#it’s an old piece but new blog so we pretend it’s new
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hatred
wip: requiem for the monochrome / paramour ; just in that universe in general but this is more of a character exploratory piece than an actual plot related writing
character(s): lavendula calderon (hya’s younger half sister & a mc of requiem for the monochrome), hyacinthus shrapnel (but only in mention)
lavendula contemplates how her emotionless nature pales against hya’s commanding exterior.
The first time Lavendula laid eyes upon her Hyacinthus, he had been dressed more finely than her husband. Shocking amounts of gold and grandeur adorned him; gold woven lace hidden underneath a gilded silk and stark white blouse tucked into a tight white corset laced with gold. The threads of his trousers glinted with every step, the click of golden heels on the marble floor commanding. Even from behind his mouth that could spew such malice, golden grills protected his sharp canines, making every word feel more biting with the clack of them. If you didn’t know him, you feared him and even if you did, what raw power his broad shoulders could hold. He regarded her with a look one would give a dirty, disobedient child and the warmth in it, the scathe of it, was something Lavendula had never felt.
It felt thrilling, to be hated.
She practiced that same look in the mirror months after that meeting. If she too could look upon what she’d become with such disgust, perhaps she could find the courage to drag herself from it. For hours she’d grip the counter of her sink, her knuckles turning ashen from exertion, and would stare at herself. To try and warp her face until it was ugly, until it was warm, until it burned like a hot stove to the touch, and could drive away crowds with the sting of it… but no matter what it never changed. The enforced impasse of her expression was cemented by now, and it seemed nothing could make it stray.
When she walked, she held her head high, shoulders back as though a book was upon her and a rope was tugging her backwards. Her gaze was still as blank as a cloudless sky, never faltering, or perhaps frozen by time. Observing, but never engaging. Aloof, uncaring. How she longed to cry hot tears but even those of her first childbirth felt cold.
If Hyacinthus was the sun, who raged against his pedigree, then perhaps Lavendula was the moon, hidden in the shadow of it’s legacy.
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Bigger Than He Was
Bucky Barnes x Female Reader One-Shot: SMUT
Request by @littlemiss-yeehaw: jealous!Bucky, fake dating, handjob.
Summary: Bucky pretends to be your new man when you run into your ex in public. However, the little act of pretending sparks something inside of him that he didn't know was there.
Warnings: profanity, alcohol consumption, handjob, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink, slight size kink, jealous!Bucky, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!
Word Count: 7.8k
A/N: The first request I wrote from the smut menu had to be from my Tumblr best friend. Not only does she pre-read nearly everything that I post, but she keeps me from deleting my blog on a near daily basis, and she keeps me sane. I hope you all enjoy it as much as she did. If it wasn't for this girl, my blog would've been deleted before Needs & Wants was ever completed lmao.
You’ve decided that no one in the world looks more out of place than a super soldier in a grocery store. Specifically, a super soldier in the produce aisle of a small local market. He looks like a bull in a China shop as he scours through a bin of tomatoes to find ones he approves of. He holds one tomato in each of his leather gloved hands as he compares them carefully, acting like choosing between the two is every bit as difficult as deciding whether someone lives or dies in his usual line of work.
“They’re pretty much the same, Bucky, and we only need two. Just put them in a bag.” You say with a sigh, resting your elbows on the handle of the shopping cart that you’ve been pushing as you’ve trailed behind him. Though you’re the one carrying the team’s grocery list, Bucky’s been the one pulling things off of the shelves and setting them in the cart. You originally suggested each of you taking half of the list and splitting up to get the shopping done faster, and to avoid the pointless arguments and annoyances you’d face in each other’s presence, but Bucky’s only response to your idea was a furrowed brow and silence. So, you’ve been following him around with the shopping cart safely between the two of you.
Bucky starts to put both of the tomatoes down and pick two different ones just to bother you, but he takes the high road and bags the two he’s already holding instead. He’s usually assigned to grocery shopping with Sam, which he definitely prefers, but with Sam off to visit his family this week, he ended up being stuck with you.
“What’s next?” Bucky asks, setting the plastic bag of produce in the cart and then casting you a sideways glance. You cross tomatoes off of the small piece of paper in your hand before moving on to read the next item.
“We’re done with food items, next is ibuprofen, melatonin, and some feminine products.” You answer, lifting your gaze to meet his as you tap the pen against the piece of paper absentmindedly. Bucky nods curtly and starts leading the way down the aisle, knowing all of the aisles with medication, first aid, and toiletry type supplies are on the opposite end of the store. You follow a few feet behind him, missing your usual shopping buddy, Wanda. Though it’s a menial task, you always seem to have a fun time when the two of you are on the grocery schedule for the week. Bucky is a stark contrast to your far more bubbly, lighthearted friend.
You’re lost in thought as you turn a corner and enter the pharmacy aisle, not paying any attention as Bucky looks through various types of over-the-counter medications. It isn’t until you hear a voice one aisle over that you straighten up and tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The voice sounds familiar, so familiar that you find your ears straining to hear it better so you can identify it. Is it an old friend? Someone from SHIELD? You can’t be sure, but you’re starting to think it isn’t a friend by the way your nerves seem to be rising with every incoherent word that they mutter. You leave Bucky standing at one end of the aisle as you walk ahead, trying to get closer to the source of the voice. You’re nearly at the opposite end of the aisle when suddenly, the front end of another shopping cart appears and quickly turns in front of you, almost colliding with the front end of yours. You stop abruptly for two reasons. The first reason being so you don’t cause a pileup on aisle thirteen. The second reason being because you now see whose voice was causing your heart rate to elevate and your stomach to twist into a knot. Your fucking ex-boyfriend.
“Oh, wow, hey!” The man before you extends the greeting so casually, as if he didn’t waste a year of your life with meaningless words and empty promises. He raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, his eyes darting over his shoulder just as a pretty blonde woman steps into view. Oh. “This is uh, this is my girlfriend.” He gestures to the woman before looking back at you with a wary glance, clearly trying to gauge how you feel about him committing to someone new so soon. The woman offers a small smile and wave as she introduces herself by name, but it all goes right over your head. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, unable to tear your eyes away from the piece of shit behind the cart full of organic produce and a questionable amount of wine.
Bucky’s watching everything unfold from a few yards behind, acting as if he’s still deciding between a name brand bottle of ibuprofen and a generic version of the same. He gives you a few seconds to soak in the obviously awkward social situation as his eyes analyze your body language. You’re tense, your grip on the handle of the shopping cart is so tight that your knuckles are turning white. It’s been ten seconds since the woman introduced herself to you and you still haven’t uttered a word. Bucky glances to his right and notices the selection of condoms, lube, and pregnancy tests spread over the shelves next to the medication section. He only takes a second to weigh his options: let you continue to flounder in front of your shitty ex and his new victim or offer you an easy reprieve while simultaneously sending your ex into a mental spiral. His gloved hand wraps around a couple of boxes of pregnancy tests and he pulls them off of the shelf, signifying he’s chosen the latter.
“Oh, trying for a baby?” Your ex jokes when Bucky approaches from behind you and drops a handful of pregnancy tests into the cart.
“No, it’s just smart to have a few of these on hand when we only ever fuck raw. Do we know you?” Bucky’s tone is calm and even, like he’s just said something completely within the ordinary. It breaks you out of the trance you were in and you blink your eyes as you feel the heat from Bucky’s body enveloping you in warmth. He cages your body between his and the cart, his chest brushing against your back as he places his hands on either side of yours on the shopping cart handle. You don’t see the way his lips curve upward into a shit-eating grin as your ex’s face falls at both Bucky’s unfiltered words and the public display of affection he’s witnessing.
“Aren’t you…” The man addresses Bucky with slightly widened eyes and an unsure voice. You almost laugh at the effect Bucky has on the poor guy’s demeanor, and the fact that Bucky towers a few inches over the man is just icing on the cake.
“Bucky.” Your ex has just realized that not only are you grocery shopping with the Winter Soldier, but you’ve also been letting him fuck you.
---
Your week has been full of unexpected moments, but two stand out in particular. The first moment was when Bucky so calmly chose to play the role of your fake boyfriend at the grocery store three nights ago. Nearly every waking moment since then has been spent replaying it in your head, wondering why he decided to step in and do that for you, why he decided to take such a blunt approach and tell your ex that the two of you prefer unprotected sex, and how the hell he acted as if nothing happened immediately after the interaction was over. The second moment is unfolding right now. Your eyes are locked in on your phone screen as you mull over the text that’s displayed there.
Are you free tonight? Would love to sit down and catch up, want to talk about things.
You don’t have the number saved in your phone but you know exactly who it is. It’s the same shitty ex you ran into two nights ago, the same one who now thinks you’re fucking the Winter Soldier. Before you’ve even considered responding, a second message from the same unsaved number rolls in.
I’ll be at the bar we used to go to, the one off of 83rd street, in an hour. Hope to see you there.
The way your face scrunches up in confusion at the sight of the two texts on your phone screen piques Bucky’s interest as he steps off of the elevator and uses the collar of his t-shirt to dab sweat off of his neck. He’s just finished a pretty strenuous workout and had every intention of heading straight to his room to shower and spend the rest of the night in there, but he can’t ignore the feeling of some kind of invisible string tugging him in your direction. It was only two nights ago that he pressed himself against you in the grocery store and pretended like he knew what it’s like to have you in his bed. It was only two nights ago that you became a near constant thought in the back of his mind.
“Don’t tell me he texted you.” Bucky’s voice catches you off guard. You lift your gaze from your phone screen and lean back into the couch cushions, attempting to look perfectly at ease in his presence. Truth be told, you’ve been a little on edge around him since the night in the grocery store, but you don’t know why. Maybe because he saw you in such an embarrassing and vulnerable moment, in your own personal hell.
“He didn’t text me.” You lie, watching him carefully as the elevator doors close behind him and he takes the few steps across the room to reach the sectional you’re currently lounging on. It’s odd to see him sink into the opposite end of the piece of furniture so comfortably, like he’s such a normal guy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him sit in the living room of his own free will, and it’s a sight to see.
“You’re a bad liar.” Bucky huffs. His expression turns thoughtful as he thinks back to his encounter with your ex that night. The corners of Bucky’s lips curl up into a smile when he remembers the way the guy practically shrank when he heard that the two of you like to fuck raw. “What does he want?” Bucky seems to have a sixth sense about this shit, so you decide to go with it and tell him the truth, see where it gets you.
“He said he wants to catch up and talk about things.”
“Right after seeing you with another guy.” Bucky points out, hoping you’ll see where this is going. You shrug your shoulders and cross your arms over your chest.
“I guess so, or maybe it’s unrelated. People break up and then discuss it later for closure sometimes, it’s a thing, Bucky.”
“So, you’re going?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” You answer honestly. You watch as Bucky nods slowly, as if he’s digesting the information and deciding what to do with it. He uses the collar of his t-shirt to wipe a bit of sweat away from his neck again, drawing your gaze down to the flexing of his bicep. You’re quick to avert your gaze back up to his eyes, but the satisfied smirk on his face tells you that he caught you looking.
“We’re going.” Bucky decides, sitting up a little straighter on the couch and running a hand through his sweaty hair. The bewildered look that takes over your face says it all.
“What the hell do you mean we’re going? There’s no we here, it’s just me.”
“I meant exactly what I said, we’re going.”
---
You stand in the garage of the compound, where everyone’s various vehicles are stored away safely. Your fingers pick at the frays of your black jeans absentmindedly as you lean against a concrete pillar, waiting for Bucky. You know you should just get in your own car and leave without him, there’s absolutely no good that will come out of letting him tag along for this. Yet, something in the back of your mind is tugging at you to stay and wait for him, to see what might come of this. Looking up at your reflection in the car window a few feet away from you, you take in the sight of your little ensemble. You’re wearing dark jeans paired with a tight little long-sleeved crop top that shows the tiniest bit of your midriff. You wanted to wear something fairly plain yet something that showed a little skin, so this is what you settled on.
Unbeknownst to you, Bucky’s outfit for tonight will go well with your own. He’s wearing dark jeans as well, but with a dark t-shirt and black leather jacket. As the elevator carries him down to the lowest floor of the compound, he has a brief second of clarity where he asks himself what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. First, he went against every rational thought in his mind when he pretended to be your boyfriend in a damn grocery store. Then, he spent two nights thinking about what it might’ve been like if he actually had been fucking you raw like he’d told to your ex he was. Those two nights ruined him. You ruined him. It took less than 48 hours for his mind to become completely preoccupied with you.
When the elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide open to let him into the private parking garage beneath the compound, his eyes fall on you instantly. Fuck. One look at you and he’s immediately decided that you’re not taking a car, no, you’re taking his bike. Hell, you’re dressed near-perfectly for it. The only issue is that bit of smooth skin you have showing beneath the hem of your little top, he’s not going to take you out on his bike and risk ruining that perfect skin of yours with road rash.
The ding of the elevator draws your attention to your right, where Bucky is stepping into the parking garage looking totally different than when you saw him upstairs half an hour ago. His messy hair has been washed and dried, his flesh and metal biceps are hidden within the sleeves of his leather jacket, and his neck is no longer glistening with a sheen of sweat. You’re unashamedly focusing on the way his jeans are accentuating the muscles of his thighs when he starts stripping off his leather jacket.
“Put this on.” He says as he holds the jacket out to you with one hand, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans with the other to fish out the key for his bike. Your eyes widen as you stare at the jacket in his outstretched hand. Shaking your head, you take a step back from him.
“Why?”
“Because you’re not riding on the back of my bike with skin showing, it’s not safe.”
“The back of your bike? Bucky, we’re taking a car.” You say defiantly, crossing your arms over your chest. Bucky can’t ignore the way your breasts are slightly pushed up by the action, a hint of cleavage peeking out over the lowcut neckline of your top. He quickly averts his gaze back to his motorcycle that stands a few feet in front of you both, a sigh leaving his lips at your stubbornness.
“Just put on the damn jacket.” He says, looking over at you one more time, but this time with a softened expression. You don’t know why you comply and take the jacket from him, but you do. It’s warmed from his body heat when you slip your arms into it and the way it engulfs you and pulls down on your shoulders with a bit of weight is almost comforting.
The motorcycle ride to the bar, however, is anything but comforting. The only other time you’ve ever been so close to Bucky was that night at the grocery store when he cozied up behind you for show. But this felt different. This involved your chest pressed against his back, your inner thighs brushing against his hips, and your arms wrapped around his torso. This felt intimate. It felt the same way to Bucky and he couldn’t ignore it, no matter how hard he tried. When he stopped at a redlight in the city, you let your hold around his abdomen relax for a moment. Your hands slid down to rest on the tops of his thighs as you remained pressed against his back, and he was praying for the light to turn green again before one of your hands had a chance to shift and find out how hard he was beneath the fabric of his jeans. He can only blame himself for the torture, since he was the one that insisted you take the bike.
When you turn onto the right street, you’re quick to tap Bucky’s thigh with your hand, completely missing the way he tenses up beneath your unexpected touch. You use that same hand to point to a small parking garage across the street from the bar that you’ll be heading into, and Bucky gets the signal. It’s only two minutes later that he’s parking his bike on the third floor of the garage and trying to keep his eyes off of you as you stand beside the bike, removing your helmet carefully. Some part of him can’t help but think that you’re being so careful because you want to look your best when you waltz into the bar to meet your ex, and he fucking hates it. He has the sudden urge to mess your hair up and send you in there looking like shit. But that urge only makes him think about all of the ways he could mess your hair up. He could grab you by it and pull you against him, he could run his hands through it and rake it into a ponytail while you’re on your knees for him…shit. He just volunteered to drive you to the bar to meet your ex. He can’t do a damn thing.
You hand Bucky your helmet and immediately start smoothing down your hair, seeing the look of disdain he gives you but choosing to ignore it. He had no obligation to be here with you tonight, but he insisted, so he has to put up with it.
“You don’t have to go in with me, I can do this on my own.” You say, hoping Bucky will choose to wait for you in the parking garage rather than go inside the bar with you.
“What are you planning to do?” Bucky asks, swinging his leg over as he dismounts the bike and joins you on the concrete floor. He stands in front of you, slipping his gloves off and resting them on the seat of the bike before reaching under the chin of his helmet to undo the strap there. Your eyes drift to the veins on his flesh hand and golden accents on his vibranium hand as you formulate a believable response.
“Hear him out, give him closure or whatever he’s here for.”
“Whatever he’s here for?” Bucky repeats your words almost sarcastically, scoffing beneath his helmet. When he pulls it off and rests it on the seat next to his gloves, you can see he’s scowling. “Why are you playing dumb? He’s here for you.”
