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furniselanofficial · 9 months

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Infusing Mediterranean Charm: Incorporating the Barcelona Collection into Your Home

The allure of Mediterranean charm has long captivated homeowners seeking a blend of rustic elegance and timeless beauty in their living spaces. The Barcelona Collection offers the perfect opportunity to bring this captivating style into your home. With a range of exquisite wooden furniture pieces such as wooden chowkis for sitting, wooden dining chairs, and bar cabinets, along with versatile wooden laptop tables, this collection is a treasure trove for interior and design enthusiasts. Let's embark on a journey to explore the Mediterranean-inspired Barcelona Collection at furniselan’s and discover how it can transform your home into a haven of warmth and sophistication.

Embracing the Rustic Beauty of Wooden Chowkis

The traditional Indian concept of 'chowki,' or low seating platforms, finds a delightful fusion with Mediterranean aesthetics in the Barcelona Collection. These wooden chowkis exude rustic charm, offering a unique seating option that perfectly complements a variety of interior styles. Whether placed in the living room for relaxed gatherings or in the bedroom as a cozy corner for reading and contemplation, wooden chowkis infuse an inviting warmth into your home. The Barcelona Collection's chowkis showcase intricate carvings and fine craftsmanship, adding an artisanal touch to your décor.

Wooden Dining Chairs - An Elegant Dining Experience

The heart of any Mediterranean-inspired home lies in its dining area, where friends and family come together to share meals and create cherished memories. The Barcelona Collection's wooden dining chairs epitomize elegance and comfort, designed to enhance your dining experience. Crafted from high-quality wood and adorned with tasteful details, these chairs add a touch of sophistication to your dining space. Whether your décor leans towards a modern Mediterranean style or a more traditional look, the versatility of these dining chairs ensures a seamless integration into your interior design.

Elevating Your Home with Bar Cabinets

Create a captivating focal point in your home with the Barcelona Collection's exquisite bar cabinets. Inspired by the relaxed charm of Mediterranean taverns, these cabinets provide a stylish and functional solution for your beverage storage needs. The wooden bar cabinets boast ample storage space for your wine collection, glassware, and bar accessories, keeping everything organized and easily accessible. Featuring intricate carvings and elegant handles, these cabinets exude old-world charm, adding a touch of sophistication to your home décor. Whether placed in the living room or a dedicated entertainment area, the Barcelona bar cabinets are sure to become a conversation starter and a cherished centerpiece of your Mediterranean-inspired abode.

Versatile Wooden Laptop Tables - A Blend of Form and Function

In today's fast-paced world, a functional and stylish workspace is essential for every home. The Barcelona Collection offers a range of wooden laptop tables that seamlessly combine form and function. Whether you work from home or simply need a comfortable space to browse the internet or read, these laptop tables provide the perfect solution. Crafted with precision and attention to detail, these Wooden Dining Chair feature elegant designs that complement your interior décor. With their compact size and ergonomic design, they can be easily moved around the house, providing convenience and versatility. Whether used in the living room, bedroom, or even on the balcony, the Barcelona Collection's wooden laptop tables add a touch of sophistication to your work and leisure spaces.

Styling Tips for Mediterranean Decor

To fully embrace the Mediterranean charm of the Barcelona Collection in your home, consider the following styling tips opt for warm earthy tones: Use a palette of warm neutrals like terracotta, beige, and sandy tones to evoke the rustic charm of the Mediterranean.

Incorporate natural elements: Integrate natural materials like wood, stone, and clay to create an organic and serene ambiance. Embrace textured fabrics: Use textured fabrics for upholstery and cushions to add depth and visual interest to your space. Accessorize with Mediterranean accents: Introduce Mediterranean-inspired accents such as ceramic vases, wrought-iron candleholders, and colorful tiles to infuse the authentic charm of the region.

The Barcelona Collection offers an exquisite array of wooden furniture pieces that effortlessly infuse Mediterranean charm into your home. From the rustic allure of wooden chowkis to the elegance of wooden dining chairs, and the sophistication of bar cabinets to the versatility of wooden laptop tables, this collection is a treasure trove for interior and design enthusiasts. By incorporating these timeless pieces into your décor and styling your home with Mediterranean-inspired elements, you can create a serene and inviting sanctuary that celebrates the beauty of both Indian and Mediterranean aesthetics.

#Wooden Dining Chair #Wooden Bar chair #wooden chowki for pooja #Buy Bar Cabinets #Buy Shoe Rack Online #solid wood Bedroom Furniture #Sheesham Wood Study Table #home décor item

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samfurniture88 · 1 year

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Buy SamDecors Solid Wood Shoe Rack with Four Compartments. It can be used as a filing cabinet. It can also be used as a bookshelf in your study or as a shoe rack at the entrance of homes or offices.

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kiwanopie · 1 year

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I was super surprised when people were asking for a part two but I have delivert! Not completely sure if I’m acknowledging this plot as canon

Resolution

crime lord!Kiyoomi x reader

cw: mention of a toxic power dynamic, more lore about the reader (kind of), insinuating past thoughts of suicide,

wc: 3.5k

He’s bridging an inhale when he walks in, the smell of tea tree and coconut oil immediately turns his eyes glassy.

It smells like you. Overwhelmingly so, does it smell just as he remembered. To such a degree that it reopens those kindred wounds left by grief and desperation, and bleeds until his mind is all but soaked in thoughts of you again - until it’s all you again. Like where you’ve been. What’s this life you’ve cooked up without him? Why did you leave and take his heart with you? Kiyoomi doesn’t know whether to be furious or confused, so he splits the difference and settles for overwhelmed.

The apartment looks like something you’d like. Quaint little thing, but you’re all over it; and just that could make a shack feel like a bel air mansion. Little paintings and mounted instruments, framed posters that point him down the hall. Discarded house shoes sit haphazardly near the dinner table that are reminiscent of old habits. Like putting the honey where you can see it, leaving dishes in the drying rack, or leaving the bedroom door cracked whenever you’re not home.

The barrage of familiarity hits him like a freight train when he enters your bedroom.

It immediately turns him pink. Hot under the eyes carnation that stings as much as the reassurance soothes. If the front of the home were trace remnants of you then this is you all but laid out for him. To the wall paint to the decorative pieces, fairy lights that twinkle in your absence. It’s a reminder, all at once. That’s you’re alive, that you’re living, and that you’re still you; that you’re still his.

Kiyoomi takes a seat on the plush mattress and grabs one of your pillows. Suit jacket crinkling as he lifts it up to his nose and takes a big whiff - he ignores the fresh wet stains as he pulls it back for another look.

He’s holding the flowery little ball of cotton up to his chest when he hears the front door click open.

Those quiet footsteps make him furrow until there’s a voice accompanying it.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just came straight home after the conference. I’m gonna make a protein shake and then barricade myself in my room.”

He’s immediately holding back a sob.

It’s you. God, it’s you. It’s you. “I’m fine! I’m-… I was just really frazzled yesterday and I spoke without thinking. I’m not a danger to myself.”

He hears the telltale sound of house keys clicking against glass tabling as you move for the kitchen. “Well, why did you even bother asking?”

You sigh and Kiyoomi can almost see the pout on your face. This has all gotten so surreal that he’s frozen in place. Staring at the door like a locked up cat and trying his best to maintain his composure. “Well, text me when you’re on your way. So I’ll know it’s you who’s at the door.”

“A’right,” You clink a few pieces of silverware. “Okay, see you then, Tooru-kun.”

Tooru-kun.

He shouldn’t feel so nauseated hearing another man’s name come out your mouth.

Your footsteps interchange as you pad through the apartment, amplify and lessen as you move from room to room. Your bare feet make dull thumps against the solid wood following the hallway - a door opens. You mumble something under your breath as you toe into a further room, and then exhale as you exit.

You’re walking toward your bedroom.

Kiyoomi’s breaths are shallow as you come nearer. He doesn’t dare to move a muscle.

You open the door.

You stare at each other.

You don't know when your room suddenly became so airless. You don't know when your apartment building lifted off its hedges and floated off into space, when the walls started moving, or when you stopped producing spit in your mouth. - You just know that everything is going too fast and then not at all. Your little sundress feels like string, your skin feels thin and papery, just seeing him in here has you throbbing like an open wound. Stinging. Your heart is beating into your chest so hard you can hear it in your ears. Your fingers twitch. You feel like you should be making a run for it but you’re welded into the ground. The pillow in his hands feels completely removed from the black hole that is him and that is turning your little safe haven into fragmented pieces. He’s looking at you and it's overbearing - already you feel like a pinched nerve. There’s nothing you can do to escape and just the thought of that makes you feel like your ribs are breaking.

He’s been crying.

He’s been crying so much that his skin looks pale, much in comparison to the deep raw spots that turn the bottoms of his eyes boysenberry. He’s lost a few noticeable pounds. There’s scabbing left on some of his knuckles but that’s not what’s new, it’s that he’s been clearly picking with them, out of some new nervous habit or just to feel the sting; but he’s clearly been disturbed in their time apart. Grieving and falling apart. He looks like a victim. You could say there’s some irony in that.

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows twitch. They furrow and then they’re neutral again. He’s in such an internal struggle to find an appropriate reaction that his face can barely keep up. But residentially he’s dumbstruck. Slowly stepping into motion as your strings pull taut and every bit by bit gets faster.

And more desperate.

He’s pulling you in his arms before he knows what to do with himself.

Your body goes limp as his arms cage around you. He’s hugging you like it’s the only thing that’ll keep you solid, and real, - and alive. Even when your heart jackrabbits he can only be thankful that it’s around to hear. He digs his nose in your hair and breathes it in till his lungs ache. Your stray hairs catch softly on his lips as he cranes his head to scatter desperate kisses on anything they can land on. You’re here. In his arms again and warm with blood and beating arteries. He can feel your chest expand every time you inhale, hear your breaths when you blow them out of your nose. You’re real. You’re real. And you’re all his again. In his arms where you belong and he’s gonna do everything in his power to keep that true.

Kiyoomi’s voice is cushioned by the top of your scalp as he speaks, it smooths out the little warble in his words. “Oh god… Where have you been…”

“How could you do something like this to me? What…” He shutters. His tears are wetting your hair. “…I thought you were dead… I thought you were gone…”

You meekly push against his stomach when his hold starts to make it hard to breathe. “I love you so much… I love you so much… I love you. I love you. Please, god… Please… I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t-… I can’t go through that again. You can’t do this again, it’ll kill me. It’ll-“

Kiyoomi’s body heaves forward as he tries not to openly sob. He expands and then tightens all over again. He’s cradling you so desperately that it muses your hair out of place. He’s groveling.

“…I’ll do anything. Anything. Whatever it is… I just… Not this,” He sniffles. “Anything but this. - Anything but this. I’m not… I won’t make it a second time,”

Kiyoomi avows and your blood runs cold. “I won’t. I won’t. This won’t happen a second time. I’ll burn this whole fucking nation to the ground if I have to, do you hear me? I won’t lose you again.”

“K-… Kiyoomi…”

The sound of his name on your lips turns him spongy.

Kiyoomi hiccups into your hair. “Fuck…Fuck..!”

————

You haven’t slept like this in a while.

If there’s one good thing about his poisons it’s that the residual effects don’t linger. You’ve kept your tolerance to the nausea thankfully enough. Vertigo that the sedative induces only happens in split second intervals, it’s only a few blinks till it’s gone. And all that’s left to deal with is the muscular lethargy, temporary at least, but it feels like you’re being weighed down by bell bars. You’ve always hated waking up like this.

You raise on your elbow to push the stray hairs out of your face, he’s already sitting you a cup of coffee on the bedside table.

