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insomniumstella · 7 months

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spice & honey

bucky x baker!reader

summary: cinnamon buns and wickedly strong coffee must be the only reasons James Buchanan Barnes visits your bakery daily, despite the inconvenience of driving to a small town on the outskirts of Upstate New York. right?

warnings: first dates and crushes (absolutely classified as warnings), mead consumption, a curse word or two, soft!bucky

word count: 4,565

author's note: i've been watching Gilmore Girls a little too much lately (hence the little easter egg). on another note, autumn is my favourite season, so prepared to be sick of James attending harvest festivals and drinking apple cider 🍂🥧🎃

all the stories i've written

September 21st marks the official arrival of Autumn. Though the weather has been rather cheerful lately, today’s air is much crisper and heavier with the promise of looming rain. The streets of Eldermont remain far too green to your dismay, but Spice & Honey—the bakery you’ve owned for the past five years—is rich in shades of marigold and copper. A wide assortment of mugs, mostly in various shapes of pumpkins, and spiced teas, line the shelves, while the fresh jars of apple butter are neatly stacked alongside the register. Besides the usual treats, the glass display teems with seasonal favourite pumpkin tarts and apple cider donuts.

The everlasting chatter of customers and soft sounds of a vintage record you scored at a neighbour’s garage sale just last month saturate the space as you place the second batch of cinnamon rolls on the counter. The clock reads 10:57 AM, and though you’ve been attempting to conceal your excitement, Vivienne could sense it the second you stepped through the door, teasing you about the very special visitor who’s always in need of sugary buns and black coffee at exactly five past eleven.

James Buchanan Barnes is a regular customer, you often argue. The nervous babble, flustered movements, and beaming smiles convey otherwise. And so yes, you might have a little bit of a schoolgirl crush on the freakishly tall, muscular brunette who brings in the latest editions of The Culinary Canvas magazine each Monday and notices the smallest of changes in your recipes. Just maybe, you reluctantly ponder when your thoughts inadvertently wander to that charming grin and baby blue eyes every time you knead the dough for his adored treat — a dessert once reserved for Autumn suddenly available year around.

“Staring at the entrance won’t make time pass quicker,” Vivienne whispers, arranging butterscotch cupcakes by the pumpkin tarts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper back, covering the pans with aluminum foil.

Perhaps hiding the pastries, a favourite amongst Spice & Honey shoppers, is not the best business decision, but Eldermont is merely a small town in Upstate New York. If it wasn’t located a thirty minute drive south of the Avengers compound, most people wouldn’t be aware of its presence in the first place. And besides, everybody in Eldermont is connected to everybody — the town holds no secrets, including the pastries you keep warm and frost fresh.

“The tall, dark, and handsome man,” she points out, “still has a few minutes. Perchance the preparations of Eldermont’s Annual Harvest Festival made it trickier to find parking.” Vivienne turns to you with a mirthful grin, the cupcakes resting perfectly positioned in the glass case. “You should invite him. Heard Brad brewed an incredible batch of apple cider mead this year.”

You sigh, snatching the golden tray out of her grasp. “I’m not asking Bucky out.”

“Ah! Bucky!” The woman’s grin widens. “Forgot his name for a second.” Shades of mischief dance in her tone as she marks Elijah’s, the eccentric owner of Marigold Meadows flower shop across the street, special order of fifty maple bacon BLTs as completed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that you mention Bucky at least seven times a day.”

“Seven’s oddly specific,” you note and swiftly, “also I do not,” disagree.

“Bucky smelled great today,” Vivienne mocks your voice, the grin you’ve come to love—and hate—remaining on her features. “Should I add apple to the cinnamon rolls? I wonder if Bucky would enjoy apple cinnamon rolls with brown butter and maple icing unless he’s a creature of habit. Maybe I should suggest a sprinkle of nutmeg in his coffee to test the waters first—“

“Vivienne,” you groan, yet she persists.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Bucky could say no. Bucky could also choose The Sugared Whisk. Bucky wouldn’t. I adore their croissants, but the coffee is terribly weak, and even their tea selection is mediocre. Indigo should include spiced teas. And sure, Luke's doesn't offer spiced teas, but Luke’s sells great coffee and danishes, except the danishes are only available on Wednesdays.” She recites a recent monologue of yours, and if you weren’t mortified, you’d actually be quite surprised at Vivienne’s ability to remember conversations as if they happened minutes ago.

The doorbell chimes before she has the chance to finish, and you’re highly unsure of whether it’s a saved by the bell kind of situation or if you’d rather the floor magically swallow you whole.

“Good morning.” James smiles, and it’s then that you decide you’d rather the floor split open because you’re awfully flustered by his entrance despite secretly anticipating the moment since the sun arose.

“Hiya, Bucky,” she returns the favour, secretly nudging your side. “Have you ever been to the annual Eldermont’s Harvest Festival?”

“Cannot say I have,” he chuckles, breaking eye contact between the two for just a second to glance at her.

Though you’d never admit it aloud, those eyes, baby blue on sunny days and resembling the ocean on the ones of rain, cross your mind more than a pair of eyes should. This infatuation borders on obsessive, you often contemplate. James Buchanan Barnes is an Avenger for heaven’s sake, and you’re almost sure a man of his maturity and composure wouldn’t agree to a date with a baker, a clutz one at that. It’s not that you’d want to, nevertheless. The two of you have a great thing together — you serve coffee, he survives on coffee, and if time allows, the lighthearted conversations you have bring colours to otherwise monotone days.

“The decorations, the food, the people are phenomenal.” You might have to assign the redhead to kneading duty if she’s heading to that territory. “This beauty right here could take you on a real good tour. Eldermont is gorgeous this time of year.” Enjoy kneading bread, Vivi.

“Is it?” James grins, his stare flicking between you and Vivienne.

“Drop dead,” she reiterates, “much like the women.”

“Vivienne,” you suddenly cut in, “the coffee station is out of paper cups. Could you bring some from the back?”

She gives you another grin, less mischievous and more understanding, nodding at Bucky before she disappears into the kitchen. The heavy wooden doors create a boisterous sound once they close, and you couldn’t be happier for a distraction because you cannot look at the brunette just yet. The bakery is sweltering, and your hands are sweaty, and, if it wasn’t evident you’ve been nurturing a crush on James, Vivienne practically plastered a HEAD BAKER IN LOVE WITH SERGEANT BARNES sign out front.

“The station’s out of cups?”

“Yes!” You glimpse behind the shoulder, deciding to keep the lie alive. “Spice & Honey gets busy during the afternoons, and we run out quickly.” The words leave your mouth rushed and a bit muttered, but the effort is there. “Black coffee and a cinnamon bun?”

“It’s a habit,” his smile is as charming as always. James hesitates for a beat, observing you locate the plastic to-go containers. “The festival Vivienne touched on, have you ever been?”

The atmosphere stills for an awkward second as you gawk at him. “Oh, sure,” you answer at last, praying her babbling wasn’t too obvious because you couldn’t fathom Bucky choosing The Sugared Whisk. “Every year since I was four. The festival’s great. Brad brews the best mead, and Johnny, the mayor, is comically strict about the decorations, so it’s all pumpkins, and string lights, and festive garlands,” you mumble, scrambling for the pan and cream cheese frosting. “I’ve even heard whispers of fireworks this year. It’s next Saturday if you want to drop by. Cassie bakes the best apple pies.”

