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writerlyhabits · 2 years

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White Christmas

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: The Holiday season catches Bucky by surprise, but after a less-than-ideal morning, a friendly invitation from his new neighbor is more tempting than he would have anticipated.

Prologue to the Neighbors Series | Masterlist | Ch. 1

Warnings: language, festive holiday things (I tried to keep it very vague so all celebrations could be filled in), talk of wartime and Bucky’s past, I think that’s it…

AN: Happy Holidays!! I was watching White Christmas – one of my favorite Christmas movies, if you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it – and the opening scene made me think of Bucky and how he might react. I thought of his neighbor showing this movie to him, and then did the math backward from the timeline of my series and realized she moves in right around Christmas time… so this is the fic that happened 😂 Set before chapter one, you don’t have to have read any of Neighbors to be able to follow along, but there are nods to later chapters if you have.

Thank you @deceiverofgodss for listening to my rambling, ily 💛

Bucky let out a sigh of relief when he got all the little app icons to jumble around the way google had said, finding the app he’d just been using and tapping the buttons in the corner. Yes, I want to delete the app.

It had been about a month since he’d been given this new life, and it was… still an adjustment. The Wakandans had been more than generous, Shuri and Ayo seeing to it directly that he had everything he needed. They organized the pardon trial, went through hoops to find him a decent lawyer, and helped him settle into the apartment the government had set up for him. Shuri, in fact, had scolded him when he tried to tell her he’d find the place on his own, saying something along the lines of him being too stubborn for his own good.

It was very reminiscent of when his family had dropped his sister Rebecca off at school in Indiana. Ayo had told him they’d already prepped the place with everything he would need to get started, Shuri had excitedly whispered about a new tactical suit she’d hidden in the back of the closet – “just in case… you can never be too prepared” – and then they were gone.

Bucky had been required to start weekly therapy sessions as part of his pardon, and begrudgingly – by court mandate – he went each Saturday morning to hear comments about finding out who he was again. It was exhausting.

It had started with the haircut. He hadn’t lasted two weeks before the shoulder-length mess drove him crazy. Though that wasn’t fair… it wasn’t the length that bothered him, but the reflection in the mirror. His codes were broken and his life was in his own hands, but the Winter Soldier seemed to be staring back at him everywhere he looked.

The short hair was an adjustment to say the least. But he had stepped out of the barbershop feeling lighter, like a new man. And the face that looked back at him was one he hadn’t seen in a long time.

That being said, it had also directly led to a plan that was most definitely one of his worst.

The last time he had truly been James Buchanan Barnes was back in the 1940s, notorious for being popular with women. So when that cocky confidence surged back up again, he had the not-so-brilliant idea to try it again. He thought that if he went back to being the ladies' man he once was, he’d find himself.

A horrible decision, that one.

Having no clue where to even start, he took to searching on google “How does dating work in the 21st century?” Which had him downloading a dating app. The one that he was getting rid of this very moment.

It had done nothing but confuse him further. He couldn’t take a good picture of himself to save his life and had worse luck creating a description for his profile; in hindsight, “James. 105. Still don’t know what to put here… I think I’m better in person” probably wasn’t his best move.

Most of the girls thought he was trying to be funny, and were disappointed when the following conversation proved otherwise. Some girls took his profile as an invitation to talk about a number of things he wished he didn’t understand. And a handful of them… well, he didn’t think he could blame his poor excuse of a profile for the pictures he’d been sent, but it happened nonetheless.

The dates he had been on were filled with nothing but meaningless small talk and modern nuances he didn’t understand, leaving him with less and less of the already dwindling monthly check he’d gotten as part of his pardon. It didn’t take long for him to come to terms with the fact that groceries cost far more than they did in the forties, and that his three thousand dollar army retirement wasn’t exactly the sum it used to be, especially when rent took up so much of it. Maybe he shouldn’t have turned Murdock down when he’d suggested they fight for more…

No, he didn’t need to be selfish, he would get by. It had saved him from having to deal with any more of the loud crowds of press or the looks people gave him in the courtroom, which was why Bucky had told Matt ‘no’ when he suggested they could get away with more than a retirement rate based on outdated economic values.

He’d certainly survived on less when he was in Romania. He’d be fine.

Bucky approached the top of the stairs that deposited him in front of his apartment, returning from the last of his lousy dates as the app in question disappeared from the screen. Good riddance.

As he went to put his key in the lock, he heard steps behind him coming down from the floor above, and he turned to glance over his shoulder as his door clicked open, pleasantly surprised when he found you descending from the floor above.

You had on a flattering sweater and looked very put together, as you always did, except it didn’t look like it offered you much warmth since you kept your crossed arms close to your body as you moved through the building. In another time, he’d leap to offer you his jacket or make some quippy remark about keeping you warm. He’d have to be blind not to admit you were a very pretty girl, one he would have gone after back in his prime…

But he wasn’t that man anymore. Not by a long shot. Who he was, he had no idea, but the James Barnes of his past was not who was standing before you in the hall.

You gave him a warm smile as you made eye contact, and he returned it with a friendly grin of his own.

“Hey! James, right?” You asked sweetly, and he nodded in confirmation as you fished your own keys out from the pocket of your jeans. “Funny how we seem to keep meeting like this… You at your door, me at mine,” you joked as you gestured between the two of you, and it genuinely made him laugh.

“Such strange places for either of us to be. We can’t keep seeing each other like this,” he tossed back, your airy giggle filling the landing. You were the first person all day that he hadn’t minded starting a conversation with. He didn’t know you all that well, he’d only seen you in the building a handful of times, but your interactions always left him with a smile on his face – in comparison to the rest of his daily encounters, that was a high compliment. “Making more banana bread rounds?” He asked only a little awkwardly, gesturing up the stairs you’d just descended from as he tried to keep the conversation going. .

“Hm? Oh! No, not today,” you answered, a little uncertain yourself. At least, that’s what he could guess from your posture, picking at your hands as you kept them in front of you.

“That’s good. I don’t need any competition for your leftovers,” he joked, earning an amused grin.

“Is that so?”

“Are you kidding? That was the best banana bread I’ve had in eighty years.” You laughed out loud, your face scrunched up as you threw your head back. At least it had come across as funny because he wouldn’t have known how to play it off otherwise. “I may or may not have polished it off in one sitting,” he continued when your laughter had come back down to a chuckle.

“Oh gosh, I’m glad to hear it! I’ll have to let you know when I make another batch,” you smiled, the warmth in your voice practically reaching out and taking hold of him, and he couldn’t say he minded.

“Please do.”

The conversation hit a short lull – though shockingly, not an awkward one – and he feared whether this would be the end of it. Something about you made it easy to open up a little bit more, and he liked branching out from talking to either his therapist or Mr. Nakajima; neither of those conversations were easy, but unfortunately required. You were different.

Before he could worry too long, your brows shot up on your forehead as you came to some sort of realization. “Oh, hey! What are you doing for the holidays?” you asked excitedly.

“I uh… I won’t lie, I hadn’t even realized Christmas was coming up so soon,” he admitted. “I don’t really have any plans.” He could confidently say that was the understatement of the century, having lived through most of it.

“Well, if you need somewhere to go, I was gonna do something Christmas Eve. Just, y’know, make some snacks and put on a few holiday movies,” you shrugged, and for a moment, Bucky genuinely didn’t know how to respond. “I’m new to the city so I haven’t found my people just yet, but nobody needs to be alone during the holidays.”

When Bucky met you, he had opened his door to find you smiling directly at him, handing him a plate of banana bread muffins, and introducing yourself as his neighbor across the hall. And now, only a few days later, you were inviting him into your apartment to celebrate the holidays. He hadn’t been graced with this amount of kindness in a very long time, and it was more refreshing than he was prepared for.

“Is anyone else coming?” he asked slowly, not quite sure what to do with himself and this wave of emotion that had hit him.

“Uh, well I’ve been knocking on other people’s doors kinda asking the same thing,” you started, gesturing to the stairs you’d come down from a few minutes ago. “A lot of people are traveling, or have other plans. Or, you know, are lying to the stranger who just invited them to her apartment a few floors down.” Your comedic shrug made him chuckle under his breath, and he liked how easily you put a smile back on his face.

“So it’d just be you and me?” Did that realization make him nervous? This whole interaction would be a hell of a lot easier to navigate if he could just understand what the hell his own feelings were doing.

“That’s what it looks like... if that makes it too weird, that’s okay! But if you’re an introvert like me and like that there won’t be people there, my offer still stands.” Now it was your turn to look at him a little nervously, completely unaware that he could tell, waiting to see if you would end up having to spend the holidays alone.

In that moment he realized that you were just two lonely people. One in need of a little extra kindness, and one with that much extra to give, conveniently placed right at each other's doorsteps.

“I’ll be there.”

When Bucky knocked on your door a few days later, you answered in a cozy-looking sweater, leggings, and tall fuzzy socks with festive patterns on them. He started to feel a bit nervous about the stark contrast of his leather jacket and gloves – more specifically, about what he would say if you asked about taking them off – but the warm smile that spread across your face managed to ease his worries. For now.

“Hey! Come on in!” You beckoned, holding the door open wider and turning back into the apartment, allowing him to follow in after you. “I’m glad you came over, I’ve been here all day and I just… well, human interaction could do me some good,” you laughed, and he chuckled with you.

“Don’t mention it. I’ve been there, it’s… I’m glad to fill the position.” You smiled sweetly as you flitted through the space to the kitchen, and he took a second to take in his surroundings while you were occupied.

Your apartment had a different layout than his, your front door dropping him directly into your open living room on his left, and the decently sized kitchen separated by a half wall of counters to his right. It was hard to judge precisely how large the space was as the only things in the room were a couch, a TV sitting on a dresser that definitely wasn’t in its final position, and a neat arrangement of cardboard boxes in the middle of the living room. And yet, despite the lack of living this space had gone through, it was far more warm and inviting than he was expecting. Even so early on, it felt like a home.

You had an assortment of foods and snacks jumbled together on the countertop closest to him, and he watched as you pulled a few more dips and toppings out of the fridge. He had half a mind to laugh at the comical amount of food you had prepared for just two people, but he was a super soldier whose monthly expenses were starting to make him count his pennies... He could make a sizable dent in your selection without even trying, and leave only feeling a little bit guilty.

“Sorry for the mess,” you started, stepping around a different stack of boxes piled in front of your cabinets. “I definitely thought that I’d have plenty of time to make my apartment look presentable by now, but I underestimated how much crap I have, so… I’ve made my peace with the cardboard coffee table for now.”

“I mean, you’ve been here how long, maybe two weeks?” He asked, and you nodded as you popped a loaded cracker into your mouth. “I’d expect you to have a cardboard coffee table still. It’s only a small change from the three pieces of furniture in my living room.”

“Three? How long have you lived here?”

“About a month,” he answered with a tight-lipped smile, and a small grin appeared at the corner of your lips. “To be fair, I didn’t really have anything when I moved in, so it’s… a work in progress.” You nodded in understanding as you pointed at him with intention.

“Well, that’s different! Having to furnish an apartment is expensive, it takes time. Organizing the hodge-podge of shit you’ve collected over the years is less forgiving,” you explained, and he laughed when you rolled your eyes at all the boxes still surrounding you.

Bucky was still trying to figure out how he wanted to settle into your space, but watching you be so candid and casual within minutes of his arrival was like a palette cleanser. Sure, maybe you didn’t know about the vibranium hiding under his left sleeve – nor that the history associated with it was his to claim – but watching you pick nonchalantly at the finger foods displayed between you was slowly eating away at his unease. You were relaxed and comfortable around him…

It was a nice change.

“Help yourself, don’t be shy! Eat as much as you like, I’m sick of reheated leftovers, so if you don’t eat them now you’ll be taking them home,” you ordered pointedly as you stepped back into the living room, leaving him chuckling quietly to himself. “I’ll go ahead and put on something festive… Do you like old movies, James?” you questioned as you reached for the tv remote.

“Define old movies…” he offered cautiously. Catching up on the pop culture of the last seventy years had been a daunting task he’d barely scratched the surface of.

“Like, really old. Classic Hollywood, from the forties and fifties.” Thank god…

“Yes. Yeah, I do. They- Yep, those are my favorite,” he fumbled, grateful that he’d at least know how to steer his way through most of this conversation. You looked ecstatic at his answer.

“Have you seen White Christmas?” You asked excitedly.

Dammit.

“I uh- no, I haven’t gotten to that one yet.”

“What?” you asked incredulously, sounding offended as you snapped your head around to look back at him. “Oh, we’re watching it right now, you’re gonna love it.”

Bucky raised both of his brows as if to ask if you were serious, a playful expression tugging at his features, winning him over when you gave him a sly grin before turning back to find the movie on your screen. What was he getting himself into…

“It’s got some big names, too. Rosemary Clooney, Bing Crosby, and … shoot, I always forget his name…” you trailed off, fidgeting your fingers in concentration. He spared a glance up at you as he waited for you to figure out what you were trying to say, only to see a familiar face appear on the screen as you selected the movie. Well, somewhat familiar.

“Is that Danny Kaye?” He piped up, remembering that painted smiling face from posters when he was younger.

When Becca came home from school in the summer of what had to be 1940, his family had driven up to Manhattan. As a treat, their parents had bought tickets to a show at the popular nightclub there – La Martinique – to see none other than Danny Kaye and his wife perform. It had been earlier in his career than whatever this movie was you were trying to show him, but if the smile on your face had anything to say for it, the vintage actor’s career must have done pretty well after the Barnes family had a chance to see him.

If he only had a nickel for each time he’d seen a celebrity in the 40s end up doing well for themselves. One for Danny Kaye, one for Howard Stark… That money could’ve at least bought him a soda to enjoy while being promised flying cars – and he was still waiting on those.

You snapped your fingers and pointed back at him with a wide expression of relief. “Yes!! Danny Kaye… Ugh, he’s so good in this.”

“No kidding. I’ve seen him in- uh… in other movies,” he started, recovering weakly from almost letting a detail slip that he very much would not have been able to explain. ‘I watched him perform in person over 70 years ago’ wasn’t exactly a shared experience. “My interest is piqued. Let’s see if it’s as good as you say,” he teased, happy when you hadn’t caught onto his blunder and shot him a smug look.

“It will be.”

…

Bucky didn’t know what to expect from your classic holiday movie, but opening on a scene from the front lines of the war hadn’t been anywhere close.

“Christmas Eve, 1944.”

That was a date he’d remembered living, having spent it similarly to what he saw on the screen. The Howling Commandos had banded together in their temporary camp, pulling together any bits and pieces they could to decorate one of the smaller trees growing just inside the perimeter. The men had shared traditions from back home, sang holiday carols, and kept Dum Dum Dougan from doing anything too outlandish. He definitely kept Steve on his toes, acting as an oversized mother hen to the whole group.

“God, some of them are just so young.”

Your voice took Bucky out of his thoughts, looking up to see your gaze locked on the screen with a commiserative expression. Your eyes followed a young soldier in one of the back rows before you turned back to look at him, becoming a little sheepish as you attempted a smile.

“I know that sounds ridiculous. Like, they’re not actually out at war, he’s just an extra in the background, but…”

“But it happened.”

He’d seen those boys come in. As Sergeant James Barnes of the U.S. Army in 1943, he’d seen men of all ages come into his responsibility as privates, the war encouraging an influx of men enlisting, himself included. Some of his men had wives and families they were fighting for. Some of them were around his age, having nothing better to do with their “able bodies” than surrender them to their country’s use.

Some of those boys were freshly eighteen, enlisted mere days after their birthdays, and dropped in his hands. He’d even seen some as young as seventeen, having managed to get away with lying their way into the army, and each one of them made him feel more and more anxious about Steve’s ability to succeed at doing the very same thing.

“I think people forget about that, sometimes,” you continued, your gaze back on the screen as you looked through the crowd of soldiers in between the crooner’s solo shots. “Just how young, or even how human these soldiers were.”

He felt a lump start to form in his throat at your sentiment.

“Obviously I know that these guys aren’t actually out on the front lines,” you continued, a small laugh escaping as you gestured toward the movie. “But I just… it makes me think about the soldiers who were actually out there and the lives they had. Their loved ones, wives and children, friends and girlfriends they might have left behind. What they went through when they were out there…”

You paused, and when he studied the tight-lipped smile you were giving him, he knew you were trying to stop yourself from getting emotional. It caused a strange sort of tug of war in his brain, instincts that had been long since dormant wanted to prevent your tears, keep you happy. And yet, he was baffled by how moved you were by stories of these soldiers…

Soldiers like him.

“Sorry, this- I know this is silly, but-”

“I don’t think it is,” he offered quickly, and his train of thought was momentarily derailed when your sparkling eyes caught his – apparently the power of a pretty woman’s crying eyes still had an effect on him seventy years later.

He may not have been that same suave ladies' man anymore, but he wasn’t about to deny the fact that you were a very pretty woman, one that the old James Barnes would have been pushing people aside to ask you for a dance. He was old, not blind.

“Really? Getting all sentimental about people who don’t really exist?” You snarked, trying to laugh it off.

“But some of those men – the actual people – don’t have anyone to think about them like this anymore. Its… I think they’d appreciate knowing someone remembered their efforts.” He needed to stop and collect his thoughts for a moment, dancing on that line between his truth and the white lies he’d been telling so as not to stand out as a 105-year-old war veteran.

If you kept looking at him like you could see into his soul he’d be spilling his guts in no time. He wasn’t ready to be seen like that, not by anyone, not by you. You were the only person he had actually wanted to talk to, he liked getting to know you, getting to relax for two fucking seconds without being holed away from the rest of the world…

He couldn’t risk losing that. Losing you.

“I- I hadn’t thought of it that way,” you contemplated, pursing your lips as you reevaluated your emotions. “What made you think of it like that?”

I’m one of them.

Yeah, that wasn’t an option.

“Uh, my dad, I think… he was in the Army before I was,” he started, which wasn’t technically a lie. But with the exaggeration, it gave him a moment to reflect on the truth, and remember those moments with his father so many years ago. “He was able to come home early after being wounded overseas. But even years later, he would look at the young men in their uniforms with this look in his eye… like he was taking the time to understand them, care for their situation like he wished he’d had someone to do for him.”

George Barnes had never been a man of many words, especially not about his feelings. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t shared his stories with his children and passed on the legacy he’d carried with him through his service years.

And now haunting the conversation Bucky was boring you with now. Way to be a sad sack, Barnes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring the whole mood down,” he tried, giving you an apologetic grimace, but your expression only softened.

“Stop, you didn’t bring anything down. Besides, I started it,” you shrugged, and he couldn’t help but chuckle nervously. “So, you said you’re in the Army?”

Did he say that?

He did.

Shit.

“I- well, I was. I’m uh… I’m not now.” Oh this was going fucking swimmingly. “I was discharged,” he finished awkwardly. He was tempted to just walk out your front door. Empty stomach, empty hands, dignity in shambles… but his identity intact.

“Oh, okay. Do you mind me asking what happened?”

Every muscle in his body was telling him to run. Get up and bolt out the door. But what good would that do him? You were his Neighbor. He couldn’t go far, and even if he escaped this conversation now, he would still see you in the hall between your apartments.

Bucky was stuck. If he ran, your friendship would be strained. It was even a friendship yet, it wasn’t anything yet, and he would ruin it. But if he stayed, one more slip could mean you finding out who he was. And what then? Would the Winter Soldier come back to ruin this for him anyway?

“I was… medically discharged,” he started, his throat tight as he forced himself to say something. Maybe if he kept it vague, he stood a chance at making it out to see the light on the other side. “There was an accident. I uh… well, I don’t usually talk about it.”

“I’m so sorry, I- we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to pry,” you rushed to assure him, mere moments after he’d fumbled his way through an excuse. He felt like he’d just run a marathon, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as he realized he’d somehow made it through. You were now the one sitting awkwardly, fiddling with your hands once again as you wracked your brain for a change of subject, some way to backpedal towards common ground.

The two of you had that in common.

“It’s okay, really. Besides, I started it,” he tried, throwing your words back at you with a small grin. A strange sense of ease washed over him when you laughed, relaxing back into your seat and sparing a glance back at the television screen.