You lay again on your back with a long sigh. Everything’s still the same. Same light vanilla smell, cologne on the blankets, same plush fabric - so preserved it feels new. You’d almost say he was the same Kiyoomi, if not for the new bags under his eyes.

You count his tousled curls in the ceiling mirror as he sits on the bed beside you. His palms are hot to the touch as he rests one on your naked leg.

His thumb draw’s circles. “Explain.”

You blow out a quiet sigh. You haven’t had to tell this old story in a few years. You hope you still remember the fine details.

“…Gesethame scouts used an emp to disengage my tracker while I was walking around the venue. I didn’t even notice until I heard the car blow up.”

Kiyoomi nods. “Why didn’t you come back to me when the smoke cleared?”

Not like any of this was entirely willing. “They were already waiting for me when I caught my bearings. My director was already there.”

“She…” You swallow. “She never knew that the two of us were… together. And when she found out she immediately disapproved. She said that I had wasted the freedom she gave me. Threw back in her face… So, she gave me two choices,”

Kiyoomi stares into his coffee cup. “Resume my position as a scout and renew my elite status. I'd be working the same contracts under my old alias, she’d still be my director, we’d pretend to like none of this happened,”

“Or, I gamble. I make myself useful and try for power, maybe become an asset. She’ll let me have that freedom if it’s on a leash.”

“But- And this is a big but,” You breathe. “If she ever thinks that I’m living my life and using my borrowed freedom in a way that she deems is insufficient, she takes it back and I have no choices. I work for her, I don’t complain, I don’t so much as wipe my ass without her saying so.”

“So you chose politics?” Kiyoomi furrows.

“I stumbled upon it. Before you and I met I was friends with this guy whose father was a big part of national access. When I popped up in the same neighborhood again he sought me out. He said that the local government was looking for new perspectives, that his dad could get me in. That my “worldliness” qualified as experience,”

“It wasn’t hard to get in. Even if I wasn’t seasoned.” You close your eyes. “His dad guards the prime minister.”

You can almost hear Kiyoomi start to clench his teeth.

“I was graded in the upper house, so I’m probably in their system. I suppose that’s how you found my address.”

“Your director’s blackmailing those people, you know. Those same people used to work for me.”

That ties a little knot in your throat. “Huh.”

Kiyoomi takes in a wide breath through his nose and blows it out slowly. His broad back makes shadows in the morning light from where you’re laying, thin cotton turning eggshell in the sun rays. He slept in his clothes from yesterday, you notice. Kiyoomi doesn’t usually touch the furniture before jumping into a hot shower, you know he gets itchy if he’s in the same thing for too long. - But telling by his dark eyes and pale cheeks, slow movements that stutter as they rise; you can tell he’s tired. That he’s been tired, and that these last few years have been torture for him.

You hate how much seeing him like this makes your heart ache. You hate that in the time that you’ve been gone you’ve missed him dearly.

He shakes his head. “I could’ve saved you. You could’ve come to me, I wouldn’t have let her touch you.”

“You don’t know my director.” You whisper. “You don’t know what she’d do just to get the things she’s owed. I wouldn’t have wanted you to get hurt in the process.”

And even though you’re buttering him up you mean it to a large extent. Long gone are the days you wanted him bleeding, dead, or worse. Long is the time you’ve spent reflecting on your time with him, on your feelings for him, on your feelings for the whole situation in general. You wanted a choice. It’s what you’ve always wanted. And you can’t be blamed for getting out of one inescapable situation into another, and then resenting that. But Kiyoomi at the very least had your best interests at heart. Loved you and meant it when he said he did. Never hurt you, never intentionally put you in harm’s way. Sure, he took away your autonomy. But it’s better to be owned and cared for than to be used up until you’re no more.

He promised that he couldn’t live without you. Gave you his heart and trusted that you’ll keep it within reach. In the time you’ve been gone you can see that he’s neither lived nor loved. There's reassurance in that.

The bed mumbles as you lift yourself off your back, the mattress gives under your knees. You watch him goosebump as you crawl toward him, and melt completely when your arms wrap around his waist.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur against his back. “You don’t deserve what grief has done to you.”

Kiyoomi feels hot behind the eyes.

“I missed you so much I wanted to die.” He holds his hand over yours. “I considered it a lot. Just leaving and being with you.”

You coax his fingers into yours.

“I never got rid of your name.” You whisper. “It was a bitch to get it expunged from my records but it’s still on my license. I still called myself a Sakusa.”

You press a warm kiss to his shoulder. “I’m still your wife.”

He feels like he’s dreaming.

———

Tooru furrows at his phone.

Cutie pie: btw i just got It Takes Two on digital! im gonna set everything up for when u get here so we can play!

Tooru: How fun!! Can’t wait to be bad at it!

Tooru: hi:) open up! i will literally scream if this dinner gets cold

Tooru: Yellow? I’m here!!!

Tooru: Cutie?

He spams the doorbell a fifth time. Where the hell are you?

Tooru takes a long thoughtful moment to stare at your front door before he’s placing the bag of Onigiri and his feet. And for a split second he debates if his concern is worth coming off like a pervert. But he decides to squint in your peephole anyway. Lowering his neck as he cups his hands over the little glass, he sees nothing but the beginnings of your living room and the faint glow of your hallway light. He pulls away with a grimace. He knows your roommate won’t be home for the next six or so hours, and that the last time you two spoke you were settling yourself at home after that procedure conference. He ducks for the bag again. Maybe you have your headphones on?

Tooru pulls the backup key out of a bush of thistle on his way up.

The apartment is silent when he opens the door, soundless as he slides his shoes off. Not even the hum of a running heating unit can be heard as he walks further in, which is odd, because despite the way you carry yourself - You always make sure to keep the apartment toasty in these early winter months. You wore a sundress today. Complained that you were cold and then rolled your eyes when Tooru called you stupid for dressing like it’s May. But he gave you his jacket anyway. He glances at the coat rack. It’s not there.

Did you leave? “Sunshine?”

No response.

He furrows.

It’s not like you to just ditch him without saying anything. Maybe you assumed he’d come in anyway? You still wouldn’t leave without saying anything. Your house shoes are still half flipped over under the dining table, hallway lights set dim in the hallway. He knows you were here recently but, wouldn’t he have passed by you at some point?

Tooru gets to your door and twists the handle, it opens with a neat click.

“Pretty? Are you in the bathroom?” He sets the bag on your bed. The bathroom door is slightly open but he doesn’t see any shadows moving. Something about this doesn’t feel right.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose. You wouldn’t do anything stupid to yourself, would you? No. No, that shouldn’t be his first thought. He knows you’ve been all wound up since this whole thing with your old boss and the Sakusa corporation. That you’ve been jumpy and nervous and saying things out of fear, but he doesn’t think you’ll hurt yourself. He trusts you when you say you were only speaking without thinking.

But even still he pushes the bathroom door open without so much as knocking. “_____?”

Not in here.

He peers at your box of hair care products and finds that none of them have even been touched yet. The floor is still dry, the tub hasn’t been touched, the lotion is still where you keep it. Not even a hair tie has been left out of place. He knows you’ve been here? He heard you walk through the door. What, did you walk in and walk right back out?

Tooru trots through your bedroom down to your roommates. He knows that he should at least knock before barging into someone else’s room but he’s currently trying to talk himself out of a crisis. I mean, there’s no reason to panic. You probably forgot something and went out to get it again. Probably thought you’d be back before he got here. Come to think of it, he didn’t even check to see if your shoes were in the genkan.

He exhales. Not in here either.

His eyes catch something before he backs out of the room.

“She didn’t…?” There’s a PlayStation unplugged and sitting on the counter.

He jogs to your bedroom to gather his phone, already pushing your contact and pressing the phone to his head before it can even ring.

The dial tone bristles for a complete minute.

“03-3715-4893 is not available to take your call. Please leave a message after the tone.”

Tooru kisses his teeth and tries again.

“03-3715-4893 is not available to take your call. Please leave a message after the tone.”

Again.

“03-3715-4893 is not available to take your call. Please leave a message after the tone.”

And again.

“03-3715-4893 is not available to take your call. Please leave a message after the tone.”

“What the fuck?”

His fingers messily fumble against his phone as the dial tone rings over the speaker. All but swallowed by the silence of the apartment, the empty air, and your pastel walls. He doesn’t know what’s gotten louder at this point, his breaths or his heart. He just hopes to god that this cold sweat is for nothing, and that he’s panicking over something small.

You probably left to go to the store.

You’re probably in the parking lot.

You’re probably already making your way up the stairs.

Tooru: Where are you? I’m seriously getting worried

Tooru: Did you go to the store or something? Wherethe hell are you?

The texts are sent with a silent vibration. He’s speaking into the room as it delivers.

“_____, sweetheart, it’s Tooru. Where are you?” He paces around the room. “I texted you almost… an hour ago and said I was here. Did you go out again? I see that you didn’t plug up the PlayStation like you said and I’m worried something might’ve happened. Is your phone dead or something? If you’re not here by seven I’m gonna start looking for you.”

Tooru sighs a little exasperatedly. “Just text me and tell me you’re okay if nothing else. I won’t be mad if you-“

Tooru’s eyes catch something on the bed.

He pauses as he inches towards it, bristles and stiffens like a frightened cat. His eyes scour it like it’s something else, like it should be something else. Traces the zipper, the writing on the sleeve. Pale whites and water blues that are still haughty in the falling sun, still unshrouded by dusk but the more he looks over it the more he feels crowded in a casted shadow.

It has to be something else.

He moves the bag of Onigiri aside and blanches.

It’s his jacket.

He nearly jumps when his phone vibrates in his hand.

Cutie pie: I went to the market! Can we hang out another time maybe?

Tooru: Who the hell is this?

The texting bubble shakes.

And then it stops.

“You can no longer direct message this contact.”

Tooru feels his heart sink.

#crime lord!sakusa kiyoomi #crime au #crime au!kiyioomi #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu scenarios #sakusa fanfiction

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rookthorne · 2 months

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

Acts of love never had to be something overstated or complicated — it lay in smaller actions. An offer to make lunch or a warm cup of drink; to do a chore or errand that the other dreaded, only to see their eyes brighten for thoughtfulness.

Bucky was much the same man as those who preferred smaller, intentional acts, and you presented him with the perfect opportunity.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ☘︎ Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ☘︎ 1.0k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ☘︎ Tooth rotting fluff

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ☘︎ One of my more intentional attempts to write from solely Bucky's POV.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ☘︎ Atlas Hands by Benjamin Francis Leftwich

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 ☘︎ @sweetspicybingo's Winter Addition — Warm Blanket — Masterlist ☘︎ @sweetspicybingo Sweetheart Bingo — Love You — Masterlist ☘︎ @anyfandomfluffbingo 𝗚𝟯 — Partners in Crime — Masterlist

𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The phone call from Lee and consequent hours in town had taken up a considerable amount of time, and if Bucky was honest with himself, he truly wished he wasn’t known for his reliability or accountability — not on the days where he wanted to stay home with you, cuddled beneath a mountain of blankets so he could hold you close.

The only consolation for his absence was that it was still early — an early rise to beat the morning sun and a call for help couldn’t keep him from you, that he was damned sure of.

“Fuck,” Bucky grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward of an impending headache. The cabin he shared with you came into view while the tires of his truck crunched over the thick, ladened snow that lined the driveway. He shut the radio off with a sigh, then turned the wheel with a firm hand.

His truck rumbled to a halt out the front of the cabin, under the shelter that housed both yours and his vehicle, and he killed the engine.

Relief relaxed the weary set of his shoulders for the silence that echoed around the clearing.

Bucky looked up from the dash to the darkened windows of the cabin, and his brow furrowed in confusion. “What the–” The driver’s door creaked from the cold as it swung open, then his boots hit the ground with a solid thump.