“Better than yours?”

“I don’t serve apple pies,” averting your eyes to study the grinder seems like the best decision to avoid his piercing gaze.

“I’m sure they’d be the best if you did.” Bucky beams, leaning against the counter as he observes you make coffee.

“Thank you,” the expression of gratitude melts into somewhat of a question despite your best attempts at keeping your voice level, “but the pies I bake often turn out horribly wrong. The apples were overcooked, and the dough raw last time I tried.”

“How undercooked?”

“The trash can enjoyed most of it.”

James laughs at that, the sound of it hearty and endearing. “I’m sure it found the pie delicious.” If he’s flirting with you, you can’t tell, and you don’t exactly want to, for expectations are the fool’s hope. “If you’re not terribly busy during the festival,” he speaks after a protracted moment of doubt, “I’d love to take you up on that tour Vivienne mentioned.”

“Tour?” The man in front of you must almost all but hear your heart pounding rapidly inside your chest.

“The tour of mead, pies, and decorations.”

“Oh?” You tinker with a couple napkins, peering at him. “I’m not sure I could give you a real good tour, I’m barely a guide, believe me. I got lost in that new Target on Cedar Lane, and I cannot understand maps, and—“

“I’m asking you out on a date.” Bucky chuckles at your flustered visage, baby blues never once breaking the eye contact.

“Shit,” the curse word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you silently reprimand yourself for the rash impulse of colourful words. “Alright.”

The sergeant titters at your sudden reaction, a shy smile dancing on his lips. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable. I just thought we might have something between us, chemistry of sorts, and that it might’ve been fun,” he briefly pauses, eyes wild and roaming around your face. “It’s just that Vivienne mentioned Eldermont being gorgeous in the fall, and it got me thinking that I’ve never truly experienced it, because the only thing I visit in this town is your bakery, not that it’s the only place worth visiting—“

“Bucky—“

“There are many stores I should probably check out, and Samuel’s birthday is in a couple of days, which is convenient. I wouldn’t describe Sam and I as the best of pals, but Steve likes him, so I should probably get him a gift.”

“Who’s Samuel?” You ask puzzled, but the flustered soldier standing before you continues to ramble.

“Something small to indicate I remembered but not necessarily care. Something that screams I’m not a total jerk, but you are for reminding the whole compound that your birthday’s on the twenty third. A wooden statue of a bird. Sam likes birds, particularly Redwing, though Redwing’s not technically a bird. A wooden bird statue would certainly insult him, so it’s settled — the plan is to visit Artists & Wood on Land.”

“The shop’s name is Woodland Artistry,” you correct with a gentle smile.

“Right!” James clicks his tongue, studying your softly amused features. “We should probably forget this conversation happened. It was a stupid idea too—“

“Yes,” you interject. “I mean no.” Surely, this scenario is a strange dream that wicked mind of yours created to punish you for the sins you assumably committed in every single one of your previous lives. It’s the only possible explanation for the sergeant’s flustered behaviour. “I would absolutely love to go on a date,” you say and pinch the flesh of your thigh for reassurance, but the scene remains as it was, “with you.”

Gently placing a twenty on the counter, James gleams at you. “I’ve never actually given you my number, have I?”

"No," you shake your head to indicate disagreement, pinching the flesh of your thighs once more. “Only the pleasure of our little chats,” the response makes you wince. The pleasure of our little chats? Something’s definitely wrong with me.

Chuckling, James grasps one of the pens you keep by the cash register and scribbles down a series of numbers on his receipt. "If I don't reply, Steve must be holding me hostage.”

"Duly noted," you grin, folding the piece of paper to tuck it into the back pocket of your denim shorts.

He stands there for a second as if absorbing the situation. “Good. It’s a date, then.” he smiles in the end, taking the coffee and the plastic box, and peeks at you behind his shoulder. “And keep the change, please. These treats of yours are more than worth it.”

A timid smile spreads across your lips at the compliment before you sink your teeth into the soft of your bottom lip, observing the soldier scramble out of the bakery, the phone in his flannel jacket ringing for attention.

“Next time,” the redhead appears beside you once James disappears out of sight with a final wave goodbye, “you should give the man coffee and buns on the house," Vivienne nudges you, "both of them."

A surge of warmth rushes to your cheeks at her innuendo. “It’s great you suddenly possessed the ability to teleport and all, but the dough back there won’t knead itself.”

“No,” she gasps, and you only laugh at her realisation, turning to help the next customer.

It’s a date.

The evening of Eldermont’s harvest festival is pleasant, neither too blazing nor cold, but despite the temperature and the appropriate sundress you’ve chosen for it, you’re on the verge of fainting. I cannot faint on our first date, you think and decide it’s the man next to you’s fault, really. The smell of his cologne is too addicting, the hints of pine and cinnamon in his aftershave too intoxicating. James is a gentleman, which you expected and appreciate, but it’s overwhelming, the way he holds your hand to lead you through crowds and attentively listens to your overdrawn stories about the origins of pumpkin carving. Heavens help me.

“Have you checked out the corn maze yet?” Brad asks cheerfully. He’s surrounded by large beverage urns and stacks of disposable drinkware. “Mary mentioned Elijah’s still in there,” he chuckles, pouring two paper cups full of steaming apple cider mead. “The fool must’ve gotten lost or something.”

“Must’ve,” you glance at him, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a half smile. “Happens every year.”

“The two of you should go,” Brad speaks once again before smiling at Bucky. “It’s a great first date activity.”

James chuckles, and you wonder if he regrets asking you on a date. The small town you call home is ludicrously close, and if Vivienne didn’t spill the beans to Mary as she promised, Mary must’ve spread the ‘rumours’ around herself. The town’s beloved bookshop owner is an incredible woman, but she loves to gossip, and you should’ve expected the second person after Vivienne to consistently insert themselves into your dating life to jump to conclusions. Though the situation isn’t precisely comfortable for you, it must be worse for James. Whilst he has never outright mentioned, the soldier has important reasons to stay under the radar. Bucky has witnessed a lot, horrors you’ve even heard about on the TV, and currently, every resident of Eldermont is aware that James Buchanan Barnes is on a date. With a local baker, nonetheless. Participating in acorn tossing and harvest bingo and conversing with Brad Monty about all kinds of sneaky activities couples get up to in the corn maze. You're certain that James is bound to vanish without a trace due to the town's antics if your diffident and often rather awkward behavior hasn't already scared him away. The anxious parts of your brain have even compiled a mental list of today's disasters:

Johnny wiped his sweaty hands on Bucky’s jacket, realising the blunder only to mumble “I love this jacket, Sergeant Barnes”, and pretending he wanted to initiate a hug before he disappeared.

Cassie offered you a sample of pecan pie, which you eagerly tasted due to Bucky’s “If I had to choose the second best pie after apple, it would be pecan” comment, and completely choked on.

Vivienne located you in the farmer’s market to say “hello”, and persuaded James to purchase a pair of beaded bracelets, the two of you had ridiculed moments earlier, for “every first date needs a souvenir to remember it by”.

James guided you to Mary’s bookstore because you conferred a series of rare hardbacks Mary hides in the back for special customers, and the older woman steered you towards a selection of intimacy guides.

