still to no avail. Bucky took the few steps distance from your door to his, wrapping his knuckles on the door the way he usually did with yours.

“Doll? You doing okay?” he asked softly. After a few moments he heard the faintest hint of footsteps and the clicks of his lock shifting, and you stepped timidly through his doorway with wide eyes.

“What was it?” you asked eagerly, worry still written across your features.

“It- your sourdough…” he tried, a laugh bubbling up from within him as the nerves left his body.

“What?” you asked again, put at ease a little by his amusement, but no less confused.

“Your starter exploded,” he managed as you released a sigh of relief. You were quick to pull yourself back in his arms, the two of you holding each other soothingly as you allowed your adrenaline to come back to a normal level. Bucky picked you up in his arms, carrying you back through the open door of your apartment, your feet touching the floor again where you could see the scene of the crime.

“You got scared by bread,” he couldn’t help but tease, trying to lighten the mood.

“Please don’t, I was actually terrified,” you laughed against him, arms circling his neck a little tighter.

“You had me pretty rattled there for a second too,” he admitted. As he felt you tuck yourself into the crook of his neck a thought he had in the heat of it all returned to him, and came spilling out before he could think twice. “I- there’s really no sugar coating it; I was so scared for you… I hope I never have to hear you scream like that ever again.” He waited with bated breaths as he stood there, vulnerable and waiting for your response.

“Well I’m hoping I won’t have another sourdough starter explode on me again, so we’re probably good,” you said lightly after a few moments, and he knew you were trying to ease his thoughts, lighten the mood a little more. “But on the off-chance it does, I hope you know I’ll be busting down your door again.”

“Was that your first instinct? Coming to me?” Bucky asked a little hesitantly, easing you out of his arms just enough so that he could look at you. You smiled sheepishly as you tried to bury yourself in the outstretched arm still resting around him.

“Of course it was. James, you… you make me feel so safe.” Your words were soft as you still refused to look at him, but they struck his heart with a determined accuracy he almost didn’t know how to respond. His gut reaction was just trying to get you to look at him again, tilting his head down to try and meet your gaze, resorting to tilting your chin up himself when you continued shying away from him.

He thought he’d have a little bit more confidence, but when your pretty eyes finally met his, his mind drew a blank. What did he want to say to you? Why did he need to see your face other than to admire your features… The space between the two of you was getting smaller, but on who’s accord it was hard to tell, the very tip of his nose brushing yours.

You scrunched your nose, he could feel it, his eyes having closed somewhere before you’d gotten to him. He was about to question the expression when it hit him, unable to stop his own nose from doing the same.

“Oh god, the yeast,” you laughed, the smell of the dough splattered across the kitchen finally catching up to you. “I don’t think I can ever make another starter after this one shattering and smelling this bad.” Bucky could only laugh in response, being sure to remember if you ever tried making another one to remind you of everything that had just happened.

“C’mon sweets, let’s get this cleaned up before it gets any worse.”

Even once the cabinets, the floor, and the counters had been cleaned of any of the sourdough mixture, the horrible smell still permeated the air. The fact that the two of you had gotten it all over each other in your attempts to poke fun at one another probably didn’t help, your clothes and skin alike permitting the lingering smell. You had even tried to escape it by attempting to wash up in your bathroom, but it was like the smell only got worse in the enclosed space, and soon enough there was no way to escape it.

“Let’s get you out of here, we’ll clean up at my place,” Bucky laughed, and before you could argue he took your hand in his, leading you out to the hall where you were able to take an unexpected breath of fresh air.

“It’s so much worse than I thought,” you giggled, trailing behind Bucky as he walked you back into his apartment. You had only been inside a few times, being able to count your visits on one hand. When you’d tried to ask why once, he admitted he just liked being in your apartment more. He’d been able to tell from the first time he’d come over months ago, moving boxes doing nothing to deter the sense of home you gave the space.

You had been in a bit of a rush when you’d sought shelter here in the thick of the excitement, running to hide away in his closet before you got a chance to take in your surroundings. As you stepped in behind the super-soldier, you noticed the space had hardly changed from the last time you’d been. The moderately sized television sat on a wooden table backed up against the brick wall to the right with the small grey couch, side table, and stray pile of blankets across from it. You noticed a new chair leaning against the half-wall in front of the small kitchen, like he was ever so slowly adding furniture to the bare apartment as he saw fit. As Bucky opened the drawer of the front table to deposit his knife, you couldn’t help but look at the blankets a little closer; there was a very thin blanket beside the warmer-looking one, despite the latter being shorter, and the pile almost looked… slept in.

“Bathroom’s through here,” he laughed a little nervously, a stark contrast to the confident man you were used to watching walk through your apartment like he belonged there. Maybe because he did…

His hand found the small of your back as he led you through to his bedroom, just as bare as the rest of the apartment with a bed that looked like it hadn’t been touched in days, stopping in front of the bathroom door and standing across from you like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. He took a sharp inhale as he scrunched his eyebrows like he’d remembered something.

“Let me grab a towel, you probably want to wash all that off…” You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you glanced down at the substance you were both covered in, looking up to watch him move in the space as he offered you a very neatly folded towel. “You go ahead… I uh, I don’t know what you use, there’s not a lot in there, I-” You cut him off as you reached out to place a hand on his arm.

“I’ll be fine, Buck. I’m not that high maintenance,” you teased, pleased with the smile on his face as he looked down at his feet. You moved to open the bathroom when the realization hit you. Besides the yeast-covered clothes on your back, you had nothing else to wear. “Oh shoot, let me run back and get something to change into…”

“Oh come on, I just rescued you from that! Here, just wear these,” Bucky started, sounding more like himself as he caught your attention, stopping you before you could get too far. He turned to reach into the closet you’d hid in earlier, pulling out a red henley and a pair of boxers.

“Are you sure?” you asked as he put them in your hands, not quite believing what was happening. This was a scene straight out of one of your dreams… was he really handing you his clothes?

“Can’t have you dying of yeast poisoning.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” you laughed.

“I don’t know, peach… I’d rather not chance it,” he threw back with a wink before he started walking back out to the living room, to give you your space.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself at the sweetness of his actions tonight as you stepped into the shower, washing the remnants of the starter Bucky had gotten all over you from your body. It was like you saw a whole new side of him today, from bringing you food just to see you, the way he had brazenly flirted with you throughout the day, and the softness in the way he’d held you close to him. And now here you were, lathering your hair with a shampoo that smelled so much like him, and a set of his clothes waiting for you on the counter.

Maybe the sourdough hadn’t exploded; maybe you really did die, and this was some sort of heaven.

The red henley was thin, and a bit worn, making you wonder how long he’d had it. The fabric was stretched out, especially in the arms, and you tried not to think about how they’d gotten that way as you draped it over your body. It was soft and smelled like him… between that and the soaps from the shower, it was like you were wrapped in the very essence of Bucky. Wouldn’t that be nice…

“Shower’s all yours,” you offered as you stepped out of his bedroom, finding him in the middle of folding a blanket, the pile on the floor nowhere to be seen.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered as he looked at you, damp hair and all, feeling the way his eyes followed you as you set your bundle of yeast-covered clothes by the front door. When you stood back up to find his gaze fixed on you, there was something that bubbled up inside you, a new sort of confidence that spilled out before you could contemplate it.

“See something you like, old man?” You were delighted by the chuckle that left him, a cocky grin spreading across his face at your bold question. You crossed your arms across your chest as you challenged him, a grin of your own starting to form.

Bucky ran his tongue across his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth as he looked at you, not making any effort to hide the way he took in your whole figure, leaving you feeling a little hot and flustered. He took slow steps to cross the distance between you, his hands just barely brushing your arms as he reached out for you, and you were having a hard time keeping your composure when his gaze burned into you with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Soft touches turned eager, as he gripped the henley by the hem and pulled you into him.

You felt like time had stopped as you watched him, only vaguely aware of the breath you were holding as you waited desperately for him to do something. His eyes danced between your gaze and your lips, and if he’d told you the world had started spinning you would have believed him. His grin got wider as he released an amused breath, having to force himself back up to your eyes.

“Make yourself comfortable, doll. I’ll be out in a bit,” he told you instead, leaning forward so the only thing touching you was his lips on your forehead, keeping his messy clothes away from your– his clean ones and releasing the shirt as he walked away.

You were done for. You had fallen prey to James Barnes’s charm, bright smile, sparkling blue eyes and all. All you could do was watch him leave as you stood in his living room in a haze, bewitched by the show that that cheeky shit had just put on for you. And then you let your mind wander…

He’d kissed your cheek in public, in front of everyone (and whether he knew it or not, in front of River) when he came to see you at work. He had carried you into your apartment when you got home, leaning so close to you while he set you on the counter, his hands just barely brushing your thighs while he listened to you. And after he had saved you from the exploding bread jar, you had been mere moments away from kissing him. You were right there, his nose had touched yours, his hands were holding you close… he was getting more affectionate by the day. You wondered how far he’d go, and at this rate, how soon you might be able to revisit that almost kiss.

Sinking down into the couch behind you, your body told you just how tired you were, and you struggled to keep your eyes open as you leaned into the cushions. But with the white noise of the shower, the warmth of the clothes around you, the sense of ease you felt being here with Bucky…

“You still with me, doll?” you heard him ask, your eyelids heavy as you turned to see him walking into the living room in a pair of sweatpants, a shirt rolled up on his arms as he went to pull it over his head. It gave you a nice view of his muscled chest, too tired to hide the way you were looking him up and down, paying special attention to the spot where metal met man just before it disappeared under the black t-shirt. The sight of him had certainly gotten your attention, less tired than you were mere moments ago.

“Mmhmm, I’m hangin’ in there,” you smiled, trying to ignore the look he was giving you that said he knew you’d just ogled him. Now that he was fully clothed he took the seat next to you on the couch, resting his hand on the back just beside you as he met your gaze.

“You’ve got an early morning tomorrow, you wanna head to bed?” he asked softly, reaching over to play with your hair as you rested against his hand on the back of the couch.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” you teased, and you watched in amusement as Bucky fumbled over his words trying to explain himself, cutting himself off when your shoulders shook with an airy laugh. “I just want to sit and talk with you for a little. You know, ‘cause it’s been so long since we did that.”

“Mmm, far too long, we’ve gotta make up for lost time,” he smiled brightly, and you couldn’t help but giggle warmly at his retort. “You know, I think this might be the longest you've ever been over here.”

“I think it is,” you agreed, reminiscing on the handful of times you’d run over to grab something of his, or followed him in for a brief moment before he decided he wanted to put on a record in your living room. “I kinda wish it hadn’t started with me running to you screaming, but it is what it is.”

"I'm still glad you came to get me,” he reminded almost reverently as his hands grazed your forehead to move a stray piece of hair.

"Next time I could really sell the damsel-in-distress bit and leap into your arms. It’ll be just like in the movies," you teased.

"I’ll always catch you.” You turned into his hand as you shied away from his piercing gaze, his thumb brushing your cheek. You remembered the first time he’d said that to you, the two of you in a pile on the floor while he gave you that boyish grin that melted your insides. He had repeated it countless other times, and every time without fail, he always made you feel safe. There was no doubt you would be running to your super-soldier again to find comfort in his arms.

“There was another time I almost came knocking on your door…” you started, his eyebrows knitting together as he waited for you to elaborate. “I don’t know if you were awake, but there was a power outage a little while ago. I had the tv on and it just got eerily quiet. And when it’s quiet, there’s nothing to stop my brain from just thinking… I thought about coming over just to kind of fill the quiet,” you explained a little hesitantly, hoping you didn’t sound ridiculous as you opened up.

“Why didn’t you?” he almost pleaded, worry evident in his expression.

“I- well, I didn’t know if you were up. And if you were asleep, I didn’t want to wake you up, you know I never do,” you reasoned.

“That was a quiet night for me, too,” he told you softly. He hesitated a moment before he took a deep breath, his brows creasing to make the distressed wrinkle in between you both loved and hated seeing. “I’m usually up that late, I was only just starting to try sleeping when everything shut off. And like you said, when things are quiet, you can’t help but think…”

“I should have come over,” you sighed, watching the complicated emotions cross his eyes as they drifted away from you, and your imagination could only scratch the surface of what must have been going through his head. As the words left your lips, he glanced back at you, brows raised in concern.

“What would it have changed?”

“Well, for starters it wouldn’t have been so quiet,” you began, reaching out to rest your hand on his knee to offer some sort of reassurance. You were cut off by a yawn that attacked you out of nowhere, Bucky picking up on it immediately. “We could have talked each other to sleep.”

“You mean like we’re doing right now?” You smiled sleepily as you closed your eyes, leaning into the palm of his hand a little more. He tilted his head up ever so slightly as he moved to press a quick kiss to your forehead, before he gently slipped himself away from you as he stood from the couch. “Stay with me for one more second, I’ve got something for you.”

You pulled your eyes open to find Bucky rummaging around in one of the drawers of his front table, giving you a nice view of his back under the loose-fitting t-shirt. You had half a mind to get up and follow him, slipping your arms around his waist and resting against his back… And then you were met with his blue eyes again, a breath of amusement slipping out of him as he caught you watching. He didn’t say a word, simply holding up his hand to show you what he’d been digging for.

“Is that….?” you started, looking at the key he held between his thumb and pointer finger, the smile on his face getting wider as his only response. “I- when did you get that?”

“A little bit after you gave me the key to yours,” he admitted softly, fiddling with it in both of his hands as he looked down and away from you. “I uh, was just waiting for the right time to give it to you. Hearing you talking about seeking me out… I don’t know, it felt like as good a time as any,” he shrugged. You felt like there was something else on the tip of his tongue, watching him debate his words. Instead, he looked back up at you with a sort of conviction.

“I’m gonna put this with your stuff. If you need me, for any reason, use it. Please,” he instructed, holding the key out in his hand to make his point. “Doesn’t matter if you think I’m asleep; if it’s too quiet, if you blow up another sourdough starter, or you just don’t want to be alone. Please promise you’ll come get me.” You couldn’t help but laugh while he looked at you pointedly, placing the key gently on the pile of your yeast-covered clothes.

“I promise, Buck,” you managed, tired voice seeking to assure him. He made quick work of the distance between you, swooping in to place a chaste kiss on your cheek as he sat back down, though your eyes remained closed even after he pulled away.

You were fading fast. He was glad he’d at least been able to keep your eyes open long enough to hand the key off to you, but you were past the point of any further conversation. All he could do was look at you as you drifted off, that pretty smile fading from your soft cheeks as your body relaxed. Flashes of other nights where you’d fallen asleep beside him crossed his mind, though none were quite like this, where he had your full attention as you dozed off. He couldn’t chalk it up to a slow movie or wandering thoughts, you were comfortable enough around him to surrender yourself to unconsciousness in his care, and you wanted him to see it.

Bucky had never been more delicate as he guided you into him, soft touches linking your arms around his neck while he held your body close. Just as he’d hoped to avoid, you stirred, immediately gripping him tighter.

“What’re you doin?” you drawled, still half-asleep.

“Shh, it’s alright, I’m taking you to bed,” he whispered, not wanting to wake you any further. You made a sound of disagreement, clinging to him even tighter.

“No…” you whined. He couldn’t help the chuckle that rumbled through his chest, standing upright with you wrapped around him.

“No? You’re fallin’ asleep on me, sweets, you’ve got work in the morning.”

“You don’t like the bed.” Bucky froze in his tracks. After a few moments, he released a shaky breath, bringing one hand to cradle the back of your neck and hold you closer to him. You needed him. You were asking him to stay, just like last time… “Please, I don’t want you to be alone.”

And you knew he needed you.

He didn’t trust himself to say anything. He simply turned on his heel to the pile of blankets he’d set aside earlier in an attempt to make his empty apartment look somewhat functional, holding your body securely in one hand as he picked up the soft blanket with the other. Though when he turned back towards the couch, your grip got tighter again.

“I don’t want to be alone, James-”

“Hey hey, ‘m not going anywhere, I’m just getting a blanket,” he soothed, kneeling down on the couch as he lowered the two of you gently onto the cushions.

“But you’re like a superheater,” you teased as he eased your head to rest on his chest, pulling the blanket around you.

“And it’s February.” He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding your body flush to his and resting his cheek against the top of your head as you nestled into him, already breathing easier than when you’d thought he was carrying you away. “I already saved you from yeast poisoning tonight, I’m not gonna lose you to pneumonia.”

“That’s not how you get-”

“Go to sleep,” he urged, cutting off your retort. You went to make another one but were silenced by your own yawn, and he smiled to himself when you seemed to surrender to the pull of sleep. You reached out to lay a hand on his chest, and he couldn’t help but bring the hand on your waist to rest over yours, his large one engulfing your own.

Bucky was certain he’d crossed over to some kind of heaven; the feeling of you sleeping so peacefully beside him –practically on top of him– felt like a bliss he had only ever been able to steal samples of as you laid in uncomfortable positions on top of each other after movie nights. You looked so peaceful, so relaxed as your body lifted with the combination of your easy breathing and his own, snuggled up right into him. Your body practically breathed comfort into him, and while he’d lost your conversation, you still managed to permeate his very thoughts as they drifted away to happier things.

It felt right. Pulling you into his arms a little tighter, placing yet another kiss to the top of your head, and nuzzling into your hair until he got comfortable. Had he known that sleeping next to you would’ve felt so nice… why hadn’t he taken you up on it before? The reasoning was getting lost in the recesses of his mind, consumed by you, and how perfect you felt in his arms. Half the reason he may have chosen to leave when you’d asked him to stay might have been because of how much Bucky wanted to stay like this forever.

And he very well could have, if the morning hadn’t come. Most other mornings he would notice the sun starting to peek through the blinds and groan about his lack of sleep, but this morning was very different.

It wasn’t often Bucky got to experience the golden sunlight hitting his eyelids, beating him to the new day as he adjusted to waking up, eyes fluttering open to survey his surroundings. As he glanced around the pleasantly quiet apartment, he took notice of how good he felt, surprisingly well-rested. It had been a peaceful night, the first in what had to be months, and it felt incredible. He looked back down at your sleeping figure, rested on top of him in nearly the exact same position you had been in when he urged you to sleep.

This was the view he could have looked at until the end of time, and he considered it. He let his mind wander, thinking of how long he’d be able to stay tucked underneath you, what you might be dreaming about as he played with your hair, how late you would end up sleeping in… Or how much you would if you didn’t have to go to work. His thoughts were then rudely shifted to how long it would be until you were stolen away from him and this peaceful morning.

Bucky ever so slowly leaned over you to reach your phone on the side table, and couldn’t help but smile when he saw his own face looking back at him. It had been your wallpaper for the last few days, a picture River had taken of the two of you laughing while he dipped you backwards, one in the series of photos that captured you tripping while he held onto you. He had seen it multiple times since you’d put it there, but it never failed to make him feel warm and almost giddy. And he wasn’t quite sure what it was about the picture, but he couldn’t get enough of it, spending a –quite frankly– ridiculous amount of time looking at it in his camera roll when he couldn’t sleep.

You looked radiant, with your bright smile and eyes closed in a laugh, one he could still hear bubbling out of your chest. It captured your very essence, the feeling that consumed him when the two of you were around each other. Bucky was surprised by how much he didn’t mind his own appearance in the picture; amongst all the goofy shots you’d tried to take of him in the past couple months, this one he actually liked. He looked like there wasn’t a worry in his head beside you, donning a smile that wouldn’t have been recognizable a few months ago.

Finally tearing himself away from your lock screen, he bypassed the pin and found his way to your alarm, trying to ignore the disappointment he felt when he saw how soon it would go off. It made him yearn for a soft morning where he could sleep in with you, holding you tight and placing soft kisses to ease you awake…

The feeling of strong arms squeezing around you while soft lips traveled across your cheeks was what brought you to life, though it may as well have still been a dream if you didn’t know better.

“Good morning, pretty girl,” Bucky’s husky morning voice whispered just beside your ear, and you couldn’t stop from preening into his affection as you smiled sleepily. “How’d you sleep?”

“Mmmm, good,” you sighed, stretching your limbs with a groan and settling your arms back around the super-soldiers neck. You cracked your eyes open to find him washed in the golden light of the early sun, and you wanted the image of it engraved in your brain. “You?”

“Best sleep I’ve gotten in a long time.” Your heart swelled as you admired him, taking note of the way his eyes sparkled, the effects of a good night’s sleep already evident in his body.

“Let’s just stay here, we can go back to sleep, do it all over again,” you bargained, earning a deep chuckle from within Bucky’s chest as he tucked his nose under the lobe of your ear and placed a feather-light kiss on the skin there.

“Hate to break it to you, peach, but you have to go to work soon.” You groaned as you buried your face into his firm chest, and you could feel his smile appear on the top of your head as his hands came back up to stroke your hair. “I woke you up so you’d still have enough time to get ready with all this moping.”

“What if I just didn’t go to work? They don’t need me, they can figure it out,” you tried, pulling at strings to try and stay here in this moment for as long as you possibly could. “I could just call out, and we can stay like this for hours…”

“No you won’t,” he laughed.

“Watch me.”

“You’ll feel guilty within fifteen minutes.” You knew he could feel you roll your eyes, knowing you better than you knew yourself at times. He gave your back a soft pat as he shifted back to make you look at him properly. “I’ll be here when you get back, I always am.”

“I know,” you sighed, a little defeated and wanting nothing more than to keep gazing into those soft, blue eyes. “But that means I have to leave.” He watched you for a few moments, contemplating something. He lifted one hand to comb your hair back out of your face and cup your cheek.

“I’ll be alright. Believe it or not, I do actually know how to function without you. Can tie my own shoes and everything,” he teased.

“Can you really? You know, with how often you wear those boots I was starting to wonder…”

“Alright, get off of me,” he grunted, and as you laughed you could tell he was trying hard not to smile with you.

“Make me,” you challenged. What you thought you would gain, you didn’t know, as you were promptly scooped up into the super soldier’s arms like you weighed nothing more than a handful of grapes. The blanket he had covered you with through the night fell to the floor as you clung onto him, and he only needed to hold you to him with one arm as he walked through his apartment.

“‘Make me’ she says,” he grumbled, grabbing keys off the front table and bending over to pick up your pile of clothes from the night before, keeping you securely tucked into the crook of his neck. “Do you know how stubborn you are?”

“You’re one to talk, Barnes,” you shot back as he approached the door to your apartment, fiddling with the lock before pushing it open and entering the space that no longer smelled like your sourdough starter.

“Says the one who’s being carried into her living room.” You opened your mouth to make a retort but lost your train of thought when you were deposited on your feet, finding yourself on the receiving end of one of his signature glares. You rolled your eyes as you snatched the clothes out of his arms and turned to your bedroom to discard them in the hamper.

“I’m telling River you were being mean to me this morning,” you hollered, and you heard him laugh exasperatedly.

“Sure, you do that,” was his only response, sounding distracted. When you came back out to the living room you saw him linking the key to his apartment onto your keychain, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him. “I can feel you looking at me,” he mumbled after a moment.

“You’re very busy, I was letting you work.” He shook his head as he smiled, taking a look back up at you as he finished his task.

“You always use something like a butter knife to get the ring open, I figured I’d just save you the trouble,” he shrugged, placing them back on the hook he’d gotten them from.

“What would I do without you?” As you watched his cheeks turn pink you crossed the space between the two of you, willing yourself to do something other than just sit there and wait for him to make the move for you. Ignoring the alarms in your head and the somersaults your stomach was doing, you reached up to grab his cheek in one hand and kissed the other, his hand instinctively reaching out to the small of your back to keep you close to him.

“I’m sure you’d manage.” You knew his words came from a place inside him where he still doubted himself, though his tone and facial expression didn’t match that sentiment. Bucky’s gaze made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in this moment, the rest of the world cast to the side as a blurred and muffled backdrop.

“Well I hope I don’t have to,” you tried to reassure, not wanting his attention to leave you. Your words did earn a brief smile from him, disappearing as he grabbed your face and placed a very enthusiastic kiss on your forehead that caused a giggle to bubble out of you.

“I’ll see you after work, doll,” he assured gently, his hand lingering on your arm as he went to step back through the front door of your apartment, taking one last look at you before he parted ways.

