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omgrachwrites · 3 years

Text

His Eyes - Sirius Black

Pairing: Writer!Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You’re a courtesan in Paris and you meet with a man who you think is a Duke (who is in fact a writer) for a private poetry reading. Moulin Rouge au.

Warnings: mentions of sex, fluff, drinking, 18+??

Words: 1572

Disclaimer: All main characters are 18+

Lyrics/Poetry: Your Song - Elton John

Poetry by Ben Maxfield

A/N: This is my Moulin Rouge au, that I might turn into a fic, how have I only just seen this film?! Pretty sure this au has been done before, I made Slughorn the owner of the Moulin Rogue bc its actually Jim Broadbent in the film so I thought it made sense, you don’t have to watch the movie to understand what’s going on! Hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think, I love you all! xxx

Montmartre, Paris 1899

Even from the inside of the dressing room, you could hear the crowds raging in the stuffy smelly night club in Montmartre, Paris. Sighing at your reflection in the mirror, you forced out a smile as you painted your lips, you had to appear happy but it wasn’t working much. You rolled your eyes and took another sip of Absinthe, coughing and spluttering at the strong taste of the green liquid; you should have been used to it by now.

Lily, your fellow cabaret dancer and courtesan laughed as she ran a comb through her fiery red hair, “how are you feeling about tonight?” she asked as the nerves swarmed in your stomach.

Unfortunately, you were the most popular dancer at the Moulin Rouge so the dallying with important men always fell to you. A Duke –who you didn’t even know the name of, he was just The Duke – was going to be in attendance tonight. The plan was for you to bed him so he could invest in the Moulin Rouge and turn it into a proper theatre. You were nervous to have to bed a man that you’d never met before; you had no idea what he was like.

“Nervous,” you admitted with a laugh.

Lily nodded understandingly, “you’re the only one who can do this,” she offered you a small warm smile that did nothing to quell the nerves, “come on, I think your crowd awaits,” she laughed.

You sucked in a nervous breath as you stood up, downing the rest of the Absinthe as you stood up, adding the finishing touches to your makeup and ridiculously sheer costume. You descended from the ceiling on a trapeze, hardly hearing the whoops and cheers below as the spotlight followed you down.

You scanned the enormous room to try and guess who The Duke could be; your eyes lingered on a handsome dark haired young man who was sitting with Lupin and Potter who were trying to set up a show. As you reached the floor you plastered the smile on your face that made men fall in love with you. You danced with multiple partners, letting them touch you just enough to keep the money coming.

As your performance reached its climax you danced your way over to the Moulin Rouge owner, using the dance as a ruse to speak to him about The Duke. Horace Slughorn was more of a father figure to you than a boss, you’d be dead if it wasn’t for him, “Is the Duke here?” you hissed.

Slughorn looked over your shoulder, a smile spreading across his pudgy face as he saw the man with his long blonde hair. Unbeknownst to you, Lucius Malfoy was watching you dance with a hungry look in his cold eyes. The smile slipped from Slughorn’s face as he watched Pettigrew spill a glass of Absinthe all over Malfoy, staining his pristine white shirt green.

“He’s here.”

“Which one is he?” you asked as you swapped places with Slughorn, scanning the sea of people.

“The one Pettigrew just spilt a glass of Absinthe over.”

You squinted as you glanced over to where Pettigrew was sitting with his friends. Pettigrew picked up an empty glass and was speaking into the ear of the handsome dark haired man. You completely missed the annoyed looking man with a stained green shirt. You gasped as you felt blood rise to your cheeks, “that’s him?”

He was so handsome that this was going to be easy, you were going to be an actress one day, and it was easy to trick men into falling in love with you. Men believed what they wanted to; you would never fall in love that was for certain. After your performance you sauntered over to the man who you thought was The Duke, though unbeknownst to you, his name was Sirius.

Your hands were on your hips as you stood in front of him. Potter let out a long wolf whistle, making you glare at him before you reverted your attention back to The Duke. Sirius visibly gulped as he looked up at you and you noticed just how pretty his eyes were. The perfect stormy grey colour, framed by thick lashes.

A flush spread across his cheekbones as you placed two fingers beneath his chin, “I believe you’ve been expecting me?” you made your voice breathy as you pouted your lips and fluttered your eye lashes at him.

“Yes,” he muttered, making you grin as you took his hand, blowing a kiss to Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew as you pulled The Duke over to the dancefloor. The real Duke, Lucius Malfoy watched you with an incredulous look on his face.

As you danced with the gorgeous man he told you that James had arranged a secret ‘poetry reading,’ that was a euphemism if you ever heard one. You rolled your eyes, you were going to murder Potter, he’d been pestering you to take part in the show.

“Meet me in the Elephant room, handsome,” you pressed a kiss to the column of his throat as you tugged at his hair, smirking when you heard a groan catch in the back of his throat, “I need to freshen up,” you shot him a coy glance over your shoulder as you retired to the dressing room.

You decided to unpin your hair so it fell naturally and you changed into a corset with stockings and you draped a thin covering of sheer silk on top. Now that you had met Sirius you weren’t nervous about what you had to do, he was just another client, albeit a devastatingly rich client. The Duke was standing at the window, looking at the city below, even from behind you could tell that he was tense. What did such an important man have to worry about?

As the door closed behind you, Sirius jumped and turned to face you. His grey eyes scanned your body, taking in every curve and dip with the ghost of a smirk on his face, contrasting with his nervous body language.

“Is this poetic enough for you?” you laughed with a wink as you sashayed your way across the room and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Y/N, what,” he began to ask as you pulled him into a fiery kiss, you wanted to get this over and done with. Sirius hesitantly kissed you back, wrapping his arms around you, bunching his hands in the thin silk.

When you pulled away, Sirius opened his mouth to say something but you stopped him by placing a finger over his plump lips, “no more talking,” you whispered, “let’s make love,” you pushed towards the bed, making him gasp in pleasure. With a smirk, you opened his shirt and straddled his waist.

“Y/N, wait,” he looked at you through lust filled eyes and he wrapped a gentle hand around your wrist to stop you from taking his pants off. You looked down at him with wide eyes, “I want to, God, I want to but I’m here for a poetry reading. I’m so interested in the show,” he moved out from beneath you and got off the bed.

You narrowed your eyes at him, The Duke was here to bed you, so what was he playing at? This whole poetry thing must have been a euphemism. You reclined back on the silk pillows and poured yourself a glass of champagne. You raised an eyebrow as you took a sip, the bubbles tickling your nose.

“Well please; go on with your poetry.”

The Duke gave you an appreciative glance as he began pacing the length of the room, muttering to himself and you quickly realised that he really wanted to do a poetry reading, “it’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside…” he trailed off as you pulled a confused face and he sighed. You strangely found this whole situation endearing but this was a waste of your time.

“Your eyes are the sweetest that I’ve ever seen,” you scoffed and giggled at his words as he sat beside you on the bed, looking slightly more confident. His stormy grey eyes that should have looked cold were warm as he looked at you, “how rare it is to find someone whose eyes shine brighter than the stars,” he smiled and that was the moment that you were rendered speechless as he performed his poetry.

The beautiful words spilling from his lips caressed you like a kiss and you unashamedly gazed at his lips. It was hard to believe that he was performing poetry he had already written, and it wasn’t about you. Maybe this whole acting thing would be harder than you anticipated as you looked into his handsome face and counted the freckles sprinkled across his nose.

Sirius’ voice was as smooth as honey, “I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind, that I put down in words, how wonderful life is while you’re in the world,” he grinned as his thumb stroked against your jaw and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Oh,” you breathed, pulling out your acting skills as you wrapped your arms around his neck as he dipped you slightly on the bed, his lips an inch from yours, “I never thought that a Duke could have such a way with words.”

“A Duke?” he scoffed as he grinned down at you, “I’m not a Duke.”

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@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @fandomxreaders

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yamayuandadu · 3 years

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Wikipedia troubles, or “Father Enlil, (...) don't let your precious metal be alloyed there with the dirt of the underworld“

clarification regarding my post about troubles with a certain site i’ve been contributing to a lot for the past few months. To preface this with a mythical metaphor: in Inanna’s Descent, when Ninshubur pleads with the other gods to save Inanna, she uses the formula “don't let anyone kill your daughter in the underworld. Don't let your precious metal be alloyed there with the dirt of the underworld. Don't let your precious lapis lazuli be split there with the mason's stone. Don't let your boxwood be chopped up there with the carpenter's wood.” Currently this is what is happening to the Inanna article, I am afraid.

So, long story short, as most of you probably have noticed I am contributing relatively often to wikipedia as of late, starting with the creation of a Matara-jin article a few months ago. Among other things I wrote, rewrote or at least significantly improved the following:

articles about Mesopotamian medicine goddesses:

Ninkarrak from the western frontier, Nintinugga, who was associated with funerary offerings, Ninisina, who took over Inanna's gimmick in Isin, Bau, who became a healing goddess by chance, Gula, who eclipsed her peers - as expected from someone named “the great” articles about Inanna's courtiers and associated goddesses:

Ninshubur, her sidekick (my best work overall imo, the one article I wrote which I think fully deserves the “good” badge but I am not vain enough to apply myself), Ninegal, a goddess turned into her title, Nanaya, just the horny part distilled (bought a book just for this one!), Irnina, inexplicably cthtonic personified victory

articles about Mesopotamian gods too insignificant for anyone else to care about them:

Tishpak, a god so foreign nobody knows where he came from, Sebitti, seven warlike brothers, Enmesharra, Enlil's evil uncle, Urash, not the earth goddess – there are two... Urashes, Ningishzida, Dumuzi but with a snake gimmick, Zababa, a war god who's NOT Nergal, Ninimma, Enlil's court scribe, Gatumdag, popular as ersatz mom among kings of Lagash, Manzat, the rainbow

articles about Mesopotamian goddesses whose main trait was being someone's wife: Marduk's wife Sarpanit, Adad's wife Shala, Shamash's wife Aya

articles about Hurrian gods: Alalu, primordial vanquished king of gods, Kumarbi, his son, divine Saturday morning cartoon villain, Ninatta and Kulitta, a pair of divine musicians who always appeared together, Allani, oddly joyful queen of the dead, Šauška, who was so firmly genderfluid there's two of them in the most famous image of the Hurrian pantheon, Lelluri, a mountain goddess, Kubaba, who isn't Cybele, Goddess of the Night, who has no proper name despite being a case study in important religious rituals, Belet Nagar, who was like Ashur before Ashur got popular, Nupatik, who was important but we don't know why

articles about Eblaite gods: Ishara, “independent lady of love associated with scorpion and cannabis” popular everywhere where she went, Aštabi, a war god who really wanted to be like the weather god, Hadabal, who used to be famous but vanished out of blue, Kura, whose mask had to be renewed each year, Adamma, who left her husband to hang out with Kubaba

articles about Elamite gods: Pinikir, sort of like a bootleg Ishtar and an international sensation, Jabru, who exists only in Mesopotamian texts about Elam, Humban, mandate of heaven personified, Ruhurater, oddly obscure creator of mankind, Inshushinak, the underworld judge and his Akkadian helpers Lagamar and Ishmekarab, and Simut, the “strange star”

articles which were borderline unusable before due to low quality of sources:

Astarte, who was much more than vintage Bible scholars might lead you to believe (but not a fertility goddess), Dagan, who wasn't a fishman, Qetesh whose existence proves that Egyptians were fond of making ocs for their favorite foreign franchises

assorted articles about general topics pertaining to Mesopotamia:

Sukkal, Hurrian religion (ongoing project), List of Elamite gods; also a much needed overhaul of List of Mesopotamian deities (ongoing project)

and, last but not least, a solid chunk of the Inanna article.

Two guiding principles of these ventures were the following:

people who cannot access academic resources or don't know how to use them and as a result rely on wikipedia aren't any less deserving of receiving up to date, credible information

Wikipedia's mode of operation isn't flawed in itself and the only problem is lack of will to edit it

I think I did a pretty good job at these two things, honestly. I made sure to rely on rigorous, credible, and, if possible, easy to understand sources, and removed the horrors which sometimes were hidden in bibliographies: a book written by a hate preacher who believed Bush didn't start enough wars; 1930s race science; what I can only describe as a hybrid of Woman's Encyclopedia and a bdsm manual; a fringe book asserting that Minoan palaces were graveyards and that Egyptians only learned mummification from superior Minoans; etc. Of course, it’s a thankless job, but as long as I could make the site more credible undisturbed, that’s fine by me. I even got some help in a few cases, most notably that of the god list, indicating that the work was on some level appreciated. The only problem I've encountered prior to today came from editing the Ereshkigal article – I've removed the claim the Burney relief depicts “Lilith”; this edit was however undone. I left a message on the editor's page, complete with links to articles about the Burney relief AND about the possible Mesopotamian forerunners of Lilith (who are undeniably not depicted on the Burney relief). They're responded rather dismissively to it, and asserted that even if unproven, a connection existed, so I pretty quickly gave up, as they relied on sources which were outdated or fringe. I focused on fixing two long, important articles instead: the god list, and the Inanna article. Some parts of it were alright, but there was much work needed: fringe theories trying to assign greater antiquity to relatively late myths, and frankly insane hyperdiffusionism, had a prominent place in the article, while well attested association between Inanna and similar deities from cultures closely associated with Mesopotamia wasn't, much of the info was outdated, scandalous hot takes about Dumuzi's treatment were all over the place, the section on Inanna's descent favored Jungian confabulations over credible research, etc. My progress on fixing that had been slow and steady. However, today the aforementioned person intervened when, in between editing the Inanna article and the god list, I reverted a dumb, brief , unsourced edit – made by a third party - which asserted that Inanna's descent is “similar to Persephone” which it isn't – if anything is similar to Persephone in Mesopotamian mythology it's Nergal and Ereshkigal. They pretty clearly didn't take it well: not only the unfounded speculation went back up, but they also added a “source” affirming it, from a controversial -medical- author, not an Assyriologist. They also added Persephone to the list of Inanna equivalents in the infobox, removing any credibility whatsoever from it. The author of the claim this is all about relied on sources so antiquated that they interpreted Inanna's sexual character as her being a child-snatching boogeyman. Inanna's primary connection to boogeymen is that she was invoked, alongside Nanaya whose sexual connection is even more blatant, to -ward off- child-snatching boogeyman Lamashtu (whose character was not sexual, because sumerians and akkadians weren't victorian aristrocrats and weren't paranoically afraid of sex - and why would a demon representing death in infancy be sexual in nature, anyway?). Simply put, the book in mention is worthless as a source. Of course, I reverted that; when it went back up (despite a justification being included in my reversal) I edited the Inanna article to remove this outlandish claim (you have a limited number of possible reversions per day for some arcane reason), also adding other information about Inanna I had prepared: a few tidbits on Assyrian royal inscriptions which involved the warlike and erotic aspects at once, suggesting that transgressors should lose both potency and bravery in battle, some info on love poetry about her and Dumuzi, that sort of stuff. The weird person reverted my edit – removing valuable info – and reinstated the claim. For a moment I lost my cool and reverted this edit, which sadly put me in the reversion overuse danger zone, but which was a necessary sacrifice to save the credibility of article I put weeks of work into. See the edit history here. As you can guess HaniwaEnthusiast is me. I left messages critical of this decision on the talk page of the article and on the talk page of the outlandish editor. Sadly, they responded rather rudely, and basically declared Wikipedia isn't meant to be credible, and that favoring academic sources over random crap is an “ivory tower” approach and should be discouraged; they also insulted me but that's much less relevant and much less hurtful than their desire to spread lies. If you ask me it's more of an ivory tower attitude to say people who cannot access or don't know how to use academic sources do not deserve equally credible info and need to be at the mercy of weird wikipedia editors. What's the main problem here, though? That person is a mod. Not a random user. They have 16 years of Wikipedia experience. They spread fringe, pop-spiritual claims about Lilith and the like, so I assume they have an ulterior religious agenda of some sort, which they seem to actively encourage judging from these ventures. I'm not sure if the Inanna article is a lost cause yet but I do think the weird addition of Persephone they made is a step into some hellish direction, and I am entirely certain I cannot win this conflict. Simply put, I think that if this is the sort of staff the site has, this is a lost cause. I am not sure if I will go back to editing.