Indigo, The Sugared Whisk owner, pleaded with James for Captain America’s number in the middle of a busy intersection and discussed his “timeless looks” for the next couple of minutes until a car almost struck the three of you.

Elijah phoned you in distress, panicking about “having to live out his best years in a smelly corn maze”, which disturbed the sergeant and resulted in an “Elijah will find the exit eventually” monologue on your side.

You accepted to take a photo of a tourist couple, accidentally dropping the wife’s phone and shattering the screen because James stood so close, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Thanks, Brad,” you fumble with your wallet, hastily placing a ten on the stand. “See you around.”

“Doll,” Bucky doesn’t move once you attempt to remove him from the nightmare that is the situation the two of you found yourselves in. It gives you a second to evaluate his expression, and much to your surprise, his features are as soft as ever. James is blushing, too. “I wanted to pay for that.”

“You paid for the apple pie,” the words slip past your lips mumbled because the only thing you can truly concentrate on is the fact James is blushing. Blushing as a result of Brad’s stories about couples so in love they simply cannot be bothered to locate the labyrinth’s exit before proving their emotions to the world. Couples that could be the two of you. Possibly. A sane person shouldn’t rush to assumptions unless they earned the sweetest nickname from a dream of a man. You’ve never paid much thought to whether you would enjoy being called a ‘doll’—you do, but you would probably adore every label he’d choose. The notion steers your head toward unexpected and dirty waters, and you couldn’t be happier for Brad’s decision to chime in.

“Cassie outdid herself this year,” he nods. “I’m most definitely going to dream about that blackberry pie tonight.”

“Yes,” James agrees never once breaking the eye contact with you. “The pies were delicious, and it was my pleasure to pay. It was me who demanded a tour.”

“You may pay for the maze then,” you smile at him, “but leave the ten — I’m not that great of a tour guide, and I’m afraid of the dark.”

“Dates should be fun,” James suddenly speaks. “We could’ve skipped the labyrinth.”

The corn maze is high and intimidating, but Bucky’s presence and the soft glow of an orange sunset manage to silence your fears a bit. The passages are almost entirely empty except for the two of you, and each corner you take makes your heart jump at the possibility of encountering spooky surprises.

“This is fun,” you reassure, taking a sip of mead. James shoots you a look you cannot truly decipher, but you decide the meaning is somewhere between worried and teasing. “It is,” you hesitate for a beat. “I just keep remembering the haunted corn maze in Greenwood. They have scare actors there, who jump out of the bushes when you least expect it and completely startle you. Vivienne took me there last year, and I cannot shake the memories.”

The expression on his face melts into sympathy. “If it’s any consolation, I would protect you against all the zombies and monsters this maze might throw at us,” he speaks before, “not that it has any,” adding.

“If theme’s anything to go by, I think we’re OK,” you chuckle at his offer, referring to the cutesy signs and charmingly painted pumpkins scattered throughout the labyrinth, “unless Johnny decided to include a couple gory scenes at the end, though it’d end worse for him than it would for me.”

“Johnny The Mayor?”

“Johnny The Mayor,” you take yet another sip, nodding. The beverage is barely warm twenty minutes into the attraction, providing only the comfort of a soft alcohol tipsiness.

“He’s a charming little fella,” Bucky notes, and you don’t have it in yourself to deny the statement. “I’ve never experienced someone initiating a hug by wiping their hands on my jacket.”

“Sorry,” you offer sheepishly because what could you say after an occurrence so bizarre. Everyone in this town is strange? James must’ve caught on to the fact by this time.

“It’s alright, and besides, I now have a humorous story to recount at parties, which is a first,” he gleams at you. “It may come as a surprise, but I’m not usually the life of it.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You shift to gaze at him before emptying the cup of mead to steady your nerves.

“I don’t promise to answer,” James grins, fiddling with the beaded bracelet, “but yes.”

“Who’s Samuel?”

“That’s your question?” He laughs as his flesh arm slithers to rest upon your waist. At least you think it’s his flesh arm. The man wears gloves whether the sun shines or the rain pours. You’ve seen pictures, though, and read stories of The Winter Soldier in possession of a metal arm. Neither raise concern, not for the reason you’re smitten with Bucky. Rather, because James was manipulated and stripped of free will, and if heaven would descend, perhaps because that metal arm is sinfully attractive. It’s a thought forbidden to be mentioned aloud, for the gloves are a large indicator he’d enjoy staying silent about the matter. “Who’s Samuel?”

“Yes,” you sputter. The butterflies his simple action caused you don’t mention. “I want to hear about this Samuel. I’ve been informed he likes birds, especially Redwing, who’s not technically a bird?”

“The Samuel I was babbling about is Sam Wilson. The Falcon, if you’re a fan of CNN,” James teases, steering you into the left pathway of the maze. Despite your instinct to choose right, you stay silent. “Redwing’s a drone of sorts Sam uses on missions, and, this is a direct quote, for surveillance. I despise the thing.”

“If we get lost, forget the second date,” you playfully threaten. Though the coziness of his body pressed to yours is intoxicating, it does nothing to ease the goosebumps painted on your skin, and as the sky bleeds in shades of crimson and purple, the sun melts into the horizon, teasing you for forgetting a sweater. “I would’ve categorised holding a grudge against an object as below you.”

“If the shoe fits,” he chortles, leading you down a long passage before abruptly stopping. Hesitating for a beat, he drapes the flannel jacket you’ve come to love on the man around your body. The garment is red and weighty, and it smells of James. The gesture makes your heart swell with admiration, but you ignore it. Dates should be approached with a blank slate because expectations are easily shattered. “I shouldn’t deliver Steve that woman’s phone number, should I?” Bucky’s arm finds your waist again.

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “on the bright side, Indigo is quite a pleasant woman,” you verbalise the thought. James observes your expression, baby blues studying the same features he cannot resist thinking about at nightfall. Blood rushes to his cheeks at the notice of your fingers on his lower back, the heat of your skin piercing through his charcoal henley. “She’d certainly treat Captain America right. On the downside,” you pause, “Indigo is the exact opposite of Steve as the media portrays him. Come to think about it, both of us are.”

“How so?”

“The media portrays supersoldiers as courageous, but Indigo and I once had to call Luke to get rid of a teeny spider. Steve’s active in politics, whilst we often skip the town’s meetings—“

“Eldermont holds town meetings?” James chuckles, subconsciously drawing you in closer.

“Once a month, always on the first Tuesday,” you gleam at him before drawing in a deep breath to calm your violently beating heart. “Last time, we discussed the very pressing issue of Halloween decorations. Johnny insists every business on the main street must participate in the festivities. Indigo and I escaped out the back before the mayor could finish his speech. At the least, Steve would’ve stayed in that meeting, and at the most, he would’ve managed it.”

“People do say opposites attract.”

“Heard that before,” you agree. The loose strand of Bucky’s auburn hair tempts you to tuck it behind his ear, but you halt the impulse of committing such a ludicrous decision. “It must be true because you drink coffee black, and I prefer lattes. You have cinnamon buns for breakfast, and I, if time would be gracious enough for breakfast, would choose danishes.”

