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#third year in a row bby
julius-caeser · 1 year
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its approching…
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j-niret · 9 months
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“ let’s stay in ”
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✩‧₊˚ pairing — bf!hyunjin x curvy!gf!reader warnings — fluff, mild mentions of insecurities, lots of kissing and hyunnie being needy for his bby, size kink if you blink??? is pretty suggestive but i wouldn’t say this categorizes as full-on smut tbh
✩‧₊˚ requested? yes!
debuting this acc as my skz writing blog hehe (๑ > ᴗ < ๑) i had fun doing this request! pls lmk your thoughts on this <3
“almost ready yet babe?” hyunjin’s muffled voice through the door asks for the third time in a row. your brain kicks in to panic mode knowing he’s been waiting patiently for the past half hour yet no progress has been made. you were both supposed to meet with chan, changbin, and minho for dinner reservations but you loathed every single thing in your wardrobe right now. nothing was cooperating and you felt a meltdown beginning to transpire with the piles of clothes scattered across your bedroom floor. “y-yeah just um- give me a few more minutes be out in a jiffy!” that was a total lie but at least you stalled for more time. you’ve scoured your whole closet for a nice outfit to wear tonight but today was just not your day… almost everything you tried on was seemingly inadequate, fit weirdly, or accentuated that one particular body part a little too much for the other boys to see.
you huff in frustration, sifting through the tornado of a mess you’ve created, nothing was going your way; you still had no clothes on and hyunjin will start to grow suspicious any minute now. it’s not like you even have ugly clothes either — you buy the cutest stuff that matches your pretty aesthetic. you own a million and one dresses, skirts, frilly tops that hyunjin always says makes you look like a fairy princess, you had endless options but none lived up to your standards in this moment. time was ticking and you were only digging a deeper grave from procrastinating. “y/nnn, what’s taking so lo- you aren’t even dressed yet?!” hyunjin barges through the door without even knocking first. his eyebrows lift in confusion at the sight of you still completely undressed, you attempted to shield your body with your hands but hyunjin glares at your reaction. “what’s to hide? i’ve seen you in much less, no sense in being shy with me now babe.” he teased, snaking his arms around your waist while proceeding to litter kisses all over your flustered face.
usually you’d welcome this type of action with open eager and delight but your mind was being cruel to you, inability to focus on any positive attributes at this point. you wiggled in his arms to let loose from the tight grip he had on you but this only made him question your resistance, “what’s the matter bun?” he asks sweetly, voice notching up several octaves. “nothing’s wrong hyune, why would you think that?” you’re a terrible liar, hyunjin could notice something off with you instantly. “we’ve been dating almost a year now y/n, you can’t think i’m that oblivious to when you’re upset about something… talk to me, i’m here for a reason.” he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, pulling you closer into him. your timid nature makes it harder for you in expressing the way you feel, looking down at your feet clad with a pair of cinnamoroll socks. you hesitate to speak up but it was only fair to be honest with your boyfriend, “i just don’t feel like myself today…” your voice trails, unable to choke up another sentence. “how come? what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?” his hands roam your curves, delicately massaging your body. “i don’t necessarily… like the way clothing draws attention to my bum…” you admit, sulking in his arms “i get insecure about how large it is.”
hyunjin couldn’t tell if you were actually being serious or not, is this really something to feel insecure about? he thought to himself. he loves every inch, nook and cranny of you — it was a shock to him you could even think so poorly of yourself. “i’m not sure i understand where you’re coming from.. i mean look at you, you’re literally the cutest girl ever. i adore your body, and you have the nicest bum i’ve ever seen might i add!” he twirls you around to face him, eyes glimmering with twinkles in them as you looks at you. you couldn’t help but pout, although his reassurance was sincere you were still unable to get out of the funk your mind settled in. “heyy, don’t give me that look— turn that frown upside down for me doll.” his finger probes the side of your lip to curl into a faux smile. large, ring clad hands drift down further to scoop your toosh firmly in his palms. puckering his lips for a kiss as he leans down to close the space between you, you scrunch your nose while hesitating to kiss back — you still felt uneasy in your own skin, the sweet sugary taste of him was distracting you well though. you soon melted into his touch, forgetting about your problems once the kiss grew heavier, lips hastily moving together as he squeezes your rear, giving it a light tap to make you squeal in his mouth.
smirking into the kiss, he kneads the plushness of your cheeks while you sigh into him. you were on your tippy toes since his height towered over you like crazy, one of your favorite polar opposites you were most fond of. as you pulled away a huge grin was plastered on the brunette male’s face, admiring you in awe, he still can’t fathom someone as ethereal as you being fully his. “you’re perfect just the way you are babe. i’ll tell you everyday ‘til you get sick and tired of hearing it, even then i won’t stop!” he assures lovingly, “my juicy booty cutiee.” you burst out laughing at that silly little nickname, he never fails to turn your sour mood sweet again. he peppers a soft kiss to your forehead as he rubs your sides, he’ll never get enough of you, truly addicted by your existence.
the buzz of vibrating echoes in the air, interrupting the shared moment between you; hyunjin dug into the back pocket of his jeans to answer his phone. “yello?” he responds, you could faintly hear what you think was changbin on the other end asking if you two were still coming. “ahh right, about that… i think we’re gonna have to skip out on this one hyung, y/n’s not feeling too well right now and i need to take care of her.” your eyes grow wide at the excuse hyunjin came up with, it seems he’s changed his mind about the plans too. uttering a few more things before hanging up he shoves the phone back into his pocket and faces you again. “you know you didn’t have to cancel right? that was rude of you!” you felt slightly guilty but deep down you were relieved. “it’s okay really, let’s stay in and order takeout instead. i’m sure they’ll understand.” he shrugs, voice sounding like honey as he bends down for another quick kiss. “i just want all my attention on you tonight, my darling.”
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ladylooch · 5 months
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Timo was benched yesterday for a majority of the third period and there are negative comments about his trade and contract. I didn't watch the game last night but I watched Friday's game and I thought he was slow and I was like " What's got into him". I believe he is a great player, I feel sad when people disapprove him. Is it so bad that he didn't play good or as great as he was excpected three times in a row ?
Oh bby, it is going to be okay! 🥺
I come from the land of Kevin Fiala in which I have seen, much, MUCH worse than what we have seen from Timo this year.... so I may not be the best person to answer this 😅
In all seriousness, T is going to be okay. I am not worried about him at all. A lot of fans are very reactionary especially after big contracts. Everyone is terrified that the player is going to be a bust. We know what Timo is capable of. He will get there. Remember, how much this is still new to him - his first pre-season, his first training camp, the lines are different again, does he even have a permanent place to live? I also think Timo is going to take the benching to heart and make adjustments in his routine, mentality, etc.
A rule I live by in these times, again learned from Kevin, is to not go in the comments or tags. People are mean. They're also looking for a reaction. It's best to avoid those areas until smoother seas prevail.
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sparkly-jim · 9 days
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CM S1E6 - L.D.S.K
Original air date: November 2nd, 2005
Episode description (from Hulu): The team recreate a shooting in order to catch a sniper who preys on victims in the middle of the day. However, a shocking turn of events causes them to quickly change their original profile.
Spoilers and lots of yapping ahead (duh!)
Thoughts while watching:
I love how they're lining up Reid's practice shots with the unsub's attack shots it's so cool
Character growth: Reid can't shoot for shit rn but post s12 he's scoring 100s on his gun tests
Morgan giving him the whistle is so mean but lowkey funny. The look on Reid's face 😭
I hate how offended the lady is at the notion the killer might be a cop. Your people are so trigger happy it would completely make sense for a cop to be a killer sorry not sorry. Get over yourself lol
"Without a gun on my belt I look like a teacher's assistant" bby you always look like a teacher's assistant even with the gun
The way Morgan tackles Reid without explaining wtf is happening
Hotch sending Reid to go find Gideon turning out to be Hotch sending Reid to get his head caved in by the unsub lmao
Bro hit Reid over the fucking head with a gun and now he's barking at him to get up and run over to the group
HE STOLE HIS LITTLE STACHEL BAG NOOOOO
I know Hotch is doing it on purpose but the way he's like talking all annoyed at Reid and making fun of him is so funny "go ahead, genius. tell him 😒"
Reid just sitting there scared af in his first "being held hostage" situation listening to Hotch talk shit about him like:
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Reid after Hotch "kicks" him like 7 times in a row:
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REID GOT THE SHOT!!
My poor little meow meow is all beat up and has a busted lip
"I was aiming for his leg" rip pookie
"You kick like a 9 year old girl" such an iconic line
REID THROWING THE WHISTLE AT MORGAN DJDSFKJSFSA I'm going a little wild rn
I do feel really bad for Reid rn though because I know this moment fucked him up for a while (he says so in season 10 i think? I know he says it I just don't remember when. I feel like it was season 10 though. It's definitely later on). My poor pookie
"What's the third?" "I'm proud of you" SCREAMING AND CRYING AND ROLLING ON THE FLOOR
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Overall opinions: I love this episode I always have so very good. As you can see I didn't have many thoughts to write down because I was too busy staring at the screen like 👁👁 trying to absorb every second of it. I will say it has slightly been ruined for me because they try to bring the unsub back in a way in like s15 and it was really stupid. I didn't like when they started revisiting previous cases it felt like they were running out of ideas. ANYWAYS I love this episode it has such iconic moments and Hotch talking about Reid all nasty like always makes me cackle
Rating: 9/10
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Bonus points: No Reid handshake - +0 | "You kick like a 9 year old girl" - +20,000 | Father figure approval and validation for Reid - +1,000,000
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wintergojo · 2 years
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sweet like cinnamon (dad!gojo x mom!reader)
Synopsis: you spend the valentine’s away from your husband and son, and they bake you a cake.
Tags: fluff, slice of life, domesticity, married couple, baking, bby gojo is a messy baby, mostly just shenanigans, it also gets kinda emotional at the end lol
Word count: 3.5k
navi
Note: I finally got this done ㅠㅡㅠ i’m sorry for not posting anything for almost oh my god 3 weeks. our health break ended :’) but pls enjoy this late valentine fic 😙😙
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valentine's with gojo during the early years of your non-existent relationship consisted mostly of him, dragging you around on random places for so-called “dates” and you, letting yourself be dragged because you have nothing to do aside from watch couples and curse the higher-ups for not giving you any missions on the godforsaken day.
the two of you never went on official dates—namely dates wherein the both of you would really make yourself presentable because you’d be going to a nice, romantic restaurant that does not accept guests without reservations—because your exact relationship with each other never became clear until he asked you if you wanted to get married.
and when you did get married, the old hags started making sure either one of you or both you had missions that would get you occupied for the whole third week of february, making you unable to spend time nor see each other for the 14th.
you feel terrible, honestly. you’re not a big fan of valentine’s, but your husband seems to really enjoy being with you in taking advantage of every pastry shop’s couple promo he comes across.
it's honestly not a big deal, but you tell yourself you’d try to at least return him the favor of initiating your valentine’s date, since never once in your marriage have you had the chance to.
sure, you’ve given him some homemade chocolates along with some overly cheesy letter you cannot believe you yourself managed to easily write (“i didn’t know you were this sappy, babe. you really love me, don’t you?”) but it’s not enough.
that opportunity you never got the chance to have just got farther and farther when you unexpectedly got pregnant and gave birth to a 6.7 lbs. healthy snowball twenty-seven months ago (who—now that you think about it—was made in the same month too).
which is why on this mission, you’re cursing the old farts a lot more than usual—not only is this the fifth time in a row you’ve missed the occasion with your husband, this is also your first time being away from your little boy on the same day.
it’s february 14th, yet you’re only on the second day of the four days five nights grade 1 curse hunt the elders made you play—on kagoshima, nonetheless.
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while you’re being miserable on your mission, your husband is in the kitchen standing proudly in front of his son sitting on his high chair. seishiro just finished eating his breakfast, staring questioningly at his father with blue, wide doe eyes and food smeared all over his face.
the older man places his hands on his hips, beaming down at his child as he talks, “it’s valentine’s day, dumpling! do you wanna bake mama a cake?”
the toddler squeals, raising his messy hands up. “cake! cake!”
satoru grins, lifting the boy off his chair before carrying him in one arm.
“okay! what kind of cake should we give mama?”
seishiro stops moving as he puckers his lips in a pout and scrunches his eyebrows. satoru softly smiles at the gesture, proceeding to walk towards the bathroom as he lets his son think.
the walk wasn’t long, what with his long legs, so he arrived in a short time. he puts the boy down and lets him stand on the floor, crouching down as he starts undressing the toddler.
“what a dirty little dumpling you are!” satoru jokingly says as he unbuttons seishiro’s white silk pajamas, now stained with red from the bread and jam he ate. the toddler sheepishly snickers, holding onto his father’s shoulder as he raises his one foot up to help satoru get rid of the pants.
“dada… stwobeyi cake!" he exclaims when the taller man gets on his other leg, making satoru look back at him and grin, ”you wanna bake mama a strawberry cake, dumpling?”
the toddler nods and cheers, “heawt cake!!”
your husband laughs, “strawberry heart cake?”
seishiro, now in his diapers, starts stomping his foot and raising his hands alternatively while slowly turning around, “heawt! cakee! heawt! cakee!”
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after the bath, your husband and son are back at the kitchen, the latter now freshly dressed in a long-sleeved pink shirt with cartoony tomato and matching pajama pants. he’s sitting on the tabletop, playing with a whisk and a glass bowl. satoru gave it to him first because he knows his little dumpling’s going to get bored waiting for him to finish gathering the ingredients and equipment.
aside from his personality, gojo satoru is absolutely perfect, so of course he’d know how to bake. he only learned it from you when the two of you started spending more time with each other, then found out he was extremely good at it on the first try—just like at everything else he does.
he smiles as he remembers how he’d always make you cakes when you were pregnant, always making sure he refrains himself from pouring in too much sugar despite your requests to make it extra sweet (and laughs every time he remembers how you developed a sweet tooth during your pregnancy then came back to hating sweets after giving birth).
although he’s extremely good at what he’s about to do, this is the first time he would be doing it with his one and only ball of energy, but he’s pretty sure how this is gonna go (so it makes him all the more excited).
he glances at said son while getting the heart-shaped cake pan from the cupboard, warmth filling his chest as he sees seishiro humming a mysterious song while whisking an imaginary batter in the bowl. your husband smiles as he starts picking his pace up, now teleporting around to get everything he needs. (he didn’t mean to do it, but it made seishiro start giggling as he watched the white-haired shaman change positions in the kitchen).
satoru decided to make you a strawberry mousse cake with chocolate moist cake at the bottom, hence the pack of strawberries sitting beside his son who is now happily munching on the fruit—bowl and whisk disregarded. the father leans in before opening his mouth and lets out a "dumpling, ahhh" while looking at seishiro, whose face is once again smeared with juices (so much for giving him a bath less than 20 minutes ago).
the toddler stops eating and slowly looks at the man, before looking back at the half-eaten strawberry in his chubby little hand.
he thinks for a while, and was about to resume shoving the berry in his mouth but giggled and raised the fruit to satoru’s mouth. “dada, eat!”
your husband smiles, leaning in to eat the strawberry when your son suddenly retracts his hand and places the fruit inside his mouth instead. the toddler’s reaction was instantaneous—face adorably scrunching up, eyes closing, and body shivering from the combined sourness and sweetness of the strawberry. he opens his eyes and gives his father a hehe right after, before resuming his meal.
satoru opens his mouth in an exaggerated manner, before leaning further in and kissing his son’s nose. “dada will let you off because you’re cute! but don’t finish the strawberries, okay?”
seishiro nods guiltily as he acts in a cutesy manner, grabbing one more strawberry before answering, “yees. i wove you, dada!”
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“go mix it, dumpling!” your husband cheers, holding the glass bowl steady as your toddler uses his strength to stir all the dry ingredients together. it’s messy, really messy.
it’s probably been only 15 minutes or so since satoru and seishiro started working on the base. yet the child is already covered in flour and egg yellows despite his black 'dada’s little sous chef' apron, while the man’s 'wifey’s force labored sous chef' apron is rigged with small white handprints.
satoru anticipated it wouldn't be peaceful trying to bake with his spawn, but he didn't think it would be that chaotic. he failed to account for his son's short attention span, which ended up in seishiro messing with everything he could touch.
it probably would've been fine if the ingredients were in unsealed bags, but everything was in glass containers which could be opened by either twisting the lid or straight up using force to unlock them.
and your son is strong, not to mention smart. which is why even though he encountered some containers for the first time, he managed to open them with ease whenever his father wasn't looking and started spreading them on his hands and face, exclaiming "seishi's baby powder, dada!" with eyes absolutely gleaming with innocence and lips turned into a wide smile.
as for the eggs, seishiro assumed they were hard-boiled eggs and wanted to eat one so he proceeded to use brute force in smashing them against the counter, probably hoping to create a crack on it.
the baby is strong, but he doesn't know how to control his strength yet, causing the poor eggs to splatter undefended all over the tabletop and his clothes and apron.
even now, with seishiro whisking the flour, salt, baking powder and soda, cocoa, and sugar, the force is not consistent and there are a lot of spills on the edge of the bowl going to the shaman’s hands and to the counter. he’s sure all the powder would go all over the place if he wasn’t holding the glass so he’s gripping onto it tight (he actually wouldn’t normally mind, but he doesn’t want his son’s effort go into waste).
the toddler is sitting in a seiza position on the tabletop (because he’s too short to reach for the bowl if he stands at the floor) and is using his two little hands to hold the handle, almost as if he’s mixing some witch’s concoction.
his father continues cheering him on, but the toddler looks at him with sad eyes and scrunched eyebrows after a while.
“dada… arms… huuurt.” he whines while still slowly whisking the bowl.
satoru coos as he tells his son to stop, gently grabbing his two short arms and kissing them all over, making his son giggle.
your husband presses a kiss on your son’s sticky cheeks, before ruffling the toddler’s snow-white hair and staining it brown in the process. he beams, “good job, dumpling! you mixed it well!”
the older man helped seishiro in doing the next steps—namely adding canola oil, brewed coffee, and milk into the bowl his dumpling massacred. the child made sure to dip his fingers in every bowl he pours (spills), before putting it into his mouth.
he gave no reaction when he tasted the oil, but winced and stuck his tongue out when he tasted the coffee, squealing “sour!” (he liked the milk though and pouted when satoru didn’t let him drink it).
when everything was properly blended with the hand mixer and eggs were added, your husband asked his son to give him the heart-shaped baking pan. seishiro complied, but not before tracing the pan's edges with his finger while saying “heawt for mama!” and “want to see mama.”
satoru watches the corner of his son’s mouth turn down, clearly getting sad that you’re not with them in doing this activity. something about seeing seishiro upset always ignites something within the father, especially now since the reason for the boy’s emotion is due to the higher-ups’ meddling. damn those old fools and their sad love lives.
“do you wanna brush the oil into the heart, dumpling?” he asks instead, holding the pastry brush on his right hand and the baking pan on his left.
seishiro immediately lightens up, making grabby motions at the man. your husband sets the pan back into the counter before proceeding to hand his son the brush. the toddler enthusiastically takes it from him with his sticky hand and brushes the pan without dipping it into the small bowl of canola oil. so now he’s just happily smearing air into the cake pan.
satoru laughs as he watches your baby before showing him what to do using his fingers. seishiro ooohs the entire time, then proceeded to do what he saw. he ignores the pastry brush and dips his whole hand into the oil and he wipes it into the pan.
your husband defeatedly lets him, sardonically admitting to himself that it’s his own fault for not using the tool in the first place for the demonstration. the toddler needs another bath anyway.