“No, he isn’t. He’s with someone else now, and he thinks I am too.” You point out. A low chuckle rumbles past Bucky’s lips as he runs a hand through his hair and starts toward the concrete staircase on the other end of the floor.
“That’s exactly why he’s doing this, because he thinks you’re with someone else and he can’t stand it.” Bucky sounds so sure of himself, as if he’s experienced something like this before. In fact, he sounds so sure that it makes you wonder if he really has experienced this before.
“You think he’s jealous? You saw the girl he was with, didn’t you?” You question, falling into step next to Bucky. His leather jacket still sits heavy on your shoulders but giving it back to him hasn’t even crossed your mind yet. Bucky’s hoping you’ll forget about it and keep it on when you walk in and sit down across from that piece of shit ex you’re here for.
“She doesn’t have shit on you and he knows it.” His words leave your lips parted and your eyes widening in surprise as he reaches the staircase and starts heading down in front of you. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. For the most part, you’ve only ever heard him talk about you with an air of annoyance or indifference, but you could swear that what he just said was almost complimentary. If you could see the grimace on Bucky’s face, you’d know you were right. When he saw the blonde in the grocery store, he wanted to laugh at the way the guy had downgraded after losing you. She was pretty, sure, but you glow like the fucking sun even on your worst day.
“So, what should I be doing here tonight then?” You ask, knowing Bucky probably has a plan in mind if he came all this way just to witness what’s about to go down.
“Showing him that you don’t need him, that you’re better off without him.” You reach the bottom of the stairs and step out onto the sidewalk across from the bar. Bucky turns to face you as you scan the area for a crosswalk.
“And how do I do that?”
“For starters…” Bucky says, stepping closer to you and grabbing the front of his leather jacket that you’re still sporting, “keep this on.”
---
Bucky’s been standing at the bar for the last fifteen minutes, nursing both a beer and an aching jaw. The ache is from how hard he’s been clenching his teeth together since your ex strolled in and took the seat across from you at a little two-seater table across the room. Of course, the guy showed up without his new girl. And, of course, he’s been trying like hell to get you to smile and laugh at whatever half-assed jokes he’s been cracking since he sat down. Bucky knew the guy wasn’t after closure.
He watches with a less-than-pleased look on his face as the guy leans his elbows on the table and rests his hands a little too close to yours, but you don’t pull away. You’re sitting facing Bucky’s direction, yet you haven’t once let your eyes flit up to meet his. It’s infuriating. Bucky strains his ears to pick out your conversation through the din of the usual bar chatter around him. He listens intently as the guy tells you that it was nice to run into you at the grocery store, that he didn’t know if he’d ever see you again, that he missed the way you laughed. What a fucking ass. If Bucky remembers correctly, from overhearing gossip among the team, the guy had you nearly head over heels for him, and then one day he pulled the rug out from under you in and instant. He never even gave you much of a reason why. He simply called you up, ended the relationship over the phone, and a week later you heard through the grapevine that he’d met someone else. Why you felt compelled to meet the guy here tonight, Bucky will never understand. He doesn’t think the prick deserves even a minute of your time.
“So, you’re really seeing someone else now?” The man’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard to Bucky’s sensitive ears, but he continues to focus on your conversation anyway. Bucky has to know how you’ll respond. He watches out of the corner of his eye as you push a stray lock of hair back over your shoulder, over the shoulder of his leather jacket, and then you blush. Why are you blushing? Bucky’s heart starts to race in the slightest because he can’t figure out if you’re blushing at the idea of you and him being together or at your ex prying into your personal life.
“Yeah, he uh…at the grocery store, he…” You stutter through your answer. Like Bucky previously said, you’re a bad liar. The pink showing through the skin of your cheeks darkens another shade as you look away from your ex. Your eyes finally land on Bucky, who’s now standing at the bar facing you head-on. He holds your gaze assuredly and gives you a small nod, letting you know that you’re saying the right things. Somehow, just making eye contact with him and getting that small nod of approval calms your nerves.
“Right, I remember. I guess I kind of thought that was a joke.”
“A joke?” You ask, a bit offended at your ex’s confession. He rubs his hand across the back of his neck and lets out an awkward laugh before leaning back in his chair comfortably and taking a sip of his drink.
“Yeah, I mean the guy said you only ever fuck raw. You never once asked me to fuck you raw. It just didn’t sound believable.” Huh. You’re silent for a moment as you sip on your own drink and let your gaze float back to Bucky once more, unaware that he’s just heard every word that the man said. The two of you stare at each other with some kind of…tension in the air between your table and the bar. Honestly, if you and Bucky were actually together in some alternate universe where you didn’t find each other incredibly annoying from the start, you think you would love to let him fuck you without protection. Something about it just sounds so filthy and enticing. But when you imagine it with the man that’s currently sitting in front of you, the man who promised you a lifetime and then kicked you to the curb like a broken piece of furniture, you cringe. No, you never asked him to take off the condom, and you probably never would have. Truthfully, that should’ve been a sign.
Bucky’s eyes analyze the two of you as you put on a tight-lipped smile and then relax in your seat, fiddling with the zipper of the leather jacket draped around your frame.
“It didn’t sound believable?” You ask softly, looking up through your lashes in a way that makes Bucky’s cock twitch, and he’s not even the one you’re looking at. When you do flit your eyes over to him, he can sense the change in your demeanor instantly. You’re not coming off so lighthearted and timid now, you’re giving off an air that says you-don’t-know-who-the-fuck-I-am anymore. “When I look at you, I can’t even fathom the two of us having unprotected sex. It never once crossed my mind to ask you for that. But when I look at him?” You let your gaze travel over to Bucky once more, and this time your ex catches on. He turns in his chair, scanning the bar behind him until he sees the super soldier leaning against the bar with a smug smile on full display. “When I look at him, I can’t stop imagining it.”
---
Bucky’s leather jacket weighing on your shoulders, his body warmth seeping through his t-shirt and offering you reprieve from the wind that’s hitting you both head-on, his right hand reaching back to grip the side of your thigh as he weaves his bike skillfully in and out of traffic on the way back to the compound. All of those things are mixing and swirling together to create a near suffocating tension. You’re focusing on keeping your helmet from bumping into the back of his and even more than that, on keeping your mind out of the damn gutter. What you’d said back at the bar, the final thing you’d said before your ex realized he had no chance at getting back together with you, it was true. When you look at Bucky, you can’t stop imagining him fucking you without anything between your body and his. You don’t know when that started or when it might end, but it’s true. So, you left with him, climbing onto the back of his bike much more willingly than you had earlier in the evening. Not because you wanted to be close to him, but because you wanted to get home as fast as possible so you could get the hell away from him. Where on earth did this new found attraction come from? Why was your mind betraying your body with every single glance in his direction? Fuck physiology.
Bucky can almost hear you overthinking behind him as he turns off of the interstate and onto a quiet, private road leading up to the compound. Hell, he’s overthinking too. He heard what you said at the bar, and he saw the look in your eyes when you said it. Had you been thinking about him the same way he’d been thinking about you since that night at the grocery store. No, there’s no way. If you really had been, then you wouldn’t have wanted to meet up with your ex tonight. Bucky lets out a breath and slows the bike as he nears the entrance to the parking garage. Neither of you said a word when your ex stormed out of the bar, nor did either of you when you made the walk across the street to the public parking garage and started the ride back home. It’s been silent, unbearably silent for too long.
When Bucky finally parks the bike among the various vehicles owned by your friends and colleagues that reside upstairs, it seems as though you can’t get away from him fast enough. You swing your leg over and dismount the bike quickly before slipping your helmet off and taking a few steps over to the wall to set it on the shelf it originally came from. You’re halfway to the elevator when Bucky speaks, stopping you in your tracks.
“The jacket, sweetheart.” He says coolly. When you turn around, you see him still sitting on the bike, looking down at the helmet he holds in his hands. It almost bothers you that he isn’t looking back at you. He can call you sweetheart but he can’t lift his eyes to your face? You let out a deep sigh before walking back over to him and standing a foot away from him and the bike. You strip off the leather jacket a bit reluctantly before holding it out to him. You have to admit you feel a bit like you’re missing something without it on now. Bucky takes it without glancing in your direction, and as soon as you turn on your heel to walk away, you can hear him dismounting the bike and setting his own helmet on the shelf. You’ve just hit the button to call the elevator down to the garage when he decides to speak once again. “You’re a bad liar.”
“What?”
“You’re a bad liar. I don’t know much about you, but I know that.” Bucky says. You stand in front of the elevator but you can’t tear your gaze away from him when he’s speaking so ominously. You watch him carefully as he turns away from the shelf and faces you, but still doesn’t lift his gaze to meet yours. Instead, he smooths out his leather jacket before laying it over one arm and tucking the keys to his bike into the back pocket of his jeans.
“What does that have to do with anything?” You question, crossing your arms over your chest. Your eyes dart back to the screen above the elevator. It’s still so many floors away from reaching you.
“I knew you were lying when you told me he hadn’t texted you. I don’t even think your piece-of-shit ex believed you at first when he asked if you were really seeing someone new, you couldn’t even get a full sentence out. You’re a bad liar.” The words pour out of his mouth with ease, as if he pre-planned the entire speech. When you don’t say anything, he finally lifts his eyes to meet your narrowed stare. A shiver runs down your spine, but you blame it on the fact that you’re no longer wearing his jacket. “When I look at him, I can’t stop imagining it.” When Bucky repeats your words so perfectly, you can feel all of the color draining from your face. “When you said that, you didn’t stutter, you didn’t hesitate. You weren’t lying.”
“You think I was being honest?” The question leaves your lips with a hint of anger edging each word. Bucky merely shrugs in response, tilting his head to the side as he waits for you to answer your own question, since it’s obvious that he thinks you were being honest. “You think I look at you and imagine you fucking me raw?”
“Do you?” Bucky taunts, licking his bottom lip before drawing it between his lips and pressing his top teeth into it. Your gaze darts down to his lips against your better judgement, and when your eyes settle back on his, all you see is a reflection of what you’re sure your own eyes are showing. Lust. He thinks about it. He thinks about fucking you raw. In this moment, you’re sure. In fact, he’s thinking about it right now.
Your feet start moving before you even have a moment to consider the action, they’re carrying you straight toward him, ignoring the elevator that’s just arrived to take you away from him. When you stop a few inches in front of him, he’s staring down at you with a raised brow and building anticipation. He wants your answer.
“Yes.” You breathe the word out. In an instant, Bucky’s dropping his jacket to the floor and tangling his flesh hand in the hair at the nape of your neck as his pulls you into him, crashing his lips against yours. It’s a kiss that takes your breath away and fills your lungs with a fiery burn, yet you don’t want to break for air. You kiss him back, moving your lips to suck along his bottom one as you tilt your head to the right to give each of you better access. Bucky languidly drags the tip of his tongue along your top lip before snaking it lower and letting it delve into your mouth. God, he might’ve imagined fucking you but truthfully, he forgot to imagine kissing you. He never would’ve thought it could be this good. His vibranium arm wraps around your lower back, pulling you closer into him until his body warmth begins sending tingles across the surface of your skin. Once he has you flush against him, that same cool metal hand begins unwrapping from your back and traveling down until it’s in place to grip a handful of your ass, hard. When you gasp into the kiss, Bucky pulls back and bites down on your bottom lip. Fuck. If you don’t stop him now, he won’t be able to stop himself from having you right here in the garage. As if you’re reading his mind, you place both hands on his chest and pull your head back until there’s an inch of space between your mouths. While your eyes are focused on his pink nose and swollen lips, your mind is focused on what you feel pressing against your thigh. He’s fully erect, his cock straining against the front of his jeans just from kissing you. You could overthink this, let your mind weigh all of the pros and cons of what’s happening right now, and then convince yourself to be responsible and go upstairs to your own room, pretending this never happened. But for some reason, your right hand is already coasting down his chest, over his abs, and sliding between your lower bodies. You find yourself palming the outline of his cock, offering him such a perfect amount of pressure and friction that he can’t help but lean his hips forward and press his cock further into your touch.
“If you don’t stop now…” Bucky rasps, but his eyes flutter closed and he bites down on his lower lip before he’s even finished the sentence, your sensual touch getting the better of him.
“If I don’t stop now?” You encourage him to say what he wants to say, but you can’t fight the teasing smile that’s beginning to play on your lips.
“If you don’t stop now, you won’t be able to return all of those pregnancy tests on your next grocery run.” You laugh lightly as you lean in and press a soft kiss against Bucky’s jawline, continuing to rub his erection through the taut fabric of his jeans.
“Are you thinking about fucking me raw, James?” You tease. Bucky groans before opening his eyes and pulling you away from his jaw by your hair. He doesn’t stop you from slowly sliding your hand back and forth along the outline of his cock, but he makes sure you’re looking right in his eyes before he speaks again.
“Right here in this damn parking garage.”
Without a single thought in either of your minds, Bucky lets you push your palms flat against his chest and walk him back until he stumbles onto the seat of his motorcycle. In one swift movement, you slip your hand past the waistband of his jeans and boxers and the warm skin of your hand comes into contact with his hard length, without anything between the two of you. Bucky lets out a heady groan and his hands begin moving all on their own, working to unbutton and unzip his jeans to give your hand as much space as possible. As soon as he has his pants undone, you shift your hand and wrap it firmly around his cock, giving it a slow stroke inside of his boxers. When you near the head of it, a bead of precum drips onto the side of your thumb and you smile to yourself as you spread it back over the smooth tip of his cock. What is it about having a man this way that makes a woman feel so damn powerful? Bucky looks at you with a mix of annoyance and awe at the way you’re working his cock so effortlessly yet turning him into putty in your hands. He’ll let you have your fun for now, and then he’ll show you that he can have the same effect on you.
The moment your eyes lock onto his, he slides his right hand along the side of your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss, the taste of your lips and the feel of your hand stroking back and forth along his hard-on is nearly enough to send him over the edge, and he inhales sharply, tugging his lips away from your own.
“I’m not going to have much use for those pregnancy tests if we keep going like this, am I?” You ask jokingly, as you remove your hand from Bucky’s pants and raise it up to your face. Bucky runs a hand through his hair as he blows out a breath and watches you intently. Your thumb, still a bit shiny and wet from his precum, ventures dangerously close to your mouth. You keep your eyes trained on Bucky’s as you use that same thumb to tug down your bottom lip before sliding it into your mouth and sucking.
“Oh, fuck.” Bucky groans, his rationality fleeing as his own flesh hand delves into his pants and begins mimicking your actions from a moment ago. The way your eyes follow his movements, your pupils blown wide with lust as you watch him touch himself, it’s too damn much for him. He grabs you by the hair once again, in that desperate, needy way that you’re quickly growing to love, and pulls you against his chest, kissing you as fervently as the first time. However, this kiss doesn’t last. He pulls away from you in an instant and suddenly, his hand is on your shoulder, pushing you down to your knees. Before you reach the floor, he uses the toe of his boot to slide his discarded leather jacket across the floor to cushion your knees. So fucking thoughtful.
Bucky stands up with you on your knees in front of him and his bike resting on its kickstand behind him. His eyes never part from your face as he pushes his already undone pants and boxers down his thighs just enough to free his cock from their confines. Your breath hitches in your throat as soon as you lay eyes on it, as soon as you lay eyes on the sheer size of it. Bucky doesn’t make a move to stop you as you reach up with both hands and take hold of his length, using one hand to begin stroking it from the base to the tip while your other hand grips his thigh. Your eyes widen at the way it looks even bigger in your hand, which is a mental image that Bucky will probably be recalling every day for the rest of his life. You’re more than ready to lean in and take him in your mouth, to experience every second of what it’s like to suck him off, but his gentle touch halts your movements. His flesh hand softly cups the side of your face as he lets his thumb caress the skin over your cheekbone.
“You’re so much bigger than he was.” You whisper, your eyes traveling up Bucky’s torso until you’re getting lost in his gaze. It’s true. Your ex was…well below average in this department. But Bucky? God, Bucky is so far above average it’s actually making you wonder if you can even fit half of him in your mouth. Bucky chuckles lowly before tracing your bottom lip with his thumb, and then copying your earlier move. He slips the pad of his thumb between your lips and watches with hooded eyes as you eagerly accept it, sucking on it gently. Fuck. He’s so ruined. Only a moment later, he’s standing there with his head thrown back and a string of curses are falling from his mouth as you bob your head back and forth, letting his cock slide along your tongue and brush against the back of your throat repeatedly. He’s fully lost in the pleasure of your mouth. He’s so lost, in fact, that when you grip his thighs with both hands and lean into him as far as you possibly can, letting your nose brush against his lower stomach and your throat tighten around his shaft as you gag, he lets out a groan that reverberates through the parking garage and sends a fresh wave of heat straight to your core.
