#They’re too lifelike

[driftingballoons]

Centiskorch unfortunately crosses my threshold of centipede tolerance

#Scolipede #centiskorch #trainer rosa #trainer gloria #pokemon doodles #original art #I think it’s abt the legs #Like I even felt a little creeped out drawing it #They’re too lifelike #Whereas scolipede is more like a….horse than an actual centipede #I like a lot of bug types but even I have limits :(

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - Ten

A collection of fun and fluffy one shots set in the same bakery. Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stories, twelve recipes.

Hello!

I'm getting to the end of my twelve Pedro boys, only two more to visit the bakery after this one! I'll be sad to see them go, it's been a lot of fun writing all these meet cutes in the same setting and exploring their different voices and personalities. But it's not over yet, so please enjoy this sweetheart.

Your little bakery has two large windows out onto the street, and it gives you a good view of people walking by, especially when the bakery is quiet. This Friday morning you’re on your own in the shop, working on decorating a cake for a naming ceremony. Having an elaborate cake out on the counter, decorating it as people walk past, is good marketing you’ve realized. And it makes for excellent people watching as you straighten up from your hunched up position and stretch your back. 

This morning, from the corner of your eye, as you put your arms over your head and crack your neck, you spot a man you’re sure you’ve already seen hanging around outside the window for some a while. He’s walked past a few times and now he’s nervously hovering around the front door, glancing in through the window. As you spot him, his face breaks into a bright smile, lighting up his eyes and he raises his hand in a wave. Pointing at the door he mouths ‘Can I come in?’, his face even brighter when you nod. It’s impossible to not smile back at him, you feel your mood lifting just as by him coming in through the front door. 

“Hello, you are already open?” he asks as the door closes behind him and he comes up to the counter, still looking a bit uncertain but giving you a wide smile. There’s an accent to his voice, Italian you think, or maybe Spanish, and his caramel colored curls are perfectly swept back from his friendly face, perfectly matching the expensive looking red shirt he’s wearing. 

“Officially not until eight, but since I’m here, you’re more than welcome in,” you smile at him and wipe your hands free from the icing you’re working with. He gives you a worried frown, half turning back to the door as if to leave. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, if you’re not open yet I won’t disturb you,” he says, “I don’t want to interrupt your beautiful work.” 

“No, no, please come in, you’re not interrupting,” you say, waving him forward again, “I need a break, my hands get tired doing this for too long.”  

You smile at him as he comes up to the counter and looks at the cake you’re working on, “What can I help you with?” 

“I was intrigued by the decorations on the cake, they are real flowers?” he asks, pointing at the delicate daisy you’ve just attached to a section of the cake. 

“No, they’re made with sugar,” you explain, “I make them separately and then attach them to the cake.” 

“They look real to me,” he says with wide eyes as he leans forward and looks closer at the daisy chain trailing across the cake, “you’re a true artist, they are incredible.” 

“Thank you,” you smile. You know your sugar flowers always impress people but you never tire of hearing it. The fiddly nature of the work makes them difficult to get just right and you’re proud of your ability to make them almost lifelike. 

“I’m in town for a few days,” the man says, straightening up again and glancing over his shoulder out at the street, “A very boring conference for work, I wanted to take a walk before it starts up again, and I saw your…” he wrinkles his forehead, waving at the bread in the baskets behind you, “I forgot the word in English,” he says apologetically, “your breaderia? No, that doesn’t sound right…” 

“My bakery,” you smile, “What language do you speak?” 

“Spanish,” he replies, his bright brown eyes lighting up as he turns back to you, “It’s panadería in Spanish.” 

“Oh, a breaderia!” you giggle, “That makes sense!” 

“¿Hablas español?” he asks and you shake your head and hold up your thumb and finger half an inch apart. 

“Un poco,” you reply, “I learnt some in high school but I forgot most of it, I only know panadería because well…” you laugh and wave your hand around the bakery and he laughs with you. 

“I’m Javi, by the way,” he says, holding out his hand to you, but you hold your hand up and show him the sticky and colorful sugar stuck to them.

“Nice to meet you, Javi, but if I shake your hand I’ll make a mess. I need to go and clean up,” you say with a smile and nod towards the kitchen, “I’ll be right back, and then I can take your order, if you want to order something, that is.”

“Yes, please, I would love to try everything but I’ll try to choose only one thing,” he chuckles, scanning the display cases as you go back to the sink in the kitchen. When you come back out after a few minutes, Javi gives you an unhappy look. 

“I can’t decide, everything looks too good, you are too talented for my stomach to make it’s mind up.” 

You laugh and walk around the counter and stand next to him, “What’s your favorite flavor? Maybe I can help you narrow it down?”

“I love everything….” he says, “I was always very bad at deciding, when I was a child my cousin would get angry with me for taking too long and then he’d decide for me.” 

“Did he pick what you liked at least?” 

“No, he always picked what he liked so it was a very bad deal for me,” he looks up at you with a grin, “I’m sorry, I must sound like the most pathetic person, I assure you I can make my mind up,” he laughs. 

“You don’t sound pathetic, Javi,” you smile, “but your cousin sounds impatient.”  

“That he is…you have no idea,” he replies and turns back to the rows of baked goods with a shudder. 

“The lemon meringue pie looks very nice, and the carrot cake too,” he mumbles, leaning forward and scanning the cakes again.” 

“What’s your favorite?” you ask, “Maybe I have it, or something like it.” 

“Hmm…” Javi hums, turning back to you and frowning as he considers your question, “I think…my absolute favorite is a small cake I’ve had in Paris many times, with vanilla and rum,” he says, “they’re called canelés, do you know them?” 

“I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never had them,” you say, shaking your head and Javi’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline in surprise. 

“You’ve never had them? They are very delicious, caramel and almost crunchy on the outside, creamy vanilla and rum on the inside…” he trails off, the tip of his pink tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip as he salivates and you giggle. 

“You look like you got caught in a daydream, they’re really that good?” 

He nods and grins at you, “They really are, you should make them sometime, I know I would come and buy them all.” 

“Do you know how to make them?” you ask and he shrugs, giving you a small smile. 

“I tried a few times, following a YouTube video at home,” he says, “but I didn’t have the right thing to bake them in…and then I got distracted and…they burnt…” he gives you an embarrassed little grin, “I’m not a very good baker.” 

“Now you've got me curious, Javi,” you laugh, “I need to find a recipe, come on,” you motion him to follow you back into the kitchen where you open your bookshelf, dropping down the desk to show off the rows of baking books neatly lined up. Javi trails in behind you, his smile widening as he sees your book collection. 

“So many books on baking!” he exclaims, coming over to run his fingers along the spines as you look for a specific book. 

“I have more at home,” you say, “these are mainly for more technical recipes that I need to reference. At home I have the ones I use for inspiration when I’m looking for something new to make.” 

You grab a book on French baking and pull it off the shelf, “This one I think has a recipe on canelés.” 

Javi comes to stand next to you as you place it on the desk and open the book’s index. You can smell his cologne as the warmth of his body radiates in the small space between you. He smells…expensive, a rich sandalwood scent laced with citrus and something sweet underneath that tugs at your memory as you inhale. Glancing up at him you’re met by warm brown eyes looking at you with curiosity and a small smile. 

“You…you smell good, Javi,” you stutter out, “I just noticed.” 

His smile curves up and he seems to shrug, shaking off the compliment, “Thank you, you smell good too, I was just thinking, you don’t smell like your bakery at all,” he says, a pink tinge creeping up his neck, “you smell like…” he purses his lips as he thinks for a second, “la toronja?” 

“I don’t know what that is, but I hope it’s a nice smell,” you giggle and he laughs with a nod. 

“I’m sorry, such a bad compliment when I can’t even tell you what it is,” he chuckles. 

“Describe it to me then,” you say, “I’d like to know what it is.”

“Like an orange, but bigger, and not as sweet,” Javi says, holding up his hands to show you the size. 

“Oh, a grapefruit?” you ask and he slaps his forehead. 

“Ah! Yes, a grapefruit, I knew that,” he laughs, “you smell like grapefruit, it’s very nice, you smell very nice.” 

“Thank you, it’s my body wash, it’s grapefruit scented” you smile back at him and then look down at the book again, flipping back to the index, “here, canelés,” you say and turn to the right page and Javi looks down too. 

“Oh, they take three days to make,” you say, skimming the recipe, “the batter has to rest three days in the fridge before it can bake.” You glance back at the clock on the wall, in about half an hour your morning rush will begin, you won’t have time to make the batter now. 

“I’ll have to make the batter this evening and then I can bake them on Monday, but I guess you won’t be in town then?” 

Javi shrugs next to you, “I was thinking of staying and exploring the city a little while, I can stay until Monday.”

“Ok, then I’ll have them for you on Monday afternoon. If you want, we can try them together, fresh from the oven. I'd love to get your opinion on them since I’ve never had them before,” you smile and close the book and turn to go back into the shop. 

Javi clears his throat nervously and stops you. 

“I wonder,” he says, his hands twitching at his sides and he clamps them together in front of himself, “I wonder, if maybe, I can help you in the shop today?” 

“You want to work in the shop?” you ask, your eyebrows shooting up into your hairline as Javi gives you a small smile. 

“Yes, it’s nice here, and…you seem very nice,” he says, the pink tinge creeping higher up his neck, “and I would like to learn more about baking and I thought, maybe I could…” he trails off, shaking his head, “never mind, it’s a stupid idea, why would you want me in your way all day. I’ll leave now,” he huffs, and walks past you, into the shop before you find your voice.

“Wait, Javi,” you call after him, hurrying into the shop, “Working in a bakery isn’t very exciting but if you really want to stay, of course you can. I won’t mind, I mean…I think you’re nice too.” 

The smile Javi gives you is blinding, his face lights up as he comes back over to you. 

“You’re sure? You won’t mind?” 

“No, not at all, grab an apron in the back while I open the shop, the morning crowd is about to turn up,” you smile at him and he nods, giving you another excited smile before he grabs one of the clean aprons. 

You flip the sign, put out your street sign and come back to Javi proudly standing behind the counter, but struggling a bit with the knot on his apron. 

“Here, let me help you,” you say, “do the strap like this…” you reach up around his neck, standing on your tiptoes, “if you turn it like this it won’t slip.” With your hands around his neck, adjusting the strap, his soft curls brushing over your wrists as his eyes are on yours, you suddenly notice how still he’s standing, and how close he is. The warmth of him filters through your own apron and shirt, and you can see the rise and fall of his chest where his deep red shirt sits open just in front of your eyes. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles softly and you look up at his eyes. He draws a small breath, holding it for a few seconds as your fingers smooth out the strap around his neck, before slowly exhaling and you watch his lips part. 

When the bell above the door jingles, you jump apart as if fire suddenly erupted, and you quickly turn to the first customer. You immediately recognise the tight gray curls of Mrs Levinson, closing the door behind her and coming over to the counter. 

“Good morning, Mrs Levinson, you’re early today,” you give her your bright customer service smile and beside you Javi mumbles a low ‘Good morning’. 

“Good morning, dear,” the elderly lady says, “and who is this handsome man?” she winks at Javi who stutters over his reply. 

“I’m J-Javi, I’m helping in the bakery today,” he gives Mrs Levinson a nervous smile, “What may I serve you today?” 

“Oh, what a sweet boy,” Mrs Levinson smiles, “and you make such a beautiful couple.” 

You raise your eyebrows and bite back a snort, next to you Javi seems to be choking on something. 

“What can I get you, Mrs Levinson, the usual?” you ask, giving Javi a gentle pat on the back as he finds his composure again. 

“I’d like a dark rye please dear, and six poppy seed bagels,” she replies, “and something sweet for my afternoon coffee too, I think.” She scans the selection and taps the glass, “Give me four of these Millionaire’s shortbread things. Mrs Morales is coming over and she wants to try something new.” 

“Of course,” you say, grabbing a pair of tongs and handing them to Javi, “Put four of them in one of the small boxes, please, and I’ll get Mrs Levinson’s bread.” 

Javi nods and does as instructed, putting the box of shortbread on the counter in front of Mrs Levinson with a bright smile. 

“There you go, Mrs Levinson, anything else I may help you with?” 

“No, thank you, my dear, that’s all for now, what do I owe you?” 

You tally up the total on the till and help the old lady count out the money. As you hand her the change she takes a dollar bill and pushes it across the counter to Javi. 

“Such a sweetheart,” she smiles at you, before taking her bag, “Make sure to hang on to him, he’s bound to bring you extra customers.” She gives Javi a wink and makes her way out of the shop. You barely hold your laughter inside until the door has closed behind her and you turn to Javi, who’s grinning widely with pink cheeks.  

“Well, now you know Mrs Levinson,” you laugh and he chuckles. 

“Now I know Mrs Levinson,” he nods, fanning himself with his hands, making you giggle at his expression, “Are all your customers so…forward?” 

“Thankfully, no, only Mrs Levinson and her crew,” you grin, ”I hope she didn’t scare you off, do you still want to stay here today?” 

“Yes, please, I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity of being called a ‘sweetheart’ but nice old ladies,” he laughs and you giggle again.

“Alright then, I’ll let you handle all my elderly ladies, they’re going to love you, Javi,” you say, moving behind him to turn on the espresso machine, “Do you want a coffee?” 

The day passes quickly with Javi’s company, even when the shop quietens down in the afternoon he keeps your mind occupied with questions about your favorite movies while you prepare the batter for the canéles. The bakery fills with the rich vanilla scent as you cut the pod and scrape the seeds into the batter. 

“I can’t believe I never thought about that!” you exclaim as Javi laughs, “But you’re totally right, Indiana Jones only helped them find it faster, his actions have no real impact on the entire movie!” 

“I had to rewatch ‘Raiders’ so many times to make sure,” Javi grins, “I couldn’t believe it either, but he really does nothing that stops them from getting the Ark.” 

“So crazy, I can’t believe I never thought about that,” you say as you reach up to grab the rum bottle from your liquor storage. 

“Santa Teresa,” Javi says, nodding his approval, “That’s what my father always drank, you’ve got good taste, and expensive rum.” 

“Only the best for my cakes,” you smile, measuring out three tablespoons and one extra for luck. Behind you Javi is rummaging around, looking for something and he’s grinning when he comes up to you with two glasses. 

“It’s too good to only go into cakes, let’s drink some, to celebrate my new career as a baker,” he says with a bright smile that makes it impossible to not smile back at him. 

“A great idea, but I’ve got better glasses in the shop, follow me, and grab the bottle, Javi,” you say, taking his hand and pulling him with you back out to the shop. 

“Here, these are better,” you say, handing him your nice glasses, “do the honors.” 

You jump up on the counter as Javi pours the drinks, handing you a glass of the dark liquid and you take it, holding it up to him. 

“To the best shop assistant I’ve ever had, with endless film knowledge, fantastic customer service skills and all around great guy.” You clink your glass with Javi’s and a pink blush creeps up his neck again as he takes a sip. 

“Thanks,” he smiles, leaning on the counter on the other side, smacking his lips at the flavor of the dark rum, “I had fun, and now I know a lot about running a bakery.” He gives you another warm smile, lifting his glass in a salute to you again, and you both sip slowly, the rum sliding down smooth and warm into your chest. 

“Weren’t you supposed to be at a conference today?” you ask, suddenly remembering that he’d mentioned something about it this morning when he first came in.

“Yes, but who cares?” he shrugs with a sheepish grin, “I’m sure no one will miss me, and this was much more enjoyable,” Javi gives you one of his warm smiles, his bright eyes softening as you smile back at him. 

“Did you really like working here today?” you ask and he nods. 

“Truly, I had more fun today than I’ve had at work in a long time,” he says, coming to stand next to you. 

He’s so tall, almost level with you up on the counter as your eyes meet. You give him a small smile and he smiles back, a deep dimple in his cheek as he absentmindedly runs a hand through his soft curls, not as orderly now as they were this morning. A loose curl falls over his forehead and without thinking, you give in to the temptation you’ve been fighting all day, and reach forward to push it back again. Javi reaches up and catches your hand in his, pulling it down so that he can rub his thumb over your palm, his eyes locked on yours. The tip of his tongue comes out to wet his lips and the movement makes you look down at his lips, Javi takes a slow step closer, his fingers closing around your hand. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his soft voice the only sound in the shop as you look up at him again. There’s a heated look in his eyes suddenly, and as you nod, he bends his head to yours, his hand moving up and gently cupping your cheek. 

The jingle of the bell pulls you apart, both of you looking at the door as Javi steps away from you. 

“Mr Gutierrez, you’re needed back at the hotel.” 

The man who’s stepped through the front door is dressed in a driver’s uniform and is looking somewhat exasperated with Javi behind the counter, “Your phone is off and your assistant has been trying to reach you all day.” 

Javi looks back at you and flashes a guilty grin before he looks back at the driver. 

“I’ll be right there, Marco, I’ve just been busy today.” 

“Of course, sir,” the driver gives a curt nod and turns around, the door jingling again as he leaves. 

“I’m sorry,” Javi says, turning back to you, his hand had slipped from your cheek as he stepped back, and you feel the loss of it as a warm imprint on your skin, “It seems I was missed at work after all. I would’ve liked to have stayed here longer, but I have to go.” 

“Of course,” you say, feeling the disappointment creep up as Javi grabs his phone, “It was really nice having you here, Javi.” 

He turns back to you with an uncertain small smile, holding his phone tight in his hand. 

“Can I, I mean, if you want, I’d like to come back…on Monday. To finish the canelés,” he says, his eyebrows bunching up, looking at you with worried eyes. 

“Yes, of course,” you say, excitement bubbling inside you as you see his smile creep back up and he takes a relieved gulp of air. 

“Ok, great! Thank you!” he grins and glances out through the window at his driver who is looking at you both, before he turns back to you, “I’ll see you Monday, ok?” 

“Monday, come by at noon, we’ll bake the canelés together,” you say, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek on impulse. His cologne from this morning still lingers, but it’s mixed with his warm sweat, coffee from a stain on his shirt, and something that must be his own comforting scent. For a split second you fight the urge to lean your head on his shoulder and rest your nose against the soft skin of his neck. Instead you pull back and meet his soft, brown eyes smiling at you. 

“Get going, or your driver will yell at us,” you say, putting your hand on his arm, giving him a little nudge as he chuckles. 

“Yeah, he can be a bit intimidating,” he says and walks around the counter, “Until Monday then.” He waves and disappears out through the door, and you watch as the driver stands to attention and opens the door to the back seat. 

Javi flashes you a smile through the window before he disappears into the car, and you turn back to the kitchen to clean up. 

You’re surprised to see Javi already waiting by the bakery when you turn up a quarter to twelve on Monday and flip on the lights inside. He’s sitting on the steps outside the front door, oblivious to you arriving through the back door, and it gives you an opportunity to study him as you walk across the shop. He runs his hand through his hair as you watch, the curls bouncing back and he lightly scratches at his neck before leaning his cheek in his hand. From behind you can see the saffron yellow shirt he’s wearing stretch tight across his broad shoulders, the bunched muscles a sharp contrast to the softness of his features. 

You lightly tap the window in the door and Javi turns around, his face already bright as you give him a wave. Unlocking the door you let him in as he brushes down the seat of his pants. 

“Hi,” you say, taking a step back to let him get past you before you lock up again, “You’re early, I hope you didn’t wait long.” 

“Hi,” he replies, shaking his head, “No, just a few minutes, I was too eager so I left the hotel early and walked here.” 

He’s standing in front of you, a small smile toying with the corner of his mouth and you’re suddenly reminded of where you’d been interrupted on Friday. Shyness takes over and you quickly take his hand. 

“Come on, we’ve got baking to do,” you say as you pull him with you towards the kitchen, taking the chance to recompose yourself as he follows behind you. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this all weekend,” you hear him muse,  “And not only the canelés,” he adds as you step into the kitchen and let go of his hand, “I had a great time on Friday, I…I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again…if that’s ok to say?” 

You turn back to him, he’s standing in the doorway into the kitchen, a small worry frown between his eyebrows as his fingers twitch nervously by his side, something he seems to do when he’s unsure of himself. You bite your bottom lip, trying to contain the smile that’s threatening to spill over as you look at Javi, taking a few tentative steps back towards him. 