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it’s almost dinnertime, but you’re too tired to go out of the door and eat in one of the hotel’s restaurants or buffet, so you opted for room service. you spent your lunch and afternoon traveling from one cemetery to another, as well as abandoned schools, exorcising curses.
you only got the chance to talk to your boys right after you plopped down to your comfy 4-star hotel bed, when you texted your husband that you’re officially done for the day. he called you immediately with seishiro at his side, who kept shoving his face into the phone and attempting to grab it from his father.
you don’t know why, but when you told satoru you’re about to call for room service he told you to order food for them too, not to order any dessert, and to call him back if your food already arrived.
you’re just assuming all of his demands are because he wants to watch you eat, feel like he’s dining with you, and not be jealous of anything sweet you’d consume. nevertheless, you acquiesce.
when the room service attendant arrived, you made sure to dial satoru as soon as they left (but not without glancing one last time inside your room probably due to the amount of food that is definitely not for one person). your husband answered the call, looked at the screen, and said “oh! the food’s there!” before calling for his dumpling and ending the video chat, leaving you confused (but not surprised) over his behavior.
just when you were about to open the cloche of your food, you felt an alarming surge of cursed energy filling the room that quickly alerted you. you scanned the area. was there a curse in the hotel? how come you never saw nor felt it? you’ve been here for two days, is it a spe—
“surprise!!” a highly familiar voice called out from your behind, followed by a squeal of “suwpwise, mama!!”
you slowly turned around, staring dumbfoundedly at your husband and son on your bed with the former holding... is that a cake? and the latter wobbly standing up as he hands you a bouquet of origami flowers?
you comically accepted the flowers seishiro is handing you, still in shock over their sudden appearance.
“mamaaaaa, carry!” your son whines, raising his arms up at you.
you recover from the shock, instantly scooping the toddler in your arms and smothering his soft face with kisses and some nibbles. you hear his delightful giggles and suddenly every irritation and frustration you felt from your curse hunting earlier disappears. you thank him for the flowers, making sure to praise its appearance.
you then looked at your husband holding the cake, who you see is expectedly gazing at you with a pout. you kneel into the mattress and set the boy in your arms into the bed (who climbed down and started exploring the hotel room) before crawling in front of satoru.
you greet your husband first, pressing a kiss on his lips and whispering “happy valentine’s day, ‘toru,” before inspecting the cake. it’s a whole heart-shaped strawberry cake—you assume from the color—perched on a low, white cake stand you got as a wedding gift. it contains some sort of scribble from the top that you can’t make sense of, and a message written so small at the right upper half saying ‘happy birth’, nothing else follows.
you laughed at the unfinished, seemingly wrong message before beaming over the gesture. you take the cake from your husband’s hands and give him another long kiss on his lips (god you missed him so much).
satoru grins as he teleports (again) beside the trolley and starts removing the cloche, exclaiming “i’m so hungry!” as he sets the plates into the bed. so that’s why the manchild asked you to order more food. you make sure to put the cake in the middle before calling seishiro, who you saw was pressing his whole face and body into the floor to ceiling window at the foot of your bed.
you then proceeded to inspect the bouquet your baby boy gave you. it’s wrapped in a yellow washi, and inside is three origami roses in colors blue, red, and purple. they all have some type of torn and crumple in them, but still absolutely beautiful and you’re pretty sure you’re going to keep it for the rest of your life.
while eating dinner with satoru (seishiro already ate his one and a half hour ago, his bedtime is in 30 minutes), you later find out that the messy cake scribbles were made by your son who wanted to write i love mama in his own way, and the writing on the top was messed up by satoru who meant to write happy valentine’s! but was thinking of ‘happy birthday!’ instead.
you also find out that it was baked by your husband and son, so you made sure to praise and thank seishiro, even more so your husband. it tasted exactly like one of your cake cravings when you were pregnant upon tasting, not to mention your son helped make it, and your husband simply has a sweet tooth, so it was no wonder the cake was gone in less than 10 minutes (you were honestly impressed the two managed not to eat half of it at home, though little did you know they made two whole cakes and ate the other one).
when there was absolutely no food left and the two of you parents felt like your bellies would explode and seishiro is once again a messy baby with strawberry mousse and chocolate crumbs all over his face, you decide it was time for a short bath for the baby (after resting for a few minutes).
when the three of you were settled onto the king-sized hotel bed and your son is asleep on your chest, you turn to your husband who’s lying on his side with his right elbow propped on the mattress and cheek resting against his knuckles.
“your surprise was really sudden and out of the blue, but thank you, ‘toru. i’m really happy.”
he gives you a wide smile. “that’s why it’s called a surprise, baby—” you roll your eyes “—and i’m glad you liked it!”
you smile back as you think how convenient his ability sometimes is. from tokyo to kagoshima, it’s 16 hours by car, 6 hours by train, and 2 hours by plane. but they were done within seconds of teleportation. and not to mention he made the effort to bake a cake and teach a 27-month-old origami in order to make you happy when in japan, valentine’s are supposed to be for males.
“stop thinking about that, honey. you know i would’ve done this even without the occasion.” satoru’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you’re mildly shocked with what he said when you did not tell him anything.
you sigh. oh well, no point in not being honest.
“i just… i don’t think i’m making enough effort in doing the same for you, ‘toru. i mean, when was the last time i initiated a date between the two of us? i don’t even think i’ve ever done it!” you whisper-shout, making sure not to wake the sleeping snowball on your chest.
your husband flashes you a soft smile, one that you see whenever he’s feeling particularly sentimental or vulnerable. “babyyy, you’re already doing so much for me. you’re taking care of our overly energetic son 24/7, cooking us food, cleaning the house even though i told you i’d hire a housekeeper, while i’m mostly at work and hardly help you with anything.”
you were about to reiterate and say what he’s doing is far more important than helping you with some household chores, but he cuts you off with his index finger on your lips.
“ep ep ep, don’t say what i’m doing is for humanity or some other stuff. i’m saying this as your husband and the father of our child.”
you, once again, sighed. you don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this. it’s not like satoru ever once told you he finds you lacking or pragmatic. in fact, he teases you about how much you’re such a sap for him in every little gesture you do to and for him.
you then feel his big, warm, strong hand touch your left cheek, gently stroking it and making you lean into that touch. that smile is still on his face, except this time his gorgeous ocean irises hold a certain warmth.
“besides, you love me. that alone is more than enough.”
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Ps. I’ve only baked once, and they’re cookies for our home economics class, so i’m really sorry if some processes weren’t accurate. i love watching baking & cooking shows though! :DD
Thank you so much for reading! 🤍 Feedbacks and reblogs are appreciated! And happy valentine's day! <33
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iwaasfairy · 3 years
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Hmm... ok spooky thoughts! Just take w/e interests you or chuck this if you aren't feeling it! Reader getting bullied and the teacher being in on it tickles my pickle. Sukuna voring... what if a sorcerer who can use reverse cursed technique is kept as a sacrifice, can chop the gal up and feed her to sukuna forever :) manipulating your pregnant wife feels mean too. I don't have any kinks to suggest :( i find them all hot and not scary :((
bby i loved every single one of these and i'll probably write them all bc honestly, your brain,, you just see me and ...wow jHGUFDGEYID yes ty so much, but for now have this
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𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂
tw student/teacher, noncon, manipulation, power abuse, victim blaming, bullying and sexual harassment mentions, reader is 18+
a/n. i feel like i shouldn't even have to say this but obviously i don't condone student/teacher relationships and gojo is absolutely being a creepy, manipulative asshole here
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You hate him. You hate them more, of course, wish you could snap back and fight at their sneers and whispers until you’re finally free of the ridicule. But you hate him too, when he clicks his tongue and only glances your way briefly to smile.
He smiles pretty, he does, with that strange sheen of perfection that barely cracks at the edges and fills up entire days with jokes, jokes you’re much too tired to indulge in. You don’t understand how you could possibly enjoy it when it’s always the smile you get when you’re sitting in the chair before him with yet another complaint; sniffling and pathetic.
“Please, Sensei, can’t you ask to transfer me to the Kyoto school before the end of the year instead?” you ask once again as Gojo gets up from behind the desk, stretching his long arms above his head with a sigh as a sliver of skin peeks from under the jacket and you look away too quickly. He moves instead to sit on the side of the chair— your chair, radiating heat from his body too close to your own and leaving you fumbling over your words. “I- I just- don’t think I can do it anymore.” He used to be in charge of the first years.
Used to teach you the ropes, and even then you had to come in once every few weeks to tell him about an incident, however minimal it might’ve seemed at the time. Gojo gave you the feeling that you’d be understood here, safe here; he recommended you to the school in the first place. Shouldn’t he be the most understanding of all? When you got here you’d been a shivering mimic of a person, barely able to look him— or anyone- in the eye without getting wobbling lips. But then Gojo sensei moved on to the second years along with you, by chance, and the bullying only got worse.
Your clothes were ripped, your bag torn upside down. Your locker raided and room trampled over, at least once a week, and you were left coming into Gojo’s office with a pout way too often. But now, third year in a row and nearing the end of it, you’re sick of pretending like everything is fine. You’re sick of listening to him hush you when you cry, treading long fingers along your face like it’s meant to take away any of your pain, your stress. “You’re about to graduate,” he mumbles, puffing out his cheeks in a childlike, mocking manner when he turns over his shoulder.
“Can’t you handle it for a few more months?”
A thick line digs between your brows when you curl in on yourself more to escape his presence, staring out the window for a few seconds before you sigh. “That’s what you said last time, and you promised you’d transfer me at the start of the year too. I don’t feel like I have to handle anything, I shouldn’t have to take this.”
“You’re sure going hard on them, it’s just boys being boys,” he tutts his lips further, before blowing out a deep sigh. “A sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” Sensitive? Last time they snuck into your room when you were taking a shower and took pictures, leaving the doors open to match. There’s nothing left to be sensitive about. He was informed by the staff that found you crying hours later, and still— You hate him, clamping your hand down harder on the arm of the chair. Maybe he’s not wrong. You are sensitive, and Gojo sensei knows that.
Instead of responding to his never ending jabs, you just stare at the side of his face where the blindfold moves ever so slightly whenever he blinks under there. “I’m sick of it,” you finally sigh, pushing yourself from your chair. “If you won’t help me I’ll ask the principal instead.” Your steps are hard and loud as you get up and walk to the door, only to be cut off when he appears before you yet again, the same shit-eating grin splitting his cheeks as his large hand lands on your shoulder, feeling much too heavy.
“Okay, okay, no need to get so fussy on me.” His other hand scratches at the back of his neck for a few seconds, before he finally seems to come to a decision, squeezing your shoulder tighter. “I guess there’s a few options I haven’t tried yet. But that’ll take a bunch out of my schedule, sweetheart, and I don’t really have that kind of time to waste.” It stays quiet, giving you the words to process the words as he tilts his head, popping his jaw back and forward in thought. “Well, guess you’re lucky I’m this invested in my students. Consider it done, okay?”
Despite the wishy-washy nature of his previous promises you can’t help but feel a bit relieved, letting your tense, determined posture drop just long enough for Gojo sensei to notice, leaning down to meet you face to face. He does it almost comically easy, pouting along with you. “Aw, you poor thing, this has really been keeping you up, hasn’t it?” There’s a hand on your back that slides down to the small of your back, and another that pushes a knuckle under your chin, his mouth corners tugging up despite yourself. “Am I not your saving angel?”
“If you manage it,” you fake a chuckle, but your stomach drops when he straightens up and still keeps you caged between his arms, nodding along with your words.
“Always so distrusting, and even after all the work I’ve put in to make sure you got in here.” His one eyebrow raises, and you can almost imagine the smug grin that he holds back next. “Some would even say you’re ungrateful of all my help.”
“I’m- I’m not, Gojo sensei,” you backtrack, the pressure on your back keeping him too close almost making your lungs feel like they’re failing you. You might’ve been more assertive than usual just minutes earlier, but that was when he wasn’t keeping you so close, way too close for your liking, and the front you put up is quickly fading now. “I really appreciate your help, I do, but t-they -still haven’t stopped, and that’s- that’s just what I’m worried about. But you said you’ll do it so I’m very grateful,” your voice cracks a little when he walks you further away from the door now, face so near yours you have to lean into his touch to escape it.
“Right, and I plan to,” he hums, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “But I think it’d go a whole lot easier if you give me some more incentive to help, you know? I’m a very, very busy man.” As he lets go of you and you fall back onto your butt at the lack of support, wincing, he slowly shrugs his blindfold off, humming cheerfully as your lip trembles and you’re left staring at his crotch, right in front of your face. “Open up like a good girl and I’ll get your transfer application in as soon as I can, hm? That sounds fair to me.”
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mcfreakin-bxtch · 4 years
Text
Sleep and Other Things
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Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader
Warnings: SMUT, Grinding, Fingering (with them metal fingers babbbby), Oral (f), Mentions of Masturbation (f), Sergeant Kink, Praise Kink, Cockwarming, Light spanking, Sub/Dom, Hair pulling, Pining, Sexual tension/frustration, Language, Classic Tropes (I will not apologize), Fluff
Word Count: 11K+ (I really went on on this one I’m sorry)
A/N: It’s been TOO long since I’ve written for my bby I apologize
-
This sucks.
Royally, royally, royally sucks. 
And if you could choose from any supernatural powers at all known to man, you’d choose the power of sleep. 
Because for the past few nights, it just hasn’t struck you. You’ve tried everything you can think of: punching and kicking away at the bag in front of you in the training room until your knuckles started to bruise, drinking a nice, hot cup of tea, hell even meditation. None of it seemed to work in your favor, and you wanted to punch the force that was holding you back from a full night's rest. 
Please God, or you know, whatever is out there listening. All’s I’m asking a normal fucking sleep schedule, is that too much to ask?
The blaring flashes sting your eyes with every white, vicious transition of another rerun on TV. It’s the only light in the otherwise dark room, and it’s dimmed with the volume low so that every stupid little background laughter is dull instead of blaring. And judging by the big red 3:30 on your alarm clock, you’ve been awake for approximately ten hours with no hope of a fulfilled slumber. You believe this is your third night in a row. 
You sigh for what seems the hundredth time, flopping onto your right side and shoving your pillow under your arm. The soft fabric and the fresh smell of your favorite laundry detergent is doing nothing to soothe your mind and your body alike, but maybe keeping up the facade that it does will lull your eyes to remain shut and your brain silent; in the back of your mind, annoyingly, you already know that it will not work. 
“Fuck it.” You mutter to yourself and throw your covers off. The floor is slightly chilly against your bare feet, but not too terribly cold, and the compound is stable and quiet; more alone time for you, more time to watch the clock slowly tick by as yet another night—day you should say given the time—drags by thorough dark circles and irritable mood swings. 
The door is silent as you creek it open, though it doesn’t make one sound and you’re grateful for that. No use dragging everyone down with you. 
You’re not exactly sure on what you’re looking for, but it feels right to be where the food is. It’s a start, at least. The good news, too, about going to the kitchen is that it’s not that far from your room, a blessing to you now. 
The hallway is dark, too dark for you weak eyes you realize as you stub your toe on a corner of a wall. “OW—oH fuckfuck what the fuckity fu—”
“Shoulda paid attention, doll.”
You whirl around mid-tantrum, hopping on the uninjured foot rather ungracefully towards the raspy voice you recognize in a heartbeat. 
The root to your problem is sitting there—short, chopped dark hair, eyes that are sometimes grey and others times blue, like a storm and a ocean living and correlating together to create a beautiful color that you often dream of, and built, toned body hiding behind a black tank top and you’re going to assume matching sweatpants—with a coffee mug in his hands, sitting by the kitchen island and stifling a shit-eating grin as you wallow. 
Normally, you’d be very happy to see Bucky. Over the year that you’ve been on the team, Bucky has been nothing but kind to you, even after a rocky start to the friendship. As quiet and closed off as he is, you had managed to weasel your way into his circle; you leave him alone whenever you sense he needs it, not wanting to overwhelm him. Watch TV with him on the couch when it’s just the two of you; sometimes you’d barely say a word to each other at all, happy with the comfortable silence. He jokes around with you if you manage to burn another pancake or whatever concaussion you could scramble up or he’ll invite you to have drinks with him and the others—others being Steve and, despite the pranks and banters, Sam, and so, so much more. It’s as easy as breathing, just being with him, and the comfort and stability that you find in him never fails to put you at ease. 
But it’s like somewhere down the road something shifted. You don’t know when or how it happened, but when it did it hit you like a freight train. There’s a pull towards him when you catch yourself paying extra attention to the way his body moves, alerting yours with a sudden new and ferocious need; the daydreams that come from it are even better. The soft, barely there brushes as you pass by or the barely fingertip touch when you’re standing next to each other. The longing stares that makes you wonder if there ever could be more. There’s no denying that you can’t stop looking at him differently now, as more than just the friend you cherish deeply, but as someone who could become more than just. 
Sometimes, you even dream of his hand between your legs. 
What makes this even worse is that you’ll occasionally catch Bucky doing the same thing to you; he may be faster than you in oh so many ways thanks to his enhancements, but there are moments where you catch him looking quickly away and towards whatever was in front or next to him, eyes glaring like he’s—he’s scolding himself.   
“Sexual tension.” Wanda told you when you first explained your worries to her. “That’s what’s happening.”
You shook your head, laughing it off. “Nooo it can’t be Wanda. We’re just—”
“Friends?” She smirked. 
“Yes.” You defended. “Just friends. I mean maybe—maybe we’re just going through a phase, and everything will soon go back to normal.”
Wanda rolled her eyes with a smirk. “We’ll see.”    
Deep down, you knew that she was right. And that terrified you. Still does, actually. Why would you want to ruin such a good thing over what may be just a stupid, silly crush?
Now, exhausted, frustrated, and hopping around like a moron in the dark, the smug look on his face heavily annoys you more than ever. 
“Thanks.” You snarl. 
He puts his hands up in mock surrender, easily taking in your disdained mood. “Sorry.”
You finally let your foot drop back to the ground, your toe still stinging. Bucky continues to watch you as you limp towards the cabinets and reach for your favorite mug, setting it too harshly down on the marble counter before opening the fridge. 
“Try drinking tea,” he says. “It’ll be better than…Dr. Pepper.”
You shrug as you uncap the bottle and pour the sweet soda into your mug. “I’ve already tried that.” You mutter. “Nothing’s been working.”
You hear Bucky shift in his chair, hear the clicks of his metal arm as he stretches it out; he rarely does it when there’s too many people around, letting himself be free with the metal prosthetic. You feel special knowing that he’s comfortable enough to be free in your presence. 
“How long has this been going on?” He asks quietly. 
You lean your back against the counter and bring the cup to your lips. “Almost a full week now.”
You see him nod from your peripheral vision, straightening his back and taking a sip from his own up you didn’t realize he had until now; it smells like green tea, with a hint of something sweeter. Honey, most likely. 
You expect him to ask you more questions but he stays silent as you both take small sips of your drinks. Your eyes are heavy and your body is on the verge of completely slumping against the small space behind you, but you’re still too wired to sleep—okay, Bucky was right on the soda, but you’re not going to admit that to him. 
“Why are you awake?” You ask him. 
He just shrugs. “Same reason as you.”
That gets you to snort. Yeah right, buddy. 