His eyes were fixed on the cabin where the windows were dark — by all intents and purposes, he knew you were one to treasure your sleep, but to still be in bed at the current hour was unusual.

Not even a stir came from the home; the dogs eerily silent when they would normally be bounding over to greet him home, or at least, waging war against the solid wood of the front door.

“Clover?” Bucky called — silence returned his summons. The soles of his boots crunched over the snow, intent on only finding where you had gotten to. “Clover? Sarge, Koda–?”

The front door swung open, a blast of cool air following his entry and it shut behind him, but he was too busy searching for any sign of you to care much for it. “Bunny, where are you, sweetheart?” he whispered harshly, just in case you were asleep.

Bucky walked inwards, taking in how your boots and shoes still lined the rack by the door; how your coat, your favourite, fluffy one that he got you seasons ago, hung on the rack, untouched. “Baby?”

There was a small huff of a sigh from the living room around the entryway, and he made his way over quickly, only he froze at what he found.

The breath in his lungs hitched with the rapid swell of his heart, and a soft smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he took in the sight. On the couch, where he would normally find you delved so far deep into a book you could not be distracted, or determinedly focused on your phone (and damned Pinterest), you lay sideways on the plush couch cushions, fast asleep.

Your side rose and fell slowly and evenly with your breath.

At your feet, Sarge curled his body around the fluffy fabric of your socks and up the back of your legs; the long fur of his belly and sides brushing against your legs. His head peered up and over your thigh. A long, pink tongue lolled out in greeting.

“Hey, boy,” Bucky greeted quietly, still standing by the doorway. “You keepin’ my girl warm?” The answering huff made him chuckle quietly.

There was a small whine from who Bucky knew was Sarge’s partner in crime.

Koda was cuddled beneath you — her long body propped your head up like a pillow, and your hand loosely rested against her shoulder.

Dark, softened eyes met his, and his heart thumped against his ribs; there was no immunity against the softness and love in Koda’s eyes, no matter how many times she gazed at either of you.

“Girl,” Bucky cooed, and he walked quietly over to offer his hand for a sniff. At your back, Bucky watched Koda’s tail twitch. “Ah, ah, don’t wake her up now,” he whispered, scratching under Koda’s chin. “Stay there, baby.”

It was thanks to you that the cabin was full of plush materials for all purposes, Bucky supposed, as he looked around the room for your favourite — a forest green and sage plush, plaid blanket with an impossibly soft underside that was folded over the back of the couch, right within reach.

Carefully, Bucky leaned over and lifted it off of the back of the cushions, all while watching you for any sign of you stirring awake.

“Here we go,” he murmured, shaking the blanket out and positioning it so it was snug against your body — the fabric settling like a cloud, and Bucky tucked you in, sure to leave Sarge’s head free. “All snug, baby girl.”

“Mm…”

Koda’s ears twitched at your mumbled noise, but Bucky hushed her with a scratch to the chin. “Why don’t we…”

It took all of his effort to bite back the grunt of effort, but he eventually settled on the floor, legs stretched outwards under the coffee table and his back against the sofa. If you were to wake, you would immediately see his profile. “Why don’t we read, huh?”

Your book was haphazardly left on the coffee table next to a worn coffee mug of browns and greens, and it made Bucky smile as he reached it. Each page fluttered under his grip.

The spine of it fit in one of his hands easily, and he used the other to flip the first page, careful to keep your hastily placed bookmark in place.

“What’s she been up to, girl?” Bucky asked, glancing up to the deep brown eyes that watched him with interest.

Koda’s muzzle moved to rest atop her paws, and her eyes drifted close in reply.

A small laugh rumbled through his chest, and he settled in, content to see what your new favourite book was about while you dozed the morning away.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #rookthorne's works

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thesinsoflust · 1 year

Text

Hot Chocolate

Minors DNI

A bit more than 2k words

-Its a threesome with Soap and Ghost set in a snowed in cabin (⁠｡⁠・⁠/⁠/⁠ε⁠/⁠/⁠・⁠｡⁠)-

Contains- Smut, Oral (F/receiving), mention of stomach bulge, threesome, creampies (pls use a condom irl), Overstimulation. Also no plot just porn (⁠~⁠￣⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠~

I think that's it (lmk if I missed something :P), Enjoy! (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

Frost nipped at your nose, hot puffs of air blurring your vision alongside the harsh current of snow weaving around your bundled form.

A slight sting in your eyes as you kept them narrowed enough to keep out the snow, and that the brown logs stacked in an orderly fashion ahead were a vaguely recognizable blob.

Your fingers and nose felt numb by the time you reached a solid wooden door, fingers fumbling with the half frozen knob, as the ice barricading it finally came loose, and a rush of warm air flew into your face along with the shrill scream of the wind as you shut the heavy door behind yourself.

Boots kicked off, crunchy snow flaking off and melting into a puddle under the thick rubber material, your other layers soon followed haphazardly draped across an antique coat rack.

Fingers still numb and splotchy with a confusing hot cold sensation even with the soft cotton gloves wrapped around them

Tilting your head up at the smell of rich chocolate, your eyes and nose drew you towards the small wood burning stove of the cabin,

Amber coils of heat glowing from inside the cast iron base, a copper pot sitting atop its burners.

Ghost lazily stirring the rich brown ambrosia, while Soap lounged by the counter like a clingy dog, it was pretty adorable actually

"Make enough for me?" the question stirred out with a slight crack in your voice.

A affirmative grunt was the response, as you strolled over to the low sitting bed, and plunked down with a slight whine from the old frame and spring mattress,

The amassed pile of thin and thick blankets swallowing you a little, "Anything?" The one worded question this time from Soaps warm, soothing to the right ear voice asked

"Nope, not a sane thing would be out there in that storm anyways" you said with a bit of a peeved lilt to your voice as you yourself had been forced to go out there under "following procedure", I mean really you could barely see the shoes under your feet out there.

You leaned up on your elbows watching as Ghost-Simon, grabbed the handles of three ceramic mugs, a click as they were all pushed together before being set on the meager counter space not being occupied by Soap-Johnny.

Lifting the pots handle he slowly poured the warm drink into the three cups

Opening your hands to accept the tan with brown speckles throughout and a chip near the handle mug. You went right in to take a large sip, before recoiling in clumsily visible shock as your lips and tip of tongue were burned into numbness, eyes watering with a disgruntled look cascading over your face,

A snort very obnoxious to your ears left Simon as he dropped down onto the bed, Soap quickly following draping along near your side, your hot, hot drink sloshing in its cup, with the tremors their combined weight brought the bed.

"I hope you stub your toe" You muttered to Simon, while trying to nurse your lips by slathering them in spit, giving them a glossy finish.

Soap's eyes drawn to your face "I can kiss 'em better if you want,"

You almost accepted the sly comment if Simon didn't beat him to the punch, leaning over and gently pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, the wool of his mask preventing you from fully feeling the soft sweetness of his lips,

He whispered a half-assed apology to you while his hands crept up into your lap, moving up to grasp your mug and set it on the bedside trunk, sliding it to sit along with his own.

Soap, taking that as an invitation for competition, leaned over grasping your jaw to bring you into a bruising, suffocating kiss. Both of their hands now roaming Soap's up more towards your chest with one still around your jaw, Simons fiddling with the zipper of your pants subtly enough you hadn't noticed until you felt his touch on your navel only separated by the thin cotton of your undergarments.

Soap's pleasantly rough stubble still rubbing up against you as he had moved on from your lips allowing you to greedily suck in gulps of air,

A trail of lightly bruised skin following Soap's lips on your neck and collarbone, his hands now toying with the buds of your nipples.

"Why don't me and Lt. warm you up, mhm?" Soap murmured from between your chest.

"Sargent." Soap understood the message and lifted you up enough that Simon was able to pull your undergarments and cargos off.

A squeak caught in your throat as Simon and Soap's eyes narrowed in on your now exposed cunt,

"Well aren't you a pretty one lass" Soap said in appreciation for your newly exposed skin,

"I think getting a taste would be even better" Simon's ruff voice spoke, as he raised his skull balaclava to rest just above the bridge of his face now in view.

And before you could give a notion as to how much you would love that he dove right in, the blonde scruff on his chin scratching pleasantly on your thighs as the tip of his tongue nudged at the swollen bud between your legs,

Soap's hand went to his lieutenants head as he pushed him a bit closer to you letting Simons nose pressed up against your clit and his tongue reach the entrance to your cunt

"Atta' boy Simon" was the pretty comment Soap had for the man currently lapping at your hole while your thighs started to quiver, and little gasps of hot air leaving your mouth

Soaps hands were very active today as they moved to the hem of your shirt to pull it up and off, then fingers twisting at your bra to peel that away as well, leaving you nude to the fully dressed men consuming you whole.

"f-fuck Simon please" The winey sentence coming from your cunt rather then your brain

"Come on Lt. why don't you make our pretty girl come all over your tongue." Soap commanded the masked man between your legs and just like that a thick finger plunged into your sticky entrance , pushing in and out with a little curl in the tip of it, and Simon's lips suctioned onto your puffy bud,

Soap had to reach down to hold your thighs as they threatened to suffocate Simon, trembling with the effort to clamp down on his head as the knot in your stomach snapped, leaving you to gush all over his face.

"Atta' girl, did so well for us hm" Soap whispered into your ear, but you could hardly hear him over the flood in your ears and the white behind your eyes as they rolled in to the back of your skull, and when you could finally focus enough your eyes blown out as they watched Simon fisting into the back of Soaps fluffy mohawk while their tongues passed your slick among themselves.

"Lt. Why don't you watch for a bit while I take care of our pretty girl, yeah?" Johnny said and then gave an approving hum when Simon leaned back on his hunches pulling his finger from your hole with a slick pop.

"Now let's get you nice and stretched for the both of us lass" He followed up his words by nudging two thick fingers into your hole, making you jolt at the welcomed intrusion in your still sensitive hole.

"Need some help holdn' er down sergeant?" Simons accent seamed even thicker than usual, while he itched to get a bit closer to you and at least lay his hands on any but of your skin,

"No, you can wait, right Lt?" Soap's fingers curled in and out of your pussy with lewd wet noises, and not to mention the pathetic mewls from your mouth at the dual sensation of one of his rough calloused hands grouping at your chest.

"Please just fuck me Johnny!" you cried out almost sobbing from being denied both of their cocks for what felt like forever

"Alright bonnie" Soap soothed, his slick fingers leaving you clenching hole, and fumbling with the zipper on his pants for just a second before he was slicking his cock with your juices that had clung to is fingers in sticky strings,

"Easy lass" He continued to soothe you while you body visibly trembled a bit at the entrance of his blunt tip pushing inside your to tight hole,

"Ya' gotta ease up bonnie, how else am I suppos'ta fit my cock in ya" He said in a gentle tone while rubbing patterns into your navel, chest heaving under one of his palms.

Simon all but forgotten in the corner of the springy bed palmed his heavy cock to the absolute eye candy before him, drips of pre gathering at the flushed tip which he rubbed away to smooth his long strokes from tip to base,

Soap having now soothed in almost all of himself into your tight channel, letting you feel every inch he pushed in

"There we are taking me so well lass" Soap praised as he bottomed out into you, your mouth open in a crescendo as your back arched a bit, and you could see a little bulge on your stomach, something which Soap quickly pushed down on, causing you to let out the whiniest cry you ever did, feeling his cock press all that more into all your internal soft spots.

Soap started a slow rough pace that picked up pace soon enough that he was pounding into your cunny, with wet noises that filled the room and only increased Ghost's hand fucking speed,

"Ya gonna cum on my cock Bonnie?" Soap slurred, a few Scottish curses slipping out under his breath as you all but sucked him in,

One small circle from Soap's calloused pads on your sticky clit and your world went white for the second time that day, your hole gushing along his cock, that could only give a few more shaky thrust before soap with sweat dripping along his toned body was cumming deep inside you painting your walls white,

"Please Johnny can I fuck her now?" Simon gasped out his cock looking painfully red, as he was reduced to begging a little after siting still and watching his sergeant fuck and fill you like a good ol' boy.