“I’m counting on it.”

Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

Masterlist | Ch. 6 | Ch. 8

#bucky barnes x reader #neighbors #neighbor!bucky #neighbors series #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #james barnes x reader #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #kam writes #my writing #holy shit this is long #im not sorry

221 notes · View notes

shihalyfie · 3 years

Text

@sage-striaton replied to your post:

Idk how people can say Frontier has characters that lack depth. Imo it’s a very psychological season. The whole adventure thing is aimed to making them grown in their behaviours and feelings, it’s a big metaphor of their development

I’m sorry for hijacking your response to my post to segue this into another rant of mine, but I want to emphasize that one of my goals with this blog (if I can be said to have any) is that I really, really, really want people to re-examine whether they actually believe in the rhetoric that’s been dominating this fanbase for two decades, or whether there’s more to it. This is especially in regards to the fact that we’re talking a series deliberately written in such a way that it’ll change meaning and nuance as you get older, so it can “grow up” with you in a sense, and yet it seems like -- especially in regards to Adventure through Frontier, due to their position as the oldest series that the majority of the fanbase was elementary or preteen age during -- people are still regurgitating the same rehashed twenty-year-old ideas like they’re undeniable law. It’s one thing if they’re saying it because the series didn’t sit well with them the first time and they don’t want to watch it again, but we’re reaching a recurring problem where it’s sort of “brainwashing” even people who don’t actually believe it but feel compelled to go along with it, or wouldn’t feel that way if it weren’t for peer pressure. Obviously, there are dissenting opinions, and ones that are even very loud about that, but that pressure remains.

The mainstream opinion in the fanbase is that Adventure is untouchable and impervious to any criticism, 02 is its inferior sequel with half-baked characters, Tamers is an auteur work that’s the “deepest” of the original tetralogy due to being dark, and Frontier is devoid of much substance at all. Even those who don’t really believe in this will still be pressured to go alongside it, those who like 02 or Frontier will be pressured to consider it a “guilty pleasure”, and it’s only very recently when certain events revealed that the idea of 02 actually having quite its own fervent and passionate fanbase that likes it on its own merits became properly recognized. (I have actually noticed a huge uptick in 02 fans, especially casual ones, being more shameless in talking about liking it in the last two years; you’re still going to get the obnoxious person “reminding” you how bad it apparently is if you bring it up, but it’s not nearly as prevalent as it used to be.) I’m not talking about whether something is a “good” or “bad” series -- that concept doesn’t really exist to me as much as whether it’s “to one’s tastes” or not, and I think one of the joys of this franchise is that it has things that cater to people with vastly different preferences -- as much as a lot of potential for analysis and intimate thought about these very fascinating series. Even if 02 and Frontier were as shallow or half-baked as they were accused of, I wouldn’t think it’d be shameful to like them for one’s own reasons anyway, but what frustrates me is that I just don’t think that’s true in the first place!!

Not helping is that there’s still a refusal among the fanbase to admit that there were substantial differences in American English dubbing (especially in regards to Adventure and 02), which I don’t mean as a bad thing in the sense that some people prefer to stick only with that dub and consider that version what they want to work with, but in the sense that the treatment of them as “the same thing” has been horribly detrimental when two people, one coming from that dub and one coming from the Japanese version (or a dub more closely based on it), will end up often having an argument doomed to go nowhere because they were never talking about the same thing to begin with. Recently, a friend admitted to me that although they’d switched to the Japanese version a long time ago, they still couldn’t get the image of Daisuke and Takeru having an inherently hostile relationship (they don’t) out of their head due to the influence of that dub, and although they consciously knew better -- at least enough to admit this to me -- it wasn’t helped by the fact that the fanbase itself continues to reinforce this image because of how normalized it is to treat the dub version and the Japanese version as “virtually the same” and for Western fanbase discourse to assume you should be projecting those takes into the Japanese version. If you’re hanging out in English-speaking circles but are working from the Japanese version or a dub directly based off of it, you do actually have to filter out a lot of takes you’re hearing because they won’t actually apply to the version you’re watching, but not a lot of people realize this.

All four of Adventure through Frontier share tons of key staff, especially Seki, known for her focus on wanting the kids in the audience to be able to empathize with and relate to the characters on screen. All four share some of the best character work I’ve seen not only in this franchise, but also in kids’ media in general, and I also stress that a lot of this has a ton of nuance that isn’t always apparent unless you read between the lines. I do understand that a lot of this probably went over our heads as kids, and I won’t say that the choice to execute it this way should be impervious to criticism, but nevertheless, I think it’s important to call attention to the fact it is there, and much of it becomes recognizable once you see it that way; for instance, so much of "it's contradictory character writing!" comes from the fact that the series tries to represent humans in their inconsistent, messy ways, and while it'll feel "messy" from a writing trope perspective, when you think about it as "since this person has this mentality, does it make sense to approach this with this mindset?", suddenly it becomes very consistent. The supposedly “shallow” 02 and Frontier characters will act in ways that match existing psychological profiles meant for actual humans to terrifying degrees, in ways that you might actually recognize even better once you’ve hit adulthood and start intimately understanding things like depression or anxiety in ways you might not have before. Shockingly, “having heart, important themes, and kindness towards the human condition” are completely valid reasons to uplift a creative work in ways distinct from technical writing or cerebrality or how many tropes they subvert or whatever.

On the flip side, people praise Adventure and Tamers for being the naturally “superior” works with better writing, but when it comes to talking about why the writing is supposedly better, a good chunk of the reasons stated don’t actually explain anything substantial, or go back to actually being passive-aggressive dunks on the other series in some form -- it’s because 02 and Frontier’s character writing sucks that badly, or because Adventure had the “best plot” (which may be true if by “best” you mean “easiest to understand”, but that doesn’t mean much to someone who might not be very happy about how its story progression is just a boss rush), or because Tamers is the “deepest” when by “deep” they actually mean “cerebral, dark, and unsubtle about it” without any further meaning (as if Adventure and 02 were idealistic series that never went into anything nuanced and not, say, the fact they went very viciously deep into societal issues between parents and children, psychological horror, and intimate takes on the human condition). I’m personally saying this as someone who does think Adventure and Tamers have a lot to praise in terms of their approaches to realism and the unique aspects each bring to the table, and I feel that people like this are doing them more of a disservice by not bothering to uplift them for any reason that isn’t actually just inherently condescending. I mean, even taking this outside of the original tetralogy for a bit, when I was plugging Appmon earlier, there’s a reason I focused more on its theme and character writing and the use of “dark” writing to convey its sheer range, rather than trying to boil it down to a shallow “it looks cheery but gets really messed up later!”, which is unfortunately an argument I’ve been seeing about it lately.

In the end, when I write my meta, I write it "making a case" for my point of view, and I welcome others to disagree, but if you disagree, I really hope it'll be because you personally disagree, and not because the entire fanbase has been saying otherwise for twenty years and I sound like a radical. I’m not saying that everyone’s consensus takes are completely unfounded, but frankly speaking, this fanbase has some really bad takes, and in the past few years I’ve found it freeing to not only “say what you feel without worrying what others think”, but actually go out of my way to outright try and purge all the preconceived notions and pick only the ones I agree with because I actually agree with them. I encourage you to do it too! And if you do, you might find things about something you like that you didn’t realize before.

#digimon #shiha's ask box #sage-striaton #digimon adventure #digimon adventure 02 #digimon tamers #digimon frontier #shihameta

72 notes · View notes

julek · 4 years

Text

five times jaskier does nice things for roach, and one time she returns the favor.

(or, jaskier spends a ridiculous amount of time and money on a horse).

“i told you not to touch roach,” geralt says when he hears his mare stomping her feet on the ground, displeased. she’s tethered to a tree near their fire and geralt, now busy brewing some potions, had finished brushing her a few minutes ago.

jaskier curses himself mentally, still not used to geralt and his witcher hearing, capable of listening to a bird’s cry three towns away. reluctantly, he draws his hand away from the horse, grinning innocently in geralt’s direction.

“i was just saying goodnight!” he says, sitting down cross-legged on his bedroll, “first impressions are very important, you know. wouldn’t want her to think i was being impolite on purpose, not when we are this”—he pinches his fingers together—“close to being best friends.”

geralt looks up at him, unimpressed. “she doesn’t like you.”

behind them, roach snorts in agreement, and jaskier splutters in indignance.

the forest is quiet.

no birds chirping, no predators lurking around, no sound. ideal work conditions, in geralt’s opinion. he’s crouched down next to a fallen tree, waiting for the drowners to take his bait.

suddenly, the swamp’s stillness is breached by soft singing and feet stepping on branches. rolling his eyes, geralt stands up as quietly as possible and walks over to jaskier, who’s busy picking flowers from a nearby meadow.

“i told you to stay with roach,” he says in greeting, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

jaskier yelps and turns around to face him, clutching his heart and letting the flowers fall to the ground.

“gods, geralt! warn a guy, would you? i thought you were one of those, um… what do you call them? swimmers.”

“drowners.”

“my words exactly,” he says, gathering some long stems. “i was waiting with roach, mind you, but i got bored. so i looked around and thought hey! roach looks awfully dull without some pretty flowers weaved in her mane, so here i am.”

geralt lifts his eyebrows, abandoning all hope for a peaceful, quick hunt.

“she’ll trample you to death before she lets you touch her,” he deadpans.

jaskier tsks, already making his way back to their camp with his fresh selection of flowers.

geralt waits for the inevitable.

“fucking ow!” he hears, and feels a smile tugging at his lips. “that doublet was new! that is not how one reacts to gifts, you vicious horse. did that witcher teach you nothing about manners?”

he did, actually. he’s glad she’s putting them to use.

“fuck, i’m cold.”

they’re in the outskirts of blaviken, and much to jaskier’s chagrin, they’re making camp in the forest. winter’s near, and as much as he would have liked to sleep in a warm bed, he would have turned it down anyway. he’d seen the look on geralt’s face as they approached the town, and that had been enough of a reason to follow him into the forest.

jaskier is pacing around the fire, his woolen cloak snug around his shoulders, doing little to protect him from the biting wind. geralt had gone deeper into the forest to hunt something for their dinner and hadn’t yet returned.

he looks over his shoulder at roach, who’s laying down on the ground, her legs tucked under her body. geralt had slung a blanket over her back, and she’d been dozing off for the last half hour, seemingly unfazed by the cold.

he knows it’s a bad decision, and he’ll probably be kicked and yelled at, but right now he can’t find it in himself to care. his fingers are frozen and he can’t feel his ears, and he’s sure he’ll drop dead any minute now from hypothermia, so why not?

“hi, beautiful,” he whispers, crouching down next to roach, watching her reaction. “do you mind if i sit next to you? you see, it’s horribly cold,” he sits down, carefully as not to startle her, “and it’s something my brothers and i used to do, you know? huddling for warmth.”

if roach notices him laying against her side, she doesn’t show it. he gently places his head on top of her spine, and drapes himself in his cloak.

“you’re incredibly warm, did you know that? had i known that before, i would have cuddled you sooner.”

he’s so warm and comfortable he almost doesn’t notice geralt coming back. he hears his footfalls but decides to ignore them, too cozy to move, but roach has other plans. all of a sudden, she stands up, leaving him on the floor, confused.

“wha—roach!” he exclaims, picking himself off the ground. “we were doing fine! what happened?”

geralt smirks as he starts to skin the rabbit. “maybe that will teach you not to bother her.”

“but you don’t understand, i—we were happily laying side by side just a minute ago!” jaskier says, sitting in front of the fire. “you startled her.”

geralt snorts. “i did?”

jaskier rolls his eyes and looks at roach, who’s laying down again, unperturbed. “traitor,” he whispers.

spices, curated meats, oils, and baked goods are all geralt can smell, meaning this particular market isn’t too big and they’ll be out on the road soon. that, if he can get jaskier to hurry and get whatever he so desperately needs.

“oh, that stone is beautiful,” the bard says to a bald salesman, keen on selling him a new ring. “alas, it’s much too expensive for me.”

he gives the salesman a sheepish smile and moves on to the next stall.

“i just need one more thing, dear witcher, and we can be on our way,” he says, grinning.

geralt arches a brow, but says nothing. better not to distract him, he’s learned.

“hello, madam!” he chirps, looking at the goods displayed on her counter, “if you would be so kind, i’d like a full bag of sugar cubes.”

huh. that’s not what geralt had been expecting. cherries, maybe, or a honeycake, not sugar cubes.

jaskier pays the woman and kindly thanks her, then ties the small bag to his belt. “well, i’m done. are we leaving?”

geralt nods.

they make their way to the side of the road, where roach is nibbling on the outgrown grass. he takes the herbs he’d purchased and places them inside roach’s saddlebag, while jaskier resumes his daily chattering.

“you’re looking quite dashing today, my lady,” he says, gently stroking the mare’s neck.

geralt expects roach to hastily brush jaskier’s hand aside, but much to his surprise, she doesn’t, snorting happily instead. he looks at them for a second, dumbfounded.

“geralt? are we going, then?”

“hmm.”

summer is kind enough to let a gentle breeze filter through the trees, giving jaskier a breath of clean air.

he’s got his breeches rolled up to his knees, and his doublet is nowhere to be seen. they’d been traveling nonstop for two long, humid days, the burning sun above them, and jaskier had been too tired to even sing, lazily strumming his lute as he walked next to geralt. then, in the middle of a pointless rant about how the world would be better off without the sun and its infernal heat, jaskier spotted a stream.

grabbing roach’s brush from geralt’s saddlebags, jaskier takes her reins and gently leads her into the stream. she complies, braying lightly as she feels the water on her legs.

“i know, girl,” jaskier says, gathering water on his cupped hands and letting it pour on her head, minding her ears, “it’s too hot out, even for you.”

he looks over to geralt, who’s got his back to them, scrubbing mud from his boots.

“you know,” he murmurs, smoothly brushing her mane, scratching behind her ears, “he doesn’t think we’re friends, you and i.” she snorts in response, and he chuckles. “he still thinks you don’t like me.”

she moves forward, and jaskier’s about to move out of the way to let her walk out of the stream when she bumps her head affectionately against his chest.

“oh,” he whispers, overcome with emotion. “as you know, i’ve become quite the expert at reading geralt’s hums and silences, but this is uncharted territory. animal behavior is foreign to me.”

she swishes her tail, and jaskier huffs out a laugh.

“i’ll give it my own meaning, then,” he says, pressing his nose against her snout. “i love you too.”

the tavern is packed to the brim, overflowing with hearty patrons who served as a great audience, generously rewarding jaskier with applause and tankards of ale with his name written on them.

“thank you, my good men and women, for listening to my tales!” he exclaims, hopping off the stool he’d been using as a makeshift stage.

he heads to the bar, picking up two of the mugs and moving toward the corner where geralt’s sitting, half-hidden under the shadows.

“help yourself, witcher,” he says, smiling brightly. “the crowd was kind to us tonight.”

to you, geralt thinks but doesn’t say. instead, he takes a swig of ale. “so i’ve seen.”

jaskier beams at him, his cheeks flushed and his hair matted with sweat. he downs half his glass, sitting back on his chair, sighing contentedly.

they spend the evening in comfortable silence, jaskier casually making remarks about the town or the last contract, taking small bites out of a piece of bread. after a while, geralt stands up.

“i’ll go check on roach.”

“oh, good!” jaskier says, standing next to him. “i forgot my quill in her saddlebags, i’ll go with you.”

geralt hums, and they walk past the people at the tavern. they reach the half-lit stables at the back, where roach chews on some straw in her stall.

“hey, sweetheart,” jaskier greets, stroking her snout. geralt starts brushing her down, and jaskier looks into her saddlebags for his forgotten quill. a long time ago, geralt had given up on trying to split their belongings into different bags, realizing the your side, my side logic meant nothing to jaskier.

after all, they shared everything. coin, wine, food. beds, sometimes, waking up with their legs entwined, jaskier’s head on geralt’s shoulder, embraced in what they both tried to pass off as the natural seeking of warmth on cold nights, nothing else.

jaskier leans against a pillar, watching geralt take care of his horse. they’d been traveling together for so long, yet it still amazes jaskier to see geralt move around roach. how his gaze softens, and a small smile stretches across his lips, only for roach to see. how he murmurs sweet nothings, rubbing that spot on her jaw he knows she likes.

“okay,” geralt says, “go to sleep, now. we’re leaving at dawn.”

roach bumps her head against geralt’s chest, lovingly, and he gives her a smile.

“goodnight, darling,” jaskier says, sneaking a sugar cube into her mouth. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

when he turns back, geralt’s looking at them with a fond expression, a small smile on his lips. he moves toward jaskier, his eyes soft.

“you’re spoiling her”, he says, amused. this close, jaskier can see geralt’s got a little bit of mud on his chin, and he wants to wipe it off.

“she’s a good horse,” jaskier tells him, feeling roach’s eyes on him. “she deserves nice things.”

“hmm.” geralt closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling softly.

jaskier moves forward, licking his thumb, and gently wipes geralt’s chin. he opens his eyes, watching jaskier.

“there,” jaskier whispers, his thumb now stroking geralt’s cheek.

suddenly, he feels roach nudge him forward with her snout, and he stumbles onwards, clutching geralt’s shirt for balance. they’re close, geralt’s breath on jaskier’s cheek, his hands on the bard’s waist.

“she’s a clever horse, too,” geralt says, pressing the tip of his nose against jaskier’s, rubbing softly.

“she is,” jaskier murmurs against geralt’s lips.

roach nickers softly in agreement.

#mywriting #geraskier #geraskier fanfic #roach deserves soft things

1K notes · View notes

thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years

Text

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Warnings: Smut

A/N: I don’t know why I’m taking so long in writing for Pedro’s softest characters - Catfish and Marcus Pike. Still working on the next chapter of Sunshine, so hopefully I’ll have it ready for you for Thursday!

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit. I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags: @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale

—***—

“Francisco! Get out of there! Did you even wash your hands!?” You threw the towel at him as he scurried away from the bowls of cookie dough set out on the island. He was laughing as he shoved another chunk into his mouth. He could eat this shit forever; it was so good.

“But you know I love it so much.” He mumbled as he chewed, his smile getting bigger. God, he loved Baking Sunday, it was his favorite day of the week. The house always smelled good, you always baked tasty shit, and something about you in that waist apron did a number on him. Yeah, these were good days.

Last night he had gone out with the guys for a few beers and when he said he was heading home early, they all started ragging on him. It was all in good fun, they knew about Sundays and knew that they were going to reap the rewards, too. But even if they were being dicks, he didn’t care, he wasn’t going to wake up late on baking day. He leaned up against the far counter, looking at you as he swallowed, already planning on his next covert theft operation for more.

He might have the brain of a military tactician, but you weren’t no slouch yourself. You were ready.

“Hey Cat?”

“Yeah mijita?”

“You see that bowl the table?” He nodded. “Go open it for me.”

He pushed himself off the counter and sauntered over, thinking he was going to get his taste even sooner than he thought. But when he opened it, it was filled to the brim with chocolate chip cookie dough – his favorite. He could feel his mouth watering at the sight.

“Now that’s yours, so keep your fingers out of my bowls.” You smiled while pointing at him and he groaned in pleasure. You must have made it last night when he was out, which made the most sense because if he was annoying now with his little sneak attacks, he would have climbed you like a tree to get this whole big ass bowl. He walked around the island and yanked open the utensil drawer and pulled out a spoon.

“Oh, now you’re going to get a spoon? You’re a dick, Cat.” There was no malice in your words, and you said them with a laugh. As he walked behind you, he laid a sloppy kiss on the back of your neck as a thank you. Your smile got bigger, a little shiver running down your spine. God, he always managed to turn you on in the littlest of ways.

Frankie sat at the table, eat his prize as you stood at the island, almost zen-like, as you rolled out the different doughs into small balls. The calming familiarity of your movements, combined with the sunlight filling the kitchen, made for a moment of peace you found practically nowhere else but in Frankie’s arms at night. Here was your heaven and you reveled in it.

When you two had saw the house, the cozy craftsman cottage was perfect in every way except the kitchen. But given it had everything else you both wanted, you felt you could compromise and work with what you had. Six months after you and Frankie had moved in, you went away for a weekend with your best friend and came home to a completely renovated kitchen. The boys came and helped him get it done and you cried so hard, he was worried that you were upset at first. Of course, he learned later than night after everyone left how thankful you really were.

As you walked through the familiar routine of Baking Sunday, you hummed a small tune to yourself. One of Frankie’s bigger splurges had been on the professional level oven, letting you bake three or four batches of cookies at once. Soon the mounds of raw dough were turned into warm and gooey cookies laying on the cooling racks.

You began to knead out the dough for the week’s bread when your phone pinged at you. You looked over and saw it was a message from Benny, asking for a couple of loaves of your bread. You smiled.

“Cat, baby, can you get me two more bowls from that cabinet?” You pointed with your toe. Then your phone pinged again, and you saw it was from Tom. “You better make that six bowls.”

“Why so many?” Frankie grunted as he squatted down and began pulling out what you needed.

“Benny and Tom both just texted wanting bread and I’m going to say that Pope and Will are going to text soon, too. Might as well be prepared.

“Well, will my favorite baker need a helping hand?” He brought over the bowls and set them on the counter, giving you a kiss on the temple. You smiled and nodded. Together, you got the bowls prepped and seven loaves of bread ready to rise. As you worked, you saw the texts from the other two and smiled while shaking your head.

“Maybe you should start a group chat so they can send you their orders all at once instead of whenever the mood strikes them.” Frankie covered the last bowl and placed it on the counter under the sunny window. You could have proved them faster in the warming tray of the oven, but you liked giving them the full hour to rise so you could get your workspace cleaned up.

“Mm, maybe.” You hummed as you started the dishwasher and began to wipe down the counters. You weren’t a messy baker, but you hated a dirty space to work in. When the kitchen was cleaned and ready to go, you glanced at the clock and saw you still had half an hour left. Frankie was turned away from you and you could see his back muscles moving under his shirt as he dried the last of the trays. God, you loved his back.

Without hesitation, you walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades before nestling your cheek there. You could feel the warmth of his skin through the cotton against your cheek and you sighed contently. Frankie put the last of the trays on the counter and toss the towel in the dish rack before turning around in your arms.

“Hey.”

He leaned against the counter and wrapped his arms around you as you leaned further into him, head resting on his chest. There were times in his life that he felt he would never have moments or days like this again and here he was, experiencing them regularly. He was thrilled to his toes and he bent his head to kiss the top of yours before resting his chin on the spot. The hazy sun of the summer afternoon filtered through the windows, creating a cocoon, where time stopped, and the world centered only on the two of you. Here the silence was comfortable, and you were surrounded by the smell of yeast and sugar and Frankie. This was as close to heaven as you two would ever get without dying.

As the magical aura of the moment surrounded you, you tipped your head up and propped your chin on his chest to look at him. This man had you wrapped around his finger, although he was likely to say the same thing about you. His soft curls rested on his forehead, free of the worry frown it sometimes held. The scruff along his jawline had hints of gray, as did his hair, but you loved it. It gave him a soft look that fit him so well.

As you continued to drink him in, he smiled at you and his dimple appeared. God, that was so sexy to you and you couldn’t stop yourself from raising up on your tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on it. It deepened as he grinned at your touch. He expected you to kiss him on the lips next, but you instead placed a small kiss on his jaw, letting his beard tickle your lips and face.

You positioned another kiss on the other side of his face, then another on his chin, and a final one on his nose. You pulled back and he smiled at you, his eyes sparkling with love and a little lust. He bent his head to capture your lips, but he was gentle about it. He followed up with a series of pecks against your lips, ones that always made you weak in the knees and he knew it. You moved your hands from his back to the front of his shirt, gripping the soften cotton.

Under your fingers, you heard his heart beginning to beat faster and you knew yours was matching his pace. He kissed you again, harder this time and you respond in kind before pulling back to look at him. The glimmer of lust in his eyes was brighter and his eyes were darker, the soft brown nearly black.