“The jury’s decided, then.” The corners of his mouth quirk up into a lazy and wickedly attractive smile, and, you almost wonder if Bucky’s aware of the effect he has on your body because if he isn't, your buckling knees must’ve given it away. “Opposites do attract.” His wildly confident attitude is a new discovery, but you decide you like it. “It would be a shame to ignore matters of the universe.” Confidence is a good shade on him.

“Is this your way of asking me on a second date?” You tease the man, memorising the pink hues veiling his cheekbones.

James guides you around the corner, observing the corn maze’s exit, and halts his movements. “Only if the lady agrees,” he shifts to stand before you, catching your forearms in his gloved hands, “which I’m sincerely hoping she does.”

Resting your arms on his shoulders, you gift yourself a quick moment to explore his features — the stubble gently lining his sharp jaw, the little scar above his eyebrow, and the red lips you, despite hiding it, wanted to kiss since he first visited Spice & Honey. “The lady would love to go on a second date.”

“Good,” an emotion you cannot comprehend waltzes in his eyes, but, for the sake of your composure, you abstain from thinking it could possibly be lust. “The gentleman is looking forward to it.” There's an argument happening inside him, you can sense it by the way he keeps drawing you closer until the space between your bodies is virtually erased, but retains his posture straight and almost rigid. The weight of should he or should he not lingers in the air around you before James catches your stare and smiles timidly, shattering the flicker of hope you have for him to kiss you. You don’t exactly yearn for him to kiss you. In theory, kiss-less first dates are a great idea, paving the way for deeper conversations and a closer bond. They build anticipation. Anticipation is good, you ponder for a second, but all you can truly focus on is whether James would taste like apple cider mead or the sugary desserts you two savoured earlier. “The night is still young," he speaks, the tone of his voice light and reticent. "It would be a shame to end the date this early."

“Luke’s open if you want to grab a quick dinner,” you say with a grin, stepping away from him. “Though we should probably exit the maze first.”

“Yes,” Bucky laughs and extends his arm towards the light at the end of the passage. “Lead the way, pretty lady.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x baker reader #bucky x baker!reader #insomniumstella #bucky x reader spice & honey

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wordsinhaled · 2 years

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consider... hob and Things and history

hob getting settled enough to hold on to old things in a very intentional way because of the way they hold memory; the way they bring the past into the present. hob still writing with his sheaffer snorkel and his parker 51, lovingly restoring them when they break. hob making himself eggs in the morning in the same cast-iron pan he's carried from lifetime to lifetime, identity to identity, stripping and re-seasoning it each time he leaves an old life behind

hob still wearing his denim jacket covered in vintage pins from the pride parades of the 1970s and 80s. hob preferring slow fashion and thrifting; watching clothing trends go out of style and come back in. hob owning a smartwatch, but his 1880s pocket watch still runs and keeps time. and he's the same man who bent his ear to its reliable tick 140 years ago but he isn't the same, not the same at all—and it reminds him of how he's grown with the passage of time, and how he should always keep growing

(when it is time, when he is ready, some of hob's things always go to museums if they're particularly significant, or they get left to friends or to lovers, a little bit of him to hold on to in a life he sheds)

hob's things being a love letter to material culture, though not for the sake of materialism. hob recognizing the luxury of being able to stay in a place for a long enough time to own well-loved things, and the privilege in that, after having experienced abject poverty and dispossession himself; after having inflicted poverty and dispossession and cruelty on others

and so he wants his home to be a home for everyone. he wants his things to bring everyone love, to bring people together. he wants his inn to be a place for everyone (and he means everyone, and he'll fight anyone who jeopardizes that). especially, he hopes for it to be a place where his lonely once-stranger (dream, he still has to remind himself, sometimes) might feel a little less lonely

come to the inn of an evening and hob will make you a drink expertly mixed through decades of practice and infused with welcome. a solid chunk of the barware in the new inn is thrifted vintage, and he lets the patrons eat off and drink from it daily, lets them break it without apology, because things should be used and loved and carry stories

if someone breaks a mismatched teacup, sometimes he glues it back together and drills a hole in the bottom of it for drainage and plants something in it. if someone breaks a plate or a cup, irretrievably soils a linen napkin, warps the tines of a fork... hob sands away any rough porcelain edges. puts all the little remnants of life lived in the inn into a bin by the door and sticks a note on it that says "take a piece of our history :)"

and people do take things, silly as it seems. hob spots a scrap of an old floral linen napkin from the bin tied around the handlebar of a student's e-scooter like a streamer. one of his patrons takes the shards of a 1900s bowl and makes a mosaic art piece out of it that he brings to hob to put up at the inn; hob insists he couldn't possibly take it, keep it, put it in your home, make me another

his colleague from the history department invites hob over for dinner at his home, and they use the set of 3 plates that went in the bin because the fourth plate broke. the phelps' son just went off to uni and they're empty nesters now, and it's a perfect lucky little number, oddly healing for the three of them, dr. phelps and his wife and hob, eating off these three plates and thinking about kids growing up too quickly, kids meeting their potential, kids lost before their time

come to the inn, and if you come in on a friday hob will be serving weekly community dinner, good enough to make your grandmother cry, because it's home-cooked from recipes he's perfected over generations—first chicken-scratch-scrawled in iron gall ink on a piece of notebook paper and now scanned in high-res onto his tablet and emailed around to the staff. when hob moves on to his next life people will still be talking about this meal, making these dishes for their families

come to the inn and if you need it, hob will put you up in one of the rooms for free, no questions asked, for however long you need—all he asks is that you sit with him even for 15 minutes before you leave and tell him your story. he's got a noticeboard up on the wall and it asks people to leave little notes and drawings and things, and when the board gets full he puts everything in a scrapbook and labels it with the dates and keeps the scrapbooks on a little library book cart for people to look through

consider dream visiting hob's flat and passing his hands over hob's thrifted and loved and long-lived objects; being able to tell their provenance in the dreams of their former owners. dream and hob together honoring the living memories of hob's things and the people who once loved them

dream telling hob about the old woman who owned his teakettle once, and daydreamed, whenever she brewed her tea, of when she'd first met her late husband at 19, because his cologne had smelled of bergamot. about the two men who wrote each other the pair of victorian postcards hob keeps taped to his dresser mirror; about their secret love affair, and how there had been so many letters before that, all of them burned in an abundance of caution. about the sisters who'd worked together to piece the quilt hob sleeps beneath at night—how they'd posted it across the country back and forth to each other over years until it was finished

hob being living history. preserving it in himself. in his things. in his memories. in the memories and spaces he creates and curates

#the sandman #hob gadling #dreamling #i'M EMO

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star-quill · 11 months

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what are ur fav peter headcanons <3

omg giggles i have so many

while i say he's the big spoon, whenever he's upset he will always love being the little spoon. he needs to be taken care of and being held and made sure he's safe is something he loves.

it's a known fact he will have music playing all the time but he also plays it when he's sleeping. not loud, the volume is faintly playing in the room but it helps him sleep easier.

contrary to popular belief, i think he's an excellent cook. he has this special spicy tomato and garlic pasta recipe that he loves making and even makes some garlic bread to go along with him.

he's a whizz with space technology but slap an iphone in front of him and this man will go blank. he's not a great texter but he tries his best. oh, he fucking loves emojis. this one (🕺) is his favourite. he also got teary eyed when he saw the raccoon emoji.