You were drooling a bit, but Soap simply nodded towards his superior's before nudging you until your watery eyes cracked open and Soap was able to ask if you had it in you for another round, you could only lull your head in a light affirmative before Soap moved to cradle you from behind and Simon crawled up right in-between your trembling legs,

He rubbed the tip of his dripping cock at your soaked entrance the bulbous tip of Ghost's cock picking up a bit of Soap's leaking cum, before he pushed the tip of his cock in with a messy squelch,

The relieved groan Simon let out was drowned out by your whimper while your walls closed tight around his cock, a gush of Soaps seed being pushed out with the space Simon's cock was taking up as he quickly bottomed out in your sloppy cunt.

Simon lost himself completely in the feeling of your warm hole, and right away going for a fast pace that had you sobbing out with pleasure in Soap's arms,

"FUCK! You're so tight around me princess" Simon gasped out into the junction of your shoulder where he had quickly shoved his head to mark up your neck and shoulder in more pretty red hickeys and bite marks.

Simon really couldn't last long which was a relief for your spent body as you both trembled when he filled you up, his spend mixing with Soaps and your own, as well as gushing out around his slowly softening cock.

You must have blacked out a little as when you eyes cracked open again, Soap was wiping away cum from your entrance with a warm washcloth, and Simon was holding your long forgotten hot chocolate to your kiss-swollen lips, he must have rewarmed it as it was warm when you hastily gulped down the sweet, after such an intense round,

"Ah slow down love, How are you feeling?" Simon questioned in a raspy fucked out voice, you lazily hummed and leaned into Simon's chest he nor Soap had really removed any articles of closing during your session, and you pulled at the hem of his shirt until Simon lifted it up and off, allowing you to absolutely met at the skin on skin contact,

Soap finished up cleaning you, and himself, so he also shed his layers until he was just in his pair of cotton boxers, Simon set aside the drink gave you a soft kiss on the forehead before shifting a bit to you head was resting on his chest and Soap was curled up around you back, the blankets drawn up over the three of you cuddling together in the small snowed in cabin.

"So how's that for warming you up Bonnie?" Soap said a cheeky voice You responded with a gentle smack across his chest,

Simon let off a snort of amusement before pulling you in a little tighter as you dozed off peacefully in the comfort of your two lovers.

#john soap mactavish x reader #soap cod #ghost smut #soap smut #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #soap x reader #soap x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader

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uncaaj · 8 months

Text

Fanfic: The Triple Tandem Strike! (DuckTales 17)

Originally published in the Team Science Zine. GET THE ZINE HERE!

READ NOW ON AO3!

The sliding glass doors parted, blowing the stale air of wood wax, burnt fluorescent bulbs, and haggis into the faces of Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, Gyro Gearloose, and Fethry Duck. Lil Bulb couldn’t smell this strong mish-mash because they didn’t have nostrils. Yet.

Gyro crinkled his beak and exhaled sharply through his nose. “Somehow,” he said, “this smells exactly like a bowling alley Mr. McDuck purchased from Flintheart Glomgold.”

“I think that’s a more telling sign,” said Fenton, pointing straight ahead. Indeed, across the back wall of the 20 bowling lanes, sometimes blocked by attendants passing dressed in full highland wear, was a mural of rolling green Scottish hills backed by a blazing sunset.

“It’s got charm,” said Fethry as they approached the main counter. “It’s homey.”

Gyro rolled his eyes. “If you like Glomgold’s Scotland, which no one does.”

“I’m sure these people would love to lose the kilts as soon as possible,” Fenton concurred.

“Ain’t that the truth,” said the shaggy-haired attendant, adjusting his kilt. “We blame the high turnover on the itchiness alone. Anyway, what can we do ya for?”

“Hour rental and three pairs of shoes,” Gyro deadpanned.

The attendant smirked in surprise before fishing the shoes from below. “What’s his deal?” he asked.

“He just doesn’t like bowling,” said Fenton.

“My work outing preference was maliciously overruled,” Gyro grumbled.

“Well, I see it as democracy prevailing,” said Fethry.

“A nephew of McDuck would say that,” Gyro sneered.

Fenton stepped in between the two. “O-o-okay, we all deserve this break from work. We are going to relax and have fun, and nothing will go wrong, alright?”

“Sure thing!” said Fethry.

Gyro crossed his arms. “Fine.”

+++

Across the lanes, a white ball with baby blue streaks slammed into the deck and hooked to the left into the gutter. It took the roll of shame all the way to the end and every single pin remained, solid, mocking its thrower.

“Come on!” crowed Mark Beaks, punching the air. “Throwing a ball into some lousy pins should not be this hard!”

Falcon Graves’ eye twitched as the grating squawk of his employer broke his concentration on his target. “It might be for someone who’s never done any exercise.”

Mark stomped over to his bodyguard. “Hey, a billionaire’s thing is exercising without doing dumb real exercise. Mark Beaks will not follow the normies and golf!”

Falcon sighed and closed his assassin mobile game to give his boss his full attention. “You destroyed a mini golf windmill because you went five over par.”

Mark pointed a finger in Falcon’s face. “Shut your mouth! You’re just like my dad!”

“That’s what you said last time,” Falcon mumbled, not paying attention anymore.

Mark huffed, marching to the ball rack, dark clouds storming above his head. “I’ll show those loser boomers. I can do sports. I can be a well-rounded billionaire.” He shoved a kid down by his face and carried the heaviest ball he could find back to his lane.

Or rather, as Fethry observed while holding a ball to his ear, “Fascinating. It’s like a jellyfish dragging a brain coral across the ocean floor.”

Fenton looked up from the tablet and saw the struggling gray macaw heave the great sphere on his ball machine and collapse to his knees, panting. “I’d almost feel bad for Mark if it weren’t for the thieving of my concepts, the numerous assaults on me and my friends’ lives, and what’s worse, the microaggressions.” Fenton shuddered at the memory.

Gyro tugged the laces of his bowling shoes tight and stood up. “He’s a petulant baby. If we don’t pay attention to him, hopefully he’ll give up and leave.”

“You’re right,” said Fenton, shaking his head and giving the touchscreen some final taps to officially start their game. “Your turn first, Fethry!”

Fethry looked back and sauntered over. “The book I read beforehand says to find a ball that speaks to you.” He held out a red ball, scuffed with years of use. “And this one says, ‘I’m a star!’”

“Are you sure it didn’t just sound like the ocean?” Gyro quipped.

“It’s your first time, right?” said Fenton, sitting on the tartan-wrapped bench. “Focus on throwing it straight. Good luck!”

“If it goes anywhere besides the lanes besides, I’ll be surprised,” Gyro whispered. Fenton elbowed him as Fethry stepped up and checked his aim. He chucked his ball with all the grace of a sea lion and it traveled straight and true on its way to bowling over every pin.

“I know that! That’s a strike!” Fethry cheered, hopping from foot to foot. “Boyoboy!”

Gyro cleared his throat and Fenton clapped. “Way to go, Fethry!”

Fethry beamed and walked back as Gyro took his ball to the lane. He eased into a wide stance and heaved it down the center with both hands. It rolled at a snail’s pace and curved to the left, clipping one pin.

Gyro sniffed. “Sports are not scientific,” he said, returning to his seat.

Fenton stepped up and threw his ball with enthusiasm. It looked good and true and resulted in a 7-10 split. Fenton placed his hands on his hips. Strike up above him, one pin just below… “And here I am, stuck in the middle with you,” he said.

Crunching and crashing bellowed immediately followed by a deafening roar. Fenton whipped his head around to see a giant Mark Beaks rip his shirt off and send plastic chairs flying with one swipe of his bulging, muscular arm. Bystanders howled in fear and ran for any cover still standing. Before he could even comprehend what was going on, a falcon in a suit bolted toward them and shouted, “Get down!”

He was tackled along with Gyro and Fethry before he could think, hitting the deck hard as a bowling ball clattered down next to them and rolled away.

“I apologize for this,” said Falcon, “he did this the last time as well. And then sued the mini golf after his rampage. And lost.”

Gyro picked up his hat. “I’m sure if we keep our heads down and don’t let him see us, we can get out safely. Then McDuck can write this off or something.”

“But then where will Duckburg bowl?” Fethry asked.

“They’ll play a board game, like normal people!” Gyro hissed.

“No, Fethry’s right!” said Fenton, wriggling out of Falcon’s hold.

“You didn’t bring the suit, though!” said Gyro. “Stop him, whoever you are!”

Falcon let Fenton go and shrugged at Gyro. “Mark doesn’t pay me enough for that.”

Fenton emerged from behind the bench and pointed at the behemoth Beaks. “HEY, YOU!”

Mark dropped the balls in his arms and turned to Fenton, his beak curling into a devious grin. “Well, hey there, Gizmoloser!” he mocked, his timbre unaffected by his body’s growth. “Long time no beat!”

I’ll take “Gizmoloser” any day over “amigo,” Fenton thought before declaring, “You’d better stop this temper tantrum of yours, or you’ll be sorry!”

“Pffft! Big words against a big manly man like Megabeaks!” He snatched up the heaviest ball and threw it like a baseball at the pins. It was the perfect intimidating move. The pins collapsed in a great crash, and suddenly, Megabeaks’ puny brain had a brain blast. “You know what? I’m pretty good at this now.”

He looked back at Fenton, whose eyes were wide at the display of utter and absolute skill. “You wanna take this on? Let’s do it! First to a turkey gets to brag about this on social media, and I won’t take it down.”

“Alright then,” said Fenton, not sure what exactly he was getting into.

“Falcon!” Megabeaks called out. “Where’d you go?!”

Falcon popped up, holding Fethry and Gyro in each hand by their scruffs.

Fethry looked to Falcon and then to Megabeaks. “Do either of you perchance read Mass in Minutes by Arnold Schwarzenebird?”

“Know what?” said Megabeaks, “I’ll even let your nerd friends be on your team. I can beat anyone like this, no British bodyguards needed!”

Falcon dropped them, visibly offended. “Right. I’ll be over here then,” he said tersely as he walked toward the front counter.

“You know he’s gonna call the police, right?” asked Gyro.

“As if, losers!” Megabeaks scoffed. “I pay his dry cleaning bills! BWAHAHAHAHA!”

Fenton was embarrassed for him as he gathered his friends in a huddle. “I was scared the first time, but he's truly pathetic.”

“Is Falcon really gonna call the police?” Fethry asked.

“I promised him a 20% raise. We could use a bodyguard,” said Gyro. “McDuck authorized me to.”

Fenton shrugged. “Money talks.”

Gyro nodded. “So we just have to stall long enough for the police to nab him.”

“But we can beat him!” said Fethry.

“Absolutely not!” Gyro snapped. “Do not get a big head because you bowled a strike on your first throw!”

“But I know a special throw from my book! The triple tandem strike! Lookit…”

Megabeaks tapped his fingers against his arm as the science nerds seemed to be taking forever in their little huddle. “Are you telling your dumb life stories to each other? FACE ME!”

“Break!” said Fethry, and the trio lined up, ready for battle.

Megabeaks grabbed a ball and grinned devilishly. “You go first.”

“Okay, everyone,” said Fethry, “just like we planned. Ready?”

“This defies all logic but I’m ready,” Gyro said, placing his green ball on the foul line.

Fenton set his down next to Gyro’s. “Let’s go, Fethry!” The two stepped to the side, placing their trust in their most eccentric colleague.

Fethry steeled his gaze at the two balls and raised his own. “Limber…loose…feet apart.”