The division had just finished singing a heartfelt song to their general – much more emotional than he wagered the average man of his time was capable of expressing, but that’s a Hollywood adaptation for you – when the sounds of explosions became much more prominent, men running for cover this way and that. It was, unfortunately, a familiar scene.

“You have to watch this!” You cried, quick at attention once you realized which part of the movie you were in. “It goes by quickly, but it’s important!”

“Alright alright, I’m watching,” Bucky smiled, welcoming the topic change as he settled on the couch next to you, watching this scene you deemed so important before he set out to tear into the snacks on the counter.

Much to his own surprise, it was really nice. If someone had told him a month ago that he would thoroughly enjoy himself as he watched a movie on his neighbors couch, he wouldn’t have believed you. But he also wouldn’t have been able to anticipate that the neighbor in question would sing along to all the songs or gush about the sway of the women’s skirts – he listened as you described your dream dress in great detail, and he hung onto every word. “Something just like this pink one Judy has on, but maybe in a darker color? Like a dark blue…”

Bucky wouldn’t have believed he’d be laughing over a plate of appetizers as you mocked the nasally blonde side character, or stopping himself from spitting his coke everywhere when you rattled on about just how “freakishly tiny” Judy’s waist was – your words, not his. He’d even found himself comfortable enough to open up on his own, avoiding any conversation coming close to his complicated past, but he liked being able to talk with you about things he was familiar with.

He’d helped you set up your record table when he brought it up on accident, relieved when you offered to give him a tour of your collection when it was a similar interest. And, having moved into aiding with handiwork around your apartment, he was quick to offer his super-solider enhancements to get the dresser moved at least to the right room. You tried to insist he didn’t have to, but when you watched how easily he accomplished it, the protest fell quietly out of the conversation.

He liked being useful. He liked making you laugh… Mostly, he liked feeling like himself again. Whoever he was, it felt good to be someone he didn’t mind seeing in the mirror.

Maybe he’d run into you in the hall more often.

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

Masterlist | Ch. 1

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #neighbors #neighbor!bucky #neighbors series #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #white christmas #christmas fic #holiday fics #holiday season #kam speaks

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thegodthief · 2 years

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Old Lammas 2022: Keri Has A Jar

Having seen all of y'all Old Lammas 2022 posts, I feel like Netherworld Post's teeny bat holding up a tiny skull in offering to the grand and enormous moon. "I hope this is enough. I hope I am enough."

So the call went out and the theme was honey, local preferred. How serendipitous then, than I received an offer for quality honey drawn from bee colonies local to my state and even some from my area! A bit pricey, but the company has proven their quality time and time again, and hey, it's for something special, so why not?

I figured I was going to be in for a ride when the honey shipped with a target date of 10 business days for arrival but it arrived on Day 3.

Yay! I have honey! Now what?

Hmm. No. Really. Now what? This is a Christian holiday after all, and I'm still working through some baggage from my experiences. Is this even a holiday I can jump into?

It's no secret that I've been siting with Christian elements again. Heh, that's a polite way to say I've been pushing my luck with certain folks from the Christian pantheon. (I'mma blame Saint Cyprian cuz he's smug af about it.) But I always worry about taking things too far.

(The fact that I exist is a step too far, but this is not the venue for that villain origin story monologue.)

So I did as some Christians are wont to do, and laid it at the feet of the Virgin Mary [VM]. I know how easy it is for me to get caught up in having the Perfect™ preparations which means having the Perfect™ material which means doing everything Perfectly Right And Good™ which we all know is impossible is this universe if not all possible others.

It was VM's prodding that made me pay attention to graveyarddirt's Lammas posts in the first place. And VM's (warm and generous) approval of the honey as acceptable even though it was purchased and jacque shitte was gathered by me. And VM's (soft and merciful) patience pointing out that there was a seat at that metaphorical table for abused and feral creatures like me. So... okay.

I have honey.

That honey was not cheap.

I am not spending another dime on this, [Mother]. If this is so important that I am compelled to participate one way or another, then reveal to me how I'm supposed to join in without wrecking my budget yet again.

That was Monday prior to Old Lammas weekend.

Tuesday, a coworker showed me flyers from a local craft fair with wheat woven corn dollies. "Isn't this neat! They're having a workshop where you can make your own! I'm sure you could do better like the over achiever you are!" I declined.

Wednesday, the restaurant near where I work ran out of honey for a special later in the week and lamented that there wasn't any at hand good enough to use. "All I need is just one cup of good artisan honey! I can stretch that flavor across the entire batch but there's nothing in the stores here and I can't justify the cost of shipping! Hey, you're good at finding last second things! You wouldn't happen to have some artisan honey at home that I can buy off you, would you?" Sorry, no, everything I have is spoken for, but have you considered a run to [specific store 60 min drive away] that I know stocks artisan varieties in pint bottles? (They immediately went out to that store and came back with a dozen bottles for less than the cost of two plus shipping.)

Thursday, I started to despair. I needed to have something ready by Friday evening, and all I have is a pint of precious honey. For whatever reason that still escapes me, I felt that I needed three things for Old Lammas weekend. Honey, plus two others. I had a pint mason jar in my cabinet already clean and set aside. But I had no idea what to do next. I made peace with the idea that I was chasing someone else's ideals again and declared that if Old Lammas arrived with nothing for me to do for it, that I would sell off the honey and never bother with the Virgin Mary again.

Thursday night, I couldn't sleep. I went to the kitchen and took stock of everything in the cabinets. By this time, I had seen so many Old Lammas preparation posts and I was very disheartened to see so many pretty tables and clothes and arrangements and I know better than to compare myself with them, but... fuck.

I am an insignificant bat in the middle of a shadow-smothered night. A scarred mongrel at the back gate. There is nothing here of worth to see, or to show.

Eventually, I did fall asleep. And because I was so exhausted, I dreamt of sleeping deeper still! I remember I was lying on an old cloak that had been softened by time and wear. It was comfortable to rest against. No bedding of thousand-thread cotton sheets would ever be as comfortable as this old cloth that smelled of soothing comfort. The scent even had a color to it: Blue.

Wait.

I opened my eyes and looked at the cloth I was lying on. Marian Blue.

Behind me, half covered by the cloth I was lying on, was a thick shrub in full bloom. Now that I was "awake", I realized the exposed flowers were covered by bees going to and fro. Half of the shade on me was from the shrub and half was from the cloud of bees busy at work. Their hum reminded me of the absent-minded humming of a mother rocking her child.

The wind shifted and instead of blowing away my discomfort, it now drew the scent of the shrub over me. Rosemary. I was snuggled up against a hedge of rosemary.

There was no one to be seen. Blowing dust raced around the sheltering hedge obscuring any sight of what lay beyond. But here, in this pocket of calm, I was safe under the rosemary and the bees. I resolved to untangle the symbolism when I fully woke up, and placed myself in the care of the old cloak, falling into a deeper sleep.

Friday morning, Old Lammas Eve, I'm driving to work and pondering the symbolism that I had literally slept through. That the bees were a reference to honey was blatant. The cloak was her cloak, but why was it snuggled under a hedge of rosemary? Oh, duh, what is it called again? The Rose of Mary! That's her herb! And I do have dried rosemary in the kitchen... but what else? I need three things and I only have two.

"Medicine."

I heard the word between my ears but no voice spoke it. I demanded an explanation but none was given. I continued the commute to work in silence, pondering what the hell could be in my pantry that could fit the category of medicine?

Honey is a carrier and a preservative (of sorts, don't sic any agencies on me, this is not medical advice you pedantic nerds) while rosemary is a blessing and a curative. My stock of individual spices is as thin as the time I have available for cooking.

At work, just as the despair begins to set in again, a conversation with a foodie coworker turns to flavoring honey jars. I express my concern about "an experimental jar" using dried herbs steeped in honey and how to balance flavors in it.

"Oh! Are you making a Medicine Jar?" I could hear the capitals as they asked. "My grandma made one every summer so it would be ready in the winter for flu season! She would take raw honey, and put dried ginger and rosemary and mint in it to steep for months! And come winter, all the dried stuff would be soft enough to chew on if you had to, though the honey would have all the flavor, and she would put a spoon of honey in a cup of hot water or tea. And let me tell you, that ginger taste! If the taste alone didn't cure you then the honey would at least make your throat feel better! She didn't always have dried mint, but she always had ginger one way or the other."

Ginger.

I have that.

I have a BIG bag of dried ginger. Probably a lifetime supply as potent as those pieces are.

The rest of the work day came and went as I considered how I use ginger already. I have a big bag of candied ginger that I use for general upset stomach and to chew on because it's yummy. I snap off pieces of dried ginger to put in my tea in the winter as a general cold medicine and because I like the taste of it. It's something that has been in plain sight all this time and was overlooked because of how common it is to me.

Okay. I have three things to put into the jar: Honey, rosemary, and ginger.

Don't ask me why I waited for sunset before beginning the actual work of putting everything together. It just felt right to wait for darkness to catch up outside. That's what happens when you're so used to being alone, I suppose. But wait I did.

Nothing fancy about what happened next, to be honest. I took pictures each step of the way, but now that I'm sitting here (two weeks later) and looking over them choosing what to post and what to leave out, I don't have anything to show off.

But, here, have some progress pics anyway. Such as this one of a pint mason jar with a whole bunch of shredded (as best as one can shred dried ginger anyway) dried ginger pieces inside and one piece that I was compelled to set aside and not break up.

I didn't measure shitte. It was all a matter of feelings, fears, compulsions, and restraints. I tore apart dried ginger for the jar until it felt right to stop.

And then I started shaking out the dried rosemary on top of that.

Again, I didn't measure anything. I just kept going until it felt right to stop.

And then, the honey. Twelve ounces of it, to answer a question that no one asked.

Throughout all of this, I was praying. I had started the endeavor with Pater Noster, Ave Maria, and Gloria Patri after assembling the containers but before opening any jars for actual use. From then to this point, it was a continual muttering stream of appeals to the Virgin Mary that I was actually doing something useful and not just religious theater. That this Medicinal Jar would be a salve not only to my throat later in the year, but to my spirit that was feeling everything except spiritual.

Feeling inadequate is a bitch, ya know, and seeing so many people having their shit put together enough that they didn't have to wait to receive their blessing chapped my ass. It seems I'm always playing catch-up, I'm always last to know and last to do. I'm always one foot at the back gate, ready to run away before I'm thrown out.

And all these feelings came out in assembling this jar. But with it, came a soothing solace. That some wounds take time to heal, and some medicines take time to create, and while that I don't have a house or a nación or a community to belong to, I am still Myself foremost and always.

And I am loved.

Even when I don't understand it.

Especially when I don't understand it.

It look longer to get the pictures together than it did to assemble everything. The only thing left to do that Friday night, was to offer a prayer from José Leitão's translation of the Precious Apothecary. Specifically, the blessing of new fruit (pg 311) because of the honey and how it was collected.

And so I did.

The jar immediately went to sit at a certain spot where it was prayed over and tumbled each night until Sunday. That Sunday, it was opened and stirred while praying the Rosary. The rosemary had already softened but the ginger was being very resistant to any change. The honey had hints of rosemary and ginger in the taste, but it was clear to me that this jar had a long way to go before being ready for anything other than show.

I suppose there is a life lesson there, but I'll be damned if I see it. (Pun possibly intended.)

There will be no new pictures of the jar. Once the jar was seated in its spot, it became Precious��.

I have the feeling that while I may open the jar to give it a good stirring from time to time, it is not ready as Medicine™ until some point in December. As I know almost nothing of Catholic Holidays and/or Liturgy (I'm one of those depraved magicians, remember), I'm just going to have to keep an eye on the calendars of others and note which ones ring a bell for me.

I apologize that for all my words that I have so little to show. I know some that would say that the fact that I showed up is important in itself, and on the one hand, I would agree with them. But on the other hand, the night is so large and dark and I am so small and pitiful.

I hope it is enough.

I hope I am enough.

#Old Lammas 2022 #Hagging Out #Hagging Out 2022

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jinxedwood · 1 year

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It’s that time of year again. That time when I realise that all those holiday days I hoarded during the year for a ‘just in case’ scenario are about to reach their expiry date because I’m only allowed to roll over 3 annual leave days into the next working year. (End of March). Pretty much everyone else has had the same revelation so finding a week off that doesn’t conflict with someone else’s annual leave gets a bit difficult (turns out, someone has to hang around to keep the lights on in a medical facility :-P)

All of this to say, I have the whole of the next week off with no solid plans for it. I don’t know what to do with myself. Literally, my to-do list is ‘visit an exhibition, get a hair cut( i have that booked with my favourite hairdresser so I’m pleased about that) take a walk somewhere pretty and do a bit of extra writing. I might fit in a life drawing session and maybe even a bit of fanfic writing.

But the one thing I always do when I have extra time off is get a bit adventurous with cooking and I have a packet of dried porcini mushrooms in my cabinet that I want to use, so I’m thinking of trying this recipe out, by rainbowplantlife. Now, I’m not a vegan, so I will probably use real butter (I’m pescatarian, in case people were wondering, but I was vegetarian for about 20 years before that, so I tend to eat a mostly vegetarian diet because that’s the kind of cooking I’m comfortable with. I now eat fish for dietary reasons and usually in the winter months. I suffer from SAD and the supplementary vitamin pills weren’t cutting it)

It’s a mushroom soup but it sounds like a really decadent & delicious one, and it’s cold and miserable here so it sounds like the ideal thing to have at home over the next week. I have to go to a proper grocers to pick up some oyster and shitake mushrooms, though, so It will be a couple of days before I report back!

(It also took me a moment to realise cremini mushrooms were chestnut mushrooms. She has a video on youtube, in which she demonstrates the recipe and I was going ‘what the hell are these cremini mushrooms, they look a lot like....googles....ahhhh!’)

#cooking #recipes #mushrooms #about me

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caberzatto · 2 months

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a quiet sunday

fem!reader x Minho

summary: You're enjoying a peaceful day off with your boyfriend when expresses his complaints about his overgrown hair. So you offer a solution that he's admittedly reluctant about.

word count: 1.5k

*nothing but fluff

author's note: this is proofread, but I may have missed a few things so yeah...

You lay in the small twin bed in your hut, your dark-haired boyfriend snuggled up into your side. As your chest rose and fell with deep, slow breaths, Minho's head followed suit; resting on your chest.

His athletic arms encapsulated your body between them, as he hugged you tightly, adding to the warmth of the blankets you both lay in.

It was Sunday, meaning you both had the entire day off from work and when these days came around, you always took full advantage of them. During the week, you were both constantly busy; Minho off in the maze from dawn until the sun began to set behind the walls, and you in the medhut all day treating the rest of the gladers who showed up with injuries.

All work came to a halt on Sundays, the day being treated as if it were a holiday by everyone in the Glade. Almost everyone would spend their 24 hours of peace lying in and simply chilling the shuck out, our one day of bliss if you will.

As you ran your fingers gently through your boyfriend's hair, lying together in silence, you felt his head shift against you as he tilted it back to look up at you.

You smiled softly at him. You could stay here forever. "Hey," you cooed.

He returned the smile, looking up at you like you were the sun, the moon, and the stars combined, "Hey back."

A few strands of his dark hair fell in front of his eyes, his head tipping further back so he could get a better look at you. You carefully brushed the hair away from his eyes, "Your hair's getting long, isn't it."

"Yeah, and it's been bothering me for the past two shucking weeks," he mumbled lowly in displeasure, "it's started to get in the way when I'm running, not very ideal, can't even see where I'm going anymore."

You chuckled at your boyfriend's exaggerated words before an idea popped into your head, "Hey, why don't you let me cut it for you?" continuing to stroke his hair gently.

"Mmmm…I don't know if I trust you enough with scissors around my hair," he joked, "don't know if you've noticed, but I take great pride in these gorgeous locks."

It's true. He spends at least 30 minutes of his mornings just styling his hair; making sure it looks just right.

"Oh come on," rolling your eyes at the boy lying on your chest, "I cut my own hair all the time, I'm basically an expert at this point."

His head dropped back down to its previous position, stroking his fingertips up and down your arm, thinking the idea through, before lifting it back up to your gaze once more, "Fine. But if you mess up, we are so over."

You smiled brightly at him, before moving from your position to climb out of the blankets, rolling over him to plant your feet on the floor of the hut. He groaned as you pulled on his arm, forcing him out of his previously comfy spot in the bed.

Still gripping his arm, he plodded closely behind you as you led him into the small bathroom in your hut - One of the perks of being the only girl in the glade; having your own hut. Which also means having your own bathroom.

"Okayyy," once in the bathroom, you placed your hands on his shoulders, "Sit please." The wide grin plastered on your face was making him much too nervous for his liking, yet still, he obliged, taking a seat on the toilet that sat in the corner of the cramped space.

Turning your back towards him, you searched for the pair of scissors that you regularly used to cut your hair. After a few seconds of fiddling in the drawer between the sink, you turned back to face him, snapping the shears open and closed in front of him.

"Yeah…that smile on your face is not concerning at all," he stated, sarcasm clear in his voice. The comment only caused you to smile even wider, "Would you relax, it's gonna be fine, I know what I'm doing you shank."

As you stepped closer to him, scissors in hand, his body leaned away from you, clearly indicating apprehension. "Minho, if you don't want me to cut your hair just say so, please. I wouldn't even be upset," you drew a cross over your heart, "swear."

He quickly reassured you, "No, no, that's not it…I just-you can understand my concerns though, right?"

Your eyes softened, giving him a tender smile, "Of course I can, but I assure you, once again, I know what I'm doing, okay?" He sighed sharply, before simply nodding his head in response.

You were now standing between his legs, gently running your fingers through his dark hair once again. "Okay, I'm starting, you ready?"

"Yeah, yeah, let's just get this over with already."

Positioning your free hand on the back of his head, to give you stability, you began snipping the hair on the top of his head. The first 'snip' of the scissors caused him to wince slightly in anticipation of the next cut.

Black strands of hair began slowly falling to your feet as you continued snipping off small sections of Minho's overgrown hair. Your fingers combed through his hair, directing it in an upward direction before stopping, where you'd cut off about an inch.

By the time you had finished working on the top of his head, you moved and used your free hand to angle his head down so you could begin working on the back.

Starting from the nape of his neck working up, you snipped away at the course hair. Minho's forehead was now resting on your stomach as you very carefully made sure not to nick his scalp with the sharp tool in your hand, "Mmm, feels s'nice," he grumbled into your midsection.

It was very clear that your previously reluctant boyfriend was now enjoying the lengthy process of getting his hair trimmed by you. A smug smile replaced your, once stoic, expression, "Mmm, I know sweetie, just relax m'kay."

His hands slid up from their prior position by his side, leisurely making their way up your bare legs to sit just below the hem of your shorts under your ass, his fingertips tenderly drawing circles on your smooth skin.

You finished up the back of his head, cutting it nice and short; just the way you know he likes it to be. You tilted his head to the right, then to the left, tapering off the sides. Finally, you lifted his head up, your finger softly positioned under his chin as you gave the completed haircut a final look-over.

As you studied your work for any needed improvements, you could feel your boyfriend's gaze burning into your face. "The shuck are you staring at you, dong?" you quipped as your fingers raked his hair, making sure it was even.

His eyes not straying away from you, "The beautiful girl standing in front of me," not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice.

You couldn't have hidden the bright beam that crept its way onto your face even if you tried your hardest.

"Okay whatever," rolling your eyes playfully, "I'm done, so would you go to the mirror and look at it, please."

The warmth on the back of your legs abruptly disappeared as Minho made his way over to the sink to take a look at his, now much shorter, hair in the mirror. He examined it carefully, turning his head in all different directions - very obviously trying to mess with you.

A few more head turns later and you were getting very impatient, awaiting a response from the puckish boy standing before you, tapping your foot hurriedly against the floor, your arms crossed over your chest.

Finally, he turned to face you with his lips pursed and squinted yes, as if he were about to tell you that he didn't like it. Your heart dropped in your chest with the thought, until he, at last, said something, "I love it."

