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raitrolling · 5 months

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Catch Him and Make Him Say

[Easy reading version on Toyhouse]

Sharle watched the slices of wagyu beef sizzle on the small grill at the centre of the table like a hawk, the tongs in his hand poised to snatch up the meat the moment it was cooked to his liking.

Across from him sat his teammate Tira, who had invited him out to lunch to catch up a couple nights after the Twelfth Perigee Ball. While they had attended together, it didn’t take long for the much more social tealblood to mingle with other VIP guests he’d struck up a conversation with, and the blueblood to end up finding his other close friend after getting involved in a small predicament. It was this predicament Tira had seen photos of on both Twitter and Instagram that had piqued his curiosity, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to get Sharle to talk about it in-depth without some sort of leverage.

And what better way to catch a bird of prey than with an offer of fresh food?

While Sharle was laser-focused on his lunch, Tira ordered a couple more sides on his phone, knowing that they could be here a while. This early on into the off-season meant that they could both be more relaxed with their diets, until the new sweep rolled around and it was back to the pre-season grind. Might as well make these last two weeks of freedom worth it.

When he heard the clattering of the tongs as the falcon troll scooped up his wagyu slices and dropped them onto his plate (a sign that he was now capable of multitasking between eating and chatting), Tira cleared his throat.

“So, you and Velour, huh.” the tealblood said with a smirk, picking up his own pair of tongs to drop a few slices of pork onto the now-empty grill.

Sharle looked up, a puzzled expression on his face.

“What about him?”

“I’m just saying, it’s not often you get men literally hanging off you. Like, I know your fans wanna climb you like a tree until they figure out you’re not even six foot-“

“Hey, I’m taller than you,” Sharle interjected with a mouth full of wagyu and rice, then held up his chopsticks to signal that he needs a minute to swallow his food before he can continue. “And he was hanging off me cuz he wasn’t feeling well. It was, er, something about bad seafood.”

“That’s not what the girlies on Twitter are saying,” Tira snickered, picking up his phone again to scroll through his screenshots and read out a couple. “‘Shalour is real I never lost hope!!’, ‘the way Velour is holding onto Sharle so tenderly I’m gonna be sick’ - that’s a positive in stan slang, by the way, oh wait this one’s great - ‘need me a man who carries my drunk ass home from Denny’s at 7am like Sharle carrying Velour’.”

The last one at least made the falcon troll snort.

“Er, who is going to Denny’s that close to the morning? That sounds like they should be going to bed.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Sharlie, no one goes to Denny’s.”

“Huh, alright.” Sharle shrugged, already starting to mentally check out of this conversation. “Your, er, meat needs flipping, by the way.”

Tira looked down and gasped as he caught a glimpse of his pork slices now featuring a very charcoal black underside.

“My piggies! Wait- Hey, you’re using the food as a distraction from our very important discussion!” The tealblood pouted, managing to effortlessly flip the slices over while giving Sharle a mock grumpy look.

“Is it important? Since, er, it’s not like anything happened. I just did what anyone would do, yeah?” Sharle shrugged again, popping another piece of wagyu into his mouth.

“In front of potential paparazzi and nosy fans?” Tira asked, pointing the tongs at the other troll.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t you?”

That response earned another pout from the dragonfly troll.

“Oi, leave me outta this! Of course I would, but I’ve got the better reputation, y’know? I’m the fun class clown with a heart of gold, and you’re the rough and angry bad boy. When you do stuff like that, of course people are gonna turn heads and start spreading rumours.”

The blueblood scoffed.

“Yeah, I don’t get that either. I’d just say there’s nothing happening between us, just like there wasn’t when people tried to say we were secretly pale, or, er, whatever that was.” Sharle shook his head.

“Oof, how cold, you’re breaking all the Shalour girlies’ hearts yet again.” Tira clutched his chest to emphasise his point. “Guess I’m gonna have to hype up team Shamie even more to warm them up to the real ship!”

Sharle’s expression could not be any more blank.

“Er, team who?”

“Team Shamie, duh. Do I need to spell it out for you? You can figure out where in that portmanteau the ‘mie’ comes from, yeah?” Tira repeated with a smirk on his face.

While he didn’t know what the word ‘portmanteau’ meant, Sharle was capable of figuring out what the ‘Sha’ and the ‘Mie’ signified. He shook his head with a snort, picking up some pickled ginger with his chopsticks to mix in with the remainder of his rice.

“Alright, c’mon man, that isn’t a thing. None of the, er, social media people know about that.”

“About what?”

Tira would have given him a smug look, but he was interrupted by the waitress bringing him the side dishes he ordered, a tray with three bowls resting comfortably on her arm. The first bowl set down on the table contained lotus root chips, the second bowl contained a serving of karaage with a small salad, and the third contained a single egg. Tira took the third bowl to crack the egg into his rice and pork slices and mixed it all together, while Sharle murmured an awkward ‘arigato’ to the waitress. She didn’t respond, though it was unclear if she didn’t hear him or was so confused as to why he felt the need to speak to her in East Alternian that she didn’t know what to say.

Sharle then reached over to pinch one of the pieces of karaage, but Tira swatted at his hand with his egg-covered chopsticks. The blueblood made a face in response.

“Ah, ah, ah! No chicken until you tell me what happened with Jamie. You’re hiding something, I bet,” Tira grinned, now able to reach dangerous levels of smug.

Sharle shrugged, keeping his hand in position to snatch the karaage as soon as he’s allowed to.

“I dunno, it wasn’t anything really. Or, er, anything people would care about. We just chatted, danced a bit, and, er, he gave me his cape because he didn’t want to get tangled in it.”

“Ooh, spicy. Like a gentleman offering his jacket to a cold fair maiden!” Tira nodded sagely as he scooped up as much rice, pork, and egg that his chopsticks could hold.

In that moment his guard was down, Sharle swiped the piece of karaage he’d been eyeing off and ate it in one swift movement, looking a little proud of himself. Then he remembered something.

“Oh, yeah. He, er, called me that too after I called him to look after Velour. And, er, he kissed my hand too, for some reason.”

Technically, Sharle hadn’t forgotten that, it was more that when he thought of it, he… Didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t embarrassment he was feeling, since he didn’t mind what Jamie had done, but something similar. Something…

“Oh my god, you were into it, weren’t you? You sap!” Tira’s tone was teasing, but also very endeared by Sharle’s puzzled expression. It was clear that something had awoken in the blueblood that night.

Sharle pursed his lips in thought. “I dunno, it’d probably be the same for anyone, I think. Like, er, it’s not like anyone else has kissed it before.”

“Would you feel the same if it was me?” Tira tilted his head slightly, both intrigued and amused.

“I mean, probably?” The blueblood shrugged. “Like I said man, it was the first time.”

Tira’s eyes lit up and a mischievous smile crossed his face as an idea suddenly popped into his head. He put down his bowl and chopsticks, then gestured towards Sharle.

“Alright, alright, Sharlie. Give me your hand, not the one Jamie kissed just in case you’re doing that thing some fans do. Y’know, the ‘ooh, this celebrity touched my haaand, I’m never washing it again!’ thing?”

Sharle blinked, but offered his hand as he was told to do.

“Hey man, I showered, alright? And, er, why do people do that anywa-”

Before he could finish that sentence, Tira had taken his hand and brought it to his lips, giving it a kiss the same way that Jamie had done.

Sharle could only stare blankly back, utterly baffled.

“Er, okay.” He stared over at his teammate, who was still giving him a cheeky grin in return.

“How’d that feel? Get the same lovey-dovey feelings? Did the sparks fly?” Tira rubbed his thumb against Sharle’s hand for good measure, and was unsurprised to see a complete lack of a reaction from the blueblood.

“It felt like you just kissed my hand.” Sharle replied, his tone plain and seemingly unbothered.

Tira smirked in response, and let go of Sharle’s hand so they could both return to finishing off their meals.

“Sure did buddy, glad those keen eyes of yours work more than just for watching the grill. But, the point is, you prefer when Jamie kisses you, don’t you? A quick peck from your lil’ ol’ teammate just doesn’t do it?”

Sharle paused. He supposed that the two times someone has kissed his hand now had given him completely different feelings. With Tira, it just felt like he was messing around or trying to prank him. But with Jamie…

“... Er, I don’t know, but it was different.” He sounded somewhat unsure, like he was venturing into unknown territory.

Tira grinned, knowing he’s got Sharle right where he wants him. “How so?”

The blueblood paused again, chopsticks resting against his lips while he seriously thought it over.

“Jamie was, er… Softer.” For some reason, the tips of Sharle’s ears blushed blue when he thought of it.

“Aw, are you saying I’m not tender enough for you?” Tira teased, raising an eyebrow at his teammate’s reaction.

“No, er- I don’t think so? I guess Jamie just uses the, er…” Sharle gestured vaguely with the hand holding his cutlery, trying to think of the word. “... The lip moisturiser, yeah?”

The dragonfly troll snorted.

“C’mon, Sharlie, don’t tell me you don’t know what Chapstick is.”

“Hey! Yeah, that’s the word!” Sharle replied, snapping his fingers in recognition. “But, er, yeah, it’s probably that.”

Tira stared silently at his teammate for a moment, and then cracked up into a fit of laughter that would’ve made him slap the table if he hadn’t already picked up his bowl and cutlery again.

“Mate! C’mon, really?” He managed to get out in between cackles. “Okay, okay, alright, sure, sure, whatever you say buddy.”

Sharle looked incredulous.

“Yeah, what’s so funny about that? That’s probably what it is, yeah?” But even he was starting to sound somewhat unsure. Was there really nothing more to it?

He didn’t think it would be anything different, and probably something Jamie does with other people he’s friends with. But if it wasn’t… He’s not sure how he felt about it.

But he did know he didn’t hate it. In fact, he didn’t mind it in the slightest. Maybe he did like it, after all.

Tira eventually sobered up, having had his fill of lunch and entertainment. He set down his now-empty bowl and placed the chopsticks on top of it, then wiped his mouth with the napkin and tucked that under the chopsticks. Sharle was still picking away at the lotus root chips, and appeared to be thinking over something as he had that intense look in his gaze as he tends to do when he’s concentrating.

The dragonfly troll tilted his head in curiosity, wondering what he was thinking about, then cleared his throat to ask:

“By the way, did you get him a Twelfth Perigees’ present?”

Sharle looked up at his teammate, then froze as the realisation hit him.

“Oh. Oh my god that’s less than a week away isn’t it.”

That had been the last thing on his mind.

#drabble #sharle casini #tiraol rikelo #flying lap #and mentions of #velour #everyone congratulate sharle for finally managing to experience a Thought #no he didn't make any other major breakthroughs but he used a braincell now

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waitineedaname · 3 years

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"Accidently ending a phone call with your roommate with a casual ‘I love you’ seems like a very good reason to move out"

For benrey @ gordon?

“And can you pick up some oat milk while you’re there? I just realized I’m out.”

“Man, oat milk freaks me out,” Benrey said, pushing their shopping cart towards the dairy section anyway. “Like, do oats even have, uh. Others?”

“Others?” There was a beat of silence as Gordon attempted to figure out exactly what the hell Benrey was talking about. “You mean udders?”

“Yeah. Cow things.”

“Dude, that’s not how oat milk works.” Gordon’s laugh made Benrey’s cheap phone speakers crackle.

“Then how does it work? Huh? Mister scientician?” Benrey propped the phone between their ear and shoulder as they opened the fridge door to grab the brand of oat milk he knew Gordon liked.

“I don’t fucking know! I’m not a goddamn milk scientist.” Even through a phone call, Benrey could hear the smile on Gordon’s face. “They squeeze juice out of the oats or smush them into a paste or something. I don’t know. Stop making me think about how oat milk works, it’s going to make me not want to drink it anymore.”

“Cool, so I’ll buy milk with extra lactose then.”

“You will not, unless you wanna deal with me laying on the couch complaining all afternoon because my stomach hurts.”

“You do that anyway.”

“Fuck off, man.” Gordon’s tone of voice didn’t carry any bite to it. “Alright, I gotta go, I’m almost at the end of the queue to pick Joshie up. I’ll see you back at home, okay?”

“Mhm. Love you, bye.” Benrey hung up and shoved their phone back in their jacket pocket. They unfolded the shopping list and attempted to decipher the mix of their own chicken scratch, Gordon’s doctor handwriting, and the occasional misspelled request for snacks in Joshua’s six year old handwriting. Okay, they had to get those frozen chicken nuggets Joshua liked, another pack of seltzer, a can of black beans since Gordon was planning to cook dinner tonight-

Thinking about Gordon made them suddenly freeze in place as they realized what they’d just done. Did… Did they just say “love you” on the phone with Gordon?

Aw, fuck.

They’d been living with Gordon for a while now. It hadn’t always been an easy thing for either of them. When they’d been freshly respawned, both of them had been jumpy around each other at best, and at worst, they were at each other’s throats trying to kill each other. It took a long time and a lot of uncomfortable conversations for them to get to the point where they could interact without an unbearable amount of tension. From there, they were able to start rebuilding an actual friendship. Turns out, they got along a lot better when they weren’t in mortal danger. Who knew!

Living with Gordon involved a lot of rules, both spoken and unspoken. They involved stuff like “don’t ask weird questions about Gordon’s feet,” “if one of them gets too angry, walk it off instead of actually fighting,” and “no gross body horror in front of Gordon’s son.” It also involved shit like “please for the love of god don’t put empty juice cartons back in the fridge” and “don’t stain the carpets with Sweet Voice, this is a rental and that security deposit is worth getting back.” So far, Benrey hadn’t had too much trouble following the rules. They had been a security guard, after all; following rules was supposed to be their thing. Besides, they were a low price to pay to get to spend time with Gordon.

One of those early unspoken rules, however, had been “keep the flirting to a minimum.” That one had been a little tricky at first, but it had been necessary, especially back when they still weren’t on the best of terms. Benrey learned that when Gordon was already worked up, blowing a kiss did the opposite of diffusing the situation. This was news to Benrey. Who didn’t love a little kiss from their buddies? Lame.

That had been an early rule, though, and one that had kind of faded into the background over time. The longer they lived together, the more physically affectionate they both got, and a little domesticity is only to be expected when you share a household. It was nice. Comfortable.

And then Benrey had to go and say “I love you” on the phone. What the fuck.

That had to be crossing a line, right? Gordon was fine with some handholding and some cuddling and they’d make dinner together once a week, but this had to be pushing it.

Benrey went through the rote motions of buying the rest of their groceries without really paying attention, too busy panicking. There was only one option. They had to move out. This was fine. This was totally fine. They could just crash on Tommy’s couch until they find a place of their own because there was no way this wasn’t going to make Gordon freak the fuck out. As much as they loved fucking with Gordon, they’d learned there was the fun kind of freaking him out and the bad kind of freaking him out. They were fairly certain this fell into the bad category.

By the time that they were walking up to their apartment door, they were already mentally packing up all their things, resigned to their fate. They were so stuck in their own head that Joshua barreling into their legs when they opened the door actually startled them.

“Benny!” Joshua cheered, clinging to their jeans.

“Hey, li’l dude.” Benrey carefully tried to push past the kid without tripping over him on the way to the kitchen. Tragically, that’s where Gordon also happened to be.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Gordon asked, taking some of the grocery bags from them. “I thought you’d gotten lost in Costco again.”

Benrey grunted noncommittally and started putting away groceries instead of answering Gordon. Maybe if they didn’t look at him, they could avoid confronting whatever Gordon’s reaction was. Yeah, definitely, this seemed like a sustainable, reasonable decision to make. Yep.

“Dude.” Gordon’s hand suddenly appeared on their forearm. Benrey stared at it, then looked up at Gordon’s concerned face. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You’re putting carrots in the utensil drawer.”

Benrey looked down at their hands again. Oh. So they were.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since you got back from the store,” Gordon said, gently taking the carrots away from them. “Did something happen? You wanna talk about it?”

Benrey screwed their mouth up. No, they didn’t want to talk about it, but learning how to talk through things like adults was something they both had agreed to do. That had been a rule introduced by an exasperated Tommy, sick of mediating their bullshit. So, they sighed and looked away while Gordon put the carrots in the vegetable drawer of the fridge. “I was thinking about how I’ve gotta move out.”

“What?” Gordon stood up too fast and smacked his head on the freezer door. He swore loudly, and Benrey reached over to hand him a bag of frozen peas to put on the back of his head. “Thanks. But also, what? Since when are you moving out?”

“Uh, since now?” Benrey said, confused. Shouldn’t it be obvious?

“Why?”

“‘Cause I said I love you on the phone? Dummy? You, uh, a fucking old man got bad brain disease, not remembering things?” They said, defaulting to picking on Gordon to avoid focusing on anything else. Gordon stared blankly at them for a moment, then, against all odds, a grin spread across his face.

“Benrey,” He said, and Benrey decided he didn't like that tone one bit, “Are you embarrassed?”

“Whuh? No.” There was no way they could be embarrassed. That definitely wasn't what was going on here. Nope. Not a bit, “...Maybe.”

“Dude, you don't have to be embarrassed about that.” Gordon laughed. “Do you know how often I've said stupid Freudian slips? I called my sixth grade teacher mom once and wanted to change my name and move to Canada. I've been there.”

“It wasn't, uh… It wasn't too much? Not crossing a line or anything?”