“I’ve been looking forward to it too, Javi,” you give him a shy smile, coming close enough to smell his fresh cologne, to see the smattering of golden freckles on his neck, as you look up at him. Javi sems to let out a deep rush of air, his shoulders sinking several inches, and smiles down at you. 

“No driver this time, Javi,” you whisper, leaning closer and he mimics your movement. 

“No driver,” he echos, and the warmth of his arm presses against your waist as he closes the last few inches between you. You can feel his thumb skim over your cheek when he cups your face, his soft tongue gently running across your lips until you part them, and let him in with a low sigh. His kisses are soft, gentle presses as you melt into him, his arm around your waist holding you close to his chest while your hand finds the curls at the nape of his neck. A low rumble comes from him, groaned into your mouth, as your fingers wrap around the soft strands and lightly tug him closer. 

You hadn’t thought about what to expect from Javi’s kisses, but as soft and affable as he was, you’d never have expected him to kiss you like this. As his initial shyness retreats, his hand on you becomes firm, holding you up against him as he makes you moan into his mouth, pulling back just a fraction to catch his breath before he presses his lips against yours again. His tongue teases you as he nips on your bottom lip, finding news spots to explore. He groans into you as you wind your fingers around his soft strands of hair, returning his nips by gently biting down on his plush bottom lip and he rewards you with a downright sinful moan, fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you closer. 

You couldn’t say how much time passes, you catch your breath in small gasps between clamant kisses, heat rising between you, the pebbled skin on his neck looking almost too tempting as you pull back a little again. You run your fingertips over his skin, tracing down from his jaw, over his smattering of freckles, Javi shuddering under your touch as he opens his eyes and looks down at you with hooded lids. 

“Even better than I imagined,” he mumbles, his eyes drifting closed again as you kiss a particularly sweet looking cluster of freckles on his throat, your tongue coming out to taste his skin. 

“You too, Javi,” you whisper in reply, looking up at him and he opens his eyes again, smiling now in that soft way that makes you think of a sweet puppy, his dark brown eyes gentle and tender. 

Running the pad of your index finger over his cushy bottom lip, giggling as he playful tries to nip at it, you smile back at him. 

“Should we make those canelés maybe? They have to bake for about an hour,” you say, “We’ll have time for more of this,” and Javi nods, carefully untangling himself from you, his warm arm leaving your waist. 

“I agree, let's make them quickly and then get back to this,” he grins, “Where is the batter? And what do you want me to do?” 

You reach up and give him a quick kiss on the mouth, smiling at his eagerness, “First we need to grease the molds,” you say, pulling him with you towards the shelf full of different baking pans, “We need these, I got them over the weekend,” you take down six copper molds, “and beeswax.” 

“Beeswax?” Javi asks, taking the molds from you as you open the fridge to get the wax. 

“Yeah, traditionally they’re greased with beeswax to really caramelize the outside of the canelés and stop them from sticking,” you explain, unwrapping the small cube of food grade wax, “Wash your hands and I’ll show you how to do it.” 

Melting together the butter and wax is quick work and then you show Javi how to brush the inside of the molds with the mixture as you fill up the ones he’s finished. The batter smells richly of rum and vanilla and Javi inhales deeply and leans down to kiss you. 

“You are so clever, they smell delicious,” he hums, stealing another kiss, “and they’re not even baked yet.” 

“Thank you, Javi,” you smile into his third kiss as he nips at your bottom lip again, “but they’ll be better baked, come on,” laughing you gently push him off you and he gives you a mischievous grin.  

He helps you prep a tray and then you place the molds on it and put the whole thing in the oven, setting a timer. Javi pulls your back into his chest as soon as you close the oven door, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Now, more time for this,” he mutters, dropping his chin onto your shoulder and pressing a kiss just under your ear. 

“More time for this,” you mumble your agreement, turning your head so that the cool tip of his nose rests against your throat. You can feel his warm breath on your skin, the smell of the vanilla and rum in the kitchen, the low hum of the hot air oven and Javi’s lips as he moves them over your skin. It all blends together into a rosy haze, your eyes slipping closed as you reach up and caress his curls. Javi mumbles something in Spanish that you don’t catch, your brain going sluggish under the feeling of his wet mouth trailing over every inch of skin he can reach. Somewhere in the back of your head you’re wondering how you’ll be able to handle an hour of this and not end up on the floor with him on top, the sizeable hard length that you can feel pressed against the back of your thigh right now, sliding in- 

The gentle melody of Javi’s phone signal cuts through your train of thought, making you snap your eyes open and Javi lets go of you, fumbling in his pants for the offending item. He gives you an apologetic look as he answers the phone in Spanish. As he speaks you start cleaning up the workbench and Javi moves into the shop. Even though you don’t know enough Spanish to understand what’s going on, you can hear his tone become more and more agitated. Eventually you hear him yell a loud “No!” and the sound of the phone hitting the floor, clearly breaking on impact. You put down the cloth you're holding and slowly go into the shop, Javi is standing in the middle, his phone in two pieces on the floor. 

“Javi?” you ask apprehensively, and he sighs deeply, his shoulders rising up almost to his ears before slumping down, his whole body deflating as he turns to look at you. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, running both his hands through his hair, pushing through it and grabbing hold of the back of his head, his eyebrows pulling together in anguish, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” 

“It’s fine, Javi, I just want to make sure you’re ok, it seems like it was bad news,” you take a few steps closer to him, gently putting your hands on his waist. He sighs again, dropping his arms down to his sides as you slowly run your hands up and down his torso, the yellow shirt bunching under your fingers. Javi groans and drops his forehead onto your shoulder, cursing in Spanish, that much you understand. 

“It’s my stupid cousin, he’s mad I stayed over the weekend, he wants me back in Mallorca as soon as possible, he’s sending someone to ‘fetch me’. Like I’m a child late home from school,” Javi growls and pushes himself up again, looking down at you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking anguished, “You don’t need to hear about my horrible cousin and my family problems.” 

“It’s fine, Javi, everyone has family problems sometimes,” you say, still gently stroking his sides, “I can barely stand my dad, we always fight, I wish I had a better relationship with him, but it is what it is."

“I’m sorry for that too,” Javi says, lifting his arms up again and putting them around your neck, one hand gently cupping your face so that he can caress your cheek, his soft hand warm against your skin, “My father passed away a few years ago and my cousin and I took over the family business. I hate it, my cousin loves it, and he bosses me around every chance he gets,” Javi sighs again. 

“He’ll really send someone to come get you?” you ask, “What happens if you say no?” 

Javi just shakes his head, “It’s not as easy as that, unfortunately, the business is…complicated,” he says, his thumb still smoothing over your cheek, he’s tracing the lines of your face, lost in thought. You lean your head against his warm hand, letting him work through whatever is going through his mind until he seems to shake himself out of the reverie. 

“No,” he says, his voice firm again, and he takes your hand, “I’m not going to let that ruin our afternoon.” 

With a small smile he pulls you around and leads you back into the kitchen, “I’m not wasting any more time on that, come here, hermosa, beautiful girl,” he says, pulling you into his chest as he leans against the workbench, “I’m deciding that this is how we spend the rest of the afternoon,” he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you tight, the other one finds its way back to your cheek as he leans in closer, his soft looking pink lips brushing against yours. 

“If that’s alright with you?” he mumbles, his voice suddenly dropping lower, winding its way around your brain and making you shiver. 

“That’s more than alright with me, Javi”, you mumble back at him, your voice low to match his, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel every breath he takes, slipping over your lips. He closes the distance between the two of you, and takes your bottom lip between his own lips, gently tugging at it. He smiles against your mouth, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head and pull you closer, his tongue teasing the tip of yours. You feel your brain shut down, your eyes closing and the haze returning, all you can think about is Javi’s warm mouth and soft lips as he slowly turns you around so that he has you pressed up against the workbench. 

You don’t end up on the floor, but when the smell of caramelized sugar and butter, the rich aroma of vanilla, pulls you away from Javi, you’re pleased to see that you’ve managed to unbutton several buttons on his shirt. He’s pulled your top up over your chest, his hand leaving warm trails across your torso and he chuckles as you playfully swat his hands away. Your cheeks are flushed and overheating as he chases your lips, trying to hold you closer still. 

“Javi, I think the canelés are done,” you say, giving in and kissing him again, smiling against his eager mouth. Javi groans as if he’s in pain, reaching out to grab onto your hips but you laugh and quickly step out of his reach. 

“Now, now, Javi, let’s not burn these delicious smelling things that we waited three days for,” you tell him, your face teasing him as he follows you over to the oven. The smell of vanilla, butter and rum hits you even stronger as you open the door and slide the tray out. Quickly unmolding them onto a cooling rack, you give Javi a happy grin. 

“They look just like the photo in the book! Do they smell as you remember them?” 

“They smell even better, and they look even better,” Javi muses, crouching down so that he can get a good look at the small golden cakes on the bench. Carefully tapping one of them with his knuckle, he smiles as it has a satisfying hard shell. 

“I guess they have to cool before we eat them?” he asks, looking back up at you. 

“Yeah, they’re way too hot now,” you reply, “but we can make some coffee.”

“Or we can make out,” he says, his hands finding their way up under your top again, pulling you close. 

“Or we can make the coffee and make out?” you suggest, leaning in to press a wet kiss to the skin just under Javi’s ear, the spot that you’ve quickly learned is a favorite of his. You’re rewarded with a shiver, a gentle hum coming from him as he leans his head back to give you better access. 

“Come on,” you laugh, taking his hand and pulling him with you as he protests, “Coffee, then kisses, then canelés.” You grab the plate with the small cakes and lead him into the shop, hitting the on button on your fancy espresso machine.  

Javi leans next to it as you go through the motions, grinding the beans and measuring out the coffee. 

“What do you want?” you ask him, “espresso, cappuccino, latte?” 

“Espresso, please,” he replies, moving to stand behind you while you make it for him, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. 

“You’re so talented, running this bakery, making all these cakes and pie, and then you’re a barista too,” he says, his short neat beard tickling against your neck as he gives you a kiss, “I’d hire you, but I don’t think you’d like my family business.” 

“That’s ok, Javi, I like running my own business,” you smile, giving him his espresso and preparing your own, “It’s a lot of work but I get to decide everything, I don’t think I could have a boss over me again.” 

“Hmm…” Javi hums as he sips the espresso, turning so that he’s leaning against the counter again, “I won’t suggest it now, but if you ever want to open a bakery in Mallorca, near where I live, I could help you.” 

“I think my Spanish needs to improve first,” you laugh, taking your coffee and standing in front of him so that you can enjoy the view you’ve created by unbuttoning most of his shirt. 

“You could always hire me,” he smiles, “I’ll handle the customers, you handle the baking, we’d be a great team.” 

“I’d hire you here in a heartbeat, Javi,” you say, “you were great with the customers.” 

He smiles at that, leaning forward so that you can kiss him, the bittersweet taste of coffee sharp on both your lips. 

“Canelés”, you mumble as his free hand starts to roam up under your top again. 

“I’m not that interested anymore,” Javi smiles, pressed against your lips, and it makes you giggle. 

“We’ve waited for three days, and I’ve never had them,” you say, pulling yourself away from him with a tremendous effort, his lips really are very soft and his palms are so warm against your skin. 

“Ok, ok,” he chuckles, giving in to you as he leans over and picks up one of the canelés in his big hand and holds it out to you, “have a taste, tell me if it was worth the wait.” 

You take a bite, your teeth crunching through the exterior and you gasp as you feel the creamy inside. The cake is still warm, sweet vanilla and rum hitting your palate together with the flavor of caramelized sugar. 

“Oh my god…” you hum, slowly chewing as Javi smiles and puts the rest of it in his mouth and grabs a second one, holding it out to you again, “This is so good, Javi,” you say, swallowing your bite and letting him feed you a second one, “Thank you for getting me to make them.” 

“I’m glad you like them,” he smiles, “they are exceptionally good, not even the place in Paris comes even close to these, fresh out of the oven.” 

You reach behind you for a third one, pulling it apart down the middle to reveal the lacy center, your baker brain kicking in as you study how the batter has created strong gluten strands that criss-cross the inside of the cake, making it creamy rather than bready. 

“Really interesting…” you say, turning it over until Javi's mouth suddenly opens over your fingers and he takes the whole piece in one big bite. 

“Thief!” you exclaim, giving him a mock scolding look as he grins, his cheeks stuffed full of cake, his shoulders jumping as he tries to chew and laugh at the same time. When you pout back at him he grabs the fourth canelé and presents it to you with his deep brown puppy eyes wide open and pleading. 

“Please…he mumbles around his mouthful, “please, accept my apology,” he swallows down the last piece as you open your mouth so that he can feed you a bite. You hum around the flavors again, putting both your hands on Javi’s chest and taking hold of his open shirt. 

“I want apologies in kisses,” you demand, pulling him into you as he grins widely. 

“You wish is my command, princesa,” he replies, coming willingly into your arms. 

“That Spanish I understood,” you mumble, his lips brushing against yours again as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“I’m glad, princesa,” he smiles, and lets you pull his mouth against yours. 

The bitter coffee mingles with the sweet vanilla on his breath, and you know he must taste the same on yours. He groans, angeling his face, moving so that he can reach more of you, his tongue gliding against yours as you run your fingers through his soft curls. 

The sharp rap of knuckles on the window startles you both, and you look over Javi’s shoulder towards the front door. It’s the damn driver.

With a sigh you pull back and look up at Javi again, “It’s your driver, I guess you’re being “fetched.” 

Javi glances behind him and groans, dropping his forehead down on your shoulder as he turns back. The driver is looking at you with a neutral expression, nothing betrays what he’s thinking about finding his employer in a heavy make out session inside a bakery. 

“I’m sorry,” Javi says, “I will have to go, or there’ll be hell to pay for me when I get back home,” he gives you a pained look, “I’m really sorry, I wish I could stay here.” 

“It’s ok, Javi, you know where to find me when you’re in town again,” you smile, “just come back soon, ok?” 

Javi nods and pulls out his phone, “Give me your number, I’ll come back as soon as I can, but I’m going to try to make canelés at home, and I know I’m going to need your help,” he smiles as you laugh. 

“I’ll make sure you set a timer this time, Javi.” 

You add your number to his cracked phone and hand it back. Javi sighs and looks over his shoulder again, “I should go, he doesn’t like waiting.” 

“Ok,” you say, giving him a small smile as he lifts his hand and strokes your cheek, “come back soon, Javi.” 

“I promise, I will,” he nods, his curls, definitely more unruly now than when he came, bouncing on his head. 

“Oh, wait,” you giggle, “let me button you up, I got a bit carried away,” you smile and quickly do up his yellow shirt, hiding the soft looking, freckled skin again. 

Javi giggles above you as your fingers work your way up, and he grabs your hands as you reach his neck. 

“One more kiss,” he says, “for the road, as they say.” 

You nod as he leans closer, bending his head so that he lips can brush over yours, a last, slow kiss, his tongue coming out to taste yours with a few small licks. 

“Good bye,” he mumbles as he pulls away, holding on to your hand until he has to let go. 

“Safe travels, Javi,” you reply, giving him a small smile. He raises his hand in a last wave and steps out through the door. 

Part Eleven

Please don't be intimidated by this recipe! They are not as tricky as they seem and they can actually be baked in a muffin tin if you have it. I've made these several times and they're really the most delicious little cake!

Taglist: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers  

#pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #Youtube

[lunaroserites]

Art and Ice

Pairing: Eventual Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Characters: Natasha, Wanda, Pietro, Loki, Bucky, Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, a lot of the avengers cast is mentioned.

Summery: This might a 2 or 3 parter. College AU, our boy Bucky is on the hockey team, and reader is an art major (because I love that troupe and couldn't help myself)

Warnings: Not beta'd! All mistakes are my own. Friends fluff, swearing I think, mentions of college students being college students. Bit of friendly harmless flirting between friends. Derogatory use of the word puck bunny. Bucky is a playboy. There is not interaction be MC and Bucky quite yet.

Word Court: 1935

Likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!

Please do not repost, translate or otherwise copy my work elsewhere, thank you! Lunaroserites on tumblr and ao3

“I don’t know what to do,” you groaned as you threw your head back against the worn couch. 

“I want the project to focus on movement, but lifelike movement. Human movement.” You mocked your professor. It not being nature themed had to be a jab just for you. All your projects were nature related or still motion. 

“Professor Grace wasn’t targeting you,” Wanda said, letting out a chuckle at your dramatics. 

“Are you sure you’re not a drama major?” Pietro laughed as he threw a butter packet at you. 

“You two are the worst,” you sighed as you threw your arm over your eyes. Twins, why did my best friends have to be twins. The world is cruel, your thoughts drift.

“Why don’t you come to the track and draw me?” Pietro wiggled his eyebrows at you. You rolled your eyes in response.  

“Eh,” you sighed. You didn’t want a solution at the moment. You just wanted to complain. 

“She just wants to vent guys,” Natasha said as she came through the door holding a couple bags of takeout and a box of wine. “And I doubt she wants to see you and the rest of the track team in those tiny little running shorts you call clothing,” she sassed at Pietro. He just laughed, and stuck a pose with his leg up on the bar stool next to the island counter causing you all to laugh with him. 

“Thank you,” you exclaimed as she handed you your food. You threw a 10 at her and settled back down into the couch. 

“You know, you could come by the rink and draw a couple of the guys,” Nat mentioned. Her long term boyfriend was on the hockey team, Clint, a sharpshooting winger nicknamed Hawkeye. 

“Pfft,” you scoffed. “I’m not going to have them think I’m one of those, puck kitties, or whatever they’re called.” 

“Puck bunny,” Wanda chimed in, you pointed your chopstick at her and smiled. 

Natasha let out a loud laugh, one of those full bodied ones, “god they won’t think that.” You raised your eyebrow at her and gave her an incredulous look. 

“I can’t have them showing off because I’m there. I need to get them in their element. Not focused on what I’m doing,” you groaned again. “Biggest issue is I will need permission from the person or people. So they’ll have to know.” 

“Like I said Princessa, draw me. You have my permission,” Pietro winked, you rolled your eyes at him. 

“You’re too obvious of a choice. And as much as Wanda insists that Professor Grace doesn’t have a personal vendetta against me, she’ll love pointing out I picked the safe option,” you whined. 

“Wanda, you haven’t seen Grace in class. She will take any chance to criticize her pieces. Nitpicking to the extreme.” Natasha chimed in, “if it wasn’t for Dr. Rain I think our resident artist would've failed out of this course by now.” Dr. Rain was the head of the art department and after a wholly undergraded piece you submitted last semester Prof. Grace was on thin ice. So she graded you fairly but took every chance to tear you apart in front of the class. 

“I’ll think about the hockey team. It would be the least expected from me anyway,” you signed and got up from the couch taking everyone’s garbage and throwing it out. Football season was over, but the hockey season was in full swing right now and our team was top of the league. 

“They have practice tomorrow night, you should come by and look at it,” Nat said, giving you a knowing look. 

~The Next Day~

That's how you ended up in the rink. Underdressed because you didn’t realize how cold an ice rink would be in the stands. You were right though, about the type of girls that hung out there, they were scantily dressed and leaning over the tunnel that the players exited and entered from. How they weren’t frozen baffled you. 

Nat was sitting reading a chemistry book across from you near the bench, as you didn’t want the team knowing you knew her. Well everyone but Clint. You’ve hung out quite a few times over the past couple years. You took a seat a few rows up opposite the bench near what Nat called the Sin bin (penalty box.) It gave an excellent undisrupted view of the rink and the players as they practiced. 

The sounds of skates gliding over fresh ice and sticks bouncing off it was an almost soothing sound. The puck skittered across the ice as it was passed between teammates and shot toward the empty net. The goalie, a guy named Quill, was performing some kind of ritual at the opposite end of the rink. Nat mentioned he was a bit of an odd duck. But according to her all goalies were odd in their own ways. 

The movement was fluid and easy to follow. How these giant men moved so weightlessly across the ice left you in awe. The Captain of the team was a blonde center named Steve Rogers, better known as Cap. Most of the school knew him, he was in a few of your art classes over the semesters. His girlfriend Peggy, was the student union president. 