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lizacstuff · 3 years

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Your thoughts on the first episode of the new season? And can we talk about all those parallels? Also I'm loving the summer vibes!

I'm LIVING for the summer vibes! Doesn't everything feel like a breath of fresh air? I definitely feel like new life has been injected into the series. And that new location is so beautiful, I LOVE IT.

As for the episode, I thought it was masterfully done. You could tell Ayse was back and bringing the perfect mix of comedy, romance and drama. And the sparkle! The show sparkles again. The almost two and half hours flew buy, I was on the edge of my seat, and the performances from Hande and Kerem were amazing. Plus I just adore every moment between Serkan and his new nemesis (aka his secret daughter).

On the sober side, I don't care how jerky Serkan got while battling cancer, or how he may have pushed her away, nothing they've shown us so far even begins to justify Eda not telling him about Kiraz, and it certainly doesn't justify her continuing to lie when he's standing right in front of her making overtures (and her daughter is clearly longing for her father). Obviously, there are still many things we don't know and I'm sure there are many flashbacks to come, and Eda has been though so much, but still...I don't see how they will thread that needle and have Eda come out unscathed.

That being said, with this first episode they executed this story so well and it really does give new life to the series, so I won't dwell on the fact that Eda never would have done this. Never. We just have to move past it, accept that it's a soap opera plot device designed to give us an amazing second season packed with all sorts of amazing scenes and just enjoy every minute while it lasts.

(More under the cut)

I'll get to more on Edser later, as for everyone else... silliness abounds.

First... Erdem cheated on Leyla? WHAT!?!?! With whom? But I guess that was a clean way to explain Leyla leaving.

Engin and Piril, I love that Engin is staying home with their son, and that young actor is a cutie! As for Piril... GRRRRRR... she is still on my shitlist. Last time it was for betraying Eda (and Serkan) by enabling Selin's reign of terror, this time it's by betraying her friend and business partner Serkan! Good grief. If Piril just found out recently at the start of this project I could accept on her holding off because it's not her secret to run off and tell, but what I can't accept is her actively working against Serkan finding out. Even if in this episode she had gently said to Eda... "do you think maybe it's time you told him?" it would be a lot easier to swallow... but nope! She's acting like it would be the end of the world if Serkan found out. I sincerely hope that when everyone finds out and Engin finds out Piril knew, it causes problems between them. She deserves that.

She remains my second least favorite character. Who was my least favorite character this episode? Oh you know! Awful Ayfer is back! We got a reprieve from her in the last arc, but she's back to her annoying, controlling, Serkan-hating ways. Eda is a mother, an international award-winning landscape architect and business owner and she still has to lie to Ayfer because she's such a pain-in-the-ass? Watching her is going to be a trial.

Even though it feels like both Aydan and Ayfer were reset to zero character development, and Aydan has done worse (keeping the fact that Serkan was alive from Eda) I still find her a much easier character to take. Probably because Neslihan is a much better comedic actress, so she's a lot more entertaining. But... Aydan's been with Kemal for 5 years and hasn't told Serkan? WHY? I can't believe Kemal didn't give her an ultimatum years ago. I was loving, however, Serkan being in the way for both Aydan/Kemal and Engin/Piril. GOOD. Those people caused problems for him at one point or another or were in the way, it was nice to see him return the favor. I like Kemal and am still hoping they'll do a parallel "not knowing your father thing" and reveal he's Serkan's bio dad while Serkan is finding out he had a child he never knew about.

Melo and Seyfi were their awesome supportive, funny selves. It was great to see both of them, I'm so glad they stayed.

As for the new characters, love the kids. The new hotel manager is apparently ditzy and starstruck over Serkan, and I don't really understand how she's going to be integrated into the cast, but I love that she was used as a device to show us that Serkan has zero interest in any woman who is not Eda Yildiz. Eda's assistant seems like he'll be a fine side character. As for Burak, he seems harmless, obviously he has feeling for Eda that she does not reciprocate (fuck off Ayfer trying to push her on him) but hopefully they don't make him a psycho like Deniz. I did think he was a bit out of line to Serkan. Isn't that his cafe? And a customer has his glass spilled by a child in his care, and he insults him instead of apologizing? That is the worst customer service I've ever seen! He's a character that could wear on me quickly, we shall see. Kiraz can't help but be sassy because of genetics, but some of the adults in her life seem to be modeling rude behavior!

Now on to Eda and Serkan, I can't say enough about Hande and Kerem's acting in this episode. Phenomenal! They were both brilliant. Plus both are doing a great job working off of Maya (especially Kerem) those scenes were priceless. I don't often enjoy kids on shows, but so far I'm loving this dynamic.

As for Edser, while we don't know everything yet it feels like Serkan got to a point where he couldn't stand to see Eda in pain and putting her life on hold, he outright mentioned that she might not have graduated if they'd stayed together, and so that was part of the reason he reverted to his robot self and pushed her away. I'm going to guess she tried and tried and he was just unyielding. Saying he didn't want to get married or have kids in the harshest way possible. Perhaps even she went to tell him that she was pregnant and he went off on not wanting kids before she could even tell him. Time will tell.

At this juncture, my best guess is Eda's fear is rooted in rejection. It can't be that she thinks Serkan is a terrible person that doesn't deserve to know his child, or would be detrimental to Kiraz. However, she knows what it feels like to be rejected by Serkan, I'm sure she was beyond devastated, so I'm guessing now she's bent on protecting her daughter from feeling that same rejection. She fears if he found out, but wanted nothing to do with her, it would feel worse than him not knowing. She's not thinking clearly and perhaps it hasn't even occurred to her that the man she fell in love with is still under there and that man is fully capable of opening his heart wide to their child.

The fact that this child, a stranger to him, already has him wrapped around her little finger to the tune of being late to meetings while he waits for her to pick berries, speaks volumes.

The lies that Eda is telling Kiraz though... there is a fairy tale poetry to Eda saying her father is among the stars... but there was no way this would ever end well. Such a bad idea. Eda.... has made mistakes.

As for Eda and Serkan, their reunion was so bitter sweet. The way Serkan was sure he was hallucinating her and couldn't believe she was real, speaks to the fact that his thinking he saw her that morning was not an anomaly. It must happen all the time. She's never left his thoughts in 5 years. Especially since Engin makes it clear that women throw themselves at Serkan all the time, and he never bites. That's a lot of years celebrate, pining after a love he lost through his own actions. Though it's not that surprising that he didn't pursue other women, as he's never been a character who was motivated by sex. Which makes it hilarious that during his presentation that's where his mind was at, remembering their intimate times together. Serkan Bolat is an Edasexual.

Serkan seemed to want to brush past what happened between them, how they ended, but from Eda's pain, it's clear it was gut-wrenching and tragic and that's something he's going to need to recon with in the coming episodes. But how refreshing that they actually talked! That Eda actually expressed her pain to him! Wowza, that's a change from recent episodes when they didn't even have a proper conversation after he got his memory back.

The flashback scenes were a combination of pure brilliance and pain. Just rip out my heart why don't you. Serkan's angry reactions seem very believable for someone suffering what he was going through. I think it's typical to lash out at the person closest to you. And their fear and pain, their commitment to getting him better and seeing it through... those scenes were made all the more heartbreaking knowing that they didn't make it out the other side intact.

On a lighter note, I loved how even despite their intention and best efforts to remain closed off to one another, and away from one another, they couldn't. Physically, Serkan couldn't stay away, and every time Eda was in his presence you saw her resolve slip and her start to feel that old pull towards him. The fact that Eda thinks there's any way to keep this secret and get rid of him, she must just be in full panic mode and not thinking clearly. She's never going to shake him.

Thank goodness Serkan came back and actually issued a sincere apology for what he said at coffee. He definitely owed her one, but what was extraordinary is that it showed that the growth he went through when they were together didn't regress. He was able to apologize and explain that he was angry and hurt and that's why it happened. If you remember from the first time around, saying sorry was something he was just unable to do, so this felt big to me. He's not the same robot Bolat, she left an indelible mark on him.

As for him making her present her proposal, it's really not out-of-line for the professional relationship, however, we all know he did it just so he had an excuse to be around her. That man will take any excuse, plus he likes to get a rise out of her.

The dinner scene was breathtaking. How beautiful and achingly romantic was that setting? Wowza. And what a roller coaster of emotion those scenes were. It was great to watch them talk and laugh. Who didn't swoon when he deveined her shrimp and when she gave him fries? But we had to know it wouldn't last. Eda's speech had me breathless. Serkan had that coming, it hurt but it had to happen. What a relief to see them get things out in the open. Now I hope we get to see them really talk about what happened and why. Explain yourself Serkan!

As for the next episode, I was so hopeful that the Kiraz secret would be out after the final scene, but the first fragman makes it look like that's not going to happen, at least not at the start of the episode. My fear is that if Eda outright lies to him that just makes everything worse. The longer she keeps it from him, when they're back in each other's orbits and it's clear he's not running away, it makes her more and more at fault.

In any case, it looks like we're in for some fabulous scene so I look forward to the second episode!

#Sen Çal Kapımı #Sen Cal Kapimi #edser #sck discussion #edser discussion #sck episode discussion #sck 2x40 #edser meta #sckask #asklizac #anonymous

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prettyricky187 · 4 years

Text

One Day

Request: Nah, my own ideas.

A/N: This is what happens when my brain randomly goes to different places

Couple: Spencer X Fem!Reader

Category: Smut. (NSFW)

Content Warnings: Masturbation (male), oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, cream pie, wartenberg wheel

Word Count: 6.3K

Masterlist

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From the moment I woke up this morning, there was an odd air in the apartment. It wasn’t anything bad, just different. There’s been a teasing gleam in Spencer’s eye all day and I’m not sure what to make of it.

Currently we both sat on the couch reading our own books. I was reading Frankenstein again and Spencer reading Great Expectations again. We’re both fans of rereading books.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah?” I ask, not even looking up from my book.

“I’m finished with my book.” His voice is light and almost pouty.

“What do you want me to do about that?”

The response I got wasn’t exactly what I was expecting, when suddenly my book is torn from my hands and I am on my back under Spencer. My loud cry of surprise fills the apartment but he merely laughs.

“Oh, hello there.”

“Hi.” He grins childishly.

“You’re surprisingly heavy.” I comment combing my fingers through his hair. No matter what he does to try and tame it, it always reverts back to the messy bedhead look.

“Not very nice.” He murmurs.

“You love me.”

He nods before crashing his lips to mine. His hips pin me to the couch as his mouth hotly trails along my jaw and neck. At the same time, his fingers dance along the skin above my pants, stopping every so often to draw funny shapes.

The hesitance that was there when we first began dating is long gone after years of familiarity and comfort. I know that I trust him with my life and body, and I know he feels the same.

His lips make their way back up to my ear and I shiver as his hot breath hits my skin.

“I’ve missed you.”

I wonder if any of his coworkers have ever heard how low his voice can really get. Would they be surprised like I was the first time I heard it?

“I’ve missed how you feel underneath me, pressed against me.” He continues, lightly nipping at my earlobe.

“Spencer.”

“It’s been so long.” He groans as his hands grab at whatever skin they can reach. I giggle as his scruff tickles my skin as he playfully rubs his cheek against my neck.

“Did you touch yourself while you were gone?” I ask. It’s an innocent enough question. He’s a man who has desires and I can’t imagine him going a week without any sort of relief; serial killer hunting or not.

“Of course.”

I can’t help but sigh at the image of him laid out on his hotel bed, legs spread with his hand around his cock. I wonder if he’s someone who is no frills about it, straight to the point get it done, or if he’s someone who likes to take his time and tease himself.

“Show me.”

I really want to see what approach he takes. It’s a shame that in all the time we’ve been together, I’ve never seen him touch himself. On second thought though, I know I’d get too hot and bothered and want to finish it for him.

“What?” He sheepishly replies. I love when his voice goes high pitched with shock. It’s one of the many things that make him unique; there is no one else like Spencer Reid.

“You heard me.”

“Right now?”

I nod. He shuffles backwards until he’s sitting upright against the couch.

“Take my clothes off.”

I move forward and press my lips to his as I undo his shirt buttons and slide it off his body. Never breaking my lips from his, I slide my hands down to his belt buckle. I palm him through his pants, and he hisses into my mouth while jerking closer to my touch.

“More.” He begs.

I shake my head with a giggle as undo his pants before climbing off him. “You’re supposed to be showing me.” I remind him with a peck on his nose.

He nods and shuffles his pants off and gets himself comfortable. He hisses quietly as he grips his rigid and leaking cock in his hand.

“Get my dick wet.” He orders gruffly.

I eagerly comply and wrap my lips around him to help get him started. I moan around him as the heady taste of him fills my senses. He always tastes so good, like delicious musky skin, and I never have a problem putting him in my mouth. I make sure to get him nice and slippery before pulling off to let him do his thing. My core tightens at the sight of his hand around himself.