his music taste is still stuck in the 70s/80s but he's gradually becoming accustomed to modern day music too. i definitely feel like he'd enjoy arctic monkeys' new stuff (mainly tbh+c and the car) more so than the old stuff but other than that, he just enjoys what he's listened to his whole life.

he's definitely a sucker for collectibles. like pin badges or posters, especially if they're like vintage style. he frames them and sticks them up on his wall in his room. not all of them match but he kinda likes that.

he's usually just used to taking showers on the ship or on planets if they have to stop for long periods of time so now that he's back on earth, he craves baths. just soaking up and relaxing for a few hours, he's in absolute heaven. and yes he uses bubbles and soaps.

very good at diy. can put a shelf up in less than 5 minutes. doesn't enjoy chores very much but he seems to end up just doing them anyway without any complaints.

loves being active. works out a few times a week, goes for runs, etc. and when he's bored, he'll just take a stroll round the neighbourhood, stopping to talk to anyone he meets on his path. and he will pet all the dogs he sees.

i could go on for hours abt him fr he means so much to me my little babygirl ☹️🫶

#he's my litle scrumply i lov talking abt him #i will talk abt him 24/7 #peter quill #peter quill x reader #peter quill drabble #peter quill headcanons #peter quill fluff #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #✎ peter quill #answered #anon

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kame-writes · 3 days

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Concerning the media overlords au:

First of all: I love it! Thank you for sharing the idea with us <33

Second: Does Alastor live in the tower with the other Vees? And does Alastor still move into the hotel? If yes, on a scale of one to absolutely how sad/pissed/jealous is Vox after receiving this info?

3. I'd like to imagine Velvette's fingers are constantly itching to get ahold of that handsome deer man, who doesn't know how to dress himself properly or trendy, and give his wardrobe an upgrade. Could you imagine this happening? (Maybe with lots of alcohol involved. So that he would at least temporarily let her experiment with his clothes. Bonus points if she is able to take picture too. Vox would obviously make himself some copies for.. private reasons...) Do you see my vision?? Can you see it??

4. Can Vox convince Alastor to do more audio features within their network? Like podcasts or interviews and the like? Or are they just screams as well? (I recently discovered a podcast about cooking, where each week they talk about one ingredient and explain a recipe with it. I think this would fit Alastor's preferences very well.. tho the ingredients might not be as commonly used now that I think about it... anyhow... now I can't stop thinking about Hannibal and Alastor hosting a food podcast.. oops.. sorry, but not really)

5. You mentioned that Husk still works in his casino, if he isn't needed. Do you have any headcanons for Niffty's whereabouts?

Anyway that's all for now! Have a lovely day/night! <33

p.s. Sorry if this ask is intrusive. For some questions it's pretty clear that I've already imagined something for myself that may or may not fit with your vision of this au. If you feel like I overstepped, feel free to ignore this or send me an alastor_fuck_u. gif :D

Im am very happy to have questions asked! You have no idea how many ideas i have and dont know what to do with xD

I'd love to see other peoples headcanons and ideas for this universe, if anyone does anything for it then please tag me so i can see ^^

This is gonna get long so I've put it under a read more

2: No one is really sure if he lives there or just works there. He HAS his own suite in the tower, but he's not always there when they go look for him, and not being able to find him is very a common occurrence, made more frustrating because he refuses to carry or awnser the mobile phone they forced on him. He hangs around in the common areas like the kitchen and living room sometimes. And if they do manage to rope him into something like a movie night its a huge hassle, because he will insist on a black and white or silent film if he HAS to engage with the tv, and Vel and Val hate those.

The whole top of the Tower is dominated by his large Radio tower though, its slightly seperated from the rest of the building, suspended above it with a staircase/ladder to enter the hatch. Valentino is usually not brave enough to check there for Alastor.

Its the same with the hotel. He does move into his own room there, but goes back and forth a lot, and doesnt have a schedule. Vox tires to pretend hes fine with it at first but often ends up the hotel to be a pain in the ass to Charlie, and getting kicked out by the staff of Alastor. Hes convinced himself that Alastor will lose interest sooner rather than later, and the others just tune out his whining at this point. No one buys it when he claims he didnt even notice Alastor was gone as soon as the Radio Demon gets back to the tower.

3: I may be planning to draw this haha He does let her dress him up ocassionally, he has a few differant suits he's approved of and kept, but does wear his original the most the time. Velvette has a line of 'Vintage chic' clothing that partly started as a way to get Alastor to agree to changing his 'ratty ass old man style' by appealing to clothes that were updated takes on his era. He still very rarely leaves the tower in anything but his own usual attire.

He does on rare occasions allow photos to be taken of him by the vees (and once, later on by charlie, under strict instructions that she keeps it to herself) but no video. And none under any circumstances are allowed on social media. He has blown up a few phones that have attempted, both the Vees and employees.

4: Alastor has agreed to be on a podcast a few times, but its rare, and only if its somehting hes really interested in talking about. It's one of the few modern things he approves of since its just a version of a radio talk show. Same with interviews, he keeps them even more extremly rare, and the mystery of the radio Demon keeps sinners in fear more than him being in the public. Vox always wants him to do more since the ratings sky rocket when Alastor features.

When Alastor has done an interview it is with his back to the camera, and sitting in a large wingbacked stupidly over the top ornate chair, that hides him from being seen, except maybe the top tuffs of his ears and antlers. And he doesnt reveal much about himself when he does. The chair is partly to hide him, and partly to stop the equitment form glitching too much. He likes to pulls faces and makes gestures deliberatly made to make Vox falter and look stupid on camera, since hes the only one who can see him in that chair.

He has teased on his own radio show that one 'lucky' sinner may get the chance to be on both a guest star on his radio broadcast AND a livestream if the mood takes. Valentino had to inform him that what he's referring to is called a snuff film

5: Niffty gets moved to the hotel pretty much full time once Alastor gets involved, Husk is a part time employee, but ends up spending less time at his casino as time goes on.

Valentino is happy Niffty is gone because she creeps him out, she ocassionally hung around his studio during work hours, especially if theyre doing a scene with 'bad boys'. Vox isn't bothered. Velvette is not happy, especially that Niffty is reduced to a maid/janitor for the hotel, and makes that very known to Alastor. Velvette loves Niffty, they are chaos sisters and work on very sketchy sounding potions together, and gang up against the boys.

Niffty is also a great seamstress herself and brings her designs to Velvette like an excited child showing off their latest art project. Almost none of these get used, but Vel has fun forcing models to parade around the studio and work in something Nifftys made, they often include bugs and bodyparts, Velvette finds this halarious.

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injuries-in-dust · 1 year

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"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death."

#b dylan hollis #tiktok #cooking guy #vintage cooking #vintage recipes man #vintage recipes #the indignant chef #the clock is still there #old recipes #recipes that make you question everything

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lindszeppelin · 1 year

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Hot, Sweet, and Sticky

Pairing: Austin Butler x Fem!Reader

Prompt: You're in the kitchen baking some desert, and Austin takes this as the perfect opportunity to show just how much he appreciates you

Rating: Mature. 18+

Warnings: housewife kink, oral (f. receiving), p in v sex, playing with food during sex, swearing, a bit of fluff of course, creampie, light choking

Word Count: 5.8k

a/n: not much needs to be said aside from this needed to be written, and i volunteered as tribute to do it. :) (this was KINDA inspired by Cherry Pie by the band Warrant.)