The star of the team was his blurry best friend James “Bucky” Barnes. He was a “winger,” with good prospects for the NHL according to Nat as she gave you a lowdown of the team as you guys went there just after practice started. He was nicknamed the White Wolf. How a man of his size moved that easily was mesmerizing, he almost floated over the ice and it looked like he was dancing. He was sinfully handsome as well. Every other week he had a new girl hanging off his arm. Undoubtedly one of those puck bunnies as they were called. He was the talk of the school after the football season concluded. 

It made you dislike him on principle. The sports were definitely more priority in the school and the art department lacked thanks to these overgrown toddlers on skates. But you couldn’t deny his natural handsomeness, he looked effortlessly handsome and it was almost unfair. 

You looked down at your sketch pad that you had been absently scratching at. Bucky seemed to be your muse because you couldn’t take your eyes off him as he effortlessly skated around the rink. You were in danger and you knew it. You gulped and closed the book before quickly gathering your things and leaving. 

It didn’t take Nat long to text you and ask where you went. You sent her a quick message back saying you were cold. Not that Bucky, the school's playboy, had quickly become the muse of your piece. 

“Nat, I thought you said your friend was coming by,” Clint asked as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. 

“She did, she left because she was cold,” Nat chuckled. 

“Anyone know the pretty one watching by the sin bin?” She overheard Wilson ask. “And what she was doing?” 

“I think I was in a couple art classes with her,” Steve mentioned missing your name. 

“I won’t complain if she comes by again,” Barnes said. Wilson raised a brow at him. 

“What, so you can break her heart well?” 

“Look doll, it’s not you,” 

“It’s me.” Wilson and Stark said together. Barnes shot both men a glare. Then the high pitched whine of Barnes newest fling squealed his name and that was Clint and Nat’s queue to hightail it out of there. The collective groans from the rest of the team matched her thoughts. 

~A couple days later~

“Loki, I don’t know what I’m going to do, this project is worth too much for me to go safe,” you sighed as you laid your head on his lap. He was reading some classic novel for his English class in the student commons. His fingers nimbly moved through your hair as he held the book in the other hand. 

“Darling, just go back to the ice rink,” he knew almost immediately when something was up when you were walking together a couple days later. The perspective bastard. Loki was your best friend since middle school, his brother Thor was the star quarterback for the football team in both high school and here. 

“Why would I do that,” you pouted. 

“Because you clearly want to draw this man, and it will ruin you for months just like that piece you did of Helena,” he said shortly. Helena or Hela was his big sister and she was absolutely stunning. You had pined over drawing her for a piece for months before Loki forced you to ask her. It fixed everything and life back to normal after you painted the piece. 

“I hate when you do that,” you whined, his eyes flicking down to your face. 

“Hate what darling,” he mused. 

“That, being reasonable and knowing what I need before I admit what I need to do.” He laughed and ruffled your hair affectionately. 

“Comes with years of experience,” he sighed and placed his book down next to his leg. “Do bundle up this time will you,” he called as you walked away, you quickly flipped him the bird as you rounded the corner. 

And there you were back at the rink again. Although tonight was a game night and the rink was packed. “20 dollars,” a nasally boy said as he pushed his glasses up, he looked bored out of his mind. 

“Pardon?” You asked, looking at him. 

“It’s 20 dollars to get in the game,” he said in an annoyed tone. 

“Oh, I’m a student,” you showed your ID card, he rolled his eyes, “5 dollars.” You nodded and placed the five down. Only partners of the team got in free. Perk of fucking one of the team members you guessed, that must have outweighed the fear of them cheating or getting bored. You knew that wasn’t fair. At least two of the guys were in committed relationships and one was in an on again off again relationship. The rest though you weren’t sure, you shock your head at the thought. 

You caught the flaming red hair of Nat in her reserved seat next to the bench, Peggy was next to her. There were a few open seats at the top of the rink, not great from getting a good view of what you needed to draw. But it would have to do. Instantly your eyes were drawn to Barnes, number 17, flying up the ice leaving the opposing team in the dust, snow? With a quick flick of his wrist the puck was shot sideways and Barton scored. The crowd stood and cheered loudly. You wished you had ear plugs now. The buzzer was insanely loud and made your ears ring. How Nat enjoyed this you’d never understand. Barton. You thought, Nat wasn’t big on sports, but she was big on her sweet boyfriend. 

You focused on Barnes as he showboated around the rink, celebrating his assist. He moved so fluidly, you were mesmerized. You drew many little pieces focusing on the movement trying to capture the effortlessness of him skating. You were startled from your drawing when the buzzer screeched again the crowd roared in applause. The team scored again and it seemed to be Barnes that scored this time. Hats flew onto the ice as he skated around. That was odd, you squinted at the action. His eyes caught yours for a split second as he rushed past and it felt like eternity. 

Read Chapter 2 here

Feel free you send me a message if you have a request or would like more <3

#bucky imagine #bucky barnes #fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #marvel imagine #college!bucky #college au #loki #natasha x clint #bucky fanfic #white wolf #hockey fic #artist fic #hockeyplayer!bucky x artist!reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x female reader

[mangoisms]

come back to bed, my love, my light is low

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ summary: Tim gets dosed with fear toxin and you are there to pick up the pieces.

━ word count: 3.3k

━ contains: established relationship, emotional hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy

━ a/n: technically takes place as an extension of my other tim fic, i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute), but prior reading is not required! title is from this song

━ you can read this on ao3 as well

Gotham has always had a fairly impressive rogue gallery. 

You have limited knowledge of the other cities and their various rogues but you think Central City and Keystone City, the Gem Cities of the midwest of which the Flash is in charge of, are some who can match up to it. 

But in the end, Gotham’s will always beat them out. 

You have the Joker, indiscriminate in his havoc, truly, truly unpredictable and for no reason other than he simply wants to. You have Two-Face, fates decided upon the coin toss. You have Mr. Freeze, Black Mask, Poison Ivy, Mad Hatter, and so many more. 

The Joker is the worst of them, though. That is the general consensus in the city. 

But for you? 

You have always found Scarecrow particularly unnerving. 

Sure, the Joker has his clown thing going on but…

When you were a kid, during the fall, the town over from your own would host a Halloween festival. You could come down and pick pumpkins straight from the patches, take hay rides, drink apple cider, gorge on candy apples, and roam their corn maze. 

At the shy age of seven, you ended up getting lost in the corn maze. Separated from your parents, from any other parents or remotely responsible figure, you wandered for some time, crying, terrified, thinking, in typical seven-year-old fashion, that you would be lost forever as the sun set, plunging you into darkness. 

You remember accidentally stumbling into a Scarecrow, just a decoration for the maze, but it had seemed so lifelike with its hay-stuffed limbs and mean face scowling down on you. 

That would be your boogeyman for a long while. 

Eventually, the fear faded and you forgot about it. 

Moving to Gotham gave it a little more life. 

But it’s never been an issue. 

Still isn’t. Not technically. 

After all, you think, perched on your couch, anxiously watching the news, it’s not you currently barricaded in the water treatment plant with Scarecrow and a new batch of fear toxin, fighting to make sure he doesn’t release it into Gotham’s waters. 

No, it’s Tim. The others. 

But the fight is over. Cameras showing police officers with gas masks emerging from the warehouse with Scarecrow tucked between them, hands cuffed. His scarecrow mask is creepy as ever, scowl etched permanently in the rough material of the mask. 

“Still no word on whether Scarecrow was able to contaminate Gotham’s water supply but we do see the few workers he had hostage are now being escorted out. Little is known about this new strand of fear toxin but tips to the GCPD say that it is able to be dispersed either as a liquid or a gas. Previously, the toxin was dispersed only as a gas, but it seems Scarecrow has upgraded to another venture of chaos.”

You drum your fingers on your thigh, eyes intent on the flatscreen. Trying to pick them out in the background. But Bruce does his best to keep Batman and the others out of media eye. At least here in Gotham. When it comes to the Justice League and the Titans, they have little choice. They’re officially sanctioned teams by the UN. Batman can’t be an urban legend there. None of them can. 

Pictures here are blurry, though. Nothing more than grainy, shadow figures in the night. No stopping for interviews, no stepping into the light. 

Outside? Well, you’ve seen literal Getty Image photos of Batman at a UN hearing with Wonder Woman and Superman, looking none too pleased about it all. 

You’re not going to find them, is what you’re saying. But you try anyway. Amidst the sea of police cars, blue and red lights flashing in the night, reporters perched several feet away, debriefing their audiences. 

Just another night in Gotham. 

But not for you. 

Your fingers itch to grab your phone. Tim assured you it would be fine as he unlocked the hidden room in your walk-in closet, the room reinforced by multiple layers of lead (Bruce insisted; Tim, annoyed, relented) and only accessible by fingerprint and retinal scans from him and you, as it is the room that holds his Red Robin gear, private servers, and other confidential items. The room you could hide away in if enemies ever managed to breach your stiff security protocols (installed and programmed by Tim this time) and the thick walls and bulletproof, bomb-proof, and heat vision proof windows of the apartment. 

You’re safe as can be. 

You don’t think the same can be said for Tim. 

Even if he told you he would be fine. That Bruce and Damian are constantly mixing antidotes to the new strands of fear toxin and Joker venom that pop up. That Duke and Steph, both of whom have slowed in their vigilante duties like he has, are coming back on for this one. In addition to Cass and Bruce and Damian and Kate and more. The Birds were on standby, too. 

You can’t help but worry anyway. 

Just a feeling. A bad, bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

The phone call you get in the next minute affirms it. 

Caught up just as Scarecrow unleashed the toxin… Had given his own mask to another worker trapped there… Didn’t yet have an antidote… Only received one a few minutes later… in very fragile condition…

Your name jars you from the cold, petrifying fear inside you. 

“Are you alright?”

“Sorry, Alf,” you mumble, standing and shutting off the TV. Your hands shake as you do it. You feel jittery and restless. “I’ll leave now, I don’t know how fast I’ll be able to get to the manor, though, I’m sure traffic is just crazy right now —”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“But —”

“Master Tim has insisted on returning to you. Miss Stephanie agreed and so, it is next to impossible to get them to change their minds.”

“Right,” you say, sitting back down, flexing your fingers, which have gone cold, despite the apartment being well-heated for December in Gotham. A little voice like Tim’s matter-of-factly says, You’re stressed. Blood doesn’t flow as well to the hands and extremities because of it. 

You try to regroup. “Are the others okay, then?”

“They all had their masks, so yes, they’re alright. A few scrapes and bruises but nothing we aren’t used to. Master Tim and Miss Stephanie are on their way now and I imagine you’d like to prepare for his arrival.”

“Right, right, yeah, thanks, Alfred.”

“I should thank you for taking care of him. There is a reason he wants to be with you there rather than with us. It is most likely self-explanatory, but it should still be said.”

Of course. 

After so many years, he is your home. The harbor to your tempest. And it is the same for him. 

“Thank you, Alfred. I appreciate that.”

“Of course.”

You bid your goodbyes and hurry to prepare for their arrival. 

A hot meal sounds in order but you don’t think he’ll be up for it immediately, so you grab a pack of crackers. You ensure you have water, as well as some Sprite. You don’t know if he showered there, he probably didn’t, so you grab a fresh change of clothes for him, leaving it on the counter in the bathroom and grabbing him a new towel, too. 

You go back to the living room to turn the TV back on, changing it to Ice Age, then lighting a candle you like to turn on every now and then, lavender and vanilla scented. Something familiar, something to ease him. You don’t know if it’ll work but you have to try. 

After that, it is simply a waiting game. 

You keep a close eye on your phone, where you get notifications from your security system. 

Fifteen minutes later, you get an alert — not about movement on the balcony, but at the front door, camera feed showing you Tim and Steph’s figures in heavy thick coats — appropriate for the weather and to hide their suits, since their usual masks are gone. You guess he wasn’t in good enough condition to grapple with her. The thought makes your heart clench. Dismissing the message, you hurry over to open the door. 

“Yeah, there you go, sweetie, you’re home now,” she’s murmuring to him, voice softer and gentler than you’ve ever heard. 

She glances up at you as the door opens, shooting you a sad smile, then nudging Tim gently. 

Your throat tightens painfully as you see his face, paler than usual, eyes glassy, gaze far, far away from here.  

“Timmy?”

His eyes shoot to you. 

Then he’s moving, strength and vigor seemingly renewed at the sight of you, and his arms are wrapping around you, tight, like steel, painful, hurting, cutting off your breathing, but you don’t care, don’t say anything, you just hold him back, as tightly as you can. 

The pain is just a reminder that he’s here, with you, once again. Like it should be.

Steph leaves silently, mouthing Thank you. 

You mouth back Be safe. 

She shoots you a thumbs-up, then slips out, door clicking closed behind her. 

Tim is shaking, you realize, body trembling against yours. 

“You’re okay,” you whisper and his hold tightens painfully again but you push through it. “We’re okay, honey. We’re okay. You’re okay.”

What must he have seen? 

Fear. Jonathan Crane’s greatest motivation — to master fear itself and to push those boundaries by using his fear toxins on others. 

Your greatest fears, convincing you that they have become reality. 

For you? 

Losing your family. Losing your friends. Losing Tim. 

For him?

He has already lost so much. 

Been through so much. 

You can surmise that you must’ve been part of it. Of course. Of course. 

“We’re okay,” you whisper again, squeezing him. 

He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. You run your fingers through his hair, not caring about how sweaty it is, Gotham clinging to him even now. You hate it. Can’t he get a break? Can’t he be free of it for even a few hours? 

But that’s why you’re here. 

To help. To ease the burden. This monumental burden put on him when he was a mere fourteen-years-old. 

You two stay there for a little while. You feel him toe off his boots at one point, which makes you smile. 

He keeps his face in your neck, despite you knowing the angle must start to bother him. But the contact is what he needs so you’ll give it to him. Whatever he wants. 

“Are you up to eat something?” you ask softly, fingers still running through his damp hair. 

He shakes his head. You guessed as much. 

“How about a shower?”

Quiet for a minute. You feel the rise and fall of his shoulders and the tickle of warm breath against the sensitive skin of your neck. Then he nods. 

It takes longer for him to let go. You don’t rush him. And even then, he doesn’t let you go far, holding onto your hand as you lead him into your shared bedroom and then into the adjoining bathroom. 

Large and ridiculously luxurious, it has a jacuzzi bathtub, a large walk-in shower with a rainfall shower head, two for the body in the wall, then one detachable head, and it’s controlled by a waterproof touchscreen. Definitely a step-up from the bathtub shower you two had at Rose Oaks. 

You turn on the shower, making it hot, then turn to Tim, reaching for the coat. 

Underneath it is his suit. Most likely, he and Steph rode here by motorcycle, then she put them both in coats for the walk up here. It’s a bit of a silly image, especially since his cape is longer than it, and you smile to yourself as you pull off the coat.

“What?” he asks quietly, voice raspy. The first time he’s spoken so far. 

“You’re cute, that’s all,” you murmur, dropping the coat onto the floor, then reaching up to unsnap the cape. 

He doesn’t say anything else. Just looks at you. By this point in your relationship, the intensity of his gaze, taking you in fully, no details missed by keen eyes, does not fluster you. It just warms you. You feel seen in the best of ways. Wanted. Loved. 

You love him, too. So much more than you thought possible. Sometimes it feels like you might burst with it. You hope he knows that. You’ll show him. 

You take care of the rest of his suit. Fingers finding hidden zippers, carefully unlatching his utility belt and setting it aside, slipping off his compression shirt and the rest of it. 

By the time everything has been taken off, the bathroom is muggy with steam. 

You step back but he grabs your wrist, saying your name, blue eyes pleading. 

“Stay. Please.”

“I am,” you soothe. “Just let me get out of this, okay?”

You strip, too, much more quickly. He steps in and you follow him, gently guiding him underneath the stream of hot water. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, a little bit chilly from the sparse water touching you, but you ignore it. 

Everything seems to fall away. Tim’s eyes slide shut, head tilting back, letting the water run over his face, thick chunks of dark hair sticking to his skin, the water washing away the terrors of the night. You sigh, hand slipping to his cheek, rubbing the skin there gently. 

When he pulls his head away from the stream, you reach up to comb his hair away from his face, fingers stroking over his skin idly, tenderly. He leans forward, arms coming around your waist, pulling you into him. 

You go easily, hands sliding over his shoulders as he closes the distance between your bodies, dropping his head against your chest this time, right over your heart.

When you think of the reason why, your throat squeezes. 

“We’re okay,” you whisper, fingers tracing odd circles on his back, running through his wet hair, gently detangling the knots that formed during his work tonight. 

“I know,” he whispers. “I just…”

The fear toxin is effective in what it was conceived to do. Even for Tim, as analytical and logic-minded as he is. When you live this kind of life, the threat of loss is a real one. Janet Drake’s death was entirely accidental. Not for any rhyme or reason other than misfortune. Jack Drake’s, however, was intentional. The list goes on and it’s hardly limited to loss by death. There are so many things that can happen. Things that can happen to you. Either because of Tim Drake or because of Red Robin. Or both. 

But you don’t care about that. You never have. The danger is real but what you would lose in that trade-off is not worth it. 

It doesn’t help, you think. Not now. Not when he knows, vividly, how he may lose you, because saying that now is as good as saying you’re okay with dying and he doesn’t need that. 

He just needs assurance that you’re here now. And you’ll give it to him. 

“I love you so much. You know that?”

You feel his breath stutter, arms tightening, chest pressed so closely to yours you can feel the unsteady beat of his heart pounding against you, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips so hard it’ll probably leave bruises. But you don’t care. 

“And I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur. “Not in a million years if I had a choice in it.”

A small sniffle. “That’s not physically possible. Unless you’re secretly Kryptonian.”

Your lips quirk. You reach for his shampoo, squeezing out a dollop, then smoothing it into his hair. He sinks further into you, letting out a small noise of pleasure. 

“Not Kryptonian. Just human. And very dedicated to those I love.” 

A sigh. “I know.”

“Whatever you saw tonight,” you murmur and he tenses sharply but you keep going, keep massaging shampoo into his hair, soapy bubbles spilling over your palm, “it wasn’t real. I’m here. We’re all here. And we aren’t going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s quiet for a long while. Enough for you to rinse out the shampoo and rub in the conditioner. 

You reach for his body wash. Your body wash, really. He hasn’t used his own in a long while. 

His hand wraps around your wrist, though. Stopping you. He pulls back to look at you. 

“Tim?”

His eyes are on your face. Soft. But still a little hard to read. 

He turns you, switching your positions. You jump at the first douse of hot water but don’t fight it, allowing him to push you under the stream. You close your eyes to keep the water out. His hands come up to your face. Stroking your cheeks. Pushing your wet hair out of your face. You lean into his touch. 

“I love you,” he whispers. “More than anything.”

“More than anything,” you echo, leaning into him. He wraps his arms around you. Hugging you. Tightly but not painfully. 

You think you might hear him whisper Thank you but above the sound of the shower, you aren’t sure. 

Slowly, you get him cleaned up. He insists on returning the favor and you let him, even if you already showered earlier. It’s a small thing to ask, after all. 

After, you step out and dry yourselves off. You help him into his clothes and he helps you into yours. Insistent on reciprocation. Wanting to do something for you. But also just wanting to be near you. Touch you. Helping you gives him assurances, you think, of your presence. The thought makes your heart ache. 

His hair is wetter than you’d like it to be, so you grab a towel and lead him out into the room. He sits on the edge of the bed and you stand between his legs, taking the towel to his hair, gently drying it. 

Tim holds onto you all the while. 

You comb through it afterward, gently taking out the tangles. 

He has a distant look in his eyes when you finish, tossing the towel and comb to the side for now, not wanting to be too far from him. 

“What are you thinking?” you prompt gently, sitting next to him, taking his hand in yours. 

“That I think the last person who did that was my mom.”

You pause. “Was it… I’m sorry. I didn’t ask —”

“No,” he says, looking at you. “No, it was… it was nice.” His voice is small. A little embarrassed. A little bashful. Red stains his cheeks and you smile at the sight. 

“I’ll do it anytime you want,” you promise. “In the meantime…”

You leave it hanging, for him to fill. 