Relief coursed through your body, your head falling back, accompanied by a long sigh.

Minho snaked his arms around your waist, peppering kisses along your throat before moving to your face, causing you to shake your head around in a poor attempt to get him to stop, giggles escaping from your lips, "Stop it, shuckface."

Your palm slipped between his lips and your face, pressing against his lips to push his head back, "Do you really like it, or are you just scared of hurting my feelings? Cause I'm a big girl y'know, I can handle the truth," your eyes squinted as you searched his for answers while your arms remained by your side, refusing to hug him back until he answered.

He laughed in response, "Of course I like it, I'd tell you if I didn't, honest," withdrawing one of his hands from your waist to draw a cross over his heart, just like you had done earlier.

A big smile replaced your once blank expression, finally lifting your arms to squeeze him back, dropping your head onto his shoulder in satisfaction. You still held the scissors in your right hand, so you had to make sure not to accidentally scratch him with them.

"I hope you know that you'll be cutting my hair for me every month from now on," your boyfriend stated, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"Exactly the reason why I've never offered to cut your hair before," mumbling into his shoulder.

The two of you swayed from side to side in each other's arms, enjoying the rare quiet of the glade. Sundays will truly always be your favourite day of the week.

@iloveetoeatbananas (more minho content for youu <3)

#minho #tmr minho #minho x you #minx reader #minho fluff #the maze runner #minho the maze runner #tmr fluff #tmr fanfic #minho fanfic #the maze runner fanfic

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5minutefantasy · 6 months

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Anticipation and tolerance.

On January 1, after the local Polar Bear swim, I decided to have a nice time and "roll." I have acquired various ecstasy pills over the past year, and I wanted to spin out a little. I hadn't tried the most potent of the pills, a mix of 130mg of MDMA and 200mg of MDA, and January 1 might be a good day to try it. My wife was home and I didn't have to work in the following few days, so it was kinda' my only chance. My wife isn't putting any drugs in her body these days, but I still thought it would be nice to experience some euphoria for a bit.

I took one half of the pill, and an hour later, when I didn't really feel much, I finished the other half. I felt a little happy, but that was it. I covertly upped the dose with another pill, and later followed up with some basic MDMA capsules, but I barely felt a thing. There was no fuzziness in the back of my head, barely any jaw-clenching, and not much to speak of insofar as euphoria. By the end of it all, I imagine I'd taken 440mg of MDMA, in addition to about 260mg of MDA, and it was just kinda' meh.

It was deeply disappointing. I'd been looking forward to taking those pills, to feeling happy and warm, to being open and empathic with my wife. Instead, I just felt a little weird.

Now, I admit I'd been using MDMA a little heavily through the holidays. I'm not a very social person and the winter holidays were filled with social events: Christmas dinners, New Year's, a wedding, and various other family gettogethers. For some of these, I would preload myself with four or five granules of MDMA, not enough for anyone to see it in my eyes or for it to ruin my concentration, but enough to get me feeling a little more positive with friends and family. I bet I did that four times through the break. I found it helpful. I don't think I would have taken more than 30mg of MDMA at a time at most, but it was something. I admit that this was my little secret and that I was arguably abusing the drug through that week, but since my wife didn't ask about it, I assume she didn't notice. She commented a couple times that I was doing a good job socially; that's as far as it got. My body could have gotten a tolerance to that low dose, and perhaps it accumulated in my system. That accumulation probably contributed to its lack of effect on January 1.

However, the disappointment on January 1 was nonetheless frustrating. I haven't touched empathogens since, and yesterday I put all the pills back into my stash bag in the freezer. I am hoping to abstain from taking the stuff for a while, hoping to lower my tolerance a little. I'd kinda' like to test it in a month or so, but ideally I should take a longer break. The longer the break, the better it will be: delayed gratification stuff. And I know the health risks from MDMA, so it's good to take a break for mental and physical health reasons too.

I'm writing about this here in this secret blog because this experience does effect the pornography practices I've described in posts here before. For the last couple years, when I get to have some time alone, I've been enjoying taking a high dose of mushrooms (5-6g) and watching Porn Music Videos on the TV, jacking off for hours, obviously. Sometimes I've often supplemented this with a little MDMA, no more than 100mg, just to lower the possibilities of a bad trip. It's the most pleasurable experience I've ever discovered, and the orgasms can be mind-bogglingly euphoric. And near the end of this month, I know I'm going to be able to have an opportunity to do this again.

I love how this admittedly ridiculous practice takes me to a completely different world where sex is everywhere and abundant, where there's nothing but free time in which to have sex in lots of fantastic ways with lots of beautiful people. I have downloaded and curated a few hundred of these videos. I put them on a shuffle in VLC and generally let it play while I experience the trip, which gives me new input mixed with familar input, and this randomness creates an extremely pleasant experience. I'm blasted out of my mind into a fantasy world, a world without the clumsiness of flirting, failure, and all the problems of sex. People might say this is a very unrealistic experience, and I admit that of course it is. It's the epitome of self-indulgence and I love it. It's definititive fantasy.

But, after my experience on January 1, I wonder, should I take the MDMA at the end of this month? I've loved adding the positivity to the experience, but should I go back to my original practice and just take the shrooms? I'm not sure.

One thing I realized this week as I've read more about MDMA and MDA is just how social of an experience they are. These substances are empathogens, and they make us feel closer to the people we're with. I can defintely say my best experiences with empathogens have been social experiences, when people want to be close and knock down all the barriers that keep us from being positive with one another. Since my wife is abstaining from substances for a while, it means that she's not sharing the experience with me. So on January 1st, maybe the effects were greatly tempered by my self-awareness that she was looking at me with sober eyes. Instead of getting a social experience, I got a kinda' lonely experience, and the drugs, even at that dose, just couldn't get me to where I wanted to be. Perhaps I should no longer take MDMA, for example, on my own just to feel good. Perhaps I should make it a rule to only take empathogens when there are people to empathize with.

But it also makes me think about my devient pornography shroom sessions. I love the hallucinogens and psychedelics because they take me to a fantasy world that I could never find without them. But the empathogens also fill that fantasy world with feelings of love. While I'm watching these videos in a hallucinogenic dreamstate, I'm also filled with feelings of love for all the representations of people I'm seeing: beautiful women being horny and happy.

And it's like I'm there with them, there in the room, being those men fucking one gorgeous woman after another, feeling drug-driven love for all these deviant performers, all to different types of music and in different situations. It feels awesome to be in the middle of that, especially when the shrooms are distorting things and making all the colours so bright, making it all seem 3-D. It's a privilege I feel fortunate to have found, something previous generations never could have imagined.

And I know this sounds insane and problematic, and I agree. But I get to come out of it a few hours later. And I still really enjoy it.

Later this month I want to decide whether to take the MDMA before I start the trip. I want to prepare myself and to give myself the willpower before I completely enebriate myself. I want to make sure I don't add to the trip later on.

That's all.

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hareinthechair · 2 years

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Designing and making a bespoke sofa

This chair story is a personal one that I hope will give you an insight into what goes into the complete rebuild of a piece of furniture whilst showing you how personalised that process can be. Whilst celebrating our 17 years together in 2019 my partner and I decided to look up what is the suggested gift for such time together… turns out it is furniture. We did need a new sofa, living in a renovation project we were close to finishing the front room. The only current sofa we owned, I hate to admit, is a cheaply made chesterfield style sofa bed which in it’s short life has needed many repairs. Determined the next one we owned would be traditionally upholstered, I suggested we get a sofa I could ‘just recover’ (full time work and a couple of young boys were keeping me busy enough.) We did an internet search, found a potential piece that we both liked the look of and pressed bid…

When initially plunged into lockdown, much as I would have loved to have spent my time upholstering, home-schooling was quite enough. So this time passed and the sofa remained in its faded green velour outfit. Come November 2021 the second lockdown bought another furlough period for myself and my colleagues at the Bristol Upholstery Collective. However schools remained open- here was my chance! I’m not going to lie, it took nearly a whole week to strip the frame down! So many staples, so many strange finds. It was like a detective story on a sofa. The markings of previous coil springs, odd layers of black strands of horse hair and multiple tack holes nodded to the original state. Overall the frame was really solid and well made. However there had been some strange occurrences during the life of this frame, parts of which had been sawn off and then rebuilt larger and thinner and covered in foam. The seat had been replaced with modern serpentine springs, despite the frame being made for a comfortable independent sprung edge.

The wood was cut back down to the original size, all the upholstery and staples ripped out, holes filled and then, finally I was ready to start. I began by building up the back, needing to reuse a number of the old springs, which luckily were in good enough condition as I did not have access to many more at the time. I sewed and lashed 27 springs to the webbed back. Goodness, I thought this is going to be comfortable! Then the country emerged again from and I went back to work. But not for long. The January of 2021 brought us another lockdown. This time I was determined to home school and upholster. I stuffed and stitched and got the back completed. The time also allowed me to start the arms. As this is a double drop arm sofa it meant that rather than the standard 2 scrolls needing stitching on your average fixed arm sofa it needed 6. One at the front and back of each arm and then a scroll on the back where the arms meet. Lots more stuffing, sculpting and stitching. It was a joy.

By the end of that lockdown in March the piece was really beginning to take shape. Unfortunately, due to one thing and another, general life got in the way and the sofa stayed seat-less until December. This did get a bit embarrassing as my students would often ask, ‘how's the sofa going Harriet?’... Having your long awaited holiday cancelled due to Omicron was not ideal; however a christmas break to the Alps turned into a busman's holiday in my front room. Sofa time was back. I say ‘front room’ we still hadn’t been able to use this room, an unusable sofa and boxes of upholstery tools were not conducive to a relaxing area. My sons seemed to be constantly growing upwards and our collective tastes in TV growing outwards. The snuggly space of the little room we currently all nestled in was not working so well. We all needed space. The drive to finish the sofa and use the room we had went up a gear.

The seat was an independent sprung edge. I had been really looking forward to doing this. As the original springs had been replaced by modern ones in the last upholstery I had no cane or spring wire to use. Buying a wire was a bit tricky at the time, however I had a lot of bamboo in my garden! I actually didn't end up using the cane from my garden as in actual fact it was a bit chunky. I came across a beautiful cane growing in a family member's garden on a visit. It came home with me. The ends were bent using the steam from the kettle without burning myself which was an achievement in itself. I love the fact that this cane grew in the garden where my partner grew up. Springs lashed in and cane placed and tied, the seat was ready to cover with stuffings of coir and cattle hair. By the end of the Christmas break the seat was covered in calico, ready for top fabric. Now I just needed to keep up the momentum, this was hard but I knew that this project needed to be completed.

Up to this point I had been lucky enough to avoid catching Covid, I Fortunately when I did it was mild and I could sit and stitch, and by this time I was on to stitching on the top covers. We had decided we liked the idea of a two tone sofa, I had some of Bute’s yellow honeycomb weave fabric’ ‘Braemar’,which I absolutely love. It is like a blanket. We thought it could be interesting to try and have a yellow topping so to speak, we matched it with an Abraham Moon pure wool in Charcoal. This is great in theory but does mean a lot of thought needs to go into the planning and ensuring the lines meet up, not least with the piping cord, otherwise living with the sofa I knew it would drive me up the wall looking at something I was not happy with. During my time off with Covid I stitched and unpicked and stitched and unpicked until I was happy (and watched the Winter Olympics…)

As is so often the case it's the last finishing touches of a project that are so hard to tie up. As the piece is made up of separate elements (the arms are completely separate from the sofa frame it was quite a challenge to ensure the arms met the back at the right height and depth. This is quite an awkward thing to work on as the arms need to be put on and then taken off and then put on again. There are also areas on a drop arm like this that you can see that you wouldn't on a fixed arm sofa, so these needed to be attended to. One of the biggest challenges was the stop start nature of the work. I would get into a flow. Then stop. Then I needed to work out where I got to and what I was thinking about last time I was in a flow.

However over the next few months I picked away at each element until on Saturday 28th May 2022 I declared loudly to my family ‘the sofa is finished!’ ‘Well done Mum’, my son replied. Where were the fireworks?! I was delighted. It is by far my largest upholstery project to date and one that I feel very proud of.Having said that, I did then think, ooh it would be nice to have some bolsters, and I’ve always fancied making a round bolster… so I re-declared the sofa as finished on Monday 20th June 2022 with accessories. Now I am enjoying sitting on it. And using our front room, I even let my family sit on it- as long as they don't have drinks! It goes without saying that this has been ‘a project’. I have learnt so much, and not just about upholstery, but that is for another time. I hope that I have made a piece of furniture that will outlast me and that my family can enjoy. Lets drop that arm and relax!

#traditional upholstery

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andtheydontstopwriting · 3 years

Text

𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙨 -【Rodrick Heffley x F!Reader】- One-Shot

rating: pg

word count: 6.2k

summary: [y/n], daughter from a wealthy family from New York City, has been keeping her relationship with rodrick heffley a secret from her parents, though what happens if it’s brought up and her parents want to meet the secret boyfriend?

author’s note: here it is! hope you guys all enjoy it!! though i did want to let you know that i wrote this originally as a piece of work for my original character, which is why it is in third person! if you want to request anything feel free to!! once again, thank you for reading it!

keys: [y/nn] - your nickname

“I didn’t mean to tell them, [Y/NN].” Caleb spoke in hushed tones, as he attempted to prevent any outburst that he doubted would come from his younger sister, but it was still something that he felt that needed to be stopped, “But I’m sure neither you or Rodrick would exactly be thrilled if you ended up going to homecoming with David or Chad, and you know how dad-.”

“Listens to you, yes, I do know that, Caleb,” [Y/N] began, though her train of thought was shooting off in a million different directions, “And I do appreciate you trying to stick up for my happiness, but now we have to deal with what comes with doing that.”

It did not take long for Caleb to know what [Y/N] meant, because their father did bring it up in the conversation that started this whole situation.

“Father and Mother want to meet him.”

“And I don’t know if I can teach Rodrick to have the manners and social know-how that we and whoever Father believes would be more acceptable.”

“Maybe it’s for the best that’s the case, [Y/NN],” Caleb pointed out, placing a gentle hand on his

sister’s shoulder, “Give yourself the chance to step out of the spotlight for once, your happiness is what’s important.”

[Y/N] merely just nodded, because she knew that the standards their father placed on both of them were vastly different. Caleb could afford some level of security in the notion of not being worried about what their father thinks, because he does not have to work so hard to make their father happy.

This was something the teenager always had to grapple with growing up. Eventually, coming to terms with since she was the youngest, her future compared to her older brother’s was uncertain, unclear, and too many factors were up in the air: where was she going to college? What would her major be? What would her future career be? What sort of family would she have? Who would she marry?

Whereas Caleb had his future planned from the moment he was born: attend an ivy league for business then take over the family company, marry a family friend/one of the daughters of their father’s business associates or a family that would be useful to merge with and have a family. It was always clear and never questioned, even when they were kids. It took little effort on his part to make their father happy, because the expectations were clear as day and never took a moment of thought to figure out.

It was her burden to bear, and never had the strength in her to expect anyone to understand the judging gaze always cast her way, as if waiting for her to mess up or make a mistake to remind her of her failures no matter how perfect she appeared to the public eye. To her own boyfriend, even.

And part of her subconscious wished it would remain that way forever. But life has a funny way of working out in the end.

Her parents at dinner the same night her and Caleb conferred, they brought up having this mystery boy their daughter had been seeing secret over for dinner so they could have a chance to finally meet. [Y/N] had little say in the matter and the Saturday before Homecoming was agreed upon.

As soon as she returned to her bedroom for the night, [Y/N] knew she had to bring it up to Rodrick as soon as she could if they were to have any chance of staying together after that Saturday. The week they just about had was not going to be enough, but [Y/N] still felt she had to put the effort into trying to teach Rodrick at least table manners her parents would expect. But perhaps even that was pushing it.

:~+~:

“Your parents want to meet me?”

“Well, they did say they want to meet you, but I don’t think it’s because they know it’s you, Rodrick.”

Perhaps on their near nightly phone call was not the ideal place to tell Rodrick about the dinner, but it was the first instance she could get it out without her anxiety getting the better of her about telling him in the first place. It saved her having to tell him in person and save herself from seeing how he reacted in real time.

“And dinner was the best place for that to happen?” Rodrick questioned after a brief moment of silence and a familiar squeak of some springs faintly resounded into the speaker on his end. He must have

“With my family, yes,” The blonde confirmed, “With all things considered, with the holidays too far away and Homecoming approaching sooner, and they specifically said they wanted to meet you before the dance, a dinner is the only way.”

“Okay…” Rodrick trailed off, going silent for a moment, “When is dinner anyway?”

“Next Saturday,” [Y/N] replied, though quickly added before her boyfriend could speak, “We’re gonna have to have etiquette lessons, Rod, so I can teach you everything that you’re gonna need if you’re gonna make it through the night.”

“What do you mean etiquette, babe?”

“Like how to sit at a table, which fork and spoon to use and when to use them, what you can and can’t say, that sort of stuff. The basics.”

“Do you think a week is enough time to teach me all that junk?”

“Luckily for you, you have a great teacher and someone who has been taught this stuff her whole life, I think something will stick.”

“Alright, whatever you say babe,”

“I’ll even help you get ready,” [Y/N] promised, though had to amend it with, “I’ll try to, anyway, I'll at least come over to make sure you have an appropriate outfit because t-shirts won’t cut it.”

There was a clear groan of annoyance on the other end of the line before the teenager spoke, “You know I hate wearing ties, [Y/N], and I’m already pushin’ wearing it for Homecoming and not to church.”

“I know, I know,” [Y/N] sighed as she brought a hand up to her face as she stood from her bed to start pacing her room, “But it’s just for one more night than normal, Rodrick, I promise.”

“And what do I get in return, huh?”

“A girlfriend?”

“Okay, yeah, that’s a pretty solid deal.”

“So lessons start tomorrow, okay?”

“After the band practice,”

“After the band practice then.” [Y/N] confirmed as she sat on her bed once more, “Good night, sweetheart.”

“Night, babe.”

:~+~:

Okay, so the lessons did not go great, but they went about as well as [Y/N] expected. Teaching Rodrick how to behave and act as closely to the way she and her brother had grown up being taught was like pulling teeth, and much like chemistry, it was looking like nothing was sticking. And if anything was sticking, it was gone by the next day and they had to start over.

Meaning, come that fateful Saturday, [Y/N] could only hope that her very quick rundown of the basics, the true basics of what Rodrick needed to know the night before when she went over the Heffley’s house the previous night to get possible outfit choices ready and wrinkle free knowing the state of his bedroom and how clothes could be just...existing on the floor and if it was a process for her to find clean t-shirts of his to steal, then she figured the dressier clothes he owned were living the same way.

“What’s troubling you, little bird?” Her mother asked her daughter, as she had noticed that [Y/N] had been a little distracted in chopping the vegetables up. Not only that, she had been on edge since had left her bedroom that morning.

“I’m worried about dinner tonight, Mother,” [Y/N] answered, shaking her head a bit to refocus her attention on chopping the vegetables.

“I’m sure your Father will be on his best behavior, there’s no reason to be worried.” Helena spoke softly, reassuring her daughter with the soothing tones and having set the spoon down beside the stove top to go over and gently brush [Y/N]’s hair back, “Everything will be fine, little bird.”

As much as [Y/N] wanted to believe her mother was right, that things would be fine and everything would go smoothly,she also had to remind herself of her father’s constant attempts to control her life, and everything in her life. That included who she dates and there had been plenty of failed attempts in the past because of this meddling, and [Y/N], for once, just wanted to be free of the constant puppet strings attached to her that her father controlled.

“Father’s best behavior is turbulent, Mother, you know this,” [Y/N] pointed out with a sigh, “Rodrick isn’t exactly what Father believes to be best for me, and I’m afraid if Rodrick says one thing he doesn’t like, that's it, we’re through.”

“Your father’s opinion does not always matter, remember that his say is not final-”

“It’s been final before.” [Y/N] interjected, “Remember he wouldn’t let me try out for the cheer team?”

“He’s just looking out for what's best for you, that’s all.”