I watch in fascination as his long fingers wrap around his thick cock and begins slow movements. I focus on the hitch in his breath whenever he thumbs at the tip and the way his abdomen clenches whenever he squeezes at the base. The schlicking sounds from his hand fill the room and I feel myself clench as the sound mixes with his moans and whines. It’s a perfect symphony of sounds that I feel reverberate throughout my body.

He throws his head back, his other hand coming down to cup his balls, gently rolling and squeezing them. The way his thighs tense under each ministration of his hand as his eyes pinch shut is dizzying to comprehend.

He always made sure to give his balls equal attention because they were such a sensitive spot for him. He loves it when I lick his balls, so it’s no surprise that he like to fondle them when he touches himself. Watching him bring himself so much pleasure makes me wet and want to join him, but I wait. This time was all about him and I am going to give him my undivided attention.

“Holy…shit.” He puffs out.

“What are you thinking about?”

He was lucky in that he had a plethora of vivid memories to call upon to help him, a major perk of an eidetic memory.

“About how pretty you look with my cock in your mouth.”

I can’t help the wanton moan I let out, which only spurs him on. He alternates between long slow strokes with one hand to gripping the base with one hand and rubbing his tip with the other. He lets out a loud moan when his thumb presses into the slit, smearing his precum around the head.

“What else?”

His toes curl and grip the carpet as he shallowly begins thrusting into his hand. “I’m picturing you on your knees looking up at me, doe eyed and pleading. You want me to feed you my cock, you’re practically gagging for it. I always can get you gagging for me, can’t I?” He groans at his own imagery. “Oh yes.” He hisses quietly as if only for himself.

He gives a few more thrusts before gradually slowing down to a stop with only an occasional squeeze at the base. “I don’t want to cum just yet.” He locks his eyes on mine before patting his knee. “Come here.”

We never break our gaze as I shuffle closer and rest my cheek against his thigh. I can’t help but nuzzle softly against his skin. His skin is clammy against mine, but I don’t pay it any mind as I fix my eyes on his leaking cock.

“Tell me more.”

His eyes zero in on my lips and I feel his muscles tense under me as his dick jumps in his hand.

“I uh…” he takes a shuddering breath. “I imagine watching you touch yourself to the thought of me. Do you?”

“Yes.” There were times when he was away for a long time and I needed release.

He moans at the thought and slowly resumes moving his hand. Watching his cock disappear beneath his fingers only to reappear was something I never thought I’d get so much pleasure from seeing.

“What do you do? Tell me.” His voice is tense and desperate. I drag my fingers across his upper thigh getting dangerously close to his balls, watching him tense in anticipation, before moving away. Though he was showing me how he touched himself in my absence, it was still fun to tease him.

“I always put on one of your shirts, I like to smell you around me.” I start, grinning to myself as he softly moans. “I like to take my time. I start at my nipples, rub them, pinch them, sometimes I even tug at them.”

His hand began moving faster as he no doubt pictured what I was describing. “I like to build up the anticipation, tease myself until I can’t take it anymore.” I smile when he quietly hisses out ‘oh fuck’ and lays his head back against the cushion.

“I imagine what you would do to me if you were there. Would you kiss and lick your way down my body, or would you want to get straight to the point? I think about how glorious your tongue feels licking at my clit, you’re so good at it.” I can feel myself getting lost in the memories and have to stop myself.

“I try to imagine that feeling I get when you first slide inside me, how full I feel.”

He lets out another moan that causes me to clench.

“It’s always good, but there’s something about the initial thrust that is just so…marvelous.” I know the picture I’m painting for him is getting him closer and closer to the end. Dating a profiler teaches you a few handy things. Such as, noticing the subtle hitches in his breath or the tension in his forehead whenever his fingers brush the sensitive bit under the tip of his cock.

“I’m so close.” He pants. He moves one hand faster at the top while using the other in a twisting motion at the bottom.

I can’t help but smile as he loudly moans my name. His hips buck wildly into his hand, desperately craving the friction and pressure he was missing as he approached his finish.

Watching Spencer come is like watching poetry in motion. From the veins straining under his taut skin to the flush across his face and neck. The moans and grunts he lets out are downright sinful and I absolutely love it. I watch in awe as the streaks of cum shoot from his cock and land on his chest to mimic a Jackson Pollock painting.

It’s quiet for a moment as I watch him, eager to see what he wants to do now. He lazily looks at me and nods at his cum drizzled chest.

“Clean me up, would you?” I lean forward at his navel and use my tongue to collect the cum that’s slowly sliding down his sweaty chest. The salty taste of his sweat and cum instantly fills my mouth and I moan knowing that he’s watching me. I make a show of showing him, his cum on my tongue before swallowing it down.

I nibble at his thighs and he hisses at the sensitivity as my cheek brushes against his spent cock.

“Sensitive.” He mumbles.

I smile and nip at his thigh again, this time being careful to be mindful of his sensitive skin. He smiles down at me before cupping my face and bringing me up to him and pressing a passionate kiss to my lips.

He pulls me into his lap so I’m straddling his thigh. He makes a noise of surprise as my hot center hits his bare thigh. “Someone got wet watching me. Did it turn you on? Watching me touch myself to the thought of you?”

I moan at his words and nod. “Yes.”

“Naughty girl.” He smirks.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“We both know what.” His grin is wide and salacious as he presses a series of passionate kisses to my lips, jaw, and neck. I turn my head as he latches onto my neck with excited vigor, no doubt leaving a mark I’ll have to cover.

“You’re going to wear my mark on you.” He confirms his intention. I tangle my hands through his hair and scratch at his scalp. He sucks harder in response and bites down before continuing his downward path.

He lightly nips at my collarbone as I giggle from his hair tickling my cheek. My hands scratch down his back causing him to hiss into my skin and respond with a harsh suck; no doubt leaving another mark. I know he loves small bits of pain and do what I can to appease him.

He continues his path down towards my breasts, making quick work of my unnecessary shirt, his mouth going to one while his hand going to the other. After giving them both ample attention, he switches his mouth and hand to the other breast. My core tightens in response and my hips jerk in his lap.

I squeak in surprise as he suddenly flips us over so that I’m once again laid out on the couch with him on top of me.

I yank his hair as his tongue continues to slowly circle my nipple. He lets out a loud moan and harshly sucks it into his mouth. I gasp as he gently bites down and tugs, my hands in his hair pulling him even closer. His hands slowly begin to descend down my body, lightly scratching every so often.

He nips at my left breast while his right hand continues to pinch at the nipple of my left.

“How’s it feel?”

I nod and scratch at his neck in response. “More.” I beg. I want more of the conflicting sensations of his mouth and fingers.

He lets out a pleased hum and swirls his tongue around my nipple before moving to the other. He leaves another bite next to my nipple before running his tongue over the new mark to soothe it.

“Do you like that?” His voice was deep and again my core tightened in response.

I nod and he smirks as his finger circles my entrance. He grins at me as he slides a finger inside me and slowly begins moving it. I gasp at the intrusion but soon relax and focus on his face hovering above mine.

He brings his thumb to my clit and applies pressure all while continuing to thrust his finger in and out of my body. He lowers himself so he’s eye level with my pussy and lets out a quiet moan.

“So fucking pretty.” He says. I watch him as he watches his fingers move. “So…wet.” He sounds almost in awe. “You smell delicious too, baby.”

He removes his hand and slips his fingers into his mouth. I hold in a moan as his eyes roll back into his head. “Tastes delicious.” He comments before pushing his fingers back inside me. I can feel him scissoring them inside.

He props himself up with his hand and brings his face level with mine.

“Hi.” He grins.

“Hello there.” I smile up at him.

He brings his hand up and I notice two of his fingers are glistening and I almost whimper at the sight.

“Taste yourself.”

I look at him as I take the fingers that he offers me. I swirl my tongue around his fingers, much like I would around his dick, and he moans at the sensation.

“Such a good girl.” He groans before slinking back down my body and situating himself between my legs. He lightly nips at my inner thigh and peels my panties off. His fingers spread me open and my hips jerk as I feel his breath fall over my wet center.

“Please.” I plead.

“What do you want baby?” He looks like the cat who got the cheese.

“I want you.” The bastard knows what he’s doing by playing dumb.

“Want me to do what?”

“Lick my pussy.” I damn near snap at him and his smirk grows.

“With pleasure.” He grins. “Just lie back and let me take care of you.”

I watch as he slowly slides down my body, nipping and licking at my skin as he moves. “Oh baby, you’re soaked.” He sounds surprised but I know he isn’t. He knows what buttons to push in order to get me ready for him.

He wastes no time and licks a broad stripe up my pussy. He moves down and gathers up all my juices before moving to focus on my clit. It almost feels like he’s spelling out letters, but I’m not sure. His hand comes up and pinches my nipple as he gives a particular harsh suck on my clit.

He rotates his head down to fuck me with his tongue, bringing two fingers up and beginning to rapidly slide against my clit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I chant out. The scruff from his stubble scratches at the skin of my thighs as he shakes his head back and forth. Any beard rash I get from this is beyond worth the pleasure now.

“You taste so fucking good.”

I take one look at his mouth covered in my juices and throw my head back because the image is almost too much for me to handle. My center clenches and my hips involuntarily jerk up towards his face.

“Spencer! Fuck.”

He groans at the sound and buries his face back in my center and slides his fingers back inside me. Without even looking up, he brings his hand up and tightly grips my throat. I grin and yank on his hair in response. My whole body tenses as his fingers tighten around the side of my neck and I let out a gargled moan.

“Yes.” I sigh.

From his angle, he can’t get as tight a grip as he usually does, but this will do in a pinch. He gives another squeeze around my throat before moving his hand back down my body and slides a finger inside me.

I look down to see his eyes already on me and reach down to move his hair back so I could see everything. I didn’t want to miss any single part of what he was doing to me; even the smallest detail.

“(Y/N)…you taste so good.” He moans against my clit, the vibrations from his voice sends shivers up my spine.

The moment he turned his hand upwards and his fingers hit my g-spot for the first time my thighs clamp around his head in surprise. His groan is muffled, but he never ceases his quick tongue’s ministrations.

The combination of his fingers pressing up with his tongue pushing down was causing my body to go into overdrive. He merely moans and speeds up his fingers and sucks my clit into his mouth. My body feels like it wants to fold into itself, but his other hand shoots up and presses against my sternum, keeping me against the couch.

“Spencer, please.”

“I love the faces you make when you’re about to come.” He mumbles.

“Spence…” I can’t even finish my sentence as his tongue hits a particularly sensitive spot.

“Licking into you got me hard again.” His arm slides down his body before steadily beginning to flex. “I can’t help it, you just taste so fucking good.”

“Spencer, oh fuck.” Knowing that he was touching himself again because of how turned on he was, it’s almost enough to push me over the edge.

“I could spend all day between your legs.” He moans as his hand begins to move faster.

“Oh fuck.” Both my hands reach behind me and grasp the pillow behind my head simply to have something to grab onto.

“Come for me.” He pants, never stopping his fingers. I barely have time to get a word out before his tongue his back on my clit and seemingly drawing crazy patterns against it. “I want your cum in my mouth. I need to taste you. Please”

My mouth falls open, but I can’t seem to get words to form as my orgasm washes over me. My hands shoot to keep his head steady as my body begins grinding against his face, trying to ride out every ounce of pleasure I possibly can.

“Holy shit.” I pant out.

“I’m not done with you yet.” He shakes his head.

“Spencer, please.”

“Just you wait.” He moves me into the position he wants me, my body too exhausted to protest, lie out on the couch with him between my legs. He presses a few kisses to my lips before letting out a sudden gasp as if remembering something.

“Hold on, wait one minute.” I watch as he gets off the couch and runs back into the bedroom. I giggle as he holds his dick as he runs to keep it from bobbing too much. He comes sauntering back in with his hand behind his back and a grin on his face.

“What are you hiding?”

He merely shakes his head and returns to his spot above me. He immediately presses his lips to mine once again, an effort to distract me no doubt, but I allow it. I love kissing him too much to deny him in favor of something that I know he’ll tell me eventually. With Spencer it’s all about patience.

“I love you.” He mumbles against my lips. I smile into the kiss and put more force behind it.

“Ditto.”

“Want you so bad.” He says, looking down where his leaking cock is rutting against my center.

“So take me.”

He eagerly nods and hisses every time his leaking head brushes against my entrance. “I need to be inside you.” He says folding himself so he’s level with my pussy once again.

He bends down and gives each thigh a nip before rising to line his cock up with my entrance. I moan as his head stretches me. I notice that he gives multiple shallow thrusts.

“You have to relax otherwise I won’t be able to get it all in.” His eyes are intently looking at where we’re partly joined and I know I’m still tense from the orgasm he just gave me. Feeling him try and enter me causes my body to tense up even more which causes him to groan at the feeling.

“Fuck you’re so tight.” He throws his head back with a moan.

“You feel so good inside me.”

“Always so good for me.” He chokes on his breath as he looks down to watch his cock disappear inside me. I can’t help but clench at the noise he lets out. “Fuck…yeah, squeeze my dick.” He grunts as his hair falls in front of his face.

“I love it when you grind your cock into me.”

“Who fucks you best?” He goads. He would never admit it, but he has a praise kink and wants constant reassurance that he’s the only one I want. I have no issues assuring him time and time again, it always ends well for me.

“You. Only you.”

He gradually slows his thrusts before stopping all together and reaching behind the couch for whatever he grabbed from the bedroom.

“Do you trust me?”

I nod without any hesitation. I trust him with every fiber of my being.

“I have something for us to try.” I look over as he waves a stainless steel pinwheel in my peripherals.

“What?”

“It’s a Wartenberg Wheel.” He says. The name rings a bell but in this context, I immediately know what it’s for. He patiently and quietly waits for me to work through everything in my head without any pressure from him. If I said no I know he wouldn’t push it.

“I trust you.”

He smirks and carefully brings the wheel down to rest at my neck.

“Did you know the Wartenberg wheel was invented by neurologist Robert Wartenberg to test nerve sensitivity. Doctors believed that by rolling it along the bottom of the foot, depending on whether or not your toes curled they could tell what was going on in the nervous system. It’s not used anymore in the medical field, but for what I’m going to do to you, it’s perfect.” I try to focus on his voice rather than the cold metal scratching across my neck.

I trust him inexplicitly, but even that can waver when he’s scratching and rolling needle point pins around my body.

“Are you ready?” He asks. His voice has a tone of wonder and awe.

I nod at him and a mischievous smile crosses his face before he focuses his attention on the metal in his hand. He twists it a few times before settling it right on one of my breasts.