He sighs. “Let’s just go to bed?”

“Sure. Can I get you to drink some water first maybe?”

He acquiesces, drinking a glass of water, then sliding into bed. You clear the security system — with him peering over your shoulder, making certain for himself, too — then turn out the lights, curtains automatically drawing over the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Tim keeps you close underneath the covers, settling low, laying his head on your chest like he did in the shower. You press a kiss to his head, running your fingers through his hair, feeling sleep start to tug at your senses. 

By the way he relaxes into the memory foam of the bed, you know it’s not far off from him, either. 

You stay awake to make sure of it. 

Feeling his body go lax, his breathing even out. Hoping, praying, his dreams are peaceful tonight. To whoever will listen. The universe, some higher being, you don’t know, you simply want to give him a break. A break from all of this. 

It’s just a bad day. You know that. A bad day that stands out in a sea of so many good ones. But bad days for him, for you, are something so different from others’. Unforgiving trauma. Potential loss of life. 

But honestly? If changing that meant leaving him… you wouldn’t change a thing. 

God, you hope that as the time goes on, he’ll fully step back. 

Until then, you’ll be there to pick up the pieces. To tend to the aftermath. 

Always. 

reblogs are appreciated!

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #dc comics x reader #tim drake imagine #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x you #red robin x y/n #red robin imagine

[rascalthehamster]

Can I request Yandere glamrock Freddy and Monty x Gregory's older sister please

Like the reader was looking for her brother and broke in and they bump into them and they fall for the reader

Yandere Freddy and Monty x Greg’s Older Sis

You never liked this place. The smell of stale pizza and over priced soda just gave you a headache, and all the screaming children were just the cherry on top.

Your brother, however, loved it. He wanted to be here forever, and that’s why you were currently crawling around in a vent looking for him.

You were given responsibility to make sure he came home safely and when it came close to closing time he was nowhere to be found. You managed to escape the security bots but at the cost of crawling your way through a cramp dusty vent.

When you got to the end of the vent you had to kick the grate off of its hinges, causing a loud sound to echo in the empty hall outside. You cringed at the sound, peaking your head out to find no security bots.

You jumped down, spotting a shoe that you knew belonged to Gregory. You picked it up and followed your only clue as to where he may be, an open security door.

You peered around every corner, always on edge. You gripped Gregory’s shoe like it was your only connection to him. A lifeline that you couldn't afford to lose. The Pizza Plex was surprisingly eerie at night. All of the lights were on yet it was completely empty, the only sound that could be heard was a faint song in the distance and the wheels of robots on the ground.

You walked around long enough to reach the main stage. It was lit up with blinding lights, and giant holograms of the infamous animatronics. They creeped you out the most. They’re lifelike movements and personalities always put you on edge.

The lights had distracted you just long enough for a security bot to find you, setting off the alarm.

You ran, not sure where to. You thought if you got as far away as possible from where you originally got caught then you’d be fine.

It was a great plan, you thought, a fool-proof one even. However you forgot to actually look where you were running to. You were too worried about what would’ve appeared behind you that you completely forgot about in front of you.

You slammed your head against something hard. A loud clang was followed by you falling on the floor. You looked up to see a giant animatronic bear standing in front of you.

“Hello!” It’s ears wiggled as it waved its hand at you. You were stuck, frozen in place on the sticky, gross floor. Your head throbbing from the recent collision and ass sore from slamming on the ground.

Just run, you thought to yourself. If you go now you might still be able to get out of here with your life. Why were you so scared of some stupid robot. It wasn't even a real bear. It had the long claws and sharp teeth of one but its eyes stared into yours, they were all too lifelike. The bright blue led lights illuminated your face. You didn't trust it, even if you could feel no aggression coming from it.

It got down on one of its knees, meeting you at your level. “Your nose is bleeding.” You wiped your hand under your nose, confirming that you were in fact having a nose bleed. “Come on, let’s go to the infirmary and patch you up.” He put out his hand, urging you to grab it.

You instinctively swatted at it and scrambled away. You could feel the blood trickle down from your nose, meeting your lips that also began to bruise. You got a few feet away from it then realized that your hand was absent of a shoe. You turned around to spot that the robot was holding it, placing it inside of its stomach for later use.

"Hey give that back." You started to run to it but the back of your shirt was grabbed, your momentum pulling you back as you were lifted up.

"Well, what do we have here?" A voice said behind you. You thrashed around, not wanting to find out what it was coming from. "Calm down will ya?" It shook you around, still gripping onto your shirt.

The robot bear approached you, causing you to panic even more. "Let me go!" You shouted as you could feel your heart beating in your ears.

"Not until you calm down." Said the voice from behind. Your body began to tire from thrashing so much. Your adrenaline running dry. You could feel yourself succumb to defeat.

You craned your neck to look behind you, seeing that it was the scariest animatronic of them all, and this one you knew by name. It had the worst history of them all and was the most violent. You froze once again, it's eyes catching yours. It gave a toothy grin.

"Come on Monty, we have to take her to the infirmary."

"What because of some nosebleed?"

"Yes, it's the rules."

"What if I don't want to follow the rules, goody two shoes, what if I take her to my room for the rest of the night?" Said the alligator. You could feel yourself get light headed as the conversation continued. You could feel yourself becoming nauseas and tired. Your body couldn't fight anymore. Your throat was dry and your stomach was empty. You were at the mercy of these two animatronics that you despised.

And to top it all off, you failed to find your brother. You couldn't even hold onto his shoe which was currently inside of the orange bear in front of you.

They continued talking between each other. You didn’t care to listen. Your feet dangled as Montgomery continued to hold you.

“Okay fine, we’ll do a check up.”

“Finally, now let me see her-“

“Nuh huh Freddy, I’m holding her.” He scooped you up and held you in a bridal position as the bear just sighed and started his way towards the infirmary. Your nose had stop bleeding but the blood had stained your shirt. The taste of copper on your tongue.

You had just begun to accept your fate when you heard the gator say “I can’t believe that there’s two runts who managed to sneak past security and stay over night.”

“We don’t know where the other is but maybe she does.” Freddy responded with, turning around and flashing a smile at you. “But for now we’ll take care of the one that we found.”

#yandere #yandere fnaf #yandere glamrock freddy #yandere monty gator #yandere montgomery gator #yandere fnaf security breach

[strawbubbysugar]

I cannot stop thinking about how a live action so(u)l would look in terms of its animatronic characters

Obviously ignoring the fact that budgets exist, I’d want each animatronic other than Goodbye to have two models. Only like. The *tiniest* bit different from each other.

The model used when only June is there is more smooth, more ‘perfect’ and ‘real’, with no seams (or faint seams) where they have them, and animated more fluidly, more lifelike. Hello especially I want to seem as though he isn’t bound by the laws of physics. He moves far too light for how a robot of his size would move. Same with the other animatronics, they feel real, but like they’re from another world.

The second any other human is in the room, we use the other, more realistic models. You can see the seams. You can see the outlines around their eyes where their casings end and the endoskeleton begins, but only if you really look. Their animations are a stiffer and more realistic. Their lip syncs are occasionally slightly off. You can hear the clicking when they blink. You can hear the motors and mechanisms inside of them when they move. (Faintly, so so faintly).

The only exception being Goodbye, who only has the more realistic model, and only ever moves in a more realistic way. I want you to feel the weight of the metal he’s made out of. I want him to feel the most tangible out of all of them. He is there with the humans. He can touch them. He can hurt them.

I want the differences to be something you notice on a second or third viewing. I want it to be something that you have to really look/listen for, and when you see it, you can’t unsee it

#so(u)l project #I HAVE VISIONS

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

violet soul

a smutty lucifer x reader fic for your enjoyment have fun <3 i feel embarrassed i was able to produce such filth :))))))

triggers warnings: dubious consent (the reader is not sober while giving consent! while they do believe they have given consent, they are not realising they're being manipulated into it!) and just like rough sex i guess haha but nothing requiring a specific trigger warning

hope you enjoy!!!

*slithers back into the void*

______________________________________________________________

You started having… dreams, recently. Very odd dreams. They feel real, way too real, and you wake covered in sweat, and the only thing you are able to think about is the dream, as if you’re still there. When you manage to fall asleep again, you simply continue where you left off. 

The dreams consume your waking life. You think about them constantly. Images, smells and sounds remind you of them. 

After a few weeks, you visit a therapist and complain about nightmares. She listens and nods sympathetically, and then she asks what the dreams are about. You open your mouth to tell her and find that you can’t. 

“They aren’t about anything, really. They are just… vivid,” you say, feeling embarrassed because of course you know what they’re about. If only you could remember right now. 

She looks at you with confusion in her eyes. “It’s okay, you can tell me,” she says gently. 

You wish you could, but you don’t know. You spend the rest of the session talking about things that don’t matter.

Later, you leave her office with a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. You feel like a woman possessed. 

The second you leave her office you remember the dreams again. 

In your dreams, you wonder aimlessly through a very dark place. Nothing happens, really, but it’s scary. Everything is so vivid, so lifelike. You feel the cold stone underneath your feet, the unbearable heat in the air that makes it hard to breathe, the smell of something rotten, something burning. You can never find your way out. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of… creatures. You always make it a point to avoid them. They pay no attention to you anyhow, but they are disturbing to look at, their faces contorted, deformed, burned, melted. Some have teeth like wild animals, some have no faces at all. You couldn't describe them in detail, really, you never stare. You always feel like there is someone watching you, but when you turn, there is no one around. 

The therapy session feels like a defeat and you call a friend to complain. They are sympathetic. You talk for a while, and you feel better — finally, someone understands you. Maybe you aren’t crazy after all. 

Then she asks you what the dreams are about. You open your mouth and nothing comes out. Your voice is gone. 

“Hello? Do you hear me?” your friend asks. You stare at your phone.

“I’m here,” you say, your voice miraculously returning. “My mom is calling me. I’ll call you later, okay?”

You hang up. You call your mom and another friend. You cannot tell any of them about the nightmares. Either your voice disappears, or you can’t remember a single thing about the dreams. The concern and disbelief in their voices make your stomach churn. You know they don’t believe you. You feel crazy. 

It’s evening already and you are so tired. You have run out of people to call and you’re not sure you’d even want to call anyone anymore. You feel on edge, weeks of poor sleep making you paranoid. You start wondering whether all of this is another nightmare. You try pinching yourself to wake up. It doesn’t work. You curl up on the sofa and turn on the TV, turning the channel to something mindless. 

You don’t notice when you fall asleep.

You are in that place again. A sickly sweet smell of something rotten is filling the air. The dark corridor you find yourself in is long and narrow, lit by torches that cast an orange glow onto the dark stone around you. There are doors all throughout it. You turn around. The corridor seems to be never-ending on both sides. You suppose there is no difference which direction you take, then. As soon as you start walking you see the door in front of you open and a black demon with no face steps onto the corridor. You scream and run in the opposite direction. You hear no footsteps behind you and you know it isn’t following you — they never do — but you can’t make yourself stop running. You run and you run and you run through the never-ending corridor. It’s hard to breathe, the air is so hot and it’s stuffy and you’re feeling dizzy and you hear your heartbeat in your ears, but you never stop. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been running when you find yourself at the end of the corridor. There is a grand door in front of you. Without thinking you try to open it, and it’s so heavy you have to use your entire body weight to push it. 

As you open the door, you find that the air is suddenly lighter. The rotten smell is no longer there, and instead it smells faintly of violets. Violets are your favourite flowers. You inhale deeply, relieved you can finally breathe.

The place you find yourself in is enormous, lit by torches. The ceiling is so high you aren’t sure you can see all the way up to it. You could look around for hours and still not be able to take it all in. As you observe the enormous hall, your eyes catch a glimpse a tall, dark figure standing a few feet away from you. It has huge, black wings. You wonder how you didn’t notice it immediately upon entering. The figure is looking at you. 

You know that’s the Devil. For some reason, you aren’t surprised. 

Somehow, you are now standing next to each other. 

The Devil is beautiful, you think, with their cherubic face and bouncy white curls that seem so soft, almost angelic, and you have to fight the urge run your fingers through them. 

The Devil is tall, so tall. Their stature is elegant, feminine. You admire their broad shoulders, the gentle curve of their breasts underneath their silken red robe, their imposing, black wings.

What really pulls you in are the eyes. It’s not that they’re a lovely cerulean blue, so deep you might get lost in them, it’s that they are looking at your very soul. 

They are the first to speak. 

“Finally, we meet officially, little lamb.”

Their voice sounds like the sweetest sin, silky and smooth and melodious. You find yourself enamoured with it. 

“Are you behind my nightmares?” you ask. 

“How pleasant your stay here is is entirely up to you,” they say and cock their head. 

“What do you mean, my stay here? This is a dream. I am still at home, in my bed,” you say, confused. 

“Not quite. You could be, if you so wished. But you wished to be here, didn’t you?” The corner of their lip curls slightly, as if they find all of this amusing. 

“I haven’t slept in weeks, and you tell me that’s by my own volition? That I wished to be here?” 

You can’t believe your ears.

“Think, little lamb,” they say, their voice sickly sweet. “You have called for me, don’t you remember? You said you were lonely.”

Dread fills you when you realise you do remember. It was a joke, a drunken escapade. You were out with your friends, drinking. You went into the woods. The moon was full. You were, as per usual, the clown of the group, making everyone laugh, complaining how you were the only one without a girlfriend. You climbed onto an old log, and proclaimed, “I would sell my soul to the Devil for a girlfriend! Fuck, I am so lonely!” and you laughed, and everyone laughed. They teased you, saying you surely don’t mean it, and you said, “of course I mean it,” and you spun around, took a swig of the cheap wine you brought along, and called upon the Devil three more times. 

“Tell the Devil I mean it”, you said, “tell her I’d fuck her if she would have me, I am so fucking horny,” and you laughed and everyone laughed, and you were drunk, and you don’t remember the rest of the night or how you got home. The next morning you were so hungover you barely remembered anything that happened. 

Until now. 

“Loneliness is a demon that eats at people. I would know,” they chuckle, the sweetest sound. “Especially humans… Humans crave connection, they simply long for it. And you are lonely,  my sweet little dove, I can feel it.”

“I—” you started, but they interrupt you. 

“Don’t worry, lamb, I am here to help you. That’s why you’ve asked for me, haven’t you?”

You want to tell them you didn’t ask for this, it was a mistake, you didn’t really mean it, you were drunk, you take it back—

Their silky voice cuts through your thoughts. 

“Tell me, would you like to be my friend?”

When the Devil asks you to be their friend you ought to tread carefully. 

“What happens if I refuse the Devil’s offer for friendship?” you ask.

They chuckle. They lean in, impossibly close. You are scared to death, afraid they will hurt you. You squeeze your eyes shut. You feel them in your space, around you, everywhere. Their wings flutter around you. 

They don’t lay a finger on you, however. You feel hot breath on your ear.

“I prefer Lucifer,” they whisper in your ear. You notice that Lucifer smells faintly of violets and burning wood.

“I realise you are reluctant to accept my offer for friendship. However, would you like to take a stroll with me?”

You open your eyes and see them towering over you. A shiver runs down your spine.

You are still unsure. 

“You don’t have to, of course,” Lucifer says, “but it will probably be a while before you wake. Might as well kill the time.”

They do have a point, you think. 

“I guess we can take a stroll,” you say and they grin at you. It’s a dangerous sort of smile. You find it incredibly charming. 

They offer you their arm to lean on. After a second of consideration, you take it. 

Their arm is warm, and as you link yours underneath it you immediately feel safe.

You blink, and suddenly you are in the most beautiful garden you have ever seen. Your mouth gapes open in awe. 

“Are we still in Hell?” you ask. 

“We are indeed. This is where I take my friends.”

You stay silent for a moment, taking in the beauty around you as you walk. Violets are blooming at every step. 

“How did you know violets are my favourite flower?” 

“Oh, are they? A mere coincidence,” says Lucifer and grins widely at you, flashing their white teeth.

You walk together for a while. Their strong arm is supporting you and you can’t help but be enamoured with them. Every once in a while, you feel their wing brush against your back. It sends delicious shivers down your spine. Their white curls are bouncing ever so slightly as they walk and you find yourself staring. They don’t seem to mind. The weirdest thing is, you can’t remember the last time you felt this peaceful. You find yourself thinking you could get used to this.

“Why do you want me as your friend, though?” you ask after a while, “What do you hope to gain from that?”

“Why, I hope gain a friend. And as for why I want you in particular as my friend…” they stop walking and look at you. “I do find your soul utterly captivating.”

“I must admit, I am surprised you haven’t asked what you will gain from our friendship. Don’t you wish to know?” they cock their head ever so slightly. Their piercing eyes are looking at your soul again. You feel naked. You cannot look away.

“Tell me, please,” you say.

“Think of every desire you’ve ever had. Every sinful thought that ever crossed your mind. Everything you never thought you could have. Do it.”

You do it. 

“Did you imagine it?” They take your chin in their hand. You feel your skin tingle under their fingers. They lean in, closer, closer, closer, until their nose is almost touching yours. You feel their hot breath on your lips. 

“It’s yours to have now.”

You feel dizzy. Your chest is heaving. You feel a craving, a desire you can’t name, and you can imagine the sweet gratification of its fulfilment. 

“Everything?” you ask, your voice hoarse. 

“Everything,” they say, and the hot breath that washes over your lips makes you wild. They are still holding your chin. It’s not painful but you can’t move. 

“May I… make a request then?” You are so overcome by desire that you struggle to think.

They chuckle, a puff of heat on your lips. “Greedy girl. You already made your request that night in the woods. But I will humour you. Make one more.”

You barely comprehend what they’re saying. All you feel is desire. Your eyes drift to their wings. 

“May I… touch your wings?”

You want to touch their beautiful wings so badly, but you are waiting for permission. There is a second of silence. To you, it seems like an eternity. 

Finally, they speak. 

“I said, whatever you desire. I fulfil my promises.”

They turn around slowly. You find yourself face to face with their wings. They are jet black, but you can see little veins running through them if you look closely. They seem impossibly smooth. 

You reach as far up as you can and run the back of your fingers all the way to the place where the wings grow out of their back. Lucifer shivers. 

Encouraged by that reaction you repeat the same motion again and again, then mirror it on the other wing with your other hand. Then you run your hands all along the base of their wings. 

Lucifer moans. 

The sound sends a jolt straight to your core. The wave of arousal helps you gather the courage to plant a hot kiss on their right wing. They moan again. You continue to kiss your way to the base of their wings, then all the way down along their spine until you reach the very end of it. The moans they are letting out are unholy. You fall down to your knees, your hands on their hips now. You want to continue your way down, but you are not sure if you’re allowed to. It takes an absurd amount of effort to stop. 

“Can I?” you ask, hoping, praying they will say yes. 

They turn around and look down at you. Their piercing gaze makes you dizzy, makes you want to pray to the Devil. 

They snap their fingers and suddenly you are in that grand hall from before. There is a throne there now and they are sitting on it. You are still on your knees in front of them. 

“Take what you desire,” they say.

“You may touch me here,” they touch their knee, “or here,” they move their hand upwards on their  thigh, “or there,” they slip their hand underneath their red robe. When they pull their hand out their fingers are glistening. You feel your mouth water. 

“Or even there,” they continue, their tone almost nonchalant, as they slowly, deliberately pull the robe off of their shoulders, exposing two small, perfect breasts. “Wherever you wish, my pet.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You start by kissing their leather boot. They seem to like that.

“Yes,” they say, their voice breathy, “worship me.”

And worship them you do. 

You slowly reach underneath their long red robe, running your hands over their boots and then reaching their smooth knees. You spread the robe open and kiss your way up their calves to their knees. You are moving on from their knees to their thighs, leaving a trail of hot kisses on their impossibly soft skin, when they move one of their legs up and put it over the armrest of the throne, spreading themselves in front of you. They aren’t wearing anything underneath the robe and you are met with the sight of their glistening arousal. You barely stop yourself from burying your face in those silky folds immediately — you want to kiss your way up to them, you want to savour it. 

You continue kissing their milky thighs, revelling in the way they feel under your lips. Lucifer’s breathing is getting more ragged by the second. You bite into their thigh. It feels like sin.