“Fuck, do that again.” He rasps, finally looking down at you as you pull your head back until only the tip is resting on your tongue. A smile plays behind your eyes as you dare to look up at him. He can’t help himself. Both of his hands move to run through your hair, encouraging you to do exactly what he just said. You repeat your actions, moving your head forward and taking his entire length in until you gag a second time. But this time, Bucky holds your head still there for two seconds. His eyes squeeze shut as your throat grips his cock tighter and tighter, the sensation bringing him so close to the edge that he abruptly pulls back and leaves only half of his length for you to taste. “Just like that, shit.” Another minute of your mouth doing exactly what Bucky wants and he’s fighting with every cell in his body to delay the inevitable. He wanted to fuck you raw, truly, it was his intention from the moment you admitted you thought about it. But having you like this? Having you on your knees for him, telling him that his dick is bigger than the last piece of shit you were with? God, he’s so close to cumming in your mouth that it almost hurts.
“I’m so fucking close.” He groans the words out as if he’s in pain, as if he’s holding back because he doesn’t want to cum in your mouth. That just won’t do. So, you release him from your mouth with a pop and start working him with your hand as you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.
“You don’t want to cum in my mouth?” You ask innocently, looking up at him through your lashes. It’s the same way you looked in the bar earlier and he feels his last bit of resolve crumbling. He could easily cum in your mouth, but that’s just not what he needs right now. In that desperate, needy way that you love, Bucky grasps your hair and pulls you to your feet. A whimper leaves your lips as his cock slips out of your hand.
“No.” Bucky says calmly, turning you around and pushing your back forward until your hands land on the seat of his bike. “I’m going to give you a reason to use one of those damn pregnancy tests.”
He’s swift in pulling down your jeans and panties with both hands, and then lining his cock up with your entrance and making you think he’s going to fuck you. But no, Bucky lets the tip of his cock gather the wetness that you’ve been sitting in since you left the bar, and then he begins chasing his release with his own hand. You let out a needy whine, pushing your hips back against him and hoping his cock will just happen to notch inside of you and slide all the way in, but Bucky isn’t going to let it happen until he’s ready.
He has a plan. He’s going to fill you with his cum first, then use his fingers, his tongue, and his cock to fuck it back into you after. The next time your run into your ex, Bucky wants you to be so fucking pregnant that the guy loses his goddamn mind.
There will be no tag list for the smut menu requests.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x you#mcu#marvel#the winter soldier#winter soldier
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My friend is getting some crap on instagram about perceived classism in the lolita community, and as someone who runs a budget-focused lolita fashion blog, I'm going to rehash some of the old "but I can't afford burando!" conversation.
For some background reading, here's where I bought three "lolita" "dresses" off ebay, and what I actually received for my money. And here's a breakdown of one of those specifically. I'm linking to these because I want everyone to remember that the pictures on ebay, amazon, wish, etc do not represent what the actual piece you receive will look like.
Lolita fashion can be expensive, but the less expensive end of legitimate lolita fashion is not actually as expensive as many people think it is. It's not all $300 for a dress and $60 for a pair of socks. There are options that bring the price down to other fashions. It cannot compete with the hyper-fast fashion of Shein and H&M and other places where the clothing is designed to be disposable. This is because lolita clothing is not disposable. Even modified or damaged, lolita fashion pieces have resell value. It's very common for people to be wearing garments that are over ten years old. There's also a lot of documentation about how hyper-fast fashion is damaging to the environments where it's made and the people who made it.
Okay, so that's all very fine and well, but it's true that recognizing that something is worth the money doesn't actually get you the money to buy it. There's a lot of things that I recognize are worth the money it costs to buy them, but that I don't have the money for. I don't drive a high-end electric car, even though I think it would be a better choice for me, because I don't have the money for a high-end electric car. So I do, very distinctly, understand that. I'm not about to tell someone "just save up for it!"
But, when someone tells you that you cannot buy lolita fashion on wish dot com, they're not actually saying "you won't be accepted in a wish dot com dress." They're saying, "any money you spend on a wish dot com dress will be wasted, because you will not receive a usable garment." Let's play pretend for a second. You come up to me with $20 and say, "I'd like to buy clothes." I say, "Good. I'll sell you some clothes." I then take your $20 bill, rip it into small pieces, eat all of the pieces, and say, "that's your clothes."
Now, you didn't actually get any clothes from that, and there's no way you're getting your $20 back because I have consumed it. Your friend comes up to me and says, "Hi, I'd like to buy clothes." You say, "Don't give her that $20! It will be a waste of money!" Your friend says, "That's classism, because I only have $20." That's the conversation that's happening right now on my friend's instagram.
Classism does exist in the lolita fashion community. It can even come from people with good intentions. But, when it comes to buying on Ebay and Amazon and Walmart.com, people who are saying, "you can't buy lolita fashion on walmart dot com," aren't saying, "we won't accept your walmart dot com dress, because it was cheap." What they're saying is, "the thing that the site is telling you that you're buying and the thing that you will receive are going to be two different things. The thing you will receive will barely be a garment."
There's a reason why, when I say "lolita dress from ebay," I have to typeset it as "'lolita' 'dress' from ebay," because it will probably be neither lolita nor a dress.
If you're new to the fashion and want a good shopping resource, 42lolita is a reseller/shopping service that will tell you what the shipping will be up front. Many other resellers will send you the shipping costs after you make the purchase, which makes it harder to predict what you'll be paying. You won't be getting a dress for $20 on 42lolita or anywhere else, but the prices they charge are more in line with shopping at a department store, rather than shopping at a big name designer store. There's a lot of other ways to purchase lolita fashion, and I just used 42lolita as one example.
The number of people who genuinely want the fashion to be as expensive as possible is not all that big. Even people who occasionally buy a $300 dress enjoy finding inexpensive accessories and support pieces. Finding lolita-usable jewelry on the Walmart clearance rack is a thing that's exciting to most people in the fashion. If there was a secret to buying $20 dresses on ebay and getting something that could be used in the fashion, people in the fashion would absolutely already be doing that.
So anyway, yeah, there's classism in the lolita community, but telling someone that they should not give me $20 for clothes when experience shows that I'm just going to rip it up and eat is not classism. Friends don't let friends spend money on badly made replicas on aliexpress.
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the ways we love | lfl (m)
summary: periods of work mean periods without play between you and your longtime boyfriend. after he offers to be the muse for your latest artistic piece, you realize just how much you appreciate his never-ending support.
pairing: felix x fem reader
genre: smut
word count: 7.9k
rating: mature (18+)
warnings & features: established relationship; profanity; mentions of alcohol consumption and (past) drunken sex; public marriage proposal; brief mention of having children; graphic sexual content; dom!felix; dirty talk; use of pet names; fingering; some spit play; oral sex (m receiving); some spanking; penetrative sex; multiple orgasms; creampie; aftercare
author’s note: rewritten for stray kids and reuploaded from my old blog. i think this will be the last of the fics from my old blog that i'll be reuploading here for the foreseeable future. also, i forgot how much fun i had writing the smut in this one. hope you enjoy!
( click here to read on AO3 instead )
---
He had started off so well. He was relaxed, comfortable, cheerful. Happy to help. This was his idea, after all.
But now… now he’s fidgety. Anxious and bored. You sympathize with that, but if he doesn’t — “Doll, can you please stop moving?” — then you’re ready to give up this entire project already.
“I’m sorry,” he sighs in that sweet, deep voice of his. “You’re just being so quiet. I thought you’d at least talk to me and let me know how it’s coming.”
You spare him a quick, direct glance before refocusing on the canvas. “I’m not going to give you a play-by-play of every mark I make, Lix. I need to concentrate. I want this to be as perfect as you are.”
Felix huffs and averts his eyes, but you know you have appeased him from the way he falls silent and relaxes his shoulders again. The new pink hue spreading across his freckled nose, ears and cheeks would be a nice touch if only you were ready to add color to the piece. For now, you store the inspirational image away for later.
You manage to finish your outline and flesh out some details around his nose before his real-live self ruins his posture — and subsequently, the lighting on his face — by shifting in his seat yet again. With a sigh, you set your utensils aside, wipe your palms on your pants and say, “How about a break? Let me get you a drink.”
Whatever his answer was going to be — agreement, argument, or otherwise — does not have time to be voiced before you are breezing by him and into the kitchen. When you return, he accepts the glass of water and obeys your command to drink up. You watch as he tips an ice cube into his mouth and licks his heart-shaped lips afterward.
He mistakes your admiration for scrutiny. “What’s wrong?”
You smooth some stray hairs near his ear and poke the bulge of ice in his cheek. “Nothing at all. I just like looking at you.”
He crunches the ice and blushes deeper. “Thanks. Don’t you need to do that from the other side of the room, though? Any idea when you might be finished?”
You shrug and fuss with the collar of his shirt until it un-creases. “You know I can’t answer that. A few hours? Days? Weeks? Whenever I’m satisfied with it. Or whenever you say, ‘Fuck you, I’m done with this.’ I told you I can always just use a photo to finish this so you don’t have to model for me.”
Felix smiles softly. “No, I don’t want you to do that. I volunteered, didn’t I? I like modeling for you. It feels fancy to do it this way, like it might turn out better if we do it like this.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it’ll be so awful you’ll leave me over how monstrous I make you look.”
“Well, at least that would make an interesting story to tell my next girlfriend.”
You giggle. “That’s true. Why don’t I just do a caricature? That way, if it looks bad, I can pretend it was on purpose.”
“No. God no,” he says firmly. “You’re too good an artist to be making pieces look silly on purpose.”
You peck his forehead. “Well, if you want this to be ‘professional,’ you have to sit still for me, doll.”
“I will. I’ll behave.” He tilts his chin to seek out your lips, and you willingly give them up. You smile into the kiss when you see him fumble to set his glass aside on the coffee table beside him without breaking contact with you. Before he can free up his hands to do goodness-knows-what with them, you slink away, back to your easel.
“You just told me you’d behave. If you’re not backing out, then I’m still working, and that means no playing,” you remind him.
He knows, but there is still a hint of disappointment in his dark brown gaze.
These abstinence periods are relatively new to your long-standing relationship. You suppose most people would think a couple purposefully denying themselves sex would tear a wedge of stress and resentment between them, but that has not been the case with you and Felix. It’s a stimulus. A game. A challenging one, to be sure, but always immensely rewarding.
So that is what you have both agreed: there is no sex while you are working on a piece. Not until the job is finished.
“How long do you think this one will take?” Felix asks again.
You plop down in your seat with a light groan and gather your utensils again. “The answer is the same, Lix. I can’t say for sure. A few hours, days, weeks?”
Your pretty muse nods and takes another sip of water as he mentally prepares himself for the oncoming drought. He does his best to relax in his seat again, and you flash him a smile before getting back to work.
---
It takes twelve days to complete the portrait, and Felix is not even sitting across from you when the last stroke falls upon the canvas. He might be offended by this once he finds out, but you couldn’t stop yourself from finishing without him. Besides, you know he will ultimately be as happy as you are that it is finally finished.
Truthfully, you might have been able to do most of the portrait simply from memory; you know his face as well as your own by now.
A sigh flutters past your lips. You take a step back to better admire (and scrutinize) your work. As you scan it over, you can’t help but smile. Not just out of pride for the job you did, but because of the striking resemblance you have been striving to achieve.
It is always difficult to instill life and warmth into mere lines and dots and smudges, but the two-dimensional rendition truly seems as though it could begin breathing at any moment, and a fresh wave of fondness for your best friend and lover as the real-life person he is comes over you. That is how you know you are satisfied, and not just in terms of your finished project.
This is something to celebrate, so after deciding how you want to do so, you pick up your phone to text Felix about an important dilemma.
[You: hey i forgot what you’re wearing today]
There is enough time to change out of your old, splattered overalls and heat up a late lunch before your phone buzzes back.
[Felix: i know it’s been a while since we’ve sexted but i think you meant to phrase that as “what are you wearing” with a smirk emoji]
You almost choke on a bite of your food as you laugh out loud.
You: dfjfdjso i’m not trying to sext you. i just need to know if you’re dressed nicely enough for a restaurant with a decent wine list tonight. we have some celebrating to do
[Felix: how come?]
[You: it’s finished]
This time your phone does not buzz. It rings.
“You finished the portrait?” Felix’s voice is hushed and a little rushed. You can tell he is on the move, probably heading somewhere away from his co-workers and customers for a more private conversation.
“It’s signed and everything,” you say cheerfully.
“That’s fantastic!” he says, not the least bit offended. “This is definitely worth celebrating. We should go to the nicest place in town and dress to the nines.”
More laughter bursts from deep in your chest. “Wha— I mean, it’s still just a portrait, Lix. I didn’t win an award or solve a murder case or anything.”
“So? I” — you hear the sound of a door closing in the background — “sat in that chair for a hundred years and went celibate waiting for that portrait to be done. No offense. This deserves a grand celebration.”
Your eyeroll can probably be heard through the receiver. “It didn’t take that long, did it? It was less than two weeks. Remember that waterfall landscape I did?”
Felix grunts at the memory. “Yeah, how can I forget? Longest month-and-a-half of my entire life.”
“It was worth it in the end, though, wasn’t it?” you say, remembering how neither of you could walk properly for at least a couple days after you finished that particular piece, which is now proudly mounted on a wall in the master bedroom. “Come on, doll. When I pick you up, we’ll go out and have that decent wine with a decent meal so the public knows we’re celebrating something, and then we’ll come home and fuck each other blind, okay?”
There was a time years ago when he might have choked and sputtered over your words, but this lewd proposal is mild, and today he doesn’t flinch.
“If that’s what Madame Artiste wants, then that’s what she’ll get,” Felix says.
He offers you a choice between two restaurants he deems himself dressed appropriately for without having to come home and change, and once you choose, he asks, “Can you just bring my navy suit jacket with you so I can make this outfit work, please? I’ll see you later. I can’t wait.”
He ends the call with the sound of a kiss.
---
The chimes on the door draw the attention of three pairs of eyes, and the sight of you stepping into the salon brings a smile to Felix’s face. Well, the mask on the lower half of his face prevents you from actually seeing his smile, but the happiness is there in his deep brown eyes.
“Hi,” he says, scanning your date-night outfit with obvious appreciation. “Be right with you.”
“Take your time,” you say, smiling at the customer sitting across from him. She smiles back politely and returns her attention to Felix, who goes back to focusing on her fingernails. He meticulously sweeps an emery board across the rounded ruby shapes to finish smoothing them out.
The third person in the salon gets up from his cozy perch in one of the pedicure chairs at the end of the row and crosses the floor.
“You look so nice, Y/N. Is it date night?”
“Yep, we’re off to dinner,” you say, accepting the man’s hug. “What’s new, Ji?”
“Oh, not much.” Jisung shrugs and takes one of your hands. He inspects your fingernails, which have unsightly matte polka dots chipped in the gloss. “Want me to redo these before you go? It won’t take that long.”
You let out a fleeting giggle. “Honestly, I don’t know why I bother getting them done in the first place when I put so much wear and tear on them. This damage only took me a week.”
“Well that’s because—” Jisung shoots your boyfriend a quick look and clearly alters the second part of his statement, “—you did them at home. You need to have them professionally done.”
His way of criticizing Felix’s work while leaving the customer in the room none the wiser is clever, and you have half a mind to applaud him for poking fun at his friend without hurting their business.
The comment is not lost on Felix. He glares over at you and Jisung, but he cannot seem to think of a subtle rebuttal, so he stews in silence.
“Ah, maybe that’s my problem,” you say, grinning.
“Give me, like, fifteen minutes and you’ll be all set,” Jisung promises.
As he’s making his offer, Felix finishes with the woman. From the edge of your vision, you see him remove his mask and lead her to the register to finish the transaction.
“Are you working Saturday morning?” you ask Jisung. “I’ll stop in then and you can do my toes, too.”
Before he can either confirm or deny the appointment, Felix interrupts by coming up behind you and waving his tip in front of your face. “Here, look what my ‘unprofessional’ work got us,” he says. “Buy yourself something nice, baby.”
You chuckle at his little joke until you flick through the bills and realize just how much worth is in them. “Wow, Lix, she was so generous!”
“She was appreciative of the amazing job I did,” he corrects with a peck to your cheek, then he takes his suit jacket from your arms to slip it on. “Sorry, Ji, we have to go. Ready, Y/N?”
“Ready,” you say.
“Sounds good,” Jisung replies at the same time. “I’ll lock up here. Enjoy your date, guys. See you Saturday, Y/N.”
---
The wine is more than decent, the food hits all the right spots, and the company is absolutely perfect.