“Did you know that the breasts are an extremely sensitive part of the body?” I nod. “The nipples…hundreds of nerve endings. It doesn’t take much.” He rolls the wheel around my nipple with a feather light pressure, letting my gasps and writhing guide him.

“Your body is so responsive.” He sounds amazed. “What if I just…” He trailed off as he rolled the wheel over my erect nipple. The hiss I let out quickly devolves into a loud moan. I throw my head back as I fist the sheets to keep from writhing around.

“Spencer!”

“Fuck my name sounds so good coming from your mouth.” He lets out a stifled groan and bites his lip.

I raise my hips in an attempt to get him to move again. The feeling of him just sitting there is driving me insane because I know what he’s capable of.

“Spencer.” I’m not above whining to get what I want. He gives me a sharp pinch to my thigh in warning and ignores my pleas.

“Did you know, research has found that nipple stimulation lights up like genital stimulation in the medial paracentral lobule.” He continues his slow thrusts as to not jostle my body too much.

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“One theory is that stimulating the nipples releases oxytocin which triggers uterus contracts which then produces a sensation in medial paracentral lobule.”

“Fascinating.” I say almost sarcastically.

“However,” He started, applying a bit more pressure in response to my sarcastic reply. My body tensed up around him which made him let out a choked moan, “researchers theorize that the nerves in the nipples may directly link to the brain, completely bypassing the uterus. It would explain why the genital region lights up in the brains of some men.”

“Fuck me.” I felt like I could barely breathe, and I just barely managed to choke my words out.

“Which do you think it is?”

“I…don’t know?” 

“Well surely you feel your cunt clench every time I roll the wheel.” He gave me another stroke as if to prove his point. I could help but clench around his cock in response. “See?”

“Spencer, please.”

“Perhaps we should apply more pressure.” He comments. “You’ve gotten used to it.”

“Please.”

“You love this don’t you?”

“I can still feel it.” It was such a surreal feeling. I can feel the ghost of the sensations all over my body long since he’s moved on.

“Where?” He sounds fascinated by this tidbit of information.

“Everywhere.” I moan softly. Much like I can often feel the ghost of his fingers long after they’ve been inside me, I can feel the wheel in place that it once was.

“Moving on.” He says sliding his free hand around my body. “What about…here?” He rests the wheel on my knee with a question look. With my nod, he gently rolls the wheel down my thighs, getting closer and closer to where I need him to touch me. I need something from him to act as a counterbalance.

“How does it feel?”

“Prickly…sharp…” I say breathily.

“Does it hurt?”

“No!” If anything, he can press harder and I’ll thank him.

“Well that’s a good sign. I always knew you could take it.” He hums in satisfaction.

Thankfully he sets the wheel aside and focuses more on me. He plants his hands next to my head and brings his face up to mine with a happy grin. He doesn’t give me the chance to say anything before he’s pressing his lips to mine and shoving his tongue in my mouth. I grip his jaw, eager to keep him with me, as he moves his hips faster against mine.

He alternates between full thrusts, almost completely pulling out before shoving himself back in, and grinding against me when he bottoms out.

His presence is almost overwhelming; I can feel him everywhere. He has a way of overpowering all my senses in the best way possible. The way he hovers over me as he pounds into me and is caging my body into the couch with his arms by my head, he’s all I can see and smell.

I can’t help but bite into his shoulder as his thrust hits a particular angle inside of me.

“Oh fuck.” He moans out before speeding his thrusts. The sounds of skin slapping as well as our grunts and moans fill the room.

“Bite harder, please.” His words surprise me, but I don’t hesitate to abide by his wish and sink my teeth back into his skin. His whole body tenses and he lets out another loud moan as he moves his hips faster.

“Fuck.” He moans enthusiastically. I wouldn’t peg him for having a biting fetish, but I’m not terribly surprised. I whine in protest as he suddenly pulls himself out of me and leaning back on his heels to stare at me.

“Turn around. Hands on the arm rest.” His voice takes on a commanding tone and everything in my body tells me to obey.

I expect him to re-enter me right away, but he doesn’t. I look over my shoulder to see what he’s doing, but he’s just looking at my ass as if the answer to Goldbach’s Conjecture was being spelled out for him.

“Are you going to do something?” I ask with a wiggle.

I let out a gasp as I feel his teeth sink in the cheek of my ass. I moan as he roughly tugs on it.

“I love how responsive you are.” He moans out while squeezing the ass cheek he just bit. This is new territory for both of us, but I’m not mad about it. I have never had anyone bite my butt.

“Your ass looks so pretty all red like this.” Spencer commented. “One day I’m gonna mark this pretty ass up so much that it hurts to sit down.” The idea of wincing as soon as I sit down because of marks he leaves is enticing and I tense at the thought.

“You like that idea, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

His nails scratch down my back and I wince at the feeling. He keeps his hips moving at a steady pace as he continues to use his nails to seemingly draw pictures on my back. Despite how much it hurts, I want more of the feeling.

“Harder.”

“Seems I’m not the only one with a pain kink.” He muses as he obliges. The cry I let out is pure unbridled pleasure.

He moves his hands down to palm and pinch at my ass. My breath hitches as his hands pull my cheeks apart and he brushes his fingers over my asshole.

“One of these days.” I tense as his thumb lightly presses against my puckered hole. “Are you going to let me get in here?” He questions.

“Oh fuck.” I moan. We’ve never done anything like that, nor has it ever come up until this moment. I had no idea that he even thought about it, but I’d be willing to try it with him. I know he would be gentle and make sure it would pleasurable.

“I’m going to bury myself in here and you’re going to take it like the good girl you are.” He said, his fingers lightly circling my entrance.

He slaps my ass cheek and the sound echoes throughout the room. “I’m going to have fun marking this pretty little peach up.”

I’ll laugh about the fact that he actually called my ass a peach later. It just sounds much more like a Morgan comment.

He’s quiet for a moment, focusing “There’s more muscle and fatty tissue in the butt than the thighs, so I know you can take more pressure.” He says bringing the wheel back to my skin. I let out a gasp when the teeth of the wheel immediately bite into the skin and I jolt forward.

“Spencer.” I cry out.

“You can take it baby, come on.”

I know I could take it, but it’s still a lot. They’re literal needles digging into my skin!

“Oh god.” My voice is soft as I drop my head. He trails the wheel all over my ass all while not stopping his movements inside me. I blubber into a couch pillow, especially when he hits a spot more than once.

“How’s it feel?”

“So…” I choke as he goes closer towards our joined centers and digs in a bit. “Fuck!” My whole body involuntary tenses.

“Oh shit.” He moans. “I want to see your face again.” He says pulling back out and urging me to flip over once again, this time not wasting any time and sliding back into me.

His body is so open to me as he thrusts. As I look up at him, I know there’s no one I would rather be with.

Meeting Spencer really is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. We’re so different, but we complement each other. I love it when he corrects science facts on TV shows or acts as my own private docent whenever we go to a museum. I know he secretly loves it when I call him and have him read the most innocuous thing to me simply so I can hear his voice or that I’ll always have a cup of coffee ready and waiting for him in the morning before work. It’s the little things.

“Baby?” His voice breaks me from my train of thought and I snap to focus to see him holding the Wartenberg wheel.“What do you say baby?” He rested the wheel just above the apex of my thighs.

“I trust you.”

“That’s my girl.” He slowly keeps moving inside me as he trails the wheel slowly across my skin. I don’t bother hiding my shivers or the goosebumps that rise in the wake of the pins.

“So responsive.” He muses.

He watches in fascination as goosebumps form in the wake of the wheel tracks. The small indents the wheel leaves behind seems to pique his interest.

“I want my mark on you. Everywhere.” He whispers, almost as if to himself. “You’d look so pretty.” I already have bruises from his mouth and scratches from his nails, but this will be the icing on the cake for me.

“Spencer…please just fuck me.” The games with the wheel are fun and all, but I just want to feel him and have his focus on me, not some piece of metal. “Please, baby.”

He all but tosses the pinwheel on the floor and focuses all his attention on me. He grabs my ankles and holds them up as he puts his whole body behinds his thrusts. I try not to slide further and further up the couch with each movement.

“One day, I’m going to fuck a baby into you.” He says, his eyes glued to my stomach as if picturing it swollen with a baby bump.

“You’re making quite a few ‘one day’ promises there Dr. Reid.” I comment.

He smiles and gives a particularly hard thrust which causes me to let out a loud moan.

“I don’t break promises.”

No, he doesn’t. He never has before, and I can’t imagine he’s going to start now. He brings his fingers down to rub at my clit in slow circles. He times his movements with his thrusts.

I watch in awe as he puckers his lips and lets a gob of spit slowly fall out. The string of saliva keeping it attached to his mouth gets longer and longer. Eventually it lands on my clit and he uses the moisture to quicken the pace of his fingers.

“Spence-” That is never something I thought I would see him do, being a germaphobe and all. He should do more of it.

“You like that?”

“Spencer, I’m close.” I whimper.

“I can feel you getting tighter.”

“I’m gonna…come.” I pant.

“No! Ask for permission before you come. I want to hear you beg for it.”

“Please, please let me come Spencer.” I beg writhing under him.

“Not yet. Together.” He shakes his head and I moan in frustration.

“I’m going to fuck every last ounce of my cum into your pussy.” He promises. He drops head taking a few deep breaths before pressing several kisses to my lips.

“Take it. Take it.” He chants, the pleasure clear as day on his face; it’s in every furrow of his brow and bite of my lip. I know if I could see his eyes, the lust would be swirling around in them.

My legs wrap around his hips and bring him impossibly closer to me. His muscle tense above me and his jaw drops.

“Oh fuck!” I can hear his toes curling against the couch as he alternates between grinding his cock in me and full body thrusts. His thrusts send my body spiraling into bliss and he lets out a series of grunts as I clamp down on him.

“Spencer! Oh…”

“Fuck…fuck…oh god.” He chokes as his orgasm washes through him. He digs his fingers into my hips to keep himself anchored to my body as he empties himself inside me.

He gulps a few shuddery breaths as he works to bring himself back down.

“Holy…shit.” He pants pulling out and onto his knees.

He looks down in wonder before collecting the mixture of our cum on his finger before silently offering it to me. I kept my eyes on him as I sucked his finger in my mouth, the familiar tartness overpowering my taste buds. I don’t need an eidetic memory to know I’ll never forget the look of wonderment on his face.

#dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine

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zachrykdouglas · 3 years

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🌹💀🖤 "I was born with a feeling of missing long before anyone ever left me. A misplaced perception of longing, a subtle acknowledgement of what loss could be once you give yourself to something you thought would keep you free. I do my best to write about things I know, but love still finds a way to leave me grasping for an arrangement dedicated to a fasting when I'm alone. My mind reverts back to a place when I thought sin was something to be ashamed of. A place where you're sentenced without anything more than passing judgment onto those you knew nothing about. I'm relentless when it comes to corrupting my own sanity for the sake of a collaborative effort between victory over my own psyche. I was born to feel everything even when I was standing still long enough to know it wasn't my own temptation I was corraling. I've gathered love throughout my life, a whirlwind of premature hurricanes and single winged butterflies collapsing twilight onto itself. Nothing but scars prove I was alive before now. Maybe not fully invested in my own transformation, but one I've learned takes time and appreciation before understanding not everything produces a productive first step. I'm made of stories I've heard along the way about humans falling victim to their own demise before coming back full circle to collect what a mind has forgotten. I don't know where I'll be when summer kisses wounds I've been handed the last several years. I hope it's somewhere closer to dreaming with you. I hope it's finding a pair of eyes reflecting back into mine with the deepest of fires burning what's left of the dead off of me. I've kept all things meaningful since my birth. Your name is one of them. If falling is flying, I'm a thousand stories above this mess we call living. I'm waiting to descend, like a dying piece of breath mixed in with a catastrophic wind, unable to keep an arrhythmic sense of wandering. You're my feather in a breeze, an angelic body of embodying sex and nurturing between the living and dead. I know I'd give you poetry for the next fifty years if you'd let me. It would be enough to keep you alive, to keep your form wholesome without skipping too far down a river's mouth." (at Texas) https://www.instagram.com/p/CatWNrTM2aQ/?utm_medium=tumblr

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sometimesiwrite · 3 years

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Essi Daven: Character Reference

Aside from my own Headcanons and Theories concerning Essi Daven, I wanted to compile a character reference sheet for those of you who may want to write her or think about her independently from my own creative perspectives. This is, of course, still subjective, but I’ve linked my conclusions directly back to the source text and kept strictly to canon information for this. There is still conjecture, but that is largely where the role of fanfiction steps in. I hope you enjoy. Physicality

Right away, we see Essi as a blonde-haired, fine-featured, petite young woman. Nothing remarkable or extraordinary about her appearance aside from her eyes. As we come to know her more and more, it’s her behaviour and physical mannerisms rather than her appearance that make her more alluring as a side character. Throughout this story, we see her “smile oddly”, “snear”, and on more than one occasion, she’s seen “defiantly” tossing her head (usually accompanied by blowing her lock out of her face).

On more than one occasion, she’s seen drawing her head to her shoulders. To me, this is not shyness or desire to hide. It is a turtling at times if she’s feeling particularly vulnerable or overwhelmed, but it’s also a very casual pose. On the terrace during the banquet, Geralt finds her leaning on her elbows with her shoulders hunched up looking at the water. She’s capable of poise and all the social graces required of a banquet, but when she has time to herself, she slouches, reverts to what’s comfortable, is a dork when she’s in her own head. Yet she “daintily” steps onto the pier to join Geralt the following morning. Based on this information, I put to you that she is someone whose eccentricity cannot be fully tamed by “refinement”.

We see more evidence of this in her handling of her “birthday present”:

At first, her reaction to the stinky mollusk is, “Yuk!” and she responds in a “typically dainty” way, holding the shell at arm’s length. That is, until she's given permission to like the shell. No longer socially “required” to find the smelly slimy ocean thing disgusting, Essi lets her more relaxed side out, pulling a knife from her belt (!), and dumping the insides out the window with the practical announcement that “the cats can eat it.” Her ability to turn 180° from “Ewwww” to “Oh, here, let me just shuck this with my casual waist-knife and chuck it out the window” makes for a high likelihood that she wasn’t that grossed out to begin with, but was rather performing societal expectations.

This brings us to:

Personality

We’ve already touched on this a little, but I want to focus now on Essi’s personality, which is rather complex. One of the most general details about her personality, however, is in her speaking: she’s direct. Oftentimes blunt. Even if she’s feeling unsure, she’s not unsure of her words. She often says or asks things seemingly out of the blue, and doesn’t shy away from Depth in her conversation. Rather, it seems to be her comfort-zone, since she defaults to asking Geralt what he associates with the sea rather than making smalltalk.