“Tried sparring?” Bucky suddenly breaks the silence, causing you to jump from the intrusion. 
“Sorta.” You iffley say. “Still didn’t help me much…I really don’t know what my problem is.” Liar.
He hums softly. “Well,” he puffs as he sits up from the stool. “Let’s go then.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Really?”
For such a heavy man, it still surprises you when he walks silently towards you, so quietly that if you weren’t looking you’d had no idea if he was moving at all. The familiar smell of his soap overwhelms your senses as he leans in, his left arm stretched to put his cup in the sink. You can’t help but inhale the alluring musk, which causes a shiver to run through your body. 
“Sexual tension.” Wanda’s voice rings through your head. 
God he really does smell good and he’s warm...stop it! 
“So?” He scares you again out of your thoughts, and when you look up he’s close. He’s really close—well, closer than you anticipated for only putting away a dish. He’s looking down at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher, but that smirk of his returns and your heart flutters at the close proximity of it. 
You set your now empty mug in the sink next to his with a sigh and nod your head. “Take it easy on me. I’m not exactly coordinated right now.” 
Bucky only chuckles, hearty and gruff, at your warning. “Whatever you say.”
You really like the way he says it. It sounds stupid, but you do. 
He leads the way to the training room, turning every now and then to make sure you’re still following—and that you don’t stub your toe again. 
“Turning the lights on.” Bucky warns you just seconds before the lights blare your vision, making you wince and blink against the onslaught. 
When you can finally make out the shapes moving around, Bucky is already standing in the middle of the mat, watching you with his signature smirk. You can’t help but give him a small closed lip smile of your own as you make your way towards him. 
“I’m totally gonna kick your ass.” You tease with a slight slur.
He grunts, face squished as he rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah yeah, hurry up.”
“Don’t act like you don’t want to be here, Barnes.” You chide as you start to wrap your knuckles. “You’re the one who suggested this.”
“Doesn’t mean you gotta be a turtle about it.” 
You give him the best glare you can muster as he struggles to hold in his laughter. Your grimace deepens when they finally escape, and his face is really fucking adorable when he laughs like this; without a care in the world. That makes you stare at him longer than necessary as he recovers. 
“Okay I’m sorry!” He gasps, putting his hand up. “I’ll stop, I swear it.”
The scowl doesn’t disappear even as you start to adjust the strings on your sweatpants; tightening them. You know you look like a child right now with the way you’re stomping dramatically heavily towards the ex-assassin, but you’re too tired and slightly agitated to care. 
“Alright,” he huffs. “Just come right at me and don’t hold back. Think you can handle that, doll?”
You smirk despite yourself and prepare a simple stance; attack. “Sure, ice bucket.”
Bucky doesn’t flinch from the playful tease. What he does is pat his chest with a closed knuckle and says, “I’m waiting.”
You watch him, take in his posture and immediately go for the legs. You’re a good agent, not the best, definitely in need of improvement, but you’re good. What you’re sort of forgetting here, a habit with him it seems, is that he is. in fact, a super soldier. 
The air leaves your lungs with an oof as you land flat on your back. His hand, warm flesh that feels like is scorching your skin through your shirt, holds you down by your upper chest. You blink dumbly up at him as you struggle to catch your breath, your body jolted from its heavy, sleepless form. 
“C’mon,” he says your name disappointingly. “You know better than that.”
You roll your eyes and grunt, swatting his hand away and standing yourself up. “I don’t see the point of this.” You complain. “If anything, I feel more awake than tired.”
“Oh you know what the point is.” Bucky scoffs. “Stop complaining and fight me.”
“Fine!” You growl. 
The next charge at him, you honestly thought that you’d get the upper hand. Where he goes to block, you quickly change course and go for a punch. It all happens in a blink of an eye, and suddenly his metal arm is wrapped loosely around your neck in a lock, the other locking your wrists in his wide grip.  
“You’re not even trying.” He breathes in your ear. 
“I am.” You say through gritted teeth. 
He finally lets you go with a small chuckle. It makes you angry. “If you’re just going to keep laughing at me then I’m—”
Bucky lunges at you. Your body reacts on instinct and ducks away from his attack, bouncing on your feet to the other side. The muscles in his back strain as he runs his fingers through his hair, flashing you a grin as he turns around. 
“There ya ‘re.” His brooklyn accent runs thick through his praise. 
That praise—and it’s not like you’ve never heard it from him before, always in playful banter—raises goosebumps and there’s no way he doesn’t notice it. You fight the rush of blood flooding to your cheeks. 
“Here,” you try, bouncing around him and playfully trying to grab him, distracting yourself from your own confusing thoughts. “Just stand still and let me punch and kick at you until I pass out.”
He laughs with you and dodges your weak attempts with liquid ease. “Oh I’m sure you’d love that.”
“I would, actually.” 
“You’re jus’ bein’ a sore loser.”
“So what—” You grunt as he slides to his right and pushes your hit lightly away from him. “—if I am.”
You do this for some time, aimlessly throwing weak kicks at his shins as he teases you—you’re really fucking jealous at how he seemingly floats with each bounce to his dodges. You finally manage to knip him around the ankle, causing him to wince and curse. 
“Ha!” You cheer. “I bet that hur—”  
Bucky takes your short moment of victory to sweep around you and kick your legs out from under you. You land ungracefully yet again on the hard mat, but this time you quickly recover and loop your legs around the arm closest to you and pull him down with all your strength. He flips hard on his back, gasping as soon as he makes contact and now you’re the one laughing at him as you have the upper hand. 
“Well Barnes,” you tsk. “Looks like you’re losing your touch.”
“Don’t get cocky.” He warns as his hand flexes still in your grip. “Or else this happens.”
You blink and feel a harsh tug at the back of your neck. Everything is a blur as you feel yourself being lifted and flipped into the air, like you weigh nothing at all. Your eyes automatically shut and your body awaits for the hard impact. 
It doesn’t come. 
Bucky softens your fall by quickly rolling his body into yours and wrapping his arms around you, practically caging you in. Your hands reach for the first solid thing they can find, which happens to be soft skin and hard muscle. His legs cage yours between his, his hair lightly curled and there’s a strangled noise coming from somewhere and holy fuck he’s—
“You alright?” He asks, panting. 
Your breaths mix together as you stare into each other’s eyes. You hear what he says, the words playing through your ears but your brain doesn’t register the nerves to actually respond to him. It feels like you’ve never been this close to him before, not like this anyway. It feels… suffocating. In such a good, intoxicating way that you don’t want him to move. 
And then you realize that the reason why he must be asking that question is because he thinks you’re hurt; that strangled cry was from you. 
He shifts, just slightly to adjust, that gets his arms to tighten around you for a split second. Your jaw clenches as you struggle to hide the hitch in your breath and the pool of arousal flooding between your legs. 
“Y-yeah.” You finally answer, swallowing thickly. His adam’s apple bobs as he does the same, and that gets your body tingling with a familiar sensation that has your eyes widening. “I think I’m tired now.”
The second those words escape your lips you want to take them back. His eyes fall as he shakes his head and chuckles, looking shyly down as he sighs. He unwraps himself from you and holds his hand out for you to take. It takes you a moment, still reeling from—well from whatever the hell that was. 
Now it feels awkward. You both can’t keep your eyes on each other, looking anywhere’s else like it’s fucking interesting. You gotta stop this. 
“Than—”
“Can I—”
You both say at the same time. Bucky’s soft, harmonic—in your very humble opinion—chuckle joins yours and you shake your head to clear away the fuzziness clouding your brain. 
“Sorry, uh what were you going to say?”
Bucky hesitates, and there’s something in his eyes that tells you that he’s nervous. It worries you, and instinct takes over to walk to him and comfort him. 
“No it’s—,” he inhales sharply. “It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow, when you’re more…awake.”
“I’m plenty coherent, Bucky.” You scoff. “Just tell me. I’m your friend.”
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes; it goes without the same brightness that usually greets you and that makes your stomach drop and your heart clench with an uncomfortable grip. 
“I know.” He says softly. Then his eyebrow raises in a mischievous arch. “Need me to walk you to your room?”
This time it’s you who hesitates. On any other circumstance, you would’ve immediately said yes and that would be that; no awkwardness, no tension or—or whatever the fuck is going on between the two of you.  
“Um… yeah. Yeah s-sure.”
You curse yourself mentally and berate yourself to keep it together. The walk back is quicker than the walk to the training room, and a part of you is entirely grateful for it. Bucky stays close as he paddles softly through the hall until your door is in sight, and you’re standing with one hand on the handle while chewing on your bottom lip. Now what?
“Goodnight,” he says your name softly, so softly you can barely hear him. 
“Goodnight Buck.” You whisper back. 
He gives you one last smile and walks away, and as simple and normal as this is, it feels wrong. Like he shouldn’t be walking away, because there’s something obviously going on between the two of you and you have no idea how—well, you know one way—to fix it because you’re a goddamn coward and that smile isn’t the same smile he gives you.
You lean against your bedroom door as it shuts. Your eyes sting with unshed tears and the aching pressure between your legs is long gone, but the evidence of it sticks to your panties. Ignoring it, you hop onto your bed and fling yourself against your lush pillows, and the rest of the morning is spent with you staring at the tv screen overthinking every interaction you ever had with the man responsible for your turmoil, and fall asleep with frustration seeping through your veins.
When you come to, early afternoon you think, the ache in your pussy is too much to ignore and you cum with Bucky’s name a sigh from your ecstasy. It’s the first time you do. 
“You look…better.”
“Thank you.”
“So what was the trick?”
I masturbated thinking about my best friend. “Training. With Bucky.”
That gets her eyebrows rising up as she ahhh’s at you. “How are things between the two of you?”
“Good.” You feign. “Really good, actually.”
“Mhmmm.”
“I’m serious.”
“Just fuck already.”
“Wanda—”
“Seriously, I’m getting pretty sick of watching you mope around like this. You’ve got to talk to him.”
You sigh through your nose, throwing your head back against the couch cushion. “I know.” You groan. “It’s just—I don’t know how, you know? I mean, what if this ruins our entire friendship? I can’t…I can’t live with that.”
Wanda purses her lips and rubs your shoulder comfortably. “I know,” she coos. “But don’t think you’ll feel better getting it off your chest? How do you know that he doesn’t feel the same way?”
A pause. “No.” Yes. Another pause. “And no.” One more.  “How did this happen?” 
She understands what you mean when you say it in a whine. She opens her mouth and is about to reply when—
“Did what happen?”
You freeze, eyes going wide as Wanda stares back in equal horror; you also detect the glint in her green eyes that spells nothing but trouble for you. 
“She just agreed to have a movie night with Vis and I. My pick, which she’s still sulking about.” She throws in, so casually that you’re kind of surprised and impressed. “We were just talking about asking you to join us.”
You should’ve seen this coming. Really, you should have. It pisses you off. 
‘Calm down.’ Her voice whispers in your head, a skill she’s been working on. ‘I’m sorry, but this is for your own good.’
“Yeah?” Bucky says, all rich honey. “When?”
You roll your lips and force a smirk as you turn towards him. “Tonight, around nine.” If she was going to force you into this and pick the movie, you wanted to at least have some control over this situation. 
His eyes meet yours and the crinkles around them washes away the annoyance that was starting to build. He nods while shoving his hands into his jeans pockets and grins towards Wanda. 
“Alright. Pick a good movie, would ya?”
Wanda laughs. “I will!”
Your fingers twinkle in a wave as Bucky awkwardly waves back. Once you’re sure he’s gone and out of earshot, you nudge Wanda’s leg with your foot. “What the hell was that?” You hiss. 
“Oh hush,” she clicks her tongue. “I just gave you an opportunity, and who knows maybe something good will happen, and you’ll be thanking me after you fuc—”
“Alright alright I get it!” You stop her, a part of you still scared that anyone will just waltz in and hear. “I’ll stop complaining under one condition.”
“Okay.” She says suspiciously with narrowed eyes. 
“I get to pick the movie.”
Your legs hurt. 
Curled up crookedly under your blanket, back at an awkward angle as you stare at the moving faces and listen to the screams as they run through the forest. 
The Blair Witch Project has always been one of your favorites, and you figure there’s no sex, no nudity, nothing that could put you in a weird position with the man you can’t stop thinking about sitting right next to you on the plushy loveseat. Yeah, why not?
But of course, Wanda had to be Wanda, and insisted that the two of you lounge on the small couch while her and Vision take over the other, bigger one. As if they needed the space. 
Bucky, although, doesn’t seem to sense your discomfort, and if he does he’s kept quiet about it. He seems just as stiff as you are, but more relaxed and attentive. 
It’s been almost an hour of this. 
There’s a little giggle from the couple to your left, and when you look over you see Wanda putting her finger to her lips, shushing Vision as she holds in more of her laughter. 
Glad she’s having fun. 
Stop it. You’re doing this to yourself. 
You let out a soft sigh and shuffle to your right, closer to Buck as you gingerly uncurl your legs and sit them criss cross. Much better. You can pay attention to the movie better now that you’re more comfortable, so lost in the panic on the screen that you don’t hear him move but rather feel the brush of his thigh against your knee. 
Once you realize it you decide to ignore the onslaught of the electric shock rushing through your core—it’s embarrassing that a touch of his leg of all things gets you going. 
Bang!
You gasp and jump, gripping onto the first thing your flying hands find. It happens to be Bucky, naturally. 
“Sorry!” Wanda whispers yells. 
You roll your eyes with a loud, annoyed sigh and settle back into the loveseat. Your hands still grip onto his bicep, and it’s his subtle clear of the throat that brings your attention to it.
“Sorry.” You flinch and let go of him. 
“It’s okay.” He sounds off, a little dejected. 
You’re about to over analyze it—because that’s what you do best—when Bucky scooches closer to you and hands his arm up to rest on the back of the couch, the tips of his fingers barely reaching your shoulder. Willing yourself to relax and focus, you don’t notice the side glances he’s throwing you or the hushed whispers of your friend, who is no longer paying attention to the movie at all, but rather at you and Bucky. 
“We’re gonna turn in.” Wanda announces. 
Your mouth opens in a small o as you stare at her in disbelief. “Are you sure?” It’s hard to hide the plea. “It’s almost at the end!”
Vision gives you an apologetic shrug and mouths ‘sorry’ as Wanda drags him away by his hand. “Yeah, we’re sure. Don’t have too much fun without me!” Her accent thrums with pure tease and you can only blubber like an idiot while watching them disappear to their room. 
“Well,” Bucky sighs and shifts lower until he’s more comfortable. “Just us.”
“Hm.”
You don’t mean to sound so annoyed. You can tell it hurts his feelings because his arm moves back to his side, effectively putting more space between you. Your heart clenches at the fact that you’re the one doing this, no one else, and seeing him now, eyebrows furrowed and teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as his leg starts to bounce anxiously, makes you feel even worse. 
“I think I’m going to bed, too.” Bucky says. 
He stands up before you can say something, though you’re not exactly sure what you want to say to him; there’s so much and your brain is in too much of a scramble of self wallowing and fear that it’s hard to put them coherently together. 
“Goodnight.” He doesn’t say your name, or give you your smile. An awkward wave and heavy steps is all you get, and when they become more faint do you curse yourself and fight the stupid tears clogging your throat as you sit there in the dark. 
It’s been a week since that night. 
Wanda, much to your relief, has left you alone about Bucky, but you know with every look when he enters the room that she’s still thinking about it; still scolding you for not taking the leap of faith into what could lead to so much more.  To be honest, you don’t blame her; you’d be doing the same if you knew she’d be happy. 
This time it’s so bad that the rest of the team starts to notice yours and Bucky’s sudden thrift. Steve, bless him, has been the most frequent next to Wanda. 
“You know you can tell me anything Buck,” Steve’s voice rang through the empty room. 
This was the night after the movie incident. Restless once again, you decided to punch out your feelings and frustrations at two in the morning with the hope that you would be alone. You almost walked in on them, not paying attention, when you heard him. 
“I know.” Bucky said. “But I’m telling you, it’s not going to happen. There’s nothing there.”
Your heart leapt in your chest and your stomach dropped. Somehow, you knew they were talking about you. 
“What do you mean?” Steve asked; you imagine he did so while crossing his arms.
A bang, followed by a grunt. “Nothing. Just as I said it.”
A stab deep in your heart with a jagged edge made your knees nearly buckle. 
“Buck—“
“Listen punk,” Bucky interrupted. “I know you’re just looking out for me and I appreciate it, but I don’t want to…I want—“
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” FRIDAY interjects robotically. “But I’m afraid Rogers has a call waiting for him and it’s very urgent.”
You heard Steve sigh and something moved or fell, but you hurried away before you could get caught. 
Ever since, you can’t get those words out of your head. They play over and over like a broken record, chasing you to insanity. 
Why oh why did FRIDAY have to say something?
It was like a sign from the universe itself. Whether it was good or bad, you weren’t quite sure yet.
Tonight is a particularly warm night, which you’re not complaining about, especially with Stark’s AC. It looks to be another night of staring blankly into space until you get tired of that; covers thrown haphazardly across the room, cool air breezing against your bare skin, a new set of dark bags under your eyes brewing. A typical night for you. 
This time you debate on whether you should move. It’s getting old, just sitting here but you’re too afraid of running into—well into anyone at this point. You just don’t think you have the energy for it. 
So you decide on sitting by your window and watching the cars drive by, lights flashing through the busy city. Count the stars that barely shine through in the dark sky, too many city lights blocking out the natural brightness. Finally, after several long and agonizing minutes, you throw on a pair of shorts and quietly open the door, peering at the hallways to the best of your ability without any light with ears straining to detect any type of sound no matter big or small, and once you’re satisfied that you’re alone you close the door and blink. 
Where to this time?
You could try the training room again, but the last time makes you hold out on that. The living room maybe? Kitchen? Game room? 
Suddenly it hits you, and you want to wack yourself on the head for not thinking of this sooner. Quickly tiptoeing back to your room, you grab the fluffiest blanket you own and wrap it around yourself. 
You usually prefer taking the elevator up, too lazy for the stairs, but it’s too late for that so, stairs it is. Thankfully, it’s not that many flights and when the first breeze of fresh, cool air hits your skin you immediately sigh and inhale deeply. The night is filled with miscellaneous noises of the common city, but after being here for so long you’re more than used to it. You can see the moon now, hiding behind slivers of a dark cloud, and to your right a gruff, 
“What’re you doing up here?”
It’s not unwelcoming, just a question out of curiosity. You turn to him, shocked to find him up here. 
“Uh.” You drawl, mouth hanging open as you think of something to say. “Well—well I…” Why is this so hard?
“Why are you up here?” You ask instead, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. 
Bucky shifts in the lawn chair—a cheap brand that creaks a little under his weight—and offers you a timid smile. “Don’t you remember?”
You shuffle through your memories, trying to understand the meaning behind his question. He’s patient with you, even shuffling deeper into his stance as you stare quizzically at him. What the fuc––oh. Oh you know what he’s talking about now. 
“Oh Jesus Bucky I’m––” you run a palm over your face in shame. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to say sorry for,” he assures you. 
But you do. You do because he’s your friend, one of your best friends even, and with all of this going on, he deserves to have a good friend. 
So it makes you feel terrible that you forgot the quite frankly huge significance of this roof, and even more specifically the very spot he’s sitting in right now; this is where he goes when he has nightmares. When he wants to be alone. This is where your friendship started. 
You had snuck up to the roof in the middle of one of Tony’s parties, clad in a simple short blue dress and an armful of drinks and snacks for yourself. 