After that, the kitchen was silent save for the sounds of cooking, because once more [Y/N]’s anxiety took over and Helena simply did not know how to comfort her daughter anymore. It was easiest to just finish dinner and then go get ready for it, adn say nothing else on the matter for fear of making things worse.

However, just as [Y/N] was finishing up getting ready when she heard the familiar sound of an engine rumbling up the driveway. And gazing out of one of her bedroom windows that overlooked the front of the house, she saw the familiar van park in front of the garage.

So that is a good thing, Rodrick managed to remember to get there early as she insisted numerous times upon. Not that much earlier than the time she said dinner would start, but it was something, at least.

Next came the issue of watching Rodrick getting out of the van. While he did dress the part, the part was also distracting her that she kept her eyes trained on him before he disappeared under the roof that covered the front porch. It was indeed a rare instance for [Y/N] to see her boyfriend dressed up, considering she never exactly went with the Heffley family to church on Sundays.

So it was easy to understand as to why she had zoned out, nearly daydreaming and ogling over what she saw from a distance what her boyfriend was wearing. Though before she could fully dive into the daydream, the echoing sound of the ring of the doorbell echoed across the house and it was enough to snap [Y/N] out of her head and she was quick to stand from her vanity, hoping to make it to the front door before her parents or brother could open the door.

However, her attempts were in vain because of the delay it took her to stand and began the mad dash to the front of the house and the size of the home itself, and by the time she had reached the top of the stairs, she saw her mother already at the front door and as [Y/N] made her descent down the staircase, she heard what was spoken.

“Ah, so you must Rodrick,” Helena spoke, though [Y/N] could get a hint of confusion from the tone used, which [Y/N] assumed was because her mother had recognized Rodrick from the couple times she had seen him before when she first started to tutor the boy, but that was not brought up when Helen added, “Come in, come in.”

“Uh, thank you, Mrs. Clemens.” [Y/N] heard Rodrick speak as she continued her descent down the staircase, smiling to herself because at least something else stuck: always use formalities, never call my parents by their actual names.

As soon as she reached the bottom of the stairs, she was met with a beat of silence and then Rodrick saying without much hesitation, “You look beautiful,”

A dust of pink appeared on her cheeks and she briefly looked towards her mother away from Rodrick, who looked between the teenagers before taking the steps towards the dining room, allowing the young couple a moment alone before the dinner began.

“I have to admit, I know you hate getting all dressed up,” [Y/N] spoke as she neared Rodrick, reaching up to gently adjust the tie around his neck, “But I wouldn’t be opposed to you dressing up more often.”

“There isn’t a chance of that happening, babe, you know that.” Rodrick pointed out, though a teasing smile graced his face, which [Y/N] mirrored.

“A girl can dream, can’t she?”

Just as Rodrick was about to lean down to give [Y/N] a quick peck on the lips, he froze in his movements as he both heard a voice from down the hall echo around them and the fact he felt [Y/N] slightly tense up.

“Ah, [Y/N], dinner is about to start, I expected you to be in the dining room already.”

[Y/N] took a deep breath as she began to speak as she stepped to stand beside Rodrick instead, “Father, we were just heading there n-”

“This must be the secret boyfriend, then, Rodrick, wasn’t it?” Charlie interrupted, which was something [Y/N] was used to by then, and held a hand out to Rodrick (another thing [Y/N] could see right through--the charm of a businessman), “Charles.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Rodrick said as he briefly glanced at his girlfriend to see what to do, before [Y/N] replied with a glance down to her father’s extended hand, which Rodrick took with a little too much fervor, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Clemens.”

The energy behind Rodrick’s hand shake with her father was something that would not be much of an issue, but [Y/N] never had a how to shake a hand lesson herself, so it was overlooked when she was teaching her boyfriend what he would need to know. She was a girl, and the only thing she ever got on the subject matter was to be light and certain in the handshake, and that was all. So one look at her father’s face said all that she needed to know.

It was already off to a bad start and they had not even sat down for dinner yet.

Luckily her mother had called them into the dinning room before much more could already add to the poor outcome [Y/N] could start to sense coming already, no matter the words that echoed to counter the notion, hoping that things would look up from there forward.

And for the first part of dinner, it was as her mind had hoped it would be, as everything went smoothly. Any questions her parents asked to Rodrick, it took a moment, but he was always to pull something out that also did not make him nor his family look bad. The looks shared between the Clemens siblings were a mix of relief and happiness as the dinner progressed, because the lessons and seemingly did in the end stick with Rodrick more than [Y/N] previously had suspected they did.

“So, what is it you want to do with your life after you finish up high school, Rodrick?”

That was the question she was dreading, and one she was hoping for once her father would overlook and just accept that fact, move on that the future did not matter as much as the happiness of his children.

And the question must have also thrown Rodrick off for some reason, as he glanced once more at [Y/N] and in turn [Y/N] glanced at Caleb, a look of panic settling on her face.

“I think the team has a good chance of winning the game next week.” Caleb brought up, “So Homecoming may be a celebration for that win, too.”

“The football team has won every year the past several years, Caleb,” Charles pointed out, sighing as he set his fork down on the plate before him, “But that is not what we are talking about now, my boy.”

“The marching band is probably the best we’ve had in years, Father,” [Y/N] quickly added, clearly buying Rodrick enough time to try and find an answer to Charles’ question, “It’ll be worth going to the game for more than just the football team this year.”

“[Y/N], I believed I asked Rodrick a question, so I would appreciate it if you would allow him to answer.” Charles said, his tone rising from calm coolness, to slight agitation as he took a deep breath to calm down once more, “Now, Rodrick, what do you want to do with your future?”

“To be a musician.”

“Oh, a musician,” Helena tried to express some happiness in the discovery, “Are you in the school orchestra with [Y/N]?”

“N-no, Mrs. Clemens,” Rodrick realized his mistake of bringing up the fact he wanted to be a musician, but at the same time, if he said he didn’t know, he was sure he and [Y/N] would be over then and there, “I’m in a band with some of my friends.”

“What type of music do you play then?” Charles asked and [Y/N] and Caleb once more exchanged looks before [Y/N] looked to Rodrick once again. A look that said there was no point in lying about it now.

“Heavy metal.”

“Oh…” Charles began, glancing between [Y/N] and Rodrick, before his eyes landed once again on Rodrick, “That’s an interesting choice, have you not considered going to college or another career path?”

“Charles,” Helena interjected, giving her husband a look from across the table, “Now is not the time.”

“What?” Charles asked, clearly confused as to what his wife could mean, “What’s so wrong about getting to know the boy who my little princess is dating?”

From there, Helena merely just shook her head and dinner continued in silence, The only sound was the clatter of utensils as they hit the plate. [Y/N] kept her gaze down at the plate in front of her, merely just pushing what food was left around on her plate. Though, at some point, under the table, she reached over to gently grab a hold of Rodrick’s hand. To which, Rodrick merely just briefly looked over to [Y/N] and the only thing he could really do in reaction to it, was to let go of the tension in his shoulders before attempting to finish the meal before him.

As expected, her mother announced that she would go and get dessert not too long after, but it would be a few minutes to warm it up once again. So as [Y/N] stood to start clearing the table, her father also stood.

“[Y/N], could I speak to you for a moment?” Was all he said before he started his way towards the office he had at home.

[Y/N] knew what would come from this conversation, and she had to try to be strong this time. She knew that this conversation would be her dad trying to get [Y/N] to break things off with Rodrick--something she knew was going to happen as soon as her father brought up the question of what Rodrick wanted to do with the future. His dream was not to be anything her father expected the man [Y/N] to be with. And it was time for her to take her own life into her own hands after so long of being looked down upon and controlled by the plan her father had for her.

“What is it you see in that boy, [Y/N]?” Charles questioned as soon as the door to the office was shut behind [Y/N].

“I can assure you that Rodrick is someone with more than meets the eye, Father.” [Y/N] answered clearly as she rose to stand up a little straighter.

“But you are aware that he is not ideal, don’t you?” Her father spoke as he folded his arms behind his back, taking the strides to stand in front of his daughter, “You should be with someone like Edward Vill or Chad Danford. Not someone who you met tutoring, and someone who believes his heavy metal band will take off.”

He waited a moment for [Y/N] to speak, but all she did instead was lower her head and folded her hands at her front, so Charles continued, “All you have to do is end things with Rodrick and your future already looks brighter, my princess.”

“That’s your plan for my life, though,” [Y/N] pointed out, her tone quieter than she wanted it to come out, but she soon found her confidence once more as she added, “For once I want to do things my way, so with all due respect father, I don’t think I will break things off with Rodrick no matter what your standards are for me.”

“The standards I hold for you are meant to ensure you have a future.” Charles began, using a variation of the same speech [Y/N] heard time and time again, “As you know, your brother will take over the company, so I just want to make sure your foundation is strong in whatever ways I can provide. You’re young, you know little of how the world works.”

“Have you not realized that in trying to live up to your expectations, I’m putting my own happiness at stake?”

“The real world knows nothing of individual happiness, [Y/N], success is the only thing that will cultivate any sense of the word.”

“I’m doing my best as I am right now, and then some, trying to gain the success you wish from me,” [Y/N] finally lifted her gaze up, though the tears starting to well in her eyes as soon as she did, looking at the man she called father, but had not felt like one in years, “But even with all that I have accomplished and juggled since we moved, you still think I’m a failure, and nothing I ever do is right.”

“There’s always more, you never have to stop working and aiming high.” Charles’s voice began to rise once again, “And being with that boy is going to prevent you from doing such.”

[Y/N] shook her head just as the tears started to fall from her eyes, “I’m done trying to be what you think I am, because I’ll never be good enough for you.”

“Young lady, you listen-” Charles began, but [Y/N] was quick to interrupt for once.

“No, I’m done listening and following whatever it is you say for me to do, I’m choosing my happiness for once, which means I am not breaking up with Rodrick just because you do not approve of him.”

And while Charles attempted to persuade [Y/N] otherwise, he did try to get her to understand why he does what he does, but [Y/N] was not having it. And despite his efforts to also get her to stay, [Y/N] was quick to make her leave, knowing if she stayed any longer it would turn out uglier than it had already become. And they did not need that to happen.

Instead, [Y/N] tried her best to compose herself, keep herself together, as she went back into the dining room to get Rodrick. She did not need her brother or her boyfriend doting on her immediately, and she had to stay strong as she left the family home because she could not afford any more signs of weakness.

Though the soft hand on Rodrick’s shoulder and her quiet yet slightly quivering voice as [Y/N] asked, “Can we leave now?” was all Rodrick needed to have to know things did not go well when she talked with her dad, but he didn’t know what was discussed.

“See you around, Caleb,” Rodrick said before he stood from the dining table and [Y/N] was quick to grab a hold of his hand to walk out of the house.

“Young lady, you stay in this house or you’ll be grounded for the rest of your life!” She heard her father call out as he was approaching the foyer, but Helena was quick to hold him back.

“Charles, let her go,” She tried to reason with her fuming husband, “You two need some space right now,”

[Y/N] shot a quick apologetic look to her mother as she grabbed her purse hanging by the front door before opening the large wooden door and stepped outside.

“Thanks for dinner, Mrs. Clemens, it was real good!” Rodrick felt like he needed to say something before he shut the door behind him, and that was what happened to come out. Perhaps it was nerves talking and not filtering his thoughts that were not filled with concern for his girlfriend. And when they cleared the steps of the front porch, the boy was quick to make the steps to walk side by side, gently squeezing [Y/N]’s hand as they got to the van.

As soon as everything was unlocked, and both were in their respective spots, Rodrick turned the noisy van on, backed up, and began the drive down the long driveway and back onto the street. [Y/N], meanwhile, just leaned her head against the window, staring mindlessly out the side view mirror and watched as the house she had started to call home grew smaller and smaller as they moved away from it, and she could see two figures standing on the porch but soon as they turned the corner onto the street, they were out of sight.

:~+~:

Rodrick did not know what [Y/N] wanted to do, and she had been silent since asking him to leave her house. So he assumed it best to play it safe and drive around town as she calmed down enough to tell him what she wanted to do, or at least, he felt like she could answer when asked what she wanted to do. He knew by then to not push [Y/N], let her do things at her own time, because of his experience during finals last year and how she got so stressed out she shut down for a few hours.

Though after an hour of driving, from the corner of his eye, Rodrick could see that [Y/N] made an effort to lift her head off of the window and that was the sign that she was calming down and he made the choice to ask a question.

“Wanna hit up the convenience store since we bailed on dessert?”

There was a moment of silence, then two, then three, before Rodrick heard the defeated voice of his girlfriend come from her mouth, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

And with that guidance and direction on what to do next, Rodrick complied and drove to the nearest convenience store.

The next thirty minutes or so of the evening for the young couple were spent attempting to rid themselves of the pain and sorrow of the evening that had happened earlier. Trying to be young once more without any burdens or cares. And with this attempt to change how the night progressed, came the night chill and while Rodrick was fine, [Y/N] was not. Luckily, or unluckily, Rodrick had left one of his sweatshirts in the back of the van--which was the unlucky part, because it was found in the back of the van and who knows when it was last washed. But it was better than nothing, so [Y/N] accepted it and was grateful it at least smelled of him--the cologne he started to wear more frequently, that is. Once inside the shop, they moved through the snack and candy aisles with careful thought and consideration of what they wanted, with [Y/N] clinging onto Rodrick’s arm, her head resting upon his upper arm as they moved through the aisles and made their decisions of what felt appropriate for the evening--for Rodrick, a bag of chips and for [Y/N] a bag of sour gummy candy, as well as a bag of chocolate to share between them, and went to check out.

They chose to just sit and eat in the back of the van, still parked in the parking lot of the convenience store, as it was easier than finding somewhere else to go. They also sat in considerable silence once again, the only sounds this time were the bags crinkling and the sound of the crunch of the chip whenever Rodrick ate one, side by side as close as they could be and eat with ease at the same time.

“I’m tired of trying to be good enough,” [Y/N] suddenly spoke, breaking the silence that fell over them once she had decided she had finished with her candy for now.

Rodrick, who had been in the middle of eating a chip when [Y/N] decided to speak up, was grateful that he had something in his mouth as it allowed him the time to process what his girlfriend just said and figure out what he was going to say in return. In the meantime, he set aside his bag of chips and shifted enough to reach out and grab a hold of [Y/N]’s hand.

“I’m tired of tryin’, too,” Was what he apparently settled with, having never exactly been good at the whole comforting thing, “So we can be tired of it together.”

There was no verbal response from [Y/N], but she responded to this statement by gently rolling her head onto his shoulder, her other hand also came up to start playing with his fingers after setting the bag of candy down. So Rodrick took this that she was listening to what he was saying, but wasn’t sure in what way.

“Buuuut, one of the smartest girls I know taught me once that having two negatives together ends up canceling out the other, so we can just be tired together, instead.”

With this addition, a breathy laugh was heard in his ears and a proud little half smile appeared on his face as he heard her voice once again not being plagued by anxiety, but simply by sleepiness.

“I don’t think you understood that full lesson, sweetheart, remember how you almost flopped that test because you didn’t?”

With her statement being made, Rodrick’s smile grew into a full one before he tilted his head to place a gentle but loving kiss to the top of her head, before he murmured against her hair, “But I would have totally failed without you, babe.”

“We can just be tired together, Rodrick,” [Y/N] confirmed after a moment of quiet enjoyment of the moment, “And deal with all the teenage bullshit together.”

“Wow, did you just swear, babe?” Rodrick said in joking disbelief as he leaned away to look at [Y/N] head on.

“It’s been a long night, sweetheart.”

“My place?”

“I don’t think either of our parents would appreciate us sleeping in the back of your van, so yes, your place.”

:~+~:

“Where have you two been?” Was what they were greeted with as soon as they arrived at the Heffley family home, “We’ve been worried sick!”

“Sorry, mom,” Rodrick began, stepping in front of [Y/N] as he added, “We just went on a drive and stopped to get snacks, that’s all.”

“Your mother called, [Y/N], and she was worried when I said you weren’t here, but I’ll go call her to come get you, okay?”

“N-no,” [Y/N] began, the stammer in her voice stopped Susan from going to the phone in the living room, and Frank just looked at her confused, “I, uh, don’t want to go back home tonight, can I please stay?”

“What happened at the dinner that made you not want to go home?” Frank questioned.

“Just some family stuff,” [Y/N] covered easily, though she took a step to stand closer to Rodrick as she continued, “...Didn’t leave on the best of terms.”

“Oh, then of course you can stay, and we can figure this all out tomorrow, but I am going to call your mom back and let her know you’re safe, okay?” Susan said with a gentle smile and [Y/N] reciprocated the smile with a quiet, thank you, before Mrs. Heffley added, “You can sleep on the couch, after I make the call I’ll go get you a blanket,”

“Can she actually sleep in my room?” Rodrick brought up, his tone rushed, to which both his parents gave him a stern look but before his mom could even get the answer of no out, he added, “I don’t want her to be alone after what happened, is all.”

Susan and Frank gave each other a look, before they looked at Rodrick and [Y/N], and they caught the young couple glancing at each other and they saw the softest expression on Rodrick’s face they have ever seen on their son and once more looked back at each other.

“On an air mattress.” Frank said, pointing a finger at the both of them, to which the pair nodded before Mr. Heffley turned to go get the air mattress from the basement.

:~+~:

So [Y/N] never ended up sleeping on the air mattress.

She started out there, trying to do right by Rodrick’s parents since they allowed her to sleep in their son’s bedroom, which she could not be in past 8:30 on a school night usually. But sleeping in some of Rodrick’s clothes and with him only feet away, she was crawling in right beside him not even five minutes in of trying to fall asleep.

When she awoke the next morning, [Y/N] felt a weight on her chest, and not the emotional kind. No, it was almost the entire dead weight of her sound asleep boyfriend sleeping over top of her, his head resting on her shoulder, his wild bed hair tickling her neck. She did not move him off or attempt anything, instead choosing to bask in this moment they rarely got to have and enjoy a quiet Rodrick for once, a version of him totally at peace. Gently, she started to run her fingers along his back through the t-shirt he was wearing, before the fingers of her other hand started to gently card through his hair, which only settled the sleeping teenager deeper into her.

When he settled a little deeper into rest, this was when she had a slight struggle with breathing, and [Y/N] knew that she had to do what was usually impossible: waking Rodrick up.

But luckily for her, she knew a solid weak point that often got him up if he ended up falling asleep before one of their tutoring sessions: tickling his sides.

The action did not shoot him straight awake, but it was enough to shock his brain into making him open his eyes, and groggily lift his head up.

At first, it was clear he was about to settle back into the sleep he just awoke from, but before his eyes fully shut, they opened once more as he processed he was not laying on his mattress, but instead his girlfriend and the sleepy grin that appeared as he lifted his head once more and gazed down at her with half-lidded eyes was a sight [Y/N] would never get used to no matter how much she saw it.

“Good mornin’ babe…” Rodrick mumbled as he began to lean down to give her a good morning kiss too, before he was promptly pushed away with a gentle hand.

“Your morning breath is atrocious, sweetheart,” [Y/N] pointed out with a quiet laugh, “It could kill.”

“C’mon, you know I would never kill you, babe.” Rodrick pouted, “Now c’mon and give me a good morning kiss.”

Rodrick instead kissed all over her face as [Y/N] kept moving her head to avoid Rodrick meeting her lips, but their playfulness was cut short as they heard Susan’s voice from down the staircase calling up to them:

“Rodrick! [Y/N]! It’s time for breakfast!”

And fearing that Susan would come in to check on things, the pair moved--Rodrick faster than he ever had in the morning--to get [Y/N] into the air mattress. It was a bit of a scramble and [Y/N] nearly tripped getting off the twin bed, but she had slipped under the throw blanket on the air mattress just as Susan began her descent up the staircase, and the teenagers pretended to be asleep.

Until they heard the sigh and Susan making her way back down the stairs, their eyes were shut but the moment she heard his mother’s voice away from the attic door, [Y/N] quietly slipped off the air mattress and made her way back to Rodrick’s bed, where she leaned down to give his a soft kiss on the lips.

“We should probably go down stairs soon, sweetheart.”