“Nah, man. It was kinda sweet.” Gordon flashed him a smile and finished putting away the last of the groceries.

“Cool.” Benrey relaxed, letting go of the tension that had been building in their shoulders. “That's good ‘cause I was gonna fight you for custody of your Xbox.” Gordon snorted.

“Good fucking luck, you’re too much of a Playstation guy to win that case.”

The evening passed relatively uneventfully from there. Gordon enlisted Benrey’s help in cooking dinner, and Joshua eagerly told them all about the cool dinosaur facts he’d learned in class that day. They went through the easy routine of watching just one episode (which of course always turned into several episodes) of Joshua’s choice of TV, then Benrey helped wash up in the kitchen while Gordon put Josh to bed. Gordon joined them as they finished washing dishes and squeezed Benrey’s shoulder affectionately when they were done.

“Alright, man, I think I’m gonna head to bed early tonight.”

Benrey nodded. “Cool. I’ll be quiet.”

“Don’t worry about it. G’night, dude.”

“Night, Gordon.”

“Oh, and Benrey?” Gordon paused in the doorway of his bedroom and waited until Benrey glanced up at him. Gordon smiled. “Love you too.”

He shut the door before Benrey could respond, leaving Benrey to stare blankly at the door. They let out a groan, careful not to wake Joshua. Oh, Gordon was going to be the death of them.

#hlvrai #frenrey #gordon feetman #benrey #my writing #okay to reblog #this is not my best work but my brain is toxic slutch rn so here you go!!!#I did not proofread this at ALL have fun lol

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

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Guest Side Story

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: T Word Count: 3214

Summary: Sam told Bucky not to flirt with Sarah. But this is her house, so Bucky's pretty sure she makes the rules.

Bucky’s missed white lies. Ones that don’t hurt anybody.

“Is that cigarette smoke I smell on your coat, James Barnes?” “No, Ma. ’Course not.”

“And you’re sure this dame knows it’s my arm she’ll be on?” “Sure, Steve. She’s been after me to fix the two of you up for weeks.”

Stuff like that.

Past few years, Bucky’s either been transparent or a brick wall, all lies or all truth. Which one he loses more sleep over just depended on the day. The most human thing, he’s learning, is to work with a little of both: fact and fiction. Give something here, hold something back there. Lying doesn’t have to be mean-spirited and telling the truth doesn’t have to make him feel hollow and guilty. Maybe you can only realize this kinda thing when you find your way home, even if the home isn’t yours.

Bucky’s standing in the kitchen listening to Cass teach him how to fish. It’s purely theoretical, no gear involved, just the overexaggerated motion of Cass’s arm as he mimes casting. Laughing, Bucky lightly grabs the boy’s elbow before it can collide with the refrigerator on an especially big swing. Cass downsizes his demonstration without pausing the excited flow of his instructions.

AJ catches Bucky’s eye; from the look on his face, he’s beginning to suspect that Bucky might already know how to fish. While Cass is focused hard on his hands pretending to show how to fit live bait onto a hook, Bucky smiles at AJ over the smaller boy’s head and raises a finger to his lips. White lies. Let Cass believe he’s the expert.

When Cass is winding down, Bucky moves around him with a grin, carrying an empty plate to the sink.

“I got it!” AJ declares, whisking it from Bucky’s hand and pumping a squirt of dish soap in the center while his other hand runs the hot water.

Cass slotted the Pop-Tarts the plate lately held into the toaster for him (no better end-of-the-day snack, Bucky was told) and now AJ’s cleaning up. They’re a hospitable family, all day long. No phoniness, no insincere offers of help that they’re hoping Bucky won’t take them up on. He actually had to race the kids to the shed to store a toolbox earlier. On the boat, Bucky has room to put in the effort for the Wilsons, but inside the walls of their home he’s not allowed to do a damn thing because he’s a guest. Per square foot of property, he doesn’t think he’s ever been treated this well in someone else’s house.

“Fine,” Bucky concedes, “but I’m doing all the dishes tomorrow—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And don’t get up early to drink a glass of orange juice and try to wash it before I’m awake, ’cause I’ll be listening.”

The boys giggle and Bucky leans against the counter, hovering while AJ hands the plate off for Cass to wipe dry and pretending not to listen to Sam and Sarah talking in the next room.

…But there isn’t a full wall separating the kitchen from the living room and Sam knows Bucky’s hearing’s good, right? He doesn’t think they’re discussing anything that private and if Sam’s annoyed with him later for what he supposes Bucky might’ve heard, Bucky’ll just offer up another white lie and swear he couldn’t hear a thing. And Sarah… Sarah wouldn’t think any worse of him if she knew. Bucky imagines she’d have a lot of compassion for his frequent urge to give Sam a hard time just for the hell of it. He flicks a quick glance over his shoulder, just to see her, and concentrates on what they’re saying, giving himself vague permission because he overheard his name.

“This was your idea,” Sarah’s saying. “You brought the stray cat home, just like when we were kids.”

“Don’t compare him to something cute,” Sam complains. Bucky’s mouth tenses to keep his smile from spreading too far.

“He is a guest in my home, Sam, and he’s more than earned it after the work he’s been putting in with the boat.”

“And what about the work you’ve been putting in watching him do that work?”

“Sam. Grow up.” Sarah’s voice is playful and Bucky almost turns, wondering what her expression looks like.

“So you’ve just been appreciating his skill with a wrench and some sandpaper,” Sam says skeptically.

“If I’m also appreciating his shoulders in that shirt— if—” she emphasizes when Sam tries to interrupt, “—it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“Ok, you definitely can’t have him sleeping on the couch.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Try to sneak him to my bedroom after lights out? With you listening, trying to catch us? Uh uh. Your sister is a grown woman with two children, a home, and a boat she couldn’t manage to sell, and she can lust where she damn well pleases.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh and AJ gives him a funny look. Kid’s too perceptive.

“He’s tricky,” Sam lectures. “You can’t see it, but I do. I’ve been around him a hell of a lot more. You think he smiles like that at everybody? If he smiles at me at all, I gotta assume he just looked up and saw a meteor hurtling towards where we’re standing and is only smiling because we’ve got seconds to live and I won’t be able to tell anybody.”

“You are hilarious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re telling me your friend is charming. That’s what you’re describing. Don’t I deserve to be charmed? Where else is he gonna sleep, huh? With you? In one of the boys’ little beds while they share the other one? Because I know you’re not suggesting we skip the pretense and put him right in with me.”

Sam lets out a noise of obvious frustration.

“Time to intervene,” Bucky tells Cass and AJ, leaving them to swap confused shrugs in the kitchen as he saunters into the living room.

“Hey,” Sam greets stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

Just for fun, Bucky decides to be all the friendlier.

“It’s so great of you to put me up. Thanks, Sarah. This beats a hotel by a mile.”

“Our gourmet kitchen does offer an impressive range of sugary cereal,” she jokes. “I might even cook you boys a special breakfast tomorrow before you head back to the dock.”

Bucky’s grin widens.

“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t wanna—”

“No, it’s no trouble—”

“Well, that would be—”

“Both of you stop it,” Sam orders.

“Sam, go outside,” Sarah orders right back. “Play some tag with your nephews.”

“Sarah, I’m beat. We’ve been working on that boat all day.”

“Mhmm, you and the rest of the neighbourhood. You worked all day and you come home and there’s still two kids to entertain. But guess what?” She smiles deviously at her brother and throws a few fake punches at his stomach. “You’re Sam Wilson, the Falcon! Looks like you’re special after all. Me and Bucky here know you’ve still got some gas in the tank. Go on.”

Sam looks fairly planted to the spot as he glares from his sister to Bucky, but he eventually moves with a lurching step.

“I’m gonna be right outside,” he warns.

Bucky sidesteps out of his path and says nothing, though it’s hard to resist the instinct to egg him on.

“We’re gonna have a super-secret discussion about which towels he can use,” Sarah goads at her brother’s back.

Sam ignores her, corralling his nephews in the kitchen and guiding them out the door into the fading daylight with a hand on each of their narrow backs.

“Great kids,” Bucky observes.

Sarah nods, watching her family disappear, then turns to him.

“We’re not really gonna talk about towels.”

“No?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise in surprise and delighted anticipation until Sarah grabs a folded blanket off the back of the couch and passes it to him.

“We’re making up the couch.”

“Oh.”

This is ok too. Actually, really nice, standing next to Sarah and unfolding the blanket as she stuffs a pillow into a clean case. Her eyes find his already on her and he swears he almost blushes; he’s been smoothing out the same crease in this blanket for a good thirty seconds with no result, just watching her easy movements, the way she flips her braids back when they fall forward over her shoulder.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” she says, lingering once they’re done.

“I woulda slept on the floor. A closet, even, like Harry Potter.”

“You read Harry Potter? Don’t tell the boys—they’ll be bugging you to play wizards with them.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, I just watched the movie.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“You really better not bring it up then,” Sarah advises. “They’d try to tell you everything at once.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get in out of my depth.”

It feels like a significant look they exchange after his words. Bucky wants it to be—he thinks he does—but he feels awkward, romantically clumsy. Heartstrings tied together like shoelaces, waiting to trip him up. He’s been telling himself she’s only being kind, but after eavesdropping on her conversation with Sam, he knows she’s interested. In his shoulders at the very minimum. Was that right? His shoulders? Just in case, Bucky does his best to square them. Can’t hurt.

He’s fucking ecstatic when Sarah does glance down briefly, her gaze returning to his face with something flustered in it. Sure, she’s a mom and she runs a business, but it’s like she told Sam: she deserves to be charmed. Bucky’s not entirely sure he’s doing it right though.

“So,” she says, “Sam was just being a pain when he tried to convince me you can’t sleep on the couch because you’ve got a bad back, right?”

Bucky sighs but keeps smiling. It’s natural in her presence.

“I’d say that’s him making old-man jokes about me.”

“I apologize for my brother and his bad manners.”

“Ah, he’s not totally wrong,” he concedes, perching on the arm of the couch. “These last few birthdays have required more candles than you could fit on a cake.”

“Then you just have to get yourself a bigger cake.”

Bucky laughs.

“I guess optimism’s pretty much a family trait?”

“We work at it. They say you need to take the good with the bad, but they don’t tell you that means creating the good out of nothing a lot of the time, if you want any at all. The Wilsons worked that out some time ago, so we mostly do alright.”

“It’s a good feeling to be around,” he tells Sarah earnestly. Clearing his throat, he gets to his feet. “Feels good, being around you.”

“We’re… I’m happy you could stay with us.”

The light’s softened in the room and her voice has gone with it. Bucky shifts on his feet.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he assures her.

Sarah’s eyelashes flutter when she looks from his mouth to his eyes. Probably too try-hard to bite his lip now. God, Sam thinks Bucky’s so suave with Sarah, but it feels like he’s only got one move and it’s fucking smiling. Some Casanova he is. Sarah, meanwhile, is beautiful and authoritative and generous and moving closer to toss the pillow he’ll rest his head on tonight onto the couch.

“Anything else you need to be comfortable?” she asks, gaze slipping from one of his eyes to the other. “Another pillow? Pajamas?”

“I’ve got some, but…”

“But?”

Sarah gives him a questioning look and Bucky starts summoning the courage to make a move. He’ll touch her waist—no, take her hand. He’ll cup her sweet face so there’s no doubt what he means.

“But,” he picks up, “if I get cold in the night…”

There’s longing in her eyes, Bucky knows it, but Sam bangs in the screen door right then, one nephew squealing where he’s been slung over Sam’s shoulder.

“Well,” Sam announces loudly to the house at large, “that’s it! No more gas in the tank! Everybody get to bed!”

Sarah appears sorry as she steps back. Bucky almost reaches out to pull her in, to take another shot with another lousy line. Shit, he’s bad at this.

“There are more blankets in the hall closet,” she says, and slips away.

“Thank you,” he calls after her.

Sam walks past, Cass still dangling upside-down over his back while AJ runs ahead, and watches Bucky like a hawk (or some other bird of prey) as he digs through his overnight bag. What’s Sam expecting him to pull out? A strip of condoms? Bucky extracts a green toothbrush and holds it up with an expression of fake wonder. Sam rolls his eyes and heads off down the hall.

They are going to bed early, barely 9pm. That’s probably late for the kids though. Bucky’s pleasantly weary after a day outdoors, more working than talking, feeling like part of something as the Wilsons’ community came together to repair the boat. Seeing Sarah throughout. Flashing Bucky a smile while she spoke to a neighbour, grasping his outstretched hand to let him help her aboard so she could see their progress, checking Sam’s work like she’s his foreman while Bucky grinned and watched the siblings good-naturedly pick at each other. Sam was probably out like a light and Bucky should be too.

He’s not.

He can’t get to sleep right away, but it’s peaceful to lie here on the couch, on his back, while the house gets dark and darker. Sarah left the nearest window cracked for him and a gentle breeze washes in with the chirp of insects. Bucky’s already looking forward to being woken by the sun streaming through in the morning. It’d be good to get from now to daylight in a single stretch of sleep; that’s what he fantasizes about while he lies on his back: no nightmares. His head’s propped up by the pillow he tells himself smells like Sarah, though it probably just smells like her laundry soap.

It’s hard to put his finger on what’s missing, why he can’t fall asleep, until he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps on carpet. They’re too close together to be Sam’s—either hesitant or made by child-sized feet. Bucky cranes his neck around, expecting to see someone walk past on their way to the kitchen for a glass of water. His gaze roams over nothing for a minute, then he slumps back as the footsteps retreat. Maybe it was Sam after all, getting up to look in on his nephews or something. It’s the sorta thing Bucky would do if he were an uncle; he’d treasure the time with those kids, try to remember everything about his visit so he could hang on to it when he found himself half a world away, in Berlin or Riga or Madripoor.

He’s settling, trapping the blanket against his chest with a heavy hand, when he hears the footsteps approach again. Then back away seconds later. Slowly, Bucky starts to smile to himself. It’s Sarah. Can only be her. She’s either trying to psych herself up to come in here and talk to him and failing, or trying to resist venturing down the hall and succeeding.

On her next attempt, she gets closer, and Bucky sits up, kicking the blanket aside, and drops his feet to the floor in anticipation of her rounding the corner. He’s nervously gripping the couch cushion on either side of his knees when she does.

“You sneaking past Sam?” he asks quietly.

Sarah jumps, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You scared me. I wasn’t sure you’d be awake.”

Bucky shrugs, dreamily fixated on her smile. One of her neighbours turns on their porchlight and now Sarah can probably see his smile too.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Shoot. Did you need something else?”

Kinda funny how she’s pretending she was coming out here for another reason and is just making a detour for him. He knows better, but he’s got enough remnants of being a gentleman not to call her out on it.

“Nah. It’s nothing to do with you.” Bucky stares at her a few seconds and changes his mind. “You know what? Actually, it is you.”

“What is?” Sarah asks with a hushed, confused laugh.

“The reason I can’t get to sleep. Sarah…”

But she smiles and does what he did to the boys earlier—holds a finger to her lips.

With the confidence of a woman at ease in her own home and her own body, she steps forward. She wore a yellow t-shirt today, but the one she wears now is pale pink. It’s loose and worn and reveals the strong, elegant curve of her shoulder when she moves and it slips. Gazing up at her, Bucky shifts until he feels the back of the couch. His hands hover in the air as Sarah digs one knee, then the other, into the cushion on either side of him. She lowers herself onto his thighs.

Moving slow like the hour, deep like the black sky, Bucky runs his hands up her back.

Sarah’s palms land on his shoulders and, smiling, she confesses to him, “I like these.”

He’s smirking when she ducks her head to kiss him.

Now that he has her here—on his lap, in his arms—Bucky forgets every way he wanted to touch her earlier. How he was gonna woo her with tender contact applied just right. Well, thank god for Sarah. She sets the pace of the kiss and, when his hands go still at her upper back, reaches around to bring one of them back down to her waist. He can feel that there’s no bra beneath her shirt.

“Rusty,” he breathes when their mouths slide apart.

“You were on that old boat all day,” she reminds him. “You know I’ve got patience for rusty.”

Still, Bucky wants to do a little better, prove that maybe he’s what she had in mind when she decided he was worth smiling at. He cradles Sarah closer, pulling her in, dipping his fingers into the valley of her spine when she arches into him. They kiss firmer, then faster. At her quick nod of encouragement, he moves his hands to her hips. Lower.

“Sarah?” Sam slurs sleepily from down the hall. “You outta bed?”

Sarah presses a hand to Bucky’s chest and pushes off his lap, other hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. He chuckles too.

“As the Falcon, timing is one of his greatest strengths.”

“And as his sister,” Sarah counters, “it gets on my last nerve.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna say that, but…” Bucky grins.

“Sarah?” Sam calls out again.

She sighs.

“Is he trying to wake the boys?” She takes a step away from the couch, wearing a regretful smile. “I better go.”

Bucky catches himself before he can blurt out I’ll miss you. Overeager fool.

“See you in the morning?” Sarah checks, something shy about her now, but not in a bad way. Cautiously hopeful, Bucky thinks. He’s been feeling that way himself.

He gives her one more smile for the road.

“You bet.”