Felix laughs happily from across the table. Strands of pale blonde hair trickle past his ears the further he tips his head back, and the apples of his cheeks are hued pink from where the rosé has gone. His smile loses none of its dazzle when the waiter interrupts to check on the two of you. The sheer warmth he radiates is boundless in the most endearing way.
When the waiter leaves, you watch Felix lean back in his chair. His eyes land on yours, and while some of the amusement fades from his face, the fondness remains. You see it there, twinkling in the inky pools of his irises; you feel it in the comfort he exudes while he is with you.
For some reason, the contentment of the moment draws something to mind. “Do you remember when we first met?” you ask out of the blue.
The corners of his eyes crinkle. “Of course I do. Remember how you tried to kiss me?”
“Oh my god, yes,” you groan. “Honestly, I still don’t remember a whole lot about that night, but I definitely remember you saying, ‘Oh, no thank you,’ right in my face.”
“Listen,” he laughs in defense, holding up a finger. “I was trying to be polite. I was trying to be a gentleman. You were a hot mess. That party had you twenty so’s-worth of shit-faced.”
“Twenty what?”
“You were so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, soooo…” he starts chanting his stupid joke.
You giggle and hang your head. “Okay, okay, I get it.”
“Hang on.” He holds that finger up higher. “So, so, SOOOO—”
“I said I get it already!”
“—so shit-faced. I didn’t want to embarrass you.”
“You did embarrass me, though! By rejecting me.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says, dipping his head in apology, “but we both would’ve been way more embarrassed if we’d slept together that night. It would’ve been a disaster.”
You quirk an eyebrow. “What makes you think I would’ve slept with you so soon?”
“Uh. Did you or did you not sleep with my roommate that night instead?”
“Fair enough," you say, toasting your wine glass in his direction. “It’s only funny now because we’re the ones who ended up together.”
Felix smiles. “Thank goodness for that. Life is pretty incredible with you in it, sweetheart.”
His words sober you a bit, and you smile back almost shyly. “I could say the same about you, doll.”
He probably does not always love you as much and as effortlessly as he does right now. He certainly is not always his best, most charming self the way he is right now. Neither are you. But he is still worth loving when he is at his worst, and if you could have moments like these scattered all throughout the rest of your life, you feel it would be enough. His love and support and respect and admiration are more than enough.
So it comes as a soft entreaty rather than a question; out of the blue again, but also a long time coming: “Please marry me.”
This time Felix raises an eyebrow. He seems more intrigued than surprised by your impromptu proposal. Then he half-purses, half-pouts his lips in a cheeky sort of expression, like he thinks you’re bluffing but is willing to play along anyway.
That feeling of overconfidence you had that first drunken night when you leaned in to kiss him in a stranger’s kitchen comes back, as does the fear of the rejection you suffered immediately afterward. If he says ‘Oh, no thank you,’ again, you wonder if you’ll die of embarrassment right here in this restaurant, surrounded by different strangers with different alcohol on your breath.
But you know he won’t, not even as a joke, because he knows you now. He knows you well, and he sees the sincerity in your face.
“I don’t have a ring,” you go on, “but I’ll get down on one knee right here, right now. This dress won’t stop me.”
Wordlessly, Felix lifts his napkin from his lap to lay it across his plate, then leans sideways to pull something from his pocket. He casually holds it up for your inspection, and once you realize what it is, you move to kneel in front of him as promised without even questioning the coincidence. Now is not the time for questions. Now is the time to show how serious you are about this.
Felix stares down at you and pries open the tiny case to reveal the brilliance of the diamond’s sparkle. Your fingers are sure and steady when he slips the top-heavy band onto the appropriate one.
“I would be honored to marry you,” he says softly, poking back and forth at the engagement ring with the edge of his thumbnail.
By now there are dozens of eyes on the quiet scene the two of you are making, but his are the only pair you see. His smile is still there, softer and smaller now, but still brimming with the adoration he has gained over the years. It widens when you rise up just enough to press your lips to it. His hand finds the back of your head the same second yours cups his.
A round of coos and charmed applause from the crowd goes up around you, but it is all background noise to the sound of Felix’s precious, giddy laughter.
---
He is no longer laughing by the time you throw the front door shut and press him up against it. The needy kisses between here and the car have taken most of his oxygen.
“Shit,” he hisses, watching you work his belt buckle. “You get a ring on your finger and you turn feral, is that how it works?”
You growl playfully but say nothing.
“You better slow down, tiger, or we won’t last five minutes.”
“Don’t care.”
“Aren’t you gonna show me what we waited so long for this for first?”
“Later. I thought you were dying of celibacy?” you sass.
Felix clicks his tongue. The simple sound is quiet, but it shifts the air. You stop trying to get into his pants to give his dark eyes your undivided attention.
“We have all the time in the world now, don’t we?” he murmurs, as though the hard-on in his jeans is not growing as impatient as you.
You swallow. “I just want you so badly. It hurts.”
His gaze sharpens at your tone. “Does it?” He reaches up to graze a thumb along your bottom lip. “Where does it hurt, sweetheart? Here?”
The sound you let out is something between a hum and a whine. You feel so sex-starved, so desperate for any morsel of pleasure he can feed you. You try to take his thumb into your mouth, but he slips it away too fast, plucking your lip as he goes. He brushes across your breast next. The sensation is dulled by your clothing, but your nipple stands to attention nonetheless.
“What about here?” he whispers.
“Yes…” The fingers that had been so keen on removing his belt cling idly to the leather.
“Aw.” Felix pouts and bats his eyelashes at you, but his sympathy feels insincere. He’s amused by the state of you. He adores seeing you so riled up and pliant for him.
His thumb trails further, straight down your stomach, while the rest of his fingers are kept stiff and carefully away from your buzzing body.
Eventually, he reaches the crease between your thighs and presses through the layers of your dress and your panties where he estimates your clit to be. He is a little north at first but quickly readjusts his position. The soft moan you let out is a dead giveaway for when he has found it.
“And here?” He takes a step closer while he begins drawing tiny circles. “Tell me, angel, does it hurt here?”
“Yes. Yes...”
He kisses your cheek tenderly. Mercifully. His deep voice is pitched even deeper when he murmurs, “Shh. I know it does. It’s finally time for me to make it better, isn’t it.”
You cant your hips against his hand. “Felix, please...”
“Come here.”
He trades places to cage you up against the front door. You reach for him, but he draws back out of reach to shrug out of his jacket first. After he carefully pushes the sleeves of his sweater up, he uses both hands to hike your dress up along your waist. There is no rush to his movements. In fact, it’s almost graceful the way he does it, as though the actions he is about to perform could be considered decent.
When you try to remove your underwear from his way, he nudges your hands aside. “Ah-ah-ah,” he tuts. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Tell me the safe word first, Y/N.”
After all this time, he still has you say it out loud beforehand. Beneath your eager lust, you appreciate the basic act of care and commitment to playing the dominant role.
“Candle,” you answer.
He thanks you as though you’ve done him a favor and places a light kiss on the edge of your jaw. Then he hooks his thumb through the side of your panties to touch the hood of your bare clit directly. A jolt of electricity singes your nerves from his first flick. Your body noticeably quivers, and Felix smirks at his quick, effortless effect on you.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he drawls lowly.
You swallow again, drier this time. “Mm-hm.”
“Because we don’t play while you’re working anymore, do we?”
You shake your head. “Hm-mm.”
“And you’ve been working so hard, haven’t you, baby?”
You hum again, louder this time. Or maybe it’s a full-blown moan. Whatever the sound is, it becomes incessant over each passing second and each pass of his thumb. Every noise you make is met with a return sigh or hum from Felix. Every jerk of your hips is matched by a tilt of his head or other shift in his posture.
Getting fingered like this, fully dressed and up against the front door of your home, spikes a carnal, filthy pleasure into your blood. It sears through your muscles, hotter and hotter until it beads between your skin and your clothes. You want to take them off, but you dare not stop Felix for a second. You keen with lust and desperation.
“I know. I know,” he purrs, soft and sweet as a kitten. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so good...” He nuzzles the space between your jaw and your neck and inhales deeply.
You tilt your face away to give him better access, but he peels back and takes your chin in his other hand to steer you back toward him. A puff of hot breath hits your damp temple; it almost feels cool.
“Eyes on me. Good girl.” His gaze skims down your form. “You’re still shaking. All I’ve done is touch your clit and you’re that close already, huh?”
“Yes, so close,” you admit, completely unashamed. “Just keep going, please just keep going.”
Felix smiles and takes the sweat from your temple with a pair of kisses. “How can I say no when you beg me so nicely like the perfect angel you are? Hold onto me. C’mon.”
You instinctively go to clutch his biceps but think of a better idea and hook your arms around his neck instead. Felix allows you to pull him even closer and finally — finally — slips another finger into your panties. He pushes it into your opening with almost no resistance, and you gasp when his knuckles bottom out inside you. Just as quickly as the finger entered, a second one joins and curls. He keeps them buried for a moment, then drags them back out to smear the juices he collected around your swollen bud. The slipperier his work gets, the more he enjoys it.
“Your pussy is so perfect,” he breathes. “Spread your legs. I want to feel just how wet it gets for me.”
You obediently open your legs wider, and he delves back in immediately, fast enough that his palm audibly claps against your slick lips, hard enough to send your head tipping backward to thump against the door. When his thumb drops back to your clit and nudges under the hood this time, you know it won’t be long until you’re unraveled.
“Ohhh my god,” you groan. More sweat builds on your forehead, on your chest, under your arms, along the backs of your knees. You grow lightheaded from the static in your veins from being fucked open by Felix’s talented, diligent fingers.
“That’s it,” he pants. You’re not sure when he became so breathless. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let go. Come for me. Come for me. Come.”
Another dozen strokes and you do as you’re told with a pinched yelp. Felix kisses your throat as he works you up your high and eases you back down, undulating his wrist and babbling encouragements into your sticky skin.
“That’s it, squeeze my fingers, just like that. Squeeze ‘em tight. Tight. There you go. That’s my good girl. So gorgeous when you come. So fucking perfect. Hey.”
The hand not still knuckle-deep in your pussy cups your cheek and pulls you in. He swallows the whines and the airless, nonsensical words of thanks you huff between kisses.
Once your breathing has had time to settle, he gingerly slips his fingers from your sensitive, throbbing walls. He doesn’t even look at those fingers as he brings them to his tongue. In fact, he closes his eyes altogether as he laps the tips and moans indulgently, as though this is the first time he has ever tasted you.
When he is done cleaning the mess you made on him, he looks you in the eye and says, “Now that we’ve rubbed out that easy one, I’m open to suggestions on what to do next.”
“Let me return the favor?” You inflect it as a question.
Felix smirks. “It wasn’t a favor, sweetheart, it was a pleasure. But since you’re asking so nicely again… c’mere.”
He tugs you by the hands and begins walking backward, slipping out of his shoes as he goes, and you follow his lead. You assume he is bringing you to the bedroom, but he stops when his feet hit the carpet in the living room and glances over his shoulder. It must be the chair he was looking for because he then moves toward it with a sense of purpose, leaving you a few paces behind.
“Strip,” he orders. His voice is even and his expression is calm as he sits and crosses an ankle over his opposite knee.
You move to obey without hesitation, twisting your arm behind your back to yank down the zipper on your dress. Felix keeps his eyes fixed on your face as you peel the gown away from your shoulders. Gravity takes the fabric to your waist, and you shove it down the rest of the way to step out of it completely. Next, you snap one of your bra straps with an eyebrow cocked in question.
Felix nods. “Mhm. Keep going ‘til you’re in nothing but that ring.”
You had nearly forgotten about it. You lift your hand to look at it again, but a sudden noise startles you. It sounds like more of a crack than a snap from the way it ricochets off the walls of your home, though you know a snap is exactly what it was by the pose of Felix’s fingers in the air.
“Don’t get distracted now,” he says, deep voice rumbling. He drops his hand back to his lap. “You’re being so good. Finish taking off your clothes, then come here.”
With his instructions, you unhook your bra and let it drop to the floor. His eyes dip to your naked chest, but his expression is more clinical than enticed.
You shove your thumbs into the band of your panties and stall there until you get the attention you want. It takes Felix a few seconds to realize you’re not moving and look back to your face. When he meets your eyes, he mouths the word ‘off,’ leaving his teeth planted in his bottom lip for an extended moment. Even when he is silent, you feel the authority radiating from him. You shiver when the air hits your slick, heated center.
Felix uncrosses his legs, and you finally glean a proper peek at your effect on him. The erection in his pants looks past the point of painful, but his demeanor is still relaxed as he invites you to stand in front of him by casually tossing a throw pillow at his feet. Once your toes brush against it, he reaches for your hands and sweeps his lips across your knuckles, quick and affectionate. Then his hands are on your waist, and near your ribs, and around the curves of your ass, and across your thighs. He soothes them up and down your skin, imprinting patches of heat everywhere he roams.
“There’s my gorgeous girl.” He leans forward and plants an open-mouthed kiss on your lower stomach, then peers up through his eyelashes at you and directs, “On your knees for me, gorgeous.”
Another look at his covered crotch and you do as you’re bid. When your knees touch down on the pillow, Felix shifts to whip his belt out of its loops at last. By the time it clanks to the floor, you’re already helping him with the button and the zipper. He lets you tug his pants down to and away from his ankles. His socks go next, and he takes care of his sweater and undershirt himself. His underwear is last but gone in a flash and then there he sits, stripped bare with his toned abdominals twitching and his cock standing flushed and rigid just for you. He is so goddamn beautiful.
“Is this what you want?” He leans back and takes his rosy length in a loose fist. “Is this what you’ve been being so good and working so hard for?”
You swallow and pretend it’s his precum sliding down your throat. “Yes.”
“What’s that, baby?” He strokes upward.
“Yes.”
“What do you say?” He strokes downward. Back up again. Your eyes may as well be stringed puppets with the way they follow helplessly.
“I said yes,” you repeat again.
And he patiently repeats: “No, what do you say? Look at me.”
Once you meet his lust-glazed stare, you don’t have to wrack your brain for the answer he’s looking for.
“Please,” you say, “let me suck your cock. I want it so badly. You deserve to feel good after waiting so long.”
Felix tucks his chin down, puckers his lips, and releases a ball of spit onto the head of his cock. Another soon follows, racing alongside the first, joining the trail of wetness that already leaked from the slit.
You shuffle closer between his knees and take him in your hand. He lets go of himself, but not before brushing his fingertips along the back of your hand. The gesture is deliberate, not coincidental, and you smile up at him. He smiles back, more with his eyes than his mouth. His mouth is used to give commands such as, “Put it in your mouth, sweetheart,” before leaning back comfortably. Even with his pulsing erection at your mercy, he is a marvel of beauty and dominance.
You give him a few strokes to spread the wetness around and simply enjoy the slick glide, then bend to take in his wet tip. He tastes delicious. Good enough for you to moan on contact, good enough for you to want to fill your entire mouth with his warm heaviness. He is tangy from his natural body and sweet from the taste of wine lingering in his spit. You sink down further, letting your tongue follow the path of a prominent vein.
“Open wide. That’s it,” he says. His voice is steady but barely there. The relief of finally being touched where he wants it most runs a succinct shiver through his legs, but otherwise he remains controlled, even when you tighten your lips to hollow your cheeks. “There you go. So good for me. So good at sucking my dick.”
His praise leaves you hungry for more, so you slather your tongue down and around his balls to hear the way his sighs and quiet pants start to crack his composure. He shifts his hips to ensure you can reach every sensitive part of him, and his cock feels just a bit stiffer when you try to swallow it down your throat.
“Hah,” he gasps. “Oh, fuck, baby, that’s it.”
On the armrest of the chair, his fist clenches tight enough to pop a knuckle. He soon releases it, however, and moves his hand toward you. You half-expect him to hold you in place because you know how much he enjoys being in your throat, but instead, he eases you off of him and uses his loose grip on the top of your head to roll it back in a slow, gentle circle along your neck and around your shoulders. A strand of spit — there is no way to tell whether it is yours or his — still bridges your lips to his swollen cock. You reach out to break it with your tongue, curling it devilishly. Felix watches with dark, hooded eyes.
“Dirty girl.” He wipes away the dribble on your chin with his thumb. “Where do you want it?”
You don’t quite understand his question. “Hm?”
Once again, he takes your hands in his, this time to help you up off the floor and onto his lap where he can sling your arms around his neck. The only conceivable reason for him to cut a blowjob so short is that he is already too close to coming. You won’t call him out on it, but you’re thrilled to know it’s true.