Rodrick opened his eyes at the feeling and smiled up at [Y/N], who smiled down at him in return.

“I hate it when you’re right, babe.”

It was this moment they both realized something very important, very pivotal.

They both loved the other, and it was a somewhat scary yet exciting thought.

#rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid

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ptergwen · 3 years

Text

from one kid to another

w/c: 6.0k

warnings: mentions of drinking, lots of swearing, implied smut, and angst at times

summary: it was a mistake, a beautiful one that you didn’t make on your own

a/n: this genuinely is my favorite thing i’ve ever written :,) i say that a lot but this time i mean it, it’s really special i think and i so so so hope y’all do too <3 enjoy my loves

there’s only one thing in life that testing positive for is actually positive.

depending on the situation, obviously. yours isn’t ideal, or planned or a blessing or whatever people say. it’s a gigantic mistake that you didn’t realize you made until a minute ago.

you’d noticed something was wrong when your time of the month came and all you experienced was the symptoms. cramps, cravings, everything except your actual period. as everyone is pretty much taught to do, you ran to the closest drug store for a pregnancy test. what the hell else could it be? you messed around a few weeks ago, so there’s a possibility.

your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest the whole time you waited for the results. you’d thought of calling tom over for support, but there are a couple of reasons why you couldn’t do that. you realized you made the right decision when your timer for the test went off.

two red lines. you’re pregnant. you’re pregnant, and your best fucking friend is the father.

where do you go from here?

the test falls from your hand and hits the floor with a mocking clank. you slide down until your back is against the bathtub. well, you’re fucked. what an ironic word choice.

the fact that you aren’t ready in the slightest to be a parent when you’re still growing up yourself is one thing. it’s another that this could ruin the most important relationship you’ve ever had.

no, tom won’t be mad. he’s never once fought with or even raised his voice at you. in your times of need, he’s been the one to uplift you and kiss your puffy cheeks dry. no matter how he takes this, you know it won’t be out on you. he is half responsible.

but, with how you left things the last time you spoke, you’re not sure you’ll be able to get past it.

tom is alarmingly good at hiding how he truly feels. you always tease him that it’s because he’s a gemini. he’ll come back with shut up, i’m an actor and stick his nose in the air to give you the full image. in all seriousness, it does take a toll on how well he can communicate.

you’ve seen it in small ways, like when he brings you along for press days and uses unenthusiastic smiles to cover up his yawns. how he’ll be polite in a conversation with people he’d rather not speak to, then mumble about it once you’re home. he tries to put forward the “appealing” parts of himself even though he’s more than them.

tom’s biggest communication issue is that he’s been in love with you since year nine and hasn’t said a word about it. you’ve yet to figure that one out.

you two became friends while tom was starring in billy elliot. his schedule was so scattered between shows and school, so he struggled to balance both. he often had to stay late for extra help on the lessons. you’d also been there a few times. you worked better in the classroom, and he was grateful he didn’t have to be alone with the teacher.

most kids made fun of tom for his interest in theater, to his face and behind his back. not you. you thought it was just incredible that someone in your own classes worked at the west end. you’d told him on your way home one night.

he’d heard you before he saw you. “you’re tom, right?” you asked from behind him, the two of you making your way through the hall. the question sounded friendly, and it wasn’t every day kids were nice to him. tom stopped walking so you could catch up. “yes, and you are?” you gave him a small smile, books clutched to your chest. he instantly returned it.

“y/n. i heard you’re in billy elliot?” you laughed at your understatement, then corrected yourself. “that you are billy elliot, i mean. that’s so cool.” “oh, i am. thank you,” he chuckled back, a full grin taking over his face. you were both walking again, you by tom’s side. “i was hoping to come see you soon.” your voice got quieter as you told him, like you were nervous.

tom never had much luck with girls, not at this point in his life. this was an opportunity to change that. at the very least, to make a new friend. he offered something you said yes to without a beat of hesitation. “what if i got you the tickets?”

from then on, you began talking during class and not only when it ended. tom really knew how to keep the conversation going, telling story after story that left you laughing so much your teacher would shush you. you’d eventually moved to hangouts at either of your houses. harrison came into the mix at some point, the three of you forming your own group.

the difference between tom and harrison was that while harrison linked with other girls, tom was only interested in you. he’d gotten a crush on you pretty fast, if he was being honest. it might have been your shared sense of humor or the way you said his name.

thomas, when he was being cheeky. tommy, which took the place of a pet name. even regular tom. that might have been his favorite. he loved how it rolled off your tongue. he loved, and still loves, you.

you’d gone to all of tom’s performances you possibly could, the ones for school theater included. you also gave him the push to take his talents to hollywood. tom was afraid he wasn’t cut out for the big screen, that he needed more practice and experience first. you told him that if this was what he wanted to do, he had to start somewhere. why wait?

tom then landed his first movie role in the impossible at the age of fifteen. he’d received tons of praise and almost gotten nominated for an academy award, all because you convinced him to audition. you played a huge part in keeping him grounded when he was between films, and caught him up on whatever schoolwork he’d missed.

you practically zoomed to tom’s house when he was announced as the next spider-man. you’d been constantly refreshing every social media platform marvel was on since tom became a finalist for the part. that process was probably the most difficult experience he’s ever gone through. you’d know, having heard all about it from tom.

the two of you celebrated along with the rest of tom’s family that night. you kept giving him little proud of you squeezes on his shoulder or knee. tom is eternally indebted to you for being the most supportive of everything he does.

he of course sends the support right back. although he went down the movie star path, acting wasn’t for you. you’d gone off to university and studied hard as hell and aced all your shit. tom quizzed you on material whenever you needed. he wanted to help you somehow, and this was all you’d let him do.

he’d offered to pay off your loans and any other expenses necessary because he had the money to do that now. you refused every single time, not trying to become dependent on him. he admired your drive, yet hated it at the same time. everything you’d done for him, it was his turn to be the caretaker. it should’ve been.

whenever tom wrapped filming for the holidays and came back home, you were always preparing for final exams. he kept you company, content with simply being in your presence. you typed away on your keyboard and read over notes until your eyes burned. tom occasionally brought you snacks, tea, asked how you were and what he could do.

sometimes, he would have to cut your study time short. he’d say it wasn’t healthy or you were overdoing it and to come relax with him for a bit. other times, tom let you be. he didn’t want to get in the way of your already stressful assignments. those were the nights you’d fall asleep in front of your laptop. drool on your chin, hunched over at your desk.

tom made sure to tuck you in, press a light kiss to whatever part of your face wasn’t covered in spit, then let himself out. he knew where your spare key was, so he used that. you’d wake up to a “Fell asleep studying again. Rest today x” text the next morning.

when it came time for you to graduate, tom was on the first flight there. it was during another round of reshoots for chaos walking. he respectfully told doug that he’d have to work around his schedule or replace him, which couldn’t be done so late into filming. tom didn’t care that it made him seem like a prick. he was getting to you no matter what he had to do.

he’d earned plenty of stares and whispers from people as he took his seat in the crowd. he was a proper celebrity now, so he expected it. his solution was to ignore everything and chat with your family about how proud they were of you, tom the most. he saw you go from a kid attempting algebra equations to an adult at her uni graduation. you’ve really grown up together.

it was why he teared up hearing them call your name, seeing you beam as you walked across the stage. your mom grabbed his hand and nodded at him, like she could tell exactly what was going through his head.

you ran right up to tom after the ceremony was over, leaping into his arms. he let out a couple of chuckles as he spun you around. “i didn’t think you’d make it,” you’d admitted, happy yet sad tears in your eyes. tom put you down so he could pull you in for a real hug. “i’ll always be wherever you are, y/n,” he said into your ear, rocking you while you gripped at his suit collar.

flash forward to a year later, your career is finally taking off, tom’s is flourishing like it has been for years, and you’re pregnant with his child. you’re trying to recall the series of events that led you to this moment.

you were both drunk, blackout drunk because the only reason you remember sleeping together is that you woke up naked in the same bed. harrison’s bed.

he threw a housewarming party for himself, having recently moved out of tom’s and the other boys’ place. the three of them, sam, and you were all in attendance, along with a lot of others you hadn’t met.

neither you nor tom could figure out where he knew all those people from. he’d clinged to you two for the most part, more so you now with tom usually away. they could have been from work. harrison is breaking into the business himself, small roles here and there. tom actually met him in your school’s theater program, then he introduced him to you, ten years ago already.

sam entertained himself by making concoctions with the snacks harrison set out. harry got together a playlist for the party. harrison and tuwaine struck up a conversation with some of harrison’s actor friends. that left you and tom alone, out of stuff to do, and with one way to fix it.

“drink?” tom had asked you, a smirk playing on his lips. “love one,” you hummed back and set off for the kitchen. the two of you raided harrison’s liquor cabinet, grabbing his biggest bottle of wine. he’d dumbly pointed it out during the house tour he gave you before the other guests arrived.

you were about to search for glasses, but tom’s fingers threaded through yours. he gently tugged you away and nodded behind him. “let’s bring this upstairs. seems much more fun there,” he’d murmured over the music, a grin breaking across your face.

tom is big on clubbing and socializing, however, you aren’t. he comes up with ways to get you out of these events, just in case.

“we can break in harrison’s bed for him,” you said as a completely harmless joke, no intentions of that becoming your reality later on. spoiler alert: it did. “and how are we gonna do that?” tom quirked a suggestive eyebrow and breathed out a laugh as you dragged him towards the stairs. despite yourself, you’d giggled at his words.

not one drink in either of you yet, and you were stumbling and cracking up as you ran upstairs. you’d pulled tom by your still attached hands into what you remembered as harrison’s room. tom shut the door, locked it, saying under his breath that would be a “convenient investment” for him to make as well.

he took out a bottle opener that he must have put in his pocket at some point and got to work on your wine, you getting comfortable on the new mattress. the two of you passed it to the other after every sip, tom licking the taste of your lip gloss off his own lips every so often.

the equivalent of three drinks in, you were making out. both of you were just tipsy at this point, tom holding you by your hips as you lied down, your legs around his waist. god, he could’ve done this sober. he’d dreamed about kissing you, really kissing you since he was fourteen. you’d always felt like you two had something more. ah, there it was.

halfway through the bottle got you past the next two bases, and you were ready for the fourth and ultimate one by the time you shook the last few drops onto the tip of your tongue. tom groaned at the sight of that, drawing your half naked body in closer to his.

you two had forgotten to use protection in each of your drunken states. without a doubt, you both would’ve agreed to a condom had your minds not been everywhere but where they should have.

you’d woken up first the morning after, panic immediately coursing through your veins thicker than blood. a fully nude and sleeping tom had you in his embrace, arms secured around your middle, facing you. you gasped when you made the connection, loudly enough to wake tom up. his long eyelashes tickled your face, a confused pout on his lips. uh... um...

“did we fucking...” you trailed off, no words to describe whatever unfolded. “fuck?” tom finished for you. a very blunt explanation, but true nevertheless. “looks like it,” he rasped, pout changing into a smile. your face fell at the vague memories of how you spent your night.

you definitely wanted to do it. just, he’s your best friend, who’s seen you at your least sexy moments over the years. when you were sick, had breakdowns from stress, you name literally anything, tom was there. it took one bottle of cheap wine for him to forget that?

the real answer was no. tom is entirely in love with you, for a decade at that. you were beginning to discover you feel the same, only you had no idea he already loves you. you’d assumed this was meant to be merely a hookup. from the frown your face held, he’d thought you were regretting it. oh, were you both so wrong.

“um... we don’t have to talk about it,” tom told you halfheartedly, under the impression that’s what you preferred. you physically felt yourself get weaker in tom’s strong arms. he’s not interested. “yeah, that’s probably for the best. i...” you were lying. his heart shrunk, shriveled up inside his chest. she doesn’t love me like that.

“you have to go. aren’t you behind on some emails?” tom hoped you didn’t hear his voice strain from the tears pushing at his eyes. “right. almost forgot, thanks.” you’d plastered on a smile, slipping out of his grasp. a tear rolled down his cheek, so he wiped it away before you noticed. you’d already gotten out of the bed and begun picking your clothes up off the floor.

“i’ll drive you home, then.” he rolled on to his other side, you thought so he could give you privacy to change. it was that, and also because he was crying. he couldn’t hold it in. tom is naturally an emotional person. imagine finding out the love you’ve had almost half your life is unreciprocated. it’s soul crushing.

you two found harrison snoring and on top of tuwaine as you left the house. no silly remarks or shared glances for the first time in ten years. tom couldn’t muster anything up, and you felt numb.

the drive was painful. you’d said your goodbyes after tom pulled up to the curb, which held an odd weight to them. once you were out of the car, a sob wracked through him, banging on the steering wheel and not giving a shit about the loud horn going off. you collapsed face first onto your bed. hours passed by while you stared at nothing and contemplated everything.

since it happened, you haven’t spoken much. small talk over text every few days or so, both of you pretending things are normal for the other’s sake. about a month later, today, is when you found out you’re pregnant.

there’s no use wallowing in any of this. you need to figure out your next move, one that should probably involve tom. first, you want to talk to someone else. you want other opinions and a voice in your head that isn’t your own. harrison gets a text from you saying to come over now, the now in all caps. he does.

you let him in after the second knock, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. however torn you are, you must look it. shirt balled in your fists, lip quivering. he keeps his eyes on yours as he steps inside, pushing the door shut behind him. this is all becoming too real. “y/n, are you okay?”

you’re about to cry in three, two...

“haz, i fucked up,” you choke out, tears unable to stay at bay. he takes you into his arms for a hug. half your face is hidden in his shoulder, hands clutching at his back. he lets you cry it out, holding you until your heavy breathing steadies. “what’s happened?” harrison asks quietly, both of you leaving the hug.

“if- if i tell you, you can’t freak out. you can’t tell anyone else, either,” you instruct, searching his eyes for certainty that he won’t under any circumstances. “i won’t, y/n/n,” he assures you and puts an encouraging hand on your arm. your heart pounding abnormally fast, you spit it out. your first time saying it aloud. “i’m pregnant.”

harrison flinches and doesn’t even try to conceal it. he takes his hand off of you, worry swimming across his features. he blinks at you, unsure of what to say. you’d react the same way, maybe worse, so you don’t blame him. a discussion you, him, and tom had a couple years back replays in his mind.

the three of you were talking about your futures, seeing as you were close to living them. when tom asked you two where you stood on having your own families, you didn’t hesitate to answer. “nope, the factory is closed for a long ass time.” until you were in your thirties, you aimed to focus on yourself. harrison distinctly remembered because of how you phrased it.

“you’re... you... wow,” is all he replies with. you head over to the couch, more tears welling up in your eyes. do the pregnancy hormones act up this early? harrison follows you over and sits down next to you with an awkward clearing of his throat. “do you want to be pregnant?” he has to ask because he’s not sure if he should congratulate you or what.

“i don’t know,” you answer honestly, voice airy. your eyes are fixed on the wall in front of you. you haven’t given yourself time to think about it. there are so many reasons you don’t, and a single one you do. “do you, um, know who the dad is?” harrison glances over at you. “yeah.” your voice cracks. you’re both afraid for him to ask what he does next.

he shifts so he’s sitting up. “can i know?” a sniffle passing through you, you finally look at him. “it’s tom,” you say it before you lose the nerve to. harrison’s face doesn’t change this time. he isn’t surprised you and tom went there. he’d seen your friendship growing into more the older you all got. what he can’t believe is where it took you.

his best friend pregnant, and his other best friend responsible for it.

“when did you...” “at your party,” you explain, bringing your legs up so they’re criss cross on the couch. “i thought you were gone a little too long.” he says that to try cheering you up. you appreciate the effort, but it doesn’t work. you’re not in a joking mood. he’ll stick to the main issue. “so, have you told him?”

“clearly not,” you scoff, not at him but at what you two have gotten yourselves into. “y/n... i think you should tell him,” harrison sighs out, then adds, “whether you keep it or not.” “why? that would ruin everything, it already has.” you’re getting angry now, which plunges you into angry crying, voice unsteady as you go on.

“the last time i saw tom was that night, and i guess it meant more to me than it did to him because we haven’t talked about it at all. he didn’t want to.” you swipe the back of your hand across your eyes, gaze stern compared to harrison’s soft one.

he drapes an arm around your shoulders, you curling into him with another sniffle. he doesn’t say anything for a minute, then he tries again. “i know you, y/n, and i know tom. you’ll kill yourselves not talking about this.” he’s right, no shit he is. avoiding telling tom how you feel, and your pregnancy on top of that, it’s eating you up inside. it’s swallowing you whole.

“what if he doesn’t want to be a dad? or- or i’m a shit mum?” you croak out, your doubts getting the best of you. “i can barely take care of myself. what am i supposed to do with a baby?” you’re leaning forward with your hands pressing into your temples. harrison’s hand moves to your upper back. “i- i don’t think i should have them. i... we can’t,” you conclude.

“tom loves kids,” he gives you a gentle reminder. “why would his own be the exception?” another good point, yet you still have rebuttles. “right, he’s a godfather and he’s really good with them and all that, but i’m not the right person, and it’s a terrible time,” you tell him all at once, in a rush to get your words out before harrison’s sway you.

“he’s never around, i’m doing my own stuff. we’re not meant for this.” you lift your head out of your hands and sit back on the couch. harrison returns his hands to his lap. he’s frowning at you, which you see from the corner of your eye. “i’m not going to force you to have the baby. just saying you have options.”

yeah, really shitty ones.

“either way, talk to tom.” harrison says this more like a demand so you’ll take his advice into actual consideration. “at least about the hookup.” your teeth sink into your lower lip, eyes watering for the nth time already.

you have no choice because he’s right again. you’ll never move on from what happened unless you and tom address it.

the next morning, you do what harrison told you to and invite tom over. he replied saying he was on his way maybe a minute later. he’s nervous to see you because yeah, but more so looking forward since it’s been so long. you’re so nauseous you barely have room for nerves. it’s morning sickness with a hint anxiety.

it feels almost normal when he first gets here, no how’ve you been and what are you up to these days? being as close as you and tom are, you’re not capable of such a dry conversation. personally, you still feel uneasy while he recounts a golfing incident him and harry got into the other day. you know something he doesn’t.

“when i tell you we flew, we flew,” tom makes a pushing forward motion with both hands. “right into the tree. i think harry, like, dented part of his face.” he lets out a breathy laugh, you forcing out one of your own. you’d be more interested without the fact that you’re expecting a child, his child, at the back of your mind.

tom exhales, shifting to face you on your couch. it’s funny how different things were when you and harrison sat in these same spots yesterday. so much has and is about to change.

“they had to send another golf cart to come get us. it was wild.” “it sounds wild,” you hollowly agree. he can tell you’re not too invested in hearing about harry’s terrible driving skills, so he changes the subject. “anyway, harrison told me he came over last night?” your stomach drops, heat coming over your whole body.

“did... did he say why?” you murmur with a look of urgency in your eyes. tom shrugs a shoulder, and casually. there’s no way he knows. “no, was he supposed to?” his tone stays playful, which you can thankfully tell. that puts you more at ease. “no. no, never mind. i would’ve asked you to come, but...” you’re searching through your catalog of excuses.

thank god tom says something else because you can’t find a good one. “it’s alright. i actually, um, had a work call.” a small smile spreads across his face, a proud one. intrigued, you raise both eyebrows. “what’d you talk about?” tom twiddles with his fingers in his lap. “i’ve been offered an audition for this really amazing film. everything works out, it’ll be huge for me.”

you’re smiling back this time, putting a hand over one of his. “woah, that’s incredible. i’m so happy for you, tom.” you lock your fingers with his from the back of his hand. he looks down at them, humbly shaking his head. “when is it?” “a few weeks from today. it films in brazil...”

oh. you can’t tell him now. it’s not worth him missing out on a milestone in his career for a baby you’re not sure you should have. that would be so unfair of you to ask. what are you going to do, not support his dreams for the first time in a literal decade? and, you’d call yourself his best friend through it all?

you guess this also means the way you feel about tom is one sided. he’s okay with leaving you after the most intimate moment you two have ever shared. you’ll dance around it the rest of your lives. better yet, act like the night never even happened. that’s not so easy to do when you’ve got a permanent reminder of it.

the thought makes you sick to your stomach. so sick, you could...

while tom is talking more about what the audition entails, you suddenly bolt up from the couch. you run for the bathroom, a hand cupped over your mouth. his face twists up in confusion from your disappearance. tom calls, “y/n/n?” out to you, but you can’t respond because your head is in the toilet. he rushes in when he hears you retching.

he gets onto the floor with you. you’re bent over, puking your guts out, back in another place where your life changed forever less than twenty four hours ago. tom pulls your hair out of your face and into a makeshift ponytail with one hand, his other on your back. that’s all you have in you. you stay over the toilet just to be sure.

saliva drips from your mouth, making you cough roughly, the sound echoing. tom moves so he’s next to you, keeping his hand in your hair and not caring one bit about the smell because he loves you and he’s utterly concerned about what he witnessed.