#my writing #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #Bucky Barnes #bucky x sarah #Sarah Wilson

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comradekatara · 3 years

Note

Do you think any of the members of the gaang have hot takes on food?

when katara informs zuko that she simply cannot stand spicy food, zuko is like “you know, azula hates spicy food too. but she’d always eat the spiciest thing on the table anyway, just to prove a point.” and katara’s like “wow your sister’s dumb as hell” and zuko’s like “lol.......yeah.”

toph maintains that “rich people food tastes worse” and the best meal she ever had was a bunch of leftover dim sum she found in the garbage

aang’s really intent on repopularizing lychees after the war. he just thinks everyone should be eating more lychees, always

sokka’s “hot take” on food is that he has a teenage boy metabolism and if he does not shovel as much sustenance of any kind into his mouth hole as frequently as possible, he will get very cranky. fine...........crankier.

suki always carries fruits on her that are easy to peel and eat on the go, and whenever one of her warriors/friends/cranky boyfriend seems tired she immediately procures a snack, as if materialized out of thin air, at exactly the right time. it’s one of her superpowers

zuko will only drink tea if it’s been made by someone he loves. otherwise, he’s just drinking hot water with loose garbage in it, and what’s the point in that??

toph is actually the best tea-maker in the gaang. she understands the ritual, the artform, the waiting, the listening. as much as zuko tries, patience was never one of his virtues. sokka has tea-making down to a science, and katara pours love into every cup, but only toph’s tea could truly be mistaken for iroh’s. it’s a very slight difference, and only iroh can truly sense it, but he knows, and toph knows.

sokka is the first to notice that mai never actually eats. like, sure, she eats, but it’s always so slow and methodical that it seems more like a ritual, or a forced habit, than anything else. she takes a couple bites, and then she sets her food aside, mechanically, every time. but the thing about mai is, she loves food. especially “junk food,” desserts, bread, all the stuff she refuses to indulge in because whenever she tried to as a child her mother would scold her, ask her if she was trying to get fat, hmm?? sokka laments to toph and suki that they need to find a way to get mai to eat more, and so they’re always subtly inundating her with snacks, taking her out to eat, encouraging her to bake more. mai loves baking because it combines precision and artistry and eating desserts (she bakes with aang and suki a lot). eventually she starts feeling more comfortable around food. the voice in her head telling her that she’s taking up too much space is now replaced by suki peeling her a clementine.

azula would eat even more regimented and ritualistically than mai. she would only eat if she had performed perfectly than day, and when she did eat, she would single out rice by the grain. when zuko told jin that she had “quite an appetite for a girl,” it was simply because he had never known a single female human in his entire life to appear to enjoy the taste of food. part of azula’s recovery involves her learning to eat with her hands, with abandon.

whenever ty lee cooks for mai, she always tries to arrange whatever she’s made into a smiley face. and every time mai’s like “I can’t eat this. I’ll ruin your masterpiece” and ty lee’s like “if you don’t eat this whole thing so help me god I will be so hurt and offended I will have no other option but to divorce you.” and mai’s like “but we’re not married.” and ty lee’s like “DID I STUTTER!!!!!!” and then mai eats the whole thing in under a minute flat. they do this bit every time, and it never gets old.

aang and suki bond over being the only vegetarians in the gaang. after becoming a kyoshi warrior, suki manages to convince ty lee to join them. while they appreciate that katara and sokka could never actually be vegetarians, for they respect their cultural/regional diet and traditional/sacred hunting practices, toph, on the other hand, has no cultural attachment to meat, other than the fact that she simply loves steak.

when it comes to vegetarianism, zuko is torn because on one hand, the thought of killing animals horrifies him, but on the other hand, he grew up eating meat his whole life and he has no idea how to give up kebabs. yes, aang, he knows it used to be an animal, but now it’s just a lump! a very delicious lump! sokka’s like “oh so this means it’s a go on cooking the turtleducks?” and zuko knows that he’s only saying that to provoke him but. it works regardless.

katara always claims that she hates doing all the cooking, but also refuses to let anyone else try to cook when she has appointed herself head chef. she claims that the secret ingredient to making soup is waterbending, and no one else has the right touch. even aang, who is also a waterbender. sokka’s like “don’t bother arguing with her over this she has a whole complex over this and trying to unpack it would take way too long.” only like thirty years later does zuko admit that he’s always found her food....kind of bland. katara’s like “oh so now u wanna colonize my soup too, with your racist spices??? typical.”

katara hates papaya, but she dutifully ate one for breakfast anyway, because aunt wu told her to. having noticed this, aang assumed she liked papayas, and always makes sure to get some for her whenever the opportunity so arises. the gesture is so thoughtful that katara doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. she grows to like papaya.

#kiyokospeaks-moved #kiyokospeaks #asks #the gaang and #not tagging everyone lol #wow this got way longer than I thought it would be #eating disorder tw /#ed tw /#just in case #for mai & azula

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petri808 · 3 years

Note

OHMYGODDD JUST SAW YOUR LATEST POST I LOVE IT ANGST WITH A HAPPY ENDING IS JUST CHEF'S KISS. I WOULD LOVE TO SEE 42, 49 and 13 FOR NALU PLEASEEE CAN'T WAIT TO READ ITT

😳 Ya’ll really love angst huh? Lol okay, sure let’s see what I can come up with. 😊 “You can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen, cause guess what? It did!” + “I’m pregnant” + “Im too sober for this”

Lucy’s knees weakened and sent her crumbling to the bathroom floor. Why was this happening to her?! She’d just finished college and was about to start her paid internship with a local newspaper. ‘What am I gonna do?’ Lucy gripped to the stick in her hand as the tears trickled down her face. This could derail her future before it even started— all because of one slip-up. How was she going to tell Natsu… Not knowing who else to talk to, Lucy turned to her best friend Levy McGarden. She texted the woman and drove over to her friends apartment in dread.

“Oh, Lu…” Levy hugged her friend tightly before pulling her into the small apartment. She sat Lucy down on the couch, then made them both some tea. “How you feeling?” Levy asked as she handed the cup over.

“How do you think I’m feeling?!” Lucy groaned. “I feel like I’m in a nightmare.”

“Are you sure the results are correct? You know those home pregnancy tests can be wrong.”

“I don’t know, I mean I followed the instructions and it didn’t give an error sign.” Lucy pulled the stick from her pocket. “See?” She showed it to her friend. “Two lines.”

“Oh— yeah, looks like it,” Levy agreed.

Lucy pocketed the test once again and hung her head. Both hands cradled the warm cup, just holding it without a desire to drink from it. “Just thinking about this is making me sick. Maybe I can just pretend it’s not true.”

“Lu, that’s ridiculous. I’m pretty sure the growing bump on your stomach will make that difficult.”

“Ugh! I know!” Lucy shrieked. “Lie to me or something… Levy, I-I don’t think I can deal with this!”

“Well, you have to. And how am I supposed to lie about this?!”

“I don’t know, tell me this is a dream. Just a bad dream that I’m gonna wake up from. The test was wrong, something! Maybe it’s just a fiction story I’m working on cause I just don’t wanna think about it right now.”

“I’m sorry, but you can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen, cause guess what? It did! Lucy you have to face reality.”

“What am I gonna do Levy? I can’t be having a baby!”

“Well first things first, you need to tell Natsu— I’m assuming it’s Natsu.”

“Of course, it’s Natsu! I haven’t slept with anyone else.”

“Well you need to tell him. He deserves to know.”

“I know…”

“Natsu’s a stand up guy, I know he’s going to do the right thing.”

Lucy sighed, “that’s not what I worry about. I mean having kids is something that’s crossed my mind… just not anytime soon. We’re not even married yet. Ugh! I’m such an idiot.”

“Sometimes these things happen.” Levy placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Can’t go back to the past, so now all you can do is figure out the now. Do you have any idea when it happened?”

“My guess is my graduation party, cause that was the last time we had sex. I barely even remember it cause I was so drunk,” Lucy whimpered, then started to sob. “We’re usually careful but… yeah, it had to be that.”

“Come here,” Levy pulled her friend into a hug. “You’re gonna be okay. Whatever happens, you’re gonna be okay.”

The women spent a couple more hours chatting, flipping between random topics, but often coming back to this one. Lucy struggled to even wrap her mind around the reality that this is real. That she was going to have a child, when she was barely an adult herself and all the factors involved only compounded her dilemma. Her new job isn’t going to afford a child. Natsu had a decent job, but even combined it would be a struggle. They’d have to find a place together, a two bedroom house or apartment. What about the medical expenses, and the baby supplies— babies are expensive! Where was the money going to come from?

When Lucy noticed the time and realized Natsu would be coming home from work within the hour, she thanked her friend for the support and bid her goodbye. Even though she had calmed down a little, she wasn’t ready, didn’t know what or how she was going to break the news to him. So, after arriving home, Lucy tried to distract herself by cooking dinner. It didn’t really work, but at least a meal was made. Her life until now had been going well in that she had a boyfriend who treated her right, supported her while she finished her degree, even pushed her to follow her dreams of writing. And now that her degree was finished, Lucy was on her way after landing the paid internship. If she passed the internship, they would offer her a permanent position at the newspaper.

But now all of that felt like it was slipping through her fingers. All her hard work for nothing because juggling a small child and going to work… Maternity leave is not paid, so they’ll have to rely on just one income for a time, then daycare is quite expensive. Sure, there are programs that she could apply for to help or family, but that’s not the point— the point is, they are sorely not ready to become parents.

“I’m home!” Natsu called out as he entered the apartment. “Something smells good!”

“Welcome home, Natsu.” Lucy called out from the kitchen. “It’s almost done.”

Natsu detected a change in his girlfriend’s tone. Usually when he gets home, she’s in a happier mood— but not today. He threw his keys onto the kitchen island and walked up, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Everything okay?”

Whatever words she’d planned to say were thrown out the window as tears pooled instantly in Lucy’s eyes. “Natsu, it’s…”the words stumbled out, “um… I-I’m pregnant.”

“P-Preg…nant?!” Natsu took a step back in shock, his trembling hand moving to cover his mouth. “Oh, wow— I’m too sober for this,” he mumbled.

“Pregnant,” she repeated as the sobs broke free. “And alcohol is what got us into this mess!” Lucy snapped and sobbed louder.

“Oh, h-hey now, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Natsu pulled her into his arms. “Don’t cry baby, please don’t cry, I hate seeing you cry.”

“Natsu, I’m pregnant, did you hear me?! Pregnant! I can’t be pregnant!”

“Shh… I hear you,” he gently coaxed Lucy to the couch and had her sit down, then sat beside her, cradling her close. “True, it’s not the best time… but we can make it work.”

“You don’t understand, I’m not ready, Natsu. I don’t think I could handle it…” all the reasons refreshing in her mind. “I have no experience with with kids. What if we screw up? It’s just…” Lucy sighed. “I think… I’m too overwhelmed right now.”

“Okay, well— they make those things now, the, um, end pregnancy stuff.”

“I don’t know…”

“Lucy, I’ll support whatever decision you make.”

“You say that now, but later you’ll probably resent me for… kil— doing that,” she mumbled.

“I don’t know that so neither can you. All I do know is that yes it might hurt— but you’re the important thing right now, and if you say you’re not ready, then I have to accept it. Kids are never easy, I doubt all the preparation in the world can really make a difference. But Lucy,” he took her hand and held it to his chest. “As long as I’ve known you, whatever you choose to do you’re great at it.”

“Really?” She looked up with hope filling her eyes for the first time all day.

Natsu smiled. “And who better to start a family with?” He cupped her cheeks and kissed her. “Then a smart, sassy, beautiful woman like you.”

Lucy’s eyes flooded with tears. “You really think we can make it work?”

He nodded. “As long as it’s something we really want, then yeah.”

After a momentary pause, Lucy let out a long stabilizing exhale. “Okay. I’ll call my doctor and make an appointment tomorrow to check.”

“Really? Y-You sure? Because I don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to coax you into this.”

“No, I-I’m pretty— sure. Things sometimes happen for a reason, right? Maybe it’s meant to be.”

Natsu pulled her in for another longer kiss. “Guess I better hurry up and marry you then,” he chuckled.

She snorted a laugh. “I guess so mister!”

He pulled her close again, hugging her to his chest. “I love you so much baby.”

“Mmm, I love you too.”

“My own baby momma,” he teased.

Lucy slapped his chest with a giggling shriek. “Don’t you dare call me that!”

“Oh,” he grinned, “I’m totally getting t-shirts made.”

#fairy tail #nalu #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #nalu drabble #nalu fan fic #nalu fan fiction #nalu au #pregnancy

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bugsbunnybisexual · 3 years

Text

Only fools fall for you, only fools.

Only fools do what I do, only fools fall.

Random Baffy thoughts

Hi motherfuckers,

I have no idea what's gotten over me today but I cannot, for the life of me, stop thinking about Baffy. So much so that I made this blog on a valuable Friday that I should be using for productivity. Holy shit.

Keep reading if you wanna hear my spiels.

First, some easy-to-digest headcanons:

Bugs is 26, Daffy is 28

Bugs is bisexual biromantic, Daffy is demisexual biromantic

Bugs is Egogender, Daffy is Nonbinary and will describe his gender as "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Bugs Black, Daffy Black-Desi, specifically Bangladeshi

Daffy knows some broken-ass Bengali

Fools by Troye Sivan is a song that Bugs will sometime listen to and contemplate his romantic choices. LMAO but he will never tell Daffy that-

Bugs listens to a lot of Hip-Hop and old-school Rock. Daffy likes classic music because he thinks it makes him smarter. And older Desi music, like old movie ballads

Bugs has OCD. He's experienced depression before but it doesn't really flare up anymore

Daffy has OCD too. Don't @ me, all my faves get OCD okay? Along with that he has generalized anxiety disorder

Bugs likes reading about History & Physics

I like to think they have a sun/moon thing going on with Bugs being the sun and Daffy being the moon. All my ships have this dynamic, I know.

IDK there's more I can't remember right now...

Bugs' Flags:

Daffy's Flags:

Now, my basic idea for them...

If you notice in TLTS, Bugs doesn't HAVE to let Daffy stay with him, but he does. Though Daffy is basically a freeloader, Bugs never complains. To me, I definitely see this as Bugs being interested in Daffy in a more intimate way than one might think. Bugs has the ability to be roommates/housemates with other people who may have a job or whatever but Bugs doesn't particularly care. Moreover, Bugs is shown to be annoyed of others easily while being very patient with Daffy. You see what I'm talking about?

Meanwhile on the other side, yeah I know TLTS is comedy and everything - but - if we suspend the comedy for a second, I would like to imagine that Daffy actually has issues. Now, this has been supported by official/canon media before. Particularly in Back in Action. Daffy is shown in that show acknowledging that he feels people like Bugs a lot, but don't like him.

So, if we suspend the comedy for just a second, and talk about Daffy's issue, for some goddamn reason I LOVE and absolutely LOVE the idea that Daffy has difficulty understanding why Bugs loves him. And he questions it a lot. And gets upset over it. And Bugs can't really explain it, either, other than just saying "I like you for who you are. You may be a pain in the ass sometimes but that doesn't change the fact that I enjoy your company, I enjoy you."

I also like to imagine that their relationship is nowhere near perfect, sort of similarly to TLTS's approach to Bugs & Lola, where they are somewhat aware of the fact that they're a couple but continue to have miscommunications & difficulty. Except with Bugs & Daffy it's a lot louder, with a lot more accusations, but they make up in the end, because they have a mutual understanding that isn't obvious at first sight, but the more you see them interact, the more you realize they understand each other a lot better than it seems on the outside.

And then comes the lovey-dovey stuff.

Oh the lovey-dovey stuff.

I'll be putting them under a read more, it gets intimate.

So, Bugs is clever. He doesn't really exercise his flirting skills with Lola in TLTS, partially because Lola is more interested in him than he is in her. But in the classic Looney Tunes you can see how good he is with flirting with people of all genders and how easily he catches people off-guard with witty flirting. So, I'd like to imagine that doesn't change with TLTS Bugs, either. He just uses this type of flirting on very specific people. And Daffy is definitely, definitely one of them.

Daffy has a big but fragile ego. It's easy to trip him up with the right words & actions. And as I said, Bugs is smart, he knows Daffy very well. He knows exactly what to say to get to Daffy, and he loves using this as an advantage, especially when there's a fight between them.

There is a LOT of Bugs just using Daffy's words right back at him in a flirty way. Lots of shutting Daffy up with a kiss, lots of intimidating leans from Bugs, and a lot of flustered Daffy who doesn't actually know what to do with real affection and love because he barely knows what that is.

Daffy stuttering, having difficulty making eye-contact, being unable to believe what's happening, blushing, and just falling deeper in love every time Bugs flirts with him. And don't get me wrong, Daffy LOVES it, but he doesn't know how to react or just...how to compute. He short-circuits.

And Bugs enjoys that a lot. He loves seeing Daffy all flustered, confused, seeing his ego disappear and only his vulnerable and emotional self being visible, seeing Daffy being unable to stand on his feet flippers because of how nervous he is, refusing to look Bugs in the eyes until Bugs connects their foreheads...it gets Bugs just as flustered as Daffy is. He's just a lot better at controlling his emotions and not wearing his heart on his sleeves during intimate moments.