Letting go of his shirt, you pushed yourself out of his arms and stepped back. His arms dropped to his sides and you could see his chest rising as his breaths grew heavier. His eyes were glued to your chest, where your pebbled nipples stood in stark contrast against your thin tee shirt. For all his bravado in many other things, it never failed to surprise Frankie that you were so turned on by him, that your moans, whimpers, and screams were his doing.

You give him a flirty smile as you turned to walk around the kitchen island, letting your fingertips glide along the cool marble, and you walked over to the kitchen table. Leaning against it, you crossed your arms under your breasts, pushing them up and from where you stood, you could see a bulge forming in Frankie’s pants.

“Cat, baby?” The coyness of your smile was matched by your tone of voice.

“Yeah mijita?” His voice had taken on a raspy edge to it, sending a little shiver across your skin.

“Come here, I want to show you something.” You didn’t need to tell him twice and Frankie practically leapt over the island to stand in front of you. You laughed at his grin, akin to a little boy at Christmas time. You moved to sit on the table, letting your legs naturally fall open as you placed your hands on the table behind you. Frankie wedged himself between your thighs and you sighed as you felt your jean skirt bunch up at the top of your thighs. The warm air of the kitchen felt almost cool against the heat of your core.

“Mijita, you are killing me softly over here.” He slightly bent down so his hands were flat against the tabletop and his lips level with your own. You shimmed forward a bit so that the part of you most aching for him could feel his hardness and in return so he could feel how much he turned you on. Frankie groaned at the contact and he rolled his hips to rub up against you. You lolled your head forward to rest it against his, noses touching gently. Despite being warm, you body broke out in goosebumps as pleasure gentle coursed through your body.

After a few more rolls of his hips, Frank angled his face to kiss you, tongue darting out to lick along your lower lip. You sighed as you opened to him and as your tongues began to dance against each other, you could taste the sugar and chocolate of the cookie dough. You kissed passionately until you moved away, needing to take a breath. His plush lips tried to chase you, but you tilted your head and instead he found purchase along your beck, just under your ear.

As you drew a ragged breath, your pleasure crowding out the air in your lungs, you moan when you feel him drag his lips down your neck in those soft kisses that you so adored from him. Your nipples had grown harder and your core wetter with each touch of his skin against yours and you moved your hands from the table to his wrists, needing to feel him to anchor yourself.

“Cat.” His name came out on a sigh and as he continued to kiss down your neck, Frankie was certain he was going to lose it if you said his name again. He instead focused on covering your neck with kisses and he was grateful that you were wearing a v-neck shirt so that he could continue down into your cleavage, where he dipped his tongue between your breasts. He could taste the faint saltiness of your skin, sweat from bread making.

You moved your hands to draw up your shirt, but he stops you, his warm palms almost too hot against your wrists. He lifted his head so he could look you in the eyes – the brown in the them completely gone by now – and his teasing smile seeming almost predatory. He was plotting something, and you grinned back, letting yourself fall back on your palms. You knew he could see your breasts thrusted towards him and you bit back a smile when you heard the growl deep in his chest.

“Patience mijita.” He pulled back, taking you in – a slight sheen of sweat now covering your body and he could see the crotch of your pink panties nearly soaked through. His smile grew wider when he saw it and his mouth watered, wanting to taste everything you had to offer. He stood back and drew himself up to his fill height and you shivered in want.

Before you could admire him fully, he dropped to his knees, placing those blazing hot hands on your calves. You sat up and reached behind you to untie your apron, but he squeezed your leg.

“Stop.” It was a command, but it was soft, and you stopped, an eyebrow raised. “Leave it on.”

“Oh?” Now both eyebrows were raised and you face was split with a shit-eating grin. You could see the blush creeping into his cheeks. Your voice had a rasp to it that sent shivers down to Frankie’s toes, making them curl inside his boots. But he shrugged as you put your hands back onto the tabletop, eager to see what he has planned.

He slowly let his hands drag up your legs until they rested on your thighs, the heat practically scorching the sensitive skin there. You widened your legs, hoping to encourage him higher, but then he took his hands off you and you groaned at the lost of them. But you were moaning again when you saw him push the apron up and you reached your hand out to hold the bunched-up fabric in your hand, out of his way. He smiled.

He brought his hand up to the waistband of your skirt and popped open the button. You helped by shifting your hips so he could drag the worn denim over your hips and down your legs. Without the fabric around your hips, he brought up his hands and placed them against your inner thighs. He pressed and your legs went wider.

You dropped your head back and let out a breathy moan as you felt Frankie’s tongue slide up the cloth of your panty-covered slit. The extra pressure on your clit made your hips jerk and you could feel his smile against you. He did it again and then a third time and by now your panties were so soaked, they clung to your core.

He continued to pleasure you with his tongue, the once smooth fabric feeling rough against your sensitive clit. Suddenly he stopped, and you whimpered, knowing you were so close to your climax. You opened your eyes and looked down at him, noticing that he was watching you with lust-filled lust orbs. Frankie raised his hands to your hips again and tugged at your panties. Dropping the apron, you pushed up on your arms to give you leverage to raise your pelvis and he swiftly dragged the cloth down your legs.

The minute they landed on the ground, Frankie dove under the apron and back between your legs, licking furiously at your clit and the sudden rush of pleasure sent your whole-body vibrating. You body bowed forward and your hands, seemingly on their own, yanked at the fabric to grab onto his head.

The fine hairs of his head felt like silk against your skin, almost as silky as his tongue on you. As you began to shiver from the building of your climax, he moved a hand from your thigh and sunk two fingers into your core, you wet heat surrounding him. The soft fabric of the apron brushed against his neck and ears and added with the other sensations, his cock throbbed painfully.

“Oh god, Cat!” His name ripped from your throat on a sob as you raced towards your orgasm, almost scared of how strong the waves of pleasure were that rolled through you. He pumped his hand a few more times as he sucked on the very part of your anatomy that screamed for attention and you screamed as the tension inside of you broke. Frankie could feel your walls clench around his fingers, almost painfully, and he lapped up everything you gave him. Your hips jerked violently as your aftershocks rolled through you in quick succession.

After what seemed like forever, you untangled your fingers from his hair and pushed him away; the sensitivity you felt was almost painful. He rocked back on his heels and looked up at you, so incredibly turned on by the flush that colored your skin and god, that keening scream you gave when you came just sent a thousand watts of pleasure to his cock. He was so hard, and he wanted nothing more than bury himself so deep inside of you that he felt nothing else in this world.

He spent years chasing highs – the military, his helicopter, even the coke. But none seemed parallel to how he felt with you and Frankie was certain he could bed you every day until he died, and he still wouldn’t get enough of you. He stood on shaky legs, every heaving pant out of your mouth making his skin feel tighter and hotter.

You head, which had been hanging down, rolled to the side and then backwards so that you were looking up at him. God, this man was so beautiful to you and watching the lust on his face as he stood there just looking at you was intoxicating. No man had ever made you feel so wanton and hedonistic as him.

You reached out an arm to drag your hand across the bulge in his pants and the heat of his erection felt scorching through his jeans. His hips jerked at your touch and you could hear the hiss of his breath as he sucked inwards.

“Where do you want your cock, Cat?” You raised your eyebrow at him, and he groaned. You were the girl next door especially with that damned apron on, but god, your mouth was something out of his most deprave fantasies. And you knew it. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

He groaned at the pun as he moved forward. You grabbed the front of his shirt to bring him close and he slightly stumbled against you, that heavy erection pressed up where you wanted him most. But you were always a generous soul.

“What do you want, Cat? Do you want me to suck your cock or do you want to fuck my pussy?” He moaned through gritted teeth. God, you weren’t playing fair.

“Pussy. I want to fuck you so bad.” His eyes were closed now as he was willing everything in him not to come just yet, he had to feel you surrounding him. He wanted to feel the wet heat that haunted his dreams. He didn’t need to tell you twice as your hands made quick work of his belt and then his pants. You reached inside his boxers and you pulled out his erection.

You let your hand ghost over his cock and Frankie grabbed your wrist, the grip almost painful. You drew back and again, propped yourself onto the tabletop, pulling up the apron and widened your thighs in silent invitation. He took it eagerly and notched his head against you. You looked into each other’s eyes as he slowly filled you, your walls stretching almost deliciously.

When he bottomed out, you both paused for a moment and you bowed your heads towards each other so your lips could brush against each other. Frankie wrapped his arms around you, drawing you closer to him so that you were flush from chest to crotch. You brought your hands to his upper

You rolled your hips against him, flexing against his thick cock. He took the hint and pulled back before plunging back into you. You groaned at the sensation; the sound captured by his lips. Soon his easy thrusts began to pick up steam and you pulled away from him to catch your breath, which he robbed you of with every movement of his hips.

Soon you could feel your pleasure building from gentle laps to cresting waves and you knew he felt it too because his hips began to lose their steady rhythm. You tightened your thighs at his waist and your arms at his shoulders.

“Cat. Make me come, I want to feel you.” The words came out on a breathy moan and he buried his face into your neck, nodding in response. He dropped a hand between your bodies and brushed his fingers against your clit. Your moaned. “Yes, like that, baby.”

“Fuck, mijita, you’re killing me.” He ground out the words as he began to thrust faster, his fingers matching pace with his cock. “I fucking love you, you know that?”

“Yes!” The waved broke and your orgasm washed over you, curling your toes. As you bowed into him, your fingers clutched his arms even harder and you both knew your nails were going to leave marks. “Cat, I love you so much, oh god!”

Like before, your aftershocks tore through your words stutter through you. You could feel Frankie stiffening as he came, his groan deep and guttural. As the last of your orgasm petered out, you dropped your head to his shoulder, and he did the same to you. Your heavy breaths mixed together between you.

After several long minutes, Frankie felt like sensation was coming back to his body and he slowly withdrew from you, even as your thighs tightened against the loss. He kissed you gently on the forehead after he pulled away from you, before walking over and grabbing a paper towel.

After gently wetting it, he came back over to clean you up and you pressed gentle kisses to his temple and cheek as he did so. He returned to wash his hands after slipping his cock back inside his pants. You sat a few minutes longer to let sensation return to your legs before sliding off the table to put your panties and skirt back on.

Frankie came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. You laid your hands on his forearms and bumped your head against his. You stood like that for only a moment before the timer pinged at you, causing you both to jump at the shrill sound in the quiet kitchen. You laughed.

“Hey Cat?”

“Yeah mijita?”

“Care to give me a helping hand?”

“Always.”

#francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #fanfic #triple frontier

186 notes · View notes

lokimostly · 5 years

Text

Polaris (Ch.11/?)

Loki x Reader, Pirate!AU Word Count: 3,163 Warnings: none! Summary: Your life has always been set in stone. Born to a wealthy merchant family in the Caribbean, you’ve spent your years as an heiress in the daytime, escaping at night to wander the streets of St. Thomas. Now, on the eve before your life settles into mundanity for good, you discover someone who could change everything– if you choose to trust him, that is.

A/N: Thanks for being so patient, I needed to rework some future plot elements. Everything is lined up nicely now. Enjoy ;)

Chapter One ~ Chapter Two ~ Chapter Three ~ Chapter Four ~ Chapter Five ~ Chapter Six ~ Chapter Seven ~ Chapter Eight ~ Chapter Nine ~ Chapter Ten ~ Chapter Twelve ~ Chapter Thirteen ~ Chapter Fourteen

You woke up suddenly. The sand-covered stone was hard beneath you. Light filtered through the palms, shining from the curved entrance of the rocky overhand and baking the stone floor in its warmth. Rainwater dripped from the ceiling, but there were no outward signs of the storm: no howling wind or flashing lightning to assault your tired vision.

You sat up and gasped in pain- your hands reached for your back, but stalled a bit. Moving your arms hurt. Every inch of your skin ached with soreness. You felt like your muscles had unravelled into string. You gingerly rubbed at your shoulders, finding them sensitive to the touch, and let out an echoing sigh. You couldn’t imagine the state Loki’s body was in.

Loki. Where was he?

You looked around the cave. He was nowhere to be seen.

Despite the protest of your aching limbs, you stood, dusting the sand off of your chemise and pushing up the frilled sleeves. This was now your only piece of clothing to wear, and it was completely indecent. More than that, you had no doubt that the white color would turn sheer when wet.

Lovely, you thought.

Your hair felt stiff from the saltwater. You stepped out onto the long grass and took a deep breath of warm, salty air. The breeze was fine, teasing at your clothing and spinning it round your legs. The palm trees were much smaller and less frightening in the light of day than they had been last night, leaning lazily from side to side and hiding clusters of fruit at the bases of their leaves. Were it not for the fact that you were stuck here, you might have called it paradise.

You followed the path out of the grove of trees, trusting your intuition and walking until the grass turned to sand. The sea unfurled like a map before you: aqua blue, completely flat and sparkling in the sunlight. The storm clouds on the edge of the horizon, black with anger and growing smaller with every passing minute, were the only sign that the storm had existed at all. Everything else about it was warm, windy, and perfect.

Loki stood in the shallows. The water was up to his knees, a sharpened staff in one hand. He stood perfectly still, staring down at the water with intense focus, his wavy hair tied half-back. You watched as the wind teased his hair, pulling at the edges of his billowing shirt, but he did not budge.

Finally you relented to curiosity and called out. “What are you doing?”

Your voice didn’t startle him. “Fishing,” he said shortly. His voice was still ragged from yesterday’s trials, and much deeper than you expected. A pang of guilt twinged inside your chest. You were to blame for that.

“Caught anything?” You asked hopefully.

You watched Loki press his lips together and took that for an answer- he didn’t seem to be in much of a talkative mood. You stood on the water’s edge, unsure what to do. The waves lapped up at the sand, turning it a shade darker before receding. A crab scuttled across the shore. You watched it disappear with bemused curiosity.

Finally, Loki seemed to accept the fact that the universe was not currently handing out fish and lifted his makeshift staff, walking up to the shore. As he came closer, you realized not only that he was limping, but also that his lithe body was covered in bruises. There were the marks along his side from falling to the deck, and new ones you didn’t recognize: miscellaneous scrapes and dark spots, most namely a huge bruise spanning a hand’s length in the middle of his chest. Normally, seeing him unclothed would be a reason to avert your eyes, but clinging to him for dear life– for hours on end, no less – had rather worn off the novelty.

“Did I do that?” You asked, a bit horrified.

Loki’s eyebrows pulled together and he looked down at the bruise you were referring to. He chuckled dryly. “You were determined to kill me, if I were a fish.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head dismissively, reaching up and unravelling the knot that held back his hair. “Don’t be.” Loki let out a noisy sigh and sat down, wincing. He unwrapped a poorly done bandage covering a long cut on the side of his foot. The saltwater had helped, but it still looked raw, and the skin around it was red with agitation. He flipped over the bandage.

You reached forward quickly, catching his wrist. “No, let me.” His blue-green eyes snapped upwards, looking dangerously sharp-edged, but he let go, allowing you to tear a clean piece of cloth from the hem of your chemise and hand it to him.

He raised an eyebrow. The ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Are you not naked enough?”

Your face flushed, but you continued to hold it out stubbornly. “Unless you want to trade clothes, there’s not much I can do about it.”

Loki hummed. His expression was a cross between amused and thoughtful, and it agitated you. He still hadn’t taken the bandage. “What is it?” You snapped finally, emphasizing the cloth in your hand. “I don’t have the plague. Take it.”

He laughed, raising an eyebrow and shaking his head. He took the bandage from you, his hand brushing over yours. “You were easier to embarrass when you were fully clothed.”

Your face flushed. You crossed your arms and said nothing for a moment, watching him re-wrap his foot. Your rebuttal almost came to you too late. “Good to know I’m growing some spine, then.” You turned away, finding distraction in the flat horizon. There’s nothing out there: no land, no ships to speak of, only the sandbars that eventually disappear beneath the blue. Nothing, and no one for uncounted miles.

You felt the familiar ache of despair squeeze your chest. “What are we going do?” You asked quietly, not to Loki, or anyone in particular.

But it was him who answered, one hand on the small of your back. Its presence there wasn’t surprising, and the fact itself shocked you. “Well,” he sighed, with a raise of one dark eyebrow. “We take a look around, for a start.”

Together, you and Loki mapped out the island over the course of the morning. You discovered several things: firstly, that the island was probably three miles long and half as wide, made up of two large hills surrounded by a ring of trees. Your cave was nestled inside the larger of these two mounds of earth and stone. A spring was hidden in the valley between them, bubbling above the ground before it disappeared back into the earth. There were no other caves on the island’s surface, or notable landmarks to speak of.

Secondly, there was food here. Some of the trees were fruit bearing: small, wild mangos, larger than your palm and half bitter. They probably weren’t ripe when you and Loki picked them, but their skin broke beneath your teeth and the nectar was sweet enough to lift your spirits. There were probably other fruits and nuts to be found. You didn’t look hard: Loki’s limp could not be disguised from you, and you adamantly strayed away from any difficult terrain. He had suffered enough on your account.

Thirdly: you were not the first ones here.

“Stop,” Loki said suddenly, making you halt between the wide trees. The sun was nearing its peak, so you had decided to travel back to your hideout in the cover of shade. The heat, though somewhat diluted by the ocean breeze, made you grateful that your clothes were light– even if they were grossly immodest.

Loki set his foot down harshly, and was rewarded with a hollow sound. The two of you shared a similar, conspiring look. You got down on your knees and began pushing away at the sand and loose grass attempting to grow over wooden planks. Loki helped, grunting as he wedged his fingers between one of the boards and pried it loose. A cloud of dust came up and he coughed, looking down. “I can’t see inside.”

“Pull another board,” you suggested, uncovering more planks. They looked half-rotten, and the second one snapped under Loki’s grasp instead of coming out clean. He shrugged, dusting off his hands and setting them on his knees, taking another look. “It’s not deep. A few feet.”

Without waiting for him to make more observations, you swung your legs over and dropped. A shout of protest escaped his lips, but your feet hit the packed ground before he could reach for you, or do anything to stop your descent.

The hole was just deeper than you – that is to say that you could walk beneath the boards without having to duck your head. The light came down in a dusty pillar, and you blinked as you adjusted to the light, coughing at the upheaval of dust that filled your lungs. Then you sucked in a gasp.

“Loki, come down here.”

“Alright, alright,” came his exasperated reply, and the sound of feet on hard earth told you he had landed behind you. He caught your shoulder for balance, removing it just as quickly so as not to offend. You were too distracted by your newfound boon to notice.

Barrels. Barrels and crates and clothes. Or some kind of fabric, anyway. Whoever was here decided to make a stash of their excess supply – from the looks of it, they had either forgotten to return or taken a long trip around.

“Bloody hell,” Loki swore quietly, twisting one of the barrel caps open and looking down at the contents. “There’s salt here.”

“Never mind that,” you said, unfolding a large piece of thick cotton. You swung it over your shoulders and displayed it to him the same way you might show off a dress, half-twirling with a giddy smile. “Now we won’t freeze to death at night.”

Loki chuckled, watching with something like amusement. “Your faith in me to take care of you was that little?”

“No,” you conceded, smirking, “but this helps.” You turned back and continued to rifle through the contents of your findings. There was grain, tightly packed to avoid going bad from the damp, and more textiles: homespun tunics, even a pair of trousers that you silently claimed as your own.

“Pity,” Loki commented over your shoulder, startling you. “I was looking forward to our mutual lack of clothing.”

Your jaw dropped as your face turned red. “Really? You haven’t yet had your fill?”

You were met with that infuriating, wolfish grin and an unabashed shrug. “The threat of death tends to steal away one’s focus.”

You scowled. “I meant of your jesting, not the--” you waved your hand in an inarticulate gesture, earning a laugh on his part.

“That, too.”

You groaned and pulled one of the tunics over your head, ignoring the slightly musty smell. It had clearly been made with someone larger in mind, and almost replaced your chemise in function. Still, with this company, an extra layer couldn’t hurt.

Your face burned like a lamp in the dark. The threat of death, and then relief, and then focus on staying alive had precluded you from spending any time dwelling on your dreams or feelings. Now they were coming back with full, brunt force. You felt the absence of the ring from your finger more than ever, touching the bare skin.

You heard shuffling behind you and turned around to watch Loki lift himself out and offer his hand so you could do the same. You handed him a bundle of clothes first, taking his hand once he set your bounty aside. Despite his soreness Loki lifted you out easily, helping you stand in the grove of trees. He was close, you noticed. You could feel the heat of his bare chest, smell that faint scent of leather and rose that seemed to accompany him no matter his state of undress.

He looked down at you, watched your eyes flicker before you pulled away and gathered the textiles. He shifted his jaw, catching his tongue between his teeth; partly in silent annoyance, and partly to keep himself from making another insufferable comment. Even you had your limits.

He knew how your body felt, clinging to him in the water for hours. For the sake of saving your life Loki had been allowed the discovery of how soft you were against his calloused hands, the way your breath came out and made your chest shudder. He hadn’t sought out the knowledge of you on purpose, but it was his nonetheless. Now he itched for the feel of you in his hands. Like anything Loki had ever sampled, and liked, one taste wasn’t enough– he longed to swallow you whole, to know you inside and out. To make your breath hitch and your heart pound.

And the universe had rewarded him with your company, alone, on a desert island. He was convinced that some part of you shared that mutual desire, even if you refused to admit it. What Loki needed was patience, and time, and enough self-control not to push you into hating him through his own snide remarks. The last one hadn’t even been clever.

His mind didn’t register that you were halfway through the grove and nearly out of sight until you stopped, turning around with a frown. “Are you coming?”

He snapped out of his thoughts of you and met with the reality: waiting expectantly under the dappled light, sun-dried hair pulled by the breeze. An open sky full of air, and the sight of you made it a struggle to breathe.

He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Don’t wait for me.”

The sky was turning muted purple as the sun dipped below the horizon. You finished adjusting your new clothes– the trousers had to be cuffed, of course, and the tunic was sinfully low-cut, with no tassels to make adjustments – but it was better than your chemise, which you had neatly folded next to the other unused garments, now in service as cushions to soften the cave’s unforgiving floor.

You stepped out and walked through the grove to the beach, finding Loki there with a meager fire before him. He was coaxing it to life, encouraging it to take hold of your collected driftwood. You sat down in the sand and pulled the cotton cloth over your shoulders, watching in silence until the fire was crackling happily on its own.

Loki handed you a speared fish to cook over the fire. The afternoon had finally proved fruitful in his attempts to catch something. You took it. The two of you sat in silence, turning over your dinner to brown the sides and eating in silence. The fish was salty, but it was your first real meal in god knew how long.

The stars were coming out. You leaned back on your elbows to watch them appear, silently counting until they became innumerable, blinking in the twilight. You thought back to the book in Loki’s cabin, feeling a pang of regret that it wasn’t with you now. You wished you knew their names.

Loki made a sudden noise, startling you from your thoughts. You turned to find his seaglass eyes skyward, too. “What is it?”

He leaned closer to you and lifted his arm, pointing out a bright light amongst the canopy of stars. “The north star.”

You opened your mouth in silent acknowledgement. Its name was on the tip of your tongue. “Why that one?”

Loki’s brow furrowed gently. “Because it shines the brightest, I suppose.” He sighed, falling back and putting his hands behind his head, reciting the wisdom from memory. “If you can find Polaris, you know your way home.”

Polaris. You savored the name silently on your tongue. “Do you?” You asked, turning away from the stars to look at his face. The starlight and shadow of the fire softened the sharp edges of his features. Loki’s brow furrowed again, and he turned to look at you. “Do I what?”

“Know the way home.”

He hummed in his chest and looked back at the sky with a critical gaze, studying it. He held up one large hand, and after some consideration, pointed to your left. “That way.”

You were surprised at the laugh that escaped your lips, throwing back your head. “How helpful you are. I see now why I should keep you around.”

Loki chuckled in his chest. “I am ever at your service, little one.”

The familiar nickname made your stomach flutter. You dropped from your elbows onto your back, setting your hands on your stomach and doing your best to ignore the fact that his shoulder was pressed against yours.

The fire crackled and sparked, sending embers up into the dark sky where both your gazes were fixed. Loki shifted his jaw and tried to focus: on the warmth of the fire lightly burning against his skin, on the chill of the night breeze and the smell of salt. Anything but the warmth of your skin beneath the fabric that separated you.