“love, are you sick?” he coos, searching for your eyes. they water from the intensity of everything. “morning sickness,” you answer without thinking first. shit. shit, shit, shit. it came out of you like more vomit, word vomit. there’s no going back now.

tom lets go of your hair with his eyes still on yours. his hand on your back then leaves you, fingers trailing down your body as they go. “morning sickness,” he repeats, putting it together. “you’re pregnant?” guilt taking over your features, you sit across from tom. you’re once again leaning against the bathtub, him against the counter.

“this isn’t how i wanted you to find out,” you admit and bring your knees up to your chest. “i took a test yesterday. it was positive.” your arms wrap around your legs, you now tearing up because tom figured it out. a shaky breath passes his lips. “i haven’t gone to my doctor or anything yet, but i-“

“are you keeping the baby?” tom cuts in. not to judge you for your choice, to find out what the fuck is going on before he travels across the world. you tighten your arms around yourself, grabbing your wrist. “i haven’t decided.” he gives you an understanding nod and reaches out for you. you dodge him. he might not want to do that after what you say next.

“tom, i... there’s more,” you whimper out. “yeah. i’m... i’m listening,” tom croaks, unable to hold in his infinite amount of emotions for a multitude of reasons. he’s losing you a second time. more tears spill from your eyes as you break the news, the news that will destroy what he’s been working towards his entire life.

“the baby is yours.” his face relaxes, looking almost relieved when you confess it. “when we slept together, uh,” you’re sure it’s obvious enough that you don’t have to go over the details. he’s tearing up himself. you reluctantly continue. “if you still want to audition, i get it. we don’t have to do this.”

“fuck the audition. fuck the whole movie. all of my movies, really,” tom surprises you by blurting out. he moves in until your legs are touching. “i’m staying. even if you don’t have the baby, i have to be here.” you watch in disbelief as he wipes away what are actually happy tears. “really? i was scared you’d resent me for it, or hate me even,” you mumble to him.

“y/n, what? why would i ever do that?” tom places a hand on your cheek, touch gentle and filled with love. you part your legs so he can be closer to you. he takes the space between them, thumb brushing over your skin. “i didn’t think you’d want to deal with all of this. i thought that night was only a hookup for you.” your voice wobbles under his gaze.

“no, are you kidding? i thought that’s what you thought.” he’s smiling now, eyes twinkling along with it. what he’s been meaning to tell you since you were only kids finally comes out. “i’ve loved you as long as i’ve known you, y/n. i always imagined myself doing this with you.” his words draw a quiet laugh from you, a happy one. “i know we were drunk, but i meant it all.”

the sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his eyes, they make you cry all over again. you’re getting used to it.

“i love you, tom,” you lean into him with a sniffle and a grin, his forehead now resting on yours, using his thumb to catch one of your tears. “i really do.” “i love you forever. i always have,” tom speaks lowly, breath fanning across your face. your hands grab at his shoulders. “so, you’ll stay? you’ll do this with me?” he reminds you of what he said before, this time a promise.

“forever.”

you ended up having the baby, and tom held your hand through the entire labor. nikki was holding his other hand, your mom holding your other hand. harrison had originally been in the room as well. when you started to push, he got freaked out and had to leave. your support system remained strong either way.

despite his repulsion of your daughter’s birth, you and tom decided to make harrison her godfather. he eventually became the godfather of your other two children also, which you had a few years later.

tom took a paternity leave from the industry so he could be with you and jamie. he’d also used his time off to propose to you, something else he fantasized about since year eleven in school. it wasn’t anything too grand because the whole world was already buzzing about you two, and a big gesture felt too impersonal with everything you’d been through together.

he did it in the form of passing a note, something you often did in class to avoid being scolded by your teacher for talking. the note came with a pencil to check off either the yes or no box, “will you marry me?” written above them. anyone else would have found it so unromantic, but you giggled as you checked off yes before your lips crashed into his smiling ones.

you were married shortly after the proposal, jamie as your flower girl and all your friends and family in attendance.

to do what he loved and stay with the people he loved, tom created his own version of hollywood in london. he took it upon himself to assemble a team and make a production company. harry behind the camera, harrison and tuwaine in the films, and tom either starring alongside them or directing. they give so many young actors tons of opportunities.

you eventually went back to work, too. it was like you’d never left, coworkers offering endless hugs and going over what you missed, not that you struggled getting into it. tom was there to celebrate every promotion, every compliment from your boss, every part of your life. jamie was also there, then liam and lucy.

all three of them are running around the house right now, putting on shoes and collecting their supplies for school. you take a sip of the orange juice liam didn’t finish with a lighthearted eye roll. tom chuckles as he passes you in the kitchen, getting the kids’ lunchboxes for them to minimize the chaos.

“you have that pitch meeting today, right?” he slips his hands through the lunchbox handles and walks over to you. “mhm,” you hum, mouth full with juice. his lips press to your temple, giving your waist a one handed squeeze. “you’ll smash it. always do.” “thanks, tommy.” putting down the cup, you reach up to button whatever parts of his shirt he didn’t have time to.

“aren’t you doing a casting? for the new script they sent?” you wonder aloud and smooth down the cotton material. “me and harry. should be interesting,” he remarks, you giving him a quick kiss back on his chin. they tend to have their artistic differences. “good luck with that. you do drop off, i’ll do pick up?” you pat one of the lunchboxes around his arms.

“deal.” tom goes in for a kiss on your lips, then a chorus of dad, we have to go led by jamie rings through the house. with a knowing smile, you push at his chest. “see you later. love you.” “love you, holland,” he bites back a grin of his own. his last name, now yours, suits you perfectly.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #marvel

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams

#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler daniel bruhl #scuttle-buttle #tw self harm #tw suicude #tw child abuse

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wandas-sunshine · 4 years

Text

Strike Three

Summary: Everybody makes mistakes. Your first mistake was telling your family that you were seeing someone when you were just as single as ever. Your second mistake was asking Pietro to fake a relationship to keep your family off your back. Well, maybe that wasn’t such a mistake.

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 3,826

You didn’t have the best track record with relationships, you knew that. Even if you didn’t know, your family would have made damn sure to inform you. You knew they only fussed so much because they loved you, because they wanted the best for you. But they were such a headache sometimes.

You were going bonkers now. Your mother was becoming overbearing with her insistence that you needed to hurry up and settle down, and your sister was positive that she could handle the whole thing for you. She herself was engaged, so your mom agreed that she probably knew how to steer you back down the proper path.

And maybe it was the exhaustion of hearing them try to arrange a good relationship for you, or maybe the panic of listening to your sister talk about her new coworker (who was a very impressive man, don’t you know?), but for some reason, you went and said something so painfully stupid.

“I’ve been seeing someone.”

That was nearly a month ago, and your entire family was pestering you for more information. You felt bad avoiding their calls, but you were bluffing and you had barely gotten out of that conversation alive. Your sister was bringing her fiance to Christmas, so of course that meant you were expected to bring someone as well.

Avoiding conversations about your nonexistent boyfriend was growing difficult. You’d been holding out hope that you would find someone by the time the holidays rolled around, but no luck. A real boyfriend would have been ideal, but your frantic attempts at finding someone to play the part also yielded no success.

You had of course contemplated faking a breakup, but that would only further their idea that you couldn’t handle your own love life. You had dug a hole that you just couldn’t climb out of.

So with one week to your family’s Christmas gathering, you were sitting on your best friend’s bed with your head in your hands.

“I am so royally screwed, Wanda. Stevie is going to force me to go out with some accountant or one of Adam’s firefighter friends, and my mom’s gonna make me marry him. Then what?” You wailed. She laughed, finally looking up from her phone.

“Who’s dating an accountant?” Pietro’s voice made your complaints die on your tongue. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. With him standing there having heard about your pathetic predicament, you couldn’t help the embarrassment that coursed through your veins.

“(Y/N) apparently. If they don’t find a date to Christmas with their family.” Wanda answered him. You groaned again. “They told everyone that they have a boyfriend, and now they have nobody to show.”

“I’ll do it.” He offered so nonchalantly that it took a second to process. Then you’d sat up so fast that you got dizzy.

“For real? You’ll do it?” You clasped your hands together in a silent plea, and Pietro shrugged.

“Why not. Text me the details,” He left you shouting your appreciation after him as he made his way back to his own bedroom.

A week passed by, and you had confirmed your plus one. You kept the information you shared minimal, just giving his name and saying that you hadn’t wanted to say anything until you were sure he’d be able to come. You were nervous about the whole thing, a whole list of things that could go wrong playing on an endless loop in your head as you tapped against your steering wheel.

A few moments passed before he finally came out with his suitcase in hand. Three nights at your parents home with your sister, and your friend who you’d somehow coerced into pretending to date you seemed like a nightmare. But Pietro’s presence was calming. He sat his bag in the back and settled into the passenger seat. He had the brightest smile on his face.

He buckled in and sorted out the music as you started on the drive back to your childhood home. The quiet between the two of you lasted a while before he broke it.

“So what’s our story, cupcake?” He smirked and turned the music down, looking over as you spared him a confused glance.

“Our story?”

“Yeah, you know. How we met, how we got together. The story we’re gonna tell our kids one day.” Your stomach flipped. What were you getting yourself into?

“Um, I guess we met through Wanda,” You started, keeping your eyes on the road and gripping the steering wheel tightly so you didn’t have to focus on how strange the whole conversation felt.

“And I saved you from some drunk creep at a party,” He started. “I took you to iHop-”

“And we’ve been together ever since!” You finished with a laugh. It was mostly true, everything he mentioned had happened, just not exactly like that. It made you feel a little better knowing that you weren’t lying to your family, just...rearranging the truth.

“See, baby, we’re gonna be just fine,” The sound of the pet name flustered you much more than you were willing to admit. You rolled your eyes and cleared your throat.

“Okay. But if we’re gonna make it, there’s gotta be rules.” You warned him. He motioned for you to go on. “Rule number 1; No saying I Love You. Rule Number 2; No kissing. Not under any circumstances. And Rule Number 3; No catching feelings.”

“Easy peasy,” He chuckled. He didn’t understand why you were so paranoid. There was no way he was going to let them set you up with one of their awful picks for you. No, you deserved better than that. So he’d follow your rules, and he’d save the day if it killed him.

The rest of the drive consisted of him playing music, and the two of you joking around like nothing was any different than it had been from the beginning. But you couldn’t ignore the way your heart stuttered when he’d jokingly call you by those stupid affectionate names, or the way your cheeks burned under his attention. The tension and worry lingered, thinly veiled by his stupid knock knock hokes and classic rock.

It was mid afternoon by the time you pulled into your parents driveway. You were helping Pietro unload the boatload of presents you’d brought along for your family when your older sister came racing out of the house. She squealed and bundled you up into a tight hug like you hadn’t seen each other in years.

“You brought a boy,” She noted as she stepped back, hugging herself against the cold. You bit your lip and nodded a little.

“Stevie, this is Pietro. Pietro, my big sister Stevie.” You stepped back and glanced at Pietro. He had the most dazzling smile on his lips, one that made your stomach flutter. And Stevie certainly seemed charmed enough.

“So you really do have a boyfriend. I was beginning to think he was fake,” She teased. You and Pietro shared a look and he seemed to be barely stifling his laughter. You glared, a silent warning to keep his mouth shut. “They barely told us anything about you. I can see why they were keeping you a secret, if I didn’t have Adam I’d be stealing you away.”

“Well, good thing we’re here for a couple of days. You guys can get to know everything about each other. But can we pretty please get this stuff inside before it gets nasty out here?” You begged, readjusting the armful of gifts you’d grabbed. Pietro huffed and took them easily.

“I can get them, don’t worry.” He insisted. You hesitated a little but he was already following your sister inside. So you grabbed your bag from the back and closed the car up to join them inside.

Once you walked in, you were met by the smell of baked goods wafting out the door. You kicked your shoes off and set your bag down by the stairs. Your family had already stolen your boyfriend- fake boyfriend- by the time you slipped into the kitchen.

“Your favorite kid just got home, but all you care about is the new boyfriend, huh?” You teased, sliding up to hug your dad, then your mom. Pietro sort of liked the way it sounded when you said that. Boyfriend. He knew he wasn’t really the boyfriend, but it was a nice thought.

“You didn’t tell us he was so handsome,” Your mom chided, giving your shoulders a squeeze. Your face flared hot and you glanced at Pietro.

“Don’t worry about me. Your family is great, they’re already trying to feed me.” He smirked. Truthfully he seemed oddly comfortable in the role, but you were glad he wasn’t freaking out. Of course for the sake of not having to date someone with a stick up their ass. But the fact that he was giving you his usual laid-back grin didn’t hurt.

“Why don’t you two go up to your room and get settled in. Dinner will be done soon. (Y/N), your old room is all set up for you two.” Your mom cooed, turning back to the food she was working on. You glanced towards the stairs.

“He’s sleeping in my room? With me?” You asked, glancing between faces. You were used to sharing a room with your sister on the holidays and whatever guys you brought along were usually put into her old room. You supposed that changed now that she was properly engaged.

“Well duh. Adam’s sleeping in my room when he gets here.” Stevie answered. You gave a tiny nod. Made sense. You grabbed your bags and nodded for Pietro to follow you upstairs. He gave a smile to your family and let you lead the way to your bedroom.

Once the door was shut, you groaned and leaned back against it. Once again you were asking yourself the same question. Just what had you gotten yourself into. The idea of pretending to be in love with Pietro was one thing. But now you’d be sleeping in the same probably too-small bed for three nights. That must have been crossing some sort of line. You could sleep on the floor. It was hardwood but you were pretty sure you’d survive it. Or maybe you could take turns.

“Piet, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t think they’d put us in here together.” You sighed. Pietro was too busy perusing your room to really think too much of it. There were still a few pictures decorating the back of the door of you and your family and friends. A couple band posters were left up, and there was a stack of books in the corner. “But now that Stevie and Adam are actually engaged...I’m sorry.”

“Chill, it’s no big deal.” He sat at the edge of your bed and you nodded. It was nice seeing him settle so easily into a space that used to be strictly yours. You supposed it wasn’t so bad to share it with him.

The evening passed much faster than you had expected. The worst part was dinner. Your future brother-in-law had shown up which helped to ease some of the tension. But nevertheless your family was all over Pietro. He reached over and gave your hand a squeeze as you sat down, and you knew he’d never let you down.

Throughout the meal, he complimented your mom’s cooking. He talked about his classes, and about being on the track and field team at his college. Within minutes he had everyone eating out of the palm of his hand.

The most startling part was just the way he talked about you. The way he’d just look at you for so long that it would make your throat go dry, or the way he’d beam when asked about the two of you.

“I just knew when I first saw them that no one else could compare. I love them,” He’d said. And he’d looked at you like he never wanted to look away. Your stomach did somersaults and you’d focused on the mashed potatoes you were poking at.

Strike one.

Once dinner had come to a close, you and your sister worked at clearing the table. Your mom ushered the boys towards the living room to relax while the three of you worked on cleanup. You carried an armful of dishes into the kitchen, depositing them on the counter and drawing up some dish water, but not before flashing Pietro an apologetic smile. He just winked and slipped away.

You stared into the sink, watching the suds as they foamed up. Maybe asking Pietro along was a bad idea. Your dad was becoming pretty buddy-buddy with him, and your mother seemed to adore him already. Your fake breakup was probably going to be harder for them than it was for you.

“So,” Stevie set a last stack of dishes on the counter and smirked. “Pietro is really something, huh?”

You chewed on your lip, giving your full attention to the dishes you were scrubbing clean.

“He’s sweet. And he seems pretty in love with you,” Your mom added. And just like that your heart was leaping back into your throat. Who knew Pietro Maximoff was such a good actor? And who knew you cared so much?

“Yeah, he’s pretty great isn’t he?” You smiled, a sick sort of despair clogging in your chest. “Too good to be true,”

With the three of you working together, the cleaning went by in a jiffy. Soon enough you were settling in the living room with the others. You sat on the couch beside Pietro as they all continued their discussion.

You tried not to tense up as he pulled you closer by your waist without so much as a glance. You slowly relaxed and snuggled even closer. Your head rested against his chest like it was meant to be there, and your arm found its way around him. He was warm, that was all, and he smelled nice...You were selling it, nothing more. Just selling it, even as his fingers moved to play with your hair.

“It’s getting late. You four had a long day, we should all get some rest.” Your dad decided. And with the way you were half asleep in Pietro’s arms, you couldn’t argue.

He carefully maneuvered you off of him so he could stand up. You weren’t sure when the two of you had started holding hands, but yours was clutched firmly in his, fingers intertwined as he pulled you to your feet.

“C’mon baby, you’re sleepy.” He mumbled. You nodded and said your goodnights to everyone before letting him lead you up the stairs. You slipped into your room and dug through your bag for your sleep clothes. Once you’d pulled them out you glanced up at Pietro. He chuckled and turned his back.

Once the both of you had changed, you laid yourself down, watching and waiting for Pietro to join you. The silence as he climbed into the bed was heavy, both of you deep in your thoughts and being exceptionally careful not to cross any lines or take up too much space. You were hyper aware of every breath you took, and of every miniscule brush of skin.

You did not have feelings for him. Sure he was handsome, and considerate. Not to mention how funny he was, and the way he fit in with your family better than anyone else you’d brought home. But it was cliche. He was your best friend’s brother. He was Pietro for fucks sake. Falling for him just wasn’t in the cards.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, or moving a muscle all night, but you woke up in a mess of tangled limbs. He’d slung his arm around your waist and nestled into your chest, and you had flipped your leg over his. He was warm, and you could feel his breath tickling against your neck. That alone had your heart rate flying through the roof.

You were careful not to wake him as you slipped out of bed. He shifted and you froze until you were sure he’d fallen back into his deep slumber. You took a moment, just admiring him all sweet and conked out, his hair a mess and a tiny bit of drool slipping past his lips. Gross. But adorable.

You got ready for the rest of the day and slipped downstairs to find your mom and sister back in the kitchen working on a breakfast spread. You leaned against the door. You could hear Adam and your dad chatting from the living room.

“Want a hand?” You asked. Your mom smiled at you.

“We didn’t want to bother you guys. Where’s the other lovebird?”

You rolled your eyes, but it was too late to hide your smile.

“Still sleeping. I thought I’d let him catch a little extra shut eye.” You explained, moving to help set the table while they cooked. Nobody said much after that, just talking about all of the family gossip you’d missed out on while you were away.

Meanwhile, your mind was drifting to all the ways you could make this up to Pietro. You didn’t have the opportunity to think much on it as he came down the stairs.

He was still tired, you could tell. But his hair was wet from a shower, and he’d changed into a charmingly ugly sweater that clashed with his usual vibes. It was endearing, you couldn’t deny that. He moved to stand by you, arm wrapping around your waist and his hand landing on your hip.

“Good morning to you too, sleepyhead.” You teased. He laughed quietly, but then he pouted.

“You left me.” You smiled and leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You just looked so peaceful. Plus I wasn’t ready to deal with you yet.” You dodged away from him as he tried to grab at you, giggling and stealing away into the kitchen again to grab the platter of pancakes. Your mom and Stevie shared a knowing look that you disregarded.