CW // Suggestive or NSFW

And of course, this dynamic continues onto bed, as well. Bugs loves showring Daffy with compliments as they fuck, only for Daffy to be completely flustered and unable to compose himself throughout the whole thing. Sometimes, if Daffy has the energy, he will grab Bugs, kiss him and tell him to shut the hell up. Which will usually lead to Bugs giggling and throwing a "fine, sure, we'll play it your way" and finally letting Daffy take the occasional lead.

Their physical intimacy will involve nibbling and hickeys from Bugs' side, tiny little bites hidden all over Daffy's body under his fur. And Bugs thinks Daffy gives the best head. Daffy's beak is sensitive and squishy, and easy to tickle.

NSFW over //

Some random intimate stuff:

Daffy really likes PDA but has difficulty expressing that he'd like to do things like holding hands in public. Luckily, Bugs understands and makes his moves bravely.

As they get older, Daffy humbles up and gets a lot better with his emotions and starts being a helpful househusband - cooking, cleaning, helping with chores and just making their home a nice environment. Bugs really appreciates this. Daffy understands later that he just doesn't like the corporate world, which is why he never liked working jobs.

The wedding is huge because Daffy wants it huge and Bugs actually exercises his popularity and riches for their wedding day. Daffy is genuinely so happy that Bugs feels greatly satisfied about his decisions by the end of the wedding. Also Bugs wears that one tux with a skirt wedding outfit. You know the one. Daffy can't decide between a tux and a wedding dress and flips a coin which lands on wedding dress, LMAO. It's his mom's old dress. Yes it is a Sari, if you thought it was a western wedding gown then the L is on you.

They play a lot of Troye Sivan, BTS, Pink Sweat$ & Kehlani on their wedding. Why? Because I said so, that's why.

...and that's about it!

Yeesh!

GO WATCH THE LOONEYTUNES SHOW. IT'S GAY, I PROMISE YOU.

#baffy #bugs bunny #daffy duck #the looney tunes show #my posts #poddo screams into the void as no one gives a shit #yes that poddo. poddostarline lmao #looney tunes #long post

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someone1348 · 3 years

Text

This is for my lovely best friend who was kind enough to write me a fic! Here's yours! @sleepy--anon i hope you enjoy!

People in this: Ler!Sapnap, Lee!Quackity

(Karlnapity romance so if you dont like that dont read it!)

Tw: like the smallest bit of angst (jealousy) pretty much! Thats it though it's soft! For the most part! And mild cursing!

Plot: While Karl is out on a "business trip" (time travel stuff) he leaves his other two husband's alone and well lets just say it was an eventful evening to say the least

With all that being said enjoyyyy :]

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Jealousy

Tickle fights and Tickling in general was almost an everyday occurrence in the Karlnapity household. It pretty much was second nature to the three.

With that comes ler moods and lee moods poping up left and right. Typically between the three Sapnap was ler the most, followed by Quackity with Karl most of the time being lee, nothing bad of course, they loved the dynamic of everything from this specific thing to how their relationship worked. They were happy and that's all that mattered.

The days went on as they normally do.

"EE! SAHahap! StahAhap!" Karl would twist around from Sap's evil fingers pushing at the boy's hands, giggling freely as quackity watched smiling a bit as his two husband's went on to do what they do.

It was always like this for the most part. While he was getting a snack,

"No pLEase!! Hehe" Karl's beautiful laugh could be heard from the other room.

While cuddling, sap would run his fingers over the time traveler's stomach sending sweet giggles to flow out of their husband's mouth.

Even in the store one time Sapnap poked at Karl's sides. Of course Quackity would join in sometimes to tickle his favorite lee (leaning) fiancé, but he was jealous, beyond jealous.

Seeing this everyday not only built up on his lee moods but he just wanted to be involved, not just in tickles but in the relationship. He wants cuddles and attention and affection from the two people he loves most.

And yeah with the lee moods he has bad but it's not the same. He wants his husband's and so help me thats what he was gonna get. He was a man on a mission.

'Let's goooo!!' He thought in his head as he started the day.

Karl had left last night, the bed was alot colder now. He turned to see Sap curled up onto his side his mouth slightly a-jar with his hair flowing perfectly on top of his face.

He sighed happily lightly pushing some of the hair out of his face. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this happy and in love.

'I'm gonna make him breakfast' He thought getting up carefully as to not wake him and got started on cooking up his favorites.

Not even 20 minutes later the firey boy poked his head into the kitchen

"Waffles?"

"Mhm"

"Mmmm yay! Thank you babe!"

Quackity smiled "Anytime"

After the two finished the scilence became loud.

"What do you wanna do?" Quackity asked rocking a bit back and fouth on his heels trying not to make the scilence anymore awkward.

"I got work to do so you entertain yourself, I'll be quick"

Quackity nodded "okay! Good luck!"

"Thanks" Sap said shooting him a smile leaving back to their shared room to do the said work.

The beanie boy sighed flopping down onto the couch. He flipped on a random channel and texted Karl.

'Hey Baby!! I hope your trip is going good,we miss you and can't wait to see you tomorrow!<3'

(10:35)

He held the phone close to his chest letting out another sigh. He knew in his heart that Sapnap was gonna be busy all day so instead of sulking he told him he was going for a walk.

He went walking around, coming back, making more food, playing video games. All while sap typed away at the keyboard.

It wasn't helping at all it only increased the feeling of wanting to be with his Sapnap, his fiancé, he wanted attention and love dammit!

The smaller boy marched up to their room.

"SAPNAP!!!"

the bandana wearing man shook and snaped up to look at his clearly ticked off tiny lover.

"WOAH! what!?! Yes?!" He said furrowing his eyebrows.

"Are you done yet?"

The other slowly blinked "uhhhh,," he looked back at his work "nope not yet"

"Too bad! You are now finished because i say so!" He crossed his arm's

"Ha! Yeah thats cute hun but im busy, i gotta get this done, im sorry, I'll be there soon"

Quackity scoffed "whatever" he left as sapnap sighed

'He's never like this, maybe i should stop and check on him' Sapnap thought closing his laptop quietly sneaking up on his amazing fiancé on the couch.

"HIYA!" he tackled him to the couch holding him close.

"WA!- SHIT!" he fell over with him now in a cuddly trap, smiling widely giggling a bit.

"What's wrong Quacky babe" Sap said concerningly putting his head to his adorable smol husband's shoulder.

"I wanted to hang out together,,, i want to be involved, i want attention and affection and love sapnap and i haven't gotten anyyy in a long time" Quackity spilled out as sap processed everything.

'Looking back i see where he's coming from, it's been alot of Karl-'

"Don't get me wrong i love karl and i love giving him attention and affection and everything and i love watching you two be that way with each other i just i guess i felt a bit left out"

Sapnap nodded,

"Im Sorwy baps, forgive me?" He used his small voice making quackity cringe a bit jokingly.

"Give me attention and we will see what happens" He smirked

"Hmmmm" He anticipated his moves and ideas watching quackity's eyes that were pointed right to his hands

'So that's what he wants' he smirked wider lightly running his fingers slowly up and down his sides.

The other on top of him tensed "s-sap"

"Yea babe?" He said as if he wasn't tracing the man's sides with tickly anticipation.

"W-what are you doing?"

"Giving you attention, isn't that what you wanted?" He smiled at him as Quackity sank into Sapnap's embrace leaning his head on the pillow behind them, Sapnap's head still on his shoulder.

Sap lowly giggled quickly stittering his hands his stomach then back to his sides watching him lift up and squeak.

"You're such a dick" Qauckalee said in a joking matter making Sapnap's smirk deepen.

"Oh im a dick?!" He digged into his stomach watching as quackity squealed digged his heels to the end of the couch.

"NAHAHAHAHA! SAHAHAPNAHAP!"

"Thats my name love~" sap moved closer towards his bellybutton.

"AYEHE NOT THERE!"

"Yes there! The giggle button has been unpressed for wayy to long, i need it to make up for the lost times Quackity"

"NOOHONONONO- AH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA GEHHEHEHE! GOHOHO-EEP!"

Sapnap giggled with him taking in every werid noise and laugh that the touch starved lee had made.

Seeing it was clear he wasn't used to it he slowed down moving back to his sides lightly to get his breathing steady again.

"Easy tiger, i got you" he reassured him getting his breathing together

"Im gonna getcha'!" Sapnap said moving up towards his ribs scribbling along up and down and In-between.

The smaller's back arched as his giggles mixed into light laughter.

"AyEehehe naha-Ha! Tickles!! It tickles!!" The man rang out trying to squirm out of his fiancé's tickle trap.

"Thats the point Quacker's im hungryyyy i need your giggles to surviveee" he lightly blew a raspberry onto his neck, the other scrunching up

"Nomnomnom" he made fake eating sounds, playing pretend before blowing another raspberry into his neck.

Sapnap giggled and stopped holding him close rubbing circles into the top of his hand

"Come here bubba" He lifted Quackity up letting him wrap around him while he got a blanket.

Sitting back down he put the blanket overtop of them throwing on the Disney movie Coco for some well deserved aftercare and fiancé time, Playing with his hair Sapnap smiled down at his man kissing the top of his head.

"We gotta get you a haircut buddy its so long" he teased as quackity laughed

"I'll get a haircut the day you shave" the tired one teased back both laughing together enjoying the moment, the beanie boy slowly falling asleep on his chest.

"Goodnight handsome" he placed another kiss to the top of his head.

*Ding!*

Quackity's phone went off, Sapnap looked, it was Karl.

'Hi bubby!! It's going lmao, i miss you both so much too! I'll be home soon i promise! And when i do get home It's cuddle time! Hehe I'll talk to you soon quack baby! Tell sap i said hi and that i love him too! *mwah!*'

(8:17)

Sapnap smiled and put the phone back down to the side of him, smiling at the boy in his arms.

'Homework can wait'

_________________________________________

I absolutely LOVED writing this! I love Karlnapity! I hope you all enjoyedd! :]

#ler!sapnap #lee!quackity #k writes tk things #dream smp tickle #dreamsmp tickle fic #mcyt tickle #mcyt tickle fic #karlnapity tickle fic #karlnapity

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rahleeyah · 3 years

Text

A little follow up to this post; Elliot's new partner comes over for dinner.

The next day, Stabler comes in looking a little sheepish.

"Doing anything Friday?" He asks.

They've only been working together a month or two, and they don't really talk personal stuff, as evidenced by the fact that Stabler introduced him to his not-wife and didn't even bother to mention her connection to him. Stabler's never asked him about his weekend plans. Mark is immediately wary.

"Why?"

Stabler laughs.

"Listen, Liv wanted to know if you wanna come by for dinner. The boys have sleepovers that night."

Idly Mark wonders if all six of their kids are boys and where the hell they found six families willing to host them for sleepovers. Maybe some of them doubled up. His first instinct is to say no, but honestly, he's curious about her. Captain Benson. Olivia. Liv.

"Yeah all right," he says.

"You should bring your girl. If you want."

Mark raises an eyebrow at him, and Stabler lifts his hands in a "don't shoot the messenger' kind of way.

"Liv said I should ask," he says, like that explains everything.

"You always do everything she tells you to?"

Mark just wanted to tease him about being whipped, but Stabler's face gets kinda serious.

"Yeah," he says. "There's a lot of shit in my life went wrong that would've been right if I just listened to her the first go round. Took me thirty years but I've learned my lesson."

Thirty years. That's a hell of a long time, Mark thinks. Thirty years, six kids, four grandkids, and working the job the whole time. He doesn't know how they're still alive.

"Her name's Kelly," he says. His girl. "I'll bring her."

Stabler gives him a smile that's all teeth.

So Friday rolls around and Mark and Kelly turn up at the address Stabler gave them with a bottle of cab bc he says Liv only drinks red. It's a nice little house in Queens, on a nice little street, two big ass black suvs parked out front. His and hers tanks.

"Are you nervous?" Kelly asks him. He wants to say no. Why should he be nervous? He spends all day, every day, and some nights, too, with Stabler. He likes the guy. But then he's never had dinner with a Captain before. She definitely makes him nervous.

"Nah," he says, and kisses Kelly quick before they get out of the car.

Stabler answers the door in jeans and a black button down and no shoes. He's comfortable, in his own home, and Mark can smell dinner from the doorway.

"Elliot Stabler, this is Kelly (can't be arsed to pick a last name)."

"It's so nice to meet you," Kelly says as they shake hands. "Mark talks about you all the time."

"Back at you," Stabler says with a grin. It's bullshit, Mark hasn't told him anything, but he can't help thinking the man just did him a favor by lying. Kelly is smiling ear to ear.

"We brought this for you. Mark says your wife likes red."

"She's not my wife," Stabler says reflexively as he takes it. "But she'll love it. Come on."

There's bookshelves everywhere. Mark figures they must be hers, he didn't peg Stabler as much of a reader. There's pictures everywhere, too, but Stabler's walking too fast for Mark to get a good look at them. In the kitchen she's waiting for them, Captain Benson. Her heavy, dark hair is pulled back today, and she's wearing soft, casual black pants and a cream colored blouse. She doesn't look scary, at home like this. Stabler goes to her, passes her the wine with one hand and lets the other settle at the small of her back, lets it stay there while he makes introductions.

"Thank you so much for having us," Kelly says. "You have a lovely home."

Benson looks at Stabler before she answers, the two of them sharing a private smile.

"Thank you," she says. "With a seventeen year old and a ten year old in the house it usually looks more like a federal disaster area."

"You didn't have to clean up just for us, Captain," Mark says. It's partly a joke and partly a test, and she sees through him at once.

"Please," she says. "Just Olivia here."

"You're a Captain?" Kelly shoots Mark a dark look. He may have forgotten to mention that to her.

"She's gonna outrank me for the rest of our lives," Stabler says easily. His hand is still resting at the small of her back.

"And don't you forget it. Now, who wants a drink?"

They stand around the kitchen with their wine glasses while Stabler and Benson finish cooking. He does as much of the work as she does and Mark is kind of impressed, bc he didn't peg Stabler as a cook, either, but he can tell Kelly's taking notes. The conversation flows pretty easy; Benson is nice and she knows how to talk to people, and she keeps the conversation away from work, keeps Kelly engaged. But it's kinda weird seeing Stabler, who Mark initially thought was a grim son of a bitch, smiling so much at this woman he can't take his eyes off of. They carry the food to the table, settle down to eat, and at the first lull in the conversation he strikes.

"How long you two been together?"

Stabler told him thirty years already, but he wants to hear the story. He figures it's a good one.

They share a look, Stabler and his not-wife. Like they wanna get their stories straight before one of them answers. It's not a question Mark would have thought would require a dress rehearsal.

"Long time," Stabler says softly.

Olivia reaches for him under the table. She's discreet about it, but Mark can tell her hand has just landed on his knee, and it's not going anywhere.

"It's a long story," she says, and then she switches gears. It's a fascinating deflection. "I want to thank you for coming," she tells him then. "I wanted to get to know the man who's gonna be watching his back. But I wanted to wait until I knew he hadn't scared you off."

"He got a history of running off partners?"

She laughs, Stabler doesn't.

"What's the record?" He asks. He wants to know if it's true, if Stabler really doesn't work with anybody for long. There's another long, strangely communicative glance between the pair of them.

"Thirteen years," she says, very softly. Stabler reaches for her hand and kisses the back of it gently.

"Lucky thirteen," he says.

Holy shit, Mark thinks. They were partners. That's the story they don't wanna tell. They were partners for thirteen years, and now they're shacked up. It's kind of impressive.

"Mark says you have six kids," Kelly says then. She doesn't like being left out. "Is it just the two boys at home now?"

Benson's smile is a little forced. Under the table, Stabler covers her hand with his own, there against his knee.

"Yes," she says. Doesn't offer anything else. Like she's waiting for Stabler to decide how much he wants to tell them.

"My first wife-"

"Only wife," Benson says, so quietly Mark almost doesn't hear it. Stabler shoots her a wounded look. Apparently it's a disagreement they've had before.

"My first wife and I had five kids. She uh. She died. A few years ago. The older kids are grown. Maureen and Kathleen have kids of their own now. Dickie's getting married next year, Lizzie's…Lizzie. Eli's a junior this year. Liv adopted Noah when he was a baby."

It's a lot of information to take in all at once. He can tell that Kelly regrets asking. She thought it would be a safe topic of conversation; what mother doesn't want to talk about her children? She hadn't counted on the baggage. But Kelly is Kelly, and she is devoted to her optimism.

"You're like the Brady Bunch," she says.

Benson laughs out loud. Stabler relaxes, infinitesimally.

Mark can see it all in their eyes now, though. How Stabler was married to someone else, had five kids with someone else, while they were working together. How he lost her, how he grieved, how he and Olivia finally got together and made a home out of the wreckage but the memory of his wife lingers, and maybe Olivia isn't ready to assume the title she's always thought belonged to someone else. She'll live with him, fuck him, raise her kid with him - Liv adopted Noah, he said, no mention of his own involvement, like he wasn't involved at all - but she can't bring herself to be his wife. We'll get there, Elliot told him. He wonders if that's true. He feels kinda bad for the guy.