It wasn’t that you weren’t having fun, you were never one to turn down a good party. But that night you had just wanted a little alone time, and the roof was one of your sanctums of escape from the world and its responsibilities. 
Balancing everything awkwardly and praying that you wouldn’t have to bend down and pick any of them up, you finally twisted and pushed the door unceremoniously. 
It should’ve banged against something with the amount of force you excurted—out of pure annoyance—but instead it was stopped by flashy, shiny fingers, curled against the rim of the door with quiet clicks. 
“Fuck!” You gasped. “I’m sorry, didn’t know anyone was up here.”
Bucky stared down at you wearily, eyes full of surprise and wonder as he eyed you up and down, particularly taking in the overflowing variousity of items in your arms.     
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Just needed…to get away for a moment.”
At this point you already knew how Bucky was with large crowds; you didn’t blame him for coming here, especially on warm summer nights such as this. 
“Yeah,” you repeated. “Me too.” You looked down at your feet, shifting your weight. “Do you… would you like to join me?”
He froze. The blood to your cheeks was prominent, you could feel that from the heat of it. You shifted again, lifting a foot to help shove a box back into your arms.
“Okay.”
You smiled then, bright and toothy. “Here,” Bucky said, reaching for the snacks. “Let me get that.”
That night was filled with nothing but small talk and laughter, and it was one of the best nights of your life in a long, long time. From then on, you and Bucky grew closer and closer until you started to dream about riding his cock until he screamed your name and you started to push him away. 
“Buck.” You sigh, shaking the perverted thoughts away. 
“Just come here,” he says, reaching his hand out. “I want you to see something.”
You hesitate, but only for a split second before you find yourself walking towards him. His eyes, grey tonight, bare deep into yours like he’s trying to see into your soul; to figure you out, more likely.
Once you’re within hand’s reach he gently tugs at your blanket and your heart skips a beat at the sheer…domestically of such a minuscule motion. He tugs again, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the armrest. 
“That chair is gonna break as soon as I sit on it.” You argue. 
“It’s not,” he defends gently. 
He still senses your hesitance and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Can I—?” He scrunches his eyebrows and carefully wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you to the left side of him. You let him guide your body until you’re half seated on his lap, legs practically curled over his thighs while his arm stays wrapped around you. 
The heat from his body is searing, even through the extra layers of fluff you have on you. His breath ghosts over your cheek, casting a whiff of something sweet and minty on his breath. The hard, metal muscles dig into your back, although not uncomfortably, but enough for you to have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together at the thought of his arm tightening around you as he pounds into you—
“Look up.” He suddenly whispers in your ear, husky and deep. It causes a delectable shiver to run down your body and your pussy clenches around nothingness. 
Keep it together. 
Bucky must mistake it as you being cold because he pulls you tighter against him, which for you only makes it harder to control your thoughts. Your heart pounds and your ankles cross to try and relieve the increasing pressure growing in your pussy; thank goodness you brought your blanket out here. 
You finally muster your eyes to follow his pointed finger and squint. “What am I looking at?”
He shifts a little more to the left. Closer to you. “There.”
You try to ignore the way his words literally hit your lips. A brush of his breath that feels like an imprint on your pink flesh and gets your mouth watering; you start to wonder what he tastes like. 
“That?” You stick your hand out to the pointed stars. 
“You know what that is?”
Your eyebrows furrow as you think. You’re not an expert in astronomy by no means, but you took a few classes back in the day, and somehow this piece of information resonates high and mighty in your memories. 
“No.” You say before you can stop yourself. 
He smiles again, that toothy smile that you love. “Cygnus. The swan, I believe. Mostly comes out during summer months and it forms this triangle,” he traces the stars. “See?”
And that is why you said no. The way he describes it, giddy and excited because he learned something new and he’s telling you…you hate yourself even more for the way you’ve been trying to avoid him. 
“It’s beautiful.” You murmur. 
Bucky hums in agreement. Your eyes scan for any more constellations, but you can feel him staring at you. You want to look down, your neck is even starting to strain from it, but you just… 
He says your name. It comes out a whisper, and he sounds… scared. You slowly, very slowly, look down and find a swirl of gray and blue. Facing him like this makes you realize you’re closer to him than you thought; tilt your head a little down and you’d be kissing him. 
As if he read your mind, he licks his lips and, unconscious or not, you start to lean forward. 
This is it.
Bucky’s leaning up and holy shit you’re about to—
“Hey, lovebirds!”
The both of you jump and turn towards the intrusion, you with shock and Bucky, a murderous glare. Both his arms are around you, as if to shield you from the outsider. 
“Emergency meeting.” Tony smirks. “I don’t like it either but,” he shrugs. “Duty calls. Let’s go.”
Bucky’s jaw clenches out of your peripheral vision, and you find yourself filled with the same agitation because fuck you were so fucking close. 
“We should go.” You tell him, like it’s not obvious that the moment is already ruined. 
“Yeah.” Bucky grits out.
You miss the safety of his arms as soon as you leave them. 
This time you find him on purpose. 
You start by going to his room. It’s late, but not too late this time. You knock softly against the door once, then twice and wait. 
“Bucky?” You call out softly. 
A sharp, defined meow answers you back from the otherside. You grin and give the knob a try, twisting it open slowly as you glance around the room. 
“Buck?” You try again. 
Alpine, Bucky’s white feline, greets you with a purr and rubs against your legs. You bend down with a coo and pick him up, scratching his head as he closes his eyes and continues to purr. 
“Where’s your daddy?” You whisper to the cat.
He meows like he understands you, making you chuckle. The cool floor feels nice against your bare feet this time, a nice contrast to the heat flaring through the summer air. Alpine settles himself in your arms as you search for Bucky. Everything is quiet, no signs of anyone up and moving around, and you start to wonder if Bucky is up on that roof again when you walk by the kitchen. There’s a dark figure by the corner of your eye, but you don’t register it until Alpine starts squirming and you do a double take. 
“Hey.” You put Alpine down. 
Bucky nods at you and follows Alpine with his eyes as the cat rubs up against his owner, adding an arch to his spine. 
“I was looking for you.” You explain when Bucky doesn’t say anything. 
“Hmm.” He hums nonchalantly. 
You nod, because you don’t know what you want to say now that you have him and twindle your fingers together. This is… a lot harder than you expected it to be. 
“Soo,” you start out. “How… are you?”
He shrugs. “‘M alright.”
Okay. You got that out of the way. Now let’s—  
“Let’s go to my room.” 
He’s whizzing past you before you can even blink, Alpine in tow. It takes you a moment before your muscles move and you’re following him. Your heart thuds wildly against your ribcage and you take a deep breath when his door comes into view. 
Bucky has always been in a state between organized and messy. Most days you can’t even call it an organized mess, it’s more separate if you can make any sense of it. You’re reminded of this as soon as you walk in, stepping over a t-shirt and combat boots. “Sorry, sorry.” Bucky mumbles as he quickly ducks down to pick them up. The rest of his room is about the same, but it’s not too bad to make a big deal of. 
“Can’t really sleep.” He offers an explanation. 
“Ah.” You nod. “You got my problem now.”
He smirks mischievously and it shamefully sends a wave of blazing arousal through your body, ending at the pulsing ache quivering in need. 
“It seems I do, doll.”
Is this—is this a double entendre? Is Bucky messing with you right now? Enjoying the way you’re trembling with a hold that’ll give everything away? 
If so, he’s doing a fantastic job.
“So,” you clear the lodge in your throat. “S-so do you want to, uh, train? Like last time?” Okay, that might not be such a good idea—you won’t be able to control yourself then, you’re positive of it—but you genuinely do want to help him, so you’re willing to fight your animalistic pulses for the sake of your friend. No that—that doesn’t sound right. Just calling him your friend. Now, it’s leaving a distaste in your mouth.   
He sits down on the edge of his bed—dark covers that match the aesthetics of his personality—and plants his elbows on his knees as he, dramatically you have to add, thinks thoughtfully with a slight pout to his perfect lips. 
“Push ups.” 
You raise an eyebrow. “Alright?”
“But I’m gonna need a little help.”
He leans forward, just a bit more, and—and maybe it’s just your uncontrollable imagination—his eyes are dark and blown wide. 
Okay, your pussy is throbbing now, the pulse achingly worse in your clit. “O-okay.” You lick your dry lips. 
His smirk widens and stretches to put his cup onto his nightstand, making his shirt pull up, showing you a sliver of chiseled abs on his toned stomach. 
Holy fuck. You’re not going to make it. 
Bucky catches your eye before he gets down on the carpet, the muscles in his back straining deliciously and mouth watering as he stretches his legs out and holds himself up by his palms. 
“Sit on my back.”
“Wha—” You sputter with a slight giggle. “What just…just sit on you?”
“On my back, yes.” Bucky teases and glances up at you. “It’ll tire me out faster.”
It makes sense. Logically. And he does have more of an immunity than most. But you just can’t help but feel that this is part of a game of his, thinking of any and every way to torture you and watch you squirm in your helpless state. 
You’re silent as you take short steps towards his crouched form and place a hand steadily on his broad shoulder. You check on his face, still as lucid and beautiful as ever, and carefully settle your weight atop his. 
“Good?” You ask. 
“Yes, so you can relax sweetheart.” He says without a strain. So you do as he says, sitting more comfortably on him and crossing your legs. 
He bends his elbows and leans down, your fingers automatically gripping his shirt to gain more balance, and pushes himself back up at a steady pace, barely a noise coming from him. Each time he moves you feel his muscles stretch and tighten beneath you; you have to bite your lip to stop from digging your nails into his skin.  
Alpine watches as Bucky continues the workout, all the while you’re sitting on him wondering just what you’re supposed to do other than sit here, anything to clear your head and appease the burning ache coursing through you.
“Say something.” He grunts.
“Like what?” You scoff despite yourself. 
“I don’t know, talk about anything.” Up, down. A heavy breath. “Count for me then.”
“I don’t know how much you’ve done already.”
“Ten.” He answers immediately. Up. Down. “Eleven.” Up. Down. “Tw—“
“Twelve.” You interject with a mimicking tone. “Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…sixteen…”
Up. Down. You highly doubt he’s even breaking a sweat right now as your body hobbles on the muscles of steel. Up. Down. A tick, sounds like from a watch, sounds lowly in the room, but to you it sounds like it’s echoing loudly through your ears. Up. Down. You need to tell him. Up. Down. 
“Alp,” Bucky sighs annoyingly. 
You look over and see the white glob bend its head down by Bucky’s wrist, and when Bucky leans down the cat boops his nose against his and sits. 
“Oh no, c’mon.” Bucky complains. “Move.”
He tries to sweep Alpine away with one arm but you’re moving too, not holding on to him and when he leans most of his weight onto his left side, your body goes with it. 
“Woah!” Your hands fly wildly as you attempt to grab onto something. That something happens to be soft and you mistake it for his shirt and pull. 
“Hey—shitmhm!”
You freeze. He does too. 
Did that…did that just happen? 
The air is thick, so fucking thick, you’re not sure if you can breathe properly under the weight of it. 
Now what the fuck do you say?
“Um are you—” you’re breathless, like you’ve been the one doing the push ups. “Are you okay?”
He still keeps his stance, Alpine long gone by now towards his bed most likely. You don’t care about that right now. All you can think about is how his arms flex as he keeps you up and how you can see his jaw tick; it shouldn’t turn you on, but that groan does nothing to help you as it echoes through the air silently. 
“Buc—”
There’s a tug on your calf and suddenly the room is a blur. You feel yourself being pulled down and flipped onto your back, and again you brace yourself for impact but it’s—it’s just the soft carpet, and he’s leaning over you, legs between his now open ones with a dangerous look in his eyes that you can’t tear away from. A bead of sweat dribbles down the tip of his nose until it drips down onto your cheekbone, but that’s not even enough to break the spell you’re currently in. It breaks Bucky’s, however, because he curses and wipes the small line from your cheek and wipes the front of his face with an open palm. 
You should say something. A word. Just something. He turns back to you and just…looks at you. And you look back. Breaths mix together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and there’s a battle waging in his mind, you can see that in his eyes; they’re barely recognizable now, no blue or gray. 
“Can I kiss you?”
It takes you a second to register what he said. It’s soft, so fucking quiet and gentle that it pierces straight through your heart. Your stomach erupts in nerves and your legs tighten together on their own accord, pussy fluttering at the question. 
Bucky waits patiently, never once moving a muscle. You lick your lips and that’s when he moves, a flicker of his eyes and a part of his lips. 
You don’t answer him with words. You don’t think you can trust your voice enough to. Don’t think at all, actually. Instead you nod and wait with baited breath as he nods back, leisurely, and starts to lean in. It’s tentative, careful but eager. You never take your eyes off his, only when you feel the soft press of his lips against yours do you indulge yourself. 
The kiss starts off slow. Barely even a kiss, just lips against lips. You crane your neck up and back a little and press harder against him, making him moan softly in the back of his throat and shit that’s one of the most beautiful sounds you ever heard; you need to hear more of it. 
Sensing your eagerness, he presses back and kisses you like you’re sure he did back in the 40’s, slinging every gal and wooing them with just a wink of an eye. His tongue traces the outline of your bottom lip and you open your mouth with a gasp, inviting his curious tongue into your warm crevasse. He sighs at the taste of you, swirling his tongue with yours in a fight you know he’ll win. Your hands lift up and wrap around his shoulders, pushing him down on to you. He presses down on your knee and you spread your legs for him to settle in between.
“Why—” He breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connected to your lips trailing along as you whine from the loss. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”
You giggle, deep and low and he joins in with his own, harmonizing perfectly. “I don’t know,” you say. “That’s sorta my fault, I guess. I just—” you look away shyly. 
Bucky places two fingers underneath your chin, prompting you to look at him. “Didn’t want to risk our friendship.” He finishes for you. 
You nod. Your chest feels lighter now, a new sense of…of an increasing, raw excitement growing inside you. He must feel the same way, too, because he swoops back in for another kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. Your arms flex as you hold him still, running your hand up the nape of his neck and into his locks, gripping a handful of it to stable yourself. Bucky moans again and drops his hips into yours, where you feel the hardening outline of his cock through his sweatpants, grinding purposefully against yours. 
“Bucky,” you gasp, moaning when his lips trail down your jaw and stop at your neck. 
“I’m so sorry we ever waited this long,” he groans into the skin, planting a kiss on your rapid pulse. “You’re so fucking beautiful, малышка.
You don’t understand much Russian, but Bucky has been trying to teach you on and off and this one you understand; babygirl.
“Fuck.” You moan. He sucks a mark on your neck and bites down on it, making you whine and arch your back into him. He pushes back down, and his cock feels impossibly harder and you know he can feel your hot, dripping cunt, too. 
“Please,” you don’t know what you’re begging for. “I-I need…”
“What?” He asks sweetly. When you continue to sputter at him, he gives a hard thrust against your clothed cunt. 
“A-ah fuck.” You keen. 
“Tell me what you want.” He orders. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you. C’mon.”
It feels like you can’t breathe. He hasn’t even been inside you yet and you’re already on the edge, chest heaving and thighs quivering with the anticipation. 
Bucky suddenly drops down to his forearms, leaving a searing kiss that has you whimpering for more. “Want me to taste you?” He whispers huskily. “Like I dreamed?” His hands slide under your shirt, skimming against your sides. Your breath catches, caught in your throat as your skin breaks out in goosebumps. “Kiss that pretty pussy of yours? Fuck you with my fingers? Get you alll—“ He palms your breasts and pinches your nipple; you bite down on your lip hard, indents digging sharply through the tender flesh. “—nice and wet for my thick, fat cock? Would you like that, doll?”
Would you like that? You’d fucking kill for it. 
“Yes!” You moan loudly. “Oh please Bucky, please.” 
Bucky loves to see you beg. His dick twitches in response in his pants and you dig your nails into his back. 
“Okay baby,” he says against your open mouth. “Get on the bed for me, legs spread.”
You don’t hesitate as soon as he lifts off you. You crawl on the bed with shaky limbs and lay on your back on his pillow; it smells distinctly Bucky, filling your senses with fueled desire. 
Bucky looks at you like you’re fucking treasure. Like you’re the sun, the moon, everything to him, and it makes you blush and flutter under the intensity of it. You hold your arms out with a slight pout. 
“Please?”
He huffs a chuckle and reaches behind him to pull his shirt over his head. Your mouth waters at the beautiful specimen before you; you want to kiss the faint scars that littler his body. He pulls down his pants next but keeps his boxers on, the outline of his hard cock prominent and strained through the fabric; if it’s bothering him, he’s doing a pretty good job at hiding it. 
Bucky crawls towards you, slow and with a curve, like a predator capturing its prey. You reach out for him and grab his shoulders, pulling him towards you for a kiss. His lips, slightly chapped but otherwise soft, move against yours in perfect synchrony, as if your bodies are already so in tune with each other. He breaks the kiss, diving back to lick your top lip, and slides the palm of his hands back up under your shirt, this time pulling the fabric with him. You help him slide the shirt off and throw it casually across the room; your nipples perk under his wandering and trumpeting gaze. 
“Fuck, doll,” he whispers. 
Before you can react he leans down and envelopes your nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the perky bud. You gasp and hold his head to your chest while his hands grip down on your hips, hard enough to where you know there’s going to be bruises. He bites down on the bud, causing you to roll your hips against his and your toes to curl. 
“Bucky.” You whisper, just because he’s all you can see and feel and smell…
He lets go of your breast with a pop and trails his kisses down the valley between your breasts and to your stomach, stopping at the pant line. 
“Yes.” You say before he can ask. “Please, Bucky. I need you to touch me.”
“I already am, sweetheart.” He replies innocently. 
You don’t want to argue right now. “James.”
He laughs and dips his fingers inside the waistband, the cool metal making you shiver. “You know,” he says as he drags your pants down your legs at an agonizing pace. “I kinda like it when you say my name like that.”
You chuckle, but it comes out weird and without much air. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He bites your hip bone, making your hips jump and your pussy clench. “James.”
Keeping your eyes on him—somehow, you know that he wants you to keep watching him—Bucky licks the very same spot he just bit and catches his teeth on the lining of your panties, pulling back and tugging at the flimsy fabric. The act alone almost makes you cum. 
You moan lowly and lift your hips to help him pull them down your legs, kicking them off once they’re at your ankles. 
“Jesus.” He murmurs, his breath hot against your pussy; if it weren’t for his broad shoulders, you would’ve closed your legs to relieve the pressure. “You’re fucking dripping, baby. Did I do that to you?”
You swallow and open your mouth, but no words come out. It’s like your brain is short circuiting, cut off from oxygen. Bucky grimaces and slaps your thigh with his flesh hand, making you cry out. 
“Answer me.”
“Y-yes.” You stutter. “Fuck, Bucky yes, only you.”
He grins and kisses the top of your pubic mound, gripping your thighs tighter and scooching closer to the bed. “Gonna taste you.” He whispers, almost as if he was talking to himself rather than you. 
You wiggle your hips impatiently, waiting for him. You think he might slap you again if you continue moving, so you will yourself to relax and…and wait. Because he can’t stop fucking staring at you, and kissing everywhere but where you want him the most and it’s so frustrating you’re going to cry. 
“Pl-EASE!”
His hot, wet tongue slides up the strip of your folds and settles around your clit, circling the sensitive bundle. You preen into his mouth and clutch at the bedsheets, already writhing against him. He immediately throws an arm—his right one—over your lower stomach and pins your hips down, preventing you from moving an inch away or towards him; you’re completely under his will. 