Breakfast, much like dinner, had gone without a hitch. The two of you bantered the way you always did. He stole a bite from your plate, and you took a drink from his cup in retaliation. As he finished eating, his hand found yours. You gave him a puzzled look, and he simply slotted his fingers in between yours.

The conversation lasted until everyone was finished. Then everyone was ushered to the living room for the gift opening. You and Pietro were still hand in hand when your mom stopped you in your tracks. You were about to question why when Pietro guided you to face him by your hips. Your hands pressed against his - rather firm - chest.

“Mistletoe,” He whispered. Your eyes flicked up, then back to his.You were suddenly very warm. You had rules, and this was seriously not fair. You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Both of you were fairly willing to call that good. Stevie, however, was most certainly not.

“That’s pathetic. Give him a real one. It’s Christmas, (Y/N)!” She argued. You looked at her, then back only to find that he hadn’t looked away from you.

“Yeah, baby. It’s Christmas.” He half-teased, hoping to ease some of the building tension. You thought on it, considering shattering what was left of your rule into pieces. But before your flustered mind could come to any sort of decision, you were being kissed.

You curled your hands into the front of his sweater, and melted against his lips. They were softer than you’d expected, and the kiss was much less demanding than you had thought it would be. When you pulled away, he brushed his thumb over your jaw.

“Sorry,” He whispered. You shook your head, but you still couldn’t look him in the eye. The urge to feel his lips against yours was a little too strong, and who knew what you’d do if he kept looking at you like that. You pressed your lips together like you could forget his taste.

“Don’t be.”

Strike two.

The gift exchange was exceptionally uneventful after the mistletoe ordeal. Your mind was still wading through the fog when your mom opened the last of the gifts. You were all about to sort everything out and pack your gifts with your things when Pietro spoke.

“Oh, I almost forgot something. Stay put.” He carefully freed himself from where you’d been leaning against him and headed for the stairs. You sat patiently, sharing curious looks around the room. You hadn’t talked about presents.

He only took a moment, coming back with a small box wrapped neatly in pale blue paper. You figured that was Wanda’s doing.

“Here. I don’t know if you’ll like it but…” He passed you the gift, and you smiled at him. You stared at the little box for a long moment before you finally took off the paper. You didn’t notice all the attention shifting to the two of you as you took the lid off.

“Oh my god, Pietro,” You gasped, your hand moving to cover your mouth. Inside was a stunning silver bracelet with several little charms on it. You carefully picked it up and worried each charm between your fingertips. “You shouldn’t have. I didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t need to. Look, this one is for that iHop trip, remember? And this one is for the when Wanda introduced us at the beach. And this one is for the butterfly exhibit you made me take you to. Oh, and this is for this trip, see?” He rambled. Tears pricked at your eyes and you giggled. You were in so deep, and the bracelet must have cost him a fortune.

“Put it on me?” You looked up at him and he nodded. There was a pause as he took the bracelet from you and fastened it around your wrist. You admired it with a lovesick grin.

“I’m in love with you.” He spoke firmly, and your heart skipped a beat.

“I love you too, Piet.” You slid your hand into his and he looked down at how nicely your hand fit into his. Like you were meant to be.

“I don’t want this to end,” He locked eyes with you again, praying that you really understood what he meant. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to build up the confidence to confess all over again if you didn’t. But he didn’t need to worry about that. You lifted your hand to cup his cheek.

“Then I’m yours forever, Maximoff.”

Strike three.

And there was so much to talk about, but in that moment none of it mattered. Not when the pretending was finally over, and you were having the best Christmas of your entire life.

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himbo-beel · 2 years

Text

Dancing Around (you) in the Kitchen - 3

“What are you doing in my kitchen?”

It was a phrase Early was finding to become increasingly common over the first few months of their exchange program. Not as common as Mammon’s complaints about losing his credit card and definitely not as common as Levi’s specific string of curses when he raged quit late in the night, the slam of a controller waking everyone up, but it was getting up there what with all the trips to the castle.

Early wasn’t sure if they were there more often for exchange program business or parties. The business was a regular thing - once a week they joined Lucifer and, on the odd month or two the entire student council - to submit a small essay on their time spent here and their reactions to the culture and learning. Depending on what they learned - and it could vary from just simple history lessons to Satan accidentally handing them a cursed item on a shopping trip that left them hallucinating for the next two days - these meetings could take minutes or hours. The parties were random, haphazardly decided, and still well decorated. At first Early had thought there were just hundreds of Devildom holidays, but after walking the halls from ballrooms to meeting rooms to guest rooms and the kitchen, their footsteps echoing through each corridor, they were starting to think Diavolo was just bored. They sure were.

Maybe Barbatos was, too, since he kept following them.

“I’m making drinks in your kitchen,” Early answered, not looking away from their search of the cabinets for where Barbatos kept the less expensive teas. After their first meeting in the kitchen, Barbatos hadn’t left them alone again in the room, either afraid of another big mess or wary of another accident, always behind them to offer a suggestion in ingredient or explanation for whatever they were reaching for and the contents of each cabinet in the kitchen. Early trusted him to do so even now, and they sighed in relief at the sound of his heels against the tiled floor and his shadow stretching over them to pull a container out from the back of the cabinet they were searching for. He twisted the lid off to reveal the tea leaves inside. “Do you hide it back there just so I think you don’t have any left and I leave?”

“That isn’t such a terrible guess, but no.”

Early searched his face for the hint of the smile that normally came with one of their offhand questions and turned towards another cabinet when they didn’t. The took out to mugs and when they returned, Barbatos was already heating water on the stove top. They moved to a drawer and pulled out the tea strainer. “What is it, then?”

“This is the young master’s favorite blend from the human world.”

Early took another look at the tea leaves they were scooping into the strainer, packing them as Barbatos had taught them in a previous encounter, and lifted it to their nose. “It doesn’t seem all that different from the rest.”

“Perhaps not to the a human who grew up with such flavor.” Early found and shifted on their feet as the finished filling the strainer and placed it in the mug. “Before this exchange program it was quite difficult to get any products from the human or Celestial realms outside of going there oneself - a tedious and, in the case of the Celestial Realm, sometimes dangerous trip. But the young master has always had the ideal of connecting the three worlds together and saved this tea for times he worked for it.”

“So you keep it hidden so no one uses it!”

Barbatos chuckled and the sound startled them into nearly dropping the second mug. “I keep it in the back because I’ve discovered human world tea leaves do not long withstand the properties of nearby Devildom ones. Keeping the two separate keeps them fresh longer.”

The shock of such a mundane answer, no matter the feelings of its relevance, accompanied by the smile they’d been searching for left Early frozen to the spot, hands wrapped tight around the empty mugs. Not only were his eyes pretty but his laugh was, too, and maybe there was a reason Barbatos didn’t smile much; the Devildom wasn’t the sort of place fit for such a sight. Maybe the mundane answer was getting to them after all, too, they thought, startling when Barbatos carefully took the mugs out of their grasp to add the boiling water to them. Slowly, he circled the rim of the mugs, letting the water seep through the loose leaves and they couldn’t take their eyes off his hands as he switched to the next mug.

“Was that enough of an answer for you?” His voice made them jump and they realized he was pushing the mugs back into their palms. Early nearly pulled away, eyes wide, and instead hesitated and looped their fingers through the handles, avoiding any touch with him. Their face felt hot and they found their tongue heavy in their mouth.

“You were...you - that wasn’t nice,” they grumbled, not at all what they had been thinking.

“I was being perfectly nice. No demony actions here.”

He smiled again and Early gripped the mugs tighter.

Barbatos was dangerous, they reminded themselves, and they stepped away from the counter as Barbatos moved towards them. They’d been watching him, still, and while any viewer none the wiser would have caught his pause, Early saw him hesitate as he reached over them and towards the cabinets to grab a third mug. No one knew much about the demon. He was an excellent cook and his skills expanded beyond cleaning up after his meal preps. He could sew a torn garment as easily as he could mend a situation for the demon prince and while his true powers were still a mystery to them, he was always prepared for any and all happenstances and could predict events better than any lottery game.

And he was funny, in a sarcastic sort of way, and was helpful even when he didn’t have to be and he made sure at least some of the meals prepared at the castle were all human safe.

And he was holding the third mug out to them and he was holding their hand as he guided it into their grasp and he was bending close, whispering something that Early couldn’t hear over the rush of blood to their face.

“Bring this one specifically to the young master. Your meeting will end soon after and, if you’re willing, I can show you the rest of the teas I have.”

Barbatos was dangerous, the decided, and hurried out of the kitchen without looking back.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfiction #obey me shall we date fanfiction #obey me barbatos #obey me mc #obey me mc: early #my writing

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innocent-chris-evans-slut · 4 years

Text

I’ve Just Fucked You, Sweetheart

Request: Hello, I saw your requests were open and I can't pass this chance up! Could you please write anything with Ransom? Ideally smut 👀 I'm always into the idea of a smug Ransom getting off on an easily flustered reader. Anything from downright humiliation to fluff like embarrassing her by saying he likes her is fine with me! Hope this makes sense? But tbh anything with Ransom I will eat up, I think Chris and Steve get enough love lol

My Masterlist ✨

Requests are open.

Ransom x maidReader

Word Count: 3,4k

Type: smut

Warning(s): swearing, dub-con sex, blowjob, rough sex

The 4th of July holiday was your favorite. You came from an extremely patriotic family -with both your grandfathers being former soldiers.

When you were a child, you remembered your house being full of people on this particular day. There was your entire family: your parents, your aunties and uncles, your cousins -to which you were particularly close since you hadn’t any sibling- and your grandparents. Then, when your cousins became getting older and having their own families, this kind of events started becoming more and more sporadic.

At the age of 25 you graduated and started working as a sous-chef at a restaurant. Cooking was your passion and when your grandfather introduced you to Harlan Thrombey, who was looking for a chef for his events, you just couldn’t say no.

It had been two years since the first time you worked at the manor. You had become more familiar with the place, your co-workers, and also with Harlan. He was very caring and kind with all his employees, giving them completely access to his house. Though, when his family was a home with him during the holidays, you couldn’t go wherever you wanted.

There was one person in particular you just couldn’t put up with: Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

A complete asshole who didn’t mind others’ businesses except his. Unlike his grandfather, to who he really seemed having something in common, Ransom was very ungrateful with his family and rude with the help. He didn’t ask, he only commanded others to do and he really liked that part: watching payed people struggling what he was supposed to be doing.

You felt the atmosphere changing before anyone could even tell you Ransom was parking his car. You heard the engine of an old car being turned off and its door being violently closed. The noise scared you and you dropped some cream.

Ransom turned around and saw you, focused on wiping the floor. He had his eyes on you also when you got up from your knees and bended over the counter to clean the mess you did. He bit his bottom lip and put on his usual mischievous smirk.

Ransom had always loved a beautiful woman, especially a younger one with a really good body -according to him-, and you were just his next prey.

But you didn’t know anything about his plans for you for that weekend.

It was almost seven o’clock in the afternoon when you finished making dinner for the Thrombeys. Fortunately, Martha decided to help you arranging the table and the dining room. So you remained in the kitchen -which you liked calling ‘your reign’-, preparing all the dishes and fixing the wrong quantities.

“So, when I can taste your special cream?”

You weren’t prepared for anyone to enter the kitchen while you were with your hands in the pastry. You turned around and saw Ransom standing with his back against the door. His smirk naughty smirk wasn’t missing.

“What?” you asked shocked by his words. But you had to imagine that he would have said something to make you uncomfortable; he always did it. Once you had regained your composure, you said: “Is there anything I can do for you, Hugh?”

He walked in, leaving the door opened, and sat down on a stool right in front of you, and you couldn’t go anywhere else since you were making the cake, “Nothing in particular”. He took a bit of cream from its bowl on the counter, “Mmh, so good. You know…your cream is so delicious”.

You couldn’t form any sentence. You were so embarrassed by his words that you couldn’t help but keep silence and stare into his eyes.

“Hugh, you’re making me very uncomfortable. Can I ask you to leave the kitchen?” you had been told by Harlan more than once to push away Ransom any time he would have tried to force you to do anything. That was what you did every single time, but he would never listen to you.

In fact, also this time, Ransom dragged himself closer to you a stared at you as you moved smoothly around the room. On the other hand, you tried not to stumble on you own feet as you passed in front of him.

Ransom was supposed to be with his family in the living room, socializing with the guests, instead he preferred sitting in the kitchen. Being completely unhelpful.

“Y/N the steak tartare is almost finished”, Martha entered the room, fortunately, interrupting the looks between you and the man with you in the room.

“There are three more trays in the fridge”, you told her as you decorated the cake with blue and red decorations and lying an American flag on the top of it. Once you were done, you turned around to see Martha struggling with the trays, “Here, let me help you”, you left the cake in the big fridge and went helping your co-worker taking all the food out of the fridge, then she brought everything in the dining room.

“I can’t wait to taste your incredible cake”, Ransom left you with that statement, cleaning his mouth as he spoke and walked towards the door, “See you later”.

You didn’t see him anymore that day. When you went back home -almost at midnight in the morning- the Thrombeys were still partying and, although Harlan had insisted for you and Martha to stay a little bit longer -just enough to see the fireworks-, both of you preferred to leave the manor.

The morning after, you were required to arrive at Harlan’s home at 7 o’clock and, as soon as you had entered the kitchen, you started preparing breakfast for the Thrombeys and you packed their lunch. Every year, on the 5th, the entire family was usually invited at some friend’s house and they liked spending the entire day there. This years wasn’t different from the others.

After a quick breakfast, Harlan, his children, and two of his grandchildren, left the manor and with their cars reached the city. Meanwhile, inside the house, you and Martha kept doing your jobs.

Not everybody had left the house that morning; Ransom didn’t feel like going with his family and spending another day hearing bullshit coming from his mother’s mouth. He would rather loaf in his bedroom at his grandfather’s house than spend another minute with them and their huge egos -he didn’t even bother to get downstairs for breakfast.

“Is he still here?” there wasn’t need to pronounce his name when both, you and Martha, knew of who you were talking about, “How can Harlan be so amenable with him? I can’t-“

“You can’t what? Please, go on”, Ransom entered kitchen and sat down on the same stool he was sit the evening before, “I’m very interested”, he placed his chin on his fists and was now looking at Martha, waiting for her to say anything.

You watched the scene from the other end of the counter, while making him his favorite breakfast. In a certain way, Ransom was much more demanding than his grandfather -the one who actually paid you for your work. But at the same time he was the first member of the family you had ever met, and you weren’t exaggerating when you said he did a certain impression on you, almost as he was your employer and not his grandfather.

“Weren’t you supposed to be with Harlan?”

Ransom was capable of instilling dread in people and you and Martha weren’t exempt. You exchanged a sympathetic look with your co-worker and she shook her head.

“I am going, Hugh”, then she turned towards your direction and said: “See you later”, and she left.

There was a moment of silence right after Martha had left the room, but then Ransom spoke: “Finally just the two of us”.

You shivered at his words, although you tried not to let him notice that. You kept planning all the meals for the week, but you felt Ransom’s eyes on you as you wrote on the paper. Though he was peacefully eating his breakfast, he was also looking at you -or better, at your behind. You didn’t say anything just because he did it very often when you were alone with him.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Hugh?” you asked him as you walked pass behind him and you took the empty dish from in front of him, “Otherwise I go back planning the week”.

“Very rude from you, especially since we’ll spend the day together”, he took the last sip from his glass and walked towards you, forcing you to the wall, “See you later, kitten”.

It had been a couple of hours since you last see Ransom around the house; you had the chance to clean the kitchen and also try cooking something new. You successfully added three new receipts to Harlan’s particular diet, and you were very proud of yourself.

It was almost lunch time and still you didn’t know if you had to cook something for Ransom or not, so you decided to go upstairs and ask it to him. The creaking stairs announced you to him -since you were the only two people in the house-, so you thought you didn’t have to knock on the door.

Very bad choice.

Right when you entered the bedroom, Ransom exited the shower completely naked. Though you closed your eyes, and covered them with both your hands, you had already seen everything. And it meant literally everything.

“Hugh!”

“What?” he didn’t seem to care, Ransom stood up in silence and both his arms were crossed above his chest; he was staring at you, “I’m in my room and, if I want to be naked, I do it. You didn’t knock on the door”, knowing how uncomfortable you were, he didn’t move and kept being undressed in front of you.

“Can you put something on, please?”, you turned around and slowly breathed in and out. You felt your heart beating so fast that it was about to break the chest cavity.

“I would rather put something under me”; Ransom had always been so direct with people and it wasn’t the first time he pronounced an appreciation towards you, and your body as well.

On the other hand, you knew the kind of girls he liked to spend time with, and you definitely weren’t one of them. You weren’t a model or a rich heiress with a breathtaking body, and -most importantly- you weren’t living in a fairy tale so you knew exactly what to expect from men like him.

“I’m not kidding, Hugh. I’m very uncomfortable at the moment. Could you, please, put something on?” you could hear him laughing at you, but you couldn’t do anything but exit the room.

Unfortunately, he saw you before you had the chance to make even only one step towards the door and he positioned right in front of it. You didn’t noticed the movement, so you were taken by surprised when your hand, instead of came in contact you a cold surface, touched something squishy, yet solid. You opened your eyes involuntary only to meet Ransom’s eyes fixed on you and your hand resting on his torso.

“H-hugh”, it came out as a whisper, more than a scolding. Ransom kept your wrists firmly pinned against the wall, leaving you completely exposed to his mercy. You opened your mouth to speak up, but no words came out of it; instead something entered your mouth.

As soon as he saw you trying to say something, Ransom put two fingers inside your mouth so that you weren’t able to talk -or, talk without wet his fingers; “What?” he acted as if nothing wrong was happening. Quite the opposite, there wasn’t anything good in that situation, “Speak”.

“I can’t-“ you stopped at mid-sentence at him pulling down your tongue and, so, making you lower your gaze. Your eyes stopped right on his up-standing dick. You weren’t surprised to notice it was long and thick. You had had a couple of boyfriends, but you had never seen anything like that before.

Ransom was gently stroking it with his left hand -the one he had in your mouth- while his other hand became going down on your face, then his fingertips touched your collar bone very slowly and found your sweet spot between your chest. Once he had understood how powerful the effect of caressing it was on you, Ransom didn’t stop moving his fingers above it and your breath became heavier and heavier, “I’ll tell you what I wanna do with you”. He put his mouth closer to your hear and said: “I wanna fuck you here-“ and he passed a finger on your lips, “-and here-“ his hand slipped down on your body, stopping right on your pelvis, and it got its way into your pants, “-and maybe also here”, with his other hand he grabbed your butt and squeezed it harshly, “Where do you want to start from?”

“I-I don’t think this is a-appropriate, Hugh”, you said as you tried to get away from his embrace, but it was impossible seen his massive body size compared to yours.

“This is highly unappropriated, but you want it as much as I want it”, his lips gently brushed against the skin of your neck. You gasped as he moved his tongue on your half-hidden soft spot under your ear and you shivered, weaving your hands together behind his neck, “C’mon, be a good girl”, you intertwined your fingers.

You didn’t know why, but your defense fell, and you gave up. Ransom took the opportunity to lay his lips on yours, so that you couldn’t help but return the kiss. His lips were exactly as you had always imagined them: soft and tasting like tobacco and mint.

As he loosened the grasp on both your wrists, you were forced to walk back until you hit the wooden structure of the bed with your calves; Ransom broke the kiss and made you fall on the soft mattress. Both of you kept your eyes on each other. You took a long, deep breath as you saw him removing his sweater and toss it away somewhere in the room. Then he placed his hands at the side of your head and stared at you: “We’re gonna take all the time we need, sweetheart”.

You remained still as Ransom removed your t-shirt and jeans and threw them behind his shoulder; once you had been left in only your underwear, he looked at you with a very hungry look on his face and smirked. Less than a second after his lips were on yours again and you laced your arms behind his neck, dragging him closer to you.

“You won’t want another man this close to you after I’ll be done with you”, the built man standing above you said. His hands travelled on your body, his fingertips were burning as they moved on your exposed skin and you couldn’t hold a moan anymore.