That last statement, that she’s neither calm nor composed, to me says a lot. She speaks what she feels, often more easily than what she thinks. And I suspect that she often experiences her thoughts as feelings—something that comes from her gut rather than her head which is reserved for biting wit and incisive observation.

Essi knows people. Knows them well enough to push their buttons, either jokingly or politically. She’s not afraid of authority, and even though her emotions fill her entirely—to the point her hands will shake—they do not render her helpless to them; rather, it seems, her emotions fuel her rhetorical capacity. Being a bard, this makes sense since the language of song and poetry are driven by the dialogue between emotion and intellect.

Moreover, she speaks what she feels to be the truth of her experience, whether it’s her experience of someone else, or her experience of herself. What she believes to be true (however subjectively) she speaks. And if she doesn’t know something, she asks and bluntly:

The fact that she “blanches” yet doesn’t stumble over her words here tells me she’s an excellent performer, and reinforces my previous comment that while her emotions fill her, they don’t rule over her. And yet, we also know she is impulsive and impetuous from her conversation with Geralt on the terrace:

In this exchange, we see one of Essi’s most fascinating self-contradictions at play. She claims not to know how to control herself, says she is impetuous, reactive (the next morning she bluntly admits to being “nosey” and owns it). And yet her ability to recognize and acknowledge her lack of self-control indicates a depth and a level of self-awareness that reinforces my previous statement that she experiences life as a series of feelings—impulses, emotions, “vibes”—more than what we would categorize as “thoughts”. Essi doesn’t have an internal monologue; she has an external monologue of whatever internal experiences make their way into a verbal headspace. She’s not one to prattle on, talk for the sake of talking (like some Other Bards we know) because even though she has a lot going on internally, only some of it will ever make its way into words.

As demure, dainty, and fragile as Essi seems to be, she also has, as Dandelion puts it, “a dark side”.

Exactly what that is, we never really learn, but we get a glimpse of it from Geralt’s perspective at the banquet:

What did she say? While we may not be meant to ever know the answer, we know that a) Essi was smug about it; and b) whatever it was was cutting and more than likely sexually demoralizing in nature.

Which brings us to…

Sexuality and Romance

There are several instances throughout A Little Sacrifice that indicate a level of sexual maturity and confidence in Essi that contrast interestingly with her emotional naivety (which I’ll get to in a moment).

It’s possible, in this instance, that Essi simply doesn’t not abide by the same “rules” about physical boundaries and various social meanings behind physical touch. This moment is certainly not enough to draw any conclusions one way or another. However, the description of her kiss with Geralt on the terrace is less ambiguous in this way, more ambiguous in another.

I first want to fully acknowledge that this scene is a mess of different signals, and I believe the lack of further insight on the part of the author is not intriguing, but lazy. But I digress. She kisses him eagerly and expertly, which suggests that she, mechanically at least, knows what she’s doing with her face and someone else’s. The fact that she distances the rest of her body from Geralt suggests a few things: a) she wants to kiss Geralt but doesn’t know whether he feels the same way, so doesn’t want to commit fully; b) she knows that Geralt doesn’t know why he’s kissing her, and so is trying to distance herself from him so that neither of them makes a mistake; c) she’s caught off-guard and doesn’t mind having a good smooch but doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea about her wanting anything else; d) all of the above.

I would include the possibility that she feels threatened by him and is merely going through the motions, but there’s enough evidence before and after to refute that as a forefront possibility. That’s not to say it isn’t in the background, but the use of “eagerly” would suggest that she’s enthusiastic about a little lip action. We do know that she’s not “looking for a man for the night” from the end of their conversation before going back inside.

I have a few headcanons about Essi’s sexuality and I shuffle back and forth between them depending on the day. There’s enough evidence to support a halfhearted claim that Essi is a virgin (which doesn’t inherently negate the evidence for sexual confidence), but I lean more toward the notion that Essi is sexually experienced (thought likely far less than Dandelion), picky (hence the red-eared young man at the banquet), and romantically inexperienced. There is, I will say, a level of modesty, vulnerability, and hesitation in her interactions with Geralt that lead me to believe she has had minimal directly-sexual encounters.

Is it projecting to say she reminds me a lot of myself in my early-20s? Yes. But to say this character resonates very strongly with my personal experiences, I think, gives some character insight where information and road signs are lacking from the author. And I will say, it is very in-keeping with Essi’s ongoing self-contradictions to be both bawdy and sexually inexperienced. Her canon story arc, unfortunately, doesn’t allow us to imagine her a few years older, but the idea of a more confident, self-assured Essi at 23/24 makes me very happy.

Now, I’m not going to slog through the dialogue disaster that is Essi’s emotional outpouring to Geralt, but suffice it to say, it’s clear she’s never been infatuated/in love before, though she is clearly a romantic. She hates the feeling of being in love, hates that it turns her needy, hates the way it makes her skin crawl and her stomach churn. But there’s something appealing about it as well, and I think there’s a part of her that is desperate to make love. Regardless of whether or not she’s sexually active, to me it’s clear that she wants an emotional-physical connection of some kind; she seeks out comfort from Geralt, seeks out affection, tenderness, but she is also seeking an emotional return—the little sacrifice that Geralt cannot find within himself to give. If she’s had bedmates in the past, it would be remiss to call them lovers.

That’s it, folks! That’s all I’ve got for the time being. As always, questions and observations are welcome (as well as disagreements as long as you’re willing to do it nice and polite like).

#Essi Daven #Character reference #canon reference #tw canon discussion #character analysis #canon criticism #A Little Sacrifice #The witcher #The Sword of Destiny

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thisiswhatshefelt · 4 years

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For Olivia | Chapter Two

Summary: Line cook Johnny “Coco” Cruz has made many bad decisions in his life, but his biggest regret is not being a part of his children’s lives. He reconciles with his teenage daughter, Letty, so he’s hopeful when he shows up on his four-year-old daughter’s doorstep. Shanice Hunter, a newly-appointed guardian, is determined to protect Olivia from anything— even if that means her own father.

Pairing: Chef!Coco x Black!OC Previous Chapter: One Warnings: This chapter kind’ve deals with a deadbeat parent, but we’re still in fluffy territory for now. Word Count: 2.7k

Chapter Two

~Six months ago~ Mel calls from outside the apartment the night. She’s at the door wearing the same smudged eyeliner she left with two days before, but she’s replaced her party dress with cheap, baggy clothing that are three times too big for thin frame. Her once flat ironed hair is reverting at the edges of her hairline. Shanice quietly eases outside so they can sit together on the steps.

“Do you remember when I first had her, and I begged you to take her? You promised me that I would learn. That I would get it right.” Mel rings the sweatshirt between her hands as if squeezing water from the fabric. Her hands become dryer between her fingers and at the knuckles the more she works her hands. “I’ve never gotten it right, ‘Nice. Not one time, so I’m asking you again–Please. Just until I get it together. I have to figure something out.”

Shanice sees how exhausted Mel appears in this moment. The weight of something more than two sleepless nights darken under her eyes. She’s never looked this tired. “What happened over there?”

She smiles even though there are tears falling from her eyes. “What happens in Vegas…” Shanice just stays silent, looking at her friend. Seeing the fracture splinter out even more. When she reaches out to pull Mel’s hand away from the bedraggled clothing, Mel’s lip begins to tremble. “He took everything, ‘Nice. Maxed out all my credit cards before I even realized he wasn’t coming back to the hotel room. A-All my jewelry, I don’t…”

“Oh, Mel,” Shanice says, and it’s all she can say as she moves herself closer to embrace the scared woman. “You can stay here with me until-”

“No, I can’t,” Mel objects, shaking her head and pulling away like she’s been burned. Shanice is about to insist, but Mel’s hand between them quells anymore protests. “I can’t. I have to do this on my own. Will you take her? It would just be until she starts Kindergarten–”

“Of course, Mel. I love her.”

The wrinkled paper, which she realizes is torn from a roll of receipt paper, now sits taut between her pinched fingers. It had his name and number scrawled on one side in handwriting that didn’t look that much different from the scribbling Olivia brings home from preschool.

Shanice doesn’t sleep well after Johnny appears on the doorstep. She doesn’t even leave Olivia’s bed when the bedtime stories end. For hours, she lays beside the girl, recalling past conversations she’d had with her best friend.

It feels strange to still call her ‘best friend’ now, though. Life divides Shanice and Melanie’s paths after college, but they regain closeness once Mel suddenly becomes pregnant and names Shanice the godmother. Shanice plays guardian even before Olivia is born, making sure Mel takes her prenatal vitamins and makes sure she keeps up with her doctor visits.

Now Shanice lays beside the girl so that their noses are almost touching, but her legs are too long for the mattress, so she has to tuck her knees up to fit. Loose strands of Olivia’s tight chestnut curls fall onto her eyelashes and Shanice tucks the strand back into one of her plaits.

Most people assume they’re related in some way because of how superficially similar they appear in passing. Shanice’s deep skin is just a few shades darker than Olivia’s tawny complexion. Their dark hair zig zags in soft, defiant halos when let out of the confines of twists or braids, but Mel is right there at the middle of Olivia’s face.

The bridge of her nose slightly widens before sloping into a rounded tip and it’s all Mel. Shanice leans in close to take in all of her scent before kissing her between the eyes and watching her breathe until sleep finally claims them both.

In the morning, Shanice is uncharacteristically sluggish, but that changes with her first cup of coffee. The morning ritual is completed with most of her mind on autopilot as Olivia talks at a million miles an hour through outfit changes and getting her hair styled into two French braids.

Shanice doesn’t realize she hasn’t been listening to most of the little girl’s one-sided conversation until the waffles pop up in the toaster. She juggles the hot waffles out of the machine and onto a plate before adding syrup and sliding it across the counter.

“Can we go?” Olivia taps her fingers on the counter, strumming her stubby fingers against the countertop.

“Wait, go where?” Shanice’s eyebrows knit together. She tries to recall the last few moments, but her mind is still on last night. The man at the door, and the panic she feels even as her face remains even. Coffee is a bad idea, but she’s now on her second cup.

“Can we go to the big park today. Please?”

“Funny,” Shanice says sarcastically. “I told you we could go this weekend, Mushroom, and it’s still–” Shanice makes a show of looking at her smart watch before her eyes land back on Olivia. “–yep, just what I thought. It’s still Thursday morning.”

Olivia clasps her hands together and squints her eyes as she squeaks out, “Pleeeeease-”

“Hey, hey, hey…ma’am.” Shanice isn’t very loud, but her words cut through just sharp enough to make a point. Olivia knows Shanice doesn’t tolerate whining and begging, so the little girl does the next best thing. Her shoulders slumped exaggeratedly, and like a sucker, Shanice falls for it as she quietly sighs. “If I get a good report from Ms. Wendy today, we can go to the playground at your school.”

“Kay!” Olivia’s eyes widen excitedly. “Can you tell mommy to come too?”

She can’t say that she’s been trying to call Mel all night, but the phone rings until the automated voicemail picks up. She wants her to pick up and ask how Johnny has her home address. It was better that the phone did go to voicemail because the conversation probably wouldn’t have been pleasant.

“I’m sure she’s gonna try her best to make it,” Shanice tells her just as her own waffles finish in the toaster. As she sips her coffee, she watches in slight disgust as Olivia smashes her bananas into each crevice of her waffles. “What’re you doing?”

“Makin’a waffles smooth.” Olivia fills some of the squares with the mashed bananas and takes a bite. “Want some?”

“Noooo thank you,” Shanice says, fervently shaking her head with a laugh. “I like my waffles with all the holes.”

After dropping Olivia off at preschool, Shanice makes her way to Damon Pope High School where she spends the first two periods with 9-12 graders, teaching them about the Harlem Renaissance before analyzing some poems by Countee Cullen and Langston Hughes. Teaching is exciting because she is always amazed at how astute these teenagers were with their analyzations. And their poetry is often some of the most beautiful she’s ever read. She’s excited to see the entries for the poetry contest this year.

At a free period, she shuts herself up in her classroom and tries Mel’s cell again. It goes straight to voicemail, and Shanice’s anger transforms into concern. She leaves another message, hoping for the best but thinking of the worst.

Shanice makes her way to Olivia’s preschool twenty minutes after the last bell rings and is there just as the first parents are leaving with their children. She’s soon inside and makes small talk with some of the parents and grandparents.

Olivia spots her and yells across the room of children and adults. “Aunty ‘Nice!” Olivia rushes over and grabs her hand before pulling her back over to the teacher, Ms. Wendy. “Tell her I was good, Ms. Wendy! Tell her!”

“Olivia…” Shanice tries to reprimand, but she finds herself biting her bottom lip to keep from smiling.

Ms. Wendy doesn’t hold in her laugh, and her wavy blonde hair dances with every shake of her shoulders. “Well, Olivia is always good, but she was extra special today.”

Olivia is beaming, but Shanice tries not to roll her eyes as she sees the little girl grinning. They say their goodbyes and walk outside to the playground where Olivia runs immediately to the slides. Shanice picks up Olivia’s backpack from the grass where it sits abandoned in the excitement and stands off to the side to make another phone call. The phone doesn’t answer but she gets a text message a few minutes later.

Hey girl. Got your messages! Been really busy lately but I’ll be over ltr tonight. Tell Liv I got her a present!! Xo

Shanice decides not to tell Olivia about the text message because she’s heard this before. She spends time with Olivia who looks up every time someone walks near the playground, hoping one of them will be Mel, but she doesn’t actually ask about her mother. There’s a destructive amount of hope in her eyes that dies with every passing moment.

There’s that hope Mel will show even at eight that night when Olivia is fast asleep. Shanice still has hope, but she knows it won’t happen.

I have something important to talk about, Mel. It’s about Olivia’s bio dad.

At ten, Shanice’s phone buzzes in the middle of grading assignments.

Sorry! Forgot 2 tell u I gave Johnny yur address! I didn’t know what to tell him. figured you would know what 2 do??

Is Liv upset I didn’t show?? Tell her I’ll be there in a couple days xo

Shanice is so angry that she only replies with

She’s fine.

before tossing her phone on the other side of the couch.

It’s more than sending a complete stranger to her home. It’s more than ignored calls.

Figured you would know what to do.

But Shanice doesn’t know what to do. She really wants to keep Mel included in their life. Keep her included in the decisions she has to make for Olivia, but Shanice is slowly accepting that she’s alone in this now. She can’t keep playing the role of a glorified babysitter.