“I asked you where you want it. Where do you want me to fuck you?” His vulgar inquiry is warm honey on your tongue. “You want me to take you up against the wall? Fuck you so good and so hard that you can’t fucking walk in the morning? Hm?” His hum vibrates your lips with the sweetest melody. “Do you want me to take you in our bed, under the sheets, nice and slow, until you can’t remember your own name?” His lips are a soft, decadent treat you sink your teeth into. “Or do you want me to take you in this chair, right here where I sat while you were across the room working for hours and hours instead of bouncing on my dick?” His perfume is a laced drug that could leave you high in bliss for hours.
“Yes,” you breathe into his mouth. You pull at his lips, molding and folding them with yours while you feel up every inch of his skin you can reach — his jaw, his back, his arms, his chest, his stomach.
Felix relinquishes a shred of his control with a groan as he ravishes your lips right back. His own hands crawl along your shoulder blades, your spine, your ass. Eventually, he clears his head well enough to say, “That’s not an answer, sweetheart. You need to tell me right now where you want to fuck, or I’m choosing for you.”
“Here. Chair. Now,” you rasp brokenly.
He hoists you up right away, perching your ass halfway onto one of his forearms and using his other hand to drag his swollen, spongy cockhead through your folds until he finds your entrance. The tip slips inside with a stretch but little resistance, as does the rest of him until your lap and his are pressed flush against one another’s.
You rock your hips slowly to welcome the intrusion and ensure he is as deep and you are as full as possible, and his breath hitches from the movement. He lowers his eyes in a straight path from your eyes to your nose to your chin. His lips part as though he is going to say something, but after a couple seconds, he leans forward to give you another searing kiss instead, bracing a hand against your spine to keep you from tipping backward from the sudden motion.
Whatever he was going to say about how good it feels to be sunk in your wet heat again is conveyed through his tongue on yours and the way he clutches your bare skin.
Just when you think perhaps all his words have dried up, Felix sucks his mouth off yours, lays a slap across your ass, and grunts in deep bass: “Bounce for me, baby.”
You would love nothing more than to do just that, so you build up a steady pace as quick as you can. He is just thick enough to rub your walls and make them burn in the best way imaginable. The smacks that come from your pelvis and thighs meeting his over and over are lewd and wet and so fucking good. So fucking good.
You shut your eyes and hang your head back. “Oh my fucking god…”
Felix keeps an arm hooked around your moving waist while he paws at you from the front. He splays his free hand across your throat, applying just enough pressure to get a feel for your erratic pulse, then slips down your collarbone, down your chest to squeeze one of your tits.
“That’s it, baby. This is what we’ve been missing, isn’t it?” He lifts your breast and leans forward to wrap his lips around the perked nipple. The sensation makes you involuntarily clench around him, and he whimpers from the tightness. “Fuck, I’ve missed this so much.”
His admission spurs you to speed up. You try to roll your hips at the bottom of every drop, but your movements are getting sloppier the higher your pleasure climbs. It doesn’t seem to matter to Felix, though. His ragged breathing is a telltale sign of how good it feels to have your soaked pussy dragging up and down his cock. He tries to find your staggered rhythm in order to buck upward in time with your drops and help drive himself into your sweetest spot, but although both of you are hyper-concentrated on reaching your peaks, the coordination is not quite there.
“Sweetheart, you’re falling apart on my dick,” he moans with the little breath he has. “Jesus, you’re squeezing me so goddamn tight. You’ve already come once and now you’re about to soak my whole fucking lap, aren’t you?”
“Lix, I-I’m s-s-so-” you trill mindlessly.
“So close, I know.” He gives the fleshiest part of your ass another solid slap, then digs his fingers in to help you rock back and forth against him. “Do it. Come again on my fucking cock, baby. We’ve earned it.”
You work to get all the friction the ridges of his raw cock can give you, but the edge you’re chasing is still on the horizon, just a bit too far out of reach. “Felix, I can’t…”
“I’ll get you there,” he swears. “Let’s just—”
In no time, you’re on your back on the floor and Felix is plunging his steely length back between your drenched folds. Your legs automatically anchor themselves around his hips to steady yourself against the jarring pace he sets. The aftermath of the rough carpet on your bare skin is a worry for a later. Right now, you whine at him to go faster, go harder, just don’t fucking stop, whatever he does.
Felix leans close and takes one of your knees to push it back toward your chest so he can fuck into you deeper. His breath is hot and shaky and somewhere in the vicinity of your earlobe as he whispers, “Fuck, you’ve gotta come now, angel. Please.”
He readjusts his weight and his grip on you, pushes deep just a few more times, and you’re finally coming again, crying out and clenching around him so tight it nearly hurts from how hard he is inside you. He fucks you through your entire high, never stopping the solid snap-snap-snap of his slim hips.
“God, fuck, I’m right fucking there,” he huffs and pants. Sweat drips from his brow onto your cheek. “Where do you want it? Where should I come?”
“In me, come in me,” you beg, reaching down to squeeze his tight ass and urge him even deeper into your soaked depths.
Felix whines something wordlessly lyrical in a high alto as his release fills you with a sticky warmth. He fucks his cum into you with rough, staggered thrusts, his pace slowing but never completely stopping. Your legs begin to ache as he continues gingerly pumping himself. You assume his spent cock must hurt from the rising sensitivity following his orgasm, but he is not quite finished.
“Holy shit,” he whimpers. “Your pussy’s so fucking tight, I think I could come again.”
Your walls clench around him because you know he is serious. “Do it, baby,” you pant hard. “Use my pussy to come again. I want it all.”
“Yes, yes, yes. Just a little more, I’m gonna— fuck!”
He finds a second shaky high and buries his fingers in your hips deep enough that the bruises may last until your wedding day. The force with which he pulses a final spurt of cum toward your cervix is something you’re certain to remember for a long time as well.
“Holy shit,” Felix sighs again, blissful and fucked out. The two of you moan together when he slips out of you, still half hard. “Come here, angel.”
He slumps to the side and gathers you in his arms to face him. You tuck your forehead between his jaw and his shoulder, and he traces his fingertips along your shoulder blades where the skin is a little irritated from its row with the carpet. You’re not worried about the sting, but your nerves wince under his touch anyway, and he apologizes immediately.
“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have—”
“You’re not an idiot,” you giggle tiredly. “We’ve had worse rug burn before. Much worse.”
“I know, which means I know better than to have sex on the carpet.” He kisses your forehead and sweeps a thumb across your cheek. “I shouldn’t have gotten so caught up, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you insist. “Being fucked into the carpet never felt so good.”
Felix laughs quietly, deeply. “It was definitely worth the wait. I haven’t come twice in a row like that in a while.” His sigh is exhausted but pleased; his hug is weak but loving.
After a moment of recovery, he helps you stand and urges you to use the bathroom and change into something comfortable, and you agree on the condition he does the same.
Before you dress, he peppers sweet kisses along your lightly scraped skin and helps you apply lotion over it. He also insists that you drink at least half a glass of water to rehydrate yourself before you both return to the living room so you can finally show him what the two of you have been celebrating in the first place. He massages the back of your neck soothingly as you walk side by side.
“Alright, now I’m actually really proud of this, but you still need to be honest with me, okay?” you preface. Without waiting for him to respond, you whip the sheet covering the easel away with a flourish.
The moment it is revealed, Felix eyes dart over the portrait in patternless directions. You want to see inside that pretty head of his to know every thought going through his mind while he examines your depiction of him, but you can’t, so you keep your eyes trained on his pensive face and wait quietly for him to share whatever feedback he chooses.
“Y/N,” he eventually begins. You can’t tell if the hush in his tone is because he is awed or appalled.
“Yes?”
Felix turns to look you in the eye. “How do you keep outdoing yourself?”
A note of laughter pops past your lips, and the nervousness in it surprises you. “Well, you know what they say about practice. Does that mean you like it?”
“Are you kid— I love it! I don’t even know where to begin! The detail, Y/N! It’s so—” He faces his two-dimensional self again and waves his hand through the air in front of the canvas in a gesture you have no idea how to interpret. Then he extends a single finger toward the bottom edge of the canvas. “Like right here. The shadowing is so good. And the way you did the lighting here...” He lifts his finger higher to point at his painted cheekbones. “You did my freckles so well, I wouldn’t even be surprised if you captured literally every single one of them. It’s, like, scary good. And I don’t know if this is technically a critique towards the realism, but I don’t think my hair has ever actually looked this good in real life.”
You laugh louder, more happily. “I do think I did a pretty good job, but your real life self is way better than this, doll. Trust me.” You tuck a lock of hair behind his ear, and he brings his face back around to look at you again.
“I don’t even know what else to say without sounding dumb about it,” he tells you. It is not often he sounds bashful around you anymore, but he does now. “I’ll have to keep processing it. But in my unprofessional opinion, to my untrained, non-artistic eye, I’d say this is certifiably amazing work, sweetheart.”
You touch his cheek. “As long as you don’t feel like leaving me over it, you don’t have to say anything else.”
Felix takes your other hand and kisses the center of your palm, then each of your fingertips separately, then the ring between your knuckles.
Tomorrow, you’ll ask him for the story of how he happened to have it in his pocket tonight. Saturday, when Jisung sees it on your finger, you’ll ask his advice on how you should do your nails for the wedding (though you’ll probably end up having them done by your groom anyway). Next week, you’ll ask Felix what time of year he has in mind for the ceremony, or if he even wants to make a big pageantry of it. The week after that, you’ll either start looking into wedding venues or making an appointment with City Hall.
And years from now, when your children ask you about the portrait you painted of their father, you’ll tell them you did it because he was always your biggest supporter, and you’ll be reminded just how in love the two of you were tonight.
---
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Hello, thank you for the work you put into this blog. It might be a bit early, but are there any S2 fix-it recs yet?
Hi! We have a plentiful #fix-it tag now! Here are some more to add...
you're the victim of your crime by JustNerdyThings (T)
It's a simple decision, really. It's simple in the way things rarely are, in that it's not much of a decision at all. Whatever Aziraphale might stand to gain by staying in Heaven, it cannot possibly compare to what he's already lost down on Earth. So Aziraphale leaves. He miracles up his letter of resignation, pretends to clear out his still-empty desk, and leaves. And he hopes against hope that somehow, someday, Crowley might forgive him.
hungry work by CCs_World (E)
“You must understand,” Aziraphale had whispered. He was on the doorstep of the bookshop, months after his departure, looking in at Crowley — disheveled, both of them. Broken, both of them. Afraid, both of them.
Hopeful, both of them.
“I understand, Aziraphale,” Crowley had said back. They had stretched out a hand to Aziraphale. “Come on. Let’s think of a plan together.”
And they had. Somehow, miraculously, ineffably, a second apocalypse had been averted. Heaven and Hell were cut off. They were free — truly free. And they had all the time in the universe.
So, naturally, they left London.
OR: After the Second Coming does not Come, Crowley and Aziraphale move to the South Downs. However, living together is difficult when there are over 6000 years of tension between them - tension which must be resolved if they are to have their happily ever after.
Trembling with tenderness by HolRose (T)
When the former demon Crowley is surprised in his Mayfair flat by a visit from his erstwhile boss and their ex-Archangel partner asking for assistance, Crowley has that familiar sinking feeling that something he did in the past has come back to bite him on the arse.
When the current Supreme Archangel materialises in his flat shortly afterwards, Crowley knows the time has come for them to really talk at last. Just as soon as they’ve got rid of their visitors, that is.
A post Season 2 fix-it fic in which they communicate properly, and Aziraphale demonstrates just how crafty, and also loving, he can be. This is one for those who might like something genuinely soft and romantic after the ending to Season 2.
We'll make Heaven a place on Earth by arabellas_court (E)
Aziraphale unfolded the piece of paper slowly beneath the horrid lighting. He cleared his throat and looked around, the corners of his mouth faltering just a second when he landed on Crowley.
He looked down at the paper.
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth—”
“Jesus Christ,” Crowley grumbled.
“No, dear, he came later, remember?”
------
Crowley knows his worth. He can't take Aziraphale back immediately after how hurt he's been. And for once, Aziraphale has to work for that forgiveness. Both of them are a mess. Both of them go to therapy—unexpectedly, together.
Angst with a happy ending.
Snogging on Heaven's Door by Tetrisbiene (M)
What if Aziraphale actually said, 'Do it again. Please. Right now!'? A Post-Season 2 Fanfic.
Aziraphale has to go to Heaven to thwart the Second Coming, and Crowley just can't let him go alone.
Follow the pair as they meet old and new faces, go to heavenly meetings, sow mischief, and tempt some angels to fall in love with humanity.
May the two find a flat surface to talk things over with each other before this big promotion can tear them apart.
This is the story of our ineffable idiots in a roller coaster ride of emotions, heavenly bureaucracy, and stolen kisses against doors. Have some angst, some stupid puns in the chapter titles, and an elevator ride that's basically an excuse for me to write a cheesy alternative ending to help me get over the actual finale.
In the cracks of light, I dreamed of you by sunrisesinthesuburbs (T)
Aziraphale stares back at the Metatron with renewed optimism. “I know where my loyalty stands, Sir,” he starts, even managing a small smile. “And I do not need to prove myself to them. When the Time comes, they will enjoy what I’ve been working on.” He sounds convincing, really. Honest, reliable and responsible.
Crowley decides this is a good time to whistle: “Someone’s getting all professional up here.”
Aziraphale dares to peep in his direction, hoping to convey with one brief look everything he is thinking about: ‘Shut up, will you? I’m trying to do something here.’ Crowley smirks, of course. He really is so annoying.
“Well, Aziraphale, you may not need to prove yourself to them,” the Metatron reaches for something inside his jacket, “but you need to prove yourself to me.”
Aziraphale fails Heaven's test (of course), and now he has to fix an even bigger mess. Throw a messy break up and a Second Coming in the mix and, somehow, you get a getaway car and a cottage in the South Downs. A lot can happen in a day. (Post Season 2; my very own attempt at fixing things.)
- Mod D
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So Karlie has an interview for Elle magazine that I have conflicted feelings about. On the one hand, she ends it talking about the importance of heirloom pieces. Saying her husband bought her a Cartier watch for their wedding and one day she hopes to pass it on to their daughter, if she's lucky enough to have one. It would be stupid to pretend a potential surface reading of this isn't that she plans to stick it out in the lavender marriage with Jerk through a third child. I really don't want this to be the case, but I feel like they've teased us with the hope of it finally being over before, by going dark for weeks, only to suddenly show up again packing on the PR PDA. So . . . who knows. I've been burned too many times before not to be suspicious.
BUT.
If I'm being optimistic. An alternate reading is that the "husband" Karlie is referring to here is actually her wife. We've talked before about the symbolism of Cartier jewelry for these two, and the idea of Taylor gifting Karlie a Cartier watch on the day of her lavender "wedding" fits. Remember the "love locked down" locket during the Tayvin era? We speculated that was to represent Kaylor holding steadfast to each other during the lockdown of the Tayvin contract. Something they could draw strength from. Locket imagery then showed up in Taylor's lyrics, when talking about a secret love.
It makes sense to me that Taylor would repeat this and give Karlie a gift to hold onto during another tough time of romantic lockdown. And watches, clocks, etc have been a recurring theme in Taylor's lyrics since the lavender marriage, just like the locket was before. ("Our old spot by the gold clock" is an example that stands out especially. About a secret meeting place, with someone Taylor fears she keeps letting down. We never could quite figure that one out.) Taylor has also quite literally been wearing watches as jewelry for the TTPD era.
The way Karlie talks about this watch, I'm picturing a gold pocket watch, like in the Bejeweled music video. Fits for an heirloom, and would explain why we've never seen it. It would also explain why the gold compact mirrors keep recurring as imagery - maybe they're stand-ins for a look alike gold watch!
Also of note is that Karlie says she wants to pass this down to her daughter. It reads almost like it was a slip of the tongue? Like she then corrects herself by saying "I have two sons" and "maybe one day". I don't know. I just thought that moment was a little strange. You're pretty much the only blogger I know still on the train of "they had a daughter" and while I respect everyone's opinions on this and have no particular investment in it myself either way (they have kids and they're happy, that's all I need to know), it did seem like . . . in a certain light, you could read it as confirmation of this blog's theory. If we DO get news of a split soon, and this hypothetical third child with Jerk becomes impossible, then that's definitely the light I'll be reading those comments in. A little nod to the truth.
I guess only time will tell.
Thank you for this thorough review. I like your clock analysis. I read the article last night and had this exact same feeling about the daughter comment:
“It reads almost like it was a slip of the tongue? Like she then corrects herself by saying "I have two sons" and "maybe one day". I don't know. I just thought that moment was a little strange.”
Also, while it does imply she is still stunting, we do not know when the interview took place. I have no idea how long it takes from interview to articles published in those magazines. So trying to stay optimistic like you are.