A streak of light graced the darkness. He made a wish.

“Well, then,” you sighed, nestling further into the makeshift blanket and letting your eyes fall closed. “What do you think we should do with our time, stuck here for the foreseeable future?”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “I have a few ideas.”

You hummed. “Tell me.”

His chest expanded with an inhale. “You need to learn to swim, to begin with.”

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up, leaning on your elbow to look over him with a stony expression. “Absolutely not.”

“Your ardent refusal is the first reason why.”

“Loki, I was in mortal danger of drowning less than a day ago.”

“That is exactly my point,” he argued evenly, staring up at you with a mild expression. The firelight cast you in a warm, angelic glow that turned his cheeks red to notice. He continued his statement with averted eyes. “You cannot expect to live on a desert island without knowing how to swim.”

“Can’t I?” You challenged, more for the sake of egging him on. Loki wasn’t having it, and growled in his chest as he closed his eyes. “I am too tired for your antics.”

You quieted, staring at his face for a moment longer before dropping onto your back again. The wind picked up, dimming the fire and making you shiver through your cotton wrap. You turned closer to Loki, setting your forehead against his arm. If he noticed, he did nothing in return. You had a suspicion that he was close to falling asleep.

“You had better be a good teacher,” you murmured. You felt him shift beside you, roused by your statement. Then he chuckled softly. “Do you doubt my ability to take care of you?” He asked, his voice low and thick with exhaustion. Your face flushed. The one time you suspected that he didn’t mean it as a double entendre, but you had taken it that way.

In either instance, your answer was the same.

“No. I trust you.”

“Smart girl.”

- - -

Tag List (Closed): @neontiiger, @un-consider-it, @jessiejunebug, @nerdypisces160, @lokiisntdeadbitch, @e-wolf-90, @cursedmoonstone-blog, @kikaninchen-2, @bluebellhairpin, @evy-lyn, @midnight-queen-1, @travelingmypassion, @harrybpoetry, @adefectivedetective, @absolutecraziness13, @kumikokagato, @randomfangirl7, @timetraveler1978, @tarynkauai, @arcanethamin, @ornate-ribcage, @julianettedoe, @kinghiddlestonanddixon, @yespolkadotkitty, @befearlesslyauthenticc, @ladybugsfanfics, @thisisaclusterofablog, @groupies-do-it-better, @just-the-hiddles, @quenilla, @amyy-moonlightt, @pandacookieowo, @thatweirdwalangpake, @alexakeyloveloki, @littlemissporter, @yes-captainstark, @justawriterwithdreams, @beautyandflannel, @eyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, @myoxisbroken, @rjohnson1280, @the-republic-and-face-of-texas, @snapessecretdiary, @sailortaylorfin, @cottoncandy1010, @androgynousdeputyfarmhero, @blackcherry26-blog, @saljstuff, @devilbat, @scarlettghost13, @arch-venus25

#loki #marvel #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x oc #loki x reader fanfic #loki imagine #pirate!au #loki angst #loki fluff #loki smut #loki x reader insert #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #marvel fanfic

238 notes · View notes

inanotheruniversemusings · 4 years

Text

touch down (like a seven four seven)

fill for Supercorptober2020′s prompt: fall

read on ao3

Kara has seen seasons change more often than anything else, on this Earth and the others—in this universe and then some.

Fall remains her favorite though. The marvel of leaves changing from green to various shades of orange and red holds quite the candle to the bluest ocean she’s once seen on a planet one or two lightyears away, or the unfading gold light of the sun from another.

(Maybe it reminds her a bit of Krypton, of red that means life and the rebirth that will follow more than death and destruction.)

There’s really only one shade of color that measures up to how much she loves the season. Her favorite shade of green. But it’s currently on the other side of the world, hidden in the safest place she and everyone in their team managed to think of in the span of a week that’s also been riddled by every sort of attack Leviathan could send their way in their attempts to break Lex Luthor out; and under the most strict instructions of absolute zero contact that Alex has made them both swear to, no matter how much every inch of Kara’s body aches at the mere thought.

But Alex has promised in return that it’ll all be over in two weeks. And Alex never breaks her promises. Kara opts to believe that as she stares at the expanse of the city. Her eyes sweep over the seas of green and red for some semblance of comfort, draining the last dredges of her coffee for the littlest warmth it can offer before chucking the paper cup inside the bin.

Four more days. Kara thinks she’ll be fine.

…

Kara is most definitely not fine.

Two days left—and yes, she definitely has them crossed out in glaring red on the calendar that she’s stuck on her fridge door for this very purpose—and everything that can go wrong has gone wrong.

Everything.

As it turns out, Leviathan has one last trick up their sleeve: an ace in the form of a White Martian that Rao knows how they managed to pull in. It has morphed itself as one of their agents assigned to transfer Lex to the new prison cell they’ve built solely for him, and then switched itself back to its towering form just as Alex has unlocked the gates.

The next thing Kara knows, there’s a hulking alien wreaking havoc all over the DEO, with a gaggle of Leviathan soldiers right behind it. But it’s the boom that ultimately catches Kara’s attention, ringing in her ears in a way that isn’t supposed to.

Loud, and throbbing, and deafening.

Her muscles scream in protest next—or maybe it really is her, her own voice that’s shrieking in pain as she watches the worst shade of green course through her veins. At the corner of her eye, she catches Kal-El not faring well either, falling to his knees in his struggle for air.

Kara’s never been one to hate anybody; has made it a habit to give second chances, a third, a fourth, some fifths.

But she really, really, really hates Lex.

…

Lena though, Kara loves.

Rao, Kara loves her so fiercely. Her unrestricted laughter whenever she and Kara win at game night. The witty retorts she’s no longer scared to throw at Alex’s way.

Her courage. Her tenacity. Her brilliant mind.

Her loyalty. Her good heart. The biggest, greatest good heart Kara’s ever known.

Kara may be the Girl of Steel, but Lena is Kara’s very own personal hero.

It’s something that Lena has never failed to prove. Even during moments when she’s not supposed to.

(Maybe especially then.)

She pops in—quite literally, too, jumping out of a blue portal that pops out in the middle of the fight out of nowhere—armed with two small grenades concealed in one hand, and what might as well be Kara’s heart in the other.

Her broken Lena is pained at first, as she pleads at her to step right back into the portal where she’s come from. Yet, it only gets buried beneath the soundless explosion that follows when both of the grenades leave Lena’s hand and split open at the peak of their arcs, a bright light then filling the room and practically blinding everyone save for Kara and Superman.

What comes next is a blur. Between the much reinforced yellow sun grenades and the adrenaline from finally seeing her favorite pair of green eyes after the longest two weeks of Kara’s life, Kara can’t recall much. Just a ton of punching and kicking, freezing the White Martian until it’s almost a literal block of ice, and the kiss Lena gives her before she goes after Lex’s escaping chopper, wrapped in good luck, kick his ass to the next galaxy, and I love you to the ever expanding universe and back.

…

When it’s all over and Lex is back and finally secured, Kara kisses Lena this time, wraps it in you’ve always been the best out of all of us, I missed you so much, and I love you to the universe and back too.

…

“How—when—but—” Alex sputters as she looks around the mess she’ll have to fix later. Though, ultimately, her gaze settles on Lena, her eyes wide and wild with a mix of utter confusion and unbridled reverence she can’t quite manage to restrain. “You promised!”

“I did,” Lena agrees. But there’s a smirk that takes over her face that Alex can only roll her eyes at. “You made me promise not to contact Kara, and I adhered to that completely. You just never made me promise not to talk to Winn.”

Right behind the other woman, Winn waltzes in as if he’s been beckoned, stepping out of a similar portal that Lena has earlier and gaping at the same mess that Alex is already getting a headache from just thinking about.

(Kara’s sure it’s a mechanism from the future, a technology Lena isn’t even supposed to wield yet, and yet, she does. Of course.)

An exasperated sigh escapes Alex’s lungs, but it’s gratitude that fills the space between them, one that’s soon gone as Alex pulls a surprised Lena to a grateful hug. It’s a sentiment she has no problem letting Lena know, either. “Thanks for saving our asses.”

“I had Winn’s help,” Lena tries to curtail.

Yet, Alex refuses to let her. But she does pull back to give Lena some room, knowing that even after everything and despite all the good she’s done, there are still some things Lena isn’t used to receiving. So she makes a show of looking over her shoulder where Winn is, as if watching his reaction when she says, “I’m sure all he did was send you the blueprint.”

Winn gasps aptly. “How dare you. I sent her the materials too!”

Lena laughs, lets herself be pulled by Kara this time, and sinks into Kara’s arms where she knows she belongs.

…

In a tiny park that lies at the outskirts of the city, this is where Kara finally gets to enjoy the beginnings of her favorite season.

She basks in the scent of the cool Autumn air that fills her as she drops her weight on the back of one of the wooden benches facing the small lake. And there’s a kind of warmth that spreads all over her chest that has absolutely nothing to do with the cup of pumpkin spice latte resting in her hands.

It’s Lena. It always has been Lena.

The one constant in Kara’s life that she knows she can depend on—though there was a time that Lena wasn’t, and Kara will spend the rest of her life making up for that—even more constant and sure than the changing seasons.

Lena who knows each one of Kara’s smiles, and the reason behind every crinkle in her forehead.

Lena who probably will never understand Kara’s affinity for feeding ducks, but brings a loaf of bread anyway.

Lena, who Kara is sure now she loves even more than Fall itself.

…

“So how was Undredal?”

Lena hums, burrowing into Kara’s side as another breeze ruffles her hair. “Very green. Very humble. And the people are lovely.”

“Yeah?” Kara replies. She leans down a little bit to plant a tender kiss on Lena’s temple, and then adds with a teasing grin. “Met someone?”

“I did, actually,” Lena says much to Kara’s horror. “He’s cute, and quite the perfect gentleman during our dates. A bit scruffy but it works for him. Comes up to my waist when he stands to greet me every time he sees me.”

The rest of Lena’s words don’t seem to register in Kara’s mind, her thoughts suddenly stuck on a loop that repeats nothing else but dates, and her heart pounding in a way she really doesn’t like—has her sputtering through. “D-dates?”

Her face twists in a way that sends a jolt straight to Lena’s heart, aching to soothe it. She forgets about her quip entirely then; says, “He’s my neighbor’s dog, darling. They were a kind elderly couple that baked scones for me almost every day that I spent there.”

“Oh,” Kara mumbles as realization dawns at her, the rest of Lena’s words finally filtering in; can’t help but whine, “Lena.”

“They do keep trying to set me up with their son though. I must admit I admire their persistence.”

“Lena!”

(But, oh, Kara loves her so.)

#supercorp #supercorptober2020 #myfics

11 notes · View notes

rafivadafreddy · 4 years

Text

Pretty Little Psycho

A Nevada Ramirez and Nettie Perez Story. Part One.

Summery: Nettie is a girl with a horrible past. After her aunt left her house in her name, Nettie moves to Washington Heights. There she is able to stay low and not get noticed by many people. Until one night Nevada comes into the shop she works to leave a shipment in the back. (Yes another OFC. Only cause I can’t write fics with y/n. I need description! so.. sorry.)

Word Count: 2,019 Warnings: Cursing (surprise!) Panic attack. Talk about drugs. Nevada gets handsy, some spanish in there.

Living in Washington Heights for the past six months had been a nice experience so far. Her last living relative passed away and left a small home for Nettie. One by one, death came for her family members until she was the last one standing. Her grandparents died from natural causes, at least that’s what she was told when younger. Her father was shot, right in front of Little Nettie at the time. She was only 10 years old. Her mother died a few years later, Nettie had been 17, being used as a rag doll most of the time for her mother’s pimps whenever they were over. So, when she came home and saw her mother with a needle in her arm and not moving. Her pimp nowhere to be found, not that that surprised Nettie. She could only guess what had happened. By the time the paramedics arrived. Nettie already knew her mother was gone. Something Nettie felt no remorse over. Living with her mother meant living in a home filled with men, drugs and alcohol. Nettie being smacked around and used as they pleased. Nettie could only think ‘good riddance’ after the funeral.

The only living family left was an aunt who lived in Washington Heights. Nettie lived with the crazy old bat until she went off to college. Getting her degree in dance and fine arts. Taking up self-defense classes as well, needing to protect herself. Nettie could barely go near men without freaking out the slightest. When she graduated, her aunt died and left her house to Nettie. It was paid for and all Nettie would have to do is keep up with the bills.

So, with a heavy heart, the 25-year-old girl headed back a neighborhood in the northern part of Manhattan; Washington Heights. Not that she wanted that, but Nettie figured she would live in the house and work until she could get enough money to leave New York behind and never return.

Even with her degree, Washington Heights didn’t give her lots of options for jobs, meaning that Nettie had to accept whatever crap job that would accept her. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, right? With nothing to her name but student loans, Nettie accepted a job at a coffee shop where she learned how to brew the perfect coffee and even bake. The owners were a kind older couple who always spoke to Nettie about their grandchildren and children who lived all the way in Miami.

Life was going nicely for the girl she kept her head down and didn’t cause trouble. She never went out, didn’t bother to go to the clubs. If she wanted to drink, she would buy her liquor from the store and drink at home. Nettie wasn’t known to anyone, except those who came by the café and were regulars. Then they knew her name. Just the first, she never dared give out her last name. It was a curse after all.

It was late one night, being asked to close the shop, Nettie assured Camila and Dalvin that she would be alright.

“There are some supplies coming in tonight. Just… let them take the things out back. Okay? Don’t ask questions.” Dalvin told Nettie who was confused but nodded.

“You got it boss, I won’t ask, even if that sounds super suspicious.” She smiled and assured the two she’ll be fine.

They had left since Camila had been feeling some pain in her knees and since Dalvin was the only one around to help his wife. They left and Nettie continued to clean up. Having some pastries as she cleaned. Glad that everything was freshly made and so they wouldn’t mind her eating.

Putting on music, hooking her phone to the stereo and playing her dance playlist. Nettie grinned as Daddy Yankee started to play. Nettie grabbed the broom and danced along to Gasolina, singing along and just getting lost in the music.

“Ella prende la turbina No discrimina No se pierde ni un party de marquesina Se acicala va pa la esquina Luce también que hasta la sombra le combina Asesina, me domina Janguea en carro, motora, y limusina Llena su tanque de adrenalina Cuando escucha Reggaetón en la cocina”

As she danced along with the broom as her partner, doing a simple Merengue step dance. Nettie never heard the door open and people entering the café. To her, she had locked the doors, so she had nothing to worry about. By the time the song was over, and it changed to Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie. Nettie let out a yelp when someone started to clap.

“Who the fuck are you, puto and how did you get in here?” she demanded, gripping the broom in her hand. Ready to use it as a weapon.

“Now cariño, that’s not very nice of you to say hum… I would hate for something to happen to this…. Cute little place.” The guy in the middle who wore all black said.

That caused Nettie to pale, she looked at the men and took a step back. “I’m sorry… please, just do what you need. I won’t get in your way.” She assured them and quickly went over to turn off her music. Only to be told to keep it on. Leaving it, Nettie took a deep breath before returning to work. Sweeping the floors and starting to wipe down the tables and counters.

“So mami… who are you and why have I never seen you before?” the same man from before asked as he stepped closer to her. Nettie glad she was on the other side of the counter.

“First of all, with all due respect. I’m not your ‘mami’ so stop that.” She eyed him before licking her lips. “My name is Nettie. I mainly stay at home… and to myself.” She added, decided to humor him since she didn’t want anything to happen to the café.

Excusing herself, she quickly returned to her cleaning and grabbed the garbage bags to take out back to the dumpster. It was when she was outside, lifting the bags up did she feel a hand on her shoulder. A masculine hand at that.

Dropping the bag, grabbing the unknown hand and turning around quickly, twisting the man’s arm around harshly and pushing him against the building brick wall.

“AH YOU CRAZY PUTA! LET ME GO! NEVADA!” the guy yelled out, undoubtedly in pain. The way she held his twisted arm behind his back, Nettie was sure to press down on the pressure point in his hand.

When the back door opened again and the man in black came out with his henchmen. They stared with wide eyes. “Nettie… can you let go of Jose… I sent him out here to help you with the trash bags. Not to get attacked.” The guy she had talked to before had spoken.

“Well, next time. Tell him not to sneak up on a girl!” she said through gritted teeth and let the guys arm go and took a step back. Breathing heavily, Nettie blinked a few times before rolling her eyes. Going back to the trash bags, she threw them into the dumpster.

“Look, do your business. Let me do mine. I don’t need any help.” She eyed the four of them and pushed past to get back inside.

Letting out a breath of air that Nettie didn’t even realize she was holding. She went back to the front of the shore and rubbed at her forehead.

“Mira aquí mami… i don’t know who the fuck you think you are. But what you just pulled? Not fucking cool.” The guy in black said as he came over to where Nettie was seated.

“Yeah well, I’m not here to please you. Sorry, I’m here to work and get my paycheck.” She mumbled and hissed at the pain in her head. Grabbing her purse, Nettie quickly grabbed a bottle of Advil and took one, drowning down the pill with the water in her water bottle.

“Jefe! All done.” The guy she had attacked called out, narrowing his eyes at Nettie who glared back.

“Great! Goodbye, see you next time you decide to do whatever it is you did. Have a nice night!” Nettie jumped up and grabbed the keys to the café and her things.

“I’m going to give you a warning this time, mami because I happen to like Dalvin and Camila… Next time you treat us so poorly, well you’re going to regret messing with Trujillo”

Staring at him, confused. Nettie opened her mouth to say something but shut it. Only to repeat the process a few times. “I- I’m sorry, did you just refer yourself to Trujillo? Rafael Trujillo? Please tell me you didn’t and that’s your name.” she bit down on her lip. Knowing she was probably messing with the wrong people, but Nettie did not have a filter for her mouth. It was probably why her father was killed. Mouthed off the wrong people.

By the looks of the guys henchmen, Nettie knew she was playing with fire.

“Do you have a death wish you crazy puta?” he snapped, stepping closer to her and Nettie visibly tensed up. “Now… the next time we run into each other. I expect you to have better manners… Me entiendes mami?” he spoke lowly as his hand reached up and wrapped themselves around her neck, gripping at the soft skin as he glazed into her eyes.

“Sí… entiendo.” She found herself mumbling as her heart raced in her chest. Her breathing became harder and she was trying not to gasp for air in front of this man. Her chest ached something awful and Nettie didn’t even realize she was crying until the man backed away and stared at her in shock.

Backing away and wrapping her arms around herself, Nettie slid down the wall she found herself up against and she tried to calm down but that just seemed to make it worse. Nettie felt like she was going to be sick and could barely focus on what was going on around her. Her nails digging into her skin and soon someone was in front of her.

“Okay chica… listen to me. You gotta control your breathing.” A voice she didn’t recognize spoke to her. “Come on… breath with me. In. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Now out. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…” he felt doing that while holding her hands until Nettie finally got her breathing back to normal.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” but she could hardly get a sentence out.

“No, none of that.” The man shook his head and quickly got up and grabbed a chocolate from the counter. “Come on. Eat this and you’ll be fine.” He smiled before glancing over at his boss. “My nephew has panic attacks all the time.” He explained and the guy just groaned.

“Fuck…” he mumbled and nodded to her. “Grab her things and let’s get out of here. We’ll drop her home.” He turned on his heel and walked out.

Nettie allowed the guy to help her up and grabbing her bag, they walked out of the shop. Miguel, she leaned was who helped her. He locked up the café and assisted Nettie into the black escalade. Once telling them her address, she closed her eyes and just waited to get home.

“Gracias, I’ll… I’ll make sure to respect you next time Trujillo.” Nettie said in a soft voice as the car was pulling up to her home fifteen minutes later.

“Nevada…” he sighed as he watched her get out. “My name is Nevada Ramirez. Just watch your mouth next time.” He said simply, looking forward again.

Nettie just bit her lip and nodded before bidding them goodnight and walking up to the house and letting herself in. Hearing the car drive off after she locked the door, Nettie dragged her feet to her room and passed out on top of the covers. Never realizing she had left her bag on the floor of the black escalade.

Tagging- @the-baby-bookworm

Kinda not sure how long this will be. Probably just 5 parts with how I have my ideas written out. I hope you enjoyed. Heart and Re-blog

#nevada ramirez #nevada ramirez fanfiction #nevada ramirez fanfic #nevada ramirez x reader #nevada ramirez x you #nevada ramirez x oc #nevada ramirez smut #nevada ramirez fic #raul esparza #rafael barba #rafael barba fanfic #raul esparza fanfic #raul esparza fanfiction

40 notes · View notes

sharksandothernonsense · 5 years

Text

Traditions (Redwall Secret Santa 2019)

Written for @divebombmod, for the @redwall-secret-santa exchange! This was based on the prompt “Matthias and Cornflower enjoy a summer day together”; I went a touch angstier than I meant to at the beginning, but I hope you still enjoy reading it!

(Posting to this blog for easier sorting--this is a sideblog to @autobotscoutriella, but I was afraid this would get lost in the Transformers stuff today.)

AO3 Link for anyone who prefers to read it there)

The first morning of summer dawned warm, bright, and cloudless, the sun burning away the last few traces of spring dew on its journey into the sky. Golden traces of sunlight danced across the Abbey pond, rippling reflections turning the still water into a kaleidoscope of colors that danced under a brilliant blue sky.

Matthias the Warrior made his way across the Abbey grounds at a leisurely pace, taking the time to admire his beloved home along the way. The seasons never changed Redwall, no matter what effect they had on the creatures that lived there; the weathered red sandstone had stood tall and strong and safe through countless winters and summers, and Matthias had no doubt that the Abbey would outlive him and many generations after him.

“Morning, Matthias!” Jess Squirrel bounded out of an apple tree with an armload of dead branches strapped to her back, straightening up and adjusting her bundle. “Have you seen Cornflower this morning?”

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t.” Matthias paused mid-stride, momentarily distracted from the beauty around him. “Is everything all right, Jess?”

“As far as I know, it is,” the squirrel told him. “She mentioned looking for you when I passed her a few minutes ago, that’s all. Shall I help you look for her?”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll find her.” Matthias smiled and changed course, starting toward the outer wall and the nearest stairs. His wife had her predictable patterns, especially when the seasons changed, and he knew exactly where to start looking.

Sure enough, Cornflower stood on the walltop over the gateway, gazing out over the Abbey grounds, the pond, and the orchard. Matthias called her name as he approached, and was rewarded with a smile, one that still took his breath away just as much as it had the first time he had met her all those seasons ago.

“What’s going on?” The Warrior wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders, the two of them leaning against each other as they watched the Abbey coming to life below them. Everywhere they looked, creatures bustled back and forth, beginning to prepare the lawns for the new season’s celebration planned that afternoon.

Cornflower rested her head on his shoulder, humming softly before speaking. “Nothing, really. It’s going to be a beautiful day.”

Matthias smiled at her. “Not as beautiful as you.” He kissed the top of her head and held her a little closer. “But I know there’s something on your mind. Is anything wrong?”

“No, not exactly.” Cornflower sighed and leaned contentedly into Matthias’s side. “Season changes always remind me of waiting for you and Matti to return. He was so young last summer—they all were.”

Matthias nodded, sobering as he remembered their long quest, the terrible fear of not knowing if he would rescue his son in time, or if either of them would ever see Cornflower again. It must have been even worse for Cornflower, waiting at Redwall and facing down the raven general without knowing where they were or if they were even alive. And if he thought further back, to the Summer of the Late Rose, the memories of the terrible war and all the friends they had lost still lingered. “Summers haven’t always been easy for us, have they?”

Cornflower laughed softly. “No, they haven’t. It’s a shame. Summer has always been my favorite season. It’s so beautiful. The birds, the flowers, soft night breezes, watching the little ones chase fireflies…but the memories are still hard.”

Matthias rubbed her shoulder, watching Ambrose Spike and the young otter Cheek working together, with much grumbling and mock-complaining, to set up the first long trestle in the orchard. “You know what? We need some summer traditions that don’t involve kidnapping, mayhem, or the Abbey under siege.”