#e.o #i FINALLY figured out how to add a read more on mobile i feel so accomplished #gonna start tagging these #e.o thoughts

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

Text

in support of Texas relief, @romancewritingandwinchesters donated $20, and requested Sam and Dean waiting out a Texas storm with no electricity. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

When the snow starts coming down, Dean's not yet worried. He's driven the whole country at least five times; he can handle snow. It's when the temperature starts dropping fast that he pulls up, at the closest gas station, and fills the tank, and sends Sam inside for a few gallons of water and whatever food they don't have to cook. "I told you," Sam says, which frankly Dean thinks is a very smug and unattractive way of looking at the situation. "Remember, that front I was telling you about?"

"Yeah, but who thought it'd get this cold in Texas," Dean says, watching the numbers tick up on the pump. Shit, this is gonna be expensive.

"Oh, you know," Sam says, arms folded tight over his chest, stamping his feet by the car's rear door. "Meteorologists. Climatologists. Just that level."

Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam's turned away luckily and can't see it. Turns out Sam gets a little bitchy when it's this cold. They didn't really pack for it—this was supposed to be a low swing south to check a few harmless jobs, stuff that'd take Sam's mind off the whole soulless thing, a couple of easy wins and some weather a little better than February in South Dakota, but it's not working out that way. Fourteen degrees, according to the display on the Shell sign above their heads, and it's only nine at night.

The snow's already piling up, on the parking lot and in the street, making the nice local El Paso people drive under ten miles per hour and making the world seem—not-right. Alien. A cactus planted in the median glints with ice and Dean sucks his teeth, shivers hard. When the car's full up he recaps the tank and sets the nozzle back in place and then looks out at the frosted world. The black shine on the asphalt. "I don't like the look of that road," he says, after a second, and Sam follows his gaze and nods, immediately. "Tonight's not the night to get out of town."

"Texas blizzard on the highway?" Sam says, a little sarcastic, but shakes his head, more serious. "Yeah, it's gonna get a lot worse." His nose is pink from the cold. "Too cold for the car. Even if we still had that—remember, that awful pink blanket?"

"The one you totally ruined?" Dean says, and Sam grins, even if he shudders after. Sam ruined it by getting clawed up by a ghoul when he was twenty-three and trying to protect Dean from something he didn't need protecting from and then bleeding all over the damn blanket when Dean put him in the backseat to race him to the ER. Dumbass, Dean had called him then, but honestly not much has changed. Dean shoves Sam's side, shaking his head. "Why are we standing around here in the cold? Get in the car, let's go."

"You're the one who took forever with the gas," Sam argues back, but he gets in the car, so. Win for Dean. Beyond the win of having this Sam, this right good Sam, in the car in the first place—whole again, with the soul to make a context for the memories that make him Dean's brother.

They're not far off the highway so there'll be motels. The issue hits when they're driving—slow, painfully slow, crawling behind snow-caked Texas plates that don't know how to handle the weather—and the street goes suddenly dark, the lights crashing off in the fast food places and gas stations lining the road. "Shit," Dean says, checking the rearview, but luckily the truck behind him hasn't slammed its brakes and they're not about to be involved in a black-ice skid.

"You think—" Sam says, but cranes around and it's obvious. Some part of the grid, failing, and that's going to mean some panic and it's going to mean some accidents and it's also going to mean finding a place to stay just got a hell of a lot harder.

The kid at the motel they pick clearly has no idea what to do. It's a shithole, which is why Dean pulled in, and clearly there weren't too many customers to begin with. The lobby's dark other than a flashlight the kid's waving around while he explains in a panic that their electricity is out—"I can see that," Dean says, trying to be patient—and Sam finally leans over the counter, takes the flashlight out of the kid's hand, and sets it upright on the counter so it acts like a shitty lantern, filling the room with grey.

"Oh," the kid says, eyes gleaming big in the suddenly stable light. The kid—the boy. He looks barely older than Ben.

"Look," Sam says, while Dean's trying to shake off that thought. "We get that there won't be cable. We just need somewhere to weather it out."

"My register doesn't even work," the boy says, and Dean reaches into his wallet and peels out two hundred bucks and lays it fanned out on the counter. More big eyes—the room rate on the sign outside is forty-nine a night. "Oh," he says, again.

"Just give us keys, okay?" Dean says. "You can explain to your manager in the morning. How these weirdos paid a hundred, cash."

A blink. Maybe he's too young to realize he's being bribed. Sam sighs, and leans over the counter again. "We're taking room 13," he says, coming up with a key in hand. A physical key—Dean was right about the kind of dump this is. The boy opens his mouth and closes it, and Sam jerks his head at Dean before he gives the boy a half-smile, fake as hell. "Try to stay warm in here, okay?"

The Impala's already inch-thick with snow, outside. "Why the hell did that take so long," Sam mutters.

Dean snorts. "Thirteen?" he says, and Sam nods, folding himself back into the passenger seat for the short drive over—"Center room, more insulation," he says—and when they pull around to the odds side of the building he's right. The city's blanketed in dark and weirdly quiet, with the muffling of the snow, so it feels almost like opening up some hidden hunter's cabin as they unlock the room, unpack the car inside. Sam bought jerky, chips, iffy-looking gas station fruit, and Dean still has one lantern and two spare d-cells and a bottle of whiskey that's almost entirely full, and the water, thank god, is still running. "For how long, though," Sam says, so Dean drags a hand over his face and zips his jacket closed and goes down the row of rooms in the freezing dark to the one that's marked PRIVATE, and breaks in to find cleaning supplies that… clearly haven't been used in that long. Buckets, though, that he rinses out and then fills in the utility sink. Spare bedding on shelves above the laundry machine and he picks out two blankets, the shitty supersoft microfleece kind that have always been his favorite.

When he gets back, burdened like a mule, he finds the room—weirdly sort of homey. Sam's got the lantern on the rickety little desk and it's blasting white light up that wall, but he's lit their spare ritual candles, too, and put them on the nightstand, on top of the blank TV, the minifridge crammed up in the corner by the bathroom. It's warm inside, especially once Dean's got the door kicked closed behind him again, but it won't stay that way for long. "Laundry?" Sam says, and at Dean's nod he disappears outside too, and comes back with a pile of the thin towels in his arms, and packs them in against the bottom of the door, the base of the single-pane windows. The water heaters might be gas but they might be electric, too, and with no way of knowing they take turns in the shower, cleaning up fast. The water's still hot when it's Dean's turn and he luxuriates, for a minute that he counts off in his head, letting the weak stream melt over his shoulders and put heat into his bones, where hopefully it'll stay a while.

The bathroom's steamy when he gets out but it's already cooling fast. Not much insulation in the walls. He dries off scrupulously, trying to get off every bit of damp he can, and redresses by candlelight. Smells like beeswax, the hippie natural candles Sam always picks when they restock their kit. His soulless self didn't bother with that. What a weird thing to turn out to miss.

Back in the room, Sam's made a pile of their food on the desk by the lantern, and lined up the buckets of water by the door. Dean checks his watch: ten o'clock, and they're packed into this room like a bunker. Safe, as warm as they can be, clean and healthy and food to hand. Now there is, truly, nothing at all to do but wait.

"Not even wi-fi," Sam says, under his breath like he had the same thought. Dean huffs. Sam's mouth lifts on one side, wry. He sits on the end of one bed, hands folded between his knees, and gives a shrug. "Well. We got a night off."

They did. About time, too, with how they've been running lately. Sam making up for every bad thing his soulless self ever might've done, and Dean just trying to hold onto the bar so he won't fly off. First time in weeks that Dean's had Sam to himself without Sam searching for another job or trying to pin down his own sad timeline or his brain melting out his ear, and he almost doesn't know what to do with it. A bit of silence, between them, that stretches. Dean licks his lips. "Wanna play charades?"

Sam snorts. "You'd cheat," he says, and Dean smiles his most honest smile, and that makes Sam roll his eyes but smile a little, too. "How long do you think we have until it gets really cold?"

Dean tips his head back and forth, thinking. "It's—what, fifty degrees in here?" Sam shrugs. "I don't know. It'll be friggin' cold in the morning, but we won't freeze."

"Guess not," Sam says, but he's still just sitting there. His eyes on Dean, his body quiet. Dean pours them both cups of the whiskey and sits on the other bed, and Sam rotates to face him, and they toast each other with a rasping papery excuse for a clink and take a swallow each, and it sinks down to Dean's gut like fire, welcome with how chilly it is in here, and Sam's just… still looking at him. Like he's something worth looking at. Dean feels his face go warm and wonders if he can blame the whiskey.

"Hey," Sam says, cup held easy between his knees. "Tell me something."

Dean leans back. "What, truth or dare? We're a little old for that, don't you think?"

His legs are kicked out into the space between the beds. Sam shifts and their boots knock together. "Maybe you are," Sam says, and Dean makes a face at him. Sam smiles and takes another sip, watching Dean over the top of his cup, and after the slight pull at the sting he's still smiling, small. "This last year. Did you ever think about…" He shakes his head, looks down at his cup. Dean nudges his ankle to get him to keep going and Sam looks back up, his hair hanging a little in his eyes. "Did you ever want to sleep with—him?"

Dean's lips part but nothing comes out. He's genuinely surprised. Sam's eyes tighten, a tiny shift that's almost not visible in the dim combination of candle-and-lantern light. "No," Dean says, after a pause that's too long. Sam's head tips back, assessing. "No," Dean repeats, firmer. "It wasn't—right."

Sam hmms and Dean takes a drink. Truth or dare, he really ought to do his forfeit. It's not a lie, not really, but it's not—completely true. Robo-Sam never seemed interested and Dean was still half-caught with Lisa and Dean's a lot of things but a cheater's not one of them, and he'd thought—he didn't know. That Sam didn't want it anymore. Whatever fumbling they'd gotten up to, their drunken stupidity, the almost violent way it'd get sometimes, the way Dean would sink his nails into Sam's back and Sam would bite his throat and then the way, after, sometimes, Sam would look at him in the dark and Dean would think, god—

His cheeks are flushed, hot enough to feel in the cool air. "So," Sam says, after the moment's stretched out, "we never—even when I came back—"

"Not exactly trying to make it with my long-lost brother when my creepy resurrected grandpa's breathing down my neck, no," Dean says, and Sam grimaces but then laughs, and then bites his bottom lip. Still looking at Dean and Dean takes a breath, deep, and thinks, jesus. Eighteen months, more, since the last time, most of it with Sam walking around with no soul, and Dean caught up in a relationship that crashed and burned, and it feels—different. They're both different. Happened somehow when Dean wasn't looking but here's the evidence, in how calm Sam is, in how they're just—quiet, here, together. Something building slow, in the cold, with the snow sifting down outside.

Sam lets his lip go, slow, his teeth dragging white. His eyes drop to Dean's mouth, and lower. "I've got lube," he says. Dean blinks. Sam lifts a shoulder, almost apologetic. "Don't know from what, but it's in my duffle. I've been—wondering."

"Jeez, Sammy," Dean says, and has to laugh, too, kind of breathless. It's hot. Jesus, it's hot, hotter than it should be, to just have Sam say it flat out like that. Asking. "What, you want to huddle for warmth?"

Sam raises his eyebrows, glances sidelong at his bed. "I mean," he says, and Dean has to laugh again. "If there were ever an opportunity—"

Dean leans in and gets Sam's jacket in one hand, and pulls. Sam scoots forward easy, his knee sliding up against Dean's inseam, and it's—easy, weirdly easy, easy in a way it never was, to lean in and press his mouth to Sam's and have Sam just—kiss back, pressing Dean's mouth open right away and brushing his tongue over Dean's lip, slick and hot, his breath warm on Dean's cool skin. "Damn," Dean says, soft.

Sam smiles against his mouth and kisses him again, puts his chilly fingertips against Dean's exposed throat. "I mean, we don't have anything else to do, right?" he says, pulling back an inch.

Dean rolls his eyes and says, "You really gotta learn some better lines."

Sam presses in, kisses him again soft on the mouth. God, Sam's mouth. "I don't think I do," Sam says, hanging there, and Dean groans, pushes Sam's face away, thinks: yes. Yes.

He goes to the bathroom. Takes his time. The toilet, thank god, is still flushing, so the water lines haven't yet gone down. He runs the sink and wets a washrag and cleans up, and washes his hands, and then he licks his mouth wet and looks at himself, in the spotty mirror, the candlelight flickery and making his face strange. When he comes out Sam's stripped the bed closer to the door and the other one is spread with that bedding, the blankets Dean stole, and Sam's in the middle of taking off his belt, standing in his socks with his shirt off and his chest bare and his hair a little ruffled, and he looks up at Dean in the bathroom doorway and smiles, and lays his belt on the bare bed, and says, "C'mere," and Dean comes.

Sam's hands are cold and Dean bitches about that, immediately. "Shut up," Sam advises, and Dean says, "Oh, if anyone needs to—" and Sam kisses him, like Dean knew he would, so that's okay. Together they get Dean's jacket off, his flannel, his t-shirt, and he shivers but Sam's hands drag down his arms and that's so warm Dean can hardly stand it. He drags his fingers through Sam's chest hair—hair, when Sam had been so sleek before—and Sam kisses the top of his ear, weirdly affectionate in a way that makes Dean's chest hot—and then his fingers go for Dean's belt, his jeans, and Dean pushes him away an inch, then, taking a second to breathe.

Sam's—christ. Hot. His nipples pebbled up tight and his cheeks a little pink, even in the candlelight. "Gotta get my boots off, man," Dean says, and Sam looks down like he's surprised that an impediment to getting in Dean's pants might exist, and Dean grins, sits back on the bed. Okay, so. Sam's not suddenly a pure sex god. Somehow that's as much of a relief as the breathing room was.

He works at the knot of his laces. Sam takes the opportunity to strip off his jeans, and then there's his bare long legs, his boxer-briefs. His dick's thick in them, obvious, but while Dean's tugging off his second boot Sam skims them off and down and then he's just—naked, nearly all the way except his stupid black socks he always wears, and Dean huffs and says, "Sexy," dry, but then Sam's kneeling down in front of him, sliding his hands up Dean's thighs, and—well. Truth or dare. Dean wouldn't have to take a drink, this time.

The corner of Sam's mouth lifts and he unzips Dean's jeans, and then tucks his fingers into the waistband, and Dean lifts his ass up and lets Sam pull and Sam—takes his time about it, damn him, pulling down Dean's underwear too so the cold air ripples up goosebumps all the way down Dean's legs, freezing. Sam kisses Dean's chest, his nipple—Dean grabs Sam's head, surprised—and then ducks down, kisses the root of his dick and then sucks in the head, soft and warm, slick, so abrupt that Dean slams a hand down onto the edge of the mattress and his head falls back, his hips lifting. Christ, Sammy. A big hand circles around Dean's calf and Sam sucks, soft, while Dean's dick rises so fast he gets dizzy—and then Sam pulls away, the cold air hitting like a hammer, and lifts up with his mouth pinked-wet and says, "Get in bed," and Dean stares at him like a lunatic for a second and then, jesus, scrambles to obey.

He scooches in to the middle. The blankets are ridiculous, double-weight and heavy, but the sheets are chilly even through his socked feet. Sam climbs in after him and pushes right up against his back, his dick swelling up against Dean's ass, his body a hot shock among the cold. "You're a friggin' furnace," Dean says, and Sam snorts, bites soft at Dean's bare shoulder. There's a second of separation—Sam stretching away—and then Sam's back, under the blankets, kisses under Dean's ear, slides his hand over Dean's hip, down. Dean's breath hitches and he slides his leg forward. "Yeah?" Sam says, the idiot, and Dean says, "Duh, bitch," and there's a huff and then a muffled click and then Sam's fingers are slick, sliding up against his ass, pushing in.

Oh—god. It's been—since the last time. Dean turns his face against the pillow and pulls his leg higher, makes room. Sam's fingers, wet-thick, and the strange uncertain feeling of being broken open, how it pulls and worries, his body barely remembering what to do. Long time. Sweat breaks out at his temples, the middle of his back. He drops a hand to his dick and squeezes, letting it know something better's coming.

"You're tight," Sam says. Unnecessarily, in Dean's opinion. "You really, you never—?"

"Some things should be kept between a man and his hour-long showers, Sammy," Dean says, light, and it's not really true but Sam huffs another little laugh and kisses his ear, and Dean pops his leg up instead even though that makes a cool cavern of air under the covers, giving Sam the room to work him. He pushes back, pulls at his dick, works it fat, and against his ass Sam's dick feels full, ready. He always liked this part, the part where he made Dean want it. He turns his head and says, "Sam," and Sam lifts up and kisses him just like he wanted, his chest warm against Dean's shoulder and his fingers spreading deep, pushing the slick inside where they need it, and while he's kissing Dean and relearning every molar Dean feels the fingers slip out, rubbing instead at Dean's hole where it's hot now, wet, flexing. He drags in air through his nose and reaches behind himself, finding Sam fat and heavy. Thick. Jesus, he could never forget how thick.

"Ready?" Sam says and that's a stupid question. Dean tugs the blankets higher with his free hand, covering his shoulder against the cold, snubs Sam up against himself and then lets go, finds Sam's hip, pulls—and Sam takes over, holding Dean's belly as he pushes inside, and Dean tries to contain the flinch but can't and Sam kisses his temple, soft, and his ear, and his neck, and doesn't stop, bulling open that place for himself, splitting Dean wide. His pubes press against Dean's ass. Dean grips the pillow and lets his knee sink down and immediately what's already tight is tighter, closer. Sam grunts against him, slides his hand down to find Dean's half-wilted dick. "You feel—" Sam starts, but he squeezes Dean's dick instead of saying, and Dean's fine with that, he doesn't need compliments when he just needs Sam to—

"Move," he says, and Sam moves.