Bucky explores the velvety slit of your pussy, humming all the while like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. The groans that are escaping you doesn’t sound like you, doesn’t feel like they’re coming from you, but they are and it finally catches up to you—James Buchannon Barnes, your friend, best friend, your co-worker, is eating your pussy like there’s no tomorrow. 
“Oh fu—” He nips carefully at your clit. You can’t focus. Not on your words, your surroundings, nothing but Bucky and the sensations he’s bring you. Every lick and suck on your pussy has you keening into his unbreakable hold, whining and clutching the sheets until you’re sure you’re going to tear right through them. This is too much, way too fucking much but you’re so close, so desperate for him, that you’ll—
He slurps lewdly and loudly, making you throw your head back and choke on a moan. “Bu-Bucky I—I need…”
He pulls back just slightly enough to say, “I know.” And he shifts, getting ready to switch arms. 
No. Oh no no no no. 
Your hand darts out and stops him. Gulping, you wordlessly place his flesh arm back on your stomach and reach for his metal fingers. Bucky’s eyes widen as soon as he figures it out and stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head. 
“R-really?” He asks indubely. “You want me to—Jesus baby you—fuck.”
“Please.” You whine. “I can take it.”
He—he snarls and buries his face back into your weeping pussy, attaching his lips around your clit. You gurgle out a low curse and feel his cold fingers prod at your gaping entrance. 
“You sure?” He asks cautiously. 
“If you don’t I will literally—OH!” One thick, wide finger breaches through your hole and slides into your cunt with ease, curling as soon as he’s knuckle deep. Your body spasms, like you’ve just been electrocuted, and your fingers curl in his hair. 
“Taste fucking delicious,” he begins to babble. “Sweet like candy. Nevr’ gonna get enough of it, doll, never.” He pumps his finger in and out of you, curling each time he slides back in, brushing up against your sweet spot. After a few pumps, he dips another in, stretching you. 
“Bucky I’m—” The coil in your lower stomach tightens, your pussy fluttering against his fingers painfully, but in a way that’s everything pleasurable. “Oh fuck I’m gonna c-cum.”
His lips are around your clit again, fingers pumping faster now to the point where you can hear the squelches from your cunt, and without any warning he sucks. Hard. 
“Fuckfuckfuck.” It comes out of you without preamble, mindless babbling that doesn’t even make sense at all. Your thighs cage his head, shaking and quivering as your orgasm approaches. “I’m g-go-gonna—” Your pussy clenches harshly around his thick digits and you’re gone. White flashes behind your eyelids, a numbness searing through your entire core as you shake and gush around his fingers, and a strange sound emanates through the room again; you don’t have to question who it is. 
Bucky works you through your release, moaning and lapping at everything you have to give him. Eventually you come down when it becomes too painful to bear and you push his head away from you. Giving your clit one last kiss that makes you whimper, he stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking down at you all the matter. 
“You did so good, baby.” He praises you; you shutter, legs jumping slightly as your body flexes. “Gonna let me fuck you? Huh, babygirl?”
You’ll let this man do anything to you. Your limbs feel like jello, but find enough strength to keep your legs open and open your arms invitingly to him. He makes a show of pulling his boxers down, your eyes following the patch of dark hair and bulges at the long, thick cock that slaps against the hard plains of his stomach, precum smearing from the red angry tip. Next time—and you really fucking hope there will be a next time—you’re going to put him in your mouth. 
“Like what you see?” There’s more of that cocky, playboy Bucky Barnes you’ve heard so much about. 
“Yes.” You answer honestly. “Kiss me.”
The bed shifts slightly and creaks under his weight as he crawls towards you and locks his lips with yours; you can still taste yourself on his lips, sweet and tangly. The tip of his head brushes against your clit as he lays down on top of you, hot and smearing more of his precum across your stomach. 
“Fuck me,” you moan into him. 
Bucky groans lowly and you reach down to grab his cock; it’s hot, thick enough to where your fingers don’t reach and pulsing in your hand. “Shit.” He hisses, hips stuttering in your grasp. 
Nex time, you’re going to tease him, too; give him a piece of his own medicine. You would now, but this has been a long time coming and you’re tired of waiting, so you line him up at your entrance and keep your hand on him as he slowly pushes in. 
He moans your name the same time you moan his, looking down to watch himself sink into your warm depths. He stops when he’s balls deep, and you feel so full that you’re positive the tip of him is about near your cervix. 
“Bucky.” You wiggle beneath him. “Move.”
“I got you, princess.” He croaks. “I got you.”
Pushing himself down on his forearms, Bucky pulls out painfully slow, his dick already wet and slick with your juices, and pushes back in. You roll your hips into his thrusts, taking him deeper. Every single muscle in his body flexes under your touch as you wrap your arms around his back, rolling into you with perfect thrusts that hits a spot deep inside you. You're too wired, too engrossed with the fact that it’s him, that your still overly sensitive pussy clenches around his cock. 
“Baby,” his voice presses sweet and deep in his throat as he gasps. “I’m not—fuck I’m sorry I-I’m not—”
“It’s okay.” You tell him breathlessly, pressing your forehead against his and giving his lips a quick peck. “Just fuck me, Bucky. Use me, like I’ve dreamed of.”
Bucky chokes, eyes wild and neck red, and pulls almost all the way out until the tip is barely in and thrusts back in harshly. You cry out and dig your nails into his bare skin, leaving angry marks in their wake. He grabs your leg and hitches it over his hip, bringing his arm back down to wrap around you. 
“You ever touch yourself thinking about me, doll?” He grits. “Huh? Have you?” 
How—oh Jesus fuck how are you supposed to answer that when he’s fucking you so deep that you can barely remember your own name. Your pussy clenches in answer to what he already knows, and that gets him to grind down at you; the curls of his hair brush heavenly against your clit. “Yeah, you have, haven’t you?”
Pleasure rips through as his hips meet your harder and faster, the slap of skin against skin becoming louder and louder, as is your cries, but you don’t care if the whole fucking world hears you. 
“You’re tight,” he gasps, closing his eyes. “How are you s-so fucking—fuck tight?”
You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that, but the only thing you can do is bring him down to kiss you again, clashing teeth as you moan and cling to him. He breaks the kiss and buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily. His arms slide back down to grope your ass cheeks and lift your lower half up to meet more of his heavy and hurried thrusts. 
“I’m not going to last much longer,” he warns you in a moan. 
You kiss his neck while your hand slides down his back to grope at his ass—as if you can push him even more deeper inside of you—and you lick his earlobe, tugging at the end with your teeth until he shivers. 
“I want you to cum,” you whisper seductively in his ear. “Sergeant, please.”
Sergeant. Sergeant. You have no idea where it came from, but as soon as the words leave your mouth he growls and starts to plow you, fingers digging into your flesh as his hips snap into yours. 
“Shit. Oh fuck babygirl I can—I can’t.” His rhythm falters, your pussy fluttering and clenching around him, trying to get his cock to say within you after each delicious drag against your walls. He whines—a pitiful, deep whine that resonates throughout the shocked nerves—and you can’t—
“I’m cumming.” You manage to break out. “B-buck—fuck.”
Your ankles cross around his waist, and it takes his teeth in your neck to have you cry out onto the ceiling as your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in and clenching until your muscles feel spent and sore. 
“Oh God,” Bucky whimpers and it sends another wave through you, making him sputter and choke as his hips slam into you unevenly. “Shit shit, fuck.”
“Please baby.” You encourage softly. “Cum.”
He abruptly pulls out, your protest lodged in your throat as you feel the hot, thick ropes of cum spurt out onto your stomach. 
“Fuck, fuck.” Bucky continues to gasp, his hand flying to his weeping cock and fisting it. 
You moan as a few more land on your chest, painting your body with his pearly white cum; you know it’s over when he starts to slump. Without a second thought, he pushes back into you. “Bucky.” You can only say in slight confusion and pain.
“Sorry, I’m sorry I just—“ he winces as his hips connect with yours again. “—just wanna feel ya. Too good.” He slurs. 
He kisses you then, slow and unhurried unlike earlier. This kiss says so much more in its language, lost in the dance of your lips. He trails his lips up to your forehead and places the softest and faintest of kisses there before settling on your chest. 
You hum and rub his back soothingly. You’re both sweaty and sticky—Bucky doesn’t seem to mind this fact as he presses himself closer to you—and your body is satisfyingly numb and exhausted. Finally exhausted for what seems like ages. 
Once the haze evaporates from your mind, questions start flying: what does this mean for you and Bucky now? When and how do you tell the others? What does this mean for missions? What does—?  
“Stop thinking.” Bucky mumbles, voice covered by the breast he’s laid his head on. “Too loud.”
He’s right. This time, it can wait. 
You smile and whisper an apology, snuggling deeper into the hug. You try to get comfortable, but the sticky evidence is drying uncomfortably on your skin. 
“Bucky,” you sigh. “We gotta shower.”
You feel his nose squint. “Few more minutes.”
You fall asleep before those few minutes are up.
Tags: @scarlett-berserker​, @justlovetoreadfics​, @lil-baby27​, @mando-vibes​, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch​, @im-the-music-whore​, @certifiedhunter​, @softpedropascal​, @domino-oh-damn​​, @okaydacre​, @lemongrove​, @appreciating-chase-brody, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony​, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd​, @elusive-ivory​, @dizzydazed​, @bluejeancntrygrl​, @dadzawas-eyebags​, @moonstruck-witchy @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi​, @evalynanne​, @purplewaterbird​, @vikingqueen28​, @tedpicklez​, @blunt-cake-yes​, @agoldin​, @lustriix​, @readsalot73​, @kateb013​, @eupphoriaaa​, @imalovernotahater​, @everything-lost-and-unsaid​, @dlmafa1, @hoodedbirdie​, @drunkenliterary, @fioccodineveautunnale​​, @fangirlfree​, @amarvelousmandalorian​, @ironheart-hanako​, @sando-rann, @meganoid1997​, @adikaofmandalore​, @cahooter​, @charliepeaceout, @dreamgirl-67, @phoenixhalliwell​, @acrylics-and-sunshine​, @sunkissed-winter​
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hi bestie it’s me again, i read the ask about punishing justin for coming home drunk BUT what if it was worse? like he came home drunk when the sun was rising and his cellphone battery died and mommy was worried sick about him, and to top it all off he kissed some ppl. mommy would have a conversation with him about how sad and worried she got and say “well, you wanna be an adult so i’m gonna treat you like one” and she’d keep this punishment for a few days he’d try to make it up to her all bby🤤
EEEEEEEEEEE
People at school asking Justin if he is okay because he's running late, his clothes are on backwards, he's forgotten his lunch two days in a row (he never eats in the cafeteria it's too loud and the food is yucky). He is actively trying not to cry, he's spent the last five years being completely taken care of at the ward and by Mommy. He can barely function.
On the third day, Mommy shows up outside of one his classes, clearly having just come from work all dressed up professional. And that breaks Justin. She barely has time to pull him into an empty classroom before he crying, trying to cling to her like he would at home. It take a lot of work on Mommy's part to calm him down, lots of petting and cooing about everything being okay.
"Shh puppy, it's okay, Mommy knows. You learnt your lesson, didn't you? It's okay, Mommy loves you so much. No more tears now, let's go get some lunch sweetie, just you and me."
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rosy-wooyoung · 4 years
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Husband series [8/8] | Jongho
Word count: 4.3k Pairing: ex-husband! San x single mom! reader x boyfriend! Jongho Genre: fluff, another make out session yeet A/N: aaaand that’s the last one of the “series” !! I hope it wasn’t too repetitive and that you enjoyed it, feedbacks are appreciated! Thank you for reading!! (Jongho is bby tho 🥺)
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You had met San when you were in college. You were a business student, and he was working as a graphic designer in a company near your university. Meeting through a mutual friend one night at a dinner out with the so-called friend, you instantly clicked as good friend. Your friendship soon grew into a romantic one, becoming almost inseparable. Even with your busy schedules, you still managed to make everything work, sometimes going out for lunch or FaceTiming each other late at night, right when you had finished studying. Three years later, your relationship with San was going strong, and you’ve never felt so pretty and happy. He was treating you the way you had dreamt to be treated, fulfilling every aspect that you were looking for in a man. San loved you with his entire heart, being called a simp by his friends and co-workers didn’t prevent him from loving you unconditionally. (people can be mean sometimes let just people love each other ffs)
He understood your mood swings, your constant tired state, but he didn’t mind. He knew that being at university was exhausting, so we let you have your space yet still had opened arms for you if you needed it. Since you were a teenager, you had an idea of a job that you wanted to do, so you did everything to make it work and study for it. Though one day, someone from a company came to one of your lectures to talk about his work and you immediately fell in love with his job. It was a job that you didn’t even know that existed, and you suddenly craved to reach this work in your career. However, there’s been a hiccup. You needed a master’s degree to reach this post. That meant moving to another city, going to grad school and start everything. And studying even more crazily that you were currently doing. And that’s what you did. You were getting busier and busier, to the point of almost not being able to handle your relationship with San anymore. You could already barely make your friendships work, let alone a romantic one.
There was another dilemma to all of that.
You had gotten married to San a few months after your bachelor graduation. Of course, you had celebrated it with a honeymoon over the Summer in Hawaii. And we all know what happens most of the time during a honeymoon… During your second month of grad school, you started feeling nauseous and dizzy several times during the day, starting right after you woke up. Worried, you went to the doctor to check if you were healthy, but it turned out that you were just pregnant.
Married and pregnant, you could say goodbye to your master’s degree.
You felt like you could do it at first, that nothing could bring you down, not even a baby or your health. You gave birth to a wonderful daughter seven months later, one of the happiest moments in your life. However, a few weeks later, it came to a point where taking care of your daughter, your master and husband became way too overwhelming for you to control. One night, you sat in your bed as you breastfeed your daughter, San lying dead asleep next to you. He was curled up in the covers, softly dreaming as your mind was rushing. Trains of thoughts, anxieties, worries invaded your mind, preventing you from doing your activity with your daughter calmly. She whined as you sighed, probably feeling your anxiety through your feeding, so you tried to take deep breaths and calm down a bit.
You were becoming irritable and quite aggressive, stress and exhaustion taking over your body. San taking care of you was sometimes suffocating when he just wanted to take care of you and your daughter. He was simply trying to help. But to you, he was in the way. You hated to admit it, but it was falling apart. San accused you from taking too much time for your master’s degree and Youngsoon, feeling left aside and abandoned as you privileged something and someone else more. San was always at work since he was the only source of income, sad and disappointed that everything had turned out that way.
“San, I want a divorce,” you said one night, and your husband dropped his fork in his plate. “No, Y/N, we’re going to make things work out, I promise.” “I don’t want to do it anymore, I’m tired,” you said, emotionless as you drank a sip of water, grimacing as it was lukewarm because of the candle standing next to it. “You’re just saying that because you’re under stress, I know you don’t mean it,” he said as he grabbed your hand across the table, but you took it away from him. Even when you were mad or angry at him, you didn’t act like that. He knew when you retracted your hand, it was serious. You fought for days, watching your relationship fall apart. San took the couch a few nights in a row, and so did you. There were nights where San went out, probably drinking or doing something else and you didn’t even get to see him in the mornings. No more post-it notes left on the counter, no more texts from him, just cold and bitter answers as you told him that you were going to bed.
[You] : I’m going to bed, your dinner is in the oven. [Sannie] : Ok.
This was the last text that you sent him. He came from work one day and displayed a stack of paper in front of you, as well with a pen.
“Have fun,” he said as he went out the door without looking back, his blazer in his grip. Divorce papers were scattered in front of you, reading each line of it during the entire night, pondering if it was a great decision or not. He had finally accepted your decision, yet he still felt miserable and in love. San had great manners, so he helped you move out when it was time. He was cold when he was talking to you, but you knew that you deserve it, but you also knew that it was his way of shielding himself. He waved at you one last time from his porch and sighed, letting his tears roll down as you drove away. After a few days, he was still sending you messages, but you ended up blocking him because you needed to focus on something else. It was a hard decision but move on was your key point.
Your master’s was doing quite well, you managed to get through the first two years. It was getting tougher yet more interesting, and you successfully ended your second year. Your third year consisted of you staying abroad or a semester or more and completing your thesis. Your grad school didn’t really allow this, but due to your condition, they agreed on letting you take your daughter. When you arrived in South Korea, you, fortunately, knew the basics, living your life independently as you tried to learn a bit of Korean every day, getting more and more comfortable in the language as the weeks went by. The company you were working at was filled with nice people, welcoming you in their life as if you were an old friend. You've been hit on by co-workers, but you politely declined, too immersed into your job and daughter to even care about dating.
A handsome man named Jongho worked in the company you were doing your stay in, and you grew to have a crush on him. I mean, who couldn’t. A lot of women in the company were cooing over him, he wasn’t the eldest, yet he acted more maturely than some of the eldest crocodiles in the company. He was courteous, gentle and a very smiley man, warming you up on a cold way only by his smile. You had talked to him a few times, but nothing crazy. You had unexpectedly met him on your way at the park, and he was coming back from the gym, still sweaty and muscles rolling around. He was wearing quite tight shorts and a tank top, offering you a nice view of his body. You were walking your daughter to make her fall asleep, so you hid at a street corner to avoid him and got out of your spot as he walked past you, never seeing you. One night, you had a company meal and had to decline it, even if you really wanted to go. You had to take care of your daughter, plus you needed to start writing your thesis, and you didn’t really like the fact that someone you didn’t know would take care of her while you were out, drinking and eating with friends. You were more reassured to be with your daughter, comfortably sat at home with a cup of tea, lo-fi music in the background, hard-working as you’ve been doing for the past five years.
The following day, Jongho intercepted you and asked why you weren’t there last night. Panicking, you tried to explain that you were busy with your thesis, but he wasn’t really convinced.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Do you wanna grab lunch with me today?” He changed the subject, and you almost dropped the folders you had in hand. “I planned on cooking at home, I’m sorry.” “Alright,” he said with a thin disappointed smile, and you sheepishly smiled at him before going back to work. You hated declining opportunities to talk to him, but you needed to feed your daughter since the day-care centre had to unexpectedly close doors for this afternoon. Coming home from work, one evening, you noticed that you didn’t have any food left in the fridge. You started to think about ordering takeout, but you suddenly remembered that your daughter still had a fragile stomach and capricious stomach, making you sigh. You quickly dressed your daughter and put her in her pushchair, making your way out to the local convenience store.
And you happened to run into Jongho. Again. He was coming back from the gym, hair still wet from his shower, his sports bag loosely hanging from his shoulder. “Oh, hi, Jongho—” you didn’t even have the time to cross the street or hide that he appeared in front of you, almost crashing onto each other. “H-hi Y/N,” he stuttered, his eyes widening at your daughter, who was tugging on his pants. “Youngsoon, no!” You shushed her since Jongho didn’t move, almost seeing gears working next to his head as he thought about everything you had told him by the past. And it clicked. He quickly excused himself from you and paced the other way, as pale as if he had seen a ghost. That’s when you understood that he wanted to be more than just co-workers and you had no longer a chance with him. You had done your best to avoid him with your daughter, but it needed to happen one night.