“Ransom, please”, you contorted yourself as his hands went down to your core. Another moan was released as his index finger made circles on your clit, making you tremble. You closed your eyes in awe and tilted your head backwards; then, all of a sudden, you felt his mouth work on you and at that point you left behind any hesitation.

His tongue drew circles on your clit harder and harder and you kept moaning louder every time; his teeth gently scratched on your labia as his hands kept you as still as possible. You grabbed the sheets in your hands and held on tight to them when you felt your climax coming.

“Too early.”

You realized he wouldn’t have left you come when he got up and looked at you, “Are you kidding me?” you were more than angry, feeling like he was just messing with you and that, maybe, he would have mocked you in front of his family later that night, “You’re only a fuck-“

Ransom stopped you mid-sentence by ‘putting your mouth to a better use’ -as he would have said. He had lowered his pants and underwear and his cock sprung free right in front of you, then he sat you down on the mattress and he stood up in front of you, his dick touching your lips, “Are you gonna suck it or you just wanna watch it?” he caressed your cheeks and forced you to open your mouth, taking in his long and thick cock. Surprisingly for him, you took it all in, such that the tip of your nose was pressed against the body hair on his pelvis and his balls pounded against your chin each time he slammed in and out, each time faster than before, “Fuck”, he said every time his tip hit that back of your throat and you looked up to him. Needless to say, his eyes were fixed on your face and careful to notice every face you made while sucking him. You didn’t have the control of the situation, rather it was him who was standing upon you and guiding your movement, “C’mon, good girl. You’ll be rewarded”, he put his hands on both sides of you head and pushed his cock down your throat one last time before you felt hot salty spurt swarming your mouth. As you swallowed it, Ransom pulled out and spread a good amount of his white liquid on your face, and your tits, too, “From now on, this is what I’ll think about every time I’ll see you work in the kitchen”, he rubbed his thumb on your cheeks and said: “Maybe, next time, I’ll be so kind to let you fuck yourself on the counter”, he picked you up and bended you over the desk, “But for today, it will be me who will fuck you”.

You felt his cold hand brushing against your butt-cheeks, and you jumped when he smacked both of them at the same moment. You hissed and didn’t say anything; before you could turn your head towards him, Ransom grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you towards him, making you touch his bare chest with your shoulder.

“I won’t go easy on you, sweetheart”, having said that, he made his way inside you and went on until his tip hit your cervix.

That was way beyond any other experience you had had. Not only was he very good with his tongue -as you had the chance to state not later than ten minutes ago-, but Ransom was also a very -very- good fucked: the vigor with which he pounded into you, the same strength with which he held you in place made you scream in pleasure. “Please, oh God!” you cried out as the pace increased.

“There’s no God here, sweetheart, only me”, Ransom whispered to your ear while pounding into you with an ungodly speed, and you could swear you were seeing the stars when he hit your G-spot, “You’re almost there, I can feel it”, one of his hands was placed on your head and the other one went drawing circles on your clit, taking you closer to the edge, “Tell me wat you want, sweetheart”.

“F-fuck”, you hissed as you felt his index finger pressing harder against your clit, “P-please…let m-me cum. I’m…I’m so close”, you raised your head and turned over to throw a look at him, “Please”, you asked him with pleading eyes. Ransom began thrusting irregularly -sign that he was close too- and you started breathing erratically. You cried out very loud when your orgasm finally hit, and a wave of pleasure washed you over. “Fuck…this was-“

“Y/N?! What the fuck are you doing?”

You turned pale. Ransom, instead, looked very amused with himself and was smirking at you, “Notify me when you’ll explain it to her” said him sitting down on his bed, “Please, go”.

“Go fuck yourself, Ransom.”

“Actually, I’ve just fucked you, sweetheart.”

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@chris-evans-is-world

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ALL CHRIS EVANS:

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#ransom x reader #Ransom Thrombrey #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale x y/n #Knives Out #ransom thrombey smut #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom thrombey imagine #Chris Evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader

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puddingsdiary · 2 years

Text

Christmas bakery

Merry Christmas! 🎄🎁 Hope you all get some rest and lots of fun during the holidays.

A couple weeks ago, while making Christmas cookies with my mum I had this idea about Victor and MC making cookies with their young children. While writing it didn’t took that much time (I was surprised by myself), I was reluctant and not confident enough to share it with everyone. So big thanks to @thedummysdummy for giving me the final push. Hope everyone else will like it, too. Now, enough of my rambling, have fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mommy! Wake up!”

The shout, followed by two little elephants jumping onto the bed ripped the sleeping girl out of her dreams. When she opened her eyes the beaming smile of her four year old son greeted her together with the way more serious, Victor-like expression of his twin sister. Both kids were throwing their little arms around her. Still sleepy MC giggled at the enthusiasm of her children and answered the hug.

“Breakfast is ready.” The low voice of Victor informed her from the doorway. “You two, stop keeping your Mom in bed. Come down quickly or I will keep everything for myself.”

“So, I guess you two already peaked. What is it for breakfast?” She peeled off the twins to get up and dress herself.

“Porrish.” The boy answered with a sigh alongside a long face.

“Porridge, Liam and there is nothing wrong with Porridge. Apple-cinnamon is also your favorite flavor.” Turning to return to the kitchen, Victor corrected his son, sighing on his obvious dislike towards today's meal.

“And we all know, there is nothing Daddy cooks which doesn’t taste delicious.” Leaning closer to the boy, MC added in a low voice “Perhaps we can negotiate to get some pudding.” Light reappeared in this junger version of dark eyes, she knew better than anyone else and a grin spread again across Liam’s face. “Now hurry or he makes his threat come true and we don’t get anything for breakfast.” The two children jumped off the bed and made their way back to the kitchen. “Don’t run!” Knowing her kids very well MC called after them. Hearing a grumble made her chuckle.

A couple minutes later MC entered the kitchen dressed in some comfortable clothes ideal to spend a winter Saturday at home with the family. “Good morning.” Serving orange juice to his kids, Victor greeted his wife before walking over to give her a kiss. Ever a gentleman he pulled back her chair to help MC get seated. Breakfast went by fast with idle chatter.

“I heard there were demands for pudding?” Victor asked with a hint of teasing in his voice.

Before MC could even answer, he already gave in. “I’ll think about it. Depending on how much chaos you all gonna cause today.” Partially at least.

That said chaos had arrived within a short amount of time after starting the bakery session as they worked their way through all of those cookies they wanted to make.

Liam stood on a small footstool to help him reach the counter ‘helping’ Victor to make a new batch of dough. While Victor was able to keep his part of the kitchen as clean and organised as possible with his son demanding on helping him, the dinner table, with MC and Grace cutting out cookies and arranging them on baking sheets as well as decorating them, had succumbed to mayhem as it’s best.

MC had flour sprinkled all over her clothes and floor as well as some tidbits of it in her face and hair. Cookie cutters spread all over the place, which she used to make all kinds of different cookies.

Grace knelt on her chair for better access, tongue between her lips, and was decorating cookies with high concentration. And even if she did not need to work with flour, just like her mother, there were stains in her face. Additionally the unicorn apron she was wearing had stains in all kinds of colors. Source of those were the different types of frosting used to decorate. They also spilled out of their containers adding to the chaotic table.

A kitchen timer sounded and Victor walked over to the oven to check on the cookies. Since they were finished, he put on some mittens and took them out, only to add a new batch prepared by his girls.

“Are those the last one of your cookies?” Looking up from the kitchen timer he just restarted, demanding a status report on their progress from his wife.

“Yes. Only the coconut macaroons and gingerbread you just made are left.” Wiping a strand of hair out of her face, MC answered, adding more flour to her appearance. “Well, decorating all of them will still take some time.”

Victor grunted his acknowledgement. “Then I’ll start on the macaroons. Will be less messy.” He cast a glance at the chaotic table.

MC followed his gaze and being unable to deny that it was indeed messy she simply stated “That’s just part of the creative progress. Something you should be well aware of.”

Victor’s eyes returned to MC, clearly stating Dummy with tenderness deep in them.

“Daaad, I want to make more!”

“No, Liam. That’s enough for now. “ His enthusiasm for everything related to cooking and baking made Victor proud. “Help your sister to decorate the finished cookies.” Victor pointed to a couple of cooled cookies ready for their frosting.

Full of energy, Liam climbed on a chair, reached for one of the frostings to get started.

“Take this Liam, Christmas trees need to be green.” He had grabbed a red frosting but Grace handed him a green one.

“But I want this.” He waved with his choice of color adding more stains to the table and himself.

Grace looked at her brother with an exasperated expression. “Have you ever seen red trees?”

“.... No…” A bit at loss he looked at the vibrant red color. “But they are cookies, and no real trees.” After a moment he found an argument to counter his sister.

“Don’t argue.” MC cut in to prevent a fight. “Both of you are right. While there are no trees this red, one can decorate cookies however you want.”

Later that evening, the kitchen as well as the children cleaned and the latter one sounded asleep in their beds. Victor sipped on a glass of red wine with MC in his arms.

“Well, have you made a judgement?”

Confused by the sudden question he looked down to his wife. “Judgement because?”

“To make pudding!” Appalled at how he couldn’t remember their conversation during breakfast, MC tried to remove herself out of his arms, ready to make her point.

“Dummy.” Victor pulled her close again. “Wait and see.” Was everything he said.

#if at least one person like it I'll be happy #mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc fanfic

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derinthescarletpescatarian · 3 years

Text

Trees Are Stupid.

There are some things in life that people learn without ever having to experience them. For me, one of those things really should have been ‘do not sneak out of a second story bedroom window if you have a broken leg’.

In my defense, I’d never had any trouble with the window before. The peach tree in our neighbour’s backyard was broad and healthy and one of its thick, strong branches was within easy jumping distance from my room. I’d silently slid the window open, checked to be sure that I was in the poorly-disguised undercover policeman’s blind spot, and was halfway out before I realised that balancing on the sill might be a little difficult with my right foot and calf encased in plaster.

I gripped both sides of the window frame and balanced as well as I could on my left foot. I’d always been small for my age, looking closer to eleven than fourteen, so the jump wouldn’t require very much strength. The branch, barely visible in the fading light, seemed to wave in time to the gunfire and screaming wafting up from my parents’ movie downstairs.

I leapt, and smacked right into the branch. It was a jump I could normally make without thinking about it, but the broken leg had thrown me off; I smacked chest-first into solid wood and instinctively wrapped my arms around it to keep from falling. The pain rushed through my ribs all the way to my spine, then faded, lingering for an extra moment in the little scar just to the left of my breastbone that I always tried to ignore. Not that I’d be able to ignore it any more, after the accident.

No, not accident. After the attack.

The back porch light was on. Most people would take this to be an accident, but I knew it was my parents’ plausibly deniable polite concession to the undercover police officers we were all pretending not to notice. They needed a clear view of the back door to make sure I was staying in the house like a good little boy. The light clearly illuminated the word WITCH that somebody had spraypainted across the back of our house, but it didn’t reach me in the tree. After a few seconds of stillness in which I waited for someone to move or shout, I felt it was safe to continue.

Arms and knees around the branch, I slid along it over the fence bordering our yard and towards the trunk of the tree. Our neighbours were still awake; light was visible around the kitchen blinds. This wasn’t unusual. It wasn’t all that late.

Normally I’d just drop to the ground and go ring the doorbell, but there was the issue of the police. Something else gave me pause, too; the small wreath of holly and mistletoe hung on the back door. That hurt more than hitting the branch had. Contrary to myth, neither holly nor mistletoe had ever stopped me from entering a building – I wouldn’t be able to enter most shops or cafes if it did – but the Nebits weren’t to know that. They’d always made a point of not warding their doors, and the fact that they’d done so now… well. I couldn’t really blame them, could I?

I switched to another branch, one stretching towards the Nebits’ house. The window I was aiming for wasn’t all that far from my own; it seemed like an awful lot of work to reach it by treeclimbing. If we’d been on the ground floor, I’d almost be able to reach it from my own window.

I couldn’t quite reach it from the tree, though. Again, this was a jump I’d made dozens of times, but it had been hard enough jumping into the tree with a broken leg; even I wasn’t going to try to jump out of a tree at a closed window when I couldn’t even safely stand up. I could envision the result – me slamming face-first into the wall below the window, and the Nebits coming to investigate the noise and finding a broken, bleeding body under their peach tree. Not an ideal situation.

Instead, I plucked a peach from the tree and threw it at the window. A moment later, it opened.

Melissa was sihlouetted in her bedroom light, so I couldn’t see much more than the halo of brown hair she was in the process of brushing, but I knew she was glaring at me. Melissa has the kind of glare you can feel through lead walls. When she grows up and has kids, they’re going to be the most well-behaved children in the world.

“Kayden, what the hell?”

“Are you going to let me in or not?”

“You shouldn’t be here! You’re under house arrest!”

“I know, that’s why I’m in a tree. But it is Saturday.”

Apparently, Melissa couldn’t argue with this logic. She fetched the usual climbing rope from her closet and tossed one end to me. I tied it to the tree, slid my way over to the window, and climbed in.

“Are you alright?” Melissa asked, checking over my arms for scratches and bruises. I didn’t pull away; Melissa gets focused when she’s worried, and it’s generally best not to get in her way. There were dark shadows under her eyes, I noticed, and her normally rosy, freckled cheeks were pale; had she lost sleep over me?

I shrugged. “They discharged me, so nothing can be too wrong with me. It’s not the first fall I’ve taken.”

“You know what I meant.”

I shrugged again.

“We tried to visit you, you know. They had you in some kind of high security ward and Chelsea almost got caught trying to pickpocket a nurse’s keycard.”

I suppressed a chuckle. “Of course she did. She’s not here yet?”

“She was grounded after the keycard thing, so I don’t think she’ll be able to convince her mum to – ”

Just then, Melissa’s bedroom door opened. “Don’t tell my mum I’m here,” Chelsea said quietly. “I’m grounded.”

Melissa threw up her arms. “Did anyone in this neighbourhood not sneak out of their bedroom window today?”

“Um, you didn’t,” I pointed out.

“Neither did I,” Chelsea said. “I’m not an idiot. I used our bathroom window. First floor.”

“Well la-de-da, Miss Police-Aren’t-Watching-My-House,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Kayden, did you climb a tree in your pyjamas?” Chelsea asked.

I glanced down at myself. “Maybe.”

“You’ve lost a button.”

Chelsea, unlike Melissa and I, was not in her pyjamas. She was wearing a flannel shirt that I was pretty sure was mine. Despite being a year younger than me, we were exactly the same size, and more than once she’d joked about getting me a jaw-length blonde wig and herself a shorter brown one to see how long we could pretend to be each other before someone noticed. Said jokes were getting worryingly serious.

“It’s your turn to hide the tracker,” Chelsea reminded me.

Melissa glared at her. “That stupid tracker game created this mess, and you still expect him to play?” she snapped.

“That’s pretty insensitive, Chel,” I agreed. “Especially since I’ve already hidden it. You think the school roof was a clever hiding spot? Oh, man. You are in for a wake-up call.”

She frowned. “You’re bluffing,” she said. “You haven’t had a chance to hide anything. They took you straight home from the hospi – ” She put her face in her hands and groaned. “You found the tracker before you ended up in hospital. You had it with you. And the only other places you’ve been are your house, and a high security ward in the hospital. And you know better than to hide it in your house.”

I spread my hands. “Hey, the circumstances aren’t my fault. If you want to find it, might I suggest stealing a nurse’s keycard? Oh wait.”

“You’re both crazy,” Melissa said.

“That’s a weird way to pronounce ‘incredibly awesome’,” Chelsea said. “When does the cast come off?”

“In another week and a half.”

“Just in time for school holidays!”

“I’m suspended anyway, so it’s kind of a moot point.”

We fell silent. None of us wanted to talk about the next obvious point of conversation.

Eventually, Melissa asked, “What about after the school holidays?”

I shrugged. “They haven’t set a date for the trial or anything yet, so…”

“So you’ll probably get a super long holiday before you’re found innocent and everything goes back to normal!” Chelsea threw an arm over my shoulders. “I’m so jealous.”

I shrugged her off. “I’m not innocent. My victim – ”

“Victim!” Chelsea scoffed. “You know this is Matt Parker you’re talking about, right? If I’d been up there I’d have pushed him off myself, curse or no curse.”

“You’re innocent,” Melissa said. “You know the law. Accidental consequences of curses can’t be prosecuted, unless the carrier of the curse was knowledgably negligent.”

“Fourteen-year-olds shouldn’t use words like ‘negligent’,” Chelsea frowned. “You sound like my dad.”

Melissa ignored her. “You’ve had that curse stuck in your heart since before you could walk, and nobody could ever say you were negligent. It’s done absolutely nothing for fourteen years. No causing sickness, no turning things to gold, it doesn’t even sour milk. There was absolutely no way you could have predicted it to lash out here.”

“That’s the point,” I said. “I should have expected it to lash out, because I should always be expecting it to lash out. My control slipped, and now everyone knows I put that jerk in hospital. He nearly died, you know. I nearly killed him.”

“Your curse nearly killed him,” Melissa corrected.

“I would have nearly killed him if I got the chance,” Chelsea shrugged. “Don’t even need a curse. I would’ve just hit him.”

“Everyone knows that Matt’s injuries are more self-inflicted than anything,” Melissa added. “Nobody blames you for any of this.”

“Then why is there a wreath on your door?” I asked.

Melissa looked away. “My parents are idiots.”

“No, your parents are scared, and they’re right. Your family have known about my curse since I got it. Your parents never had a problem with it, or with me, until now. But now they finally see what it means, what it can do, and they want nothing to do with me. They think I could hurt you, and they’re right. I could kill both of you without warning. Doesn’t that bother you?”

The two girls stared at me, completely unimpressed. Chelsea rolled her eyes.

“Why would that bother us?” Melissa asked. “It’s not exactly new information.”

“You’ve always known about the curse, but now that it’s active and – ”

Melissa waved me silent. “Not the curse. I mean in general. We’re all capable of killing each other if we want. You don’t need a curse for that. Five minutes ago I threw you a rope to climb in my window; I could’ve untied my end and you could very easily have died. Does that bother you?”

“That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t. I’m not saying your curse doesn’t suck, I’m just saying it doesn’t make you a terrifying monster, and anybody who looks at you differently now that it’s attacked Matt is an idiot for not taking it seriously and getting over it years ago.”

“That’s easy for us to say,” Chelsea said, “but to be fair, people have been kind of freaking out. Your family and mine were the only ones around here who ever really knew about the curse. To everyone else, it kind of…” she shrugged.

“Looks like I lied to them about something really dangerous I was carrying around the neighbourhood?” I asked.

“… Kind of, yeah. But they’ll get over it.”

“What’s the internet look like? The police confiscated my phone and I haven’t been online since the whole thing happened.”

The girls exchanged a worried glance.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Mum turned our wi-fi off. I don’t think she wants me to see what people are saying.”

“You don’t want to see what people are saying,” Melissa said quickly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Chelsea said. “If anyone gives you trouble, point at them and babble nonsense until they run screaming.”

“Yeah, because that would help his court case,” Melissa said.

“Nobody can give me any trouble. I’m not supposed to leave the house. Actually, I should probably get back before Mum and Dad notice I’m missing.”

“Righto. Liss, do you have some rope?” Chelsea headed for the window.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Stringing a rope from the tree to your window. Or did you have another plan for getting back in with that?” She nudged my cast with her toe. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She took a rope from Melissa, slipped easily out the window and within seconds was walking along the tree branch outside.

“I’ll never get how you two can do that,” Melissa remarked.

“It’s easy. It’s just one foot in front of the other. Until you slip and break a leg.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll stick to the ground like a normal person, thanks.”

“Sounds boring.”

Melissa chuckled and shoved me playfully. I grinned, trying to keep the mood light. Trying not to think about the future.

Whether I was found guilty of assault or not, I was dangerous, and now the whole street and the whole school knew it. There was no going back from that.

And I didn’t know what to do.

Story continues here.

#writing #curse words #yeah that's right I'm just fuckin'#dumping chapter 1 here #I'm out of marketing ideas #this is what I have been reduced to

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