“Do you think so?” Cornflower tilted her chin up slightly so she could meet his gaze, a hint of mischief in her smile. “Well, I suppose that sounds like a good idea, as long as it doesn’t involve fishing.”

“Oh no.” Matthias laughed at the thought. “Matti and Sister May have taken over that tradition. Perhaps we could convince them to share the pond and enjoy a quiet midnight sail?”

“You may not need your sleep, o Warrior of Redwall, but I do,” Cornflower teased. “Perhaps we could find a tradition that doesn’t take place in the middle of the night.”

Matthias watched the Abbot, Sister Agnes, and John Churchmouse setting out a breakfast table beside the main Abbey door, arranging it so that creatures could either put together trays and find somewhere to relax and eat, or simply pause for something on their way to complete the morning’s tasks. “I might have an idea. How would you feel about taking our breakfast outside the Abbey today?”

“Outside?” Cornflower blinked in surprise. “Well, we can’t go on too much of an excursion. The Summer Feast is tonight, and they’ll need our help with the preparations soon.”

“I’m sure they can spare us for a little while. Besides, I know you’ve been working harder than any of them in the kitchens, and Mattimeo and I spent all of yesterday helping Foremole and his crew prepare the baking pit for tonight,” Matthias reasoned. “There are plenty of willing paws already helping, and we’ll be back in plenty of time for the final preparations. What do you say? A breakfast picnic in Mossflower Wood? It’s a beautiful day. We should at least stop for a little while to enjoy it. I’m sure our friends will understand.”

“You make a very convincing argument.” Cornflower squeezed Matthias’s paw and straightened up briskly. “Right, then, I’ll tell the Abbot you and I will be back before noon, if you’ll pack us a picnic basket.”

***

Mossflower Woods was peaceful and beautiful, with birds twittering in the distance, bees buzzing around newly blooming flowers, and the faint ripple of the River Moss audible on the breeze rustling the towering trees above them. There was no need to hurry, not under these circumstances; Cornflower and Matthias strolled leisurely through the forest, paw in paw, pausing here and there for Cornflower to collect a few pawfuls of herbs for Sister May, and for Matthias to examine a tiny grove of new saplings that had sprung up in a small clearing.

“It’s good to see the forest has recovered so well,” Cornflower remarked, brushing a paw gently along a new clump of brilliant green ferns. “I remember when this part of the woods was still burned and crushed after Cluny’s army passed through. Now you’d never know they were damaged, except for the old tree stumps.”

“And even those have been covered over by moss now. There’s no sign an army was ever here,” Matthias agreed, sitting down beside one of the stumps in question and gazing up at the leaves forming a soft green canopy overhead. Glimpses of a brilliant clear-blue sky were visible through small gaps, and rays of sunlight filtered down to create shimmering golden patterns on the forest floor. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Cornflower settled down close to him, tucking her herbs into a corner of the picnic basket. “It is,” she agreed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been out in Mossflower in summer.” She leaned over the basket and kissed Matthias on the cheek. “Thank you for this. It’s lovely.”

Matthias felt himself blush right to the tips of his ears, the same way he had when she had first kissed him all those seasons ago, and smiled at her. “So you like the tradition?”

“I think we should keep it.” Cornflower smiled, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

“I do too.” Matthias took her paw, and thought how very lucky he was that Cornflower Fieldmouse had agreed to give him the time of day all those seasons ago. “I don’t know where I would be today without you, you know.”

“I know.” Cornflower winked at him, squeezed his paw, and added, “You would still be the Warrior of Redwall, I am sure. And I would still be proud of you. But without you and I, we wouldn’t be here in Mossflower Wood today, making our own traditions—and there is nowhere I’d rather be than at your side.”

There was nothing Matthias could say that could adequately convey what he felt at that moment. Instead, he simply drew Cornflower close, and the two of them sat together in the warm sunshine, listening to the birds sing and the bees buzz overhead as Mossflower Wood came alive with the sounds of summer.

#redwall #redwall secret santa 2019 #Matthias #Cornflower #fanfic

23 notes · View notes

peonybane · 5 years

Text

The Fort pt.1

Pairing: Jung Hoseok (J-Hope) x Reader

Word Count: 1.1 k

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Crack, Implied Smut (for this part)

Summary: While your initial plans for your birthday with your boyfriend had been ruined, he made up for it by making a birthday you’d never forget.

a/n: Happy slightly-early birthday to the platonic love of my life @ropeseok! Hopefully, life will calm down at some point and I’ll be able to finished the entire thing! I love you my friend and may we spend even more birthdays together!

The house was… quiet. Too quiet. Particularly considering the fact that it was one of Hoseok’s rare complete days off. You and him had been planning this day for months, after all. You hadn’t seen each other for a little longer than you had liked, but sacrifices had to be made for this to work.

Of course, unforeseen circumstances at your job made it so that you missed the first half of the day… to which he encouraged you to go to. After all, your job was your pride. The reservations for a few things you both had planned could be sacrificed, he justified. Even if you didn’t like it. He had promised that it would give him time to get something else ready— your present.

As you put your bag and shoes in their designated spot by the front door, you reminisced the way Hoseok’s eyes shined as he reassured you that it would be worth it. And that technically, no, he hadn’t spent his money on you like you’d asked him not to. This automatically set off bells in your head. Just was that pointy-nosed devil planning?

“Hobi? You home?”

Silence.

Well fuck. That wasn’t a good sign. You cautiously continued into the house. Was he nowhere to be found because you texted him like he told you to do when you when you were leaving work?

Just as you entered the living room, something— or rather, someone— grabbed you around your middle from behind, making you yelp. Hoseok laughed immediately, letting you go as you twisted around to face him. You smacked him lightly on the chest. “Dammit, Hobi! Why’d do you that?”

He giggled again. “To get a rise out of you, beautiful.” He gave you a quick peck. “Happy birthday.”

You hummed happily. “Thank you.”

Hoseok grabbed your hands, squeezing them. “I got a surprise for you.”

You smiled, following him. Earlier, when you had initially entered, you hadn’t gotten a good look at the room before Hoseok grabbed you. But now, as he guided you back in, you could take in the room in it’s entirety. You gasped. It was beautiful.

He turned off the main lights in the living room and drew in the curtains, making the room almost dark, even though some of the sunlight filtered through under them. In the dark, he had strung up fairy lights, bathing the room in a gentle glow. In the center of the living room, he had set up a blanket fort, the opening facing the television, YouTube pulled up on the screen.

“You like it, beautiful?”

“Hobi… I love it! It’s beautiful!!!”

You jumped up, hugging him. He hugged you back. “I’m glad. But there’s more to it.”

He kissed your cheek. “Go upstairs and change into your pajamas. Then we’ll get this started.”

You smiled brightly at him. Nodding, you ran off towards your shared room. Once there, you quickly shed off your work clothes and jumped into the shower for a quick refresher, getting rid of all of the sweat that had accumulated on your body. Once you were at least acceptably clean enough, you dried off quickly and raced back to your room, shoving yourself in your pajamas.

Not a moment too soon, you were back in the living room, panting slightly. Hoseok turned around, smiling. “Don’t push yourself sweetie! It’s not like your present is going anywhere.”

You laughed. “As if. If I didn’t rush back here, I get the feeling that whatever baked good you got me would be long gone.”

“You know me too well.”

Hoseok put his hand out to you. Your gaze softened, taking his hand. He led you over to the tent. “Come on. On your knees. The first surprise is inside.”

You couldn’t help yourself as you crouched down. “That’s what she said.”

Hoseok’s laughter filled your ears as you crawled, with him not far behind. The inside was perhaps even more beautiful than the outside.

He had strung up fairy lights in the fort as well, lighting the interior with a soft glow. The floor was strewn with blankets and pillows, giving it an intimate and cozy air. Next to the makeshift bed/couch was a dinning tray: a couple of cupcakes (one of them had a candle in it) and a couple of glasses of milk. You started tearing up. “Oh my god, Hobi! It’s beautiful.”

Hoseok continued to beam with pride, smiling before he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “Happy birthday, love bug. Now get in there.”

He smacked your bottom, earning him a small, delighted yelp. You stuck your tongue out at him before crawling further into the makeshift tent, wiggling your bottom at him. Hoseok giggled again and playfully smacked your bottom again. You sat down on your favorite blanket and Hoseok plopped down beside you.

You giggled as he wrapped you in his arms and proceeded to cover your face in kisses. He rubbed his little pointy nose against yours. “Happy birthday, my love. May we enjoy many, many more.”

He kissed you deeply, making you sigh. When he finally pulled away but still held you in his arms, you whispered, “Me too.”

Hoseok smiled brightly, pulling away entirely. He was gone for only a second, but you missed him. A moment later, he set the dinner tray in your lap, making you smile. He pulled out a match, striking it on the book (he damn near scared you when he almost dropped) and lit the candle. He shook the match out, making you smile.

In the silliest way he could, he sang you happy birthday, his face being gently illuminated by that little light. As soon as he was done singing, he said, “Make a wish!”

Smiling, you closed your eyes, making your wish before blowing out the candle. He clapped excitedly then pulled the candle out. Before you could make a grab for your cupcake, grabbed it for you, taking off the pastel liner. He smiled, “Open wide!”

You closed your eyes, smiling before opening your mouth letting him feed you your favorite cake. You moaned a little with every bright, earning you a small glare, one that you greatly reveled in. Once the both of you had had your cupcakes and finished off the milk that went with it, Hoseok moved the tray of the fort.

Once back inside, he pushed you down to lay flat on your back and crawled on top of you. He smirked as he nuzzled your neck, lacing his fingers with yours. “Tell me, what did my birthday girl wish for her birthday?”

You giggled, “You know exactly what I wished for.”

As always, reviews, comments, asks, and tags are always loved! ~Peony

Next (TBP) -->

Masterlist

#ropeseok #hoseok #bts smut #bts #j hope #hoseok x reader #birthday present #uwu galore #love you!#bts fanfiction #drabble #bts drabble #bts scenario #bts imagine #bts j hope #bts hoseok

38 notes · View notes

beckzorz · 5 years

Text

WORLD ON FIRE (2/12)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader; background skinny!Steve Rogers x Peggy Carter Warnings: Canon-typical violence; language; sexual content. Summary: Brooklyn, 1948. Bucky Barnes, war hero, lives three floors down, and the evenings he comes to watch the sunset with you on the fire escape are the best times in your shabby life. But reality is far uglier than it seems when swinging your legs six floors up with Bucky at your side. On top of a good-for-nothing brother and a poor family upstate, there’s a new mob hitman in town: the Winter Soldier. A/N: Written for @cametobuyplums Fizz’s 2000 Plums Writing Challenge—thanks Fizz! xoxo

2. Wednesday, May 28

Dawn comes too soon for your liking. The birds outside are making their usual early morning racket, and you grumble to yourself as you reach over to close the window. The touch of nighttime chill sends a shiver along your body. You yank your shawl around your shoulders as you wobble over to your galley kitchen and flip on the radio.

Quiet jazz pipes through your little apartment. You hum along as you fry up toast and eggs in the same pan you’ve been using for years. The handle is scuffed, the bottom blackened with use, and you sigh wistfully as you think of the day when you’ll have new things, nicer things. Like your friends, the lucky ones who still spend every Sunday afternoon with you in Prospect Park. Times like this, holed up with your old frying pan, you can’t help but wonder at it. Mary’s a typist for a fancy company in Manhattan; Goldie works for a bank, handling more money than you can imagine. Their pots and pans are shiny, bright enough to catch any man’s eye. Mary’s got a fellow, a nice one with a steady job; Goldie’s always had a string of jaw-dropped admirers at her beck and call. You… You don’t.

Would you even want a slew of suitors? You picture a long line of them, tall and suited and hatted, faces in shadow, and you shudder. No, men with fancy suits and fedoras aren’t your type. Your eyes have always fallen elsewhere. It’s gotten you nowhere, of course, but—well, you’re not so fickle as all that.

Loveless or not, fancy job or not, Mary and Goldie have stuck by you. You adore them for it. Beyond that, you like them. They’re lovely, and it’s nice to listen to them, too—nice to imagine yourself, one day, in their shoes.

And then there’s your brother. You grimace as you plate up your breakfast. Best not to think about him too early in the morning, or you’ll give yourself indigestion.

If nothing else, breakfast is good.

Your eyes drift around your apartment as you chew. You still have to make your bed. There’s a faded paisley tablecloth under your plate, the same one you remember from your faint memory of visiting your aunt with your mother as a toddler. There are still hints of your aunt here and there, but it’s your photo album on the shelf, your favorite books. Here, at least, you’ve made a mark on your own.

—

You slip in the side door to Dr. Simon’s house ten minutes early. His house is one of the nicest in the neighborhood—five stories all to himself. Well, himself and his live-in help.

“Morning, Alice,” you call as you bound down to the basement kitchen.

Alice, fifty-odd and pleasantly wrinkled, glances up from the pile of dishes at the sudsy sink as you burst out from the stairwell, a grin on your face.

“Nice to see you in early for a change,” Alice teases. She nods her head at a plate of warm biscuits. A just reward for a bad night’s sleep.

“Mmm, fank you,” you say around an unladylike chomp. You swallow. “And I’m almost always early!”

“Well, if you say so,” Alice says, laughing. She scrubs at a baking dish—it’s shiny, of course—and quirks her brow at you. “You know someone’s already here?”

“Whaa?!” You nearly spit out your second bite and stare dumbly at the clock. “But—I’m early!”

“It’s that Rogers boy,” Alice says. She shudders. “Poor thing.”

“Rogers boy?” you repeat. “He’s older than me! Don’t tell me I’m a girl.”

“To me, you’re both children,” Alice says. She scrubs harder at the baking dish. “And I can’t help feeling sorry for him. All those ailments, and his poor ma dead near ten years, and him still struggling to scrape along…”

You swallow the last of your biscuit and brush the crumbs off your fingers into the wastebasket. “Golly, Alice, he’s doing alright, isn’t he? Didn’t he meet a girl?”

“Well, but she’s English.”

A roll of your eyes as you pick up the plate to bring to the living-cum-waiting room. “Alright, Alice. See ya later.”

Alice waves goodbye, and you head upstairs. You push the basement door shut with your foot and wander through the dining room, glancing curiously at the curtained glass doors to Dr. Simon’s office. Steve Rogers has always fascinated you, if only because he’s friends with Bucky. Anyone, anything, attached to Bucky Barnes grabs your attention whether you care for it to or not.

You’ve met Steve in passing a few times. He’s always been polite, unassuming until someone did something stupid. You can’t help the twitch in your lips when you think of Steve Rogers, no taller than you and far skinnier, threatening any fool who dared do something he deemed wrong.

Strange, too, to consider how skinny artist Steve Rogers and boxing-champion-turned-war-hero Bucky Barnes grew to be such good friends. You don’t know how they met. Was Steve always so reckless? Was Bucky always so protective? A strange duo, but it seemed to work. At any rate, the few times you’d seen Bucky’s fond exasperation towards Steve, with his big soul and righteous indignation, your heart had melted a little more.

Steve’s low voice filters through the office doors, and you shake your head to clear your thoughts. He’s a patient, not your friend.

Biscuits go on the table in the waiting room, and you glide up the fancy staircase in the foyer as elegantly as you can manage. You settle at your desk in the upstairs office, ankles crossed as you check today’s roster of appointments. Old Ms. Flynn will be in at nine, Mrs. Barnett with her son Teddy around nine-thirty, and so on. Lunch at eleven-thirty; you’ll have to tell Alice to have it ready earlier than usual, but that can wait. First, to type up all of yesterday’s notes for their files.

The day passes in a hazy blur. It’s warm, almost sticky in the office. But there’s a fresh bouquet with lavender on your desk from the front garden, and lunch is delicious, and you get to leave a little early. All in all, a nice Wednesday.

—

… Or not.

When you turn the corner onto your street, you stop short. The woman behind you almost bowls you over, and your surprised gasp catches the attention of the young man sitting on your stoop.

Your brother.

“Sis!”

His babyish face breaks into a sunny grin as he pops to his feet. You sigh and walk over to him, your smile half forced.

“Hi, David.”

David bounds over and wraps you in a too-tight hug.

“I’ve gotta breathe, you goober,” you tell him crossly. You wriggle out of his grip and clutch your purse tightly against your side. “What’re you doing here?”

“Special delivery for my favorite big sister,” David says. “Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

“Fine. Come in, I guess.” You pull out your key and open the door, glancing up and down the street. No one you know, not yet at least.

David whistles as he waits, seemingly oblivious to your obvious discomfort. But after weeks with no word from him, you’ve started to hear things. Things you don’t want to hear, things you wish you could refute.

But you can’t, because you don’t know anything anymore. The sweet eighteen-year old who went off to war came back at twenty with a bad streak. Your baby brother isn’t innocent anymore, whether you know the details or not.

And for the love of god, you really don’t want to know the details.

Five flights up pass in silence, save for his light, cheerful whistle. You’re used to the climb, and David’s never been a whiner. He’s a lot of things, but not that.

You lock the door behind you, glancing around your apartment for anything valuable you’ve left out. Well, not that you have much of value. Everything you do have is all stashed in the usual hiding spots.

Honking from the street has you hurrying to the window. You peer at the empty fire escape and yank the curtains closed.

One deep breath, and then you turn back to David with arms crossed. He’s already sprawled in one of your two rickety chairs, spinning a coin between his fingers. Neat trick, but you’re not impressed. He’s always been good with his hands.

“A delivery, huh?”

He rolls his eyes and pouts. “C’mon, sis, you can put in a little more effort. Aren’t you happy to see me? I came all this way…”

“From where? I don’t even know where you live anymore! Or where you’ve been—”

“Oh, don’t be a worrywart,” he says. “I’m doin’ peachy.” He tugs an envelope out of his pocket, eyes glinting as he holds it up. “And this is for the folks back home. Think you can send it over for me? I never did like the post office.”

The envelope sags a little in his grip. You step closer and take it, eyes widening at the weight. It’s not sealed—you peek inside.

You grip the edge of the table, knees weak. Bills. Twenty dollar bills, a hefty bunch. More than you’ve ever seen in a single place.

“David,” you gasp. “How do you have this?!”

He shrugs.

“David,” you repeat, “how?”

You sink into the other chair, heart hammering. A thousand guesses flash though your head, but you push them all aside as you wait for the truth. The truth, or whatever twisted version of it your brother will tell you.

“Found a good job,” he says. He looks hopeful, earnest, almost like that innocent eighteen-year old who sailed to war. “Ain’tcha proud of me, sis?”

Your heart breaks. You set the envelope aside and grab his hands.

“Oh David, they’ll be so happy. This’ll mean so much to them.”

“Grandma can get her medicine easy as pie,” David says, eyes bright. “And maybe even some good meat for a change.”

You nod, tears pricking at your eyes. You can’t tell him how disappointed you are, not when he’s so darn earnest, so happy to be doing his part to help the folks back home.

After months of nothing from him, you’ll take this, no questions asked. For your family, for those bright eyes, you’ll do it.

—

David teases you over dinner—food you bought, food you cooked—and drops a sloppy kiss on your cheek as he bounds out at twilight. His bright smile never dropped once he’d gotten your approval, and as you watch him go the first half-flight down, you can tell he’s still grinning.

It doesn’t matter that your approval is forced, or that he had to fudge the truth to get it. He’s happy. That’s what matters.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. You don’t like to think of David as a liar. He’s your brother. You love him. If you don’t know what he is, what he does—well, it’s easier that way. For both of you.

#2000plumswritingchallenge #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier imagine #becca writes #world on fire

70 notes · View notes

thegremlinofransei · 5 years

Text

Welcome to the Family | Ch. 1

Resident Evil 7 AU

Fandom: Split, Glass

Rating: M for strong language as well as gory and disturbing violence (it gets worse)

Word Count: ~3K

Summary: It's been three years since Kevin disappeared. However, when he sends Casey a cryptic email detailing his location, she's thrown into a long night of pure, grim horror.

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

Why the hell am I doing this? It's clearly a scam, Casey thought to herself as she chugged along the interstate in her beat-up station wagon. He's probably dead, why would he show up now?

You're doing this because he was your shoulder to cry on throughout your uncle's trial, her conscience replied. You're doing this because you fell in love with him, he's supported you since that day you met on the senior trip to the zoo, you discussed a long-term future with him, and damned if you won't try to bring him back.

There's no turning back now, I suppose, Casey conceded, and she flipped the right-turn indicator for her exit. As a precaution, though, she took out her cellphone and hit the second speed dial option. A low, friendly voice asked confusedly, "Hello?"

"Hey Marcia. It's Casey."

"Hey girl, you alright? You didn't show up to Claire's party the other night. We were talking about it during Prof Staple's lecture and you seemed really thrilled about going!"

"Yeah, no, I'm fine...it's Kevin. I don't think he's dead."

Marcia's voice jumped an octave. "Wait, they actually found him? How? What happened?"

Casey sighed. "I...I don't know how...but he's back somehow. Maybe it's a prank, he wanted me to come pick him up and bring him back to Philadelphia."

"Well, where is he?"

"Dulvey. In Lousiana."

Marcia was stunned. "Hon, that's really far! Besides, it's been three years!"

"I know, I know!" Casey exclaimed, her voice shaky with nervousness. "But...what if it is him? I just...I need to find out what happened. The zoo's been covering up the details of his caretaker assignment since he disappeared, and I need some answers. Best if it comes from him."

Marcia sighed in exasperation. "All right. But you better be back as soon as possible!"

All Casey could muster as she pulled up to a tree-shrouded driveway was a subtle "mhm," and she hung up. She shifted the car into park just off the road, shut it off, and stepped out into the oppressive bayou humidity. Examining the address written on the e-mail printout crumpled in her sweaty palm, she knew that this had to be the right place.

She started up the overgrown trail and continued until she came to the front iron gates of a dreary, looming house. A rusted intercom was perched on one of the rails, and she tried the 'call' button, to no avail. She then tried to yank at the gates themselves, but they were tied together with a chain.

"Well, shit," Casey muttered as she looked back up at the house. She turned to walk back to the car when a side trail, curved around the gates of the estate, caught her eye.

This is a dumbass idea Cooke, her conscience screamed, trying to go back on its conviction to rescue her boyfriend. However, her curiosity won out, so she strengthened her resolve and began to follow the path.

As she journeyed on, she found a dilapidated white van parked- or, rather, broken down- by a busted-open side fence. Whose van is this? she wondered as she cautiously approached it. The door, albeit crooked and beaten in, slid open easily to reveal an interior furnished only by a manila folder.

Casey plucked the folder up and examined it. The words SEWER GATORS were emblazoned across the front, accompanied only by the caption, Sneaking into a Louisiana ghost house. The folder was full of scripts and jotted notes and half-baked ideas, but the red writing on the back of the folder sent a chill down her spine.

JOIN US.

Shivering, she took a step back from the van. Nothing was stopping her from turning back. And yet...she couldn't. It may have just been that the van resembled the one that Kevin drove for the zoo, but she remembered her purpose and steeled her nerves. Stepping toward the fence, she made out another cryptic phrase scrawled on a piece of plywood in a substance resembling mud:

ACCEPT HIS GIFT

I can't do this, I can't do this, Casey screamed internally. This is way too fucking creepy, why is he at an abandoned house like this? Was someone else looking for him too? Her mind raced in terror, attempting and failing to process all of the blatant red flags.

And yet, her legs moved her along with a mind of their own, fueled by all of the memories. The initial awkward smiles as you bumped into him at the tiger exhibit. Holding his hand in the courtroom. Him helping you study for your Intro to Zoology final. Curled up in his apartment under the zoo because Marcia kicked you out for her date night, Casey recalled, trying desperately to think about anything other than the van and persuade herself to trek onward.

The swarms of insects grew thicker, and Casey became increasingly unsettled by the overgrown path and that ever-notorious feeling of being watched. Every time she turned her head to absorb the scenery, she thought she saw something- or someone- just out of the corner of her eye. However, when she whipped back around to look, it always vanished.

After a few more minutes of paranoia and reminiscence, she was snapped back to reality by a murder of crows darting out of an alcove. She peered in and saw that they had been feeding on a deer carcass. Used to the sight from hunting trips with her father, she shrugged off the initial shock and pivoted back to the path.