The following day at work, you avoided each other like the plague, sending each other glares, but immediately looking away when you were caught red-handed in the act. It came to a habit for the following week, and you started to move on. It wasn’t the first time that you needed to move on, so you were kind of numb and used to it. At a lunch break, you prepared yourself to go home and felt someone touch your shoulder. It was Jongho, and your heart started beating faster. It had been a while that you hadn’t seen him this close and his hand on your shoulder sent electricity in your veins.
“Wanna grab lunch with me?” “Jongho, I can’t.” you sighed and kept on packing. “Take her along.” He winked as he placed a small piece of paper in your free hand before walking away. You opened it and discovered a restaurant address, making you dash and rush at home. Your daughter was slightly confused, but she clapped when you told her that you’d have lunch with the man that wore sweatpants the other night. When you arrived at the address, Jongho was already waiting for you at a table. You entered the restaurant, and he smiled, waving at you from his spot. You smiled, your heart banged louder when you noticed the highchair near yours. It was a small gesture, yet it was something meaningful to you; he cared about your daughter well-being.
“Thank you for the invitation,” you said as you sat your daughter in her chair. She was quite shy around Jongho, she couldn’t look at him in the eyes. She seemed impressed, which made Jongho smile. “It’s nothing,” he swayed his hand in front of him with a smile and bit back a laugh when your daughter harshly played with your hand. “Don’t hurt Mommy,” he said, and Youngsoon looked at him, pink appearing on her cheeks as she stopped pulling on your fingers. You grabbed your ring from her hold and replaced it on your finger, smiling as Jongho offered to play with his hand instead. “So how have you been?” you asked as you slightly smiled at the waiter, who was placing a bottle of sparkling water between you two. Jongho thanked the waiter with a nod and looked up, slightly leaning towards you. You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the discomfort that took place between the two of you. “Honestly, not that good,” he finally answered after sighing. Your eyebrows furrowed, worried that someone bad happened to him. “Do you wanna talk about it?” you offered before taking a sip of the bubbly liquid, hitching your throat as you swallowed it.
“I missed you,” he blurted, and you almost choked. You certainly weren’t expecting this, but you weren’t nonetheless disappointed. “What?” you asked as you wiped your mouth with your napkin. “Yeah, I’ve missed you quite badly. Those past couples of days without daring to look at you, smile at you or talk to you made me realise that, yeah, I really liked you. I know I disappeared like a coward when I saw you with this little one,” he admitted as he shook his finger, which was still in your daughter’s hold since she was whining for affection. “I shouldn’t have, but I wasn’t expecting that you had a past like yours. I’m sorry, I realised I messed up the second I ran away, and I couldn’t see myself coming to you as if nothing happened. I hope you’ll forgive me because I really want things to work out together. I think we can go pretty far if you’re alright with it,” the last parts of his sentence sounded a bit unsure, which gave him an endearing appearance. “Okay, you're lucky that you're handsome,” you admitted with a smile and Jongho’s eyes almost bugged out, a shock expression on his face. “I forgive you, but I still need a moment to process everything. I haven’t dated anyone in a while,” you said with a nervous smile, which immediately reassures Jongho. “Of course, take the time you need,” he winked, and the remaining of the lunch went by without any trouble.
Time flew by, and it soon became the end of your stay in Seoul. You had to go back to your home country, leaving friends and co-workers behind. After that particular lunch date with Jongho, he invited you over his place the following night, cooking and spending the night together, as well as with your daughter. A memory of that night was still quite vivid in your mind, remembering your daughter sitting on Jongho’s belly, legs dangling off his body and Jongho softly played with her as you watched the film displayed on the TV. You smiled as you heard her fits of giggles and Jongho’s babbling. Your first kiss happened that night as well, right after putting your daughter to bed. He had waited for you to come back to the living room and sprung to his feet, almost knocking you to the floor. He held your waist and made you both fall on the couch, him underneath you. You were straddling him, a position that you didn't get to experience for years. You sat on his lap, and he cupped your cheek with his hand, the other clutching your waist, dragging you closer to him. 
Everything went almost too naturally, Jongho did everything to make it happen that way. He stretched his neck, and you leant in, your lips meeting halfway through. As you were exchanging your first kiss, you hoped that your daughter wouldn’t interrupt this precious moment. Jongho groaned in the kiss and roughly grabbed you by the neck to deepen your languid exchange, which made butterflies erupt in your stomach. Years that you spent every day without getting kissed on the lips, you hadn’t realised how much you missed this. Jongho was the one to wake Youngsoon up the next morning, leaving you to sleep in as you were tired from your activities from the night before.
They had a great bond together, it was endearing to see them getting along so well. He came a few nights in a row at your place, your daughter almost taking him as her dad. She always ran to him when he showed up at the day-care centre with you, rushing in his arms, giving him only a few seconds to scoop her in his arms and hug her. She held onto him very tightly, small hands grabbing at the hair on the back of his head. You stroked her head, and she finally noticed you, making grabby hands as she tried to escape from Jongho’s arms to come into yours. You were her mother, after all, she preferred to be in your arms than being into someone else’s. She was your cherished daughter, and you were her cherished mother. Other people at the day-care centre mistook you too many times as married young parents. At first, you were embarrassed and nervous that people thought you had your child together, but you quickly got used to it. Having someone as Jongho by your side made you realise how lucky you were that he chose you because there was no shortage of beautiful women in the company you worked at.
Today was the day that you all felt extremely sad. You had to leave all the great memories behind, as well as Jongho. You had tried to make him come along, but he had his family and friends there as well. You were exhausted, your daughter almost crying every night as you tried to put her to sleep, but the thought of leaving your boyfriend was near unbearable for her. The ride to the airport was silent. You barely greeted Jongho as you opened the door. He faintly smiled as he took your suitcases, stuffing them in his truck as you directly went to the passenger seat after installing your daughter in the backseat. She was pouting all the time, trying to turn around to look at Jongho for the last time.
Once you arrived at the airport, you happened to run into Yunho, one of Jongho’s friends, who was also getting ready to take the plane to go on a holiday. You tried to keep your composure as much as possible, but your eyes welled up with tears when you heard the call for your flight. You were about to go for a hug, but Jongho did a handshake to his friend, Yunho passing him his backpack, as well as his suitcases. You looked at them, confused, but when Jongho smiled at you, it clicked.
He was coming with you.
“Are- are you serious?” your voice wavered as you felt your eyes burning. He nodded with a smile, and you swore that you could’ve yelled in happiness. Which you did. You screamed and ran to Jongho’s arms, dropping your daughter’s hand in the way. She didn’t understand why you yelled, so she cried, interrupting your euphoria. You let go of Jongho to stare at your daughter and took her in your arms. “Honey, Jongho is coming with us,” she immediately stopped crying and sniffled, looking at you. She then looked at Jongho, who had the brightest smile on his face, caressing your daughter’s cheek with his knuckle. He gave her a kiss on the cheek, before capturing your lips in a feverish kiss. You felt someone taking your daughter off your arms and mumbled something. “Oh time to come with me pretty girl, I won’t let you see that,” you smiled in the kiss as you heard Yunho’s comment and took the opportunity to wrap your arms around your lover’s neck. The kiss got quickly abrupted as you heard the last call for your flight, taking your daughter back and waving at Yunho with a big smile as you rushed to your departure gate. Jongho had managed to find a seat right behind you and your daughter, comforting and playing with your daughter when you fell asleep. You were relieved that she wasn’t too loud, shyly looking at the man sitting next to you. You put your index finger on your lips to signal her to stay quiet, to which she slowly nodded. Her big eyes got distracted by a hand coming between the seats to scratch her belly, softly giggling at the tickles.
When you arrived in your home country, you were exhausted. You barely recognised yourself when you entered the bathroom, brushing your hair back into place as you yawned. Your daughter was barely standing up, you couldn’t wait to go home and call it a day. Jongho was waiting for you with your suitcases, ready to go and hail a taxi for a drive home. Reality struck you right in the face; you didn’t have a place to stay since you sold everything when you went to live abroad. The only place you knew was your parents’ house. After a call with your father, Jongho stopped a taxi and put the suitcases in the truck. Youngsoon was dead asleep in your arms, keeping her against your chest as you sat in the backseat. The journey to your parents’ house wasn’t that long, so it should be good enough to keep her like that.
You wanted to sleep for the next week, but your thesis needed you, as much as you needed sleep. Fortunately, Jongho was working in the same field as you did, so he could keep on writing your paper when you were exhausted. He and your parents were taking turns to take care of your daughter when you were doing your thesis or sleeping, barely making it alive when you put a full stop to your work.
“Y/N! There’s someone at the door for you!” Your mom screamed from downstairs and, from the tone of her voice, she wasn’t the happiest. You frowned and ran downstairs, almost stumbling on the last steps as you recognised the silhouette in the doorway.
San.
He was standing there, hair longer and body slimmer than the last time you saw him. You swallowed thickly as you had wished to look more presentable, but, to your defence, you weren’t expecting him to knock at your door a whole year and a half after your divorce. You clenched your teeth as you stared at him, whereas he had the softest smile decorating his lips. “You haven’t ch—” “Don’t you dare to finish your sentence,” you spat, looking at him dead in the eyes, “No.” you sternly said, pushing your hair back. “Okay,” he said as he widened his eyes, putting his hands in his jeans pockets. “What do you want?” you asked, starting to get impatient at the sight of your ex-husband. “To have you back,” he said, and your breath got stuck in your throat. “Of course, but you know that’s impossible,” you stated as you crossed your arms on your chest, only to hear San sighing. “But I know that we can make it work! You’re back from your year abroad, we can start again from where we left. I’ve been waiting for you to come back, I was hopeful that you’d come back, and you did. I promise to give you my everything to make things work, I’m even ready to propo—” “Darling, who is this?” you heard Jongho said and you turned around, only to find him with Youngsoon in his arms. The former stared at your ex-husband with a suspicious look. You looked at San, who was already looking at you. “Honey, this is San,” you answered, your eyes never leaving his, “my ex-husband.” Your words stayed stuck in San’s throat, who struggled to swallow. He looked at your daughter with teary eyes, hopeful that she’d recognise him, but she didn’t. Instead, she cuddled further into Jongho’s chest, her head turning away from her dad. Jongho still had the courtesy of extending his hand towards San, but the latter shook his head. He looked at you one last time, slowly moving backwards until his back came into contact with his car. You saw him clench his jaw and looked away, walking around his car, and entering it as quickly as possible before squealing your tires and taking off like a rocket. You sighed and closed the door, looking at your boyfriend.
“Was it her father?” you nodded, and he held your hip, kissing it with such delicacy that you faintly smiled. “I thought that he had moved on,” you mumbled, and Jongho dragged you close to him by the forearm. “Don’t worry about it, he’ll do it soon,” he said against your temple as you caressed your daughter’s back, “you don’t have to feel bad because he still hasn’t moved on and you did, people move at their own pace, remember that,” he kissed your temple and tightened your hold around his waist, humming his shirt. You closed your eyes and felt at peace, the memory of San slowly fading away in your brain. You couldn’t help but feel terrible, but deep down, you knew that he’d move on someday. It wasn’t just meant to be now.
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(hewwo it's bookie) I know I'm a month early but everyone's Halloween costumes? unless that's already been done but i'm on mobile and can't find the masterlist 😅
bby this was so long ago and it got lost in the ask box for like a year and a half - very late but i still hope you enjoy it!
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Xemnas - Dracula
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Xigbar - Jason Todd/Red Hood
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Xaldin - Wolf Man
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Vexen - Albert Einstein
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Lexaeus - Thing from The Fantastic Four
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Zexion - Bob Ross
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Saix - Plague Doctor
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Axel - “Axel, I’m not letting you be sonic the hedgehog for Halloween again, this would be the third year in a row” “ugh fine” - Knuckles the Echidna
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Demyx - David Bowie/Ziggy Stardust
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Luxord - Arthur Dent from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
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Marluxia - Larxene: Poison Ivy, really? Could you be any more stereotypical? Marluxia: You’re just mad that I look better in this costume than you would
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Larxene - She-Ra
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Roxas - Prompto Argentum
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Xion - Bowl of Cereal
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capricornus-rex · 3 years
Text
A Shadow of What You Used to Be (1)
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Chapter 1: A Child Can Dream | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker
Requested by Anon
Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.
Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling
A/N: I AM SO HAPPY TO BE BACK! Our house is clean, power and wifi is back on, and we’re slowly getting back on our feet now! ❤ It was a tough 2 weeks, but we survived. My neighborhood is getting back on its own feet as well. We just need more time in flushing out whatever trace of the flood remains. Thank you so much to @glxy-otter​ and @someoneovertherainboww​ for sending me lots of love & support! It really made me smile 💜🥺
Also in AO3
Previous: Prelude | Next: Part 2 | Masterlist
2 of ?
The garage was filled with the same perpetual noise. For a seven-year-old, this is no suitable place for a child—but this is the normal she grew up in.
“Hurry up with that chassis!” barked a male Twi’lek with orange skin in Huttese.
The girl answered, in the same dialect, “Can’t you see that this thing is twice my size, Pelug!?”
“You’re lucky you’re faster than those pit droids, otherwise, I would’ve put you in concessionaire duty!”
A pair of hazel eyes shot a piercing look at the humanoid, a scowl forming in her eyebrows.
The orange Twi’lek’s pair of lekku wagged along with his finger pointed at the girl, his threat didn’t scare her as much as he wanted to—though it’s common knowledge that concessionaire duty was the worst, one is essentially demoted if put there. But she thinks she’s proved herself highly unlikely of being in that position.
Not receiving help—not expecting to either—she hauled up the chassis on a crate while shooing the doddering pit droids. When the path was clear, the hatch had already been opened—thanks to those little ones—to screw in the part before the big race. The speakers crackled and echoed across the entire garage, reminding us that the participants have less than thirty minutes before the racers are required to bring their rides on the starting block.
“Irele,” Pelug called in Basic, but immediately went back to speaking Huttese. “You got tiny hands, hold this open for me while I close off the hydraulic seals.”
Irele obeyed. She had a few seconds of relaxing her fingers one seal after the other.
After the tech work, their contender—a male Togruta named Gelesh with uneven lekku—hopped onto his podracer. A few switches and clicks, the Brazen Bullet roared to life—lights flickered across the entire dashboard, the engines belched, and the turbines thrummed.
“Hey, if Sebulba fights dirty—”
“I’ll fight filthier!” he cuts Irele off laughing, but she let it pass. The exchange was somewhat tradition for both of them.
The speakers in the garage crackled again, startling many who are inside, and the croaky announcer prompted the racers to prepare at the starting block; in less than a second, a second translates everything to Huttese. The announcer was the two-headed sentient of species she still doesn’t know the name of.
Gelesh’s entourage—including Irele—strolled out of the garage and made for the exit. The Tatooine sunlight abruptly blazed its rays over their heads, luckily, they were wearing headgear. Gelesh was confident although the nervousness was somehow getting to him, the girl can sort of sense it—along with a few more emotions that she didn’t want to point out to make it worse for him.
“Hey, Gel?”
“Yeah, Irele?”
“Relax.”
That took a load off of his chest, his lips stretched to a friendly grin, he pulled himself together first and then his goggles next. To each racer, they followed the instructions as the two-headed sentient said so. All the technicians began scrambling back to their pit stop when the mufflers have fired up. Little Irele went further into their pit stop, crawling through spaces that only she can enter; she then scaled a spire with makeshift handholds she herself installed until she could reach a ledge on the spire that apparently supported one of the spectator boxes.
The seven-year-old was small enough to seat herself on such a narrow edge; from there, she has as good as a view of the spectators in the towers and stands. If the crowd was already rowdy before the racers lined up on the block, the noise got wilder and louder that perhaps one can hear it all the way to Mos Pelgo. Each podracer had their characteristic noise for each action: ignition, acceleration, compressor activation, and what have you—Irele can identify the Brazen Bullet and its every sound with her eyes closed.
“Alright, racers, rev up those engines because we start in five…”
A collective of podracers engine noises rung and rumbled the circuit. Three seconds in, their ignition sent dust clouds flying over the heads of the poor people in the bottom row of the stands. The people in the bleachers joined the countdown, and so did Irele as she kept her eye on the single podracer whose body plates are forged with bronzium.
“ONE!!”
One by one, the vehicles zipped past—their noises abrupt like the firing of a blaster, the mufflers thunderous as they pulled the accelerators—some of the audience members had the hems of their clothes flying to the direction of the podracers, nonetheless arousing their secondhand adrenaline.
Irele’s little heart went with Brazen Bullet speeding right in the lead, the bronzium finish of the vehicle were fleeting specks of light over her glossy, hazel eyes. She scaled the spire some more until she could sneak a peek on one of the watchers’ tablets to see who’s in the lead and dead last. For everytime Gelesh completed the lap, Irele could almost feel her heels floating, as if she was the one driving the pod and feeling the exact velocity, the thrill, the sheer focus—driving one was a dream, though her mother forbade her, begged her even not to try it, but said so with a softness that compels Irele to obey, despite her desires.
Everyone had their eyes on the rising star, Gelesh, who was also leaving Sebulba in the dust. Hot on his heels, the Dug desperately cranked every possible lever his hind legs could grab on—in the hopes of catching up to the Togruta. The Dug, unwilling to accept defeat after the destruction of his streak by the victory of that one human boy years ago.
That boy was Anakin Skywalker.
Irele had heard stories of him: how he defeated the Dug despite all odds, and snagged the top place in the race, and how he was an underdog in everyone’s eyes. She wondered if they might have been friends somehow, given their mutual penchant for podracing albeit preferring different aspects.
“This is it, people! This is the last lap of the circuit—Gelesh Odibra and Sebulba are practically neck-and-neck! Who will cross the finish line first!? They’re all so close now!! It’s Gelesh!! No, it’s Sebulba!!”
The sentient argues with its Huttese-speaking head, looping what the Basic-speaking head kept saying in a continuous effort in riling up the crowd. Irele was literally on the edge of the tier when the Brazen Bullet and Sebulba’s podracer were within view. A twin-trail of sand, clouding the tail-ends of the podracers approach the starting line—with the third light blinking green, eager for the victor to zoom through it.
It was all such a blur. The crowd cheered, nonetheless, believing that their eyes didn’t deceive them and that they saw their contender stay ahead of the other by a hair. Not long after, a scuffle was developing when two differing spectators argued on whose champion went through the finish line first. Irele spotted it across from where she sat, but she didn’t watch the scuffle for long; she turned her attention to the announcer’s tower.
“Wow, did you see how close that was! Everything was such a blur I’m not even sure if I saw it right!”
The second head agreed, speaking in Huttese, in the same enthusiasm as the Basic-speaking one.
To finally calm the crowd, and settle it once and for all, the sentient clicks a pattern of buttons on their control panel to project a snapshot of the two racers at the finish line—determining who was closest to the line. Showing images from all angles, it’s clear that the Brazen Bullet’s nose was basically under the sensors of the light—thus triggering all three lights to indicate that a racer has completed the circuit.
“I don’t believe it! This is Gelesh’s third win in the streak—cementing his record just right above Sebulba’s!”
By the hum of a gong echoing across the circuit, a large portion of the crowd jumped and roared in a united cheer—ribbons and petals of sorts flew in congratulation, showering the youthful Togruta in his victory. He hopped out of his podracer, his entourage comes sprinting out of their pit stop with Irele at the tail just getting down from her perch.
“GELESH, YOU DID IT!” squealed the girl, sprinting and shouldering her way to his view.
A host hands over a trophy to Gelesh who then let Irele—perched on his broad shoulder—hold the other side of the trophy. People have gotten out of their seats to surround the defending champion. They chanted his name, the rest of the spectators showered him with flowers, petals, and ribbons.