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the blessed dawn of christmas day | b. bradshaw
description: in which you give your husband the most precious gift of all
warnings: mentions of pregnancy, no smut but still 18+ because all my works are rated as such
pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x f!reader (no use of y/n)
notes: oh no, another work i recycled from my old blog. anyway, i love the thought of bradley as a girl dad. you're welcome. also, this is the beginning of my holiday series. who knows how long or short the series will be, but you can expect at least a few more holiday pieces from now until christmas
Christmas morning was a morning that brought with it many different and unique sounds. Familiar sounds, sounds that made your heart swell with love and your lips curl into the biggest of smiles.
This morning, in particular, your ears were picking up on a few things. First was the sound of your husband snoring softly beside you, still sound asleep after a late night of wrapping presents with you. Second, was the sound of not-so-hushed whispering coming from outside your bedroom door.
"Mm, sounds like the littles are awake," a sleep-laced voice murmured against the back of your neck, followed by soft lips ghosting over the skin. You shivered from the contact, but at the same time, it warmed you from your head to your toes.
"I'd say you're right," you replied, shifting to face him. There lay Bradley, in all his messy-haired, rosy-cheeked, skin-wrinkled-from-the-sheets glory. His face broke into a smile before he leaned in to kiss you sweetly, his mustache biting at your upper lip.
"Good morning, darlin’," he hummed against your mouth.
You snuggled deeper into his chest. "Good morning." You glanced at the door then. "Suppose we should let the beasts in," you teased.
“What if I don’t want to let you go?” He mumbled, tightening his grasp on you.
“They’ll probably head to the living room and start on the presents themselves,” you said.
He squinted at the door before nodding. “You’re probably right. Guess we should let them in.”
As you rose from the bed, Bradley closed his eyes, pretending to remain sound asleep as three very excited little girls bounded into the room.
Bradley began to dramatically snore, and squeals of laughter filled the room. "Daddy, Daddy, wake up!" Daisy, your youngest, exclaimed as she jumped onto the bed, roughly shaking his shoulder.
At that point, Bradley had all three of his girls piled on top of him. "You're pretending!" Caroline, the oldest, huffed, folding her arms over her chest.
Suddenly, their father cracked an eye open, and then gasped theatrically. "Wow! What brings you three to my bed so early in the morning?!"
Another fit of giggles, followed by the middle child, Grace, shouting, "it's Christmas!"
"Is it really?! Since when?" Bradley asked in surprise, dark eyes widening in shock.
"Since right now!" Daisy yelled, climbing into his lap and cupping his face in her little hands. Bradley smiled brightly at her, his own much larger hands coming up to rest over her own.
The entire time, you silently watched the exchange, your heart warming at the sight of your family. Watching Bradley interact with his babies would never get old.
"Can we open presents now?" Grace questioned, nearly head-butting her sister as she jumped into Bradley’s lap.
Umber eyes flickered up to your own. "What do ya say, Momma?" he asked you.
"Give me a few minutes, let me make sure everything is set up," you mused, stopping to grab your robe from the bedpost, pulling it on as you headed out into the hall, strolling into the living room.
You paused to turn on the tree lights before making sure all the gifts were set out properly, all while listening to the over-excited laughter and talking that came from down the hall. You couldn't help but grow a little overcome with emotion.
Since your children had come into your lives, Christmas had gained a new meaning. It was no longer about you and Bradley. It was about them, seeing Christmas through their eyes. The joy and excitement it brought them made everything all worth it. There was something so innocent and pure about the way a child experienced Christmas, and even more so with your own kids.
Snapping yourself out of your slight daze, you carried on with your project, spreading out last-minute presents, and stopping to smile to yourself when you came across a small, neatly wrapped box, with a tag that read Bradley’s name. Your tummy fluttered with butterflies. Or maybe that was the little life that now dwelled there. Either way, you couldn't wait to present him with the gift, because you knew it would be the best gift he'd receive this Christmas.
Placed so carefully inside the box was a pair of baby slippers. You'd gotten them when you'd first found out that you were having another baby. They were the first present you wrapped, and the little package had been tucked away in your closet, and you’d been teeming with excitement ever since, so eager to give it to him.
There had been so many moments when you'd wanted to cave and just tell him already, but you'd forced yourself to keep your lips sealed. You wanted this to be special. It was unexpected, after all. You hadn't been trying for a baby. In fact, you hadn't even been talking about it at all, you’d decided you were done having children after Daisy was born. However, you really hadn’t taken any serious measures to prevent it, aside from taking birth control. So you weren’t entirely shocked when the pregnancy test you’d bought at the drugstore came back positive.
But the news, when you'd received it, had been welcome. And you knew Bradley would be overjoyed, just like you were. He loved being a father, and would happily welcome another little one into your family.
"Mommy, can we come in yet?!" Came the voice of Daisy. Quickly, you knelt down to shove Bradley’s present to the very back of the tree before standing up and heading to the hallway.
"Yes you may," you announced, and within all of five seconds, the living room was overrun by squealing little girls. Your husband came strolling in behind them, smiling at you and hugging your waist as he kissed your forehead before joining the girls around the tree.
"Okay," he said aloud, "let's see who these presents are for."
As he began handing them out, you took a seat on the couch, watching fondly as he read the name tags dramatically. "To Caroline from Mommy and Daddy," he started, handing the oldest her gift, "to Grace from Mommy and Daddy…to Daisy from Mommy and Daddy…to Grace from Mommy and Daddy..." And so it went.
Once every present was passed out, save for the presents that you both would exchange together after the children opened their own, Bradley came to sit next to you and said, "alright, youngest first. Daisy, go ahead and open your present, baby doll."
With a musical laugh, she eagerly tore into the present that had once been neatly wrapped, discarding the paper carelessly and gasping in surprise when she saw the contents. "A baby!" She cried, holding up the packaged baby doll, a wide grin on her little face. "It’s what I always wanted!"
You laughed at her dramatic exclamation, settling into Bradley’s side as you watched your girls unwrap their presents. Grace was next, opening up a box of Disney princess themed crayons. She beamed, gasping out a "thank you!" Always the little artist, she loved coloring, painting, and everything of the sort.
Caroline was next in the rotation, opening her present of a holiday Barbie, at which her face lit up and she grinned up at you and Bradley. "This is the best! Thanks!"
“You’re welcome, baby,” you replied with a smile, your heart swelling at the sight of your children’s delight.
You cuddled up into your husband's side, humming softly as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You watched your girls tear into the rest of their presents, giggling and shouting and making a mess of the living room. The sight was beautiful, though, and you wouldn't trade it for anything in the entire world.
The morning carried on, present after present opened and strewn across the floor. And once they were all opened, Bradley finally stood, stepping around the tree, where one last present was hidden, covered in a large throw blanket. "Girls, come help Daddy with this," he said, not bothering to hide the smile on his face.
You immediately reached for your phone, intending to photograph this moment that the girls would likely remember for the rest of their lives.
Three little ones came rushing to help their father, and when the blanket was pulled off of the large object, more shrill exclamations of delight erupted, spurred on by the sight of an elaborate dollhouse that your sweet Bradley had spent hours putting together over the last few days, losing sleep in the process. "It's worth it for them," he'd said, when you expressed concern over his lack of sleep.
You watched it all unfold, and laughed in delight as Bradley was nearly tackled to the floor as the girls attacked him with hugs and kisses and thank yous. Once he was finally able to escape the small dog pile under which he’d been trapped, he rose to stand, and glanced over at you, a beam on his handsome face.
“Your daddy built that for you all by himself,” you informed the girls, which only further impressed them.
“You’re the best daddy in the whole wide world!” Grace exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his waist. Promptly, she pulled away to join her sisters as they explored the creation their father had given them.
You sauntered over to Bradley and leaned in to kiss him sweetly. "You did good, Daddy," you said, placing your hands on his chest. His own hands came to rest over yours, warm and familiar.
"Thanks, Momma."
"Want some coffee?"
"I think you know the answer to that question," he mused with a laugh, the smile lines around his eyes crinkling.
"That I do," you replied, soon pulling away from him to stroll into the kitchen. As you did so, Bradley was then bombarded with little girls wanting their toys taken out of their packages. Moments later, he came ambling into the kitchen in search of scissors and box cutters before disappearing back into the living room. He most certainly had his work cut out for him.
Shaking your head, you started on the coffee, setting out two Christmas mugs while it brewed. You didn't worry about starting on breakfast, because Bradley would do that a little later, as he always did on Christmas morning and had since you'd known him.
Minutes later, you came back into the living room with two cups of hot coffee, with yours fixed as you liked it, and Bradley’s black. You laughed at the sight you were met with as you set his coffee on the end table beside him. He was seated on the couch, fumbling with Daisy’s baby doll box as he tried to free the doll without damaging it.
There was garbage all around his feet. Boxes and zip ties and instruction papers. He was extremely focused on the task at hand, tongue sticking out in concentration as he cut and tore at the box.
"Why do they make these things so damn hard to open?" He grumbled.
"Daddy said a bad word!" Grace exclaimed, concern written over her face.
You tried to hide your smile, looking down at your husband as he paused what he was doing. "You're right, I'm sorry," he apologized. Grace immediately forgot about the offense as she began playing with her toys again.
Finally, Bradley got the doll out of its packaging and handed it to Daisy, who promptly hugged it to her chest happily and went to play with her sisters. Bradley let out a breath, falling back against the couch once the last package was finished, but not before grabbing his warm mug of much-needed coffee.
"Always forget how much of a pain in the you-know-what packages are to open," he huffed out, and you only smiled.
"At least they're enjoying their toys." You curled into his side again, coffee clasped in your hands. For a few moments, you sat together, enjoying your coffee and watching the girls play.
"Well, guess I should go start on breakfast," he mused, reluctantly pulling away from you in order to head to the kitchen. As he did so, Caroline came rushing up to you, sitting in Bradley's previous spot.
She held her Barbie in hand, showing it to you. "Look at the pretty headband she has," she softly spoke, marveling at the intricate tiara in the Barbie’s hair.
You reached out to run a finger over the doll's head. "It's beautiful."
"Thank you for the gifts, Mommy," she reiterated, kissing your cheek. Always the polite one, and always the momma's girl.
You kissed her forehead, brushing some of her sleep-mussed hair aside and gazing into her beautiful face. Oh, how she looked like her father. "You're welcome, baby girl."
"I am hungry!" Daisy suddenly announced, standing in the middle of the living room. Directly following, you could hear her stomach growl.
Giggling softly, you stood, lifting her into your arms. At four, she was still small enough to be carried. But you knew in a few months you would no longer be able to do so, because a pregnant belly would get in the way.
"Let's go see what Daddy is making." You flounced into the kitchen, bouncing Daisy on your hip as you went, finding Bradley dutifully putting breakfast together, topped off with a red apron tied around him that had a Christmas tree embroidered into it.
Right at your heels were Grace and Caroline, curious as to what they would be having for breakfast. "Daddy, I wanna help," Grace announced, skipping up to him. Bradley smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling.
"Pull your stool over to stand on and you can help me all you want, baby doll."
Happily, she rushed to the corner of the kitchen, where a little red stool was placed, for occasions such as this. She carried it over, and once it was in place, stood proudly on top of it, eager to help her daddy with breakfast.
"Can we turn on some music?" Caroline asked as she sat at the kitchen table.
"We sure can," you told her, setting Daisy down before leaving the room. The record player Bradley had insisted you get when you were first married, sat in the living room, and beside it was a collection of vinyls. Your Christmas rotation was out currently, and you decided on a classic Nat King Cole Christmas album.
Once the music was playing, you rejoined your family in the kitchen, and the relaxed morning commenced, filled with more giggles, the sounds and scents of food cooking, and impatient children asking when breakfast would be ready.
You set the table while Bradley put the finishing touches on breakfast. You owned a special set of Christmas china that had belonged to his mother, used annually for this particular morning.
Once everything was set up, the five of you sat around the table to eat. The girls, anxious to resume playing with their toys, ate fast, so much so that you had to tell each of them to slow down.
"Mommy, can I go now?" Daisy asked you from across the table, eyes wide with anticipation.
"What do we say when we want to get up from the table?" Bradley asked her, raising an eyebrow. You were still in the process of teaching her proper table manners.
"Um..." She thought for a moment before a lightbulb went off. "Oh! May I be excused?"
"Yes, you may."
Then she was darting away from the table, dashing right back to the living room. The older girls both minded their manners, asking to be excused before running after their sister. Bradley looked at you then, a glimmer in his eyes. "You alright?" He asked, out of habit.
"Never better," you responded, rising from the table and pausing to kiss the top of his head before you began the project that was cleaning off the table. You left the dishes in the sink for later before heading to the living room together, ready to exchange gifts while the girls played.
You sat across from each other on the couch, legs crossed beneath you. A silly little tradition you'd started a few years back was writing cute nicknames on each name tag. Things like To: Mister, From: Missus, To: Beautiful, From: Handsome, and so on. It was cheesy, you knew, but you loved doing it.
The gifts he gave you were wonderful. A perfume you loved, a beautiful necklace with the birthstones of each of your children on the charms, a cozy sweater, and little bits and baubles he'd picked up in his travels with you in mind. You'd spoiled him with just as much, if not a little more.
Once all your gifts were exchanged, and thank yous spoken, you stopped him before he could clean up all the wrappings. "Wait, I have one more present," you murmured, gently grasping his wrist.
His eyes twinkled with curiosity as you rose from the couch. "One more? You've already spoiled me so much, darlin’," he stated, watching you flit across the living room, kneeling down to reach way behind the tree.
You emerged with that small box, wrapped so neatly in metallic paper. Bradley didn't miss the excitement in your eyes or the knowing smile on your face. He eyed you as you placed the box in his hand. "What did you do?" He asked, playfully suspicious.
You sat down across from him again, nodding at him. "Open it."
Gaze lingering on you for a moment longer, he then began tearing open the paper, a little too slow for your taste. In fact, you were certain he was opening it slowly on purpose.
But then, he lifted the lid, and the contents inside were revealed. He was silent as he tossed the paper aside. He looked down at the little box in his hand, and his fingers gingerly traced over the fabric of the little shoes.
You watched him, waiting for his reaction. When he finally looked back up at you, there were tears shining in his beautiful eyes. It was clear that he knew what it meant. “You’re pregnant?”
You smiled, your own eyes welling with tears. “I sure am.”
He glanced down at the shoes again before looking back up at you. "We get to have another one?" He whispered in awe. It made your heart clench in your chest as you nodded, your own eyes glossing over at how precious it all was.
He laughed then, airily, though the knot in his throat hindered it. "Another one." It was as if he couldn’t believe it.
"Yeah," you whispered, letting the tears slip down your cheeks then, freely and unabashedly. "Another one."
You watched this strong, beautiful man grow overcome with emotion in front of you, and he took you into his arms, crying quietly against your neck. However, the precious moment was interrupted by a little voice, riddled with concern.
"Mommy, Daddy, why are you crying?"
Together, you laughed and parted to look at a very fearful Grace. "Come here, baby," you said, patting your lap. At this point, the attention of Daisy and Caroline had also been called, and they both came wandering over quietly.
You wrapped your arms around Grace, turning slightly to face the other two girls as Bradley spoke. "We're crying happy tears. Mommy is going to have another baby."
At his words, the faces of your daughters lit up. "A baby?" Caroline whispered, eyes wide as saucers.
"Yes, a baby."
She began clapping in excitement then, while Daisy climbed up onto the couch, taking a spot in Bradley’s lap. "Where is the baby?" She curiously asked. Her father smiled, leaning down to rest his chin on her little shoulder.
"The baby is in Mommy's tummy."
It was her turn to grow wide-eyed, and she gasped, crawling over to you. She touched her hand to your stomach, not even showing yet. "In here?"
"Yes, safe and warm," you gently said.
"When will it come out?"
"In about nine months."
You sat there for a while, talking to your three awestruck daughters, and answering their childlike questions. You glanced up at Bradley in the midst of it all, and you found him gazing at you with such adoration, you were almost brought to tears again.
"I love you," he sincerely spoke over the hushed voices of your children. He couldn't imagine a better person to be the mother of his children. He would never understand how he'd gotten so lucky. If only his mom and dad could see him now. They’d be so proud.
"And I love you."
That Christmas went down as one of the sweetest Christmases you'd ever experienced as a family. You knew you would never forget the joy it had brought, and you were eternally thankful that you had been so blessed with a wonderful husband and three, soon-to-be-four, precious daughters. You would never take those blessings for granted, that was for certain.
(As it would turn out, you would soon find out that you were expecting another girl, giving Bradley the permanent title of Girl Dad.)