“Naughty thing,” they let out a breathy chuckle. “Bite me again.”

You bite their thigh again and they moan. You can’t restrain yourself anymore and you bury your face into their pussy. They grab a fistful of your hair. You suck, you lick, and there is no method to it, only lust. You are overwhelmed by how good their arousal tastes and you just want more, more, more. 

Their wings flutter around you. One of them touches your back, and you remember how much you caressing them made them moan. 

Lucifer is grinding on your face now and it’s so hot you almost don’t manage to pull away. You look up at them and say, “I want to touch your wings.”

“Go ahead, then,” they say. They are ever so slightly out of breath and their gaze is hooded and heavy. 

You climb up into their lap. With one hand you reach between their legs, running your fingers along their wetness, and with the other you start caressing one of their wings. The moan Lucifer lets out as soon as your hand touches their wing is sin itself. You start kissing their neck as you caress the wing with one hand and circle their clit with the other. You keep the motions on their clit steady, but you experiment with touching their wings, squeezing their breasts, alternating between the two, touching different spots, seeing which one makes them moan louder. What sends them over the edge is when you give their wing a hot, open mouthed kiss. They let out a high pitched moan and you feel them tense up underneath you. You continue to touch them until they push your hands away. 

Their orgasm is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed. But still, you desire more, more, more. You feel frenzied and hot all over. 

“Please,” you say, “may I request one more thing?”

“You’ve requested enough things,” they say and push you away from their lap. You fall on the floor. 

“Please, I will do anything.” 

Mistake. But you don’t care. Lust is making you lose your mind.

“Anything? Well, aren’t you a greedy little slut.”

The word sounds sinful when they say it, their gentle voice and angelic face clashing with the crudeness of it on their lips.  

They get up from the throne, silken robe closing around their legs, no longer exposing them. Their breasts are still bared. They tower above you. 

“First you get drunk, like a naughty little girl you are, then you go into the woods and call for Lucifer Morningstar, the Ruler of Hell, like they’re a servant who is here to grant your pathetic little desires.”

You are still on the floor, looking up at them. You feel like you’re about to cry, but you are also still burning with desire, the ache between your legs not waning for a second. It’s almost uncomfortable.

“And now, you ask me to touch you. Greedy, greedy girl,” they sneer. 

“However, to show you I am still interested in being your friend, I will grant your request. Get up.”

You get up as quickly as you can. You feel hot, way too hot. You feel a throb between your legs, uncomfortable, unrelenting. You wonder if that’s what happens when you fuck the Devil. 

They grab your jaw. “You like it when I do that, don’t you?”

You want to nod, but you can’t, their grip is too strong. “Yes,” you say instead.

“Let me tell you a little secret, as your friend.” They lean in. Smell of violets overwhelms you. “I like it too,” they whisper. Their hot breath on your ear almost makes you fall apart.

They let out a melodious chuckle and kiss your neck. You shiver, but you feel like you’re on fire.

“Oh, poor thing,” they coo at you. “I haven’t even started yet, and you are already falling apart. Tell me, pet, what made you think you’d be able to endure being fucked by me, hm?”

“I… didn’t think that. I didn’t think anything, I was drunk—” you say, feeling embarrassed.

“Oh, but you did, sweet lamb. You said it yourself. Tell the Devil I mean it, tell her I’d fuck her if she would have me, I am so fucking horny.” Their voice is sickeningly sweet. “Well, what if she would have you, hm? What would you do then?”

“I—I don’t know.” You can only think about the ache between your legs. 

“Hm. Well, then I shall have to fuck you and see.”

They bite into your neck. You cry out. They grab a fistful of your hair and pull you towards themselves, clashing your lips together. They forcefully slip their tongue into your mouth, claiming you, making you theirs. You can barely breathe. 

They snap their fingers and suddenly you’re naked. If this was any other scenario, you’d feel self conscious, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You are consumed by lust and you feel like you’re going crazy. 

They break the kiss. “You wanted me to touch you. Like this?” 

You gasp when they slap you. You hate yourself for liking it. 

“You like that, I know,” they say softly, “but it’s not enough. You still need more. Tell me, what would you do for more?”

“Anything.”

You’re burning. 

“Anything? Oh, I do hope you mean that.” 

They lean in and kiss the cheek they just slapped, the softest, warmest kiss that makes you tingle. It feels like heaven. They run their hands over your breasts, squeezing them with gusto, then pinch and twist your nipples forcefully, making you yelp. 

“Will you be my friend, then?” they ask sweetly, pulling you closer and squeezing your ass, making you moan.

You are too dizzy and too hot to form sentences. They spank you forcefully. You moan again, louder this time.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, yes, anything,” you say. 

They smile. It’s lecherous and it sends a shiver straight to your core.

“Finally, pet. But you have kept me waiting for far too long. I feel like some sort of punishment must be in order.” 

They snap their fingers again and you find yourself bent over their knee as they sit on their throne.

“Thirthy-three strikes. Count.”

They don’t give you even a second to process the command before they start spanking you. You lose count immediately, only aware of the delicious jolts to your core each time they spank you. 

“I said, count.” They spank you so forcefully you see stars. A single tear rolls down your cheek. “Now look what you’ve done, I have to start all over again.” 

They start spanking you again, and this time you count. It gets harder towards the end, and you can't stop yourself from crying. Your pussy is throbbing with need— you’ve never experienced anything quite that intense — and each slap on your red ass makes you flinch. Pain and pleasure mix in a delicious way and it’s overwhelming, but you still need more. 

“Thirty-three,” you finally cry out as they spank you for the last time. 

Not giving you a second to recover, they pull you up into their lap with ease. You wince in pain as your ass touches their thigh. 

“Aw, poor baby,” they say mockingly. “Let me dry those tears.”

They catch one of your tears with their finger and put it in their mouth. They moan in pleasure at the taste. 

“Delicious. Try it.” They catch another tear, ever so gently, then slip two fingers into your mouth.

“Suck.” 

You obey.

“See, you can be a good girl when you want to,” they say gently. “Yes, such a good girl.”

You melt at their praise. It makes you warm all over. They pull their finger out of your mouth with a wet pop. 

They kiss you again, this time softly, delicately. They run their nails over your back, the most gentle of touches, but it makes you shiver and burn and shake. They put one hand on your neck, tangle it into your hair, bringing you closer, closer, closer, while the other hand finds itself on your waist. They slip their tongue in your mouth, and you lose yourself in their touch. You don’t know where you end and where Lucifer begins anymore, and that ache between your legs feels like actual hellfire. Maybe it is actual hellfire. Maybe that’s what happens when the Devil fucks you. You don’t know.

Their hands are everywhere, and you aren’t sure how many hands there are anymore, and you don’t know where you are, you don’t know who you are — the only thing you are aware of is Lucifer and fire, fire, fire between your legs. 

“Yes, my sweet lamb, moan for me,” they purr, and you are surprised to realise you are moaning rather loudly and unabashedly. You are barely aware of your actions, no longer in control of your body.

After an eternity of delicious agony, their fingers graze your clit. You feel like you’re about to fall apart.

They circle your clit, agonisingly slowly, and you wail. You tangle your fingers into their soft hair, trying to hold onto something to keep yourself from falling apart. 

“Oh, darling, I am barely touching you,” they say sweetly. “I do have to ask you before you lose yourself completely, do you want to stay here with me?”

You can barely comprehend what they’re saying. “Stay?” you manage to utter through your moans. You try to rut against their hand, but they grab you by the hips, holding you still. 

“Yes, lamb, stay still for a second longer, yes, that’s it,” they coo at you. “Good girl. Yes, will you stay here with me forever? For all eternity?”

“Eternity…?” 

There is a distant alarm going off somewhere in your head, but you can’t pull yourself together long enough to think rationally. They run their fingers over your wet slit and suddenly there are no more thoughts left in your mind. 

“Yes, my sweet. An eternity of pleasure, an eternity of this,” they hiss as they slip a finger inside of you. You grip their hair tighter, afraid you will fall apart. You have never experienced pleasure as intense as this. 

“Yes,” you say, “yes, yes, yes, please, yes. I want you so much, oh please, fuck—”

They start pumping their finger in and out, slowly, hitting just the perfect spot, but it’s not enough, you need more. 

“More, please, more, aah—” you scream as they slip another finger and start fucking you forcefully. It’s the most intense pleasure you’ve ever experienced. 

“Do we have a deal, then?” they ask, completely calm and collected as they fuck you into oblivion. 

If you were in your right mind, you would have been wary of making any sort of deal with the Devil. If you were in your right mind, you would have realised your fate was sealed that night in the woods and that they had you all along. But considering the Devil is currently kuckle deep in you, you have no chance. They know that. They simply enjoy toying with their prey. 

The only thing you manage to do is to scream an ear-piercing “yes” as you come. 

When you come down from your high, the fire you felt before is no longer between your legs, and it is no longer pleasant. It is in your soul. The air no longer smells of violets — it smells like rotten flesh. 

Lucifer gives you their sweetest smile. They look like a true cherub, the prettiest of angels. 

“Welcome to Hell, sweet lamb.”

#lucifer morningstar #the sandman #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #gwendoline christie #is a tag i guess i should use #but i feel too filthy to use her name as a tag for this garbage ahahahah #i guess i did it anyways #amazing how i can produce an almost 5000 words fic when i'm procrastinating work lol #this is smutty smutty smut fest #pls pay attention to the trigger warnings

[nom-central]

how about m1m1kyu? They’re cute and the z move is already right there

Getting a job at a year-round scare mansion was the best idea you ever had. The pay could be a lot better, but that's not why you and your buddy wanted the job. Truth be told, you both had a real passion for scaring people.

Your boss was pretty lax, not taking things as seriously with you two as they would with the other scarers. Just give them what they paid for and have fun, right? That gave you both some pretty novel ideas on what to do, and you both soon settled into a routine that worked best for you. The room you two were active in was an old and dusty girl's room, full of creepy dolls and worn out stuffed animals. You and your buddy were two particularly...large and lifelike dolls. Of course, you were just dolls...you wouldn't come to life and jump at anyone, right?

Yuuki really sold the part of a big old plush well. They laid limp and slumped against the wall, their worn stitched together clothes fit the theme perfectly. They kept their body covered and their face was hidden beneath their costume, so all people saw were the limp bunny ears and the creepy-but-cute stitched smile and button eyes. You both watched a small group of people make their way through, sizing them up for the perfect opportunity. One of them wasn't exactly a good sport- loudly complaining and chastising his groupmates for being wimps. You cast a glance to Yuuki when their backs were turned; knowing they'd understand what it meant.

When they tried to leave, the door wouldn't budge. That was your cue to jump into action! Slowly, you and Yuuki started to move. The bells on their costume jingled quietly, catching the group's attention. That big creepy bunny doll was moving, its empty button eyes seemingly staring them down from where it stood on the opposite wall. Then, it started to walk closer. Slow and meticulous, but with an unnatural gait that didn't seem quite human. And another doll was standing up- you were sitting up from where you rested on the dusty bed. "R-R-RUN!"

The group panicked, shaking at the door handle with everything they had while Yuuki only drew closer. You stayed where you were to watch it play out. "You guys are a bunch of pussies," sneered their colleague, "It's just a person in a shitty costume." Regardless of that, Yuuki continued to shamble forward. The door only opened at the very last second and let them all free, but when their cohort rolled his eyes and moved to leave too...it slammed on him. When he turned around, Yuuki was looming over him.

"Oooh, you got me. What're you gonna do now? These scare houses are so stupid, I swear...I should've never agreed-" Rip. One of the seams on the costume's mouth ripped. Then another, and another, until they all opened in an open, jagged smile. The man scoffed, unimpressed. "How frightening. Can I go now?" Yuuki grasped at him, both hands holding onto him firmly. Then from the inky black darkness of the inside of the costume's mouth, a clawed hand stretched forth and gripped him by the collar. "H-hey, wait, what's th-"

His head is yanked into their mouth, with his body already being yanked deeper. Their arms held him in place, leaving him to kick futilely at them while the fabric muffled his yells and protests. They lightly chomped at his body, swallowing him down with a practiced ease as you glimpsed shadowy hands reaching out from their mouth to help his descent. You had to give it to them- Yuuki was a pretty good hunter. Soon nothing was left of the spoilsport, now reduced to a struggling bulge pressing and kicking out against the fabric of their body. The stitches on their face fixed themselves as if they had never been torn open, but you could tell their smile was somehow more pleased. You flopped back down on the bed, watching them waddle over to their plush pile to hide and enjoy their meal.

The fear of people who think they're above this place is the most delicious. Hopefully you get one like that now that it's your turn to "scare" someone... This job was perfect for you both. You got paid to eat people!

#v0re #soft vore #safe vore #extreme cuddling #fearplay #unwilling prey #pokevore #samesize vore #observer pov #vore fic #Yuuki #plush vore #technically! #finally this ones done ive been hammering away at it forever #i wanna write some gt next maybe... #theyre fine ghost types eat fear lol #reader insert

[angorith-arts]

The Hidden World Was Aesthetically Disconnected from the Other HTTYD Films: an essay no one asked for

Ok ok I know this is an art blog and I’m going off the rails a bit with this but I think it must be said: HTTYD The Hidden World was not animated in the same style as the other two films, and it has bothered me for a long time. We have all talked at length about the slow but significant dog-ification of Toothless that accompanied his dying character and personality (rip wild catlike Toothless), but I want to discuss the aesthetics of the films as a whole, discounting most changes to character designs themselves (except for one at the end because the light fury is to blame for all of this actually).

But angorith, you may very well ask, how can you say the animation is worse than the previous films when we got such breathtaking scenery as the hidden world and New Berk? To that I reply, the animation isn’t worse, its just not fitting in with the rest of the films.

Let’s take, for example, the first film. The animation style was thoroughly textured and gritty (partially due to technical limitations of CGI in the early 2000s but the animators leaned into it and I think it worked in their benefit due to the fact that they were animating gritty things like dragons and Vikings), creating a stylized but believable world of outdoorsy people and wild dragons. The dragons, specifically, were beautifully and realistically textured, with rough, detailed scales that made them feel believable despite being stylized in the manner of the film. The fur textures on the characters’ clothes were rough, resembling the fur that remains on tanned hides. The wood grain is old and worn, the weapons have nicks and scratches; you can tell the animators worked hard to make everything seem realistic despite technical drawbacks. And that’s not even to mention the beauty and depth in the outdoor scenery.

The second movie continues this trend. You can tell that the textures are more lifelike and that the animation has improved- especially when looking at the hair textures and fluid character movements- but it’s still textured and not over-polished. They aren’t afraid to show wear on objects or characters, they don’t shy away from giving Stoik, Gobber, and Valka age lines, they showcase the effects of riding on the leather equipment, the scars on the human and dragon characters are clearly visible without being too in-your-face, its a stunning and beautifully made piece of animation. But, in my opinion, most importantly, the characters are distinct from their backgrounds. This is seen in both of the first two films, where the distance between characters in the foreground and the scenery in the background is distinct. When silhouetted against the sky, the characters stand out from it instead of fading in to look flat and airbrushed against the scenery. This is largely due to the lighting and shadows being strictly defined throughout the movie. It allows for distinct shapes and clear definitions of character features. I’m no expert and may be speaking a bit from nostalgia, but I think the second film has the best animation of all three.

The Hidden World breaks this mold in a way that I found detrimental to the overall style of the film. Characters like Valka, who were once so convincingly animated to look their age, look fifteen years younger and airbrushed into smooth lines. Hiccup’s freckles are less prominent despite his outdoor lifestyle, and overall, despite the beauty of the scenery and the artful composition of many of the shots, the characters don’t have as much weight to them. The beautiful backgrounds in this movie seem like they’re swallowing the characters whole instead of remaining in the background, and I attribute this to what I call ‘the airbrushing effect.’ The shadows on the characters themselves and the boundaries between characters and backgrounds in this film are blurred, which takes away that depth that was so present in the first two movies. It looks like the characters are smushed into the background at times, leaving blurred expressions and less-defined features and boundaries. This isn’t the case in every scene, but it is in many of them, and it has bothered me since I first saw the film in theaters. Some of the textures look amazing, like the armor and dragon scales, but then you look at a character’s face and they look all fuzzy and indistinct, like they’re wearing makeup and dissolving around the edges. THW follows the growing trend of overly-blended animation, which isn’t necessarily bad in and of itself, but when an aesthetic precedent is set for your movies and then the third installment breaks the established rules, it can make that film fit in poorly with the rest of the franchise in a visual manner (not to mention the story incongruities but that’s a talk for another day).

Here are some examples:

In the second film, the boundary between Astrid and the background is distinct, despite her being farther away. Her face shape is more well defined, less round and fuzzy looking. Look at the boundaries around her face and head in the third film. There’s stil a foreground and background, but she looks like she’s blended a little too much into the background. Stormfly’s horns on the left are more jagged-looking, mimicking the texture of a realistic antler or horn, while on the right they’re smoother despite being in closer view.

Similar shots from 2 and THW here, see how much more defined the lines are between hiccup and the background on the left? Even just the features of his face are less clear; the bridge of his nose looks flattened.

Similar lighting from HTTYD 1and THW. The definition here is a bit better, but look at the skin textures. Hiccup looks like he’s wearing foundation in THW. For comparison, look at him from HTTYD 1! He’s got freckles! Don’t take away his freckles!!

Moving back to Berk means Valka must have gotten ahold of some de-aging cream, right?

I can’t add any more photos but hopefully y’all get the idea.

Now the reasons behind this stylistic change surprised me, and then really pissed me off. Its’s this thing’s fault:

I read an article a while back that said that in order for the crew to be able to animate the light fury, they had to devise new animation software for the third film (if anyone can find the article that would be a huge help, I can’t remember where I found it). She simply didn’t work in the established program, so they had to create a different software to accommodate the lighting effects of her sparkles and whatnot. Since the lighting seems to be one of the things that bother me most in this movie, this causes me some (slightly irrational) frustration, and brings me back to the question of why?

Why would you integrate a character whose design is so off-base from the other characters that you had to make new software just to make it work, to the detriment of the entire look of the movie? Wouldn’t that be one of the most clear signs that the character itself does. Not. Fit. The aesthetic of the film? this pisses me off so much. I know I’m irrationally angry about a movie that came out years ago, but from a visual, storytelling, and personal standpoint, I hate the way this turned out.

I’m not saying I hate the the third movie, or that if you like it you’re wrong. There’s so much about the film that I liked, but all the positives are outweighed by my disappointment.

TL;DR: the way that the crew made the light fury not only ruined the storytelling and conclusion to the franchise, but messed with the animation style too, which to me is an unforgivable sin.

Thank you for coming to my bitchy TedTalk

#httyd #httyd 2 #httyd the hidden world #thw salt #thw criticism #light fury #httyd thw #toothless #hiccup httyd

[oumaheroes]

ok ok I know you're probably busy and all and you just wrote something for an anon buuuuut im begging for some ireland and north bonding, i loved reading your england and north fic seeing england telling north no but north saying ireland would let him was hilarious tbh. need some irish bois being nice to eachother pls

All for you, Anon

------

Bog Bodies

On his haunches, North took a sip of water from his bottle with one hand and rummaged about his rucksack with the other. The findings were poor: some sandwiches at the bottom under his jacket, now partially squashed, a packet of crisps that had miraculously not popped after he’d sat on the bag forgetting that they were in there, and one lone chunk of Yellowman. Abysmal. He should have thought to pack more, he knew that this wasn’t going to be a short adventure. A Jammey Joey at least.

‘How long do you think they’ll be till they’re done?’ He asked his brother, glancing up at him and jerking his head towards the action they’d spent most of the day secretly watching. ‘Till they finish up here, like.’

Ireland shrugged lazily, ‘Until they’re done finding things, I expect. There’s a lot of peat to cover.’

‘Okay, how long till we’re done.’

‘Till it feels time to go.’

In comparison to North squatting on the floor like a grubby troll- he’d been standing for hours and he was tired- his older brother was leant against a wide, fat oak, his long arms crossed over his chest. He was looking at the happily buzzing archaeologists in the distance carefully, watching for their discoveries or any misbehaviour North couldn’t quite tell. The humans been there ever since the news of the headless corpse the day before, having swarmed the old bog as soon as they’d been alerted, and had been ferrying their equipment to and fro and generally making a big mess of the place ever since. Ireland and North had come to join them not long after, watching them map out the area and begin to excavate whilst the land owners waited on the sidelines.