It's slow, from being on their sides. No real force behind it. Dean knocks Sam's hand away from his dick and Sam squeezes his balls instead, and then slips a hand to the inside of his thigh and keeps him close that way, locking Dean in place to be fucked. He's still tight but he's loosening up, from the thick rocking churn of Sam inside him, buried up to the root half the time, flexing in and making Dean stretch for him, forcing in that deep good ache of being open, slick for it. With the underhand grip on Dean's thigh his thumb slots in right at the base of Dean's dick, a soft dragging pressure every time Sam squeezes, and Dean can hardly think for how good it all feels. For how much he missed it and pretended for so long he wasn't missing it. Sam's other arm is tucked under the pillow, under his head, and he manages to shove the pillow away enough that he gets bare skin and bites there, soft in Sam's bicep, and Sam drags in air through his teeth and pushes in harder, the wet drag enough that Dean shudders, shoulders to hips, and Sam squeezes his thigh so hard that it hurts.

If it weren't so damn cold Dean would want to throw the blankets off—get on his back with Sam between his legs—lift up, ride, to remember the way Sam's eyes went so dark and hot and intense from seeing Dean get off on him. As it is he feels it building slow, the sweat between them starting to get oppressive, his throat a little abraded from the way Sam keeps dragging his teeth over it, his breath hot there where Dean's skin's so wet. He clenches inside, as much as he can when he's split wide like this, and Sam grunts, warm burst of air against the back of his ear. "Fuck," Dean says, squirming back. He presses his knees together and Sam feels even thicker, his hand caught between Dean's thighs. "Fuck, Sammy—"

"God, I want to come," Sam says, and Dean jerks, caught against him, his dick spitting. Sam worms his hand out and cups Dean's nuts, rubs warm at the root of his dick, his lips smearing against Dean's neck. "God, you're—are you close?"

"Out of practice," Dean says, breathily light, like that's even fucking remotely true. "Can't you tell?" Sam's hand pulls up, fisting his dick, and Dean arches as much as he can, shoving down onto Sam, his teeth floating on this feeling. His gut's molten. "Fuck—Sam, if you—"

"I have to," Sam says, thin, and pushes—Dean tips over and Sam slides, god, out, but in a second he's covering Dean's back and Dean's spreading as wide as he can and Sam slots right back inside, hard, and Dean drags in air against the mattress but doesn't really care, doesn't need it. Sam's pumping inside, fast and deep, the jolting drag of it sliding all over exactly where Dean wants him, and Sam's hands slip from Dean's sides to his hip to his shoulders, holding him in place, and Dean worms a hand between the bed and his dick and lets Sam shove him into his own grip, the rhythm perfect, perfect—Sam's mouth hot against the knob of his spine—and Dean comes pulsing into his own hand, his toes curling and his lips spread against the sheet and his whole body locking up, it feels like, tense, unloading—and Sam groans, shoves his hand between them to feel the mess Dean's making, says, "Fuck, you're—fuck, you're so hot, Dean, the hottest I ever—" and gets a hand on Dean's ass and pulls it wider, shoves in harder, for a shocking minute where it almost hurts except that Dean's so floaty and satisfied he'd take a knife in his flesh and wouldn't mind—and when Sam finally comes he presses right up inside and pumps it deep, forcing it in, and Dean sighs against the bed, overheated and wet, and lets go of his own dick enough that he can tangle his fingers with Sam's, slick, crumpled, bone to bone.

Sam's a deadweight on his back. Dean turns his face against the sheet and gets a pocket of slightly cooler air, content to take it. He squeezes Sam's fingers and in response Sam squeezes his hip, and then slowly, slowly, his lips brush the back of Dean's ear, and then Dean's cheek. "Wow," Sam says, quiet, and Dean snorts. A shift, inside, that makes Dean open his eyes wide—oh, he's open now but it feels—and one of Sam's knees slips over to the outside of Dean's, different leverage, as he pushes in again on all the wet he made, and in again, still thick. Dean licks his lips and it's so quiet he can hear the wet noise it makes—match, to when Sam pulls out—a spill, trickling down over Dean's balls—and then the squelch as he pushes back in and makes Dean grip the pillow, makes his nuts pulse in heated shock.

"I could go again right now," Sam says, low against his ear, entirely honest.

Dean has to take a deep breath. "Don't press your luck," he says, raw, and Sam laughs quiet, drags out again—still hard, christ above—and tugs at Dean's shoulder, and turns him over in a messy sheet-tangling pull, and gets them the right way around to kiss, full, open, Dean's hands on Sam's waist and the bed smeary and disgusting, between them.

When Dean pulls away, Sam's got his fingers curled around the back of his ear, his dick warm and full up against Dean's hip. He smiles, looking back at Dean in the barely-light. Dean smiles back, kind of helpless. "We really wrecked this bed," Dean says. Just for something to say.

Sam's shoulder lifts. "Heated it up, though," he says, and, well. He's not wrong.

The candles are still lit, and they'll have to take care of those so they don't burn the damn room down. The lantern, too—they shouldn't waste the batteries. There's a slit in the blankets somewhere, cool air pouring in over Dean's back, and he tugs, and Sam gets it and helps him smooth them out, making a cocoon for the two of them. The discarded lube bottle ends up under Dean's back and he slides it up under the pillow, for hopeful future use. Their socked toes bump together. Sam's nose is cold, where it bumps Dean's cheek, but that's all right. Dean's not in a state to mind.

"It's gonna suck to dig out the car in the morning," Sam says, out of nowhere.

Dean closes his eyes and pulls at Sam's waist, getting him closer. Sam's knee slides between his thighs. "That's what I missed about you, man," he says, drowsy. "You always know what to say to get me hot."

Sam snorts. His knuckles drag over Dean's jaw, safe and warm.

#ffcc #wincest #bedsharing #huddling for warmth #my writing

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Text

the much anticipated second part for the amnesia-related fic.

A wedding ring.

This doesn’t mean that he and Tony are married except that he hasn’t seen Tony with a wedding ring and he hasn’t mentioned a wife and he doesn’t sound like he has a wife and if Rhodey-if Jim had a wife, then wouldn’t he know about her? Wouldn’t they have met by now? He may not know Tony yet, but he doesn’t think that he would be that cruel.

“Colonel Rhodes-”

“Friday, don’t,” Jim says, swatting at the air. “What-why did you hide that from me?”

“Sir believed it would be best,” Friday answers, tone almost quieter. “He...wasn’t sure that you would understand.”

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Why would I marry him of all people? He’s not exactly my type.”

“Since I am a learning program, I cannot say for sure. Humans do a lot of illogical things.”

He’s trying to wrap his head around it and avoid Tony at the same time.

Friday won’t let him see any wedding pictures, not until he remembers more.

Even though he’s been (mostly) successful at avoiding Tony for about a week and a half, the man is still so nice.

He’s still operating under the assumption that Jim has no idea that they’re married, and he does stuff like leave out a cup of coffee and offer breakfast up or ask if he wants pizza for dinner.

Jim reads too much into it.

And he doesn’t know why, because it’s not like anything has really changed, except for the fact that Tony won’t call him Rhodey.

Jim gave him permission to, saw how much it killed him with every correction and every reminder. Told him “you can call me Rhodey, if you want.”

And he doesn’t.

Tony never does.

He still almost says it, but Jim is quicker on the tongue, and he doesn’t make a move to try to push any memories at all.

(Even though he remembers how happy Tony was to hear that memory about grocery shopping and Dum-E’s code source.)

He does want to remember. He wants to remember why he apparently married Tony and was genuine about it, why Pepper and him are best friends and never were anything more, why he’s...why he’s so different from what he wanted.

Tony knows that Jim’s acting differently. He’s not sure why. He’s not sure he wants to know why, because that might complicate everything.

And he doesn’t want another thing to be wrong. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him except for the one damn person that probably should be, but Rhodey’s never been good at following rules. (But he’s good at fooling people.)

Pepper talks to Tony a lot. Asks him how he’s doing, if there’s anything she can do.

Repair someone’s memory is a little bit outside of her area of expertise.

“It’ll be okay,” she says, putting her tiny hand over his. “Things will work out.”

They both know that in Tony’s life, luck has never been quite what it seems. Or existent at all, at times.

Ironically, it’s their anniversary of the wedding when Jim remembers something else. It actually comes in the form of looking in the fridge and not finding his apples.

“Quit leaving honey-crisp off of the list just because you don’t like them you asshole,” he calls to Tony.

Tony almost yelps.

“Out of everything in your life and that’s what you remember? Your stupidly sweet apples?”

“Are you gonna get them?”

“Why don’t you come with me?” Tony asks, “just so that you can get your apples and maybe get out of the house for once.”

“Hmph. Fine,” Jim answers. “Where’s my coat?”

“Uh...” Tony trails off, trying to find the words. “Third peg on the...right, I think?”

“You’ve known me for years, and you don’t know where my coat is?”

Rhodey is always the one to hang up his coat, and then put his arms out for Tony’s.

“To be fair, I am important and fancy and a big deal,” Tony scoffs. “Come on, go get your coat and then I’m going to show you what horrible things you buy from the store.”

“It’s not that bad. And what, you don’t like good apples?”

“As sour as can be, sourpatch. As sour as can be.”

Grocery shopping with Tony is...interesting. He didn’t think it would take so long.

“This is why you don’t usually come,” Tony teases him. “I take so long and you end up sitting in the car and cursing at Pepper or Happy about how much time I spend dedicated to snack-judging.”

“And I put up with that?”

“You do,” Tony says, grabbing the cart. “Because you love me and you deal with a lot worse from me.”

“Like what?”

“Best not to talk about it,” Tony says. “We’re in public after all, honey.”

“Ugh, boo,” Rhodey teases. “Give me the list. I bet I can speed-run this.”

“How? Technically, you don’t think you’ve ever been to this store before!” Tony exclaims with a gigantic, shit-eating grin.

“Way to rub it in you bastard,” he says with a laugh. “Now come on, I wanna see what kind of salad you think we’re gonna get.”

“Not you thinking you’re going to be eating junk food,” Tony sighs.

“I lost my memory!”

“That would’ve worked, like, two weeks ago. Now I know better.”

Grocery shopping is...fun. They make fun of foods and different products, and Tony shows him which things he might like.

“I like...I like fruit salad?”

“Yes, yes you do Rhodey-dear,” Tony says. “Your favorite thing in the world for fruit.”

“Seems suspicious.”

“You’ll have to try it again, then.”

Rhodey watches him as they’re shopping. He’s easy to be around, honestly. He has that sort of energy that makes you feel like he’s just happy to be in that moment.

Tony also has very questionable taste in everything.

“Quinoa?”

“What? You’ve eaten it before! It’s not your least favorite thing that I’ve cooked?”

“How is it not? Is it because I’m old?”

“No, not because you’re old,” Tony scowls. “When you’d come back from the service, you’d eat literally anything I put in front of you. I once gave you a block of cheese and you just sat there. Eating it.”

“There’s no way I did that.”

“You did! Ask Pepper, she has a picture of it!”

He goes back to quiet after that, remembering the picture.

Jim isn’t even sure he wants to bring it up. He’s not even sure if he could love Tony again, and somehow that thought makes his head hurt.

He knows that apparently, he fell in love once.

So he needs answers.

Jim had talked to his parents, but he hadn’t really had an opportunity to talk about anything important. Try as he had to get more information out of them, they weren’t giving much up, except for parts about his military achievements and funny stories that he’s written to them about.

When he gets back home and he sees Mama, she knows.

“Come here baby,” she says, putting him into her arms. “Let me answer your questions.”

“Why him?”

Mama laughs, grinning up at him from her place on the couch.

“You reacted like this when you first started rooming together, too. I was worried that I’d be involved in a court case for attempted murder!”

“And you weren’t?”

“No,” Mama answers. “Instead, I get no phone call from you for three weeks, until the day before your holiday break started, and you told me that you were bringing who you used to call ‘the biggest nuisance since fruit flies’ home to Thanksgiving.”

“Why did I...why did I bring him?”

“I didn’t get that answered until he fell asleep,” she says. “I’m making you some coffee, alright dear?”

“Okay, so long as I get an answer.”

“So impatient,” she mutters as she makes her way to the kitchen, Jim following.

He watches how easily his mom pours the coffee, and remembers in a brief flash that Tony always would bring the fancy, flavored creamer to the holiday events.

“Oh come on,” Tony said. “You have gotten too used to my kindness, and there’s no reason to stop being kind. Besides, remember last year when you nearly cried because I bought creamer from the store? Yeah, not having a repeat of that.”

“And would that be so bad?” he teased Tony, wrapping an arm around his waist, and-

He blinks.

That was...that was definitely a new kind of memory.

“James, are you alright?” His mother is looking at him, and maybe she knows, maybe she doesn’t know that he just remembered something. He’s honestly not sure.

“Uh, yeah. Fine. I’m good.”

Mama looks across the room, smiling.

“He was a timid little thing when he got here. Fixed up the washing machine when it broke, just in time. Nearly wore a suit to dinner, said you didn’t tell him what kind of ‘casual’ we were going for...”

He snorts as he slowly remembers that one.

“What do you mean you didn’t mean a suit?!” Tony had wailed, gripping Rhodey’s shirt. “You said I had to dress nice!”

“I meant literally anything but your Black Sabbath shirt!”

“Why would I have worn my Black Sabbath shirt? Your mom would probably think I was a Satanist!”

They both look at each other for a moment, and Rhodey’s the first one to break and laugh.

“Listen you idiot, it won’t be so bad. We can just ditch the coat, ditch the tie, and you’ll be...okay. A bit nicer than most of us, but hey. That’s what I get for not telling you that suits are weird.”

“Suits are not weird, you’re just uneducated in what is sophisticated,” Tony says, turning his nose up as Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“Oh yeah, sure, because knowing which one is the dessert spoon is going to help me save people abroad. My bad.”

Tony looks back at him, and his heart skips a beat. It does. Really, it does.

It almost feels like someone’s reading back to him what he already knows at this point.

His mom squeezes his hand, smiling.

“You remember at least some of it, don’t you?”

“Well...uh, yeah? I-I do.”

“Does Tony know that you know that you’re...married?”

“No,” Rhodey says. “I know some, but not enough.”

“Give him a chance,” she says. “And get back home, I’m sure he’s missing you.”

Rhodey embraces his mother, and prepares for the drive home.

Being missed is a weird concept to deal with.

He also did not exactly think of that. So he’s currently driving back and checked his phone to seven missed calls from Tony, three from Pepper, and one text from Happy that simply reads “lol ur dead hahaha good luckkkkk”

Well shit.

Tony, understandably is pissed and scared and a tad upset.

Not a tad.

“Where were you?” He says as soon as Rhodey appears back in the kitchen. Tony’s hands wander close, and he almost leans in.

Almost.

“I was visiting my parents,” he responds. “Sorry, forgot to text.”

“Please remember next time, your-well, Tony’s annoying when you leave,” Pepper says.

(Okay Rhodey doesn’t know how they got away with this for so long, it’s really, really obvious that they’ve been covering it up.)

“I will,” Rhodey says. “Did I miss anything?”

“I’ve elected that we’re going to cook tonight,” Tony declares. “I am absolutely sick to death of takeout, and I’m pretty sure that with your lack of knowledge on recipes now, I have you beat in the kitchen.”

“I can still read recipes, you dumbass. Besides, I just remembered your stupid ‘bake’ hack for your stupid casserole dish, so...”

“Out of everything, and that’s the thing you remember today?!”

“Well, I also remembered that apparently you wore a suit to my house for Thanksgiving!”

Tony stops.

“What else you remember from that, or was it just that?”

He doesn’t want to say anything in front of Pepper, doesn’t want to say anything just yet.

“I remember that you were weird about your suit!”

Tony deflates a bit, but still smiles.

God, he looks gorgeous.

Rhodey blinks. Shakes his head out of the thought.

“So. What are we cooking?”

Tony and cooking is a very interesting concept because it shouldn’t work.

He never stops moving, can lose interest quickly, and Rhodey would think that he could burn water.

But he doesn’t. Tony hums along to music, and he tells him all about his favorite songs and why.

It’s not any rock music, any heavy metal.

“I don’t listen to that all the time,” Tony says. “You always think I do!”

“Oh right, because someone who personally has Angus Young’s number just casually isn’t someone who listens to the band all the time, sure,” Rhodey says sarcastically.

Tony grins, and it’s probably the best damned thing he’s seen all day.

His heart zings at the realization that Tony smiling is what makes him smile now, what makes him want to stay and learn so much more about how they came to be, what they’ve done together.

Dinner is fun. Tony tells him all about college and what they used to do, and what Rhodey had done.

Memories are coming back easier.

“You totally emailed the professor really petty responses!” Tony cries, laughing.

“It wasn’t that petty,” Rhodey said, huffing. “He was an asshole anyway, he hated whenever we would come late because we wanted coffee, and your order was too complicated!”

“It wasn’t that complicated!”

“Oh I’m sorry, them having it written down behind the register for when you come in?”

“Oh, like they didn’t have a description of you.”