The piece of paper is still on the night table when she goes back to retrieve it. Her emotions are driving her as she paces back to the couch to retrieve her discarded phone, so she doesn’t realize how late it is until she hears the groggy voice pick up.

“Yeah, hello?” he answers.

“I-I’m sorry,” Shanice says now caught off guard. It’s nearly midnight. “Is this Johnny?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“It’s Shanice,” she tells him. “Can we meet?”

Shanice pulls her car into the Tres Reyes lot during her a free period the next morning. It’s a quaint white building with a terracotta roof that looks almost like someone’s home, if not for the large sign on the face of the building in bold letters.

Once inside the diner, she can feel the warmth from the kitchen blanket every bit of her skin, but it isn’t as oppressive as the heat from the California desert. The white from the outside also paints the wall inside, but there are bright Spanish tiles on the floor which makes Shanice feel like she’s stepping on artwork. She also now feels wildly overdressed in her pencil skirt, blouse and heels.

A few older Latino people are scattered throughout the diner while some college kids occupy most of the other tables.

“Cuántos personas?” a teenage girl asks, coming from behind a desk near the door. Shanice fights the teacher in her that wants to ask, Shouldn’t you be in class?

“Uh, dos personas, por favor,” Shanice replies, quickly recalling something from her Freshman year at college.

The girl asks in Spanish, gauging whether or not she speaks the same language and by her accent, the girl nods. With a quick, disapproving twitch of her eyebrows that only a teenager can manage, she says, “Right this way.”

“Are you waiting for Coco?” the girl asks, nonchalantly placing two menus on the table.

“I…I mean, I’m waiting for Johnny?”

She nods again then turns slightly in the direction of the service window that separates the kitchen from the dining. “Coco!”

A few of the guests jump at the girl’s voice. Johnny walks from the kitchen, chastising her with his eyes. She shrugs back with an impressive lack of enthusiasm. “My bad, alright?” she apologizes, returning to her hostess spot behind the counter.

It makes sense now why Johnny wants to meet here. Shanice had assumed he’d be a guest, not an employee. He sits at the table across from her with a shy smile. He’s wearing a short-sleeved white t-shirt, so she can clearly see that his tattoos wrap the full lengths of his arms.

Unsure of how else to begin, Shanice opens with, “They call you Coco?”

“Only people that really call me Johnny is my mom when I piss her off,” he says, smiling slightly. “Thanks for meeting me, I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Shanice mutters.

“You want something to eat?”

“Thanks, but I have to get back to work in a little bit.” She sighs then decides to do away with pointless small talk. “She’s four years old now. Where’ve you been?”

Straight to the point. The question visibly unsettles him, but she’s past caring.

Johnny–or Coco sits up a little straighter in the seat. “I’m gonna keep it real with you. I been in and outta prison most of my life–nothing violent, but I got locked up a couple months before she was born and was in for the first two years of her life.”

Shanice suspects as much, so she isn’t shocked when he admits this. She’s more concerned with what lands him there. “Define…‘nothing violent?’”

He clears nothing from his throat, “Possession.” The words roll out of his mouth like a secret, but it falls between them like an anchor at the bottom of a chasm.

She nods once. Coco’s anxious, almost like the kids she has to chastise for not doing their homework. The fact that he’s been to prison doesn’t exactly make her flinch. She has a few relatives that had been incarcerated at one point in time and others that are still in jail. Had it not been for pure luck, she could have ended up the same way at a young age. Especially during her college days with Mel.

Shanice can’t help but be hard. It must feel like an interrogation the way she fires questions and sits emotionless on the other side of the table. “That’s still two years unaccounted for.”

“Honestly,” he said with a wince, “I thought she’d be better off without me there. Being a good father isn’t something I know how to be.”

“What makes you so sure you can be a good father now?”

“Nothing,” he says plainly. “But I remember how I felt growing up without my dad. I didn’t feel wanted. I don’t want her to feel something like that. Especially not ‘cause of me.”

“There’s an audience,” she notes with her gaze set upon the service window.

He turns to the men. One is older with white hair and shadows of old acne scars on his somber face. One of the younger men sports an undercut while the other has his hair shortly cropped. By the downturned eyes the three share, it’s obvious that the three are father and sons.

The older man adjusts his glasses and disappears into the kitchen when he realizes he’s been caught leering. The other two put their heads down and start scrubbing away at the tiles in the window with small towels.

Shanice focuses again at her table mate and stares at him for just a moment much too long for it to be deemed comfortable. She notices his fingers are tapping against the table, and she suddenly recalls a moment from that morning when Olivia does the same.

It’s a different beat, but it has the same heart.

“Okay,” she tells him, looking up, and she watches Coco break out into a boyish smile. “Let me get something straight, though. There’s no ‘try’ in this. She’s had people in her life disappoint her, and at her age, she hasn’t really learned to stop being hopeful.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, revealing a familiar dimple.

“We’re going to the park downtown this Sunday. You can meet us there if you don’t have to work.”

“Yeah,” he said, still smiling. “Of course, I’ll be there.”

Shanice is driving back to school a few minutes later, chewing on the realization that it will most likely be another sleepless night.

_______

Next Chapter: Three

#mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans fanfic #mayans fanfiction #coco cruz #johnny cruz #coco x oc #thisiswhatshewrote #poc!fanfiction #poc!fanfic #woc writer #poc writer #black oc #mayans mc x oc

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years

Text

cookies and rings and things | b.b.

summary: “What do you want for Christmas?” “I’ve got everything I want right here.”

WARNINGS: swearing, but it’s all soft, cute and just love!!! lots of love :) pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 8.3k

a/n: written for @sunmoonandbucky for no particular reason other than i saw that she needed fluff and i was more than happy to provide. make sure y’all show her some love bc she just ACED AN AUDITION and literally,, i love her,,, so much,,, NOW HAS A SEQUEL TITLED: POSITIVELY PERFECT

“How much do you love me?” she asks, winter gleaming on her bare skin and firelight playing in her eyes. It’s Boxing Day of 2024, the first truly normal one after the Blip, and Bucky watches as snow falls like feathersoft stars outside his window at the compound.

“Count the snowflakes, multiply by a million.”

“Big number,” she muses and he can feel her nails scratch at his waist lightly as her socked feet nudge against his. He wonders what kinda insane person wears socks without any clothes on, but then decides that it’s the kind of person who’s fallen in love with him.

“Well, I love you more than that,” he replies. She wrinkles her nose and snuggles in tighter against him. The fur lining of those ridiculous reading socks tickle the inside of his calf as she curls against him and he doesn’t think he should be able to love a girl this much. Then, he can feel the cold metal of the ring she slid onto her own finger less than twenty-four hours ago and realizes that he had thought a lot of things shouldn’t be possible, and yet they still are.

“Dork,” she murmurs against his neck.

“Lover,” he replies against her ear.

Bucky doesn’t mean to notice her. He’s running laps around the newly rebuilt compound, she has a whistle in her mouth as she shouts drills around the metal thing. Sharp cracks of ‘Pick up the pace!’ and ‘Move it, kids!’ nip at his ears when he runs by and Sam says something about how he’s getting distracted. He hadn’t realized at all.

“Who’s she?” he asks, wiping the sweat from his brow. He’s just finished five laps and he stands on the inner edge of the track, watching as recruits run past. A towel is slung over his shoulder and Sam skids to a stop in front of him, stepping in beside the soldier. The rookies’ shirts are soaked and they pant as they whip past, but none dare to slow down when she stands waiting just a few metres away.

“New trainer.” Sam’s got a glint in his eye Bucky thinks he knows when he says her name. He’s just getting to know the guy but he’s a pretty easy book to read anyway. “Heard she’s a hard ass on the newbies but it’s ‘cause she has a rep.”

“Then they’re getting what they signed up for,” he says shortly. Despite the cool autumn breeze brushing against the thick heat of his neck, his heart burns into his chest as he heaves another breath.

“Alright, walk it off. We meet by the pool in fifteen.” She catches their attention again, and Bucky notices she’s wearing a half-zipped up windbreaker and joggers, and nothing underneath. Not that he intends to notice. Her hair is tied up back, and he kinda can’t help but look at her neck and her collarbones and, oh, no, he’s looking at her black sports bra—

“Dude.” He blinks at Sam’s amused snap. “You’re staring.”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s voice roughens up as his cheeks begin to flash red and he hides his face in his towel when Sam nudges him with a sweaty elbow.

“She’s cute. I can get you her number,” Sam says but Bucky lets out such a strangled sound that both Sam and the cute trainer look at him.

If it were possible, Bucky’s skin would melt off.

“Hey,” Sam calls her over by a name Bucky can barely hear because he’s too busy staring at his feet and wishing the ground would swallow him up. “You’re the new trainer, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is so much softer than before. Guess it’s like that when you’re not yelling at recruits and talking to Avengers. Bucky raises his head, absently running a hand through the few strands of hair that’ve fallen from his ponytail. “You’re Sam, right? I feel like we’ve met before.” She cocks her eyebrow and tilts her head. “Did you use to live in Washington?”

“Yeah, I did.” Sam’s smile pinches his cheeks and Bucky’s lips press together in a displeased frown when a grin flickers across her face. “Did you work in the VA? ‘Cause you’re starting to look familiar.”

“Yeah.” When she smiles, it morphs her face into something startling warm and lovely. Bucky dips his head low, trying to act like he’s not really part of the conversation—a mere bystander—because if he looks at her for too long, he knows it’s just too intense to be anything but creepy. “I think we used to bump into each other at the gym. I was a physical therapist at the office, and—”

“You made cookies any chance you got, I remember now!” Sam exclaims and she laughs loudly. “You always made my vets’ day when your cookies came in, so thank you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m here now. It’s funny how life works.” She shrugs and Bucky can feel her gaze land on him. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met.” Her name slips off her tongue like poetry and Bucky, midway through a swipe of sweat down his neck, looks at her with narrowed eyes. He doesn’t mean to glare, but he’s caught so off-guard by the sudden change in direction of their conversation that he isn’t even a part of that his face reverts to something less than friendly.

“Bucky,” he says stiffly, although he doesn’t know why she doesn’t know the names of every Avenger. She probably does and is just being polite, a stern voice in Bucky’s head reprimands and he can feel Sam almost sigh in disappointment. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. You haven’t tried my cookies yet, so I haven’t proven my worth but I promise they’ll change your life,” she says, completely unphased. Bucky guesses she’s more than used to grumpy guys. “Fall equinox is tomorrow, so wait just a tiny bit longer?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Bucky doesn’t understand the question at the end of her sentence but she seems satisfied with his answer as she shoves her hands into the pockets of her windbreaker. “You probably have to get back to work,” he adds lamely and she turns to look at the compound. The autumn breeze curls hair against her cheek and Bucky bites his lip to resist the urge.

“I’m free later tonight,” she says, eyes squinting a bit when she turns back to Bucky and Sam clears his throat when Bucky himself doesn’t say a word. It’s like he’s drowning in her eyes. There’s something so effortlessly patient and warm in her gaze that Bucky can’t help but just… rest. It’s almost as if he can rest in her presence.

“So is Barnes.”

“What?” He snaps back to reality harshly, as usual. “We’re supposed to—“

“Actually, I can handle it on my own. She, however—” At this, Sam gestures wildly to the trainer who stands there, the beginnings of an amused grin growing on her face—“needs help with cookies.”

“I can’t,” he croaks after a minute of stuttering, and he simply clamps his mouth shut, averting his eyes. She’s too pretty for him.

“I mean, company is always welcome,” she says, but he shakes his head.

“I’ll just get in your way and I don’t wanna mess up your cookies.”

“You can’t mess them up. I always think of something and it always works out.” She reaches over to take hold of his flesh arm and despite the coolness of the day when they’re not running their lungs out, her hand burns against his skin. She gently squeezes his elbow. “Don’t worry so much, okay? I’ll be in the kitchen after dinner in the mess.”

She lets go too soon and slips her hand back into her pocket as Bucky opens his mouth to reply.

“I’ve got to go to the pool,” she says, jerking her head towards the compound. Her eyes flicker to Sam whose grin nearly splits his face. “Bye, Sam. It was nice seeing you again, although I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other now.”

“Big building,” he says with a shrug. “Who knows?” She chuckles lightly, and then her gaze slides to Bucky.

Her eyes just seem to find his so calmly. It’s magnetic, and if he believed in love at first sight, this would be it.

“See you later, Sergeant.” She magpie salutes and he can’t help but mimic like a monkey, a lazy swipe of his finger from his brow. It’s so relaxed, so slow and he’s slouched on one hip, his metal hand on his towel, that he thinks he’s never felt so light. It’s almost routine—he could get used to this.

Man, it’s so easy with her.

Her smile brightens remarkably and she heads back to the compound with a little spring in her step.

Sam waits until she’s inside before grabbing Bucky by the neck and giving him a noogie.

“You gotta dress up nice, man,” Sam advises like he’s on the same level as Tan from Queer Eye. Bucky stares at his reflection in the floor-length mirror and frowns in response.

“We’re baking, not going to a gala.” Maybe I should take her to one. Get invited to enough of them as it is, a part of him muses, but he quickly chases that thought of his head. “Besides, she just saw us earlier today sweating like dogs so I don’t really think she’ll care if I show up in a t-shirt and shorts.”

“But this is your first date, man. You gotta dress to impress.” Sam shuffles through Bucky’s closet whilst its owner gapes at him.

“It’s not a date.”

“Yeah, and I’m not Captain America.”

“Shut up, Sam.” Bucky catches the pair of dark washed jeans and a cozy little sweater Wanda said would be cute on him. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, he sighs. The warm white and the dark blue are so not his style. His style is black in different shades and fabrics and he is going to kill Sam. “This? I’ll look like—”

“Husband material. You’ll look like a straight up husband. She will cuff you on the spot,” Sam declares much to Bucky’s annoyance. “Are you gonna wear the photostatic veil Banner programmed for you?” He glances over to see Sam holding the mesh of tech, and he frowns thoughtfully.

“Should I?” He hasn’t had the opportunity to try it on, and although he knows everyone is used to his metal arm… He sighs. This is way more complicated than the forties. “Yeah. Good impression, right?” he says lamely and Sam claps him on the back, helping him seal it to his metal arm. As the nano-sized cells connect to the metal plates, a fleshy color blooms from the shoulder down and he feels like silk brushes against the tiny fibers of his arm. He can feel every single little cell, buzzing in a way that’s barely even noticeable. Bucky hopes that when he doesn’t focus on it, it’ll fade into the back of his mind.

“Atta boy. Come on. We’ve got dinner and then it’s time for your date! Wanda made paprikash.”