Casey regretted her entire train of thought up to that point, horrified by what she saw next. A wreath of cow legs was strung up from every angle on the tree branches and rocks, and circular saw blades dangled from it like disturbing Christmas ornaments. She brought her left hand up to her mouth and gasped, attempting to hold the vomit at bay.

Come on, Casey, she told herself as she lowered her quivering hand. Tears were forming in her eyes, and she had to force her trembling jaw to close so as to prevent bugs from entering her throat. You're in redneck country. There's a lot of weird shit like this. Just keep going…

She gingerly approached the monument of flesh and, careful not to touch the rotting carrion, grabbed an exposed rope to duck underneath. All was calm again, until she happened upon a scattered murder of freshly dead crows in the trail. She gulped down her fright, slightly numbed by the eccentric wreath from earlier, and pushed forth.

The trail ended at a small ledge, which overlooked a dead clearing adorned by mangled trees, steaming puddles, and a small house. Casey almost turned away from this obvious event horizon until it caught her eye.

Kevin's Philadelphia Zoo backpack.

It was the first sign of him she had seen in this seventh circle of Hell, and, acting against her better judgment, she hopped down. She ran to where the backpack was rather haphazardly lying against a boulder and unzipped it. Sure enough, Kevin's driving license was on top, except it was covered in black mud.

Wait, this isn't mud, Casey thought. What the hell is this? Wait…this was what was on that sign at the fence…

She dropped it in disgust, jumped back, and looked to the house. Thick ivy had trailed all the way up the chimney, and the forest seemed to have claimed the roof. Seeing as there was nowhere else to go, she made her way to the porch and stepped up. All of the sunlight that lit her unsettling amble prior to this seemed to disappear, as the porch had been draped over by the omnipresent ivy. The only light she had to see by was anything that filtered through and a dim, cone-shaped lamp perched on the wall just to the right of an open door.

Through the door, Casey could only see an old window shutter leaning up against a worn wall. Everything else was pitch black, so she took a few steps inside to get a better look.

creeeaaak- WHAM!

Casey nearly jumped out of her skin as she was plunged into a total abyss of darkness. She fumbled at her belt with her flashlight, clicked the button on the end, and whipped back around to the door, now firmly shut. She ran into it full force, trying to ram it with her left shoulder, but nevertheless, it stayed. Moving the flashlight up to her teeth, she proceeded to shimmy and tug the doorknob with her trembling hands, trying to push the door back open, but it refused to budge, and the doorknob wouldn't turn, indicating that it was locked.

"FUCK!" Casey spit out as she slammed her right arm against the door one last useless time.

She turned back to the room. There was only one other door and an empty corner to curl up and panic in. Knowing it could be her only chance to find an escape route, she puffed her chest and strode up to the other door.

On the other side was a long hallway scattered with lattice and wallpaper, lit by the exposed part of a window covered mostly by a worn-out wardrobe. Every board creaked underfoot as Casey proceeded to the end of the hall. She entered a cluttered kitchen and regained hope for escape when she saw an exposed pair of windows. However, they were only a few inches from a ridge outside upon further inspection, far too tight to squeeze through, and she was back to square one.

The table behind her held a closed soup pot and a newspaper. She reached out to lift the lid from the pot, and, upon seeing the slimy, rotted contents, nearly added a new ingredient to the disgusting concoction. The experience was only worsened by a cockroach skittering over her hand by the rusted lid. She let out a small shriek in disgust and hastily flicked her wrist at the opposite wall a few times until her unwanted partner came free.

Casey moved back to the wall housing the tormenting windows and continued to poke around. Reaching the fridge, she pulled on the handle, but the door only opened the slightest bit. She wrapped her other hand around the door itself and, with one hard pull, threw the door open. The inside was coated with a disgusting goo, and she let the hinges do their work to pull the refrigerator shut again, opting to look at the newspaper back on the table.

Over 20 Missing In Two Years

Casey's mind began to spiral with hopelessness as she backed away. This was a fucking mistake. Kevin's dead. I'm going to die here. She whipped her head around to look at the next set of windows. Boarded up. I should have brought someone with… wait! She went to pull her phone out of her pocket, but terror dawned on her as she realized that it wasn't there. I put it back in my pocket...didn't I? Oh my God, it must have slipped out when I jumped into that clearing.

Keep moving, the panic will make things worse, she reprimanded herself as she continued into the next room. A set of stairs was immediately to her right, so she chose to ascend.

The room at the top was as dilapidated as everything else in the house. A button with the word Stairs carved on the metal plating above it sat crookedly on a support pole. Casey pressed it, praying for some miraculous stairway to the roof so she could slide down, but it didn't respond. She rounded the corner of the room and found a lonely oak dresser donned with a crooked lamp and a VCR tape. She picked up the latter, frantically turned to look around the room for anything else of use, and dejectedly went back down the stairs.

To her right as she descended was another hallway, so Casey began to investigate. Her search took her to another door leading into a sitting area. The furniture was pointed every which way, and papers were strewn all over the floor. As she entered, she noticed two things.

One, there was a fuse box with one fuse missing.

Two, there was a TV turned on, set to play from the VCR.

Casey turned the tape over in her hands, crossed her fingers that it had even one iota of useful information for how to get the hell out of there, and pushed it into the player slot.

A man resembling a rat wearing a suit looked exasperatedly at the camera, then back to his producer, who towered over him. "Where did you find this guy?" he asked.

"Give me a break, Joseph."

"Hey! I only work with professionals. Speaking of which, make sure the sound is right this time, I don't want a repeat of Amarillo."

"That was two fucking years ago!"

"I don't do ADR."

The producer waved to the cameraman to follow him and Joseph, and they hustled up to the derelict house. The cameraman could hear Joseph bitching about him to the producer mixed in with spouting ideas for what shot to use for an intro. Their humble band of three journeyed along the veranda to the closed door.

"Are we rolling?" Joseph asked impatiently. The cameraman gave a thumbs up, and he finished, "Alright. Let's go."

The door was locked, but with one swift kick, the producer gained the motley crew entry. Joseph pushed his way past and asked, "Why are we in hell this time?"

His producer rubs his head in exasperation. "Do you ever prep?"

"What is there to prep? Shitty house, spooky sounds. Ooh, is it haunted?" Joseph grunts in disgust. "I was an anchor, you know."

"Weekend sub, Joseph. Not anchor."

Indignantly, Joseph turned back to his producer and asked, "So, what's the story, Jai?"

"Abandoned farm house. Missing family. Foul play suspected. The usual. Been vacant for three year-"

"Fletcher, get a shot of this! It'd make a great cutaway. So, Jai, Hillbilly Joe and his family go-"

Jai scoffs. "Not hillbillies. The Smiths. Dennis and Patricia Smith. And they were quiet, not backward. Lot of bad rumors about their son, Luke." He took off into the next room while Joseph stayed behind to whine to Fletcher about his shoes. However, when he started calling for Jai again and no reply came, Joseph only grew more pissed.

"I swear to God, this is the last time I work with that guy!" Joseph exclaimed as the pair ventured down the hallway to the sitting room. "I mean, producers come and go, but...a good cameraman like you, Fletcher? Y-you stick with me."

Joseph reached the door to the sitting room just as a raucous clanging sounded from the other side, sending him into another furious outburst. After he cooled down, he reached gingerly for the doorknob and pushed it open.

"Jai?" Joseph called. "Where the fuck is he?" They ventured around the helter-skelter furniture and Joseph crouched by the dusty fireplace. "What the hell?" he exclaimed, tugging at a hidden handle. After a few creaks in the walls, a secret door opened across the room.

"A-alright, new deal. We find Jai and go," Joseph grumbled in a quavering voice. The men crouched and ducked through to the hidden room. Apart from a few crates, the room was notable only for a ragged hole in the floor and a ladder down through it.

"You first," Joseph whimpered out. "Need a nice hero shot of me c-coming down the ladder." Fletcher let out a quick huff, shoved his camera and flashlight into his sweatshirt, and proceeded to descend.

Retrieving his items, Fletcher slowly turned around to find Jai standing like a pillar, facing some pipes along the wall. He reached out and grabbed his shoulder, but Jai's body was limp, and turning him around revealed that his face had been smashed against the pipes as he had a considerable gouge through his right eye and blood poured from his broken teeth.

Fletcher screamed as he fell back, bringing Jai on top of him. The camera began to cut out, and the last shot featured an approaching person in heavy workboots, followed by more shrieks.

Casey didn't have the willpower to hold in her vomit anymore. Assuming that whoever murdered the men in the video wouldn't mind even more filth in their already decrepit home, she stumbled over to the furniture and emptied the contents of her stomach underneath the coffee table.

After wiping her mouth with a crumpled sheet of paper, she weighed her options. She could take a chair to the front door, but it was obvious by this point that she was being deliberately trapped. She could also try to pry open a window, but who knew if her captor is watching from every angle. Hell, she could just give up and await certain death…

But Jai specifically said three years ago. If Kevin is here, I need to know.

Finally, she begrudgingly turned her head to the fireplace.

It was the only way.

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

A/N: This is my first time ever actually writing a fanfic, AU, et thetera so please leave constructive criticism! Please also reblog, like, give me credit, whatever y'all gotta do! I will update this as I have time to do so. If you want to be on the tag list, just drop me an ask specifically asking to be and I'll add you! 😘

Tag List:

@heavens-in-my-mind

23 notes · View notes

thehighlandhealer · 5 years

Text

Unfortunate Mistletoe, Cont. || Bronwyn, Leslie, Cam, Vindrik, & Charleson

Vincent: "Food will never lose appeal." The bird smiled between a mouthful of whatever he had grabbed. He'd yet to figure that out.

Perhaps he should swallow. "I like parties. I like this party." He smoothed his untucked shirt and felt his bowtie. Those were also fun. "I don't smell demon. Where is the demon?"

Charles: Charles bit down on a chuckle. "Slow down. Don't choke yourself, Vincent."

He'd polished off his own snack and reached for a cup to fill with punch. "I'm glad. Mason is... somewhere." Hiding, more than likely. "Possibly outside with the children. Bobby froze the lake, so some people are skating."

Vincent/Mason/Leslie: Bobby was a good egg. He liked him.

"Oh! I don't have stakes but I'm going!" He would ride along on someone's shoulder if he had to.

Mason was indeed hiding. Specifically, he was hiding away the children from a certain witch, fresh from a tree. A kind soul he may be, but he was foreign. Mason needed time.

Leslie was busy taking new photos of the newest decorations, followed around by Ester and Ruby like a tiny flock.

Charles: Laughing, Charles grabbed a cookie from the tower and gestured toward the doors. "Don't worry. We have spare skates. I'll take you out. Did you bring a coat?"

Vincent: "Yes! ... No. But no, I don't need one." Well, if Charles was grabbing, he would grab a cookie as well. No wait, two! Both stuffed in his mouth.

Charles: "If you asphyxiate yourself with baked goods, Bronwyn will have my head. Slow down." Charles led his way toward the front doors, pulling his own coat from the hall closet as they went. "We have spare jackets, as well. It's quite cold."

Vincent: "Are you so concerned about my skin?" If Charles could manage to decipher any of that cookie-stuffed language resembling English.

Charles: A snort. "Yes. Your skin is very important to me. As it should be to you."

Vincent: "Kay." He didn't want to be weighed down by a jacket, and his werebear was absent, so the man before Charles melted from human form to that of a raven. One which would begin hopping around in a figure eight.

"Pick me up!" the bird squawked.

Charles: "I don't know how you plan to skate without human feet, but very well." He bent down to offer the bird a hand, carefully setting him on one shoulder.

The grounds were vast and brightly lit, but the lake wasn't too far of a walk. Cheerful music filtered through speakers mounted around the area, and a good two dozen people enjoyed the biting air. Stopping at a table nearby, he traded his punch for a cup of cocoa. "Warm enough?"

Vincent/Leslie: Vincent settled in with a small shake of his tail feathers. Charles' shoulder was perfectly warm and his clothes the right amount of soft and sturdy.

Leslie was busy trying to figure out what he'd just seen, but Ester was tugging his sleeve for attention. He'd hardly spent a full two minutes with his host and his pang of guilt was short-lived as Ruby joined in demands.

"I'm perfect and you're perfect," said the bird. "Now, to skate! Go!"

Charles: His lips twitched faintly with amusement as he watched the girls pester the witch. He could step in, but he wouldn't. It was Christmas, and scolding could be done another day. "I wouldn't say perfect."

A soft laugh. "Oh, I see. You're expecting me to be your legs. It's been a while. Ruby, Ester, do either of you know how to skate?" He figured he'd take pity, after all.

Vincent/Leslie: "Of course you're my legs." Vincent began to play with Charles' hair. He could make an excellent nest of this.

Both girls craned to look over their shoulders, quite busy with their interview of the witch. Today, they could be mistaken for the twins.

"No," they said in unison.

"But I can make a wicked snowman," said Ester.

"Let's do that," Leslie smiled.

Charles: "Have fun."

Smoothing down his hair, Charles crossed to the box of skates waiting to be claimed, selecting a pair in his size. He had his own, somewhere, but couldn't be bothered to go inside to hunt for them. It had been years since he'd so much as touched them. The things one did for friends. "All right. We'll skate for a bit. Not all of us are immune to the cold. Hold on."

Vincent/Mason: "How many witches do you know?" Vincent asked. A question given in full scratchy voice. Neither of the girls had kept Leslie a secret, but neither had they flaunted his name around the castle-like school. Regardless, the word witches had begun circulating after his visit. A word which made Mason scowl in the raven's direction.

Charles: "Mm. Two. At least to my knowledge. There's a very real possibility that I've met a which without knowing."

He shrugged and crossed to the lake proper on wobbly, doe legs. He was much more graceful on the ice, pushing off swiftly into a gentle glide. "Why do you ask?"

Vincent: Vincent strained his neck to watch Charles' feet during the brief journey towards the ice. Once he proved they would not come crashing down in a heap, he began to resettle.

"I like witches. Obviously."

Charles: "Oh, obviously. Silly me." His lips quirked into the slightest smile before he dropped it.

There was no flourish to his skating. The most he had was an ability remain upright as he glided smoothly around the perimeter of the lake, skirting around couples as he went. "How many witches do you know? I've been learning a bit of magic, myself. When I have the time."

Vincent: "Then you're a witch! I'm acquainted with many! It's my job to be!"

The raven held out his wing, playing signaler for where Charles intended to turn.

"Do you like bears?"

Charles: "I don't know if I'd go so far," he laughed, pausing for just a moment to help a fallen boy to his feet.

"Bears? I suppose." What an odd question. "They're... big. I've never encountered one in the wild, but they're great. Polar bears are quite lovely."

Vincent: Vincent was helpless of the vivacious tone of his voice as he said, "Well, you have one in your house."

Charles: "I'm sorry, what?"

Vincent: "My bear. My Adrik. You said I could bring a plus one."

Charles: "I did. So, he's... a familiar, like yourself? Or a shapeshifter?" He could admit to some curiosity.

Vincent: "He's a Fera. Do you know what that is?"

Charles: "I do not."

Vincent: "Werewolves?"

Charles: "Yes, of course. He's a... werebear?"

Vincent: "Yes. Fera is simpler, isn't it?"

Charles: "I suppose, if less specific. That's fascinating. I look forward to meeting him."

Vincent: "Are you bothered?"

Charles: "Bothered by what, Vincent?"

Vincent: "By a bear being in the house."

Charles: "By a man, capable of shifting into a bear? Of course not. That'd be rather hypocritical of me, don't you think? I trust you wouldn't bring anyone here who would try to hurt anyone."

Vincent: "He was probably a bear first. He's a teddy."

Charles: "If he's sentient, he's a person first."

Vincent: "I was hatched out of an egg. I am bird first."

Charles: "I'm not going to argue with you about your identity, Vincent. But, I don't generally hold full conversations with birds. People, sure."

Vincent: "Because you don't speak their language."

Charles: "Fair enough. It might be an interesting ability."

Vincent: "I knew a witch. Speaking to everything was her only desire in life. She could even speak with inanimate objects."

Charles: "I only speak to inanimate objects when they refuse to cooperate. I'm perfectly fine, provided they don't speak back."

Vincent: "They probably have some things to say about you, too."

Charles: He laughed, brightly. "Well, they can just keep those to themselves. I shudder to think what my computer would say after all the abuse I've put it through. Bloody thing is quite temperamental. Particularly when I have something pressing to finish."

Vincent/Leslie: "I'm sure some expletives would be thrown around between the both of you," said Vincent with mirth.

Leslie was doing what he did best. Their snowman had become something grotesque, with rocks for teeth and stubs for arms. He'd been given a personality, that which had Ruby, Ester, and a handful of other children on the ground and against a tree with laughter.

"'What have you done to me?! My arms are useless!'" Leslie protested in his best Gollum voice.

Bronwyn: Finally having freed herself from impromptu phone call that had taken up more of her time than she would've liked, Bronwyn rejoined the festivities and went in search of her loved ones who were...nowhere to be found. Probably outside.

She grabbed her coat and stepped out, immediately spotting Charles and her familiar.

"I'm back!" she called once she was close enough. "I'm so sorry, that awful man wouldn't get off the phone."

Charles: "Me? I would never!" A lie, if he'd ever told one. His laptop was an 'ill-behaved bastard', more often than not. He scraped to a stop at the druid's approach, ice flying, just at the edge of the lake. "Bronwyn! I'm glad you're back! Are you going to join us?" His cheeks were rosy with cold, but his smile was wide and sunshine-bright.

Vincent: His favorite shoulder above all shoulders! At least metaphorically. Vincent swooped from his perch for his mistress, nearly falling from the ledge of her fuzzy jacket.

"Charles is a witch now! And he's collected more witches!"

Bronwyn: "Point me toward the skates and I will. Easy!" she chuckled when Vincent came to her, greeting him with a scritch to his head. "Is he indeed? Have you been holdin' out on me, Charles?"

Charles: Aww. His shoulder was so lonely, now. "I'm not a witch. But I have met one, recently. He's over there playing with the children. The skates are just there." He gestured with the hand still holding his empty cocoa cup. "I can introduce you first, if you'd like."

Bronwyn: "That'd be lovely. We can get some o' that cocoa while we're at it." With extra marshmallows for Vincent.

Charles: Back to wobbling across the snow. He sat on a nearby bench to change shoes. "So, what was the call about? If you don't mind my asking. " He didn't know what sort of person called on Christmas Eve, short of family or very dear friends.

Bronwyn: "One of my suppliers. He thought now was a good time to tell me that I wasn't goin' to get my order of essential oils until after New Year's."

Charles: "Calling on Christmas Eve with disappointing news. He sounds lovely." When his laces were re-tied, he stood and nodded in the direction of the silly game, raising a hand to the witch as they made their approach. "Leslie! Leslie, can I steal you for a bit? I have someone I'd like you to meet."

Leslie: An exceptionally tall witch. One to rival her revenant. Dirty blond hair was sticking to his face where a snowball had caught his forehead. He was breathless and so were the children. The Gollum voice never failed.

"'Oh, yes! Steals us!'" Ruby covered her mouth with both hands. Leslie cleared his throat.

"Sorry," he coughed, voice raspy, "I've made mistakes."

Bronwyn: "Oh, he's a peach," said Bronwyn, laughing and shaking her head. She would save her anger and annoyance for after the holidays.

Leslie couldn't have made a better first impression, even with the stuck hair and sore voice. It was hard not to immediately like a handsome man playing in the snow with children.

Bronwyn chuckled. "Ye're fine. I have two boys, I can relate." She offered a hand. "Bronwyn MacAllister. It's nice to meet you."

Charles: Charles had to physically turn away from the sight. He dragged a numb hand down his equally numb face and breathed slowly. In. Out. In. Out. Thankfully, Bronwyn had the presence of mind to introduce herself. The telepath was absolutely helpless. And useless.

Leslie: "Bronwyn. What a beautiful name. Leslie Issott."

Oh no. He looked towards Charles' turned back and grinned.

"'What's the matter, precious? Doeses not like my voice?'" His throat was going to be destroyed by tomorrow regardless of meditation.

Bronwyn: Oh yes, she definitely liked this man. "Why thank you, Leslie. My mama chose it on the fly."

She couldn't help but laugh at Charles' brave attempt to maintain his composure. "You all right, darlin'?" she asked him.

Charles: Charles held up a silent hand. God damn it all. It took everything in his power to control his breathing. He knew that if he let the tiniest giggle slip, he was done for. That was always the case, with Leslie Issott. His face had gone from pink to beet-red with the strain, but he managed a tight smile as he turned around. "Perfectly well, thanks." The effort was audible. "The two of you... you should. Magic." Eloquent. A breath. "Bronwyn here is a Druid. Leslie's been teaching me a few spells here and there. He's a fine. Fine teacher."

Leslie: Now it was Leslie covering his mouth. "Oh Trinity," he mumbled, eyes bright from Charles' tomato face. Call it many things, but to the witch it was beautiful.

"Yes, that, but not really. I'm pretty chaotic in teaching."

Bronwyn: Poor Charles. Bronwyn almost felt bad for getting such amusement out of his predicament. Almost.

"Well magic is a chaotic beast, so yer teachin' style works perfectly. I'll bet Charles is an excellent student."

Charles: At least he wasn't alone in this. Biting down hard on his cheek, Charles shook his head. "I enjoy our lessons. Less structure. More... allowing the magic to take us where it will." Had they gotten any real work done at their last meeting? No. But at least he'd done his homework. "He's incredible, Bron. Don't let him fool you."

Leslie: "Am I be - Feels like you're trying to sell me," he chuckled. "So, he said druid? Must be my lucky year. I just introduced myself to a druid in October. More than I've meet in almost a decade."

Cam/Adrik: Per the usual, Cam was always a little late to the party. He mostly did it to avoid being the first person there and that awkward period of small talk before other people arrived. Today he had two large duffle bags slung over his shoulder, and he adjusted them over his jacket as he rang the doorbell. It wasn't like he didn't basically live there on occasion and really had no reason to ring the bell, but today he felt oddly formal, and like he should.

As he waited for someone to answer he heard a crunch of footsteps through the snow behind him, and a glance behind brought the frame of a giant into startling view. The man, at a height of 6'7" and body built to look unmovable, stepped up behind cam. His actual size was hidden beneath a long, burly black coat lined with appeared to be fur, and under his arm was one long present above a small bag of his own.

He had a greying, finely trimmed beard (much nicer than when Vincent last saw him) beard, and for 2 seconds Cam wondered if Charles had ordered some sort of sexy Santa Claus to the party and Cam had misunderstood the invite.

The man looked down at Cam and Cam up at the man, and Cam's brow knit with slight confusion.

"Do I know you?" he asked suddenly, the question burst from his lips like compulsion he couldn't control. The man stared back, and Cam saw the tiniest crease form in his stoic brow.

"I... do not know."

Bronwyn: "Aye, I'm a Druid. We tend to be as rare as unicorns." Bronwyn's brow furrowed. October... Wasn't that when...? "You wouldn't happen to live in North Carolina, would you? In a town called Edenton?"

Charles: "Not selling." He shook his head. "Merely explaining."

No one would hear the doorbell ring. The music was loud, the guests louder. Cameron and his newfound friend would have to enter of their own accord, or circle around back, where more cheerful sounds could be heard. Perhaps, a student or two would breeze right past them, wanting a reprieve from the frosty air by the roaring fire in the den.

Cam/Adrik: After an awkward beat of silence where Cam felt oddly foolish for not just entering of his own accord, opened the door and lead the stranger inside. Cam didn't even bother explaining to his quiet companion where he was going, he simply stepped in, shrugged off his coat, and then picked up his duffle bags to head down the hall.

Adrik followed quietly behind as they followed the sounds of a party further into the mansion.

Charles: Closer, certainly. Inside, the pair would find food, music and general merrymaking. Cam, of course, would recognize a slew of familiar faces. Students, staff, and close friends of the mansion's residents. Young children chasing each other down the halls. Not his host, however. Charles was busy making friendly conversation and freezing his ass off by the lake. If asked, anyone might be able to point the newcomers in his direction.