“GET ON WITH IT!” Megabeaks bellowed.

Fethry wasn’t fazed. “10:00…2:00, quarter to three, tour jeté, twist, pas de deux, I'm a little teapot!”

Megabeaks was stunned at the display of pure buffoonery that was Fethry waving his ball around in some freak dance, but now it was at the apex.

“Now the windup…and let 'er fly!” The ball left Fethry’s hand and whizzed toward the balls. It connected perfectly, sending each one to the lanes on either side. They hit their marks, felling each set of pins like they were made of marshmallows, while Fethry’s ball arched over the middle lane, reaching earth again in a sea of tumbling pins. Not one withstood the onslaught.

Fenton and Gyro cheered and high-fived. Fethry wiped his hand on his blazer and crossed his arms. “Perfect.”

Megabeaks stood like a gobsmacked statue before picking his jaw up off the floor. “PRACTICER!” he fumed, “You rehearsed that knowing I’d be here!”

“Mark Beaks,” said Gyro, shaking his head. "I knew you were stupid, but even you’ve impressed me.”

“It’s the triple tandem strike,” said Fethry, “invented by 15-time champion bowler George Geef, and it’s regulation- Oops!”

Fethry was hastily hoisted into the air by his front and came face-to-face with a steaming Megabeaks.

“I’LL REGULATION YOUR FACE, YOU LOW-DOWN, LUCKY, CRINGE, BOOMER, NO-RIZZ-“

POP!

Fethry yelped as Mark’s arm began to curdle like bad oatmeal, then a chorus of popcorn-like bangs chorused around them and Fethry saw the ground getting closer. As the popping died down and the smoke cleared, Fethry felt his feet touch the floor and beheld a normal, scrawny, weakling Mark Beaks, wearing tatters for clothes. Fethry took that moment to wipe excess spittle from his bill.

Mark looked like he might cry. “I-it lasted longer last time.”

Sirens grew in volume and suddenly, the doors burst open. “POLICE! Come out with your hands up!”

Thus Mark Beaks was carted off to jail for the second time that year. When Scrooge arrived a few moments later, he assured the team that he would wring every last dollar out of the Waddle CEO possible, and use it to remodel the bowling alley into something Duckburg could be proud of.

+++

Back at the lab, the three scientists were gathered around the coffee station, sipping their mugs in contentment. Gyro broke the silence with, “I must say, if that’s what bowling can be, I may actually take it up.”

“And I can be your teacher!” said Fethry. “The book I read will have you a pro in no time!”

“Whatever you say,” said Gyro.

“Good job, Fethry,” said Fenton.

The three raised their glasses to a fun outing and to the beauty of hitting billionaires where it hurt: damages and legal fees.

#ducktales #dt17 #fanfiction #disney ducks #duckverse #fenton crackshell cabrera #gyro gearloose #fethry duck #lil bulb #mark beaks #megabeaks #falcon graves #scrooge mcduck #team science zine

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nichenarratives · 7 months

Text

Hurricane Heller 16

A Niche Narratives Fanficiton.

last | first | next

16. Poker Face

They pass the kitchen and head into a corridor at the rear of the property, the bare bricks and a slanted, corrugated iron roof barely trapping any heat. His breath mists in frigid air as they walk the width of the diner before entering yet another door at the far end, which leads into the domestic kitchen at the rear of an adjacent property.

Unlike homes in the slums, where a table and an open fire often constitute an entire kitchen, there is a solid mahogany, custom freestanding unit pushed back to one wall with delicately carved doors, freshly waxed to a shine and beautifully offset by apricot worktops. A lime green coats most of the walls, while an accent of mustard tiles protects directly the wall behind the worktops from splashes.

Matching yellow tiles have been carefully mounted in the old fireplace too, gutted to fit a wrought iron stove heated by an open fire beneath. The tiles reflect light outwards producing a glowing orange aura, bright enough to illuminate most of the kitchen without need for lamps, while also making the room stiflingly hot compared to the lean-to corridor frosted with ice.

Most of the remaining floor space is taken by an oversized table and chairs of matching wood, a glass-plated table top glistening in the light. On the opposite wall, a plumbed sink glistens, not a wayward drop of water from its spout. Finally, beside large arching doors at the far end of the room, a coat rack sags under the weight of a half dozen hats and coats; it would seem he's the last to arrive,

Mordecai doesn't have time to wonder if his late arrival was contrived before Kendall offers to take his coat. Far too hot, he rushes to oblige, balancing the box in an arm to shift the other from its sleeve. Kendall takes hold of the collar so he can repeat the process with his other arm without the thing falling to the floor. It's awkward, and he could have put the box down, but he doesn't want to risk it getting dirty from an unseen mess.

Only once she's hung up his coat does he remove his hat and scarf as an afterthought, earning an eye roll before they're taken and stowed with his coat before the double doors are thrown open. As Kendall walks into a dark parlour, Mordecai follows obediently and is glad to find the heat abating as they step into an entry hall beyond, a single closed door the only additional room they pass. He breathes the cooler air deeply, glancing at an apparently disused front door, then follows Kendall up to the second floor.

She takes the stairs gracefully despite her inch-high heels sinking into the plush carpet, turning on the gas lamps along the way, fluffy tail swaying gracefully with each step. Having never worn outdoor shoes on a carpeted floor, it's weird to feel the cushion of fibers beneath his hard soles, muffling the clunk of feet on wooden steps beneath. He tried not to think about the dirt they've just walked into the runner as they reach the landing, skirt around a second staircase and come face to face with one of three doors, the one to a room at the front of the property.

Kendall pauses to fix her hair - a pointless effort, with most of it bundled seemingly haphazardly atop of her head - then raps on the door. Mordecai perks his ears at the rhythm, the same one his driver uses to summon him to interrogations; two slow, three fast. A universal code? It's information he stores away as the door swiftly opens and a single man steps out, closing the door behind him.

The gray tabby towers over Kendall, his tiny eyes narrowed to mere specs in a large head, his neck the same width as his jaw and a thick, pink scar running from one brow to his upper lip. Kendall doesn't seem scared, only holding up the invite with a coy smile. "Las' one, darlin'," she says sweetly, waiting for him to take the Christmas card to elaborate, a sly glance back over her shoulder at the tuxedo. "The boss' new favouri'e, Kosher. I'm sure they're all dyin' to meet 'im."

Felt ears rotate back, subtly communicating his uncertainty. Mordecai feels comfortable enough in his capabilities that their approval isn't a requirement; he wants to keep his head down and earn sufficient funds to move his family to decent housing, while keeping himself comfortably housed with the surplus, not be praised for bureaucratic excellence.

He's been too good at his job and gotten noticed. Again.

The persian turns and Mordecai leans back against the stairs to the third floor to allow Kendall room to pass, box held in both hands before him. The woman doesn't take the space offered, instead approaching him and leaning closer. A warning murr rumbles in the tom's chest as she sweeps a strand of hair from his eyes, fingers lingering on his cheek as she whispers softly.

"I'm off at six," she says, close to his ear, her hot breaths make it twitch. "Bring tha' switchblade I've been hearing so much abou' down t'the diner, butcher. I'd like t'see ya wield it up real close an' personal."

As swift as she approached, Kendall is gone, halfway down the stairs before the grimace or disgust can curl Mordecai's lips, eyes staring after her until the bodyguard clears his throat. Emerald eyes shift from the stairs to the hulking man now holding the door open wide, motioning for Mordecai to step in with the hand clasping his comically tiny invite. Straightening back up, the tuxedo reaffirms his grip on the box, firmly affixes the Isaiah Fitzgerald mask, and steps into the meeting.

Much like the rest of the home, the rectangular reception is large and plushly decorated; thick carpets from wall to wall, heavy drapes drawn to allow in bitter winter sunlight, and a deep red wallpaper beneath a picture rail framing the space. Ceiling molding encases newfangled electrical fixtures with a multitude of inset bulbs, gleaming brightly in ornate arms of two chandeliers set at opposite ends of the room.

The nearest short wall is obscured by heavy bookcases, all of which house thick tomes of classical literature, complete encyclopedias and other reference materials. An armchair and a chaise lounge in deep moss green sit opposite, a rug - surely unnecessary in a carpeted home - of greens, golds and reds beneath a mahogany coffee table covered in gifts finishing the set. It's all brand new; luxury decor at its finest.

Set into the opposite far wall, a fireplace spits behind its wrought iron fireguard, the remnants of kindling slowly being suffocated by hot coals. An intricately carved mahogany table is centered below the second chandelier, a glass cover protecting the detailed lead embossed top from damage. Its surrounded by eight matching chairs.

Seven sets of eyes watch Mordecai as he steps inside, an unerring silence befalling the gathered men as they study the newest underboss, sucking on cigars or sipping scotch.

Mordecai doesn't notice as he's prompted to put his gift on the coffee table, wide eyes scouring over more books than he's seen to date, the collection putting his budding library back home to shame. More accustomed to heavy handed mannerisms, he's taken aback when the bodyguard on the door doesn't laugh at his wonder or manhandle him around but instead, clears his throat to get his attention.

"You got t'remove yer jacket an' holsters," he says, gravelly tones not consistent with his manners and flawless suit, even if his accent errs towards commonality. A meaty hand opens but Mordecai doesn't immediately comply, the idea of being without his pistol in the current climate giving him pause. The bodyguard doesn't become defensive, only adding. "No weapons at th'table, Kosher. Boss' orders."

The assumption everyone else was honest and gave up all their weapons doesn't sit well with the tom, but he hasn't got much choice; his position amongst these men is arguably the least stable. Should he be found to retain weapons after an explicit request to remove them, he likely won't walk out of this room alive, but be carried out in an old suitcase by an unlucky team of underlings from the diner next door.

So he shrugs off his jacket a moment later, handing it to the large tabby before unclipping his holster. The letter opener still resting in his inside jacket pocket, he raises a pants leg to retrieve Jimbo's stolen switchblade from his sock garter, a swift flick of the wrist turning it around for the bodyguard to safely procure. The tabby takes everything in arm before motioning to the other side of the room apparently trusting him. "Have a good nigh'."

Following his gesture and finally noticing the many eyes on him, dark ears turn backwards before he can suppress the anxious response. The ensuing awkwardness is thankfully short-lived; Gabriel stands with a cigar pinched between his sharp teeth and his face cracked into a broad smile.

"Kosher!" He exclaims the greeting, looking almost casual in just a shirt and suspenders, collar unbuttoned and tie loose. He closes the distance between them swiftly and embraces Mordecai, pulling the stiff feline into a brief hug that ends as the pale persian pulls back and digs sharp claws into tensed biceps. "Glad you could make it! The boys didn't think you'd come, being… you know. Kosher, and all."

Mordecai can't tell if the man refers to his inherent character or his ancestry, but he doesn't have time to ruminate before Gabriel has an arm around his shoulders and is walking him towards the crowded table. "Let's get you introduced, yeah. Want a drink? Old Frank - that lug on the door - will find you anything you want, so what's your poison, eh? How about a scotch on the rocks? You look like a classic kind of guy."

With a lot of information to suddenly process, Mordecai lets Gabriel's incessant questions ground him, tearing emerald eyes away from the crowded table to meet yellowed irises. "While I appreciate the offer, I don't drink," he states, unsure if it's rude to refuse liquor, but definitely not about to indulge. "If I may enquire, what else is available? I'm partial to tea, in particular an Earl Gray."

The persian chuckles softly, as do a number of others at the table. Mordecai ignores them; he's quite used to being the comedic relief by now. "You don't come to Christmas poker and drink tea," Gabriel asserts, pausing to suck on his cigar before taking it from his teeth, heavy smoke leaking from his nose and mouth as he taps Mordecai's chest affectionately. "Tell you what; I'll get Frank and Kendall to bring up a couple of those cordials and soft drinks they sell in the diner. Maybe you'll find something else you like as much as tea."