“Great,” Bucky intones dully, nerves biting at his stomach. He has no appetite for this. “I love paprikash.”

“We don’t sulk on first dates, Barnes.”

“It’s not a fucking date!”

After a dinner full of questions from Dr. Banner on how the photostatic veil was feeling and from everyone else on why, Bucky volunteers to do the dishes and clean up to make sure everything is spotless for when she comes in. Despite confusion among the rest of his colleagues, Sam assures them that ‘this is the plan, guys. Barnes’s got a hot date coming over.’

This, of course, only results in Bucky threatening to throw a skillet at him.

He wipes down the countertops, cleans the sink, and reorganizes the fridge while he waits for her, and he absently wonders what kind of cookies she intends to make. Chocolate chip, jam, sugar, shortbread…

Ingredients! His eyes widen and he turns to look at the dark pantries in slight horror. I should probably get them out for her. And measuring spoons, that’s what she needs, right? His stomach is in knots as he runs around the kitchen island, trying to find all the tools they might need. He tries to think of when Wanda had last made something sweet—what had she used? He ducks to pull out the biggest drawer, relieved to find three metal bowls of different sizes.

“Small, medium, large,” he murmurs under his breath, and he puts them all out beside the other instruments he thinks might be needed. A whisk, a bunch of different spoons, a glass cup and metal scoops… He glances around and tries to figure out what he’s missed before deciding to just open up every possible drawer and cupboard, and see what pricks his imagination.

He only gets to the second set of drawers when a soft chuckle catches his attention.

Whipping around, he feels his heart drop into his stomach when he spots her leaning against the doorframe. Her hair is pulled away from her face, and she has a book and aprons hugged tight to her chest.

“I didn't want to disturb you,” she says, an impish curl to her mouth. Bucky steps back from the kitchen island as she walks around and her gaze sweeps his collection. “It was cute.”

“Not many people can sneak up on me,” he says, a bit defensive as a flush makes its way up his neck. He doesn’t mean to sound like it, but maybe it’s the embarrassment of being caught that makes him oddly proud of his work.

“Not many people help me bake cookies,” she replies, standing next to him. She sets down the book and aprons down and he can catch the faint whiff of dinner at the mess hall clinging to her t-shirt. His heart hammers hard enough he’s sure even the deaf would be able to hear it as she gently plucks at different tools, thinking about what they will and won’t need.

Not the thing that looks like a weird wire version of brass knuckles, got it.

“Uh, pastry cutter,” she names, returning it to its place without a mistake. “We won’t really need it since we’re not cutting up big portions of fat.”

“Good to know.” He nods and writes that down in his head. “Anything else we don’t need?”

“We can use it all if you want,” she says with a laugh living in her voice. “It doesn’t really make any difference to me.”

“Okay, well, let’s just get started, then.”

“Aprons first.” She unfolds the two things, one white and navy, and the other black. The black one says Kiss the Cook and Bucky feels a flash of heat at the print. “Which one?”

The white and navy striped apron has a blue pocket with tiny white polka dots, the same pattern frilling the bottom and on the shoulder straps. The black, it’s clearly larger and for a man, and Bucky wonders if these were truly the only aprons she had or if she only bakes with guys she’s interested in. A flicker of jealousy runs through him. How many guys cooked with her before him?

Stop it. Not a date. Bucky shakes his head and shrugs.

“Whatever looks best on you,” he says. “Not that either of them would look bad or anything, but—”

“Thanks, Sarge.” Her eyes crinkle when she smiles big enough and she slips the black apron over her neck before sticking out the white and navy one to him. He stares at the piece of fabric for a moment before slipping his arms through and twisting his arms to tie a tight knot. She does the same and it’s pulled tight against her, Kiss the Chef smack in the middle of her chest.

“So where do we start?” He swallows because he thinks he’s just signed up for more than he bargained for. He looks at all these raw ingredients, ingredients he’s pulled because he thought it might be useful and doesn’t even know where to begin.

“First, we have to decide how many cookies and which type,” she says, pulling over the book and making space for it. She opens it up and his eyes widen at all the tabs poking out, different colours surely meaning different things. It’s an organized mess.

With a piece of scrap paper and a pencil, she writes down the number of required cookies. “Around there,” she says with a swift circle around a number bigger than Bucky had thought. “And these are the cookies we can make that everyone can eat,” she continues, writing a list down one side and then sectioning it off with a line, “these include nuts,” another section, “and these will have icing on them.”

“That’s a lot of planning for the fall equinox, ma’am,” he begins, trying not to sound daunted. She laughs, her eyes darting to his face. Her stare burns into his cheek as she shrugs.

“Hope I’m not scaring you away.”

No. Never. “Maybe a little.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll do the math and teach you a few tricks, and you’ll be a natural. Promise.” He’s surprised by how easily he believes her. As she talks about all the different types of cookies, the textures and ingredients one can use, Bucky finds himself slipping. He lets her scoot closer as she shows him how to sift the dry ingredients.

“Just tap it against your hand like this,” she says and Bucky copies her. She shows him how to prep the pan, and he preheats the oven. They mix the dough with their hands, and Bucky watches as her skilled hands manipulate the oily dough she’s created like it’s second nature. He glances down at his own pile in a glass bowl that doesn’t look too shabby, and almost smiles. “Yours looks really good, Bucky.”

“Thanks.” His eyes stick to the chocolate chips and he pokes it with a half-proud smile. “I had a great teacher.” She laughs again. She’s easy to laugh and smile, and every time she does either of those things, something in him feels like it’s going to burst with light. He wishes he was like that, but at the same time, he feels brighter than he has in days. Maybe it’s something about how she treats him like any other guy, or maybe it’s that she makes him smile more than anyone has in a while.

“Well, this is only batch one and two out of like, twenty billion,” she says as they begin to shape their cookies. Bucky had ripped the parchment paper for their trays and laid them flat and while they roll these balls of chocolate chip cookie dough, he can’t help but listen to her go on and on about things she wants to talk about. Life since the Blip, the recruits, hobbies and childhood memories. He can’t help but give his two cents too, and she tilts her head as she listens, a soft smile on her face.

“You’re a great listener,” she comments as he sets the trays in the oven and closes the door. She sets the timer on her phone and begins to prepare for the next batch.

“It was all I could do for a while,” he says with a shrug. “You get good at stuff you do for a long time.” Her actions slow and she turns to stare at him. He focuses on cleaning up his work space, swallowing down the smell of butter and sugar. “Guess something came out of it,” he adds uncomfortably when the silence grows. He looks beside him, at her, where there is a smear of flour across her cheek, where she merely stands there in silence, and sighs. He’s ruined it. “Sorry.”

“Is that why you hid your hand?” she asks softly and his eyes widen noticeably. “I didn’t want to ask to make you uncomfortable, but I did wonder.” She looks down to make sure she’s measuring enough sugar and she closes her eyes for a moment, clearly cursing herself. Bucky wishes he could say something, but his mouth doesn’t click with his brain. “Forget I even brought it up. I’m sorry, I—”

“I wore it for tonight,” he blurts out and she looks at him, eyebrows furrowed together. “It’s a photostatic veil Banner coded for me and… and I wore it for you.”

“Why? It’s not like I’m afraid of it.”

You should be. “I guess I just wanted to be normal for a night,” he sighs and she stops sifting for a moment to really look at him. Setting down the sieve, she leans on the counter and places the other hand on her hip, waiting for him to explain patiently. “Sam called it a date, and I think it got to my head.”

“Oh,” she breathes. He tears off the photostatic veil carefully, letting the mesh crumple in his hands and she swallows. The air is thick with an emotion neither of them can quite name and Bucky is quite sure she will never want to see him again. God, is this what it’s like to flunk a date? He sets down the mesh on a clean countertop, watching the hologram flicker as he flexes his metal fingers. They gleam in the artificial light and he hides it behind his back, shame pooling in his chest.

“I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t want to make it awkward for you,” he mutters and she reaches to touch his metal wrist tentatively. Kiss the Chef wrinkles against her chest and his gaze falls to the floor. He doesn’t quite know how to describe how utterly disappointed in himself he is when she steps closer, fingers curling over his. No pity in her eyes, she squeezes his palm carefully.

“I don’t want you hiding yourself away,” she murmurs, tilting her head so he is forced to look at her. His eyes stare dejectedly into hers and she smiles, using her other hand to cup his face. Powder dusts against his eyes and he squints. The smell of dough clings to her skin and she smiles fondly at him, fingers stroking his cheek. “I like you just as you are.”

“You like me?” he asks, confused, and she chuckles. “All I’ve done is help you make cookies.”

“‘Course I like you, dork. You’re hot.” A teasing bite in her tone, she taps his nose with her thumb before returning her palm to his cheek. “And I know you didn’t have control of anything in your past, and you’re trying your best, Bucky. That’s all any of us can do, now that we’re back.” Her eyes avert for a moment, and then find his again. There is a gooey softness that reminds him of molten chocolate and snow on Christmas eve. “I really do like you, you know. Have a big ol’ school girl crush on you, to be honest.”

“On me?” Why not anyone else? He’s bewildered. Sam, or that new receptionist on two, or even some other trainer because…

Frankly, Bucky thinks he’s lost all appeal to those who know him since 1945.

She takes his silence as rejection and it shows in the uncertainty that mars her face. Bucky wishes he knew how to articulate that he is insanely attracted to her and how the way she laughs makes his heart believe it can jump mountains, but instead he is stunned into a quiet that fills the kitchen. He only met her a few hours ago. How can he even begin to explain it?

“We have cookies to make,” he says instead, eyes flitting to the open ingredients and he turns his head against her hand. She springs apart from him, cold rushing to fill in the space she’s left behind as she draws her hands towards herself.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess we do.” Her face falls and she grabs the sieve, a wobbly smile built on her lips. “Forget I brought it up, then.” She begins to sift her dry ingredients once again and he mentally groans to himself. Why is he such an idiot?

He mumbles her name softly, and she pauses, turning just so to look at him.

“I like you, too,” he says with a difficulty that shouldn’t be there, because it’s true. “I know I just met you today, but you’ve already made me feel… different, I guess”

“Different?” A tentative, stronger smile begins to curl the corner of her mouth and he nods, his lips twitching upwards. His hand, flesh and warm, settles on her hip all on its own, a fluttering touch that he is completely unsure of as he gently turns her to face him fully. She’s so damn gorgeous with flour on her face and eye bags beneath her eyes that he’s sure she will inevitably make his heart burst. It pounds in his head as he tries to grab at reasons he needs to step away, to stay away, but his heart battles his head ferociously.

I’ll hurt you and I can’t stand the thought. I’ll hurt you or kill you or lose control and you can’t stop me and I don’t want to hurt you ever. His brain screams the words H.Y.D.R.A had thrown at him, the looks handlers had tossed at him flashing in his head—terrified, wild dog, monster.

I want to protect you, I want to love you, you light me up, I can protect you. I won’t hurt you. I’ll be better for you, if you could love someone like me. His heart whispers, louder than the silence. It’s the forties boy in him, the son his mama raised and the brother Rebecca loved, and he can recall the faces he’s adored—Steve, Ma, Becca.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Bucky murmurs and she hesitantly touches his face. His eyes flutter at her gentle touch and she takes it as an invitation to cup his face once again. “It’s just… you.”

“I’m not special,” she tells him bashfully, words brushing against his lips as he closes his eyes for a moment against her hand. When he opens them once again, he finds her watching, transfixed. There is a new serenity in her eyes, one that tells him she is completely enchanted on something that cannot be him—he is anything but an angel.

“You really are.”

“Now, now, Sergeant Barnes.” Her voice is warm as whiskey and he can get drunk off the sound of her laugh. He can feel her smile just by how her energy shifts and Bucky falls, for the first time in his life; he falls harder than he ever has. “Go on like that and you’ll get anything you want from me.”

“Even permission to kiss the chef?” Bucky’s words, thick and hot, jumble in his mouth. Her nose brushes his, sparks tingling in his veins as her hand trails to cusp the back of his neck.

“That permission will always be granted without question.”

He kisses her softly, hesitance laced through his lips and it is only when she crushes him against her does he bury his hand in his hair and kiss her like she is meant to be kissed: feverently, reverently, forever reminded that Bucky Barnes is lucky enough to be completely in love with her.

Bucky is quite sure Sam is in love with his girlfriend in the fact that he’s in love with the fact that his girlfriend is possibly in love with Bucky. Bucky himself doesn’t think that she could possibly be in love with him, but Sam is more than eager to prove otherwise.

“Sam asked what I’m getting everyone for Christmas.” She’s on the shoulder press, the muscles in her back flexing and waning in a slick sheen of sweat while Bucky completes his set of push-ups.

“He’s thinking too far ahead,” he mutters. “It’s only the start of November.”

“Well, you know him. I think he just wants an opinion on what I’m getting you.” Standing up, she grabs her water bottle, squirting a stream of ice-cold water into her mouth before laying down beside him. “What do you want for Christmas?”

He pauses mid-way up from his two-hundredth push-up. “You don’t need to get me anything, doll.” The nickname is still a bit strange on his tongue but he thinks he can get used to it.

“Yeah, but I wanna get you something.” She juts out her bottom lip in an adorable pout, a telltale sign she wants him to kiss her and he leans on one hand to press a quick kiss onto her lips before resuming his workout. He knows the signs on what she wants fairly easily now. He’s grateful she’s spelt it out so many times for him.

Playing with his fingers means she wants attention, a pout is a kiss, suctioning kisses to the neck means she’s feeling some sorta way and he’s more than happy to oblige that feeling. There’s a long list of little tells that Bucky’s starting to think it’s a whole other language.

“How about cookies?” he deflects and she rolls her eyes, getting up and sucking down some more water.

“I make cookies for everyone. You deserve something special,” she argues and he sighs. “I really want to make our first Christmas special.” He lies down and pushes on his palms, stretching out in a cobra pose while she rolls over into the splits. He pulls back into child’s pose while she leans forward and he’s thankful for the silence.

What do I want? he wonders. What do I want that I don’t have already? His eyes drift to her form only a few centimetres away and he thinks, Nothing.

“I’ve got everything I want right here,” he intones seriously, crawling forward and she turns to him, eyes wide. Sitting upright, she changes legs. “I guess I want nothing to change.”

“Dork,” she mumbles, and a sticky heat pools in his face as she pokes his cheek. He sits down and she offers him his water bottle with a shake. He shakes his head, the argument that his own is only in the locker room. “Come on. Locker room’s too far away from me.” A sweat drop tracks down her jaw and he smiles softly, brushing it away. Legs crossed, he takes it without taking a sip. “Besides, I told you you can take what you want. I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” he says, knowing full well it just doesn’t feel right to take back the hoodies she’s stolen from him. Maybe one by one, he’ll take them back and wear them for at least twenty four hours before giving them back. Then, his scent will stay with her. “What do you want for Christmas, then?”