“Yeah, as your long-suffering companion,” Rhodey teases.

“You’ve always been,” Tony says. “Because you’re the best.”

Rhodey stops stirring the pot for a moment.

“Rhodey? What is it?”

“I...”

Tony stands there, grinning. He’s nervously fidgeting, and it’s his move to say the vows.

“You know, I wasn’t ever sure you’d be up to marrying someone like me,” Tony confesses. “Especially since I almost burned down our dorm room one time.”

“Wasn’t just one time,” Rhodey teases. “But carry on.”

“You loser,” Tony says. “Even now, interrupting my heartfelt moment.”

There’s a ripple of laughter from the small crowd that’s gathered. Rhodey smiles at him, feels tears prick up around his eyes.

“But I knew that I loved you ever since you would always buy my favorite ramen even though you hated it, and you were the one to get the pizza when I was sad. I knew I wanted the chance of seeing you every day, coming home to you at the end of the day. You’re home, Rhodey. You’re it. No one else could ever possibly hold a candle compared to you.”

Rhodey startles, looking at Tony.

“I...I remember. I remember!”

“Remember what?” Tony asks cautiously.

(He can’t be let down. Not again.)

“You smashed cake in my face at our wedding!” Rhodey yells. “And we got married! We got married! Where the fuck is my ring?”

Tony laughs, scooping Rhodey into a hug.

“I can’t believe you remember.”

“Well I was bound to at some point,” Rhodey says. “I can be smart, doofus.”

“Don’t call me ‘doofus’ during an emotional outburst you absolute nimrod!”

“I’ll call my husband whatever I want,” he teases, “although I still wanna know where my ring is.”

“Come with me and get it,” Tony says. “I hid them in my room, just in case.”

It’s all coming back, the steps they take, the way that Tony supports him as he moves slower.

Iron Man, for one. War Machine the next. The dates they went on, the proposal.

The rings are simple. They’re also not wedding rings.

The class rings.

Rhodey remembers getting them, remembers getting his initials and Tony’s on the inside, remembers how Tony made some “adjustments” after they received them.

“You know that you got me,” Tony had told him.

It slides on, and it feels right. Feels like something was missing.

He looks up at Tony, smiling.

“Show me the pictures, Tony.”

Pepper walks in to find Rhodey absolutely terrorizing Tony about the decor choices from the reception.

“So I agreed with red and gold? I had no problem with it?”

“Well, I did do some major convincing, so...”

“What does that mean?!”

"You’ll remember later and be sad,” Pepper says. “Or happy. But please don’t tell me if you remember it.”

“You loved the color scheme,” Tony says. “Because you love me!”

“Now I am doubting,” Rhodey declares. “I loved you enough to have those colors?”

“You lost a bet, Boss,” Friday interjects. “That’s why there were those themes.”

“Friday,” Tony whines. “Why snitch on your creator like this?”

“I am not programmed to have loyalty, Sir.”

Rhodey laughs, taking Tony’s hand in his.

“Well, I guess I’ll still love you. Even if our wedding theme was weird.”

“It wasn’t that weird!”

It takes about another month before all of the memories are all back to normal, and in that time Rhodey learns (and relearns) a couple of things:

1.) The best feeling in the world is waking up to Tony, who sleeps very lightly and also wacked Rhodey in the face a total of ten times. (That’s not a new thing, he remembers.)

2.) He special-orders peppermint-flavored coffee creamer.

3.) Tony was lying when he said that Rhodey’s new favorite movie was The Goonies.

(He mostly forgave him for that one.)

#lovelyirony writes #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #part two!#rhodey has amnesia #tony stark #rhodey #pepper potts #also yes the use of 'jim' in the beginning and then transitioning to rhodey a bit is intentional #sorry if it is a bit confusing but i like how i formatted that one so that's what we're getting with this one #i hope you all like it!

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i-did · 3 years

Note

hi hello i couldn't sleep last night so i was scrolling thru all ur asks and stuff and ur opinions and analyses are so interesting!!! and then afterwards i was thinking about what u were saying about mlm smut and i'd also been thinking about such things a little bit recently bc like.....at a certain point it becomes quite clear that the vast majority of smut-writing is just imitation. like there's the sex noise verb list and all and the whole general mechanics of the sex and those things just .... replicate over and over. and the whole thing w people writing mlm vs wlw smut regardless of their own sexual orientation..... like i feel like a big part of that is just a self-perpetuating thing. like if u have not had sex and u r getting all ur (pleasure-related) sex ed from fandom (even if u do watch porn, that doesn't rlly tell u how to describe stuff? idk) regardless of What fandom , the majority is going to be mlm smut. which is itself majority imitation of other mlm smut, imitating and imitating back to whoever knows what the first smut fanfic was etc. there's just way More to mimic than there is on the women side of things. which then becomes a self-perpetuating thing, bc the mimicry continues and generates more and more. and---if there are fundamental misunderstandings of anatomy involved---those self-perpetuate as well. and maybe even exaggerate. and yeah. does this all make sense? idk i was just thinking about it. like all the stereotypes and stuff continue bc writers are getting their inspo from other writers rather than their own brains. or something. idk!!!!! it's just all... divorced from reality? bc words. or something!! i hope u get what i'm trying to say. just thoughts i've been thinking. anyway i think ur thoughts are cool. and ur writing. ok bye have a good day!!

Okay yeah this is kinda messy but hope u see this, uhh yeah I think you're right about the echo chamber effect fr about stuff. I think it's a mix of projecting too sometimes. talk more under the cut and also link to a video essay since I love video essays.

Here’s a video that sort of touches on this topic:

“Gay fanfiction” by Sarah Z. (has CC)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8E_C00dKwI

This video begins to talk about fetishization at the end, but also… not really. The words “gay fanfiction” is used as a catchall, when really gay fanfiction is largely mlm written by non-mlm.

Fandom is a largely women's space dominated by the female gaze in a media industry world that is dominated by men and the male gaze. I'm really glad women have this space to explore creativity and queerness, and I don't expect the female gaze to go away, but I am still ultimately bummed out I can’t read most fanfic or interact with most fandom spaces without having fetishization in my face.

So about 80% of fandom is women, and most of those women aren't straight, but 90% of those women prefer mlm ships. Why don’t they prefer wlw ships? Well definitely part of it is the fact that queerbaiting is centered around white straight men, and then there is also the fact that women tend not to be written as well charcter wise. But the fact still remains that you get jerjean getting priority over Layla and Alvarez who are in canon just as much and are a canon wlw couple who actually interact as well as Alvarez could likely be a woc because of her Hispanic last name. Korasami doesn’t get nearly as much hype as zuko and saka, despite the fact that they are 2 fully dimensional characters who canonly kiss and hold hands, something the creators fought for and ended up having to sacrifice another reboot for.

I do believe the fandom echo-chamber is largely responsible for… a lot of things, like you're saying. But what's interesting is that the complaints I've heard about visual porn from non mlm in the fandom space is that they can’t get off to it because its for the male gaze and misogynistic usually. But they also don't seem to notice how the mlm smut circles has the female gaze and is also… almost always mlm. If it was a pure anatomical not knowing thing, I get that, but I also think that leads to the question of “then why the male body for porn, and not your own? The one you know and are familiar with?”

I know some people want to get outside of their own body for porn and don’t want to think of their own anatomy at all, but overall I'm still uncomfortable. If an anglo said “well I watch porn of only Mexicans so I don't self insert” I'm gonna be like … hhhh in a similar way. I understand people “like what they like” but I wish they also noticed said patterns in the first place. I understand the t4t tumblr porn circle, and how it's different from cis people who only watch trans porn.

I actually wished that instead of fandom focusing on mlm ships where some asshole guy hits on bottom troupe charcter for top troupe character to save, was instead… a wlw character experiencing said shitty getting hit on and other wlw swooping in. what's interesting is fandom writes a lot about misogynistic experiences without often realizing it. Ive read fanfic where guys get called sluts for sleeping with people or called bitch for speaking their mind, these arent things men usually experience, but rather women. Fandom has a lot of internalized misogyny and also queerphobia imo. Women characters often get pushed to the sidelines and men become the canvas for female fans to project onto.

There is this natural inclination to mlm. When people are talking about “gay shipping” or “gay books” or “gay feels” or even just “gay” mlm is what’s largely in mind. I honestly am kinda saddened by this because if gay fanfiction was really solely about writing more to feel represented, then you would see a lot of bi and ace and lesbian rep, but this isn't the case. Queer women are seriously underrepresented, and I want to hear their stories and read them in fanfiction as well as published. 50% of lgbt literature is mlm, and of that its largely written by women. Becky Albertalli, Rainbow Rowell, Maggie Stiefvater, are the YA big names and are all women writing mlm. Red white and royal blue is written by Casey McQuiston and Captive prince (which is not YA) is written by C. S. Pacat, who is non-binary, but is also TME and not mlm. These are all the big names in mlm lit, behind them is some gay men, but honestly their stories aren't preferred, they're not the right “flavor” for the consumers usually, who are largely women. In general YA consumers and authors are women, but I wish that they… just wrote about women too. I think there is a certain… snowball effect to the overrepresentation of mlm representing the whole LGBT community that leads to fetishization, as well as misogyny playing a factor in: less women characters being written well to write fanfic on, when they are written well they're taken less seriously or the audience struggles to relate to them, they're less marketable then men.

Idk I never feel “seen” or “represented” by any of the books above, which don't address boyhood and manhood and queerness intersecting really, and AFTG doesn’t either. I relate to AFTG as a trauma victim who has experienced a lot of what many of the characters go through and have gone through in the EC as well as them just overall being very well written characters, but I don't relate to it as a mlm really. I've never seen like.. gay voice or being straight passing or femphobia or how boyhood can be affected from a young age by those around you sensing you're ‘other’ or if you didn't experience this you feel outside the mlm community. Let alone sub cultures like bear and leather and pup, at most you see the word “he's such a twink” in fandom which... i fr hate non mlm using that word because it's usually used to replace the f-slur essentially, used derogatorily or to call him “such a bottom” and stuff like that. It’s like a joke or an insult.

Long story short, idk mang this was a ramble and I think I'm coning down with something. I wanna see more queer women rep and women authors writing about being a queer woman too. I think it's a complex web of fetishization and a bit of forbidden love yaoi culture (or it used to be in the BOYXBOY days) as well as misogyny on an industry level, creator level, as well as reader/consumer and fandom level. I don’t think it’s inherently wrong to explore other peoples stories and what we read has to be segregated, “only mlm are allowed to read and write mlm, only wlw are allowed to read and write wlw,” but I also think author’s intent and audience and background is telling, as well as overall statistics. Like about an hour ago I was looking for cookbooks in spanish or in english, and I was looking for some mexican food cook books, but I had to look for them using words in spanish because otherwise what came up was a bunch of “fiesta party, easy as uno dos tres authentic cooking!” and I was like… hm. Since I could tell they were marketing to anglos. (also the author’s last names were like michelle smith, james cooper, and this could be for a variety of reasons, but I trust Hispanic names more tbh and deadass would look at the authors pictures and if they had other books in Spanish or what their specialties were.)

anyways. not sure how to end this. uhm if anyone has any book recs (my to read list is like 500 books tho no joke) preferably not YA white mlm written by a white lady, hopefully queer women written by queer woman, LMK, I need more wlw and queer women stories on my list. I have a decent amount but always looking for more. I kinda wanna link my goodreads or my storygraph but I also don't want to get doxxed and it has my legal name on it so.

Also, I'm dyslexic and using spell check but if there's like some wild typos my b.

#ask #fandom politics #fandom culture #fandom psychology #mailob

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heresathreebee · 3 years

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Brackish And Briny Waters (three)

[Ralph Lamont X Female Reader]

Summary: Spend the weekend painting the house with your husband. Previous Masterlist Next

Tags: 17+ | 1.6k words | Painting a house together, aka domestic stuff, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, pulling out, vague mention of rats.

AN: part 4 is gonna get angsty I just finished it

Anything involving greens was a heavy battle between you two, as Ralph seemed to have some kind of vendetta against them. The more blue you got, the less you fought and you eventually settled on a cool tone to use for the laundry room with a compromise to paint floral accents in a forest green tone along the edges of the back wall. You did find an exact replica of one of the original wallpapers in your second bedroom which you wanted to move to the living room.

Colors selected and purchased, you went home starving and managed to scrape together some left overs with a side of rice to fuel you to start on the real work. You also bought brown paper to cover the solar room window holes until you can finish that room as its own project.

Ralph rolls up his sleeves and puts on his bleach stained lounge pants to help. You lay down tarp and use up 3 rolls of tape to cover the kitchen and the dining room. Every window and door is wide open as you set your record player to play some 'whistle while you work' type of albums. And whistle he does that husband of yours, enjoying your company and shaking his hips dramatically to make you laugh. You two haven't had this much fun in so long it feels like.

The summer citrus color you chose for the kitchen was really working for you. Ralph intended to put the wallpaper up in the other room to get 'double the work done' but still you find him working the same wall just to be close to you. You talk about missing that classic NYC pizza and dinner tomorrow and Ralph promises to ask his colleagues about any music shops in the area.

You take a nap on the porch swing to get away from the paint fumes, an iced tea almost slipping from your hand. When dinner time comes, you cook while he details the removal of the old wallpaper from the dining room to work tomorrow. He's rambling about using a third coat on the living room paint and you don't think it's necessary but you know he'll agree with you come morning.

"Come eat Ralph Vincent," you scold him for getting paint on the door frame but all is forgiven when he sweeps you into a hungry kiss.

"I'd rather eat you right now."

Ralph's flirtations are interrupted by his own ractious growling stomach and you laugh at him as you shove a plate into his hand. You eat together by the window in the living room. While it hasn't been painted yet, you have moved the furniture to the middle of the room and the fumes from the kitchen and dining room are still very strong. You hope it doesn't affect your sleep tonight (or hope it puts you down like a dose of melatonin).

"Floyd's got a boat," Ralph tells you. "Says he takes it out on the water almost every day. Asked if I wanted to join him."

"And are you?" You spin another forkful of angel hair spaghetti on your plate.

Ralph slurps his like a child. "Am I what."

"Are you going to join him on his boat?" You speak slowly and patronizingly. Ralph pinches your breast and almost makes you drop your plate. "No. I hate boats. I hate water. I don't want to be trapped for hours out there listening to him talk about paintings and philosophers, at least at work I can walk away."

You chuckle. "I think Floyd sounds very interesting. What do you have against him?"

"Nothing," he protests, "he talks too much. He's loquacious– that's what Justine calls him, and she's one to talk. If you must know, he's actually my favorite– he knows when to keep his nose out of my business."

Dishes are made slightly more difficult with Ralph hanging off your shoulders. He peppers kisses up and down your neck, even finds a hickey from the morning that's started to fade and he remarks you. You dig your dripping fingers into his hair when he finds that spot on your neck and gives it some much needed attention.

"Ralphie, baby, please," you whisper, "I could use your help with these."

Dishes are done in record time and suddenly you're being whisked away to your bedroom (not that you were complaining). This room has the wallpaper that you had no intention to change aside from a fresh upgrade. Ralph takes your hand to spin you around and back you into your shared room all the way to the edge of the bed. Along the way he plants kisses from your hairline to your collarbone before he lets you fall atop the thick quilted bedspread.

He gazes at you with a warm expression. The soft "my girl" he whisperes makes your heart swell.

You expect him to pick up your legs and pull you by your knees to the outside of his hips (want him to even), but Ralph has other ideas it seems. It's not until his head is between your legs that you realize what he's up to (or rather down to). You gasp a lung full of air and grab him by the hair of his head.

"Jesus," you sigh.

Your husband's rumbling laughter causes your thighs to twitch. "Say my name, I'm the one doing all the work."

"Yeah but you love– aha!" His beard brushes your inner thighs and leaves a delightful burning sensation in the deepest part of your soul. "Fuck…"

You pull his hair harder and feel the soft locks stretch in your bloodless grasp. You can feel that immortal coil wind tighter and tighter inside you as Ralph devours you. You start chanting his name, the pitch of your voice beginning to crescendo the closer you get to that fire cracker ending. Ralph doubles his efforts, eager to have you fall apart on his tongue and fingers.

He's more than making it up to you tonight.

When you come, your body curls in on itself and your thighs lock around his head, effectively deafening him. You have no idea if he can hear the scream that rips from your body but you can't either as your eyes rolls back in ecstasy.

You relax onto the bed and feel it dip with an additional weight to your side. You slide into Ralph's easy embrace, his dry hand coming up to hold you to him and just rest for a bit.

"Fuck," you say huskily, "you're really good at that…"

Ralph kisses you in answer, trying to deepen the connection but you have to twist away to catch your breath. Instead he plants lingering, sweet kisses on your neck, your cheek, your hair. His hand caresses your back in circles until you're nearly asleep from the motion.

You flinch when you feel his nose brush against yours. "Baby… don't fall asleep." He sounds so sweet until his voice darkens and he says, "I'm not done with you yet."

You lose track of time and all you can feel is Ralph Lamont. You're both covered in a sheen of sweat and his hips rock leisurely into yours. You don't know who grabbed who but your hands are tangled together and refuse to let go. Ralph's breath dusts over your neck, cool in contrast to the fire of his physical form pressed against you. You want to come again but you let him draw it out, let him love you tonight.