-
taglist:
@halfway-happyyy @natasharomanoffisbaebby @oliviabelova @robertbobfloydlover @supernaturaldawning @marrianena @mys2425 @n3ssm0nique @ice-mans-world @lovemesomevesey @straightforwardly @mochi-de-bisou @christinafaucher @emmmaturtle @fantasias-creativebubble @worldmadeofmemories @tarohemianrocketmanapsody @m0chac0ffee @not-leaprvt @i-simp-much @soaharleys @colorfultyrantearthquake @obxsuperfan07 @juniebugg @marchingicenotes7 @airedale17 @jamiedontbeacracko @monosjoons @dilfsandtherapy @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @unluckymonaghan @utterly-in-like @chxosunbound @thesewordsareallihavetogive @unordinare @currentlybradshaw @elevens-strangerthing @the-hottest-lieutenants @glodessa @peachiestkeen @alexxavicry @cherrycola27
#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw imagine#rooster bradshaw fanfiction
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I had the best fucking staycation and I just wanna share it with you friend.
🥹🥂🖤
I know you’re already FEELING RAGE.
A BLAZED POST? BY A TUMBLR USER. *Cue starved and rabid werewolves.*
relax pls. u look great today.
It’s just a regular old ADVIRTISMENT but this isn’t for a greedy nasty corporate machine.
It’s just a .. makeshift two tiny girlie rough palmed always lotioned red handed attempt at reaching other tumblr users.
Please, take a breath. I’m not trying to make you fly into a RAGE. Let’s play… emotional regulation and basic human kindness todayyyy!
I know I’m asking you to engage with a blazed post. I’m sorry... not sorry?
Here .. is my content: 🫲🏽🤭🫱🏽
this week : Staycation Content
✨ experienced a salt water float. Totally weightless in the complete darkness … 👩🏽🚀
✨recorded and edited 1.5 YouTube videos after a 3 year hiatus. shall I post them tomorrow? 🤭 🏆
✨ completed this gorgeous puzzle with my friend! This lovely 1000 piece beauty was gifted to me by an old matching soul flame from my past 👀
✨worked out/felt sore/enjoyed sore 💪🏽
✨got these beautiful stupid ugly lovely white crocs 👵🏽
✨spent less than 2 hours on TikTok ALL WEEK LONG shocked 😯
✨streamed (on tumblr live) using a successfully marketed “blazed” advertisement 🔥
✨met wonderful mutuals through stream and blogging mindfully 🖤🤭
✨received and opened adorable tumblr merch ™️
✨rediscovered a new band I love deeply 🧊🙉
✨got my ass dragged and old school cyber bullied on tumblr (turns out words .. do in fact still hurt just as deeply as they did in middle school for me) 😬 turns out I’m… 👅sensitive🫦 this is an exaggeration calm down, you can view this scrolling through my lil curated feed.
✨ experienced a deep tissue massage 💆🏽♀️
✨rediscovered female gaze porn 😘
✨danced in my kitchen with a bottle of peach wine 🍑
✨felt relaxed/unhurried/soft/comfortable/happy
I think I just feel all my emotions so DEEPLY 😬 my 2nd yt video is about my vacation! come let me pour fun comfy cozy love upon you!
Follow/Favorite/Fraternize with me?
🚨 PLEASE BE ADVISED 🚨
TUMBLR BLAZE analytics are likely hot stupid shit. I continuously get ads for the wildest things. Half the ads don’t even make sense. Which is WONDERFUL! it’s as if the Tumblr Team barely gives a shit themselves. This is a good and happy place as well as a dark and cynical place. Can we do BALANCE?
Could we all just try being KIND to one another some fucking times? 😬
PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR USUAL RAGE MACHINE ANTICS!
GO ON, FETCH, DRAG ME IN THE COMMENTS. Bet I’ll respond to every single one. I’ve got time today 🥱
Or … maybe … just … don’t?
just scroll on like this never happened. Let’s pretend this never happened.
😬 I’m also embarrassed.
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believe me when i say that your blog is AWESOME, AMAZING, im in love with your writing, i think it's the most beautiful thing in the world and i want to say thank you for sharing your talent with us. if i could marry one of your fanfics, i would do it without hesitation. 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 .now that i said my thoughts about your amazing blog, i have a request... MODERN rowaelin x reader.
🧎🏻♀️🧎🏻♀️🧎🏻♀️ (fancy clothes, expensive phones, cars...) i would LOVE to see a fanfic of them in the modern world with reader🧎🏻♀️😫 .
no pressure, take your time, stay safe, eat healthy, sleep well, and drink water 🫂💜
Modern!Rowaelin x reader headcanon
A/n: thank you! That’s so nice of you to say and I’m so happy you like my writing (trying to make it my career if Hollywood can get its shit together lol). I love this concept, it’s amazing and I had to write it bc Aelin would thrive as modern day princess/queen.
Sending you love bestie ❤️
Warnings: none
Modern!Rowaelin would be a fucking power couple (and with you a power trio)
Let’s say for this hc that Aelin and Rowan are just a rich couple that come from old money. I’m talking old New England money but they give it a new look bc Aelin likes new stuff, Rowan is like the antique collector in the relationship
When you met they were shopping for art at the gallery you worked at
You had just graduated college a year or so ago and this was your entry level job in the art world. You were actually very familiar with the pieces the gallery sold and you have an insane memory for art history
Aelin and Rowan came in to buy a few pieces for their new apartment in the city so you showed them a few pieces since the owner was busy
The three of you hit it off and they offered to take you out to dinner once you finished with work
You met them at the five-star restaurant that was in their building and that’s when they asked you out. “We knew once we met you we had a connection. If you don’t feel the same way please feel free to reject us and we can pretend this never happened.” Aelin said
But you had felt an instant connection with them too. You felt safe and at home around them. You knew you needed to be with them
After that night you moved in with them and they talked you into quitting your job and working for their clients as an art collector
It was like a dream come true
Aelin and Rowan spoiled you with love, attention, and gifts
You weren’t always a material person, you grew up getting things you asked for that were within your family’s budget but this was a whole other level
After a year of being with them they gave you a credit card, “unlimited spending baby. Anything you want it’s your.” Rowan said kissing you on the cheek
Shopping sprees with Aelin were the best! Those were your bonding trips and when you truly got to know each other. You talked about everything while wandering the aisles of high end department stores, trying on shoes and clothes
Lingerie shopping was the most fun since you would pick out pieces that would drive him crazy (and each other)
There may have been a time or two where you both couldn’t keep your hands to yourself in the changing room
With Rowan your bonding time was going on walks or runs or him teaching you how to work out at the gym
When you were out in nature with him that’s when you saw him most relaxed (besides at home)
Your yearly summer vacation is always to Cape Cod
Both their families have beach houses there but they wanted their own in a different area, so they bought one just before they met you
The house is huge and you obviously use it more than once a year but you always had those set 2 weeks in July that you would go
No work. No distractions. Just the 3 of you, the beach, and fun times
You and Aelin of course demand the best lobster rolls which Rowan gets for you
Ice cream every night after dinner
And they buy you all the souvenirs you want
Two days before you were set to leave, you and Rowan were packing. You folded he put away (he’d never admit it but he’s awful at folding clothes but he tries)
Aelin came running into the bedroom with a shit eating grin on her face that told you two she wanted something, “Row, y/n/n.” “Yes Aelin.” You responded in unison
“I just realized we need something for the Cape house that we don’t have.” Rowan rolled his eyes, “And what would that be, Fireheart?”
“We don’t have a Jeep!” You and Rowan shared a look. “Ok A, so what do you suggest?” Aelin clapped her hands together in excitement “We’re going to get one obviously.” “Right now!?” “Yes Rowan. Come on you’re driving.”
She rushed back out of the room and you followed her as Rowan let out an exasperated sigh, tilting his head back
45 minutes later you were all sitting in the Jeep dealership
Not only did you leave with a Jeep wrangler, but she also managed to find a beautiful jet black convertible Audi
Aelin insisted you bring both to Cape Cod and of course Rowan gave in to her
#throne of glass headcanons#throne of glass imagine#throne of glass#throne of glass fanfic#throne of glass fanfiction#aelin throne of glass#throne of glass rowan#rowan x aelin#rowaelin x reader#rowaelin x you#rowaelin#rowan whitethorn#rowan whitethorn x you#rowan whitethorn x reader#rowan whitethorn galathynius#aelin galathynius#aelin fireheart#aelin ashryver galathynius#aelin whitethorn
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thoughts on lamilla and zimbits double dates (or maybe even include holsom on group dates)? —gothlesbianlardo
Ohhhh my gosh I thought about this for a long time. Ummm and then I went on a rant. Hope this is fun? @gothlesbianlardo
Starts out so awkward. Soooooo awkward. In my head Camilla and Jack BOTH get caught doing the walk of shame out of Lardo and Bitty’s room and they just give eachother twin we are so busted looks
THEN like a month later, Lardo and Camilla run into Jack and Bitty at Annie’s. they say hi and it’s busy and they all kind of crowd into a booth for coffee. A Swallow photog is there and takes a picture of Jack and Camilla briefly hugging and it goes VIRAL on nhl Twitter. bitty thinks it’s funny. jack is mortified.
Then they are bonded by fire. Guess who end up sitting together at games? Camilla and Jack. Rumors are swirling. It’s the perfect cover. Camilla and Jack both hate it for different reasons. And even though they have history and maybe it should be weird, it kind of.. stops being awkward? like they have a lot in common and they get along. And both care a lot about Lardo.
But Jack is still a rookie, Bitty isn’t out to his parents, Camilla is going pro on the tennis circuit and getting her MBA at the same time, and Lardo is landing contracts for art pieces with commas in places that make her head spin. This is kind of the perfect cover. So they ALL go out.
Twitter fans? Rabid. This is unavoidable. Tumblr is obsessed with them. The times Holsom appear on these group dates they’re on are like guest features on a tv show. Bitty’s Twitter presence SKYROCKETS.
Elaborate double, triple dates. Camilla is old money, Hamptons, takes them all out to the cape for a weekend everyone scores off. Falls asleep next to Lardo to the smell of the fog and the sea, and realizes she wants this all the time.
FAST FORWARD like four months and Camilla says “fuck it,” and with Lardo’s permission, hard launches it. Jack just sends her a text that says “<3” and one from Bittle that says “I hope you know I had to copy paste that for him. We’re both so happy for you.”
And then after the Kiss Heard Round The World, everyone lays low for a while, but also no one has to pretend anymore.
Their next double date is under no false pretenses, none of the awkward staring in the hallway like the first night. The double dates take a whole new meaning, and everyone is all for it.
Mostly I think they start going on insane adventures and Bitty’s blog kind of takes off with it. And also big #womeninsports moment because Camilo. Kicks. Ass. In the tennis world. And her and Bitty start a podcast about women’s college sports.
Jack, Stanley Cup Winner, is like “wow I’m a trophy husband to my boyfriend and my ex situationship. that totally tracks!” and is obsessed with helping them film and do the photography. abobe suite king in the off-season. Kent makes a guest appearance on the pod and there’s one WHOLE awkward minute in the recording booth when they’re all looking at each other with ONE man in common. Bitty sits on Jack’s lap the entire time they’re recording. Lardo pulls Camilla into a broom closet after.
#THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK#I just think jack would be so weird about it at first. like look how he is around kent.#not super smooth with the exes. if you’re tracking.#but alas the power of lesbians is stronger than jack Zimmermann being an awkward wonderful human being 🤝#anywyas I love the queer dating hot mess polycule that samwell would be#gothlesbianlardo#omgcp#i speak#omg check please#zimbits#jack zimmermann#omgcheckplease#lamilla#camilla Collins#lardo duan#long post
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Dec. 6th: I sleep better when you're with me
Here is day SIIIIIIIX of @comp-lady’s Domestic December writing challenge!
Warnings: Swearing, Allusions to Smut (This is an 18+ blog, minors dni)
Word Counts: 1.5k+ Words
Pairings: Steve Harrington x Reader
Maybe I should have been more honest with Steve when I asked him to come over and bake cookies with my family and me. As it has always been my favorite holiday tradition, I just wanted to share that piece of my life with him. We had been friends for years but being strictly friends meant that we would celebrate those beloved traditions with our immediate families only. A relationship, a real relationship, calls for change. It calls for a shift in the dynamics of the relationship and an integration of family when possible.
“But why does it have to be now?” Steve groaned, dropping his head into my neck to hide. “Does your Dad even know that we are dating, officially?”
“Well no, I figured we would share the news when you came over this afternoon. I’m sure they already assumed since I’ve been staying with you so often,” I reassured, running my hands through Steve’s hair. “And my parents have always loved you, why are you so worried?”
“Because now it matters, honey,” Steve whispered, peering up at me with hair-covered eyes. “Let me be the one to tell him, please?”
“Oh my god, Steve,” I grumbled. I could not believe this boy. We had known each other most of our lives and my parents have watched him grow up. He was not some stranger with dangerous baggage that my parents would disapprove of. “If you’re that scared, we don’t have to tell them. I just thought you would like to join in some of our holiday traditions with me. You aren’t asking my dad for my hand in marriage.”
“Yet.”
“Honestly, not even if you’re that scared of him,” I barked back.
“Baby,” Steve said, his eyes softening as he stepped towards me. “I’m sorry. I’m being irrational about this. I’ll talk to your dad and I’ll be fine. I’m just anxious because, for some reason, parents never find me good enough now that I’m not some preppy college kid.”
“You don’t have to pretend to be anyone with me or my family, Stevie,” I mumbled pulling him closer. “My parents have loved you forever and I love you so much. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I love you too, honey,” Steve said, pulling me in for a quick kiss. Pulling away with a small sigh, he grabbed my hand before mumbling, “Let’s do this.”
Together, we walked up the driveway to the front door. Steve took another deep breath, his anxiety just radiating off of him. I never want him to feel inadequate or not enough in our relationship, God knows this poor boy has been through his fair share of shitty relationships.
“Sweetie,” I heard from the kitchen. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, Mom,” I called back. “I have Steve with me!”
After taking our shoes off, we walked into the kitchen where my Mom was finishing up dinner and my Dad was sitting at the table drinking a beer. “Steve, how have you been?” He asked, setting his beer down.
“You got this, handsome,” I mumbled in his ear, ushering him towards the empty chair next to my dad. I moved to the side to give them space, catching up with my mom. With his anxiety bubbling up to the surface, I didn’t want to crowd him and make it worse.
“Honey, come out to the garage with me, I need help grabbing the baking supplies. They’re in the outside fridge.” I followed my mom outside before she stopped, turning around to face me. “Is Steve asking your Dad for your hand in marriage?”
“What the hell, Mom,” I said before laughing. “No, we’re only 20 years old. He’s telling him that we are officially dating.”
“Were you not before?” She questioned.
“I told him he had nothing to worry about, I didn’t know you guys already assumed we were dating?”
“Eh, it was inevitable,” She said, chuckling. We grabbed the stuff we would need to bake later tonight before heading back into the kitchen. Knowing about Steve’s anxiety from telling my dad was causing me anxiety to think about him alone, suffering.
“Hi,” I chirped, walking back into the kitchen and setting everything on the table. I walked over to Steve, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “How is it going in here?”
“Steve thought he was breaking some crazy news story when he told me you two were dating. I told him I thought you two had been an item since 2nd grade.”
I snorted as I wrapped my arms around Steve. “That would have saved us some trouble.”
The rest of the night went by quickly, eating dinner together before prepping the cookies to bake the next morning. Steve was in charge of the sugar cookie dough, while I prepped the Ritz crackers with peanut butter to dip in chocolate the next morning. After three hours of prep, and hands that felt like they were going to fall off, we decided to call it a wrap on the night’s project. I grab a kitchen towel to dry my hands before tossing it to Steve. “Are you ready for bed, Stevie?”
“Yeah, I’m beat,” Steve grumbled, walking the short distance over to where I was standing before wrapping his arms around my waist, and leaning his head on my chest. “I’ll head out soon. What time should I come back in the morning?”
“What?”
“Tomorrow, what time should I be back to finish the baking with you guys?”
I step back to look at Steve. “Why would you leave just to come back early tomorrow? I want you to stay.”
“But your Dad-“
“Thought we had been dating since 2nd grade and we have had so many sleepovers before,” I interrupt, rolling my eyes. “And besides, I sleep better when you’re with me.”
“Baby,” Steve says to me, his eyes softening as he steps forward to bring me close to him again. “Let’s go to bed.”
We walked up the stairs to my bedroom. My parents slept on the first floor, they claimed they wanted to ‘better protect me from break-ins’ but it was really so they could tell if I was sneaking out. It was a win-win for me though to not have my parents sleep on the same floor as me with my boyfriend. We quickly began getting ready for bed, washing our faces, and brushing our teeth. It felt so domestic and natural. Suddenly, saving up to move out became a goal I wanted to achieve, quickly.