Vincent/Leslie: "And... this is where I begin to wonder if all druids somehow know one another like some kind of intricate network." Leslie glanced over the woman's shoulder to Charles, question written on his face before returning to her attention. "Yes, actually."

Vincent perked and turned towards the house. Wings stretched excitedly. He had said his bear was here, but now he could feel his presence, and his excitement was almost too much to contain.

And off he went towards the opening door.

Bronwyn: Oop, and off Vincent went.

"That's the benefit o' bein' as rare as unicorns," Bronwyn chuckled. "But no, I just remembered that my sister Deirdre had taken a trip in October to see our cousin and I wondered if just maybe she was the one you'd met. Blonde, around my height?"

Cam/Adrik: Cam mingled with the staff he knew and handed out a couple presents from one of his duffle bags to some that he'd gotten close to. He seemed to do the same for each student he'd ever crossed paths with, or who had been in any of his gym classes, each personalized to something he knew about them. They were all fairly simple gifts, some even homemade, but with thought and care put into each one.

Adrik stood awkwardly amongst strangers, shoulders tensed as he sniffed the air in search of a familiar scent. The mix of people and food made it hard to pinpoint, but eventually Adrik found himself at the back door to the lake, at about the same time Cam set his bags to the side and was preparing to head back out into the cold. With a small nod to Cam they both stepped out into the cold, and the tight line of Adrik's shoulders seemed to relax as soon as he caught sight of a familiar bird flying in his direction.

Cam started to approach his own familiar faces, when a smirk flashed over his lips. A green light flashed and snowballs, one for each familiar face, rose into the air beside him.

"Merry Christmas!" He called to them all before a snowball each sailed in the direction of Charles, Leslie, and Bronwyn.

Charles: He didn't know the question, and could not offer an answer, what he could do was listen on politely as Leslie and Bronwyn became acquainted.

When the snowball flew his way, Charles was quick to step behind Leslie. What good were giants if not for use as human shields? Take one for the team, Issott.

Vincent/Leslie: Vincent didn't take to a shoulder as he had with the others. For Adrik, the bird planted beak first against that impossible chest, as though the raven had splat itself onto a wall. This wall just happened to be made of muscle.

"Teddy!" Ink black wings regrew into pastel long sleeve covered arms winding their way around shoulders and neck. hanging talons into jeans, legs wrapping around hips. He was attached, quite literally.

What was Charles behind him? Oh, that's why.

"I like your sister! I think she's dating my best friend!" The higher volume quite involuntary as he turned his body to the side in defense of not one but two snowballs.

"Cam!" he laughed. "Don't make me retaliate!"

Bronwyn: "Oh yeah, she mentioned that she--ahh, Cameron!" Bronwyn laughed and tried to dodge a snowball but didn't quite make it in time. It had gotten her square in the back.

"I'm goin' to tell Santa on you!"

Cam/Adrik: Adrik chuckled and wrapped his arms around Vincent as he changed.

"Where is your coat? You will catch cold," Adrik rumbled and leaned into the smaller man as if to try and envelope him with his own body.

"I mean, I DID just declare a snowball fight, unless you all are chicken..." Cam called, and this time he crouched down to pack an actual snowball. He tossed it tauntingly in the air beside him as he grinned at the others.

Charles: Chicken? Yes. Definitely. Oh, he was going for cover. There was a massive tree nearby for him to duck behind. Trading one shelter for another, Charles took off at a sprint. "Cameron! I will call for backup!"

Vincent/Leslie: Vincent just smiled. "I told the professor witch I'm not cold." His skin would disagree, but Adrik's body heat was already righting his wrong.

Leslie bit into one of the fingers of his leather gloves, tugging away the material. If this was going to well and truly be a snowball fight, then he needed to feel, especially if magic were a factor.

"I want a nice clean fight from all of you."

Ruby and Ester peeked around the corner of the same tree Charles hid behind.

Bronwyn: "Cam, I'm no' wearing the right outfit for a snowball fight! Charles, scooch over!" Bronwyn quickly hid behind the same tree he'd gone behind. The fuzzy jacket and dress she'd chosen--while festive--would not survive the chaos.

Cam/Adrik: "That's not my fault, Mama B!" Cam called, but of the snowballs that floated into the air beside him, none were aimed at her, or the children. Instead one zoomed towards Leslie (as Cam ALSO threw his packed snowball at Leslie), and the other curled around the tree to nail Charles in the shoulder. Two separate ones rose and hovered over Ruby and Ester, only to poof into gentle puffs of snow and sprinkle snowflakes over the two.

"Better call for back up Charles or I'm gonna win~!"

Adrik chuckled and gently pried his little bird free. A short shrug later and Adrik's heavy coat was off and around Vincent's shoulders. "I only wear it for show, I am a bear after all," and then Vincent was back in his arms.

Charles: "Hey!" He was laughing, as his hiding spot was taken over. "The lot of you! Find your own barrier! I--"

Whatever he'd been about to say was interrupted by the impact. He had no gloves. No hat. But he'd be damned if he took a direct hit without retaliation. Already numb fingers packed a solid ball of snow, and Charles peeked around the tree to fling it. "Les, get out of the way!"

Vincent/Leslie: Vincent groaned dramatically under the mighty weight of Adrik's great coat.

"It's too much! How do you wear this?!" The dramatic fall he had planned was interrupted by a great bear paw scooping him back up. This was also fine.

What even constituted as a clean fight when magic was involved? Magic Ruby and Ester did not (yet) possess? The girls were delighted either way. Absolutely thrilled with Cameron's power. Despite being gentle, the Gollum snowman was being gutted for ammunition.

Leslie sidestepped the shouts, packing one of his own snowballs as he laughed. This was meant for Cameron, but Charles...his back was right there. How could he resist?

Cam/Adrik: "It is not too much," Adrik rumbled in disapproval, but the added weight of his coat did nothing to hinder scooping up his little bird bridal style and holding him tight to his chest. He wore a nice pair of black dress shoes and slacks, a dark maroon button up rolled up to the elbows. All of the clothes were tight and pulled in all the right places, and he seemed not to notice the bite of the cold air around them as his eyes turned to the fight unfolding.

Another snowball at Leslie, then another that smashed over the tree hiding Bronwyn and the girls.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn would only peek out of her hiding spot to take pictures or to dodge any stray snowballs that came a little too close for comfort.

Although Cam's magical little snowfall did give her an idea.

She looked up at the sky and smiled. It was mostly clear save for a couple of clouds, but a couple was all she would need.

A deep breath and a few moments later, the clouds had gathered just a little bit closer and big, beautiful movie snowflakes were gently floating down from the sky. Nothing big enough to drive anyone inside. Just a pretty little flurry to delight and enchant.

Charles: "Et tu, Brute?" This treachery was more than he could stand. The snowball intended for Cameron would fly directly at Leslie. Not to worry, though. He was quick to bend down and scoop up another to throw at Cam, as well. Only Bronwyn was safe.

He glanced up as the clouds drew closer, his eyes widening as the snow began to fall softly about them. Oh. Oh, how lovely. "Bron, is this your doing?" She'd won, as far as the telepath was concerned.

Vincent/Leslie: Vincent laughed at the lot of them. That is, until his attention turned skyward and his eyes full of reverence. So proud of her.

His mouth opened, widening his tongue to catch a few flakes.

Leslie looked up as well, body covered in snow, and smiled.

"Beautiful magic."

Cam/Adrik: Cam looked up just as the snow started to fall, giving a snowball the perfect opportunity to collide with his face. He made a noise of surprise and laughed, wiping the cold substance from his skin before he looked up to admire the sky and the scene unfolding like something from a movie. It was beautiful, and he glanced at Bronwyn as if to ask if she were the culprit.

Adrik chuckled and leaned down to steal a kiss from that open mouth, once there wasn't a tongue sticking out of it.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled at her handiwork and then at the lot of them, unbelievably pleased with herself. "Aye, it's me. It's been a while since I've made it snow. I have more practice just makin' it cold but Mother Nature is already doin' that for me."

Charles: "That she is." His fingers had gone from red to white, still damp with melted snow. He shoved them into his pockets. "It's beautiful, darling. Shall we grab that hot chocolate? It's freezing. And I can't feel my fingers, Cameron." Why, yes, that was an accusatory glance at the green-haired mutant, followed by a twitch of a smile.

Vincent/Leslie: "Can we make a fire?" asked Vincent from the werebear's arms. "Oh! I can make a fire!"

Leslie was utterly fascinated by that man, whatever he was. But he would rather the old-fashioned method.

"Gimmie those." He gestured to Charles' hands. He would warm them himself, sandwiching them between his own and brought to his lips for a long exhale.

Cam/Adrik: Cam grinned at Charles and shrugged innocently.

"I don't know why I'm responsible for that Charles," he lobbed another, poorly aimed, snowball at the professor before starting to walk backwards towards the house.

"Is there a fireplace?" Adrik asked the man in his arms. He knew nothing of this place and was reluctant to let go of Vincent to let him start a flame.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn gave a small gasp. "Yes, please! I also need a gingerbread cookie." And to make sure Cam ate, but she'd be more subtle about that.

"Care to join us, Leslie?"

Charles: "You know precisely why you're responsible for that." He neatly sidestepped the projectile.

His lips titled into the slightest smile. Leslie had been flinging snowballs, same as Charles, but he offered over his chilled hands anyway. "I'm certainly not opposed to a bonfire, Vincent, but you know there are several fireplaces inside. A few of them already lit."

He glanced up at the witch. "You should. There's coffee, tea, cider. I made sure to have a few sugar-free treats on the menu." Not a first, certainly, but it would taste a lie to say that Leslie hadn't been on his mind when he'd finalized the list.

Vincent/Leslie: "It's not the same as starting the fire yourself. Don't you know?"

Vincent pointed towards the house, where Cameron was making his escape. "To the fire, Teddy. Have you ever met a demon? There's one somewhere here."

Leslie just smiled before offering a final long exhale to those hands. The effort warming his as well.

"Thank you, dear. Be delighted." They would be tailed by Ruby and Ester, of course. He'd never had followers quite like these before.

Cam/Adrik: "I have not," Adrik rumbled and followed Cam back into the building without letting go of Vincent. Once inside he let Vincent down so he could help remove Adrik's coat. He'd surely roast alive if he left it on.

Cam dipped inside and went off to find where he'd put his duffel bags.

Bronwyn: The girls would both get a hot chocolate with plenty of marshmallows and a gingerbread cookie before Bronwyn treated herself. Fluffy snowflakes continued to fall, lighter now but still going strong. They'd cease once the cloud was depleted.

"So ye're teachin' Charles magic?" she asked Leslie. "Do you have a particular area of expertise?"

Charles: "Thanks," he smiled, sliding his warmed hands back into his pockets. He'd quietly wait for everyone to help themselves.

Vincent/Leslie: Vincent shook his arms and took a breath once inside. A habit mirrored in bird form, as Bronwyn had seen many times before. He could still feel his feathers regardless of their absence.

"You might meet one today. He's playing with his children. The boy changed my colors once! I made him fly. Charles didn't like that."

Leslie turned to the professor, about to ask what he would like when Bronwyn spoke. Instead, he gestured to the table. What would you like?

"I do. How much does a druid know about mages?" He was curious how knowledgeable Deirdre was as well, and if she'd ever slip with Oliver.

Cam/Adrik: Cam returned with a few packages in hand. A large square one that was fairly hefty in weight was handed to Charles. Inside was a metal chess set with a glass box containing the pieces. the box doubled as the board itself, and inside all of the pieces were moving and shifting slightly, as if alive. "Figured of all the chest sets you have, you don't have one that moves on its own," he grinned.

To Bronwyn he handed a bag, and inside was a gorgeous set of heels, lavender in shade, with a strap around the ankle that looked were embroidered lavender flowers.

Leslie received a small parcel with a little shrimp stuffed animal inside, complete with an adorably embroidered smile, to commemorate their first meeting (the good start of it anyway, a model of a burning car felt a little in bad taste.

Mason's gift remained tucked into his pocket until he saw the demon himself, and both small girls were given small, little gifts of their own, each chosen to suit them, as he had for each one of the kids stashed away in his second duffel bag.

Adrik raised a brow. "I have never heard of a demon with children. Is that a common occurrence?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn would have a cookie as well, and whipped cream instead of marshmallows in her hot chocolate.

"Bein' what I am and havin' the experiences I have, I have a workin' knowledge. Baseline, mind you." Still, Druids in general liked to be aware of others with magic and others who only pretended to have magic.

Cam would be met with a smile and a confused look upon his return, at least until Bronwyn realized that what he was carrying were gifts.

"Aw, thank you, darlin'," she said as she accepted her gift, squealing in delight once she'd peaked inside.

Charles: Charles shook his head with a small smile. He was the host. He'd serve himself last.

When Cameron appeared with his burden, the professor lifted an eyebrow at him. The package was solid and heavy, his curiosity piqued. He had to find a flat surface on which to open it, eyes widening with shock and pleasure as he realized just what it was.

"Oh. Oh, Cam. They move? On their own?" He was positively beaming. "How fascinating! It's incredible, Cameron. Thank you." It took every ounce of his willpower to resist running off to find someone to play with. Where was that bloody magnet when you needed him?

Vincent/Leslie: Leslie turned to the sound of Cameron and smiled. He just managed to resist a dirty joke at his full sack. Completely distasteful!

Perhaps later.

"Hahaha!" He'd never had a stuffed animal like this growing up. Were shrimp stuffed animals even a thing back in the 90s? He turned to the girls to show them.

"Why?" said Ester.

"I work on a food truck," he explained.

"But you're a wizard, Harry."

Both arms dropped to his sides, face deadpan. The girls giggled, and Leslie had to fight a smile.

Vincent shrugged. "I don't think so. I think the Atlas brothers are exceptions because of...something."

Cam/Adrik: "I figured you'd look bangin' in them!" Cam grinned as Bronwyn squealed. He'd hoped she would like them, and the added ankle strap sealed the deal when he saw them.

Then he turned to Charles and nodded, his smile warm. "Yeah, you can also pick them up and move them if you want, or alternatively you can tell them the space to move to! They do like- idle movements while they wait to be moved, and then will walk- or have their own little thing they do when you tell them to move! I had to animate each set of the pieces separately, so it took a while because of how much energy permanent changes take- but if you want sometime- you should teach me how to play."

Adrik hummed and moved so he was standing behind Vincent, and wrapped his arms loosely around Vincent's shoulders as he watched the room. "Who is the host?"

Bronwyn: "They're beautiful, Cam, I love them." Her unofficial son was pulled in for a hug and kissed soundly on the cheek. She would have to find a chance to try them on.

"Are you hungry? Want a cookie?"

Charles: So much effort had gone into the beautiful gift. He was deeply touched, and more than a little excited. Charles was next to pull the mutant into a bone-crushing hug. "I'd love to. I need a fresh opponent."

For now, he'd release Cam from his hold and pick up his gift. The food was completely forgotten as he went to find a corner to sit in and examine each piece thoroughly.

Vincent: Vincent pointed towards the man wandering off. "That one. The short one," he grinned. In all his 5'6" glory, he had no room to speak.

Cam/Adrik: Cam returned the hug to Charles, and watched with a smile as he ran off to look at his gift. "Dunno if I'll be any real competition, but I definitely want to learn." Then he turned to Bronwyn and returned her hug as well. "I would love one!" then he paused and glanced at his gift to Bronwyn. "let me know if they don't fit, I can use my powers to adjust the size, I just took my best guess when I found them."

Adrik's eyes followed the host, and reluctantly he left his little bird to approach Charles. with a stop at his coat he pulled out a long cardboard box, and he gently tapped on Charles' shoulder to get his attention.

"I am Adrik," he said simply and offered Charles the box. "Vincent explained that there were little ones who live here," and that was the only explanation he gave for the box’s contents. Inside were a series of little wooden animal toys, roughly carved but with just enough detail to be clearly be an adorable rendition of the intended animal.

Bronwyn: "Well now ye've gone and opened Pandora's Box," Bronwyn chuckled. "Watch me call you ev'ry time I find a pair of shoes I love that doesn't come in my size."

She got him a cookie and a hot chocolate and took another minute to gush over her gift.

Now to find Leslie for more magic related conversation. It wasn't often she came across a true witch.

Charles: Charles glanced up. And up. And up. How lovely. Another giant. This must be Vincent's bear. He was certainly bear-sized. The professor smiled warmly and stood to take Adrik's hand and the offered box at once.

"Charles. It's a pleasure to meet you, Adrik." Careful fingers opened the lid of the box and his smile widened at the contents. Gifts for his kids always went far with the professor. "Thank you. How very thoughtful. I'm sure the children will love them. Did you carve these yourself?"

Mason/Leslie: Leslie was sitting near the fire with Ruby, Ester, and others he had yet learned the names of. Ruby and Ester were making demands of him, of more voices and to check on their flowers. Could he make the Christmas tree last forever? Would he? Would Charles allow it?

Was this what being a parent was like? No parent could (or should) half-ass this.

Mason watched from the entryway. A sleepy Rory resting on his shoulders, little arms wrapped around his forehead for balance and warmth.

Cam/Adrik: Cam laughed and settled into a cheeky grin. "Well, you feed me every time I'm in your house so even though you're gonna do it anyway, we'll just call it payment if you do want me to fix a pair of shoes for you." He took the offered snacks and tried not to look like he was enjoying her gushing too much.

Adrik nodded. "I am a tattoo artist," he lifts both of his hands, showing Charles the bear paw prints tattooed onto the back of his hands, leading into the forests that disappeared under his button-up. "But I do woodwork as well. I built my home," these were a lot of words for a normally silent bear, so with a small nod to Charles he turned and returned to Vincent's side.

Then Cam spotted Mason, and he grinned as he gave Bronwyn a small hug and promised to return. He approached Mason with a small parcel, and offered it to the demon along with smaller gift for the sleepy child on his head. Inside of Mason's was a dagger made of a black metal, with intricate carvings etched into the black hilt and pommel, as well as a single ruby set into the center of the hilt.

"If you press the ruby, it extends into a sword- or back into the dagger if it's in the sword form," Cam grinned. The blade was seamless, so it was obviously an extension of his powers. "You gave me a sword last year, I thought maybe you'd like something similar, but a little more versatile."

Bronwyn: "It would be lovely if the tree could last forever, wouldn't it?" Bronwyn said as she joined Leslie and the children. "It would be like Christmas ev'ry day."

Charles: "How fascinating." His smile brightened, curiosity piqued. Meeting interesting people was one of his greatest joys. He didn't know many tattoo artists, and he knew fewer individuals who'd built a home from the ground up with their own hands. More besides, he'd never (to his knowledge) met a werebear. But apparently this particular Fera wasn't much for conversation. With a small smile and nod in return, Charles reclaimed his seat and picked up a new chess piece to examine.

Mason/Leslie: Mason studied the piece, posture absolutely perfect for Rory's sake.

"Weavin' your mutation into items now? How are ya doing that? Someone teach ya?" He pressed the ruby, causing his son to squeak in surprise as the blade suddenly lengthened. Much more awake now. The jewel was pressed again and the weapon stuffed in his pocket. "Thanks, kitten."

Leslie turned to the sound of Bronwyn's voice and smiled. Druids were so ethereal and earthly.

"I think, if we ask the tree nicely, we can make it happen. Don't you?"

Cam/Adrik: "I've always been able to do it- or something like it. This is just the first few times I've tried making them do stuff with a purpose- like stay active for specific reasons, and not just be permanent changes, like the nursery- or have minds of their own, like I did to a teddy bear for a friend's kid," Cam shrugged. "I just... decided to try making it have a singular purpose- likes Charles' chess pieces- and your sword." Cam made sure to point out the sheath, a small leather piece with similar markings to it as what was etched into the hilt. "You're welcome."

Then Cam smiled and handed a small package up to Rory, who now seemed awake enough for his gift. Inside was a little metallic fish with iridescent scales, and as soon as Rory went to touch it, it sprang to life, leaping from its bright wrapping paper to zip around through the air around Rory's head. Then it paused in front of the little boy's face, and zipped forward to give his nose a playful smooch.

Adrik stepped up behind Vincent and wrapped his arms around the smaller man, and he leaned down to nuzzle into Vincent's ear.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn returned the smile. Leslie radiated good energy. Nurturing energy. They would get along very well indeed.

"You know, I think we can. But if you ask me," her voice dropped to a dramatic whisper, "We should ask the professor if it's okay for the tree to live here. The tree should feel welcome if this is goin' to be his home."

Charles: Charles was busy introducing himself to his chess set, studying each of the pieces before placing them in their rightful places on the board.

Vincent/Mason/Leslie: Mason caught a glimpse of Rory's gift and smirked. There was more to Cameron than just genetic mutation. Of that he was almost certain. Unlike the less wholesome (in his opinion) magic of witches, such as the one in the corner smiling oh-so-charmingly with his druid, Cameron's magic did not bastardize living things.

Hearing his son giggle turned his smirk into a full-fledged grin. "I think that won ya 'uncle of the year'."

Leslie played along, nodding sagely.

"Why not go ask him, Ester?" Both girls got to their feet, moving with purpose to grab Charles from whatever that was he was going, tugging him towards their guests, both trying to talk over each other. Something about living trees and can the Christmas tree stay. They promise to feed it and read to it as they did their lilies.

Vincent brought his hands to Adrik's forearm, giving a squeeze to that mighty muscle.

"It's warm here, isn't it?" he whispered to the bear. He hadn't meant the temperature, though it was of course that as well.

Cam/Adrik: "Well he'd be right, I am obviously the best uncle," Cam flashed a grin up at Mason, "and I shall relinquish my title to no one."

Adrik tilted his head, and his arms gave Vincent's shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"Is it?" He asked with another nuzzle. "Is there somewhere we may go to... Cool off?"

Bronwyn: "Looks like I'm goin' to need to make more elemental crystals," Bronwyn chuckled once the girls were out of earshot. "This strappin' lad will need some help if he's goin' to stay up." Provided Charles allowed it, of course.

Charles: Laughing softly, Charles allowed the girls to haul him away from his present engagement, a bishop still clutched in one hand. Though it was all but impossible to hear either of the girls when they were trying to out-speak one another, he gathered the gist of the conversation from all present.

"Hm. Well. I don't know about leaving a living tree inside forever." The thing was massive. Charles loved Christmas more than most, but he was charged with thinking long-term. "Why don't we leave it up for a while, then move it outdoors?" So it didn't have to die. He turned to Bronwyn with an eyebrow raised. "Would it be possible to re-plant? We certainly have the space for it. "

Vincent/Mason/Leslie: Leslie's smile widened with Charles' approach. Mason glanced in their direction before returning his attention to Cameron. He wanted to know how being here, all but living here made the mutant feel. Comfortable? Yearning? He brushed his fingers over Cameron's mind. Asking permission his new shtick.

"I can do it," said Leslie. The jewel cousins' eyes lit up. Perhaps a little more skepticism from Ruby. "I can," he insisted to her, laughing.

"Does cool off mean cool off, or something else?" Vincent asked, craning his head around enough to give Adrik a look.

Cam/Adrik: Cam let Mason into his mind with ease, but he appreciated the request. He liked it here. The kids are all great, and being something of a gym teacher and coach was not a career choice he could have predicted. He did miss the action. The rush. The distractions.

Adrik chuckled and leaned down to kiss Vincent's cheek when he turned his head. "Whatever you wish."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn nodded in agreement. "Aye, it's possible. He'll just need a wee bit of extra care so he can take root." Namely, keeping the tree alive so it could take root.

"It's just like replantin' a branch. With enough time and patience it can be done."

Charles: "Splendid." He smiled between the both of them, never doubting their abilities. "In that case, by all means. Our tree is your tree."

Vincent/Mason/Leslie: Leslie's smile widened. "So long as old boy is held steady, and the soil beneath is soft enough to accept him, I can give him roots again."

Now the girls were chattering amongst themselves, trying to think of something else these two witches could root. As far as they were concerned, Bronwyn and Leslie were one and the same.

"Let's sneak away, then," Vincent whispered. "I'll show you around." Adrik was gently tugged towards the nearest hallway. Just an excuse for privacy. About 80% privacy, 20% tour guide.