“I—” Her sentence is cut off by an alert on his phone, one they both know not to ignore and she sighs. There is disappointment, their little bubble popped with a simple text. He sets down her water bottle to get it, gut dropping at the message displayed on his screen. “How long is it?”

“Emergency response in Cairo, I don’t know,” he murmurs. Pocketing his phone, he grabs his towel and rushes back to her. He grabs her face and presses a desperate kiss against her mouth, eyes squeezing shut and she mumbles words he can’t decipher against his grieving lips. Her fingers touch his jaw gently, a reminder that he must go, and he pulls away. “I’ll text you as soon as I can.”

“Stay safe.”

He smiles shakily and promises that he will.

“Barnes. We got a package for you.” Sharon Carter’s voice catches his attention from his sniper post and he blinks away the winter sun from his eyes. No movement still. “Merry Christmas.”

The blonde extends a box towards him, a slight smile curling her lips and he frowns at the stark bleakness of it. Black, and absorbing no light, it feels heavier than he thought it’d be.

“Thanks.” He shifts, his bones clicking as he glances out the tiny slit of a window. There hasn’t been movement for weeks. Crossing his legs, he sets the box before him and a tiny blue hologram pops up from a tiny hole in the center. His eyebrows furrow together as it scans his face and he squints.

“Facial scan complete: Hello, James Buchanan Barnes.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice echoes in his small little perch and he still thinks it’s weird without having the side effect of Stark in his suit chasing after him to hear the A.I. but he shoves that uncomfortable feeling of the dead man out of his head. That is too much regret to unpack right now on a mission.

The box unfolds, the mechanical whir humming in his ears and a waft of sweet sugar rushes into his face as he peers within.

Cookies. Sugar cookies, butter cookies, frosting and crystal sprinkles, gingerbread, snickerdoodle, a note in her writing.

“She requested I ask you to read her note before eating the treats,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says and Bucky pulls out her note. “She also requested that you stay safe, despite not being home for Christmas.”

Taking the blue cue card, he sighs at the mere sight of her writing. His heart aches much more than he realized and he wonders if she misses him half as much as he misses her.

Buck,

Times may be tough while we’re apart, but absence only makes the heart grow fonder. Stay safe, Sarge, and come back to me.

Merry Christmas. Forever thinking of you.

When he bites into one of those cookies, he melts into the wall he’s leaning to and closes his eyes, just imagining her standing in the kitchen with that Kiss the Chef apron tied tightly around her. The taste brings back memories, and brings him back home to New York, to her. Home, he muses wistfully, home is waiting for me with her laugh and smell and eyes. Home.

Bucky drops his bags as soon as he’s off the quinjet because he spots the dark blur that is his girlfriend in a track pants and a big poofy parka running down the road towards him. He barely gets his arms up in time before she’s flying into his arms and he lets out a grunt, stumbling back as he flings his arms around her waist and holds onto her tightly. Her legs squeeze his waist as she burrows her head into his neck and Sam laughs as he unpacks the equipment.

“Bucky,” she says, pulling back and his arms hold her to him still, gently supporting her back and her bottom. Her hand cups her face and she brushes hair out of his face, tracing a healing cut on his lip. “You’re home.” She embraces him again, thighs tightening as if she’s afraid to see him leave again and he merely closes his eyes, letting the first day of 2024 snow against his skin. “You’re home.”

“I’m home, lover,” he promises, and she laughs, face wet when she steps back onto solid ground again. He opens his eyes to admire her, a vision; a sight for sore eyes from the arms length he holds her at. The snow melts as it lands on her skin but it nestles in her hair, a frame of white for her pretty face that he’s missed far too much. “God, I’m home.”

She laughs, a watery smile surfacing as she leans up to kiss him. They are rapid, wet with emotion and she smiles against his lips, just laughing in relief. “I love you so much,” she whispers and he blinks, drawing back. Her face is the epitome of happiness as he gawks at her and she wipes at her eyes. “You don’t have to say it back, but I just… I love you.” She doesn’t look afraid, only confident in her feelings for him and he scoops her up, his heart bursting with sunlight.

“I love you, too,” he whispers into her ear, embracing her tightly. She lets out a tiny exhale at his strength but hugs him back tightly anyway. What is love if not hugs that barely allow you to breathe and kisses until you’re dizzy? Bucky doesn’t know. “God, I love you.”

Bucky learns a lot dating her.

She hums when she cuts his hair—which she does every so often—and likes to cuddle in her sleep. She bakes for every occasion she can think of and likes to spoil Bucky rotten. Although their jobs often keep them apart during the day, Bucky likes to just watch her in her environment, ordering the recruits around.

She has a different sport she favours for every season. Jogging in the fall, hockey in the winter, tennis in the spring and swimming in the summer. More often than not, she drags a happy Bucky with her to the rec centre and he’s more than happy to participate, whether he shows it or not.

She expresses her feelings through cooking, which Bucky has learnt the hard way. One time, they got into an argument over something stupid—he can’t even remember what started it—and came to the kitchen at 2AM to see her sitting at the kitchen island crying her eyes out and surrounded by baskets of muffins.

“Lover,” he had called out softly, already too loud for the eerie time between midnight and morning. “You’ve got a bit of a muffin problem.”

“I know,” she had replied dejectedly. “I don’t know what to do with all of it, Buck.”

They had donated it to shelters around the city, going on their own from street to street with baskets full of muffins. It becomes ritual, to have days where they bring baked goods and homemade meals to those who need it.

She doesn’t really know how to take care of herself, based on how she treats herself during assessment season, so Bucky has to pick up her slack and feed her more than caffeine. He feeds her diets that are balanced and healthy, and makes meals that he learns in his spare time to share with her while she shouts herself raw at the soldiers.

He remembers her favourite foods and music, and knows just how to put an exhausted girl to bed with makeup and bra off. He remembers to write when he’s gone for too long during missions, and he remembers her birthday, favourite colour, and which show she’s currently obsessing over. He always downloads the seasons to catch up so he understands what she’s talking about.

It’s safe to assume he knows when to propose, hell, he’d been ready the night they first baked together, but he just has to remember to catch her ring size. There’s so much of his mind cluttered with these useless yet utterly adorable facts about her that he can’t bring himself to delete, that it’s always the one thing he forgets to do.

Here is where his friends come in.

They’re all hanging in the lounge on a lazy autumn day. Their one year anniversary is coming up and Bucky and Sam are watching football while she talks to Wanda about potential plans.

“Popcorn,” Sam says without tearing his eyes off the screen, shoving the bowl in their general direction. Bucky grabs it unceremoniously, popping a few into his mouth while she twists in his grip to pass the bowl to Wanda.

“I have cookies cooling, boys,” she warns them and Wanda chuckles. The witch puts the bowl back on the table next to the empty nacho plate while Bucky’s girlfriend decides to curl against him, and his arm around her waist squeezes her close. His hand trails down to her thigh, hoisting her legs up while she peppers kisses on the underside of his jaw.

“I don’t understand anything about this game,” Wanda intones once commercials hit, amused when Sam lets out a shout of disappointment. Beeping from the kitchen, a timer, breaks whatever retort he was prepared to throw back at the Sokovian and Bucky lets out a whine when his girlfriend unwinds from his lap to get up.

“Sorry, babe, but I gotta get them before they get too cold,” she says and Bucky frowns before nodding. He cups the back of her neck, and she kisses him quickly before pulling away and skipping to the kitchen. Wanda immediately crawls into the space on the other side of Bucky on the couch, pulling out her phone while Sam leans over to whisper.

“She sends me pictures all the time,” Wanda begins nefariously and Sam pulls out a strip of paper, a line in pencil across it. As he rolls it up into a ring, Wanda leans over to show Bucky pictures of the girls’ conversation. “She adores all of them, but she cannot decide.”

“And here you go, man.” Sam gives the paper ring to Bucky. “Got it while she was taking a nap.”

“She wants silver rather than gold,” Wanda says.

“And she doesn’t care about a venue.”

“But she likes the idea of a seasonal wedding.”

“Dude, she wants your babies.”

“She wants two or three kids.”

Bucky’s head begins to spin as they continue to bombard him with facts or proof that she actually wants to spend a life with him, and he blinks, staring at the commercials that still flash in his face. Grabbing Wanda’s phone, he focuses on the images that his girlfriend had sent the witch, gorgeous silver rings with diamonds, some with less, some with more, and simply tunes the two out, trying to internally decide what he should buy her. Meanwhile, Sam and Wanda have fallen into some argument about whether or not Bucky’s wedding is going to be a summer or winter wedding, when a new voice pierces the air.

“Who wants cookies?”

Immediately, a hush falls over them. Bucky tears his eyes away from the phone just as Wanda snatches it back just in time for her to appear, striding into the room with the smell of cookies rushing in after her. She sends them an odd glance, and the trio of Avengers merely separate as she sets down the plate. A fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies are stacked ontop of a porcelain plate and Sam lunges forward to grab one while she picks one up delicately and resumes her place on Bucky’s lap.

“What were you three talking about?” she asks, amused, and he takes the cookie with a click of his mechanical arm. She tucks her head underneath his chin while his hand goes back to her thigh and he bites into the cookie.

“Nothing you gotta worry about,” he says. The game starts again and she can’t pipe up to argue without Sam telling them to shut up, so she doesn’t. Instead, she rests her head on his chest and Bucky hopes she doesn’t hear his heart beating like crazy in his chest.

By the tiny smile he can feel against his chest, she can hear it.

Bucky holds the ring in his pocket for four months.

He had bought it the very next day after the football game because if he had let it sit, the nerves would’ve gotten to him, but now, new nerves are causing him to become paranoid: waiting for the perfect moment, scared that she’ll find out.

He thinks the proposal should be grand and all about how much he loves her and how much she’s shown him and loved him and it needs to be perfect. It is anything but that.

“Morning,” she whispers as her eyes flutter open. She’s laying against him in their comfy, toasty bed, and he doesn’t want to move for Christmas festivities except they both have to—a charity breakfast for veterans where Bucky is speaking, then a novice hockey game because his girlfriend just had to teach the cutest little seven year old boys how to utterly destroy their opponents, and then dinner.

He traces shapes along the slope of her back lazily, craning his head to look at him and she smiles dazedly.

“Hey, lover.” He grins easier now, and when his smile splits his face, her own does too. “We’ve got a day ahead of us.”

“A day that’s way too long for Christmas,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and pressing her cheek against his chest. “Convince me to get up.” It’s still dark outside, a blissful 5AM full of snow delicately fluttering outside their window. He wraps a leg around her waist, pulling her close while she dozes and she lets out a contented sigh at his arm draped over her side.

“Don’t want to,” he replies, eyes closing. “Want you to stay right here with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Kinda want to stay here forever,” he continues drowsily, eyes fluttering shut and she shakes in his arms with a silent laugh. “Wish everyday could be like this.”

“You wake up earlier, and maybe it could be,” she retorts. Of course the early bird in her is perfect for her morning drills with her recruits, but Bucky prefers to sleep in like the owl he is, and he lets out a snort, kissing her hairline. “Just saying.”

“I’m too busy catching up on your shows.” His arm tightens around her.

“Catching up. Liar. I know you were up at 2 AM this morning binge-watching.” She tilts her head up, eyes opening. A spark lights up her face and a mischievous curl of her lip tells Bucky she’s about to say something that’s going to make him blush. “Just admit you like Gossip Girl and go, babe.”

“Alright, I like it.” Rolling his eyes, he pecks her forehead and she smiles victoriously. It’s so adorable that Bucky, with less than three hours of sleep, adds, “God, I want to marry you.”

“What?”

Oh.

Shit.

Bucky is suddenly more awake than if someone had thrown him into an ice bath. She almost throws herself off of him, sitting up and he follows her with his eyes as she twists to turn on the lights. Golden light paints her a goddess, and her hair is messy atop her head as she stares at him with wide eyes.

Bucky sits up slowly, the blanket pooling around their waists, and she blinks at him as he chews on the inside of his cheek.

“Do you not want to get married?” he asks slowly, almost afraid. Although he’s nearly 100% certain she wants to be with him, a part of him still bites at his stomach with doubt. “Have… have I been looking at this wrong?” He doesn’t tear his eyes away, holding this staring contest as she continues to stare at him, lips slightly parted and he reaches over to touch her hand. “You okay, lover?”

“You wanna marry me?” she asks, and he nods slowly, fire rising in his stomach and crawling up his neck as he makes a mental note never to keep secrets from her because when he’s been running on three hours of sleep, he likes to spill his guts where he feels safe.

“I… I got a ring and everything.” He turns to open the drawer on his nightstand and pulls out the dark navy box, velvet brushing against his sleep-numb fingers. “Wanda and Sam helped, and I was going to make this a big thing, but—” He’s tripping over his words as he pries it open, and he watches as her gaze falls to the silver ring, the exact one from one of the pictures Wanda had shown him—”I know I don’t really deserve you, and god, you deserve better than a proposal at 5 AM but I really do want to marry you.”

“Buck—”

“I love you. I love you so much it’s crazy because I didn’t think anyone could love me, or that I could open my heart to someone like you, and I know you deserve more than this, a better man, but—”

“Bucky—”

“All I’m trying to say is… thank you. For loving me.” His sleep addled brain tries to scramble for more things to say, and he smiles, almost sad but so, so, very much in love. “Thank you for bringing laughter into my life again.”

“Bucky, you fucking dork,” are her first words and he blinks as she lunges into his body. The blankets twist and her warm muscles wrap around him as she peppers kisses all over his face. “You wonderful, wonderful man. I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you.” His arm props him up against her body as he holds onto the box and she straddles his waist, twisting to look at the box. Her smile is tender as she takes out the ring and slides it onto her finger and he smiles bashfully when she shows him the fit. He lets the velvet box slip from his hand to cup her waist and he sighs blissfully when she leans to kiss him.

“Remember when I asked what you wanted for Christmas last year?” she murmurs against his lips and he smiles as the cool metal of her new ring trails down his neck to his shoulder. “And you said you wanted nothing to change…”

“I guess I just didn’t want anything more than you,” he whispers fondly and she smiles, eyes closing as she knocks her forehead against his. “But this one change I can handle.”

“Yeah?” She opens her eyes to stare deeply into his and he smiles, a warm curl to his lip.

“Yeah.”

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