"Ralph." You whisper in his ear, begging with no pressure to change pace. You're happy if he's happy and he is very content to keep thrusting into you to his peak and slow down, never stopping but always making you want more. Your man kisses you flush on the mouth and adjusts his position. His thrusts change. They grow from hypotonic and shallow to a little hard and more purposeful. You moan at the feeling, your legs locking around his hips to draw him deeper despite your exhaustion.

Your orgasm washes over you nice and gentle, nothing like the force of the first time. You're conscious enough to lock your ankles around Ralph's hips, but it still doesn't prevent him from slipping his flushed and reddened cock out and finishing on your stomach as he always intended. You feel a strange tickle of disappointment as you come down from your high but push it to the back of your mind for later.

Some way, somehow, Ralph still has enough strength to clean you both up and tuck you into bed. He curls around your body despite the near unbearable heat and falls fast asleep, his soft snores right behind your ear lulling you under the tide of sleep.

DAY FOUR

"Morning."

Your Saturday is awash of more painting and moving furniture with Ralph. He made coffee and eggs and brought it to you in bed, then dragged you down to look at the frayed wires on the clothes dryer machine.

"Might be rodents," you muse. "I'll get some traps on Monday and find my soldering iron."

"We'll get traps tonight," your husband countered, scratching his chin, "the sooner the better."

You finish removing the old wallpaper in the living room and carefully put up the new one with little fuss. The kitchen still smells of paint but it's dry (it had better be, you left the windows open all night and it's freezing in here) so you put the kitchen utensils and appliances back and remove the protective tape and brown paper. Ralph is proud of the precision work done in the corners and edges, patting himself on the back and yours.

"We did good babe," he said, "by this time next week, we'll have the whole house done!"

You laugh at his optimism. There were still cobwebs to dust, cracks to spackle, floors to polish, windows to replace. This was the very reason he picked this place…

To keep you busy. To keep your mind from wandering to those dark places that linger in your past.

At least it was working.

Tagging people who might like to know: @werwulfy @hoodoo12 @escape-your-grape @go-commander-kim @fundamentally-lazy @mimiscappinisideblog do y'all wanna be here? If not lemme know please 😅 DM me

#three bees writing #ralph lamont #ralph lamont x reader #smut #things seen and heard au #vaguely ghost house au #black reader insert

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poedameronloverx · 3 years

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Who’s Looking After You?

Life in Lockdown - Masterlist

Poe Dameron x F Solo Reader

Hey everyone! Hope you’ve all had a lovely week. Here is the next part of my series.

Big mentions of covid again this week so if that’s going to upset you then I full understand if you want to give this a miss. Also mentions of anxiety.

But we also have more of reader bonding with BeeBee and a nice wee heart to heart between her and Poe. And then there’s Finn asking the questions we all want the answer to!

Month 3 – May 2020

Rose's illness came and went without too much drama. Her symptoms suggested COVID but she hadn't been as ill with it as a lot of other people had. Poe had a few symptoms too, they started off pretty mild. He decided to stay in the house just incase so you had taken over BeeBee's walks. The little dog was confused at first, wondering why his best friend wasn't walking him but he soon got used to it and was happy to be out with you. You and Rose were taking turns to look after Poe. Finn was still keeping out of the way due to his work, so the two of you were working around one another and your work schedules to check on how Poe was feeling. After a few days he started to feel worse, his throat was sore and he had no energy. You made him soup and checked in to make sure he was looking after himself.

“Sweetheart, you're going to get sick” he protested as you moved his pillows around to help him get comfortable.

“I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about you!” you replied “And I'm going to continue to worry about you and take care of you until you're back to your normal self!”

You fussed around him some more, making sure he had everything he needed before you had to head back to your desk for a zoom meeting.

“So, when are we going to talk about it?” Finn asked, a few nights later as you sat down to dinner with him and Rose.

“Talk about what?” you asked

“This sexual tension between you and Poe”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on! You can't pretend, it's so obvious that you like him and it's obvious that he likes you so once he's better you should do something about it!”

“Wait, did he say something?” Rose asked “Because you didn't tell me he liked her back!”

“Hold on!” you butted in “You told Finn?”

“I'm sorry! I know I should've kept my mouth shut but it's Finn and he promised me he wouldn't tell Poe!”

“And I didn't!” Finn replied “But I just think you two deserve to be happy and being together would obviously make both of you happy!”

“You guys need to stop getting involved. Poe doesn't like me in that way and that's totally fine. He's my friend and I don't want to lose that if you guys make this awkward so please stop!”

“We won't make it awkward” Rose replied “We won't say another thing”

You couldn't sleep that night, everything Finn had said was going round on loop in your head. BeeBee slept soundly at the foot of the bed, he'd taken to sleeping in your room most nights. You climbed out of bed and looked out the window. The rain was falling onto the peaceful street. It had been raining for a few hours and puddles had already formed everywhere. You decided to head downstairs to get a glass of water, the lack of sleep was beginning to annoy you. When you walked into the living room, you were startled to see a figure sat on the couch.

“Poe? What are you doing up?”

“Couldn't sleep” he replied “I'm feeling a lot better so I figured there was no harm in having a little wander round the house since everyone was in bed!”

“As long as you’re alright” you replied

“I am, wanna sit with me for a while? You’ve been taking care of me so you’ve probably passed any risk of catching this”

“Yeah, may as well since I’m wide awake”

You could feel him staring at you, he hadn't put the lights on in the living room. Only the small lamp in the dining room was giving any light.

“Tell me honestly, are you doing okay? You had all the stress with your dad being ill, then you looked after Rose and now you’re looking after me. Who’s looking after you sweetheart”

“Honestly Poe, I’m fine. Keeping busy keeps my mind off of not being able to see my family. I like looking after you guys. I enjoy walking Bee, I like making the soups you’ve taught me and when I’m not working I like cooking dinner for us all”

“You’re too good to us. Even just letting Finn and I move in and completely throw your life into even more chaos by taking over your home”

You glanced at him and smiled.

“I like having you here” you replied “It’s good to have a group to hang out with. Rose and I would bicker about stupid stuff when we just spent weekends together. We would’ve been a nightmare alone for all these weeks. I like being able to spend time with her but then have the option to walk away from her and hang out with you. I’m not going to lie and say these past few weeks have been easy and amazing because they haven’t, they’ve sucked. Not knowing if my dad was going to be alright or not whilst not being able to see my mum was torture. Then Rose getting ill and now you, I feel like I’ve constantly been worried and my anxiety has been terrible but I really am alright”

“Can we make a deal then?” Poe asked

“What kind of deal?”

“Well I’m worried about you and how much you’ve taken on, so how about once a week you have an evening to yourself? Run a bath, or just have a lie down. Whatever you want. It would just make me feel better to know that you were taking a break!”

“Alright, deal” you replied “Now tell me what else is on that mind of yours?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well Poe Dameron, I can basically see the cogs turning under that beautiful hair of yours. So tell me what's on your mind”

He sighed “My work is struggling. The pandemic has hit us hard and they don't know if we'll be able to keep going. I might lose my job”

“Oh Poe, I'm so sorry. Is that why they stopped you guys working from home?”

“Yeah, there wasn't enough work for us so they told us not to bother. We're still going to get paid for now but I really don't know how long that's going to last for”

“I'm sure something else will come up” you replied “And if not, you know we're all here for you. You'll never find yourself out on the street”

“Thank you sweetheart, that really means the world to me!”

A few days later, you were getting ready to take BeeBee his walk. You’d been working that morning, once you’d finished you had time to make a pot of soup for lunch, re-organise the living room and dust every surface in the room. BeeBee was very set in his ways and always knew when it was walk time. He wouldn’t let anyone forget it either, his usual tactic was slowly wandering over to where you were and nudging your ankle with his nose. You were just putting your coat on when Poe walked into the room.

“I’m feeling much better and I’m going stir crazy in this house. Fancy some company?”

“I dunno, what do you think BeeBee, should we let your dad tag along? He might cramp our style!”

The Corgi wagged his tail with excitement when he saw his best friend was ready to take him out for the first time in over a week. BeeBee had always enjoyed the attention you gave him whenever you went to see Poe and Finn, or if they’d brought him over, but living together had meant you and the little dog had bonded a lot more, especially when you had to walk him. He was spending a lot of time with you rather than Poe.

“I think he’s alright with it” you chuckled

“I think he’s replacing me” Poe pouted “You’re now his favourite person in the world”

“I mean, can you blame him? I’m awesome!”

“That’s true! But don’t let your head get too big or you won’t fit out the front door!”

Rose wandered into the room, she smiled when she saw Poe putting his coat on.

“You’re feeling better! That’s great”

“Much better. And I absolutely cannot wait to go outside”

“Enjoy the fresh air! But remember if it’s too much, you need to rest”

“I will Rose, thanks. I’m sure Y/N will take care of me and make sure I’m not over doing it”

“Damn right I will”

The walk was nice, you took it at a slow pace so Poe wouldn’t get tired too quickly. BeeBee seemed to have an extra spring in his step now that his dad was back walking him. You did a lap round the park before Poe said he was tired. You found a bench and let him sit down whilst you threw a ball for BeeBee. When the dog got bored of the game you sat down next to Poe.

“You doing okay?”

“I’m fine sweetheart, thanks”

“Do you fancy a coffee or anything?”

“Nah, just your company is enough for me”

You ducked your head, hoping he wouldn’t see your embarassment. You smiled as BeeBee ran around chasing after a bird that just wanted to sit on the grass. May had been an extremely difficult month with Rose and Poe both being ill, Poe’s job being at risk and not being able to go and help your mum look after your dad. 6 weeks of being in lockdown had been hard, your anxiety was flaring worse than ever and some days felt more of a struggle than others. You were glad to be with your friends and BeeBee. Facetime had been a lifeline to keep in touch with your parents, your brother and sister in law and your two nephews. You just hoped it wouldn’t be too long until you could see them in person.

So thats us for this week. I hope if you read it you enjoy it and as always your comments and suggestions would mean the world to me. I’m kinda lagging behind with where I wanted to be with this series in terms of how many chapters ahead I had written so if you guys have any suggestions of things you’d like me to write in this then please do let me know <3

#poe dameron x reader #Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader #Poe Dameron x F!Reader #tw: covid19 #tw: covid #tw: anxiety

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bethhxrmon · 3 years

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passed down like folksongs, prologue - steve x reader

prologue- who knows if she never showed up what could have been

series summary: Living in Hawkins was never easy for anyone. However, it becomes ten times more difficult than usual when you catch feelings for one Steve Harrington. What should be a simple schoolgirl crush ends up being complicated by your step-brother, Tommy Hagan, and the mysterious goings on in the town of Hawkins. [masterlist]

pairing: steve harrington x female! hagan! reader

chapter summary: You arrive in Hawkins due to your recently-divorced mother’s relationship with a man in the town. Moving involves growing pains, but you make friends along the way.

warnings: swearing, slut shaming

word count: 1.2k

a/n: I’ve returned from the dead with a whole series to give y’all! It’s the folklore fic that I’ve mentioned a few times already. You don’t have to listen to Taylor Swift or know the album to understand it as it’s just a loose outline for my plot of the story. This prologue’s got a lot of exposition, but it picks up I promise! Let me know if you like it!!! (also if you saw me repost this to try and actually get it in the tags, no you didn’t)

~*~*~*~

When you first arrived in Hawkins, Indiana it was a bright and sunny afternoon in 1979. Your mom was recently divorced and decided to pack up everything in your hometown and leave. Moving away was saddening, but the pull of being somewhere new was intriguing.

However, what your mom didn’t mention was that she had a boyfriend only months after some papers were signed. All she bothered to mention was that she had a special friend that you would love. You weren’t completely sure what that meant.

Well, you weren’t sure until you met Mr. Hagan for the first time. He was accompanied by his perfect and well-behaved son, Tommy, who was around a year older. Inclined to believe the man, you and the other boy are left in the living room of his house as your mom and his dad went off to the kitchen to talk about something.

“Your mom’s a whore,” was the first thing out of his mouth as soon as all adults were out of ear-shot.

You stared in shock, “A-a what?”

“Your mom made my parents break-up and now my dad wants to marry your mom,” he said in a huff.

“That’s not true! My mom said your dad’s just a friend.”

“Keep telling yourself that, you’re supposed to be my stupid step-sister.”

As confused as you were at the time, it turned out that Tommy was right. Your mom did end up marrying his dad. It was a pretty wedding on the surface, though a lot of the decorations were gaudy. Those were the words of the various guests. People who didn’t seem too keen on your mom or you.

Despite the growing pains, you were shoved into Hawkins Middle School. The first person you met was Barbara Holland, a mild-mannered girl who was nothing but kind to you. She was even kinder after figuring out you were stuck living with Tommy, of all people. That also meant hanging out with Nancy Wheeler too, it quickly became a nice trio of friends.

That was exactly what you needed as most of the small town looked down on your mom, insisting that she was part of ruining one of the final, perfect families of the town. It was something Tommy never let you forget. Just because he couldn’t back-talk your mom didn’t mean he couldn’t make your life hell to some degree.

You weren’t all that close to your step-dad, though he did get you a greenhouse for your birthday when you mentioned that you liked plants. It was a chance to physically get out of the house, and you weren’t going to turn that down. The first things you planted in there were some daffodils and white carnations.

Oftentimes, you were home and Tommy would have other people over. Namely his girlfriend, Carol, and his best friend, Steve. You weren’t sure if they were best friends, but if that wasn’t the case, then you didn’t get why he was around all the time.

All was as fine as it could be barring your mom’s issues with the next-door neighbor. You didn’t know much about them, but your mom took their white cat and dyed it a bright green color. Tommy insisted that your mom went off the deep-end when all of that happened. Though, his dad insisted she was the perfect burst of vitality or something in that zone. That didn’t stop him from getting a heart attack when you just barely started high school. The old man survived, but Tommy blamed your mom and you by some odd extension.

It never mattered that his dad was fine. He still stole your diary that you used to take everywhere with you regardless of that fact. You thought you just misplaced it and put it somewhere silly. Surely it would turn up at any time. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t done before.

However, when it did turn up, it was when you got up from sitting with Nancy and Barb and saw the unthinkable. Tommy pulled out your diary and handed it over to both Carol and Steve. All you could do was pretend like you didn’t see and convince yourself that this wasn’t happening. You turned away before you could see what their reactions were.

Of course, that meant you didn’t see Steve’s obvious hesitance. He shook his head in disbelief, “Tommy, this is crazy.”

“Yeah, crazy as in all the stuff she writes in here! You gotta check it out!” Tommy insisted.

Carol shrugged as she took the diary and opened it to a random page before she started to laugh, “Steve, come on.”

“Uh, I think I’m good. C’mon, she obviously saw us. It’s a dick move, even for you guys,” Steve said.

Tommy rolled his eyes, “You’re just worried that she writes a bunch of creepy shit about you.”

“No, this is just shitty,” he replied and took the diary right out of Carol’s hands.

The bell rang right as he got up. You planned to pretend as if nothing happened. If anything, you made an effort to avoid Tommy. Of course, that meant colliding right into Steve Harrington. He probably read that stupid diary. Not that it mattered. You didn’t know enough about him, or care enough about him, to write anything serious about him.

Instead, he practically shoved the thing right into your hands, “Uh, I think that’s yours.”

He was on his way before you could say anything. You didn’t bother to do anything other than put it in your backpack. Then, the day continued as it always did with classes and sticking with Nancy and Barb as always.

It was around dinner time when you got dropped back at your house after doing homework and talking with Barb and Nancy. The Wheeler household was the best place to hang out because Mrs. Wheeler always had snacks ready and dinner was always ready at the same time every night. Your mom ended up getting stuck with a lot of the cooking and she tried her best, but it didn’t always work out. Meaning that takeout was commonplace.

How Steve got wrapped into third-wheeling with Tommy and Carol at your house was beyond you. All you knew was that he was watching some sitcom in the living room.

“Hey, I’d wait before going upstairs. Um, Tommy’s, well… you know,” Steve attempted to explain as his face reddened a bit.

You nodded slowly, understanding, “Okay then, guess I’ll just stay down here.”

You set your backpack next to the coat rack before taking off your jacket and shoes. Steve was all but sprawled across the couch so you took the loveseat that was next to him.

Nothing was said for a while, both of you avoiding any conversation about the diary. Instead, the television filled the awkward silence. You weren’t interested in what was going on, but you had no clue how to say that you wanted to see if there was anything on.

“I saw you guys’re out of ice cream,” Steve said.

You shrugged, “Um, yeah, probably.”

“Do you wanna go to the store and get some?”

“I don’t have a car…” you trailed off.

Steve laughed, “I meant do you wanna come with me and get some ice cream? Tommy and Carol take forever and I can’t be bothered to flip through all these channels right now.”

“Uh, okay.”

“If you don’t wanna, you don’t have to, I just thought I’d suggest it or whatever-”

“No, I’m fine with going.”

Going to the grocery store with Steve Harrington on a Wednesday night wasn’t how you thought the day would turn out. If nothing else, you knew it would fix the awkwardness of all the nights you and Steve would be stuck in the living room that was to come.

taglist: @flyingrichardgrayson @holidayharringtons (let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #folklore fic #if this doesn't get in the tags i will cry #if this flops i will cry shhh

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