Mordecai twists his lips with disbelief. "I highly doubt that," he mutters under his breath, then sighs in defeat. "Very well. I'm sure something will be… adequate."

"There ya go," Gabriel praises, jostling his shoulder with his iron grip and chuckling deep in his chest, releasing him to turn back to Frank. The tuxedo's arm is decidedly sore when he finally lets go, and it takes most of his self control not to shudder to dispel the lingering feeling of an unwanted arm around his back. "You heard the man; get Kendall to make a couple of cordials, no skimping on the juice or sugar. We'll sweeten the old butcher up yet!"

The next few minutes are a whirlwind of information as he's introduced to the entirety of the table and their expertise all at once. With the quickfire crash course in underbosses at Gabriel's jovial hand, each man is cataloged by appearance, name and job title only, providing Mordecai with an influx of people to research in his spare time next year, though there are two distinct men the tuxedo takes intricate note at the time of introduction.

First and arguably the most important, the large, black feline at the head of the table. Despite seeming to be of a similar height to most, the silky shorthair possesses a number of exaggerated features compared to his brethren: a heavy brow and large forehead overshadow small eyes so dark, they appear black across the table; an equally heavy set lower jaw; stocky shoulders; and thickly muscled arms.

He greets Mordecai with a smoker's gravel imbued with the deep tones expected from a man of his size, his assertions bringing an end to any idle or other conversations from pure respect. The hand clasping his cards are three times larger than Mordecai's finely dextrous ones, while his shoes could comfortably house a feral cat and her litter in a pinch, their toe caps enforced with steel for integrity over utility.

This is Stanley Savage, current head of the family, the man who plucked Mordecai from his comfortable position running the races and pressed implements of torture into his hands. The tuxedo greets him politely, complementing the home as his mother raised him to, even as the suppressed distaste for his abusive role simmers angrily beneath the surface

He could be Hashem Himself, Mordecai would still hate the man who cost him the dregs of his morality just as fervently.

Second, the predominantly white feline sat at Savages's right hand. Accented with sandy yellow splashed with black, incomplete spots, most of this colouration favours his dorsal area, though it covers his ears and face, and even coats the backs of his hands. His suit is immaculate, jacket still worn over an armed shoulder holster. Calculating, narrowed green eyes study the newest addition to the inner circle.

Sipping his scotch and holding eye contact seamlessly with the tuxedo, the speckled feline nods wordlessly when he's introduced; Jackson Jameson, personal triggerman and as required, bodyguard for the Savage family boss. As the only man at the table openly armed, it's obvious he's considered more trustworthy than anyone else in the room, something Mordecai makes explicit note of as he's shown to the empty seat at the other end of the long table.

Despite Mordecai's initial uncertainties, the small gathering is surprisingly amicable; most conversation revolves around the rapidly changing work environments each man has had to deal with these last few months, rising amenity costs and a lament of fewer excess funds for seasonal gifts or their preferred vices. Mordecai is generally quiet unless engaged directly, though he doesn't share much personal information. He talks only of the business troubles, and the closing of his launderette, which placates most of their questions.

One man however - Kimberly Daugherton, a particularly small and weasley looking man with numerous furless scars adoring his muzzle and face - has an unhealthy interest in the tom's torture moonlights, making uncomfortable queries regarding his favourite tools, technique and 'soft spots'. He's a disquieting little man with a twitchy demeanour that Mordecai is thankful not to be seated directly next to, but that doesn't make his queries or suggestions any less repulsive to the unconventional butcher.

Having enough after a particularly vulgar description of how to disembowel a man without killing him outright, Mordecai places his empty glass of cordial - a delightful tart cranberry and raspberry, with a touch of soda water - aside with more force than necessary. "If you're so desperate for a demonstration," he states coldy, staring at the man who sinks regretfully into his seat under those sharp eyes. "I'll request my switchblade returned and provide a personal experience of my favourite techniques. How does that sound, Mister Daugherton?"

"N-No, th-thank you," the small feline stutters out, oversized gray ears pressing to his skull and he fidgets nervously with a napkin in his lap, intensely focused on its crinkled edges. "I-I'm good. So good! All… good." A rolling chuckle echoes around the table, especially as Kimberly makes excuses to leave a few minutes later, missing the poker game entirely.

It swiftly becomes apparent Mordecai is terrible at poker; as Gabriel would express through a rolling chuckle. "The poker face is only half the game," he explains after Mordecai folds on a bad hand in the first round. "You have to bluff, make us think your hand is average even when you got a flush in the wings, so we go in thinking we got you beat with a three of a kind and bet recklessly. That's now you win big."

He understands the logic, but the concept is irrational, so he continues to play as he had before and ends with almost as many chips as he started. While the other players don't see it as successful, Mordecai does. He retained his integrity and most of his fabricated funds, a true win compared to those undermining their trustworthiness for a simple game.

Though the event continues until almost three on Christmas morning - and despite the heavy smoke, slowly intoxicated company and being absolutely awful at poker - the evening is not as unpleasant as Mordecai feared. His coworkers are cordial and respectful, refraining from anti-semitic humour the entire evening, even when issues arose during dinner, and Mordecai is returned to his apartment full, content and surprisingly jovial.

Mordecai may not be fond of much of his profession, but he finally seems to be reaping the rewards of his hard work and sacrifices. It puts a smile on thin lips, even as he's forced to layer three blankets to stay warm; life is somewhat good, and it can surely only get better from here.

#niche narratives #hurricane heller #mordecai heller #lackadaisy #lackadaisy cats #fanfiction #lackadaisy mordecai #fanfic #tracy j butler #no beta we die like atlas may

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sumuraj · 4 months

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#Buy shoe rack online #types of wooden shoe rack #Engineered wood shoe rack #Solid wood shoe rack #wooden shoe cabinet with sitting #wooden shoe cabinet without sitting #wooden shoe shelf #shoes almirah

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snehalpatel · 9 months

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Shop for premium quality Engineered Wood Shoe Rack Online at Wakefit. Explore the latest design of wooden shoe racks with cabinets to suit your living room furniture.| No Cost EMI | Doorstep Delivery | Free Shipping

#engineered wood shoe racks online #wooden shoe rack with cabinets #shoe rack design #shoes stand #shoe cabinet #chappal stand #solid wood shoe rack

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kalyanamfurniture · 1 year

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How to Choose the Perfect Sideboard Cabinet: Useful Tips

Sideboards, also known as buffets or credenzas, have been used for centuries as functional pieces of furniture in dining rooms and living spaces. In addition to their practicality, sideboards are also stylish pieces that can complement any decor.

In recent years, the popularity of sideboards has increased, and there are now many styles and designs available in the market. In this blog, we will take a look at the top six trending styles of sideboards, with a particular focus on wooden storage cabinets online in India.

Top 6 Trending Styles of Sideboards

Arizona Solid Wood Sideboard In Stone Finish

The Arizona sideboard is a versatile piece of furniture that can be placed in any room of your house. The stone finish adds an earthy touch to the sideboard, making it perfect for a home with a natural or rustic decor.

Brazil Solid Wood Sideboard In Natural Finish

The Brazil sideboard is a stunning piece of furniture that can serve as an entry table or a buffet in a dining room. Its natural finish highlights the beauty of the wood grain, giving it a warm and inviting look.

3. Chelsea Solid Wood Sideboard In Natural Finish

The Chelsea collection is a fusion of contemporary design and the coziness of wood. The geometric lines and varied grains make the Chelsea sideboard a unique and stylish addition to any room. The solid rosewood used in its construction ensures durability.

Hastkala Solid Wood Carved Sideboard In Indigo Finish

The Hastkala line is a beautiful blend of classic and modern styles. The crisscross design and indigo finish give the sideboard a global-inspired look, making it a great addition to any bohemian or eclectic home.

The Merlin sideboard showcases the charming aesthetics of a country home. Its wooden texture emanates a Mediterranean vibe, and the robust metal handles and rustic appearance contribute to its distinctiveness.

The Nikido sideboard embodies unpretentious sophistication. Its sleek rosewood texture and straight edges exude modernity, while the inviting warmth of the wood infuses coziness into its design.

Top 10 Ideas for Stylish and Functional Sideboard Cabinets

Sideboard cabinets are versatile pieces of furniture that can add style and functionality to any room. In this blog post, we'll explore the top 10 sideboard cabinet ideas that you should consider. Whether you're looking for a classic, modern, rustic, or colorful design, there's a sideboard cabinet out there for you.

Traditional Wooden Sideboard Cabinet: With its rich tones and elegant design, a traditional wooden sideboard cabinet adds sophistication to any room.

Industrial Style Sideboard Cabinet: Featuring bold lines and raw, unfinished materials, an industrial style sideboard cabinet can give your space an edgy, contemporary feel.

Mid-Century Modern Sideboard Cabinet: Perfect for a retro-inspired room, a mid-century modern sideboard cabinet adds a touch of vintage charm.

Rustic Sideboard Cabinet: If you prefer a more relaxed look, a rustic sideboard cabinet with natural materials and distressed finishes creates a cozy atmosphere.

Mirrored Sideboard Cabinet: A mirrored sideboard cabinet adds elegance with reflective surfaces and intricate designs.

Glass Front Sideboard Cabinet: A glass front sideboard cabinet is ideal for displaying favorite items while keeping them safe and organized.

Colorful Sideboard Cabinet: A colorful sideboard cabinet adds a playful touch with bright hues and bold patterns.

Built-In Sideboard Cabinet: Integrating a sideboard cabinet into your walls or built-in units saves space and creates a seamless look.

Floating Sideboard Cabinet: A floating sideboard cabinet with a sleek, streamlined design adds sophistication to a modern, minimalist space.

Multi-Purpose Sideboard Cabinet: A multi-purpose sideboard cabinet with adjustable shelving adapts to your changing needs and serves multiple purposes.

When choosing a sideboard cabinet, consider the size, shape, and style that best fit your space and needs. With so many options available, you're sure to find a sideboard cabinet that adds both style and functionality to your home.

Tips for Choosing the Right Sideboard Cabinet:

Consider the style of your home: Choose a sideboard cabinet that complements the existing style of your home.

Consider the size of the space: Choose a sideboard cabinet that fits comfortably in the space and doesn't overcrowd the room.

Consider the storage needs: Choose a sideboard cabinet

Conclusion:

In conclusion, sideboards are versatile and stylish pieces of furniture that can add both storage and elegance to any room. With a variety of styles and designs available, there is a sideboard to suit every taste and budget. If you are looking for wooden storage cabinets online in India, there are many options available that will suit your needs. From rustic to contemporary, there is a sideboard for every home.

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newtonsheffield · 2 years

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Ok but now I need to see neddy bear being a mini papa bear and kate having heart eyes watching her boys together 👀

Neddy Bridgerton is, as always: a sweet little bean.

Kate had known Anthony would be a beautiful father, if course she had. No matter how stoic he was, no matter the fact that some days he barely said a hundred words to her, he loved her, so desperately. He was so gentle, for such a solid man, bandaging legs of deer her found limping around, collecting wildflowers for her on his way home. Anthony was gentle, and kind and she knew he would love their child just the same way. But she hadn't actually been prepared for the reality.

Anthony was so present as a father, it was a little startling. When Edmund cried in the middle of the night and she immediately went to get up before he put his hand gently on her shoulder. "Let me, you're with him all day, I want to be with him now."

He'd bring their tiny son back into the room with him, sitting against the headboard with him curled against his bare chest, letting Edmund's tiny fist clench around his finger with the softest smile on his face. "You're going to be so strong one day Neddy. Or not, if that's not what you want. Maybe you'll be creative like Mummy, I'd like that. Or maybe something different. I'll get you whatever makes you happy little cub, I promise. Kate, I can hear you crying."