Okay, this sounds easy enough. Bake at 400 for 45 minutes. Then leave to cool for 1 hour before serving. What's so hard about that?

Baking a pie seemed a little advantageous of you, especially since your culinary skills still require you to use meticulously detailed recipes to follow along with, but you were in the mood to try something new. It never scared you to back away from a good challenge.

Austin has been working so hard lately, and being the new starlet that everyone wants to get a piece of has left his energy reserves depleted. He doesn't mind saying hello to excited fans, and doing interviews on national television when required, but he'd much rather spend a quiet evening in with his girl where he doesn't have to be "on" for the public.

Seeing as it was raining cats and dogs outside, you figured what a better way to spend the afternoon than by surprising your man by making him something special. To get yourself in the mood you put on some of your favorite music. As you pull out all the necessary ingredients for this cherry pie you're attempting to bake, you let your hips swing side to side to the beat.

The butterflies in your stomach are trying to flee, but you don't allow them to overpower you. While you've never attempted to bake an entirely homemade pie before, you're confident in your skills. Once you've acquired all of the essentials and gathered them up in a haphazard pile on the granite island in the middle of your kitchen, you know you're ready to start.

Wait, I forgot something!

You snap your fingers at the realization that you aren't in the right attire to be baking. While you try to pretend that you're a culinary professional who doesn't messy up the counters and herself, you know that's not true. Knowing you, you'd probably spill cherry juice or get flour all over yourself in no time.

You scurry on over to the kitchen sink and bend forward to open the cabinets down below, pulling out a neatly folded red and white checkered apron. It was something that Austin had bought for you a long time ago when you first moved in with him. He's seen you in all your glory plenty of times before, flinging bits of food everywhere as you excitedly get into the groove of cooking. He decided it would be a practical gift. But also, it would give him an eyeful seeing you wear this, as it barely could pass as a proper apron.

It was so short it didn't even cover your front much at all. It had a cute ruffled edge along the bottom, and it had straps that hung off your shoulders. He definitely knew all too well what he was doing when he bought this little number. It revealed all the right bits of you but still kept enough to the imagination.

It was bound to look like a murder scene in the kitchen today, what with having cherries involved, so you unfolded the apron and threw it over your two piece lounge set. You certainly didn't want to dirty it, as it was yours and Austin's favorite - which was a simple white outfit with an off the shoulder crop top and matching white sleep shorts that barely covered anything. With the vintage apron now wrapped around you and tied at the back in a secure bow, you looked like something out of a 1950s pinup magazine. And you felt confident as hell in it.

One final step you always do when cooking or baking is tying up your hair in a messy bun. You decide to let your bangs softly cascade over your face, and you put your glasses on so you can read the recipe. Now that those formalities were out of the way, it was finally time to start making this damn pie before you chicken out.

You weren't keeping track of time so you weren't sure how long you'd been working on bringing this culinary masterpiece together. But you were already finished with the main star of this baking endeavor. The macerated cherries and sugar mixture were cooling in a bowl next to the pre-greased baking pan. The hardest part is still to come, making the lattice crust for the top.

The dough was on the floured granite countertop, and you were kneading away without a care. Rolling out dough was never your favorite part, you'd rather Austin do this so you can see him work his strong arms as his biceps flex with every flick of his wrists. You get so hot under the collar seeing him use his brute strength. Even something like opening a pesky pickle jar with little effort was a turn on.

You discarded your glasses beside you, not needing them for this part of the baking process. You were fully getting lost in the music playing loudly over the speakers as you begin rolling out the dough in time to the beat. Your hips naturally start to sway to and fro once more. You probably knew that you looked ridiculous right now, putting on an amusing show as you start to sing under your breath as you use the rolling pin on the pie crust.

What you didn't know was that Austin was watching your every move, but he didn't want to make his presence known just yet. He was wholeheartedly enjoying you prance around in your little outfit, with your hair up, and rolling your hips to the music like his own personal cabaret dancer.

His bottom lip was sucked into his mouth, and he let out a muffled whimper as he just stood there off to the side, getting all the more flustered. An internal battle was raging in his mind. Should he leave you to it? Or should he interrupt and have his way with you? Both options seemed tempting, as he was more than happy to observe like a snake in the grass. But his growing erection in his pants threw gasoline on the already burning fire within him. The choice was already made.

He decides to go on the prowl. Before you even know what's happening you feel Austin's arms wrap around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his chest. You gasp, but you soon melt against Austin as he plants innocent kisses along the column of your neck, tickling you with the little bit of 5 o'clock shadow he's sporting.

"What's going on here, baby? You baking something good?" He purrs against you, the low timbre of his voice sending a chill down your spine and an ache down below. He's fanning the flames.

You sigh, getting lost in his kisses. His intrusion was welcomed. "Yes, i'm trying to make a cherry pie for you. I'm crossing my fingers it turns out well."

"A pie all for me? I feel so spoiled." Austin giggles against your neck.

"Well, why not? You've been so stressed lately. I wanted to do something nice for you." As Austin continues to ravage your neck, you attempt to get back into rolling out the dough.

"You always do nice things for me. I don't know what the hell I did to deserve you." He said in a hushed tone, enjoying the warmth of your curves pressed in all the right places against his body. His cock was getting harder by the second.

"Oh stop. I should be the one asking that, not you." You say over your shoulder. Austin could sometimes get into these modalities of believing that he's not worthy of all the good things in his life. While his brain might genuinely believe he's not deserving of your love, you both know that you're imperfectly perfect for each other.

"Hey, when you find another girl that bakes cherry pies for her man and looks as good as you while doing it then you let me know. Cause from my point of view, I'm only seeing one that fits the bill." He says enthusiastically, trying to emphasize his point.

"Shut up." You tease playfully.

"Nope, not shutting up. You got me acting all kinds of ways right now. Have you even seen yourself? You look so sexy in this apron, baby. My little housewife." He growled, his lips finding their way to where your jaw meets your ear. You chuckle when you feel his teeth nibbling teasingly on your earlobe.

"Housewife?" You kinda like the sound of that to be honest. It rolls off the tongue, and it sounds good when it's coming from Austin. You like it so much that you brush your ass back against his straining cock, which earns you a low moan from your man that reverberates in his chest.

"Oh yeah, you keep the place so nice and clean, tidying up after me when I'm too tired. You cook and bake the most scrumptious things for me. Granted, you make a horrible mess when you do, but even that's so hot. My messy girl." Austin rasps huskily. Your spurring him on so much right now and it's exhilarating to say the least. He can't help put rock his length against the curve of your ass. Breathy moans slip past his beautiful pouty lips.

A trail of wetness trickles down your thighs the more he's getting himself worked up into a tizzy. The pie has been long forgotten at this point. All you care about is how good Austin is making you feel. And you want him, right now. "Well damn, I'll wear this apron more often if it gets you this excited." You toss the rolling pin to the side and throw one of your hands behind you, cradling his head and tousling up his hair.

"Honey, you know I have a thing for vintage pinup. This right here gets my motor running." He pants hot and heavy against your ear.