North eyed Ireland’s own much fatter and well-stocked bag enviously, ‘They’ve already found the most important thing, though.’

Ireland snorted and grinned, ‘That’s subjective.’

‘Not really. Headless ancient corpse versus...?’

Ireland rolled his eyes but didn’t reply.

‘Could always be another in there, I suppose.’ North stood and shook out his feet.

‘Might well be. That sort of thing was common.’

‘They seem to be popping up all the time now.’

‘More in Denmark.’ Ireland ruffled his floppy hair off his forehead and recrossed his arms, ‘But different thing, obviously.’

A bog body was a bog body, as far as North could see. Tanned, leathery skin, well preserved nails and hair. Facial features which looked more lifelike than North would like if he were honest with himself, younger and closer to the modern day than could first be perceived considering the age of some of the finds. Many hundreds, sometimes thousands of years old. Where they came from and how they came to be in the bog in the first place was generally as unknown from one case to another, but the morbid curiosity about them was the same. Quick peeks into the past always held a draw.

This was different though, as Ireland had said. This was theirs. Or rather, the man they had found this time around chopped in half in the peat was Ireland’s.

More than even that, North realised. The discovery of this ancient person was more Patrick’s the person than anyone other than their close family would ever know. Someone he might once have known personally and things he might have owned, a culture he had once shared and understood and encompassed. His personal history as well as his people’s, depending on how old this particular find was.

‘You hoping they find something that you once dumped in there?’ North asked him, trying to sound nonchalant about the question.

Ireland let out a bark of laughter, ‘Not here. Might not look like much now but this place was special. Too special to piss about around.’

‘But you dumped stuff in other places, then.’

‘Not dumped.’ Ireland corrected, ‘I used to leave little wooden figures about here and there.’ He held up his hands about a foot apart, ‘Maybe this big. Added along to ceremonies people held or whenever I passed by alone.’

‘What for?’

‘What for is a question.’ Ireland frowned thoughtfully and glanced back out to the archaeologists. ‘Several reasons. Luck, offerings, promises. Can’t remember all of them. Copied what Mama used to do.’

Several branches of questions opened up at once. His brothers didn’t talk about their mother or childhood often- topics easily brushed off or for some reason hard to bring up in the first place- and North always felt uncomfortable poking at the former. Mama was a parent who was potentially his, but wasn’t, someone he felt that he should love and respect when she was as distant to him as a God was.

Sensing that this was an opportunity he shouldn’t waste, North carefully chose the avenue he felt would yield the most answers.

‘What were the idols of?’

‘People, Gods, us, animals.’ Ireland waved a hand, ‘I’ll make you one sometime. Been a while since I practiced. Or Alisdair can, his used to be half decent. Don’t ask Rhys though, his are shit.’

‘They might find one.’

‘Might do. Wood rots though.’

‘So does skin, and look what happened.’

A scurrying of men and women along their walkway and back to far afield cars made them both pause, something small and wrapped carried amongst them. The spiked edges of their talk floated back to their spot in the trees, high and excited. It was empty landscape, no human activity apart from the archaeology dig, but North could feel a thrum in the air, the last notes of what first called him and his brother to this place. Something he couldn’t name but which connected him to everything.

Stay, stay. Watch, and remember.

North wasn’t really too sure why he was here. This was his brother’s land after all, his brother’s ancient people and lost ways, not his, but still this was connected to him somehow. Or, it was better to say that it was something he was connected to, something that was apparently important for him to witness for his people’s benefit- the circle of time connecting him to his siblings’ past to fill him in on what he had missed.

There was so much of his brothers’ lives which came before him. North felt Croghan Hill at his back, heavy and looming in the summer sun. How many different peoples had that hill seen? How many of North’s own family, past his sibling’s mother and beyond? So many mortal lives caught in its shade, so many centuries before he’d even been thought of. What had any of this got to do with him, he who couldn’t understand the significance of what was being found.

‘This is for you too, you know.’ Ireland seemed to sense something of what North was thinking. He tilted his head to one side, his eyes still on the dig site and the treasures within, ‘All connects back to a point we’re both a part of.’

‘The bog bodies?’

‘Not just them, or any of what they find like this. What they represent.’ He turned to North, the usual jokey expression in his eyes replaced with something more serious, ‘It’s a culture that’s not here anymore but that is still a part of us, even if we can't see it. It matters the same to both of us.’

‘But it wasn’t mine is it.’ North dug his hands into his jean pockets, ‘I wasn’t alive to experience it. I don’t even know what any of that was for.’

Ireland looked at him, face unreadable, then looked away. ‘If you say so.’

North looked at him. ‘What?’

Ireland shrugged, ‘If you say so.’

‘What do you mean, if I say so?’

‘If you think this has nothing to do with you, then who am I to tell you any different.’

‘Wh- I don’t..’ North clicked his tongue, ‘What the fuck does that mean.’

‘What? You wanted me to tell you something different?’

‘No-‘

‘You want me to sit here and hold your hand and tell you there there babby, everything’ll be grand?’

‘No! Christ, fuck off, then.’

Ireland shrugged again, one armed and apathetic, and turned away. North felt his cheeks heat up.

‘It’s true, isn’t it? That out there’s for you, that’s your old people.’

‘Sure.’

‘Well then. Then, what’s it got to do with me?’

Ireland shook his head, his mouth downturned in disappointment or frustration. ‘Why are you asking me? You seem to have your own opinion.’

‘Why’d you have to be a cunt about it.’

Ireland snorted, ‘Being a cunt am I-‘

‘You are. You’re-‘

‘Rather that than a thick-headed child.’

‘-brushing me off, it was a valid fucking question.’

‘It wasn’t a question; you were simpering for something.’

North recoiled, ‘Simpering-!’

‘Aye, you were.’ Ireland’s cheeks were ruddy in the high way they did only when he got truly annoyed about something, ‘You wanted me to convince you that this does matter to you, give you a clean old line of evidence that you can take away and make yourself feel better with. I already did that enough and I ain’t arguing my point. You either take what I said and try to make sense of it, or you don’t. I’m not going to stand here and put up with you begging for validation.’

North clenched his jaw, his teeth aching with the pressure of not immediately shouting back.

‘People will take voiced doubt as truth.’ Ireland continued, stepping closer. He was still taller than North, still holding the upper ground, and North had for remind himself not to take the automatic instinct to step back, ‘Makes them question and think when they might not have done before. And you feeding into self-pity is pissing annoying. It’s pathetic; I don’t want to hear it.’

‘It was a question.’ North felt a shameful sting in his eyes. He pushed away the knowledge that his brother had hit on a truth he hadn’t him to voice, ‘I-‘

‘It wasn’t a question, don’t give me that. You wanted me to tell you why any of that-‘ a sharp wave of Ireland’s hand towards the humans on the bog, ‘-is for you.’

North swallowed, the core of it too cleanly said to deny, ‘Yes.’

Ireland shook his head, ‘Think for yourself, boy. Did you feel a need to come here?’

‘Yeah.’

‘If I hadn’t called you, if I hadn’t come, would you have anyway?’

North nodded. He would have, it wasn’t a feeling that could be ignored.

‘Then that’s your confirmation. That’s important for you and yours too, that’s it.’

‘But why.’

‘How the fuck should I know. I don’t have it all written down here in rules, now do I.’ Ireland moved back to his spot against the tree, standing there stiff, ‘You’re supposed to have a brain, you tell me.’

North shrugged helplessly, ‘Because my people are interested? Because it’s news. Because it’s an older culture of this island and people want to look for something recognisable that they’ve kept?’

Ireland’s expression didn’t change, ‘And what do you think is true?’

‘I dunno, all of them?’ North let out a breath, ‘A little bit of all of them for different people.’

As he said it, he felt that it was probably true. There wasn’t one good answer but the fact was that he was here to watch anyway. Ireland was right, that meant something, even if North didn’t know exactly what.

Ireland waited a while before speaking, as if he was waiting for North to say something more or question him again. When neither were forthcoming, he nodded and leant back more easily against the tree trunk, crossing his feet and the ankles to rest on his heels, ‘I’m not here because all in that there bog was a culture I was part of. I’m here to watch it dragged out of the dirt because it’s something that will mark the people today. Look for what’s the same and not what’s different, you’ll never get anywhere otherwise.’

The ancient hill and the shiny metal cars that now drove around it, small and modern under forgotten giants. The same could be said about them and the archaeologists: Ireland watching the return of something he’d lost, and North watching it unfold to learn what would become a part of him, as the humans picked it all from the peat. The old and new, two sides of the same coin used for any purpose humans chose.

North pressed his lips together, his throat feeling tight. ‘Yeah. I get it.’ He paused, ‘Thanks.’

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ireland shake his head with a small smile, ‘You called me a cunt.’

‘You are a cunt.’

‘Ouch.’ Ireland held a hand to his chest in mock injury, ‘That hurt my feelings.’

‘You don’t have any feelings.’

‘In that case, I won’t share what’s in my bag.’

North looked to it, then back to his brother. His stomach rumbled, ‘I was wrong.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re not a cunt.’

‘I know, I’m so lovely.’

‘What’s in the bag?’

Ireland toed it with his shoe and grinned, ‘Just cheese sandwiches.’

‘I take it back; you are a cunt.’

‘Your loss.’

--------

AN:

Bog Bodies are human remains found in old peat bogs. The make up of the soil- the lack of oxygen and the particular mineral make up- is wonderful for preserving organic material by tanning it to almost leather. The result is perfectly preserved people, down to the hair on their heads or the pores of their skin

This story is set in 2003 and the discovery of Old Croghan Man, noted in different sources to have been found in May or June near Croghan Hill which the man was named after. The hill is very old and part of ancient and surviving modern local mythology, but the area itself was also regarded as something very special, a portal from our world to another beyond

Bog bodies ended up where they did for a variety of reasons: murder, accident, or even sacrifice. The old Irish Kings, as is one theory suspected for Old Croghan Man, could be held responsible for bad weather, or a bad harvest, and sacrificed to appease the Gods in the bog

More sources, if you're interested:

Thanks for reading!

#aph ireland #hws ireland #aph northern ireland #hws northern ireland #hws british isles #heroes writes

[evilwriter37]

What would you say to someone who wants to watch the shows but thinks the animation is really ugly especially compared to the movies. do you just get used to it?

Yes! You definitely get used to it. (Also, you get to see older Hiccup with wet hair and he looks adorable.)

Like, yeah, it’s not the movie animation, but there are so many things in the shows to absolutely fall in love with. Plus they animate snow in some episodes! And ash falling! They put in all these tiny things that don’t have to be there, but are, and it makes it more lifelike. The voice acting is so good too! (Jay Baruchel was nominated [can’t remember if he won] for an award for it.) Zack Pearlman as Snotlout is the best Snotlout you could ever ask for, honestly.

I, personally, think the animation has a lot of good things going for it. But that’s just me.

So yeah, I would give it a shot, because they’re really great, and you will get used to the animation style.

P.S. The music is to die for.

P.P.S. You will meet the best villains this franchise has to offer.

#asks #httyd #dreamworks dragons

[ducktracy]

what is your most favorite form of animation in your opinion?

OHHHH WHAT A THOUGHT PROVOKING QUESTION!! i love this!

the famous Eliza copout answer would be to go “ALL OF THEM”, and there is genuine truth in that! but i can’t entirely kid myself, i’m such a sucker for traditional hand-drawn animation. part of that comes from a sense of familiarity, but i really, REALLY love how inescapably human it is. there’s a human touch in every pencil stroke or brush stroke on a cel, etc., etc. i’m incredibly big on feeling a connection with the artists that made this possible, the demonstration that yes, this literal feat of magic is possible and here is someone physically doing it right now… not to say other mediums are exempt from this (which is a point i’m about to indulge in shortly), but, at least for me, i just feel the most powerful connection with traditional animation. actually getting to see the pencil lines on paper. seeing where the cel paint has maybe begun to smudge or chip with age or human error. it’s a living archive of human touch. and i love how that is able to translate in the actual product itself—not just talking about looking at relics! (which is another benefit: physical relics!!!)

BUT! i have to say that i am also a HUUUUUUUGE fan of puppetry and stop motion. the day the stigma of puppets being scary dies is the day i will be a free and joyous not-so-man.. and yes! this includes all puppets! like traditional animation, i LOOOOOVE how innately human it feels, maybe even MORESO than traditional animation. you always always always feel the human touch involved. that, and it’s just so CREATIVE! so many cool ways to make art!!! so many wonderful set designs you can have! so many creative PUPPET designs you can have! the challenge of making these characters or sets feel lifelike or, at the very least, convincing to your intent.

it’s a big reason why i love Popeye cartoons as much as i do, since they combine two of my greatest animation loves (traditional animation + physical 3D sets) and it’s truly a magical experience to see them together.

this is also where i take the time to shill Beany and Cecil. WATCH BEANY AND CECIL!!!!!!! more recordings have been recently uncovered and they’re wonderful!! reading Bob Clampett’s interview with Mike Barrier and Milt Gray and how he got emotional talking about his experience working on it made ME emotional! it’s one of the reasons why i love and resonate with his work so much, i definitely share a very similar reverence for stop motion and puppetry. tell me you don’t crack a smile watching this

and the great Frank Tashlin did stop motion of his own!! which, again, is why i love and resonate with HIS work so much too!!

BUT YES!! this is just a blip really—i love so many styles and mediums of animation for different reasons, and look forward to all the ways well be able to incorporate these various styles and techniques together. animation is such a great feat and so beautiful through its versatility; we’d get a lot more done if there were fewer arguments about what the Best way to animate is and, more accurately, how we can adapt and combine and innovate new ways to continuously reach new potential we’ve never seen before

#(with that said i still am all for more 2D films and cartoons HAHA) #prismvision007 #asks

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - Ten

Hello!

Only two more weeks of Pedro boys! I can't believe it's almost over! And I'm so happy about how many people said last week's Pero story was their first time reading a fic with him and how they loved the character. He's definitely someone who doesn't appear in fics as much as others do, but he's fun to write and he's a very different character. I loved writing him and I'd love to write another story for him!

Here's Pedro boy number eleven, please enjoy this sweetheart's visit to the bakery!

Your little bakery has two large windows out onto the street, and it gives you a good view of people walking by, especially when the bakery is quiet. This Friday morning you’re on your own in the shop, working on decorating a cake for a naming ceremony. Having an elaborate cake out on the counter, decorating it as people walk past, is good marketing you’ve realized. And it makes for excellent people watching as you straighten up from your hunched up position and stretch your back. 

This morning, from the corner of your eye, as you put your arms over your head and crack your neck, you spot a man you’re sure you’ve already seen hanging around outside the window for some a while. He’s walked past a few times and now he’s nervously hovering around the front door, glancing in through the window. As you spot him, his face breaks into a bright smile, lighting up his eyes and he raises his hand in a wave. Pointing at the door he mouths ‘Can I come in?’, his face even brighter when you nod. It’s impossible to not smile back at him, you feel your mood lifting just as by him coming in through the front door. 

“Hello, you are already open?” he asks as the door closes behind him and he comes up to the counter, still looking a bit uncertain but giving you a wide smile. There’s an accent to his voice, Italian you think, or maybe Spanish, and his caramel colored curls are perfectly swept back from his friendly face, perfectly matching the expensive looking red shirt he’s wearing. 

“Officially not until eight, but since I’m here, you’re more than welcome in,” you smile at him and wipe your hands free from the icing you’re working with. He gives you a worried frown, half turning back to the door as if to leave. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, if you’re not open yet I won’t disturb you,” he says, “I don’t want to interrupt your beautiful work.” 

“No, no, please come in, you’re not interrupting,” you say, waving him forward again, “I need a break, my hands get tired doing this for too long.”  

You smile at him as he comes up to the counter and looks at the cake you’re working on, “What can I help you with?” 

“I was intrigued by the decorations on the cake, they are real flowers?” he asks, pointing at the delicate daisy you’ve just attached to a section of the cake. 

“No, they’re made with sugar,” you explain, “I make them separately and then attach them to the cake.” 

“They look real to me,” he says with wide eyes as he leans forward and looks closer at the daisy chain trailing across the cake, “you’re a true artist, they are incredible.” 

“Thank you,” you smile. You know your sugar flowers always impress people but you never tire of hearing it. The fiddly nature of the work makes them difficult to get just right and you’re proud of your ability to make them almost lifelike. 

“I’m in town for a few days,” the man says, straightening up again and glancing over his shoulder out at the street, “A very boring conference for work, I wanted to take a walk before it starts up again, and I saw your…” he wrinkles his forehead, waving at the bread in the baskets behind you, “I forgot the word in English,” he says apologetically, “your breaderia? No, that doesn’t sound right…” 

“My bakery,” you smile, “What language do you speak?” 

“Spanish,” he replies, his bright brown eyes lighting up as he turns back to you, “It’s panadería in Spanish.” 

“Oh, a breaderia!” you giggle, “That makes sense!” 

“¿Hablas español?” he asks and you shake your head and hold up your thumb and finger half an inch apart. 

“Un poco,” you reply, “I learnt some in high school but I forgot most of it, I only know panadería because well…” you laugh and wave your hand around the bakery and he laughs with you. 

“I’m Javi, by the way,” he says, holding out his hand to you, but you hold your hand up and show him the sticky and colorful sugar stuck to them.

“Nice to meet you, Javi, but if I shake your hand I’ll make a mess. I need to go and clean up,” you say with a smile and nod towards the kitchen, “I’ll be right back, and then I can take your order, if you want to order something, that is.”

“Yes, please, I would love to try everything but I’ll try to choose only one thing,” he chuckles, scanning the display cases as you go back to the sink in the kitchen. When you come back out after a few minutes, Javi gives you an unhappy look. 

“I can’t decide, everything looks too good, you are too talented for my stomach to make it’s mind up.” 

You laugh and walk around the counter and stand next to him, “What’s your favorite flavor? Maybe I can help you narrow it down?”

“I love everything….” he says, “I was always very bad at deciding, when I was a child my cousin would get angry with me for taking too long and then he’d decide for me.” 

“Did he pick what you liked at least?” 

“No, he always picked what he liked so it was a very bad deal for me,” he looks up at you with a grin, “I’m sorry, I must sound like the most pathetic person, I assure you I can make my mind up,” he laughs. 

“You don’t sound pathetic, Javi,” you smile, “but your cousin sounds impatient.”  

“That he is…you have no idea,” he replies and turns back to the rows of baked goods with a shudder. 

“The lemon meringue pie looks very nice, and the carrot cake too,” he mumbles, leaning forward and scanning the cakes again.” 

“What’s your favorite?” you ask, “Maybe I have it, or something like it.” 

“Hmm…” Javi hums, turning back to you and frowning as he considers your question, “I think…my absolute favorite is a small cake I’ve had in Paris many times, with vanilla and rum,” he says, “they’re called canelés, do you know them?” 

“I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never had them,” you say, shaking your head and Javi’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline in surprise. 

“You’ve never had them? They are very delicious, caramel and almost crunchy on the outside, creamy vanilla and rum on the inside…” he trails off, the tip of his pink tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip as he salivates and you giggle. 

“You look like you got caught in a daydream, they’re really that good?” 

He nods and grins at you, “They really are, you should make them sometime, I know I would come and buy them all.” 

“Do you know how to make them?” you ask and he shrugs, giving you a small smile. 

“I tried a few times, following a YouTube video at home,” he says, “but I didn’t have the right thing to bake them in…and then I got distracted and…they burnt…” he gives you an embarrassed little grin, “I’m not a very good baker.” 

“Now you have me curious, Javi,” you laugh, “I need to find a recipe, come on,” you motion him to follow you back into the kitchen where you open your bookshelf, dropping down the desk to show off the rows of baking books neatly lined up. Javi trails in behind you, his smile widening as he sees your book collection. 

“So many books on baking!” he exclaims, coming over to run his fingers along the spines as you look for a specific book. 