“It feels different to be here now,” Steve muttered, walking into the bedroom and lying on my bed.
“Why? Because you finally have the opportunity to have sex with me in my childhood bedroom?”
“What? No,” He whisper-shouted. “I am not having sex with you at your parents' home!”
“Oh my GOD,” I groaned. What the hell was wrong with this boy? I know he was not a saint. He used to brag about all the women he had been with. The way he was so scared of what my parents might think was starting to concern me. What was he so afraid of? Was it me? “What is your problem then?”
Steve sighed, getting under the covers of the bed and motioning me to follow suit. “I have always wanted to have sex with you here, baby.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You know your parents are the first adults that actually made it a point to talk to me and ask me how I was?”
“Steve-“
“No, please,” Steve cut you off, his hand coming up to touch my hair. “You’re my best friend, but you’re also the love of my life. Your family means almost as much to me as you do. So I’m sorry if I’m worrying about their approval too much. I don’t want to let them down, not when they’re the only parental figures that have given a damn about me.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been pushing your feelings away tonight, baby,” I mumbled out. “They really do love you though. More than you can even imagine. And I’m so happy you have this relationship with them. I genuinely think my dad believes we started dating in 2nd grade.”
“Thank you.” Steve leaned down to place his lips on my forehead before whispering, “If it makes you feel any better, all I’m thinking about is fucking you in this room.”
“Can we?” I groaned out, running my hands down his torso.
“Absolutely not,” Steve barked out a laugh.
“Screw you,” I huffed out. “At least I do it for you, I guess.”
“Never doubt that, baby. You’ll always do it for me,” Steve said, tightening his hold around my body. “Wait, it just really hit me. This is the first time we’ve shared a bed at your house.”
“Yeah, because someone always needed to be the gentleman and slept on the floor,” I grumbled. “You could have been sharing a bed with me for years, Harrington.”
“I know, I should have fucking talked to your dad sooner,” Steve said, causing me to giggle and snuggle closer.
#Steve Harrington#Steve Harrington x Reader#Steve Harrington Fluff#Stranger Things AU#Stranger Things Fic#stranger things#fluff#stranger things fanfiction#fckinwild kiwi#fckinwild kiwi writing#comp lady domestic december#domestic december
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Taylor Swift: The BPD Christ
The New York Times just ran a reeeaaalllly creepy, 5,000 word piece speculating that Taylor Swift is secretly queer. It follows a pattern familiar to those of us who spent any time on schizoid identity tumblr in the early twenty-teens, purporting that Swift has long been issuing secret, coded messages in her lyrics and manner of dress:
When looking back on the artifacts of the months before that album’s release, any close reader of Ms. Swift has a choice. We can consider the album’s aesthetics and activism as performative allyship, as they were largely considered to be at the time. Or we can ask a question, knowing full well that we may never learn the answer: What if the “Lover Era” was merely Ms. Swift’s attempt to douse her work — and herself — in rainbows, as so many baby queers feel compelled to do as they come out to the world?
Understandably, the piece generated a strong sense of confusion and disgust among people whose brains have not yet completely melted. And you might be wondering... just, how? This shit was disquieting enough when it was confined to the blogs of mentally unwell pre-teens. How did this get printed in the country's largest newspaper? A-and not even in the Entertainment section, this was a featured OpEd.
Well, I got a theory. Stick with me:
It's very common for pre-pubescent girls to develop strong emotional/romantic attachments to celebrities and pretend that they're dating. These fantasies usually resolve themselves by the the time the girls fully enter puberty and begin experiencing sexual attraction to people around their own age.
I read an academic paper about this years ago. I can't find it now, but here's a good summary from Psychology Today:
Consider crushes are of two kinds – identity crushes and romantic crushes. In both cases, the teenager feels smitten by a compelling person who captivates their attention, for good and ill. (A third kind is the celebrity crush that shapes ideals and stirs fantasies, but there is usually no interpersonal contact to play them out. However, this is definitely where the market for celebrity posters comes in, to decorate teenage bedroom walls.)In all three cases, the young person largely projects onto another person idealized attributes the admirer highly values and wants to be associated with. Then she or he attaches strong positive feelings to the perfectly wonderful image that has been created. Crushes have more to do with fantasy than with reality, and they tell much more about the admirer than the admired. It’s because they usually prove unrealistic that in a relatively short time they soon wear off. But it is because of the idealization that crushes have such momentary power. This is why parents need to respect an adolescent crush and not dismiss or put it down. After all, it is an early approximation of love. While it lasts it is seriously held, so it should be seriously treated.
Again, this is completely normal when it's done by young girls.
My theory is as follows: I think people stop emotionally developing at whatever age they become terminally online. If you start posting at age 11, you're going to emotionally be 11 years old until you die.
I sincerely believe this is the only explanation for Swift's messianic popularity. She is the Christ figure for grown women with severe personality disorders, which is basically every woman who was born after 1990 or so. Taylor is not just an artist, nor even an aspirational figure. They've all convinced themselves that Taylor is their best friend and that she just happens to evince all the traits they desire in a woman who exists without sin. Anything that contradicts this--such as Taylor being a straight woman--must be refuted.
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I have had two formidable experiences with my friends being antis.
One was a friend (call them R) within a group of friends that I really liked being around on discord; But they were always the one to throw the first stone at MHA pairings (they're minors oh no!!) and stuff like somnophilia or noncon fics, and of course everyone kind of followed suit. I was the youngest person in this group at the time, everyone was 20+ and I was 19, so I felt like I had to conform at least in this group or they'd turn on me. I tried testing the waters a bit with an age gap ship and got clocked immediately so I dialed it back and said I was just curious and didn't know their age gap.
I start to stray from the group, join a new server that's for dead dove content, make new friends. Two years later I noticed the other server had been deleted and I got a DM from one of my friends there for a new server (call them J), explaining that they had a falling out with R in real life, because apparently R was ABUSING THEM emotionally and psychologically as well as physically (hitting them as a "joke") and so they made a new server without them and had plans to move out. I joined them, it was nostalgic because it had all my old friends in it, but I was still a little nervous.
In a couple 1v1 DMs I realized that they really... didn't seem to care that much about ships in the way that R did. I eventually shared art of an oc/canon pairing that's taboo in the new server and they loved it. J admitted that they were going along with R's ideology out of fear of being hated and everyone else just kind of went with it because of how much XYZ fiction disgusted R and to keep being their friend it "wasn't up for discussion." J is now in a safe place and I'm back in the server with my old friends without having to tip toe around them constantly. It feels good!
The other friend, I'll call K, was my friend for a long long time. We stopped talking for years and then reconnected over the live action One Piece. When I followed their private twitter to share art I noticed they had "proshippers DNI" and decided to just tell them that I'm pro-fiction instead of trying to hide it because It's been years and I'm over pretending to advocate for things I don't agree with. K didn't really like that, because they had irl trauma that I won't go into detail about. We talked about it for a little bit, but I could tell they didn't really want to stay in close contact anymore, which sucked, but we agreed to move on and not expect anything from each other. They said they'll unfollow me but not block me because they didn't have anything against me, they just weren't comfortable with the stuff I liked, and I told them it was okay and to take care. We don't talk anymore, but I have lots of memories with them that I'm happy to have.
Because of these two really different experiences I have a sort of complicated relationship with antis... On one hand, it does NOT surprise me in the least when an anti comes out to have been a horrible person. On the other hand, I try not to expect it anymore? R was an abuser, full stop, but K was just someone who dealt with their trauma by avoiding what they didn't like. Antis who actually avoid content instead of seeking it out always have my respect because they have active boundaries and usually aren't meanspirited.
Sorry for the long post, I wanted to share this with someone and this blog helps me feel less frustrated about everything going on in the state of fandom these days. c':
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All this talk of parenthood and babies on here recently made me want to revisit some of the old asks about the staff's parenthood shenanigans but I saw a few of them were gone. Namely the single parent s/o asks. Or maybe I just can't find them because Tumblr's search isn't the best :|.
If they are gone could we see single parent s/o dynamics with Morrell, Nebul, and Gallon (I think those were the people in the ask I don't remember)? I'm a whore for domesticated fluff 🥺
[It's very probable that those are gone anon. Not because I like deleting content willy-nilly, but rather the person who sent those asks had blatantly disrespected one of the few rules I impose here, and as such, I scrubbed them off the blog entirely. I usually keep backups of some of these deleted asks, but not always. I can't find the single-parent one, so I'll just remake it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯]
Morell's a family man. You already got a kiddo? Well that just saves him the trouble of having to work for one! Of course, there'll be more in the future, he assures you, but this saves you both some time. You already know what it's like to parent after all! Morell is super excited to meet the little one, and for such a big scary guy, he's good at making himself seem smaller and offering treats as greeting presents. The shroom has younger cousins who he entertains often with small wood carvings and dad jokes, so chances are this horribly dangerous cannibal will get on your kid's good side way too easily. Morell will hype ideas like camping trips to your kid and then pretend he doesn't have anything to do with it when your child begs to go camping with you and daddy. You can see the glint of victory on the shroom's eyes as soon as that word exits their mouth. Jackpot Piglet. Just wait until they meet the bobbles, the little one won't ever want to say goodbye!
Gallon doesn't really think of himself as prime father material, but he starts warming up to the idea when he realizes your kid is a piece of you, they were made by you, therefore, if he's to ever parent anyone, it should be the child of his cherry. The slime is good at making silly shapes, contorting or otherwise weaving his tendrils in patterns that might amuse the kiddo. What's more, the slime can definitely make kid-friendly drinks, so he can still show off and impress the two of you without having to risk your child wanting to get drunk. He's naturally playful and witty, being a barman means he's heard some of the funniest jokes around and also has some wild (appropriate) stories to tell- He's bound to keep your kid as engrossed in his tales as you. Unfortunately, Gallon does get anxious at times, having to set breaks aside so he can read on parenting. After all, he needs to know what he's doing! Otherwise, you won't even consider him as the great partner he knows he can be. And that won't do. The first time he's called dad or daddy, Gallon is so happy that all his tendrils curl in glee, probably making your kid burst out laughing while you sweat in anxiety.
//-//-//
[I did find a backup of a single-parent ask with Nebul.]
Hey, you didn't forget what I said in that ask, did you? "Looking forward to it, but not exactly dad material".
Nebul looks forward to being a dad in the same way a wildlife biologist looks forward to the opportunity to study a brand new animal. He's not interested in it from a genuine, wholesome desire to start a family, this is just another opportunity to learn. And, well, find out how he can manipulate you more easily by having this child (or children) take a liking to him.
Now of course, this apathetic, disturbing thought process is only the initial stage of his journey into impromptu fatherhood, and even if Nebul can be a very detached monster man, he's likely to come to love your kid like a dad would. Why? Well, quite simply, it's a mini you. It's you, but lite. And Nebul loves you, even if he's not the most "just" of partners, so even if he loves animals more than humans, it's really only a matter of time until he's decided that he'll be the best dad there is.
The ability to sense and influence emotions comes in handy with a baby and toddler, for sure, but it's not something he can rely on forever. Nebul knows the baby is upset, but not always how to fix it. Forcibly altering emotions doesn't mean he solved the problem, so there's still a learning curve. He's prone to talking to the kid as if they were an adult at times, using terms they likely won't understand, or telling them truths of life that kids honestly don't need to know (this mf will just straight up be a killjoy abut Santa).
On the plus side, you're dead on about the head mist thing, he's going to make a lot of silly shapes just to get them to laugh, and he'll even tolerate superficial touches to the more solid "orb" part of it. Oh, and guess who that kiddo's gonna have to deal with? Purpur. Purpur loves babies. So much. He's going to be the most hyper oddball pet ever! Your kid will always be entertained. Expect the two to get up to shenanigans. On the fluffy side, I can see Nebul taking you and the kid out to learn about animals and so on. He'd love to nurture some sort of interest for wildlife in the little bugger.
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A tragedy happened.
Your heart was broken.
Maybe it was betrayal, or rejection. Grief or loss.
Something happened and you haven’t been the same since.
So you’ve been trying to do things to get back to that old you.. the you before everything happened.
You and God have been picking up the pieces of your shattered heart. Healing has been happening.
Yet, you are still looking back and wondering why you don’t feel like the old you. Why aren’t you like you used to be?
How can you get back to that person, the pre-tragedy you?
This is the part of grief many people don’t talk about.
The part where you have to grieve that you will never be the old you again.
Not entirely, at least.
Because what happens when we go through something traumatic or tragic is that everything changes to some degree- our thoughts, emotions, our perspective on life, our relationships, and many other things.
The old us didn’t have this knowledge of hardship.
The old us wasn’t impacted by the grief like we are now.
Our view of the world has changed, and we can’t go back and pretend it didn’t happen.
We are different.
And honestly, that can be really heartbreaking to accept.
We can look back and think of the “good ole days” when we weren’t like we are now.
But friend, I want to encourage you.
This does not mean that life can never be good.
It doesn’t mean that you’ll never experience joy, peace and love again. It doesn’t mean you can’t have an abundant life.
It doesn’t mean that at all.
Your life may be different than it was, but it can still be an amazing life.
Because the truth is, the old you didn’t know this kind of strength. This new you knows the fight you have inside, and that the grace of God that will always help you get up.
The old you may have taken for granted what this new you cherishes.
The new you has an opportunity to really love and focus on what matters most.
You might miss the old you, and that’s okay.
The core of who you are, your identity in Jesus, is not gone.. but you are different now.
There is no doubt in my mind that you couldn’t come to love and appreciate this you.
Remember, God works for our good in the worst of our tragedies. He’s behind the scenes right now, doing something in you. He’s building you up and He will redeem what has been lost.
You get to co-write a new story with God for this new you.
Hear me when I say, it’s okay to grieve. But make sure you are giving this you a chance, too.
Because the post-tragedy you.. they are pretty amazing too.
~Kelli Bachara, The Unraveling Blog
**For those who could use some encouragement, I created these Faith-based mental health workbooks, including one on grief, anxiety, and emotions. (These are not a hard copy, but you can print them out today!)
https://www.etsy.com/shop/TheUnravelingByKelli?ref=simple-shop-header-name&listing_id=1006929294
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Fic Origin Story
So I feel like I did this already, but I can’t remember, so sorry if you are seeing it twice, lol. But thanks @smblmn for the tag!
What was your first fandom (reading and/or writing)?
When I was little, I used to watch old school Nickeldeon shows (which I’m also learning was just Canadian TV, lol) I used to watch Fifteen and Are you Afraid of the Dark. I remember playing School like Fifteen, and pretending I was in the midnight society. So anything I played even if I didn’t write it down was fandom.
Online fandom was probably General Hospital in the early 2000′s
What was the first story you ever wrote (even if it was never posted) and what made you decide to write it?
Again see above. I wrote little scripts to pretend I was a character in Fifteen. Also not writing, but I wanted to dance like the dancers on Roundhouse too.
What’s a piece of advice you would give to your younger fic-writing self?
Write the stuff. Don’t stop writing. If you aren’t writing fic, write something original. Maybe if you kept it up, it wouldn’t be a struggle now.
What’s an early fandom interaction that stuck with you (be it a nice comment, a friend you made, a fic that got a lot of feedback etc.)?
I remember @roguebebe welcoming me into the SC fandom here on Tumblr. Told me some blogs I should follow. Also fellow friends, I’ve found on all forms of social media, and some that I’ve met in person. The SC fandom has been some of the nicest people. (yes, I’m aware bad eggs are in every fandom)
Post a sentence or two from one of your older fics, and a sentence or two from a newer one (if you want).
Older fic: There’s a First Time for Everything
Patrick grabbed David’s hands to still them. “Why are you nervous, David?” Patrick pulled David into his arms and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
David pulled away slightly, “Would you believe this is the first New Year’s I’ll be sober and not strung out?”
Patrick turned and looked at him with those soft eyes. “Oh, David.” He wrapped his arms around him a little tighter. “What did you do the first couple years here?”
“Got drunk and high with Stevie.”
“Right, her 12 bottles of wine, 1 day thing. So it’s not just for Christmas?”
David nodded. “That is correct.”
Newer Fic: Growing Pains (It’s not posted yet)
Patrick leans in for a quick kiss. David moves back and instead pulls a cobweb out of Patrick’s hair.
“What is this?” he shrieks as the cobweb sticks to him instead of Patrick.
“Looks like it’s a cobweb.” Patrick picks it off of David’s sweater. “I had to go into the shed. Which also means we need to clean said shed. I also had to go into the attic. We really need to organize that too.”
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