Austin's grip on your waist tightens, and you gasp when he rolls his hips against your ass ardently, yearning for more friction. You moan at the delicious outline of his jean-clad cock nuzzling into your supple flesh.

"You feel that? That's what you do to me." He moans.

You bite your lip and just savor in everything Austin is giving to you in this moment. He has such an authoritative power over you where you can fall to pieces in his arms, aching for his cock in a second. He's aware of his power, and he wields it carefully.

"Austin, if you keep distracting me you won't have anything to eat for desert later." You whine in a halfhearted attempt to get back to the task at hand. You know full well that's not happening, but hey, at least you tried to act like you gave a damn.

He smirks wickedly. "That's not true, baby. I've already got desert right here. And in fact, I'm starving."

You yelp as Austin spins you around in his arms and picks you up by the backs of your thighs without a moment to lose. You instinctively jump into him, and wrap your legs around his svelte waist. He grunts as he places you down on the counter top and wastes no time in pressing his wanting lips against yours in a searing kiss filled with desperation. Your kisses turn heated, and fast. Tongues are fighting for dominance back and forth and your arousal spills out of your pussy, drenching your shorts that are holding on by a thread. You moan into his mouth and he swallows them, giving you his own erotic whines in return.

Austin pulls away from your mouth only for a moment, and leaves wet kisses down your jaw, your neck, and your decolletage. You throw your head back and whimper softly as you allow him more access to your skin begging for his attention.

His hands roam you body, making sure to give ample attention to palming your breasts through your shirt. His ears are filled with the sweet sounds of your insatiable moans that plays like the most beautiful music he's ever heard in his life. In an effort to get closer to him, you clutch onto the belt loops of his jeans in your hands and yank him forward, eliciting a gorgeous growl that make you shiver as you grind your heat along his shaft.

Austin's needy hands eventually make their way around to your back, letting his fingertips dance along the apron. He bites his lip before swallowing down his lust. "I don't know whether I want to leave this on or rip it off you." He says, toying with the bow of the apron, running his calloused fingers over the cotton. He lets the thought ruminate in his mind for a hot second before dropping the fabric from his reach. "Fuck it, the apron is staying on. I wanna see you wearing it as I take you. But first things first."

Unexpectedly, Austin peels himself away from your flushed body and gets down on his knees in front of you. The apron may be short, but you don't want it to obscure your vision. So you hold onto it with one of your hands, as the other braces itself back on the counter.

You feel Austin's hands snake from so much pent up desire as he slides your sleep shorts down and off your body. And he groans lustfully at the incredible vision of your bare pussy, glistening with your juices, inviting him in.

"Goddamn. No panties today? You're gonna be the death of me." He momentarily palms himself through his jeans, alleviating the strain against his throbbing cock that wants to spring free.

You bite your lip as you look into the eyes of your man before you. It's the hottest thing in the world seeing Austin on his knees, and he's always so eager to please his woman. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest, and you spread your legs wider, beckoning him towards where you needed him the most.

He flashes you a devilish grin. He intends to rock your world, and you're literally gripping the edge of your seat with anticipation for his next move. He loves keeping you on your toes. Austin takes your hips in his hands and scoots you further down the counter, closer to his face. He gets right up close and personal to your sopping wet pussy, but he places soft butterfly kisses to your inner thighs, peppering them with love.

Your breathing rapidly increases as he gets closer and closer to your sex. His warm breath against your sensitive skin gives you goosebumps, and you whine, unable to take this torment any longer.

He flicks his baby blues up at you, which shine radiant as ever, with a twinkle of mischief behind his eyes, as he keeps you directly in his line of sight. Seeing you unfurl before him is what keeps the embers growing higher inside that tightly wound coil in his stomach. While teasing is one of his talents, he can't contain himself anymore. Finally he gives you what you want. He licks one long broad swipe through your sopping folds. And you practically cry out a the feel of his wet muscle nestled in your pussy.

Austin takes his time on you, even though he's mad with primal desire. He loves to savor you on his tongue, and make you a writhing mess on top of him. He sets a sensual pace of licking and swiping through your folds, collecting all of your heavenly nectar in his mouth and swallowing greedily. He moans against your pussy as he goes down on you, long and slow as if he's making out with you down below.

"Mmm. Fuck, you taste so good. I could eat your pussy all day, baby." He said between broad, sensual swipes of his tongue working miracles through your swollen lips. The more he laps you up the more you blossom open for him.

"Austin." You moan out. Your hips involuntarily move off the counter and thrust into his mouth, matching the leisure pace he's setting with his tongue. And he obliges by clinging onto your hips harder and spreading your legs further apart to get access to all of you at once. He continues his pace, unrelenting and slow burning. He has the most skillful mouth in all of existence. And you were the lucky girl to experience it firsthand.

Suddenly Austin sits back a little on his heels, pulling away from your pussy. But it's not for long. In a move that makes your head spin and your walls flutter, he spits directly onto your clit, getting it all covered with your juices and his own saliva thickly. You're practically dripping now onto the floor beneath you, but neither of you care. You see stars when Austin sets a target on your clit. He immediately goes to town swiping kitten licks up and down on your swollen bud.

"Oh yes! Like that." You mewl. You can't control yourself anymore, you release the apron you've been clutching onto and try to fold it as best you can so it's out of your way. Austin's sandy waves is where your hand finds residence as you push him further into your throbbing clit.

You can feel him smirk against you, knowing he's got you right where he wants you. You gush around his mouth, your juices dripping down his chin as he brings you bundle of nerves into his mouth and sucks while lapping you up against his tongue. You feel like collapsing back onto the counter, he's eating you out like a thirsty man in need of water. All the obscene slurping noises he's making with his mouth as he explores all of your folds with his tongue is bringing you close to the edge. And he knows you're close, those sexy high pitched moans you make as you furrow your brow and shake around him has him picking up his pace.

"Come on baby, give it to me." He groans, his baritone voice being muffled between your legs as you keep feeding him your slick. He sloppily drags his tongue all around and through your sweet cunt, and he hungrily devours your clit with such tenacity that you want to pass out from pure pleasure. His puffy red lips are getting swollen by the second. He wants to release his cock from his jeans and jerk himself off while his tongue is buried inside of you, but he knows you're close to coming and he keeps that urge at bay for now.

He growls ferociously against your pussy, the vibration adding to the orgasmic mix of his succulent lips and strong tongue. Austin is determined to make you come like this, and he's not letting up.

"I-I'm gonna..." You moan helplessly, but your warning does nothing to stop the impactful climax that makes your walls stutter. You moan his name one final time, and your wetness pours out of you and blankets his mouth, and Austin greedily suctions it all up into his mouth. You shake hard around him, but he grounds you with his domineering hands on your hips. His fingers will probably bruise your flesh, but it'll be a reminder of how eager your man is to eat you alive.

"That's my girl." Austin coos, praising you from down below as he licks you clean. Your body jolts back a little from sensitivity as Austin's tongue gently kisses and swipes up every last drop of your orgasm. "Better than any desert you could ever make me."

A blush creeps over your blissed out face as you watch him clean you up good. Honestly, Austin could make you come on his tongue again just like this, but he has other plans for you this afternoon.