"I'm not!" she gasped from beside him, tears running down her face as she stayed awake and listened. Beautiful.

And as Edmund grew, so did their bond.

He looked so like Anthony. The same little furrow of his brow, the same determined set of his mouth, same cheekbones, same eyes, the only thing he got from Kate at all was the mop of curly hair that fell in his eyes. He followed Anthony everywhere, his little hand holding onto his Papa's belt as they walked around the lumberyard, Edmund frowning at the wood the same as Anthony did, tapping his little foot. He watched patiently as Anthony chopped firewood, waiting to be given his one little log to help carry inside and it just made Kate want.

"I want another baby." She said a little bluntly one night when Edmund was barely 2, sitting between them on the sofa, his legs tucked into her side, his chin resting on Anthony's shoulder as he slept soundly.

Anthony looked up in shock, his soft hair falling around his face, his eyes wide, his thumb playing with the ring on his left hand. "You want... You want more than just Neddy?"

Kate nodded, kissing Anthony's forehead, then Edmund's "I want three or four. Do you want more?"

Anthony stared back at her for a long moment, swallowing convulsively before he nodded, "Yeah, three or four sound good."

Kate clicked her tongue. "Good, because honestly, you as a Dad is the hottest thing I've ever seen. More little cubs are probably only going to add to the fact I want to ride you all night."

"We should probably have another baby then." Anthony said quickly, "We should have another baby for sure."

So here Kate was, three months pregnant for the second time, watching her husband with their son.

She couldn't quite hear what Anthony was saying to Edmund, but he was crouched in front of his tiny son, his huge form hunkered over so their eyes were level. Edmund was standing in front of him, tapping his little foot as he nodded. They were dressed almost exactly alike, Edmund insisted on it.

They'd taken him into town for new shoes and clothes recently, growing quicker than either of them cared for and his eyes had darted around excitedly, one of this hands held in each of theirs.

"Okay, remember Neddy, you can only pick one pair of shoes." Kate had said gently as he'd let go of their hands, darting towards the rack, peering carefully up at them.

He'd barely looked at the display before his little hand had pointed. "These!"

Anthony had huffed quietly as they'd both noticed what he'd picked. He knelt beside his son, leaning into Kate's touch on the back of his neck while her heart hammered in her chest.

"These are the ones you want? You're sure?"

Edmund grinned up at them both as he scrambled forward plucking the moctoe bots from the shelf "Yes! Like Papa!"

And Kate had had to fight the tears that sprung to her eyes, even as Anthony huffed. "Okay, these ones then."

Edmund had darted around the rest of the store then as well, already wearing his new boots, until he had a collection of clothes just like Anthony's right down to the little quilted body warmer.

"I look just like Papa, Mummy!" Edmund had said, tugging at the leg of her jeans and she'd barely been able to hold back her tears.

"You do, Neddy. So handsome."

He was Anthony's little mirror today, the same boots, same flannel shirt, same dark wash jeans, same vest, Edmund nodding as Anthony patted his cheek before he turned and sprinted back towards her a bouquet of wildflowers held tightly in his fist.

Edmund thrust them out towards her, scrambling to sit on her lap before he kissed her cheek.

"Mummy looks pretty today." He said, his little hands pressed to the barely-there swell of her stomach, humming to himself, "Baby."

"Did your Papa tell you to say that?" Kate hummed, despite the tears in her eyes, her fingers threading into her son's hair.

"He said No." Edmund hummed as Anthony groaned, dropping onto the picnic blanket beside her.

"No secrets with that boy."

"Thank you for the flowers anyway." Kate hummed, resting her chin against Anthony's shoulder, her arms tight around Edmund.

"Well... Neddy picked the flowers. Careful though, I tried to get him not to put Ivy in there, but there might still be a bit. You might get a bit itchy." Anthony sighed contentedly.

As it turns out, there was a bit of Ivy in there, but Kate discovered she didn't really care

#take me home country roads #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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moral-terpitude · 1 year

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All We Have Is Now

I wrote this for @runnning-outof-time for their 2.5K celebration! What an awesome milestone to have achieved, and very well deserved!

I was trying for a double bingo! Fluff/ Tradition/ Modern AU/ Proposal crossed with secret/ domestic/ modern au/ Christmas Eve

The title is in reference to the song “All We Have is Now” by Royal Blood. I highly recommend giving it a listen, because I’ve skipped it so many times in the last week, and finally listened to it today, and it had me absolutely shocked and also sprinting to finish writing this after listening. I think this part will end up being part of my main storyline with these two for Misadventures now that I’ve started posting the rest of their story.

A/N: For some context, this was inspired by one of my own family traditions: Bronners’s is the largest Christmas store in the world, located in Frankenmuth, Michigan. They sell everything Christmas. They also offer customization of certain ornaments on site, with one of the items being plain colored bulbs. You can make them say anything, but everyone in my family has one with their name on it. I also have it in my head that Tommy’s birthday is Dec 25th so, that’s relevant. Yeah.

Pairing: modern!Tommy Shelby x oc Quinn Meyer

Two years.

Well, not quite two years, not even really two Christmases spent together, with Tommy having Charlie and Ruby the previous year, Quinn noted, as she turned the rental car from the paved road on to the gravel that would lead to her family’s cabin.

Technically, it was her cabin. Each of her sisters had received some sort of property for camping or building houses on after getting married and settling down, and they had all been in an uproar when Quinn’s parents had given her the cabin.

It had been her hideaway, the only escape she had after things had went south with Gerard, her ex-whatever-you-wanted to-call-him, (fiancé if you were specific, boyfriend if you weren’t, and asshole for all she cared).

“John, I already told you me service isn’t going to be good here, eh?” Tommy sounded exasperated, his promise of not working already not being held up as John and Johnny both had been blowing up his phone since they had both feet on solid ground. “I’ll call you back once the holiday is over.”

Quinn smiled. He hadn’t specified to John which holiday, and with the small amount of luck they had, both of their schedules were able to be cleared through the first week of January.

Two solid weeks of no contact with the outside world.

Snow was falling all across the Grand Traverse Bay as she killed the engine, headlights disappearing as their shoes crunched in the untouched snow.

“It’s fucking freezing.” Tommy hissed, retrieving their bags from the cargo hatch of the Jeep as Quinn punched in the numbers on the keypad, the old batteries barely powering the groaning lock before they both tracked the snow inside.

Despite his faux frustration, Tommy wasn’t, couldn’t, be mad about being here, he realized. This would be the most time he would be away from work in an uncountable amount of years, and it seemed as if everything would go according to plan.

Someone, presumably Madelyn and Patti, had came and decorated, everything from a tree down to Christmas lights outside, all of which now were twinkling and leaving a warm glow along the wooden walls of the large A-Frame cabin.

The result of their hard work had Quinn beaming through the layer of snowflakes melting in her lavender hair and down her face as she toed off her shoes and hung her jacket on the back of the door.

Tommy had already shed his layers, digging through pockets for a lighter and retrieving an outdated bundle of newspaper from the magazine rack once he noticed the dried bundle of wood already in the fireplace.

Please tell me you remembered to leave it here???

“No phone,” he teased, the tapping of her acrylic nails on the glass screen a dead giveaway that she was messaging someone.

“I’m just letting mom know we made it.” Sliding her phone in her back pocket, she ruffled her hair and Quinn made her way through the small kitchen to the pantry, retrieving the hot chocolate before filling the kettle and placing it on the stove to boil.

She smiled, closing her eyes and leaning against the counter, as she heard the unmistakable crackle of a fire coming to life in the living room.

“You’re making hot chocolate with water?”

He hadn’t gave Quinn much room to move, and the unfortunate consequence was cold hands pressed against her lower back that elicited a yelp loud enough that people across the water probably heard.

“Thomas Shelby, get your cold hands off of me!” There was no escape other than up, the result leaving her sitting on the kitchen counter as his hands roamed her thighs.

“Oh, come on, babe,” the teasing kisses pressed to her throat threatened her resolve, “you sleep with your cold feet on me legs every night.”

Quinn smiled, her forehead coming to rest against his as the kettle whistled, staring with some difficulty into his bright blue eyes at the closeness.

“Well if you weren’t a furnace when you sleep, I wouldn’t have to tuck my cold toes in the back of your knees to cool you down.”

Tommy’s response was a mixture between a hum and a chuckle, pecking her quickly on the lips before killing the heat to the burner and pouring the water into the cups.

“I was thinking,” Quinn sat the steaming mug aside as he returned to stand between her legs, his back against her chest as she ran her nails through the shaved short sides of his hair before resting her chin on his shoulder, hands clasped together across his chest, “if we went to bed around 10,” she checked her watch to see it was 8pm, the digital screen coming to life as she shook her wrist, “we could set an alarm for three and be up to FaceTime the kids while they open their presents.”

He did the quick math, 3 would make it 8 in the morning there. “I don’t think they’ll be up that soon, darling.”

“I talked to Lizzie the other day, that’s when she said they’d be up because they have to be to Polly’s by 11.” Quinn’s phone vibrated in her pocket. “I also thought, maybe, we could exchange gifts tonight so that way I can give you your other gifts tomorrow. Keep everything separate.”

He sighed, leaning his head back against her shoulder. “Tomorrow is Christmas.”

“And…”

“And?” He shook his head.

“Tommy.”

“What?”

“I know when your birthday is.”

He closed his eyes, resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to let it go. No one had ever gone to such an effort to make him feel like it was an important day for only him. Tommy had learned at a young age to not whine about it being overshadowed by a holiday, and once the kids were in the picture, the focus shifted to making sure each holiday was magic for them.

“Let me get down,” two pats on his shoulders had him moving out of her way so she could slide off the counter, bare feet patting across the wooden floor to the bedroom.

Yes, in the hall closet with the towels. Maddy grabbed you some of the flavored popcorn you like and put it in the pantry. There’s dinner in the fridge, didn’t figure you would feel like cooking.

Quinn smiled as she read her mothers words on the screen, opened her bag to retrieve the wrapped box, before doubling back to the closet in the hall to lift the white box from the shelf.

“Okay,” she declared, opening the pantry for the popcorn from the taffy shop, not sure how she didn’t see it before, as Tommy looked at her wide eyed, phone in hand, before setting it down on the counter. “No phone, Tommy!”

The pile of items in her arms carefully found a home on the counter as she opened the cookie canister, a porcelain cat that had been her Oma’s, to see it empty.

“In.” The headless cat was held out, her nails drumming along the body.

Tommy blinked, rubbing his hand across his forehead before relinquishing his phone to the cookie jar. “What about you, eh?”

Quinn beamed with a fake smile, he knew she hated being told what to do, and of course if it was her idea she would do the same.

With both their phones hidden away, Quinn settled herself on the floor in front of the fireplace, bubbling with excitement, although trying to hide the fact that, in trying to figure out what to get Tommy, she had discovered her own gift.

A rose gold filigree ring, diamonds hidden in the leaves, had been nestled in the top drawer of the dresser when she had been trying to figure out what Rolex watch he didn’t have. It wasn’t just laying there. She peeked. Of course she peeked, because there was a ring box in Tommy’s dresser that she wasn’t aware of.

She knew it wasn’t for anyone else, but trying it on her fingers confirmed herself as the recipient. It didn’t fit any ring but her ring finger, and she knew if that was the question being asked that she wasn’t fucking ready for that.

She had also discovered, on the same day, that all the watches had never been worn, probably because they weren’t fucking cheap, and ended up getting him the matte black Fossil one with all the gold gears in the middle that had made her think about getting him a watch in the first place.

“Do we have to sit on the floor?” Tommy asked, as Quinn got up, retrieving a blanket and turned on the Bose sound system on the fireplace.