Every victory was wonderful for Irele. Perhaps, it equaled to the exact same thrill as driving her own podrace. This went on for two more years, and in those next years, they enjoyed the sport—win or lose.
24 BBY
It seemed that the garage manager was feeling gracious today. The Rodian boss let Irele go home earlier than her normal shift, in which the girl celebrated with a grin whose ends pierced her plump cheeks, a squeaking cheer as she scrambles to put away her things, and a sprint that sent the dust floating behind her heels.
Irele didn’t head home right away, she went the other direction—towards the junkshop where her mother worked, employed by the blue, pungent Toydarian, Watto. The chimes rang as she burst through the door, startling the creature—who hoped it was a customer, but much to his chagrin, it was only the girl, and so he returns to his chair with a groan.
“Where’s Mom?”
“Over there,” Watto lazily pointed and croaked with his native accent running thick in his voice.
“Mommy?”
Shmi paused at the workbench to meet her daughter, “Irele? You’re out early.”
Irele threw herself into Shmi’s arms, embracing her as tight as her scrawny arms can, “Yeah, Selek let me out early today. Good thing he did!”
Her mother simply smiled, perhaps too overwhelmed by her daughter’s energy.
“You didn’t forget, did you?”
That somehow jolted Shmi enough for her realize that she had caught herself spacing out. She shook her head and mouthed the word “no,” she saw the concerned expression in Irele’s face and took her daughter by the shoulders.
“No, darling, I didn’t forget,” she pursed a sweet smile and tapped the tip of Irele’s nose with her forefinger. “How could I forget my promise to you?”
Irele’s eyes lit up, the sihght of it delighted her mother. Shmi then finished up whatever work she’s been busying herself with before getting off of work. Mother and child strolled out of the junkshop, Irele trottd off happily while keeping her hand clasped in Shmi’s—who was walking in her normal pace, with a few occasional tugs from the child because of her prancing.
By the time they got home, Irele impatiently put her things away in her room, got washed, and eagerly waited for Shmi to join her in the kitchen. The promise was that they were going to cook something together—a house favorite of Irele: Shmi’s own, delicious recipe. They had saved enough from their wages separately, and in total, they had enough to buy ingredient for a hearty, full supper consisting of meat, a medley of mushrooms and vegetables, and fruits and pallies for dessert.
They could only do this once for their individual pay was rather low.
All of this is a celebration of Irele turning eight.
A simple celebration with fulfilling food on the table, with no one else but her mother and herself, in the coziness of their cottage—to Irele, it was wonderful. And perfect.
It was everything she could ever ask for.
Months after their promised celebration, Irele had been seeing a man with sandy brown hair and a scraggly stubble. Maybe once or twice, she saw him clean-shaven. She always saw him frequenting Watto’s shop, either to buy or play Sabacc—but oftentimes, the latter in which Watto had a questionable win record. One should not be surprised if the blue Toydarian won through his swindler’s methods.
This man was Cliegg Lars.
Apparently, Shmi had caught the eye of Cliegg, as he frequented the junkshop in search of parts mostly for speeders and other machines he uses. Despite being a child, Lars’s feelings did not escape the insightful Irele; in her opinion, he’d been coming over to the shop a little too often for someone who kept fixing speeders. Although, she cannot be certain if his motives are true; it’s still a lead nonetheless. Even she had drawn attention to herself from the man, shying away from his gruff yet friendly hello’s, and then curiously watching him deal with Watto whilst hiding behind walls.
It wasn’t long until Cliegg began to fall for Shmi, rooting from their day-to-day interactions with one another whenever he would stop by. He pretended that he doesn’t feel Irele tailing them, but he didn’t let that bother him—she’s a child after all, he thought.
Shmi presently being a mother with a daughter in tow didn’t trouble Cliegg. A man of ethics—a rare trait in this lawless ball of sand—he could not imagine buying off Shmi from Watto, but then leaving the child to the Toydarian. Fortunately for Lars, it was evident that Watto’s gambling—with a not-so-impressive track record to boot—had gradually collapsed his business. Little by little, Watto’s wares had either been disposed of or been sold to the lowest possible price in the hopes of keeping the business up. When there was nothing else to profit from, Watto would be forced to sell his remaining property—the mother and child slaves. Cliegg took it from there.
From a certain point of view, his proposition of buying Shmi and Irele intrigued the Toydarian.
“How much you gunna pay fo meh two slaves, eh?” rasped Watto, irreparably pronouncing “slaves” as slehvz in his thick, native Toydarian accent.
“I can pay you twenty thousand each,” Cliegg bobbed his head for the dramatics, pretending to be pensive. “I’ll pawn off my X-class landspeeder to pay them.”
A single holodisk produced a projection of the item in question. The speeder—brand new and in its prime, only seven months old—was an interesting wager in and of itself. The rusty-reddish paint job would stand out in the desert, whether up close or in the horizon, sunlight would bounce off on the sheen of the thrusters’ metallic sections. Truly a shiny new toy.
Cliegg could have sworn he heard the clinking of credits when Watto’s eyes lit up with greedy intrigue.
Good, that’s gotten his attention. Thought the man.
Watto hovered himself closer to the projection, his flimsy wings struggled to carry his weight as they flapped erratically, and rubbed his fleshy chin at the same time. To the flying sentient, it wasn’t a bad deal, at least for Lars’s expense in his mind—the ratio of the trade somewhat balances out: Lars wants two things from him, thus he wagers something in the same worth.
“You must think me a fool, Watto,” Cliegg noted the perhaps long silence of Watto examining the images. “To pay you the price of a single landspeeder for two slaves.”
The Toydarian chuckled, then gestured defensively, “No, no. I don’t that, Lars, meh friend. In fact, this is quite an int’resting investment.” His emphasis on the word “investment” made him enunciate the S into a harsh, buzzing Z.
Perhaps, it is in the nature of every Toydarian to call anything an investment—even a gamble on a card game. There aren’t many of Watto’s kind here in Tatooine, but that is the only impression Cliegg can pick up from Watto for his opinion on the species. Not having any of the suspense, the man tried to broke the deal until they can shake on it. Watto came so far as making an event out of it, but Lars insisted to refrain from the grandeur, to which his beneficiary gave in.
They finally shook on it. The two males were clueless that Irele had been eavesdropping on their exchange. It was a bad habit that Shmi had gently reprimanded her of, but just this once, she had never been invested in someone else’s conversation—only because the subject was their freedom at stake, and it was this stranger who dared to go through this length of settling an agreement with their current slaver. Irele’s mind was in a whirl—would he be a kinder slaver than Watto? More generous or more cruel? With their conversation going on what felt like hours, she had resorted to sitting on the floor, her back against the wall as she listened in on their voices.
The girl heard the door chimes followed by the silence, then she scrambled to her feet when she heard the flapping of Watto’s wings grow louder and disappeared as quietly as she could.
Two days later after that agreement had been set in stone, today’s the fateful day: Shmi finds out only now that she and Irele had been sold to Cliegg Lars. When Watto announced that he’s sold them together to this man, understandably, the woman was taken aback from her lack of prior knowledge, and she had every right to be surprised. Her daughter, on the other hand, feigned it—her false silence fit in with the mood of the room.
Shmi and Irele Skywalker watched the pouch of credits transfer from Cliegg’s hand to Watto’s, signifying that they now belong to Cliegg Lars.
“Take them,” Watto says, although somberly. He hovers in place as he watches Shmi and Irele join Cliegg out of the shop.
“I wish you good luck on your business, Watto,” Lars bade, however, it felt backhanded.
At the entrance of the junkshop awaited a pair of eopies—tall, quadrupedal animals that served as mounts for people and carriers of cargo—handled by a Jawa that Cliegg hired for a few hours.
“I’m sorry if I couldn’t give you two a more comfortable ride to your new home,” there was a sincerity in Lars’s voice, warm and genuine, something that Shmi nor Irele had not heard for a long time.
“It’s fine,” Shmi stuttered while trying to be polite. “I’m more used with the mount than speeders.”
“Ah, well, where you’re living—you’ll get used to it, but I’ll let you do it in your own pace.”
With a simple waving gesture from Cliegg, the Jawa hauled the animal pair then coaxed both to go down on their knees—level enough so the humans can hop on their backs. Each eopie grunted when they felt more weight on themselves; Shmi and Irele shared one saddle, Lars took the lead from town to their new home.
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empyreanwritings · 4 years
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for the drabble requests can i request prompt 13 and 72 with my bby natasha. i love your writing
thank you so much, dear 💞
Nat patted the empty space on the bed next to her and sat up instantly. She hadn't heard you sneak out, and she usually did. How had you managed to get past her? It wasn't as if she was a deep sleeper.
She flipped the sheets off her in a huff. This was the third night in a row you snuck out on her and stayed up to watch TV.
Normally, she wouldn't mind. Sometimes insomnia creeped up on even the best of the Avengers, but this didn't feel like a normal case of insomnia.
There was clearly something eating at you.
She found you curled up on the couch, a blanket pulled up to your chin and the best of Gilmore Girls playing on the TV. Your eyes fluttered shut every few seconds, but you fought off sleep. You were clearly determined not to.
"What are you doing out here again?" Nat asked as she took the spot next to you.
You shrugged and draped the blanket over her lap. "Couldn't sleep."
"Are you having nightmares again?"
You picked at a loose thread on the couch. Half a year ago, you had been kidnapped by Hydra. They held you in a cell smaller than a storage closet for two weeks with only enough food and water to survive.
They wanted intel on S.H.I.E.L.D's newest project, and you were a tough agent to break. They used all sorts of torture tactics on you, but none of them worked.
At least, you let them believe that.
Their torture messed with you mentally more than physically. Even after all this time, you couldn't shake off the worry that they were coming after you.
"I won't let anyone hurt you," she whispered into your ear, "You're safe with me."
You chewed in the inside of your cheek. "I know but-"
"You need sleep."
"I know."
She sighed. There was no point in arguing with you. You were well aware of what you were doing to yourself by staying up when the nightmares got too bad, but you couldn't help yourself. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the bars and felt the pain all over again.
You snuggled close to her side and tucked your head under her arm. The warmth of her was comforting.
"How 'bout I make you a deal?"
"Hm?" You hummed.
"I'll stay up. I'll make sure to watch Gilmore Girls, so I can tell you what happens, and protect you from any outside dangers."
You sighed through your nose and nodded weakly. "You won't fall asleep?"
"I won't. I promise."
"Deal."
Send in a Drabble Request!
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gold-gguk · 5 years
Text
《 ac·qui·es·cence 》
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summary ↠ It’s the third year in a row that Yoongi has tried--and failed--to win the favor of your father at the annual family dinner party. He’s always reassured you that being snubbed by your family members in the name of pride doesn’t faze him. While you have faith in his thick skin, this year, yours wears a little too thin.
genre ↠ angst. fluff. member ↠ min yoongi warnings ↠ themes of familial dysfunction ((pm’s are always open if you wanna talk. I know it may seem small in these fics, but I’ve been there and it runs deep, bbys. <3)) word count ↠ 2.4k
moodboard by @jiminspjm || the only pal who lets me ask so much of them without ever ceasing to smile
~
There are three tender raps against your bedroom door.
“...Y/N?” Yoongi’s voice filters softly through the wood, waiting a few moments for a reply that doesn’t come before gently turning the knob and pressing himself into the dark space. “Y/N.” 
He strides a few more cautious steps into the room, eyes squinting to adjust to the dusk until he can just make out your curled form hidden under the comforter on the far side of the bed. His expression softens at the sight of you, movements faltering at the edge of the mattress as his feet shuffle, fingertip trailing along the fabric of the sheets, trying to gauge his next move. 
“Baby, are you still awake?” he wonders in hushed tones, leaning forward a fraction of an inch. A few beats of silence pass while Yoongi waits in itching anticipation, his gaze pinned to the space between the top of the comforter and the cascading mess of your hair where there’s just a peeking of the smooth curve of your neck. 
Just before he’s about to try again, a sigh heavy behind his lips, the covers shift, your body adjusting with reply as your head resettles on the pillow. “Yeah.” Your voice is tinier than usual, a soft squeak of its normal self.
“Oh,” Yoongi breathes, a mix of relief and surprise, not expecting you to verbally answer. His eyes stutter to where his fingers are still tracing odd shapes against your sheets as he attempts to collect the most prudent thoughts milling around his head. Another beat of silence has him catching a shallow breath, recognizing that waiting it out probably won’t lend a different circumstance. “Hey, so I know what happened down there was...a lot, and I get it if you just want to be alone for tonight.” His tone is soft and generous. “I just wanted to check and make sure you were okay before--”
Yoongi’s eyes widen with parted lips as your shape suddenly rearranges itself, the ruffling sheets cacophonous compared to the stillness of you a moment ago. His heart feels like a vice has been released when the image of your puffed and sweet face rises from the blankets with the turn of your shoulders, though the obvious taxation and weariness worn under your eyes sends an ache through his muscles. 
Yoongi watches with caught breath as you yank back the comforter from under his fingertips, opening the side of the bed your body doesn’t occupy. During the briefly dazed moment that Yoongi attempts to blink away, you grow impatient and cold, reaching out and ensnaring his slender wrist amidst your chilled digits and tugging gently until Yoongi’s eyes meet yours, searching.
“Come here,” you plead quietly, your expression so heavy that it turns his empathetic, his chest pounding as he follows the will of your hand, lifting his body--still clad in his slacks and now-loosened dress shirt--onto the mattress next to you.
The fit of your forms is natural and pulled with longing as your hands tumble around under the sheets searching for his narrow waist while he situates himself against the headboard, using one hand to barricade the both of you back under the sanction of the covers. You quickly find his form curved around yours and readjust your position until you’re half straddling him, your head against his chest, leg wrapped loosely over his strong thighs while the rest of your body lays flush and easy against his side. 
You wiggle suddenly, mewling in protest when you don’t feel his hands come to your aid while above, Yoongi is staring down at your unaware person with wide and adoring eyes, chocolate hew sparkling with contended surprise at your sudden welcoming. A stupid half-grin is tugging at his lips as he takes you in, warm and present against him, still oblivious to the way his hands are hovering oddly next to him until you wiggle once more. “Yoongi,” you call quietly, your tired tone breaking towards the end, clearing his catharsis.
“Yeah, I’m here, I’m here,” he assures quickly, grinning fondly at the crown of your hair as he moves his hovering hands to you, one holding your pleasantly puffy cheek fast against his chest while the other slides under the layer of sheets until it finds the hem of your shirt. Dexterous fingers gently tug until a small patch of your warmed skin is exposed where he begins to draw various odds and ends in that calmingly familiar way you’ve always loved when you’re tired or upset. He feels you sigh into him at the touch. 
Yoongi waits a few more moments in the bliss of silence, the only sound emanating from the billowing trees and distant street cars roaring outside your cracked window. It’s a pleasant few minutes, but Yoongi knows he needs to at least press the matter once tonight before allowing these minutes to continue or else he won’t feel completely at peace after everything that happened not even an hour ago a floor below where you lay. He braces himself to speak, breathing in through parted lips, but you surprise him once again tonight by beating him to the punch.
“I don’t care what he says about us,” you state, your voice hoarse. “What any of them said.”
Yoongi purses his lips, already knowing that isn’t a completely true statement which only makes his chest clench in your stead. “You don’t?” he presses gently, watching as you shake your head against him. “You’re fine leaving tomorrow with everything that was said between you and your family at dinner? You and your dad?” 
There’s more hesitation this time, but you nod slowly. 
“You told him you were never visiting again, baby. That’s a pretty serious thing to say.” Yoongi keeps his tone as gentle as possible, hushing breathy kisses against your head with soft lips every few words. 
“I know what I said,” you defend feebly, your voice small. 
Yoongi thinks for a moment, pondering the best thing to say to you. “Y/N...it’s me your parents have a hard time liking. They love you. I would never want your relationship with them to suffer because you feel like you have to take sides in all this. There are no sides. They’re your family.”
“Are you breaking up with me?”
Yoongi can’t help but snort at your blunt reaction, always straight to the point even if you’ve missed it. He feels your hand fist the material of his dress shirt over his chuckling stomach as it comes to a still. “No, of course not, you irrational nut.” 
Now you’re the one snorting. “Did you really just call me a nut?”
“An irrational one.”
You’re grateful for the way Yoongi always seems to be able to make laughter the star in these little moments, savoring the gaps in the heavy without you even noticing they’ve come. You’ve never been able to stay upset around him for long, which only makes you want to squeeze his waist a little tighter upon reminiscing. 
“Breaking up is an implausibility at this point. You’re stuck with me,” Yoongi continues, readjusting the wrap of his arms for a moment so he can squeeze your shoulders in a bear hug against him allowing you to hide your smile. 
“Damn it, so even if I wanted to listen to my parents, I’m trapped, huh?” 
Yoongi wants to carry on with the playful banter you’ve entered into, but your last comment reminds him of what you’re not addressing quite yet and the reason why he’s lying with you in the first place--well it’s a reason.  An important one.
“You’re not laughing. Laugh,” you urge the boy who’s gone silent, poking him in the tummy once before he gently takes your hand captive within his, lacing your fingers together until you’re shifting your face to look up at his with a wondering expression to pair with the thoughtfully troubled one he sports.
“I just want to make sure you’re not going to regret anything,” he whispers earnestly, his dark irises searching yours with intention. You suddenly shift, detaching yourself from his canvas and sitting up, gathering your knees to yourself until you’re half-turned to Yoongi, staring back at him with a similar intensity driven by a different motivation. 
“I don’t regret being with you.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.” 
“That’s what they’re asking.” There’s an edge to your voice.
“There are ways for us to work and not burn bridges with your family. There can be respect even for what someone doesn’t approve of. It’ll just take time. Patience.”
“It’s been three years, Yoongi. How much longer are we supposed to wait before they see what I see? Before my dad realizes you’re the best thing that could’ve walked through his front door? Before my second aunts stop trying to set me up with every ‘family friend that just graduated from medical school’ or ‘next in line to inherit the family business’? Hmm? How long am I supposed to keep coming back here with you hoping for something to be different when it only ever gets worse? They pretend like you don’t even exist half-the time, Yoons...” 
Yoongi’s heart stretches against the confinement of his chest as he watches your face fall to the bend of your knees, eyes creased closed with a tension that speaks volumes and a rapid voice that‘s breaking more by the word. He leans forward from his place against the headboard, hand extending to cautiously trail fingers along the curve of your shoulder, trapping stray pieces of hair between his digits. 
“Are you doing this for you or for me?” 
At his words, your body is twisting again, coming to fully face him, your head burying itself into his shoulder as your arms wrap around his neck. Yoongi sighs sadly, gently tucking you under his chin and cradling you to him as he settles back, your tumbling words all the answer he needed. “You know they’re wrong, right? You know that you’re good enough. You’re more than good, Yoongi. You’re more than enough for me. For anyone.” 
“But not your dad, right? I’m not enough to him.” He can hear the sniffles start spilling into his neck and understands, now, maybe what you don’t fully understand yourself. 
“Why can’t he just love you like I do?” you cry, squeezing Yoongi tighter, your body trembling. Yoongi struggles to stay composed himself as he witnesses your emotions on display. You pull away enough to see his face, his expression grieved when he takes in your wrecked features: red eyes streaming with salted tears that leave your skin stained, cheeks sore and swollen from attempting to control the downturn of your quivering lips, and everything shaking with the torment that’s now escaping. Your brows are worried and confused in their foldings as your hands come to cup both of Yoongi’s cheeks, soft thumbs padding across the skin while your eyes map his face.