“I have more at home,” you say, “these are mainly for more technical recipes that I need to reference. At home I have the ones I use for inspiration when I’m looking for something new to make.” 

You grab a book on French baking and pull it off the shelf, “This one I think has a recipe on canelés.” 

Javi comes to stand next to you as you place it on the desk and open the book’s index. You can smell his cologne as the warmth of his body radiates in the small space between you. He smells…expensive, a rich sandalwood scent laced with citrus and something sweet underneath that tugs at your memory as you inhale. Glancing up at him you’re met by warm brown eyes looking at you with curiosity and a small smile. 

“You…you smell good, Javi,” you stutter out, “I just noticed.” 

His smile curves up and he seems to shrug, shaking off the compliment, “Thank you, you smell good too, I was just thinking, you don’t smell like your bakery at all,” he says, a pink tinge creeping up his neck, “you smell like…” he purses his lips as he thinks for a second, “la toronja?” 

“I don’t know what that is, but I hope it’s a nice smell,” you giggle and he laughs with a nod. 

“I’m sorry, such a bad compliment when I can’t even tell you what it is,” he chuckles. 

“Describe it to me then,” you say, “I’d like to know what it is.”

“Like an orange, but bigger, and not as sweet,” Javi says, holding up his hands to show you the size. 

“Oh, a grapefruit?” you ask and he slaps his forehead. 

“Ah! Yes, a grapefruit, I knew that,” he laughs, “you smell like grapefruit, it’s very nice, you smell very nice.” 

“Thank you, it’s my body wash, it’s grapefruit scented” you smile back at him and then look down at the book again, flipping back to the index, “here, canelés,” you say and turn to the right page and Javi looks down too. 

“Oh, they take three days to make,” you say, skimming the recipe, “the batter has to rest three days in the fridge before it can bake.” You glance back at the clock on the wall, in about half an hour your morning rush will begin, you won’t have time to make the batter now. 

“I’ll have to make the batter this evening and then I can bake them on Monday, but I guess you won’t be in town then?” 

Javi shrugs next to you, “I was thinking of staying and exploring the city a little while, I can stay until Monday.”

“Ok, then I’ll have them for you on Monday afternoon. If you want, we can try them together, fresh from the oven. I'd love to get your opinion on them since I’ve never had them before,” you smile and close the book and turn to go back into the shop. 

Javi clears his throat nervously and stops you. 

“I wonder,” he says, his hands twitching at his sides and he clamps them together in front of himself, “I wonder, if maybe, I can help you in the shop today?” 

“You want to work in the shop?” you ask, your eyebrows shooting up into your hairline as Javi gives you a small smile. 

“Yes, it’s nice here, and…you seem very nice,” he says, a pink tinge creeping up his neck, “and I would like to learn more about baking and I thought, maybe I could…” he trails off, shaking his head, “nevermind, it’s a stupid idea, why would you want me in your way all day. I’ll leave now,” he huffs, and walks past you, into the shop before you find your voice.

“Wait, Javi,” you call after him, hurrying into the shop, “Working in a bakery isn’t very exciting but if you really want to stay, of course you can. I won’t mind, I mean…I think you’re nice too.” 

The smile Javi gives you is blinding, his face lights up as he comes back over to you. 

“You’re sure? You won’t mind?” 

“No, not at all, grab an apron in the back while I open the shop, the morning crowd is about to turn up,” you smile at him and he nods, giving you another excited smile before he grabs one of the clean aprons. 

You flip the sign, put out your street sign and come back to Javi proudly standing behind the counter, but struggling a bit with the knot on his apron. 

“Here, let me help you,” you say, “do the strap like this…” you reach up around his neck, standing on your tiptoes, “if you turn it like this it won’t slip.” With your hands around his neck, adjusting the strap, his soft curls brushing over your skin as his eyes are on yours, you suddenly notice how still he’s standing, and how close he is. The warmth of him filters through your own apron and shirt, and you can see the rise and fall of his chest where his deep red shirt sits open just in front of your eyes. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles softly and you look up at his eyes. He draws a small breath, holding it for a few seconds as your fingers smooth out the strap around his neck, before slowly exhaling and you watch his lips part. 

When the bell above the door jingles, you jump apart as if fire suddenly erupted, and you quickly turn to the first customer. You immediately recognise the tight gray curls of Mrs Levinson, closing the door behind her and coming over to the counter. 

“Good morning, Mrs Levinson, you’re early today,” you give her your bright customer service smile and beside you Javi mumbles a low ‘Good morning’. 

“Good morning, dear,” the elderly lady says, “and who is this handsome man?” she winks at Javi who stutters over his reply. 

“I’m J-Javi, I’m helping in the bakery today,” he gives Mrs Levinson a nervous smile, “What may I serve you today?” 

“Oh, what a sweet boy,” Mrs Levinson smiles, “and you make such a beautiful couple.” 

You raise your eyebrows and bite back a snort, next to you Javi seems to be choking on something. 

“What can I get you, Mrs Levinson, the usual?” you ask, giving Javi a gentle pat on the back as he finds his composure again. 

“I’d like a dark rye please dear, and six poppy seed bagels,” she replies, “and something sweet for my afternoon coffee too, I think.” She scans the selection and taps the glass, “Give me four of these Millionaire’s shortbread things. Mrs Morales is coming over and she wants to try something new.” 

“Of course,” you say, grabbing a pair of tongs and handing them to Javi, “Put four of them in one of the small boxes, please, and I’ll get Mrs Levinson’s bread.” 

Javi nods and does as instructed, putting the box of shortbread on the counter in front of Mrs Levinson with a bright smile. 

“There you go, Mrs Levinson, anything else I may help you with?” 

“No, thank you, my dear, that’s all for now, what do I owe you?” 

You tally up the total on the till and help the old lady count out the money. As you hand her the change she takes a dollar bill and pushes it across the counter to Javi. 

“Such a sweetheart,” she smiles at you, before taking her bag, “Make sure to hang on to him, he’s sure to bring you extra customers.” She gives Javi a wink and makes her way out of the shop. You barely hold your laughter inside until the door has closed behind her and you turn to Javi who’s grinning widely with pink cheeks.  

“Well, now you know Mrs Levinson,” you laugh and he chuckles. 

“Now I know Mrs Levinson,” he nods, fanning himself with his hands, making you giggle at his expression, “Are all your customers so…forward?” 

“Thankfully, no, only Mrs Levinson and her crew,” you grin,”I hope she didn’t scare you off, do you still want to stay here today?” 

“Yes, please, I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity of being called a ‘sweetheart’ but nice old ladies,” he laughs and you giggle again.

“Alright then, I’ll let you handle all my elderly ladies, they’re going to love you, Javi,” you say, moving behind him to turn on the espresso machine, “Do you want a coffee?” 

The day passes quickly with Javi’s company, even when the shop quietens down in the afternoon he keeps your mind occupied with questions about your favorite movies while you prepare the batter for the canéles. The bakery fills with the rich vanilla scent as you cut the pod and scrape the seeds into the batter. 

“I can’t believe I never thought about that!” you exclaim as Javi laughs, “But you’re totally right, Indiana Jones only helped them find it faster, his actions have no real impact on the entire movie!” 

“I had to rewatch ‘Raiders’ so many times to make sure,” Javi grins, “I couldn’t believe it either, but he really does nothing that stops them from getting the Ark.” 

“So crazy, I can’t believe I never thought about that,” you say as you reach up to grab the rum bottle from your liquor storage. 

“Santa Teresa,” Javi says, nodding his approval, “That’s what my father always drank, you’ve got good taste, and expensive rum.” 

“Only the best for my cakes,” you smile, measuring out three tablespoons and one extra for luck. Behind you Javi is rummaging around, looking for something and he’s grinning when he comes up to you with two glasses. 

“It’s too good to only go into cakes, let’s drink some, to celebrate my new career as a baker,” he says with a bright smile that makes it impossible to not smile back at him. 

“A great idea, but I’ve got better glasses in the shop, follow me, and grab the bottle, Javi,” you say, taking his hand and pulling him with you back out to the shop. 

“Here, these are better,” you say, handing him smaller glasses, “do the honors.” 

You jump up on the counter as Javi pours the drinks, handing you a glass of the dark liquid and you take it, holding it up to him. 

“To the best shop assistant I’ve ever had, with endless film knowledge, fantastic customer service skills and all around great guy.” You clink your glass with Javi’s and he smiles, a pink blush creeping up his neck again as he takes a sip. 

“Thanks,” he smiles, leaning on the counter on the other side, smacking his lips at the flavor of the dark rum, “I had fun, and now I know a lot about running a bakery.” He gives you a warm smile, lifting his glass in a salute to you again and you both sip slowly, the rum sliding down smooth and warm into your chest. 

“Weren’t you supposed to be at a conference today?” you ask, suddenly remembering that he’d mentioned something about it this morning when he first came in.

“Yes, but who cares?” he shrugs with a sheepish grin, “I’m sure no one will miss me, and this was much more enjoyable,” Javi gives you one of his warm smiles, his bright eyes softening as you smile back at him. 

“Did you really like working here today?” you ask and he nods. 

“Truly, I had more fun today than I’ve had at work in a long time,” he says, coming to stand next to you. 

He’s so tall, almost level with you up on the counter as your eyes meet. You give him a small smile and he smiles back, a deep dimple in his cheek as he absentmindedly runs a hand through his soft curls, not as orderly now as they were this morning. A loose curl falls over his forehead and without thinking, you give in to the temptation you’ve been fighting all day, and reach forward to push it back again. Javi reaches up and catches your hand in his, pulling it down so that he can rub his thumb over your palm, his eyes locked on yours. The tip of his tongue comes out to wet his lips and the movement makes you look down at his lips and Javi takes a slow step closer, his fingers closing around your hand. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his soft voice the only sound in the shop as you look up at him again. There’s a heated look in his eyes suddenly, and as you nod, he bends his head to yours, his hand moving up and gently cupping your cheek. 

The jingle of the bell pulls you apart, both of you looking at the door as Javi steps away from you. 

“Mr Gutierrez, you’re needed back at the hotel.” 

The man who’s stepped through the front door is dressed in a driver’s uniform and is looking somewhat exasperated with Javi behind the counter, “Your phone is off and your assistant has been trying to reach you all day.” 

Javi looks back at you and flashes a guilty grin before he looks back at the driver. 

“I’ll be right there, Marco, I’ve just been busy today.” 

“Of course, sir,” the driver gives a curt nod and turns around, the door jingling again as he leaves. 

“I’m sorry,” Javi says, turning back to you, his hand had slipped from your cheek as he stepped back, and you feel the loss of it as a warm imprint on your skin, “It seems I was missed at work after all. I would’ve liked to have stayed here longer, but I have to go.” 

“Of course,” you say, feeling the disappointment creep up as Javi grabs his phone, “It was really nice having you here, Javi.” 

He turns back to you with an uncertain small smile, holding his phone tight in his hand. 

“Can I, I mean, if you want, I’d like to come back…on Monday. To finish the canelés,” he says, his eyebrows bunching up, looking at you with worried eyes. 

“Yes, of course,” you say, excitement bubbling inside you as you see his smile creep back up and he takes a relieved gulp of air. 

“Ok, great! Thank you!” he grins and glances out through the window at his driver who is looking at you both, before he turns back to you, “I’ll see you Monday, ok?” 

“Monday, come by at noon, we’ll bake the canelés together,” you say, leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek on impulse. His cologne from this morning still lingers, but it’s mixed with his warm sweat, a coffee from a stain on his shirt, and something that must be his own comforting scent. For a split second you fight the urge to lean your head on his shoulder and rest your nose against the soft skin of his neck. Instead you pull back and meet his soft, brown eyes smiling at you. 

“Get going, or your driver will yell at us,” you say, putting your hand on his arm, giving him a little nudge as he chuckles. 

“Yeah, he can be a bit intimidating,” he says and walks around the counter, “Until Monday then.” He waves and disappears out through the door, and you watch as the driver stands to attention and opens the door to the back seat. 

Javi flashes you a smile through the window before he disappears into the car, and you turn back to the kitchen to clean up. 

You’re surprised to see Javi already waiting by the bakery when you turn up a quarter to twelve on Monday and flip on the lights inside. He’s sitting on the steps outside the front door, oblivious to you arriving through the back door, and it gives you an opportunity to study him as you walk across the shop. He runs his hand through his hair as you watch, the curls bouncing back and he lightly scratches at his neck before leaning his cheek in his hand. From behind you can see the saffron yellow shirt he’s wearing stretch tight across his broad shoulders, the bunched muscles a sharp contrast to the softness of his features. 

You lightly tap the window in the door and Javi turns around, his face already bright as you give him a wave. Unlocking the door you let him in as he brushes down the seat of his pants. 

“Hi,” you say, taking a step back to let him get past you before you lock up again, “You’re early, I hope you didn’t wait long.” 

“Hi,” he replies, shaking his head, “No, just a few minutes, I was too eager so I left the hotel early and walked here.” 

He’s standing in front of you, a small smile toying with the corner of his mouth and you’re suddenly reminded of where you’d been interrupted on Friday. Shyness takes over and you quickly take his hand. 

“Come on, we’ve got baking to do,” you say as you pull him with you towards the kitchen, taking the chance to recompose yourself as he follows behind you. 

“I’ve been looking forward to this all weekend,” you hear him muse,  “And not only the canelés,” he adds as you step into the kitchen and let go of his hand, “I had a great time on Friday, I…I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again…if that’s ok to say?” 

You turn back to him, he’s standing in the doorway into the kitchen, a small worry frown between his eyebrows as his fingers twitch nervously by his side, something he seems to do when he’s unsure of himself. You bite your bottom lip, trying to contain the smile that’s threatening to spill over as you look at Javi, taking a few tentative steps back towards him. 

“I’ve been looking forward to it too, Javi,” you give him a shy smile, coming close enough to smell his fresh cologne, to see the smattering of golden freckles on his neck, as you look up at him. Javi sems to let out a deep rush of air, his shoulders sinking several inches, and smiles down at you. 

“No driver this time, Javi,” you whisper, leaning closer and he mimics your movement. 

“No driver,” he echos, and the warmth of his arm presses against your waist as he closes the last few inches between you. You can feel his thumb skim over your cheek when he cups your face, his soft tongue gently running across your lips until you part them, and let him in with a low sigh. His kisses are soft, gentle presses as you melt into him, his arm around your waist holding you close to his chest while your hand finds the curls at the nape of his neck. A low rumble comes from him, groaned into your mouth, as your fingers wrap around the soft strands and lightly tug him closer. 

You hadn’t thought about what to expect from Javi’s kisses, but as soft and affable as he was, you’d never have expected him to kiss you like this. As his initial shyness retreats, his hand on you becomes firm, holding you up against him as he makes you moan into his mouth, pulling back just a fraction to catch his breath before he presses his lips against yours again. His tongue teases you as he nips on your bottom lip, finding news spots to explore. He groans into you as you wind your fingers around his soft strands of hair, returning his nips by gently biting down on his plush bottom lip and he rewards you with a downright sinful moan, fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you closer. 

You couldn’t say how much time passes, you catch your breath in small gasps between clamant kisses, heat rising between you, the pebbled skin on his neck looking almost too tempting as you pull back a little again. You run your fingertips over his skin, tracing down from his jaw, over his smattering of freckles, Javi shuddering under your touch as he opens his eyes and looks down at you with hooded lids. 

“Even better than I imagined,” he mumbles, his eyes drifting closed again as you kiss a particularly sweet looking cluster of freckles on his throat, your tongue coming out to taste his skin. 

“You too, Javi,” you whisper in reply, looking up at him and he opens his eyes again, smiling now in that soft way that makes you think of a sweet puppy, his dark brown eyes gentle and tender. 

Running the pad of your index finger over his cushy bottom lip, giggling as he playful tries to nip at it, you smile back at him. 

“Should we make those canelés maybe? They have to bake for about an hour,” you say, “We’ll have time for more of this,” and Javi nods, carefully untangling himself from you, his warm arm leaving your waist. 

“I agree, let's make them quickly and then get back to this,” he grins, “Where is the batter? And what do you want me to do?” 

You reach up and give him a quick kiss on the mouth, smiling at his eagerness, “First we need to grease the molds,” you say, pulling him with you towards the shelf full of different baking pans, “We need these, I got them over the weekend,” you take down six copper molds, “and beeswax.” 

“Beeswax?” Javi asks, taking the molds from you as you open the fridge to get the wax. 

“Yeah, traditionally they’re greased with beeswax to really caramelize the outside of the canelés and stop them from sticking,” you explain, unwrapping the small cube of food grade wax, “Wash your hands and I’ll show you how to do it.” 

Melting together the butter and wax is quick work and then you show Javi how to brush the inside of the molds with the mixture as you fill up the ones he’s finished. The batter smells richly of rum and vanilla and Javi inhales deeply and leans down to kiss you. 

“You are so clever, they smell delicious,” he hums, stealing another kiss, “and they’re not even baked yet.” 

“Thank you, Javi,” you smile into his third kiss as he nips at your bottom lip again, “but they’ll be better baked, come on,” laughing you gently push him off you and he gives you a mischievous grin.  

He helps you prep a tray and then you place the molds on it and put the whole thing in the oven, setting a timer. Javi pulls your back into his chest as soon as you close the oven door, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Now, more time for this,” he mutters, dropping his chin onto your shoulder and pressing a kiss just under your ear. 

“More time for this,” you mumble your agreement, turning your head so that the cool tip of his nose rests against your throat. You can feel his warm breath on your skin, the smell of the vanilla and rum in the kitchen, the low hum of the hot air oven and Javi’s lips as he moves them over your skin. It all blends together into a rosy haze, your eyes slipping closed as you reach up and caress his curls. Javi mumbles something in Spanish that you don’t catch, your brain going sluggish under the feeling of his wet mouth trailing over every inch of skin he can reach. Somewhere in the back of your head you’re wondering how you’ll be able to handle an hour of this and not end up on the floor with him on top, the sizeable hard length that you can feel pressed against the back of your thigh right now, sliding in- 

The gentle melody of Javi’s phone signal cuts through your train of thought, making you snap your eyes open and Javi lets go of you, fumbling in his pants for the offending item. He gives you an apologetic look as he answers the phone in Spanish. As he speaks you start cleaning up the workbench and Javi moves into the shop. Even though you don’t know enough Spanish to understand what’s going on, you can hear his tone become more and more agitated. Eventually you hear him yell a loud “No!” and the sound of the phone hitting the floor, clearly breaking on impact. You put down the cloth you're holding and slowly go into the shop, Javi is standing in the middle, his phone in two pieces on the floor. 

“Javi?” you ask apprehensively, and he sighs deeply, his shoulders rising up almost to his ears before slumping down, his whole body deflating as he turns to look at you. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, running both his hands through his hair, pushing through it and grabbing hold of the back of his head, his eyebrows pulling together in anguish, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” 

“It’s fine, Javi, I just want to make sure you’re ok, it seems like it was bad news,” you take a few steps closer to him, gently putting your hands on his waist. He sighs again, dropping his arms down to his sides as you slowly run your hands up and down his torso, the yellow shirt bunching under your fingers. Javi groans and drops his forehead onto your shoulder, cursing in Spanish, that much you understand. 

“It’s my stupid cousin, he’s mad I stayed over the weekend, he wants me back in Mallorca as soon as possible, he’s sending someone to ‘fetch me’. Like I’m a child late home from school,” Javi growls and pushes himself up again, looking down at you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking anguished, “You don’t need to hear about my horrible cousin and my family problems.” 

“It’s fine, Javi, everyone has family problems sometimes,” you say, still gently stroking his sides, “I can barely stand my dad, we always fight, I wish I had a better relationship with him but it’s hard when everything he says critiques every choice I’ve made in my life.” 

“I’m sorry for that too,” Javi says, lifting his arms up again and putting them around your neck, one hand gently cupping your face so that he can caress your cheek, his soft hand warm against your skin, “My father passed away a few years ago and my cousin and I took over the family business. I hate it, my cousin loves it, and he bosses me around every chance he gets,” Javi sighs again. 

“He’ll really send someone to come get you?” you ask, “What happens if you say no?” 