Mason clasped his hand to Cameron's shoulder.

"As do I," he whispered. "I don't have nearly enough collections."

Cam/Adrik: "I believe I am a bit too large to sneak," Adrik chuckled, but he followed his little bird, as directed.

Cam smiled up at Mason and placed a hand on his arm to give it a squeeze. "Sounds like you and I could both use a little... fun." He grinned.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn beamed at the pair of them. "You wee lassies should think of a spot for him to go so we can start preparin' the soil. Do you think he needs some friends? We can plant flowers for him so he won't be lonely."

Charles: About to mention the hardening winter ground, Charles nodded instead. "That sounds lovely. There's plenty of free space for you girls to choose from. Just remember to dress warmly, please. No running off without your coats."

Vincent/Mason/Leslie: Shouted yeses were thrown back at Charles as the girls ran towards the foyer. Leslie exchanged looks with Bronwyn. He was already tired and he'd only been here a few hours.

"A bear can be quiet. You're quieter than me!" Vincent was whisper-yelling, which really wasn't much better than his full voice.

"What, wanna go on'a collection with me? Again?" Those were a bloody good time. The red blended well coated over Cameron's green hair and eyes.

Cam/Adrik: Adrik chuckled at that and continued to follow.

Cam hesitated for a moment, but a beat later he smirked and nodded. "You know what, yeah," he'd killed enough already, what was a few whose time was up anyway?

Bronwyn: Bronwyn just laughed. There was no denying or containing the excitement and energy of children around Christmas.

"Look at the bright side. We won't have to go diggin' until the springtime."

Charles: "I should probably go with them," Charles sighed, pocketing the chess piece. "They'll stay out there searching for hours, if I let them."

He paused on his way to the door to eye Cameron and Mason with a raised brow. "Are you planning on joining the party, properly? Or at least letting Rory down so that he can?"

Mason/Leslie: Mason smirked, glancing to the side at a foot. "He's gonna be put down early. Look at him." Barely with his eyes open, despite Cameron's gift. Probably had bought him another five minutes of wakefulness.

Leslie stretched and groaned. He turned back to Bronwyn and smiled. "Should we go with him?"

Cam: Cam smiled up at the sleepy boy, and his new toy nestled comfortably against his cheek. "Understandable, he looked ready to pass out before I even walked over here. He chuckled.

Bronwyn: "Aye, we should," she said with a nod. "We're goin' to have to approve the site of our new project if it's goin' to succeed without too much of our energy bein' spent."

Charles: Charles smiled warmly, and reached up to stroke the child's cheek. His boy. So quiet, when he was exhausted. "And not a moment too soon. You'll have plenty of excitement tomorrow, won't you? Where's Cee?" This last question was directed at the demon.

Mason/Leslie: "I'll be back, then." And a true sign of domestication, Charles was given a quick kiss before turning away.

"Come on, Uncle Cam." We have collections to discuss.

Leslie watched the seemingly happy couple and sighed.

"We should be fine. Not my first tree by any means."

Once more turning back to Bronwyn. "So, Montana? Is that where all of you live? Your family, I mean." He'd gathered much intel from Oliver.

Cam: Cam followed Mason with a smile and a nod.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn couldn't help but smile at the lovely scene, grateful that her beloved Mason finally had the family he deserved.

"Deirdre does, aye. I moved down to New Orleans a few years ago and she came over from Scotland to oversee our family ranch."

Charles: Charles shook his head, chuckling fondly at Mason's back before starting down the hall after the girls.

Mason/Leslie: Leslie gestured after the professor, waiting on Bronwyn to fall into step by her side. "Your sister is definitely magic; she turned a grown man to putty." A flood of laughter spilled from the witch. "For the better."

Mason remained verbally silent while preparing his son for bed. A glance given over his shoulder to Cameron while Rory brushed his teeth.

'You're serious about joinin' me? I have one in the next few days.'

Cam: Cam watched the two with a small smile as he leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom. It was a cute picture.

'Yeah' he replied after a pause. He glanced at Rory, a little uncertain about meeting Mason's gaze. 'Do you... think less of me for wanting to go with you?'

Bronwyn: Bronwyn laughed and shook her head. "She usually has that effect, for better and for worse. I think she would have it even if we weren't what we are. And for what it's worth, she hasn't stopped talkin' about him. She got his dog a Christmas present."

Charles: Charles had dressed for the cold, again, this time donning gloves. The girls could be anywhere, so he blanketed his awareness out to find them.

Mason/Leslie: I hope she can help him. "He needs something good in his life." Leslie continued to smile, holding the door for Bronwyn while rezipping his jacket.

'Why would I think less of you? Did ya forget what I am?' Mason scoffed, a sound which went unnoticed by the little boy as he walked past to his bedroom.

'You're not slaughterin' the fuckin' innocent. You're dealin' with the bottom barrel of fuckin' humanity. Do with em what ya want.'

Cam: "G'night Rory, Merry Christmas," he smiled at the boy as he passed, who was quickly followed by Cam's gift as it nestled into Rory's shoulder to 'rest'.

Then he turned to Mason.

'I dunno... I guess it just... You know if I told Bron or Charles or- anyone else they'd probably say I shouldn't, and a part of me feels like I should feel the same way. I did once- you remember how I struggled the first time I helped... and I just... don't care like I did- in this situation. It's... weird looking at myself like that.... I've changed.' And something about it terrified him. He only shared a sliver of that fear with Mason, followed quickly with a strange surge of determination not to run from it.

Bronwyn: "Well, even if it doesn't work out for some reason, she'll turn his life upside down. In a good way," she added as she stepped outside.

"Speakin' of turnin' someone's life upside down in a good way, how did you meet Charles?"

Charles: Ah. There they were, examining an empty area not too far from the building. Rather than call to the girls, he stopped and waited for Bronwyn and Leslie to catch up.

Mason/Leslie: Alone once more, Mason returned to voice.

"They aren't cut from the same cloth. I call em angels, but they're not. Angels slaughter every fuckin' day. Don't feel pity for the damned. They did it t'themselves."

Leslie shook his head. "Ha! Is that what I did?" The biting cold forced a self-hug. "I met him on the metro in NYC. I don't think it was random chance."

Cam: Cam nodded and smiled slightly. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

Bronwyn: Bronwyn shook her head. "I don't think so either. And aye, you kind of turned his life upside down. Magic tends to do that for people who don't grow up with it or grow up believin' it isn't real. He always seems fascinated by what I can do, I imagine he's the same with you."

Charles: Charles would stare up at the dark winter sky as he waited for their approach, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet in a fairly fruitless effort to ward off the cold. When they did, he'd offer his brightest smile. "Glad the two of you are getting on. I thought you might."

Mason/Leslie: "I mean it, kitten. Not even me."

A hand roughly found Cameron's head, giving an affectionate ruffle.

Leslie smiled at their host.

"Have you ever been afraid of us, Charles?"

Cam: "I don't pity you, Mason. I love you and care about you, there's a big difference," he scowled as Mason ruffled his hair and he swatted away Mason's hand with a laugh. "Hey! I took time to style that today!"

Bronwyn: "Of course we are," Bronwyn said to Charles. "Leslie is lovely and I enjoy the company of lovely people." Especially if those lovely people cared about people she loved.

Charles: "That he is," Charles agreed, before looking up at Leslie with a raised eyebrow. "Afraid of you and Bronwyn? Of course not. Not for an instant."

Mason/Leslie: "And nothin' pleases me more than fuckin' it all up." Mason grinned. In fact, he was going to mussy up that green fauxhawk with both goddamn hands.

Leslie looked between the two of them and laughed. There might have been some modest embarrassment in his smile.

"Did the jewels find a spot?"

Cam: "Hey- hey!" Cam laughed and dodged the hands to the best of his ability, and he tried to duck around Mason in an attempt to escape.

Bronwyn: "Aww, thank you, darlin'." Bronwyn tugged Charles down to kiss his cheek. "Yes, did they? The soil will need some attention before the spring."

Charles: Charles laughed softly, both at Bronwyn's affection and Leslie's little nickname for the girls. He offered the druid his arm and gestured toward the two little figures kneeling side-by-side in the snow, a ways off. "Looks like it. We should head over there before one of them gets frostbite." Ruby was already missing a finger. "How does one magically prepare soil for tree planting?"

Mason/Leslie: "Where ya goin'? Huh? M'not done." This would be a slow chase if ever there was one.

Leslie followed on Charles' other side.

"I'm not sure what a druid would do, but I just need another plant or some worms I can place in the ground, something I can offer as... tribute, I guess you can say, to enrich it."

Cam: "Listen- hey! Nooooo- No touching the hair!" Cam laughed as he tried to escape, although his attempt was half-hearted and he was easily caught once again. "Be nice to my meticulously groomed head!"

Bronwyn: "The soil is probably pretty decent, it just needs some enrichin' as Leslie says. More than normal since it's goin' to support a magical tree. More...potency."

Charles: He nodded, thoughtful. "Well, I'm fresh out of worms. I'm sure the grounds have enough organic matter about, to be useful. Even if we have to do a bit of digging to get at any of it. Erik promised to build a greenhouse, before he left. Pity he never got around to it."

He slowed and then stopped as they reached the girls. "Is this the place, then? Looks sound to me, but then I'm only a humble geneticist."

Mason/Leslie: "But it's beggin' t'be fucked with. It's too dapper." Coming from a man with not one but two closets overfilled with suits, blazers, and vests. Not to mention the array of shoes and wristwatches. This was a matter of preferences. He preferred a disheveled Cameron.

"This is a good spot, jewels," Leslie praised. "Just have to move the snow out of the way and he'll be ready. Does he have a name?" All trees needed a name.

Cam: "Says the man constantly wearing formal clothes!" Cam laughed but eventually gave in to Mason, letting him ruffle Cam's hair with a small scowl on his brow. "Happy?"

Bronwyn: Bronwyn turned to Charles with a thoughtful look. "Are ye still interested in a greenhouse? There's this landscapin' company near my house that builds them. They do good work, I have them mow my lawn when I can't be bothered."

Charles: While the girls fell to whispering between themselves, debating the best name for their tree, Charles looked at Bronwyn with a smile. "Oh, yes. Definitely. I thought it'd be a good addition to the school, and a place for the kids to occupy themselves, if they're interested. We'd been discussing it on and off for years. Would they be able to work all the way up here?"

Mason/Leslie: "Fuck right I am," Mason smirked. "Let's join the others." More specifically, he wanted to keep an eye on that witch Charles had taken a shine to. "N'tell me how involved ya wanna be when the time comes."

"It would be another opportunity for them to learn something," said Leslie. "That would be amazing."

Cam: Cam stuck his tongue out at Mason as he started to readjust his hair, and he began to walk back towards the party.

"I'm down for... whatever- I guess. If you want to set up a plan we can, I wouldn't want to be the only one... Finishing it- I guess. If that makes sense? Not like the last time where it was just me."

Bronwyn: "It wouldn't hurt to ask. If they can't for whatever reason, maybe they could recommend someone or give you some guidelines on what to look for. I think they'd be willin' to work up here though." For the right price.

A price she would be paying.

Charles: "I agree," he nodded to the witch, a tiny smirk tugging at his mouth. "We can hire you to be the herbology professor." For Bronwyn, a proper smile. "Well, if you give me their information, I'll definitely contact them. You seem to know all of the right people, darling."

Mason/Leslie: "I'll make the killin' blow if that's what ya want. Don't feel sympathy for the one I got in mind. They'll deserve every ounce."

Leslie gasped. "Can I wear robes?" But then again, "Bronwyn should be the herbologist." Despite being Verbena, the opportunity seemed better suited for a druid.

Cam: "I dunno if that has to happen- but I don't think I'm opposed. We can play it by ear. Why's this person deserve it?" Cam asked and glanced over at Mason as they walked.

Bronwyn: Bronwyn smiled. "I just spend a lot o' time out and about and stumble across people." She laughed softly. "Ye'd have a whole lot of teenagers learnin' verra obscure poisons if you had me teach them." Among other things she shared with the pair of them while enlisting the help of their girls to inspect the spot they chose for the tree.

Charles: Charles allowed himself to carry on this amusing line of conversation, arguing the merits of each potential professor at their nonexistent school of magic. It was he, however, that ushered everyone along when witch and druid had made whatever preparations were necessary for tree-planting.

"All right. It's freezing." And getting rather late. "We should head inside. I'm sure we'll make time to get him in the ground, once the holidays are over."

Mason/Leslie: "We'll discuss the details when properly alone. Too many telepaths out and about. Besides, ya should get some socializin' in 'fore I steal ya away for bloodlust."

Bronwyn would need watching over as well, no doubt. Sharp eyes on a gentle and seemingly kind Verbena. His duties to his family would not cease over some made up holiday.

Cam: Cam nodded to Mason as they neared the party once more.

"I'll be sure to text you," he winked and slipped off to the side to find the other teachers he had yet to greet.

#Unfortunate Mistletoe chapter #leslieeissott #askprofessorx #masonatlas #vincentcorvidae #changingthelights #camdockstader

1 note · View note

inazumafocus · 5 years

Text

A sanctuary of eternal love

AFUHIRU MONTH

DAY THREE: In the language of flowers RATING: Green TAGS: major character death (i’m sorry), fae!afuro, human!hiruma, secret crush AO3 LINK: HERE

Once upon a time, just outside the city's walls, was a forest. Local people used to tell stories about the creatures living inside, dangerous and alluring, deadly and beautiful. Creatures no one could resist. Then there was a man in the local market, smiling at everyone who passed by his shop and offering free sample of his sweets. You were not to eat them if you wanted to live, or so they whispered to young children in the streets. The man was a fae, one of the creature of the forest, who gained human form in order to steal kids away and eat them for dinner, but no one could chase him away. Every once in a while somebody tried, but the man just smiled and all the will of that person would vanish, making them feel weak and accept the fae's sweets. Those were never seen again.

"Beware of the enchanted forest, younglings, for there is no coming back once a fae lays its eyes on you"

That was what every teacher, adult or grown up would say again and again to scare kids away from the city's walls. And it was what Hiruma Yoichi had grown up to as well. Little did everyone know, that the blue eyed child had a different destiny wrote in the stars.

He must've been around the age of ten when he first ventured in the market on his own, the voice of the orphanage caregiver now lost somewhere far behind him. It was already closing hour, the sun was setting, painting everything with its warm orange light before disappearing completely behind the walls and all the shops were now closed, letting him run around freely with no adult to stop him by his slender arm. He loved it. Everything was quiet and mysterious, casting shadows on the walls that looked like strange creatures to his curious eyes. He chased down a beautiful red cat down some alleys, lifting up puffs of dust with his consumed leather shoes and finding himself on the main street. The cat was gone, the road deserted. He was about to turn around and find the screaming caregiver, since the light was almost out, when a rich chocolate smell tickled his nostrils. Hiruma followed the smell, mouth already watering and tummy aching in anticipation and when he looked up there was an abandoned cake on a bare table on the side of the road. There was no one in sight. Strange. A part of brain tried to remind him that it was unadvised to eat things we don't know the origin of, it was like taking candy from a stranger. Also, who was the idiot who left freshly baked cakes around? ... But no one ever let him had chocolate back at the orphanage, and surely just a quick bite wouldn't hurt him, right? His tummy agreed. But by the time he got his first small bite, the taste of it made his eyes shine and hunger grew stronger, he couldn't help but eat it all. He looked around, scared someone might have seen him eating a whole cake by himself in a matter of seconds and as he brushed some crumbles away from his cheeks, he could've sworn there was a shadow smiling just outside his field of view. Very strange. That night his stomatch did not ache, so he simply forgot about the suspiscious looking cake and began to live his life as if faint voices didn't suddenly bagan to speak wherever he went. It was probably just his imagination.

At the age of fourteen the townspeople sent him away. Bringer of misfortune, that's how they had called him for the past four years, because everywhere he went, soemthing bad happened. May it be a vase shattering right after he touched it, kids falling and breaking their legs if they bumped into him or just about anything even remotely bad, everythig had been tied down to him. They had nothing against him to burn him down for witchcraft, but when he tried desperately to tell them it was the small voice's fault and not his, everyone knew there was the faeries curse at work. He was marked and could no longer stay there. So they abandoned him, closing the door shut to never open it again. There was nothing but forest in front of him and not even a path to follow and maybe reach another city. He had no other choice but to venture inside, eyes shifting and adjusting to the dark as the sun was setting low and the trees let no light filter between their ancient branches. The voices were still there, higher, closer than ever before and for the first time he was scared. They were laughing, snickering when he flinched for a broken twig or a rustling of leaves. As time went by, he grew scared and lonlier, walking in the dark with no idea of where he was going as he kept moving forward, testing the ground for solid footing. He surely didn't want to fall into a bottomless pit and he really hoped there weren't snakes out there... By the time his legs had started to feel numb his heart had sank into despair, he was ready to fall to his knees and ask the faeries to just eat him up quickly, for he was tired of the voices all around him and in the back of his head speaking without him being able to understand. It was in that moment, when he had leaned on a trunk, that the melody started. Soothing, Alluring, It made his heart flutter. He had to follow it. The voices sounded angry, they tried to talk louder but Hiruma's ears were only for that gentle chant. He didn't even know how lucky he was, for the trunk were he intended to rest upon was home to a poisonus spider... Only when dawn came, the voice stopped and he woke up from the enchantment that gave him enough strength to walk all night long. Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, weak and tired, body shaking with fatigue and shadows of fears clutched on his heart. With heavy eyelids he looked around, wondering where the sweet voice went and why did it left him alone again. There were flowers all over him, he could barely see their shapes but they looked like small cushions and he so desperately needed a bed.

"Sleep, lost child, and have plenty of rest. For no harm will reach you here"

And so he did, heartened by that voice speaking to him in a tender whisper against his ear. He fell face on the ground with a faint smile, hidden by the white field of carrot's flowers.

A melody woke him up and for a second he thought he was still sleeping. Right there, standing on top of his nose, was a very tiny person, but instead of jumping up with fear and disbelief, his heart felt safer than ever. He blinked twice, making sure he wasn't actually hallucinating because of some poison hidden in the flower buds.

"You finally decided to woke up, child, I was starting to worry"

Definitely not an hallucination. Hiruma cleared his throat, trying to look at the tiny creature without hurting his eyes too much in the process.

"Uhm, not to be rude but, are you a fae?"

The thing crooked its head, letting tiny long blonde hair fall over as he looked at him with a small smile.

"Do I look like a troll?"

"NO! No that was... that was not what I meant but- then why did you... help me" he paused, looking around at the flower field from below "it was you, wasn't it?"

A small chuckle like tiny cheerful bells filled the fresh morning air and he blushed as the fae rose up with its thin wings

"Not all fae are ill willed, I'm a Queen Anne's Lace solitary fae, or a carrot one for short, and wherever there's a carrot flower there's a sanctuary for the needy. You looked like you needed a helping hand, was I wrong?"

It was now far too close to his face and Hiruma could clearly see its shiny red eyes and its curved up lips. He smiled as well, a bit awkwardly as he sat up legs crossed, cleaning himself from the dirt.

"I was, well, I still am I think? I have nowhere to go and... I have been hearing voices for the past four years, but now they only grow stronger in the forest"

The fae smile wavered as it kept flying in front of him

"You ate some of our food outside our kingdom and the others got interested in you, now you can hear them more as you stepped into it like they wanted you to-"

Silence fell upon them as Hiruma remembered of that strange chocolate cake. He felt like an idiot. So that was it? He was going to be taunt by faeries wherever he went? He would've been marked as a bringer of misfortune for the rest of his life?

"You could stay here, if you wanted"

He looked up, eyes wide with disbelief. No words left his slighly parted lips. What?

"I'm offering you a safe place to live, you big doofus. I can bring you the human food you need and you can tell me stories about the outside world. Deal?"

There was no hesitation in Hiruma's eyes, for some strnge reason he firmely believed whatthe fae was saying was true and the feeling of safety he had before falling asleep still lingered in his heart, reassuring it with a tender caress. He held his index finger, a bright smile on his lips

"Deal!"

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

Two year had passed and Hiruma never once had missed his old home among other humans. Everything was mesmerising in the enchanted forest and with the small fae as his guide and protector, he really had nothing to fear. The magic creature had taught him everthing about the flowers, the medical herbs and how to treat wounds. He had learnt more about the world when casted aside than when he was actually living in it and the stories, oh the stories were his favourite part of it all. Trolls, giants, witches, shapeshifter, they were all real not only a cautionary tale to set children straight! The only thing it was never revealed to him was the fae's name, but he didn't pry. It was a bit disappointing to not be able to call it by that though...

One day as he sat in the sanctuary field tending a hurt rabbit, the fae approached him looking gloom. His heart flinched at that, it was something new and he definitely didn't like it. It stopped its sad flying only to sit on his shoulder like it was now used to do. Hiruma was uncomfortable for the first time in two ears, and he had seen the fae gut a squirrel for him, just saying.

"What's wrong pixie?"

It didn't react to the dumb nickname telling him to stop calling it by that as would usually happen. There must've been something really big bothering it and in his heart he began to feel restless to know, so that he could put an end to whatever it was and get it to smile again. The fae sighed, kicking air with its tiny feet while looking at the ground to hide his pained expression.

"You have to go"

"Wha-"

"You can't keep living here in this small field, you're a human, you need to live a human life"

Hiruma frowned. Where did that came from? Him? A human life? He didn't even want one at that point!

"Humans casted me aside as if I was a plague, you were the one who saved and took me in, why should I go back to that?!"

He saw it biting its lip, struggling with words as a fae never did.

"Well, you could go to another city, start a new life, get an occupation. Now you know how to use herbs to cure and treat wounds-"

"They'd think I'm a witch and you know it. What's up with all this urge for me to leave? Did I do anything to make you hate me?"

The tiny creature flinched and looked up with teary red eyes and Hiruma's heart cracked a bit.

"I do not hate you, you stupid kid, but how selfish would I be to keep you here forever with me?"

He was taken aback

"Selfish? What exactly would make you selfish if I stay here with you forever?"

The fae sighed again, looking up at the clear blue sky

"You're hundreds years too young to understand it, kid"

Something moved inside him, making him gently take it in his hands to better fix his burning blue gaze on its wet cheeks.

"Then let's live hundreds of years together so I'll understand and be able to never make you cry again!"

He tought he did good, that his words were right, but he only managed to make it cry even harder while it shook its head with a small smile. It spread its arms, beckoning him to hug his face like he rarely ever did. Hiruma's heart fluttered as the fae hid against his cheekbone.

"Ok then"

A soft whisper against his ear that made his heart ease like that night of two years ago. He could stay, he wasn't going to be alone ever again.

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

He didn't live hundreds years to finally understand what had bothered so much his little fae. A disease no magical herbs nor heartfelt tears could heal made him lay on that field for three days and three night, unable to move anything if not his eyes. But before he withered away, the creature finally stopped crying and got closer to his ear to reveal him its last secret. Its name was Terumi and by knowing a fae's name one had complete power over it, so if he wanted, Hiruma could make it say what had bothered it for so many years. Yet the human smiled and closed his eyes, slowly parting his dry lips.

"I don't need to, if I can ask you anything now that I know your name, I ask you to find me again in another life, Terumi. Find me and tell me your secret yourself, this is my final wish and request for you."

Once upon a time just outside the city's walls, was a forest. Now there are buildings as high as trees and the townspeople know nothing about faeries and magic. But there's a park and in that park a larg white spot. A field of Queen Anne's Lace, a sanctuary for the weary. And in the middle of the field, a small spot of red Globe Amaranth. It is said that a heartbroken maiden died there, for those red flowers were the symbol of an "unfading eternal love" and anyone who passed by could still hear a sorrowful melody whispering at their hearts. No one could know that was the mourning voice of a fae waiting patiently to fade from existence. Waiting for its time to come and for the breeze to bring it to where its forbidden love now was.

After all, Terumi had something really important to say to him...

#afuro terumi #hiruma yoichi #inazuma eleven #eyeshield 21 #afuro x hiruma #afuhirumonth2019 #afuhiru #fanfiction #my fanfiction

9 notes · View notes