“Why can’t he feel how warm you are to touch and how sweet you are to hold? Why can’t he see into this big, beautiful mind and share the endless dreams and ambitions like I do?” Your smile is warped with sadness as you run your hands through his hair. “Why can’t he just let me love you? He’s making it so hard.” 
Yoongi’s chest heaves as you weep before him, your throat tensing with broken wails attempting to be stifled by the back of your hand. His own eyes water at the sight of your muscles clenching all over your body in an effort to release the emotional buildup inside of you somewhere without anywhere that satisfies. His heart breaks as he watches yours do the same, your insides twisting with impassioned chaos as three years of investing hope into the one man you wanted approval from the most still couldn’t meet you half-way. Your too-big heart was too-full from loving your father to walk away so easily from something you wanted so badly to be at peace between you both. It was as if a rift was continually tearing its way through this part of your life, and the bigger it got, the less you knew how to navigate it with a smile. 
Yoongi doesn’t know what else to say right now, so he just reaches out for you, hands gripping the forearms thrown in front of your face as you sob and latching you to his chest so tightly he can feel all of your internal pressure releasing in him. Your fingertips don’t hesitate to grip like iron into his upper arms, wrinkling the fabric hung there in their attempt to solidify his presence before you, but he promises he isn’t going anywhere. Your face wets his chest like there’s no tomorrow and he welcomes it, pressing the back of your head securely to the safety of his haven while you crawl into his lap, curling your legs around his waist like a child and holding on for dear life. Your cries settle into a fractured rhythm, wrecked sobs cracking from a dry throat over and over, streams of uncontrollable tears spouting down your face, over the hills of your cheeks, and around the valley of your lips while mucus befriends every orifice in the vicinity until eventually--it stops. 
You hiccup the last of your explosion into the darkness. Where once your arms had the strength to hold to Yoongi, they now hang limply at your sides. Your face, red, swollen, and raw, is twisted to one side, your cheek squished against Yoongi’s shoulder while your gaze fixes with an exhaustion to the view of the city lights in the distance of your window pane. Your knees are bent to either side of his lap still, and one of his hands sits there atop your thigh, smooth palm massaging thick circles into your flesh. His other hand acts as a belt along with his arm around the curve of your waist--the only thing holding you upright against him for lack of any energy left in your limbs. 
“I love you,” his toffee-colored voice swims into the air, the sound a divine contrast to the previous wails echoing around the walls. “So much, Y/N.” The heavenly feeling of his lips finds the crown of your head, sponging light and solicitous pressure to various spots. “It’ll be okay. It’s going to be okay.” He continues to rub soft reassurance against your thigh, fingertips squeezing. 
You say nothing, only nodding slowly against his shoulder, your eyes still transfixed on a passing car in the distance. 
“We’ll apologize in the morning, yeah? Try again next year.” 
You swallow dryly, taking a ragged breath that sends a decent hurt through your chest before surging the remnants of your energy to gather your arms back around Yoongi’s neck. Your fingers find a small comfort in the soft fronds of hair at the nape.
“....yeah. We’ll try again.”
There’s a contented sigh laced with affection and relief that expels from above you followed by the refreshing sound of Yoongi’s snort. “That’s my nut.”
~
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nuitthegoddess · 2 years
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13, 14, 17, and 33 for the end of the year book asks!
13. Night Pleasure by Sherrilyn Kenyon because the quotes or lines are iconic asf and hilarious 👌👌👌
14. Actually pfpfpf i am still currently on hold with the book bc it is so bad long is A Court of Wings and Ruin by the myth, the legend, Sarah J. Maas. i don’t want to spoil but let’s so i was so happy seeing Rhysand qwqwqq
if you don’t know who Rhysand is. He is a feminist, sexy and best male character love interest from any novel i have ever read Tarquin you are still in my heart bby don’t worry--
17.  I didn’t read as many books lolol but here are some top fives
first is Daughters of the Oak by Becky Wright. I thought this was an easy read and I love the story was told! It was so good!! Check it out if you wanna read a paranormal story! Second is Circe by Madeline Millar, I really like the Circe! I don’t remember much of what happened but i know that i love this book pfppfpf third is A Court of Wings and Ruin, yes i know i did not finish it but I know i’m going to the rabbit hole squealing and crying pfpfppf fourth is Night Pleasure by Sherrilyn Kenyon and I am in love with her writing of her sarcastic and sassy lines like yes 👌fifth is one i finished not too long ago was Unbirthday by Liz Braswell this basically is a retelling of Alice in Wonderland. I love plot! It was intense and it got me gripping onto what is going to happen next. Why it’s on the fifth row is because it did lose me on some parts because it was a really slow pace. But i still would recommend it to people.
33. ACOWAF I am still gonna read it’s just on hold pfpfpf One book I DNF was The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer by Michelle Hodkin. The plot sounded so interesting but then this “love interest” got me so turned off. I thought i was gonna like him. But he and the main character got me to close the book when he said, “Ur not like other girls.” I kid u not. I know this book is 2011 and it did mention some current events that had happened back theen. Still i didn’t want to finish qwq i really like the plot but dial the love interest down
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artificialqueens · 7 years
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Church of the Poison Mind (Trixya) Ch. 4 - Dahlia
A/N:
The flashback this week is a little heavy, but the rest is just all fluff!! I thought we needed a fluffy little break!! All the fluff!! Happy reading!!
Thank you so so so so much to all of the fucking angels who supported me and my writing!! To anyone who read and supported, thank you so fucking much. Also to Lale and Matilda, idk where I’d be without my bby dog lesbians <3 Lale the literal stepmom to my fic who had to listen to me whine for 8 years before I posted this, and cried with me over fluff!! Thank you thank you thank you. <3
The rain beat hard against the roof of her home, and she could hear the faint sound of water leaking in through the living room skylights. Trixie had always loved the rain, loved the spray on her face, and splashing into puddles; how the ripples would echo out around her galoshes. She loved twisting her fingers in the sopping ringlets that hung by her face, enjoyed seeing how far they could stretch before bouncing back into place.
There wasn’t much time for puddles anymore, or drawing, or music. There were things that needed to be done, arguments that needed to be had. Besides, the music had left her home long ago, had swirled out of her window one night while she was sleeping, and left her room flat. She woke one day to a deafening silence, and ran to her window in longing. She could swear that in the faint, pink light of morning, she could see the red and orange pathways curl far away from her, stretching symphonies over Wisconsin for other ears. If only she could reach out and touch them, draw them back into her fingertips, so that the sound waves may find her chest and exhume the silence.
Cacophonies filled and spilled into Trixie’s thoughts like the sunlight of morning, flooding in through the gaps in her blinds. Another morning, another early start, another late night to follow. It was difficult, feeling so caged; but she had to be strong, someone had to. The atmosphere was thick, and Earth’s gravity weighed heavily on her young chest, but she made the usual trudge downstairs for blueberry pancakes.
It was only then, upon reaching the bottom step, that she saw the stove light, and the digital clock glowing beneath it. 5:03 A.M. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and began back up the stairs, pausing for a moment outside of her mother’s room, the door ajar.
“I don’t know where the fuck you are, or what you’re doing, but I’ve been up all night leaving messages. This is the third night in a row, please… Just fucking come home, answer your phone. I bet you’re drunk… and that whore, that fucking whore, you’re fucking h- Trixie!”
Their eyes met through the doorway and Trixie startled at her mother’s voice.
“Your daughter’s here, she shouldn’t have to see me like this,” sobs caught in her mother’s throat, “this is your fault, your fault she’s seeing this. Trixie, come here!” Trixie’s mother slammed the phone shut and ushered her in.
“What’s happening?” A single tear fell down Trixie’s cheek.
“Trixie, I need you to do this one thing for mommy, okay?”
She got down to Trixie’s level, and her breath was sour with alcohol. Trixie winced at the strength of her mother’s grip. Her eyes were crazed.
“I need you to cry-to call your father, maybe he’ll listen to you… Make it sound really good, like you’re really sad! Can you do that for mommy? He’s hurting us, he’s hurting you… don’t you want him to know how much he’s hurting you? Hurting me! You can’t let him do that to me, Trixie! It isn’t fair of you…”
Trixie’s mother used to make blueberry pancakes every Sunday morning, but always mixed way too many blueberries into the batter. She didn’t anymore.
The weeks carried on, the way weeks often did, evolving into months. And those first few months were a whirlwind, but Trixie took solace in routine.
She was eating breakfast again these days, and though she avoided the blueberries, she enjoyed her mornings with Pearl. They’d tuck themselves away in the kitchen for hours, and try new recipes, though most of them wouldn’t go over as planned. Most mornings ended in rumbling stomachs perched together in the window seat, Trixie hanging over Pearl’s sketchbook until Kim came knocking and forced her into proper clothes.
Then off to university, the knot in her stomach shrinking slowly, day by day. She was getting the hang of this thing, excited for Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays, when Kim could hang back, and walk with her to Class one. Comfortable with Wednesdays and Thursdays, when Kim fled to the art studio, and Jinkx filled her thoughts with the latest happenings of the student body.
Wednesdays could be a bit tricky, as could Thursdays, but not because of Jinkx, no. Actually, Trixie had grown quite fond of Jinkx; she admired her passion, and her drive. Jinkx had an innate way of making the most mundane affairs seem riveting, it had to have been something in the way she spoke, the way her words hung in the air with gusto. Her laugh, while comforting and familiar, commanded attention, and Trixie would often kid that Jinkx could make even the classifieds section of the newspaper sound interesting.
Wednesdays and Thursdays came with their own set of issues; Katya. They’d long since moved past that awkward first encounter, but there were still moments that plagued Trixie, still words that caught in her throat. They’d reached some level of professional rapport; but much to Trixie’s dismay, she too frequently found herself following the contours of Katya’s body with her eyes, or remembering the way she tasted. Her in-class daydreams swelled with the rhythm of Katya’s hips as she scrawled across the whiteboard, the sweet temptation of her scarlet lips as she read the periodic table.
Despite the enticing escape of dreams, a certain softness for Katya had grown inside of Trixie. And Trixie realized then, quite quickly and unexpectedly, how something could be both crazy and brilliant all at once; how those two could marry and craft a person. Could craft Katya.
Hopefully, a weekend out would be all she needed to rehone her thoughts, and no amount of towering homework was going to stop her.
The lot of them piled into Kim’s Jeep; Violet calling shotgun, while Trixie and Pearl sat thigh to thigh in the back, pressed against the bulk of Kim’s art supplies and dress patterns. Kim and Trixie groaned in unison as Violet puffed on a freshly lit cigarette, and passed it backward to Pearl. Ducking to avoid the smoke, Trixie cranked down her window, and allowed the fall breeze to tousle the curls hanging by her cheeks.
The roads along the Hudson Valley were long and winding; relentlessly hilly as they bent around the great orange trees of autumn. It was a hazy day, and the sun peaked meekly through veins of branches, leaving shadowy intricacies skipping across the skin of her face. Trixie couldn’t get enough. Trixie watched the blur of orange and green fly by her window; she closed her eyes, lost in a dreamy world of unspoken words, and rested her forehead against the cool glass. Jovial chatter filled the space, words bounced between Pearl and Violet.
As Kim sped up, the wind snapped at Trixie’s closed eyelids, and she fought the urge to close the crack in her window; lest she let the smoke build and cause a commotion. Pearl passed the cigarette forward, and her free hand wandered to the space between them, coming to rest against Trixie’s thigh. Trixie softly ran her fingers over Pearl’s arm in response. Sleepy. Happy.
The car came to an eventual stop, and while Kim quieted the engine, Trixie pulled her hair back into a wispy ponytail. They climbed out excitedly, the soles of their shoes crunching leaves and snapping twigs. Trixie saddled the picnic basket over her forearm and sped up slightly, to keep pace with Pearl and Violet. The soft, fleshy insides of her thighs rubbed together, but she couldn’t care any less, she felt happy and free in her yellow sundress.
“Can you guys help me with this,” Kim called after them, having advanced to their usual spot beneath a massive oak. At fault of the wind, she stood tangled in a tartan blanket she’d been trying to lay flat.
Pearl collapsed into giggles against Kim, and she tried, albeit not very hard, to pull the blanket from her limbs. They erupted into laughter, and thwarted desperately to smooth it down against the Earth. Each corner fluttered, upended by the wind, and the girls played Twister trying to keep it flat; a right hand on this corner, a left foot on that.
“Can someone bring me like,” Pearl threw herself down, her arms and legs splayed across the blanket, keeping it in place, “like four, really big rocks?”
Once the blanket had been secured, and the sandwiches distributed (Turkey for Kim, Pearl, and Trixie, Peanut Butter for Violet), the girls each took to their own little niche. Pearl and Kim perched against the tree, heads hung over sketchbooks, and Violet with her head in Trixie’s lap, her legs tucked under Pearl’s jacket. Trixie ran her fingers through Violet’s dark hair.
“And what kind is that?” Violet smiled, pointing into a brush of trees.
Violet handed Trixie the binoculars, and she squinted into them.
“A downy woodpecker. The smallest kind in North America.”
“And that?” She pointed off in another direction.
“I’m not really sure, the small ones? Um, sparrows probably…”
“And those, over there, look!” Violet used both hands to turn Trixie’s head, “On that post!”
“Slow down!” Trixie screwed up her eyes, “Phoebes!”
“Trixie, those are the ones that make the funny noise, right? Can you please make the funny noise?”
Trixie lowered her voice into a nasally, apathetic grumble.
“Fee-BEE. Fee-BEEEEE.”
Kim and Pearl peered up briefly from their sketchbooks, and fell into laughter, while Violet’s hands rose to meet Trixie’s face, pinching her cheeks. Pearl passed Trixie the carton of strawberries, and she plucked one for herself, big and red. She let her teeth sink in, and her mouth filled with juicy sweetness; she eyed around the blanket, in search of her cider.
“You’re my favorite, Trixie,” Violet whispered, a smile playing on her lips, “I’m so glad you came to live with us. Now if only we could find some way to get rid of Pearl, then everything would be perfect…”
“OKAY, BITCH,” Pearl interjected, a flash of spirit across her face.
Trixie continued her view through the binoculars, like she had as a little girl, on camping trips with her father. Her vision bounced over trees and bushes, passed the chickadees and the finches, and landed on a group of small children. All of whom wore bright green shirts, most likely part of some youth group on field trip. They skipped, holding hands, around a taller child who stood in the center of the circle, and fell in unison. Despite her best efforts, Trixie was reminded then of Katya; how she’d mentioned once or twice of the work she did, volunteering with the local daycare on weekends.
Trixie imagined her, thin and nimble, blonde locks cascading down her back, falling over her pointed shoulders. She could almost hear Katya’s laughter, see her, playing tag with the children and tumbling into somersaults across the grass. She was quite strong, and bold, but had a childlike air about her. And Trixie wanted so fiercely to be part of her world, to bask in the warm glow of Katya’s kindness, so that some ounce of that cloying, candied tenderness may seep into her bloodstream. She wanted to touch her again, hold her, wanted to see her face illuminated in morning.
Kim’s big mouth pulled her from thought.
“Hey Trix, isn’t that your GIRLFRIEND? Over there, with those babies!”
She hadn’t imagined anything. Her insides twisted.
“Oh, my god! You’re blushing, oh my god! What’s her name?” Violet shrieked.
“She’s not my girlfriend! I hardly even know her,” Trixie’s body tensed, reduced to whining, “Katya.”
“HEY KATYA,” Violet cupped both hands around her mouth, “KATYA, COME HERE!”
“SHHHH!” Trixie clamped a hand over Violet’s mouth.
Katya’s head shot up, and she came jogging toward them, strands of hair playing down her face. There she was, real as the day. She was smiling. She was beautiful.
“You clown! You big idiot! Now look what you’ve done, she’s my profe- Katya! Hi… funny seeing you here! No safety goggles today?” She removed her hand from Violet’s lips, and wiped purple lipstick from her palm. She could feel her face heat up. Idiot.
“Privet, Tracy! I was just thinking same thing! это маленький мир. That is beautiful dress Tallulah, yellow suits you nicely.”
The cider on her tongue went sour, the cinnamon stinging as she bit into her bottom lip. Trixie could do nothing but smile, her brain grasping at words, filing through sentences; and the silence lingered on just a bit too long. Say something.
“Trixie was just telling me how much she loves that shade of lipstick you’re wearing! What’s it called?” Kim chirped, mischievously, smirking in Trixie’s direction. Trixie threw her an exasperated glare.
“Oh was she?” Katya raised an eyebrow, “I believe it is called Masochist. It is my favorite.”
Trixie’s skin vibrated. Masochist. That she was.
Some occurrence on the opposite end of the park had Katya twisting her upper body away from them, and Trixie positively melted into the way Katya’s skirt rode up her thighs. Her hair was golden against the oranges and yellows, her lipstick stark, contrasting her pale skin. Trixie could swear the sun rose every morning just to glide over Katya’s skin.
“Ura! Well, it would appear as though bus has arrived for the small children, can’t have it leave without me! Was nice seeing you Tamara, and all of these lovely friends you failed to introduce me to! See you Wednesday! Da svidaniya, chickens!” And with that, Katya was gone, just as fast as she had arrived.
The girls all turned to face Trixie as Katya bounced away from them, and she sunk beneath the weight of their eyes. Pearl broke the silence.
“TRACY, YOU FUCKING DORK,” Pearl taunted, holding her belly in laughter, “Your face is so red! Could you be more obvious?”
“Please don’t call me that!”
“WHO’S TALLULAH? WHO IS SHE?”
“Katya, hi! Funny seeing you here! Oh-ho-ho-ho! Fuck me with your safety goggles,” Violet exaggerated, her best impression of Trixie.
Trixie covered Violet’s face with Pearl’s jacket and broke out into a stream of nervous laughter, her cheeks still bright red with embarrassment. She could feel her spirit slowly returning to land; with Katya gone, she could feel words on her tongue again.
“Stop it! All of you!” Trixie howled, her head in her hands, “It’s not like that, she’s my professor!”
“Oh girl… girl, you are so fucked,” Violet mumbled from beneath the jacket.
And it was true. She was, so completely and utterly fucked.
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calicomon · 7 years
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oh! i totally forgot to tell you something that made me really really happy to be a digimon fan!
so on sunday the second tri movie was shown in theatres around here and i went with my bby bro (he treated me to subway on our way home, bless him) and as we were waiting in line to get popcorn i noticed a girl in front of us, probably my age, who was accompanied by what i guessed were her older sisters. she held one of her sister´s hands and in the other she held one of those old mcdonald´s patamon plushies real close to her chest, whispering to it.
the plushie looked so well-loved, with the print-on eyes mostly rubbed off and the wings curled at the tips to perfectly fit into her palm. she kept on talking to her sister about digivolution and how patamon is really strong when he evolves and then saves everyone and even though the sister didn´t seem to care a lot about digimon she kept smiling and nodding encouragingly, probably hearing it for the 100th time.
later in the theatre they sat two or three rows behind us and every time patamon was on screen i heard her saying his name quietly but so excitedly!
just seeing someone be so openly excited about this thing that´s a big part of our childhoods and carrying around the plush that she must have had with her for years had me overjoyed, i loved the movie a little more with every “patamon!” i heard from behind me and hope she´ll be back again next month to watch the third movie that´s dedicated to her fave
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