“Yes. You can be old tomorrow. Lean against the couch.”

He rolled his eyes, as she sat back down, patting the floor next to her, “C’mon, I’ll be an old person to and sit against the couch with you.”

“You make it sound like I’m turning fourty,” Tommy crossed his legs in front of him as she covered the both of them with the fleece blanket adorned with snowflakes.

“Sometimes you act like it.” She smiled, placing one hand on his chest before leaning to capture his lips with hers.

Pulling away, she opened the cellophane bag, offering him a shockingly blue piece of popcorn.

“Why is it blue?”

“It’s blueberry. Or blue raspberry. I don’t remember.” She tossed the piece in her mouth, chewing speculatively, before declaring, “Blue raspberry.”

“Green?” He questioned, brows furrowed, as he analyzed the piece in the same way as the previous, waiting for a response.

“Green Apple. I’m not going to tell you what every flavor is. Just eat it.”

Quinn picked up the white box, holding it gently between her hands before peeking at Tommy who was watching her intently. The sticker on the top proclaimed, “Bronner’s CHRISTmas Wonderland, Since 1945”.

“So, this is and isn’t part of your present, because I think that giving someone a Christmas bulb for Christmas is fucking stupid, but,” she took a deep breath before handing him the white box, “I didn’t want to have it shipped and have it get crushed in the mail.” she could feel her heart pounding in her chest, feeling so stupid, “Everyone in my family has one, it’s just a thing we do.”

He opened the box gently, sifting through the white tissue paper before retrieving the light blue bulb, holding it by the silver cap, so he could examine it fully.

White script was carefully placed in the center of the bulb, and for a second, he almost didn’t recognize his own name.

“I…if you want…” Tommy hadn’t said anything, and Quinn couldn’t gauge from his reaction, reflected in the ornament, whether that was good or bad, “Mines on the tree, mom brought it up, otherwise I figured it wouldn’t make sense.”

Everyone in my family has one. Her words echoed in his head as he tried to find the words to express himself, the gratitude, after a rough start, of being included.

“Does that mean I’m part of your family then?”

Quinn breathed a sigh of relief, nodding as he stood, and crossed the room to place the bulb on the tree next to hers. Of course it was purple.

Silhouetted by the lights, she watched as he relaxed slightly, observing the two ornaments hanging next to each other on their own branches.

“Thank you, Quinn.”

She noted he still looked a tad confused as he sat back down next to her, but the look evaporated as he pulled her close, a gentle kiss pressed to her temple as she handed him the wrapped box.

“You first.” he said, setting the box aside and pulling two boxes, wrapped in the same purple striped paper from his pocket. “This one,” he held out the narrower and taller of the two boxes, “you can say no to.”

Her brow furrowed, trying to imagine what could be in the box, as she took it, gently peeling the paper off to reveal a black box.

She was surprised to see Tommy watching her intently, his blue eyes just as bright as they sat in only the light of the fireplace and tree, wild shadows being cast upon the wall.

He nodded, and Quinn pulled the lid off the box to see a key on a purple keychain tucked in the box.

She blinked, picking it up and turning it over, before looking to Tommy for some clarification as her mind went blank.

“You can say no.” He reminded her, heart hammering in his chest, taking a breath to prepare for the chance that she would decline. He wouldn’t be mad. Maybe it was too soon?

“What is it for, Tommy?” She smiled, and he could see the truth of the question in her expression.

“I want you to move in with me.”

“Serious?” Her eyes sparkled as she asked, pupils dilated as all the feel good chemicals rushed through her veins, a fuzzy feeling rippling through her as she clamored astride his lap.

“Yeah, serious.”

“Fuck,” she was now very aware of how his hands felt on her hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles as she grasped the key tight in her palm, before tucking it in her back pocket, “yeah, okay. I want to. Let’s do it.”

Her lips felt sore by the time they broke apart, fingers entwined in the longest part of Tommy’s hair, which she noted was due for a cut compared to his regular standards, but she didn’t mind it.

“This doesn’t come with any questions,” Tommy clarified as he offered her the other, much squarer box, and Quinn felt the anxieties in her stomach settle at the thought that thankfully the ring wasn’t tied to a proposal.

She smiled, unwrapping the other gift, and hesitating before opening the velvet box, eyes flicking to meet his, the look of guilt mistook by Tommy for distaste.

“What? You always wear jewelry, I wanted a beautiful gift for a beautiful girl.”

Her eyes watered as she shook her head, trying to hide from the complement as she opened the box to see the same ring that had stared back at her weeks before.

“I love it, Tommy,” she slipped the ring on the appropriate finger before taking his face between her hands, the warmth radiating off of her a welcome comfort that he leaned in to, “thank you. Now open yours, I want to put on the matching pajamas and have another cup of hot chocolate before bed.”

“This is the first in hearing anything about matching pajamas.”

“I know, it’s because I packed them. Don’t worry, they’re just plaid.” She yawned, stretching as she let her hips roll, receiving the wonderful friction she hadn’t realized she was seeking out at the point where their bodies met.

Tommy realized that opening the gift was the last thing he wanted to do now, but he focused on it diligently, surprised and relieved that it was a gift he would actually use.

She fiddled with the ring in her nose absentmindedly as he sat the box aside.

“Thank you, darling, I’ll put it on first thing in the morning.” A quick peck on the lips had a contented hum coming from somewhere in his chest as his mouth traveled to her throat, “Now, up with you, love. I’ve got plans for you before you put those pajamas on.”

#misadventures #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #peaky fookin blinders #tommy shelby x oc #quinn meyer #modern tommy shelby #modern!tommy #modern!tommy shelby #k’s 2.5k holiday bingo challenge

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corsacorpse · 1 year

Text

Debt - a Miyacestober ficlet

Yazuka AU implied Miyacest and implied side noncon SakuAtsu

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"The Boss'll see you now."

Osamu jumps at the words and looks up at Aran from where he sits. The leather of the sofa beneath him creaks as he jumps to his feet. He strides quickly across the room, the heels of his shiny black shoes clicking on the polished floor as he makes his way to the door.

"Thanks,” he mutters with a bow as he passes through the threshold. Aran falls in step behind him as they make their way up the hallway and to another door. Aran gestures for Osamu to remove his shoes and he does so with a sigh and a roll of his shoulder. His movements are stiff beneath the expensive silk button down; the tendons in his shoulder are tense and the bruising to his side aches as he bends to shuffle loose his expensive footwear. He levels Aran with a look that says happy? Once his shoes are neatly tucked on the bamboo rack beside the door, Aran responds with a curt nod before slipping from his own shoes and housing them in the space beside Osamus’. He kneels by the door and raps his knuckles against the wood. They wait only a moment in silence before a voice confirms their permission to enter. Aran slides the door open and comes to his feet.

The room is dimly lit but Osamu is well aware of the tradition and opulence on display, from the ancient family heirlooms adorning the walls in both scroll and steel, to the gold lining every fixture; from the lamps to the teacups, in the pens upon the desk, and the golden trim inlayed into the very desk itself. Kita himself isn’t reclining in the grand leather armchair sat behind the solid oak desk, rather he sits on the tatami that covers the floor, behind a low tea table, fine China and hot cups already wafting steam into the room. Despite the building that houses their operation being western style, and most of the furniture made to match, Kita had a flair for the traditional, unlike his predecessor who had a taste for things a little bolder, gaudy even, as some may say.

He wore a haori over his designer cotton dress shirt, coloured in a rich burgundy and painted with rice fields and herons. He looks small and serene, almost harmless as he gently raises a cup to his lips. Blowing across the surface of the matcha tea inside before taking a sip, he doesn't open his eyes, nor does he acknowledge the men now present in his space, savouring the flavour on his tongue before lowering the cup into his lap. When his eyes do open any air of benignness is dispelled by the sharp stare shot across the room, like that of a beautiful fox, both alluringly curious with a hint of danger. These eyes held a warning, anyone was potentially prey beneath them.

“Boss," Osamu says, dropping to his knees and bowing deeply.

“Osamu.” Kita nods towards the tea set, “Pour yourself a cup.”

Osamu rises, sitting back on his heels with his palms laid atop his thighs.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’d rather not. Have ya’ gotten word yet?”

The shift in the rooms' atmosphere is subtle, but Osamu was always perceptive. He hears Aran shuffle just slightly where he sits in his peripheral vision and Kita’s chin tips a degree to the right. Osamu’s gut twists and the hair on the back of his neck stands.

“So, what did Sakusa have to say? An' where’s ‘Tsumu?”

He watches, frustration building as Kita sips his tea and pours himself another. His movements are slow, deliberate and methodical, each item picked up placed back perfectly in its space on the tea tray. Osamu could shout, demand an answer, but he’s learned from years under Kita that brutish language and intimidation will get him nowhere. Kita runs a tight ship and those who defy are easily cast out.

“Sakusa has Atsumu.”

The air between them grows thick, tightening Osamu’s lungs and strangling him. Kita turns to him, his face impartial, cold even.

“What do ya' mean has him? Ya had some business to negotiate and took Tsumu, why-” he can't breathe, “why the fuck does that piece of work have 'Tsumu?”

“You know exactly why, Osamu.”

His blood runs cold and he feels the colour drain from his face. The room lists to the side but somehow those golden eyes stay constant, existing beyond the rules of time and space, piercing straight through him. The words echo in his ears as Kita continues to speak.

“You’ve been stepping on toes, Osamu. You took things that didn't belong to you, things that belonged to Itachiyama and Sakusa. I simply offered a gift to make amends and Sakusa has... Particular tastes.”

Osamu's stomach flips. It was no secret that the kumicho of Itachiyama was a ruthless and cold leader, but rumour was he was a sadist to the darkest degree.

"How could ya just give him to him? He's part of our family– he's my brother?" Osamu can't hold in his emotions any more, fury seeps into his voice, into his muscles, winding his jaw tight and filling his chest. His fingers claw into the black fabric of his slacks.

"Our family, Osamu? You swore to me when we exchanged cups, to be my brother, and yet you betray me?"

"Kita, I swear, I didn't –"

"You betrayed me when you angered Sakusa. I merely paid your debt."

Osamu gapes at him, bewildered by what he was hearing.

"Why bring 'Tsumu into it?" He asks, voice trembling as he clings to his last threads of reason; his mind a flickering slideshow of the endless possibilities, of Atsumu bound, gagged, beaten; of Sakusa's filthy hands on his pristine skin.

"Oh come now, Osamu. Did you think I didn't know about you two?" Osamu feels ill, shame washes over him as he begins to tremble. "This is both reparations to Sakusa and a punishment for you, and perhaps now, with your precious brother aside, you'll show me the loyalty you promised."

"Get him back," Osamu growls, lurching forward and slamming his palms down on the tea table.

"Osamu!" Aran shouts a warning, his hand shooting out and wrapping firmly around Osamu's bicep.

"Get him back!"

"No," Kita replies calmly, unflinching at Osamu's posturing.

"Then I'll get him back myself," Osamu spits, coming to his feet and toppling the tea table, shattering the china teapot and cups, staining the tatami.

"If you go against me, Osamu, then you go against the whole of Inarizaki."

"Fuck the Inarizaki, if this is what they would do to my brother."

"Aran." Kita beckons. "He's no longer welcome here."

Osamu looms over Kita for a moment, their eyes locked in a heated stare, before Aran pulls him toward the door, his gun drawn and pointed at Osamu's side.

"He will kill you," Kita warns.

"No," Osamu says, turning to look over his shoulder, "I'm gunna kill 'im, then I'll be back fer yer head too."

#ficlet #fanfic #miyacest #miya atsumu #miya osamu #tw incest #hq fanfic #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyuu fanfiction #yakuza au #tw noncon

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