Javi just shakes his head, “It’s not as easy as that, unfortunately, the business is…complicated,” he says, his thumb still smoothing over your cheek, he’s tracing the lines of your face, lost in thought. You lean your head against his warm hand, letting him work through whatever is going through his mind until he seems to shake himself out of the reverie. 

“No,” he says, his voice firm again, and he takes your hand, “I’m not going to let that ruin our afternoon.” 

With a small smile he pulls you around and leads you back into the kitchen, “I’m not wasting any more time on that, come here, hermosa, beautiful girl,” he says, pulling you into his chest as he leans against the workbench, “I’m deciding that this is how we spend the rest of the afternoon,” he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you tight, the other one finds its way back to your cheek as he leans in closer, his soft looking pink lips brushing against yours. 

“If that’s alright with you?” he mumbles, his voice suddenly dropping lower, winding its way around your brain and making you shiver. 

“That’s more than alright with me, Javi”, you mumble back at him, your voice low to match his, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel every breath he takes, slipping over your lips. He closes the distance between the two of you, and takes your bottom lip between his own lips, gently tugging at it. He smiles against your mouth, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head and pull you closer, his tongue teasing the tip of yours. You feel your brain shut down, your eyes closing and the haze returning, all you can think about is Javi’s warm mouth and soft lips as he slowly turns you around so that he has you pressed up against the workbench. 

You don’t end up on the floor, but when the smell of caramelized sugar and butter, the rich aroma of vanilla, pulls you away from Javi, you’re pleased to see that you’ve managed to unbutton several buttons on his shirt. He’s pulled your top up over your chest, hand leaving warm trails across your torso and he chuckles as you playfully swat his hands away. Your cheeks are flushed and overheating as he chases your lips, trying to hold you closer still. 

“Javi, I think the canelés are done,” you say, giving in and kissing him again, smiling against his eager mouth. Javi groans as if he’s in pain, reaching out to grab onto your hips but you laugh and quickly step out of his reach. 

“Now, now, Javi, let’s not burn these delicious smelling things that we waited three days for,” you tell him, your face teasing him as he follows you over to the oven. The smell of vanilla, butter and rum hits you even stronger as you open the door and slide the tray out. Quickly unmolding them onto a cooling rack, you give Javi a happy grin.  “They look just like the photo in the book! Do they smell as you remember them?” 

“They smell even better, and they look even better,” Javi muses, crouching down so that he can get a good look at the small golden cakes on the bench. Carefully tapping one of them with his knuckle, he smiles as it has a satisfying hard shell. 

“I guess they have to cool before we eat them?” he asks, looking back up at you. 

“Yeah, they’re way too hot now,” you reply, “but we can make some coffee.”

“Or we can make out,” he says, his hands finding their way up under your top again, pulling you close. 

“Or we can make the coffee and make out?” you suggest, leaning in to press a wet kiss to the skin just under Javi’s ear, the spot that you’ve quickly learned is a favorite of his. You’re rewarded with a shiver, a gentle hum coming from him as he leans his head back to give you better access. 

“Come on,” you laugh, taking his hand and pulling him with you as he protests, “Coffee, then kisses, then canelés.” You grab the plate with the small cakes and lead him into the shop, hitting the on button on your fancy espresso machine.  

Javi leans next to it as you go through the motions, grinding the beans and measuring out the coffee. 

“What do you want?” you ask him, “espresso, cappuccino, latte?” 

“Espresso, please,” he replies, moving to stand behind you while you make it for him, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. 

“You’re so talented, running this bakery, making all these cakes and pie, and then you’re a barista too,” he says, his short neat beard tickling against your neck as he gives you a kiss, “I’d hire you, but I don’t think you’d like my family business.” 

“That’s ok, Javi, I like running my own business,” you smile, giving him his espresso and preparing your own, “It’s a lot of work but I get to decide everything, I don’t think I could have a boss over me again.” 

“Hmm…” Javi hums as he sips the espresso, turning so that he’s leaning against the counter again, “I won’t suggest it now, but if you ever want to open a bakery in Mallorca, near where I live, I could help you.” 

“I think my Spanish needs to improve first,” you laugh, taking your coffee and standing in front of him so that you can enjoy the view you’ve created by unbuttoning most of his shirt. 

“You could always hire me,” he smiles, “I’ll handle the customers, you handle the baking, we’d be a great team.” 

“I’d hire you here in a heartbeat, Javi,” you say, “you were great with the customers.” 

He smiles at that, leaning forward so that you can kiss him, the bittersweet taste of coffee sharp on both your lips. 

“Canelés”, you mumble as his free hand starts to roam up under your top again. 

“I’m not that interested anymore,” Javi smiles, pressed against your lips, and it makes you giggle. 

“We’ve waited for three days, and I’ve never had them,” you say, pulling yourself away from him with a tremendous effort, his lips really are very soft and his palms are so warm against your skin. 

“Ok, ok,” he chuckles, giving in to you as he leans over and picks up one of the canelés in his big hand and holds it out to you, “have a taste, tell me if it was worth the wait.” 

You take a bite, your teeth crunching through the exterior and you gasp as you feel the creamy inside. The cake is still warm, sweet vanilla and rum hitting your palate together with the flavor of caramelized sugar. 

“Oh my god…” you hum, slowly chewing as Javi smiles and puts the rest of it in his mouth and grabs a second one, holding it out to you again, “This is so good, Javi,” you say, swallowing your bite and letting him feed you a second one, “Thank you for getting me to make them.” 

“I’m glad you like them,” he smiles, “they are exceptionally good, not even the place in Paris comes even close to these, fresh out of the oven.” 

You reach behind you for a third one, pulling it apart down the middle to reveal the lacy center, your baker brain kicking in as you study how the batter has created strong gluten strands that criss-cross the inside of the cake, making it creamy rather than bready. 

“Really interesting…” you say, turning it over until Javi's mouth suddenly opens over your fingers and he takes the whole piece in one big bite. 

“Thief!” you exclaim, giving him a mock scolding look as he grins, his cheeks stuffed full of cake, his shoulders jumping as he tries to chew and laugh at the same time. When you pout back at him he grabs the fourth canelé and presents it to you with his deep brown puppy eyes wide open and pleading. 

“Please…he mumbles around his mouthful, “please, accept my apology,” he swallows down the last piece as you open your mouth so that he can feed you a bite. You hum around the flavors again, putting both your hands on Javi’s chest and taking hold of his open shirt. 

“I want apologies in kisses,” you demand, pulling him into you as he grins widely. 

“You wish is my command, princesa,” he replies, coming willingly into your arms. 

“That Spanish I understood,” you mumble, his lips brushing against yours again as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“I’m glad, princesa,” he smiles and lets you pull his mouth against yours. 

The bitter coffee mingles with the sweet vanilla on his breath, and you know he must taste the same on yours. He groans, angeling his face, moving so that he can reach more of you, his tongue gliding against yours as you run your fingers through his soft curls. 

The sharp rap of knuckles on the window startles you both, and you look over Javi’s shoulder towards the front door. It’s the damn driver.

With a sigh you pull back and look up at Javi again, “It’s your driver, I guess you’re being “fetched.” 

Javi glances behind him and groans, dropping his forehead down on your shoulder as he turns back. The driver is looking at you with a neutral expression, nothing betrays what he’s thinking about finding his employer in a heavy make out session inside a bakery. 

“I’m sorry,” Javi says, “I will have to go, or there’ll be hell to pay for me when I get back home,” he gives you a pained look, “I’m really sorry, I wish I could stay here.” 

“It’s ok, Javi, you know where to find me when you’re in town again,” you smile, “just come back soon, ok?” 

Javi nods and pulls out his phone, “Give me your number, I’ll come back as soon as I can, but I’m going to try to make canelés at home, and I know I’m going to need your help,” he smiles as you laugh. 

“I’ll make sure you set a timer this time, Javi.” 

You add your number to his phone and hand it back. Javi sighs and looks over his shoulder again, “I should go, he doesn’t like waiting.” 

“Ok,” you say, giving him a small smile as he lifts his hand and strokes your cheek, “come back soon, Javi.” 

“I promise, I will,” he nods, his curls, definitely more unruly now than when he came, bouncing on his head. 

“Oh, wait,” you giggle, “let me button you up, I got a bit carried away,” you smile and quickly do up his yellow shirt, hiding the soft looking, freckled skin again. 

Javi giggles above you as your fingers work your way up, and he grabs your hands as you reach his neck. 

“One more kiss,” he says, “for the road, as they say.” 

You nod as he leans closer, bending his head so that he lips can brush over yours, a last, slow kiss, his tongue coming out to taste yours with a few small licks. 

“Good bye,” he mumbles as he pulls away, holding on to your hand until he has to let go. 

“Safe travels, Javi,” you reply, giving him a small smile. He raises his hand in a last wave and steps out through the door. 

Part Eleven

Tricky recipe but the end result is amazing so I can really recommend it!

Everything tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers  

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez x reader #pedro pascal #Youtube

[bettermiya]

THE DEVIL DOLL.

Pairing: Hinata Shoyou & Reader

WC: 1.7k Triggers: Lobotomy / Platonic Yandere (?) Summary: You find a doll in the trash that you plan to sell. Horror!AU.

He was meant to be a life-sized doll, but he seems small to you. His hair is a messy red, almost orange, standing up in all directions. As you remove him from the dumpster where you found him, you run your fingers through it. It’s a fine material, almost like real hair. He has a layer of some kind of artificial skin over what feels to be a more solid, heavy plastic frame. You wonder briefly why such an expensive looking doll- you’ve seen them in the stores, they’re the next big thing for people with enough money to use dollar bills as kindling for their fireplaces- why is such a thing in the garbage?

You give him a cursory check. He seems to be all in one piece, just dirty and scuffed from his time in the dumpster. There are a few cosmetic damages where smooth skin-you can’t think of anything else to call the material- has been torn or nibbled by pests and the sharp edges of other trash, but you have done repairs like this before. If you heat up the material, you’re fairly sure you can melt the edges together. There may be little ‘scars,’ but if you can get the guy up and running again, you’ll be able to sell him for enough money to get yourself back on track.

You get him home. To clean him off, you end up having to give him a strange sort of sponge bath in the tub. It’s the only place he’ll fit. You’re afraid to get him too wet, though. The dolls are supposed to have a sort of rudimentary AI system, and you doubt throwing him into a vat of rice will save him if he ends up getting water-logged.

Once he’s been cleaned, you place him on the floor in your room and gather your tools. For a lot of fashion type dolls, you can use a hair dryer to heat up the glue enough to remove the doll’s head. This one seems to not have a detachable head in the traditional sense; the neck and head connect together almost seamlessly. From the owner’s manual you downloaded by scanning the QR code on the heel of his foot, you are able to find the power switch, which is an almost imperceptible raised button just behind his left ear.

You press the button and hold it down until you hear the slightly rattling hum, like that of an old computer toward. Sitting back on your heels in front of him, you watch as his head lifts and his eyes slowly open, glowing a faint amber. He cocks his head to one side, regarding you curiously, and offers a smile. When he opens his mouth, a little air brushes your face, and you realize this must be where one of his venting systems is located. The manufacturers really thought of everything to make these dolls seem lifelike.

“Hello, my name is Hinata Shoyo.” He says, a little stutter and warble to his flat voice. It reminds you a little of the voice of one of those text readers people use to make videos on apps like TikTok. You are a little confused by the doll already having a name; the manual made it sound as if the first thing you would do when the doll was booted up for the first time was to give it a name. You suppose this doll already has a name because someone tried it out. Maybe it was a display model. Certainly someone hadn’t spent all that money just to throw it away after naming it.

You briefly scan the manual again and find a page concerning how to reset the doll. The doll’s wide, golden eyes follow your hand as you lift it toward his right ear, searching for the small button just inside the soft whorl. You find it, press it, and hold it down. The doll watches you closely, blinks, and repeats.

“Hello, my name is Hinata Shoyo.”

Strange, but you’ll worry about that later. Besides, even if he has already been programmed with a name, you still believe you can sell him for enough money to change your current circumstances. You smile at him and tell him your name. A thin band of light glows around the edge of his amber iris as he takes in your name and repeats it in that same, flat voice as before. You have a brief moment of panic, before reading in the manual that there can be multiple users with various profiles and preferences. You’ll just delete your profile once you do the necessary repairs and get him in working order again.

As you move about your room, gathering your tools, the doll Hinata watches you. It sits with its legs crossed and its hands resting in its lap. You’ll need to buy the doll new clothes-. The ones that it is wearing now, while freshly cleaned courtesy of your washer and dryer, are falling apart from being exposed to the trash and elements. You aren’t sure what base personality this model of the doll is supposed to have, that would have been something included with the specific box and literature of this particular doll, but you suppose you can ask it. If the doll’s AI is not sophisticated enough to answer basic questions about itself, you can look it up online and shake your head about the price of the doll compared with its actual capabilities. “What model are you?” Hinata straightens as if called to attention and rattles off a long string of letters and numbers. You shake your head quickly, there’s no way you’ll remember all of that. “No, I mean… what is your interest? Or hobby?” You’re scrolling madly through the owner’s manual, trying to find the right verbiage to get your desired response. “I like volleyball.” Hinata says with a bright smile. The expression on its face is almost human in its excitement- almost.

A sports model. You can hardly contain your own excitement. The ones that help with learning and practicing sports are the more expensive models, since they include sensors for heart rate levels, step counting, and other health and wellness based applications. Why was Hinata in the dumpster? The question keeps nagging at the back of your mind like an itch you can’t quite scratch, but you’re too excited and too deep in mentally creating the list of the bills you’ll pay and things you’ll treat yourself with when you sell the doll. “Hinata, can you run a vitals scan for me, please?” You ask, just as a test. The doll stands and moves to you. It reaches out its hands; one circles the bicep of your left arm and the other your right wrist. The hand clutching your left arm begins to tighten its grip, the tips of the doll’s fingers applying enough pressure to be uncomfortable, almost painful. You gasp and try to pull away, but Hinata holds firm. It’s only a few moments, but they are frightening ones. He releases you, and you stagger back. “Your blood pressure is slightly elevated, but vitals seem to be strong.” Hinata says matter-of-factly. He tilts his head and smiles. “Do you want to go for a run? Do some drills?” Of course. That’s why his grip was so tight; he was checking blood pressure. You take a moment to calm your breathing. Shaking your head, you offer him a small, nervous smile. “That’s okay. Tell me all about yourself while I start working on your repairs.” Hinata’s expression changes into something that looks very intense. Were his pupils always slitted like a cat? “I’m not broken.” His voice sounds strange. It's stuttering again, glitching.

“No, of course not! You just have a few cuts and you need new clothes.” You say quickly, gesturing to the tears in his skin and his obviously ruined clothes. Hinata looks down at himself and seems to notice his clothes for the first time. His eyes go back to normal, and you’re not sure if they had even changed before or if that was just a trick of the light. He sits down on the edge of your bed and the smile is back. The repairs don’t take long. Once you gather the necessary tools and materials and lots of coffee and energy drinks, you are able to finish over the course of a weekend. You managed to order a volleyball jersey off the internet and get it rush delivered. It fits him a little loosely, but it’ll be good enough. Whoever buys him can get him better clothes. The uniform is a black and orange polo sort of shirt and shorts. (Orange to match the bright color of his hair.) You take photos of him, making sure to take photos of the small areas where you repaired him, and upload them along with his description. You start the price on the lower end for his model, hoping that the bidding will get higher as the time passes. When you’re finished, you take a moment to let yourself feel excited and hopeful. You go to sleep with a smile on your face. There is still that nagging voice in the back of your mind. Why was he thrown away? You don’t notice his eyes glowing from the corner of your room. You wake up to a loud sound and find Hinata standing over your destroyed computer. Your eyes widen, but before you can draw the breath needed to scream, he is on top of you. He’s so fast, a blur of motion. He sits heavily on your stomach, and you can see a jagged piece of glass in his hand, most likely from the screen of your computer. He is staring at you with those wide, golden eyes and those slitted pupils you thought were just your imagination.

“You were going to sell me…” Somehow, his modulated voice sounds sad. You try to speak, but his free hand lashes out and catches your throat. His hand begins to squeeze, and suddenly you can’t breathe. “I thought we were friends.” You thrash beneath him, clawing at his hand, but he doesn’t budge. Darkness is starting to crowd your vision; your head is beginning to swim. He lowers the tip of the glass toward your eye. “I think we can still be friends, don’t you? I’ll make sure you’re unconscious while I make your repairs.” He’s smiling broadly, his eyes are so wide they look like twin, glowing suns. As you black out, you feel the tip of the glass shard pressing between your eye and its socket, digging deeper and deeper. “Friends forever.”

#hinata shoyo x y/n #hinata shoyo x reader #yandere hinata #yandere haikyuu #hinata shoyo imagine #written by iwachan

[ratsoh-writes]

The more active Skeletons were sparring between themselves and crush was watching them train, when skeleton summon the blasters crush is visually shocked, at the end of the fight, skele kinda thinks he scared them, when crush, with the most serious determined face skele ever saw, asks "can I pet them?", if skele says yes they will jump from hapiness. Reactions? With Lush, Pepper, Fisher, G, Charm, Sugar please! :)

Ohoho this sounds cute!

Lush: oh well~ lush happily summons his blaster so crush can pet it like a puppy. He pointedly doesn’t mention that gaster blasters aren’t at all sentient. They’re literally just magic attacks so crush may as well be petting a baseball bat right now. A win is a win though.

Pepper: he laughs and asks SO why on earth they’d want to pet one? Do they pet their vacuum at home? Or their coffee machine? A gaster blaster isn’t alive you know! He still does let crush pet it lol

Fisher: he gets this totally evil grin on his face before agreeing. His crush is too excited to notice, and winds up screeching when while they pet the weapon, the gaster blaster jerks around a bit. It spooked them and fished apologized while giggling. He couldn’t help it!

Jasper: he tilts his head confused but complies, summoning his blaster for crush to pet. He helpfully offers to bring out some bone attacks for them to pet too. Jasper doesn’t realize his crush thinks the gaster blaster is actually alive

Charm: he naturally makes a joke that if crush wants to pet something, they should go for something a bit more sentient and softer. Like him~ charm promptly gets swatted of course

Sugar: he giggles and tells his crush that they’ll be disappointed when they learn it’s simply just another form of bone attack. As lifelike as the blasters look, they sadly aren’t any different than another weapon like a knife. Pet away though!

#undertale imagines #undertale headcanons #underlust #lustfell #seatale

[belphiesreverie]

Been having so many thoughts abt a yandere living doll genshin AU recently so I’m gonna spew my thoughts here. Pls feel free to talk to me abt it in my inbox or even give your own ideas, it is big brainrot rn!! (And if you wanted to be a named anon and get your own tag that would be very cool 😳👉🏻👈🏻)

Ok so for a bit of like world building (?), the reader makes like life size ball jointed dolls as a job. And they have a warehouse that they work out of and store all the dolls that are on sale or waiting to be shipped etc. And they also make commission dolls and such which people can buy

Now for this AU, reader has been having some issues with their dolls recently. The custom Xiao doll that they were getting ready to ship has gone missing and they can’t find him anywhere, the Ayato that should’ve arrived at the customers house a week ago never arrived and they came back to their house to see the package waiting on their doorstep, someone is begging to return their Albedo because they he keeps moving and his eyes are too lifelike and creepy, the list could go on

And now they’re stuck with a warehouse full of dolls that people don’t want and have no clue what to do with them. They’ve been put up for resale but nobody is buying them and whenever they go to try and salvage some parts from the dolls for new ones, something always goes wrong

And now, even though they didn’t want to believe the claims of the people who returned some dolls, they swear that they’ve been moving around. Because they are almost certain that they left the Childe doll near the fabric bin, so why is he standing next to their tools now? And the Zhongli doll is holding an empty tea cup but they took all his accessories off of him so where did he get it from?

The dolls know they’re scaring their poor creator, but they’re too upset at the fact they tried to get rid of them to care at the moment. Maybe a little bit of a freight is what they need to understand that they should never take their eyes off of them again…

#living doll au #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere xiao x reader #yandere albedo x reader #yandere ayato x reader #yandere childe x reader #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere x reader #tw yandere