Austin plants one tender kiss to your clit, making you whimper, before he stands back up. He looks dazed out of his mind with your juices smeared all over the lower half of his face. He takes the bottom of his sweater and lifts it up to his face, wiping away what's left of you. Austin's well defined abs that you love so much are exposed for your viewing pleasure.

Your allow your fingertips to dance along his stomach, and you can feel him suck in a breath beneath your hands at your gentle touch. Once he's done wiping his face he swiftly removes his top, throwing it across the kitchen. As he does that, your hands travel on their own accord lower to the waistband of his jeans. Your deft fingers pull back the button and unzip the fly. He helps do the rest as he hooks his thumbs unto his boxers and his jeans, pulling them down to his ankles in one swift motion. At long last, his throbbing cock springs free from the confines of his clothes. And you bask at the man before you, getting even wetter at the fact that his cock is all yours.

There's no time to step out of his pants completely, he leaves them around his ankles. And he doesn't want to remove your crop top or apron. Those stay on as per his request. He immediately takes his cock in his hand and grazes his red tip through your slippery folds. You both whine lustfully as your juices and his pre-cum sloshes together in a sinful mixture.

"Austin, please. Fuck me." You purr, sex dripping from your vocal chords. One of your hands cling to his broad shoulder for support, and the other one plays with the long golden tendrils at the nape of his neck.

He looks gorgeous as he bites his lip. "God, I love hearing you beg for my cock." He moans breathlessly. Austin brings you further down the edge of the countertop, one of his hands rests on the small of your back, and the other one is groping the flesh of your ass to hoist you up in his embrace.

As you patiently wait for Austin to make his move, your demure doe eyes peer into his. Those crystalline orbs you love so much have completely stormed over, his pupils dilated. He's about to lose his damn mind if he doesn't get his dick wet right this second.

Enough playing around. It's time to get down to brass tax. He drags the head of his thick cock down to your weeping entrance and shallowly thrusts inside until he bottoms out all the way. The groan that befell his lips and shrouded your senses made your pussy clench around his engorged member, coaxing him on even more.

He gives you a second for your walls to adjust to his girth, which doesn't take long because you're soaking wet. And you accommodate Austin's impressive cock so well. In no time the temporary sting of being stretched gives way to the immense pleasure.

Austin gets to work thrusting in and out of your slippery cunt with ease, still just as tight for him as the first time he made love to you.

"Aus!" You moan, throwing your head back in ecstasy.

"Oh shit, your pussy feels like Heaven." He groans. He holds onto you tight as he fucks you passionately. Your juices coat his cock, strings of slick stick to the both of you, making it easier for him to push deeper inside of you.

Your walls flutter around him so deliciously, he can't help but fuck you just a little bit faster. Using his shoulder for leverage as you hold onto him, you raise your hips off the counter and thrust your hips down onto his cock. Soon you're working together in a sweet rhythm as you pant and moan into each other's sweaty faces.

He looks so hot with his mouth hung open, filthy noises pouring out past his puffy lips. And his long hair hangs low in his face as you bounce harder on his cock. The tendrils obscure his pretty eyes, but it makes your walls stroke his engorged length even harder.

You're so lost in the throws of passion that you barely notice Austin reach behind you to a cold bowl of whipped cream you have sitting out for the cherry pie. Austin cheekily dips two fingers into the cream and taps his fingertips against your bottom lip as you're in the middle of letting out a carnal moan. Your eyes spring open suddenly as you feel the cold cream start to seep past your lips.

"Suck." Was all Austin said. Your pussy gushed around him, being turned on by the command. And god do you ever love this man's fingers so much, how can you seriously say no to this? And he uses that knowledge of your yearning for his fingers all the time to his advantage.

You let your tongue lap underneath his two fingers, bringing them into your mouth expertly. Austin watches intently as you whine around his digits, sucking and swirling your tongue around his fingers as you draw them deeper into your mouth, lavishing them as if it was his cock in your mouth.

Austin let's out a long, guttural groan from his throat as he watches his fingers disappear into your mouth as you swallowed all of the whipped cream obediently. As quickly as you brought his sexy fingers into your mouth he pulled them out, and went to wrap his entire hand around the front of your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure.

"My best girl. You greedily take everything I give you, don't you? My perfect housewife is so well disciplined." He grits through his clenched jaw as he slams his cock in and out of your aching pussy.

A little lightbulb flickered through your mind in this moment. Why should he have all the fun playing with his food? While Austin is brushing his swollen cock perfectly against your g-spot, making you gush and shiver around him, you set your plan into motion.

He watches you with a quizzical brow as you too dip your fingers into the bowl of whipped cream. Once you've scooped enough of the sticky confection onto your fingertips, you squeal playfully as you smear the cream over Austin's cheek. Some of it falls into his neck in the process by accident.

To your surprise, this doesn't deter Austin at all. In fact, you can feel his cock pumping harder and deeper into your juicy pussy. He's actually enjoying this. The dominant act he was putting on for you slowly faded away, leaving him laughing sweetly at your antics.

He smiles wide. "How dare you! I'm kinda in the middle of fucking your brains out here." He chuckled breathlessly. His pace never relenting, he's still managing to plunge his cock so good into you.

You lean into him. "Don't worry honey, I always clean up my messes. That's what good housewives do right?" You purred sexily. His eyes widen in trepidation and arousal at your words. And he nearly dropped you out of his grasp when he felt your soft tongue scandalously lick his face, getting every remnant of cream into your mouth.

He moans, and the hand around your throat drops to your voluptuous ass as he swats you a couple of times. His cock throbs strong and proud as he strokes your sweet spot over and over again. You tightened your grip on his shoulder, and you further threaded your fingers deep into his silky golden strands. You were practically levitating off of the table at this point, he held you firm against his hard body.

Your pussy enveloped every amazing inch of him as he thrusted his cock as far as he could feasibly get, before pulling out almost all the way. You whined at the loss of him with just the tip clinging on for dear life. But you both shuddered, groaning wildly to each other when he slammed you down swiftly on his cock. He was balls deep inside and unrelenting.

"You're so fucking hot, baby. I swear to God I'm gonna come any second." He bellows, he shivers violently as your sweet tongue gets back to work lapping up all of the cream off his face, and you pepper kisses down the bulging veins in his neck.

His thrusts quickly turn sloppy. Your divine pussy is milking him for everything he's worth, drawing out his impending orgasm right along with you. And he desperately wants to give all of himself over to you.

"Aus, i'm so close." You moan. Your legs twitch around his waist, and you bounce down harder on his dick. The most erotic sounds were coming from your conjoined bodies. You didn't know how long you could last like this, but it wasn't a whole lot of time.

"I know. Come on my cock. Give me what's mine." He snarls like an animal in heat in your face. You lose it right then and there. When Austin talks dirty to you like that it's game over.

"Fuuuuck, Austin!" You groan one final time. You shake in his arms as you feel your orgasm rush over you, and ooze out around his cock and drip down your thighs and onto his legs. This new pool of wetness has Austin catapulting over the cliff, and you can feel him lose his resolve with every deep plunge of his cock. Your walls coaxing him to come, and your sexy moans, was the thing that did him in.

"Y/N, fucking hell!" Austin hoarsely yelled. He stuttered inside of you, his cock swelling up and shooting out load after load of his hot come, completely drenching every inch of your walls.

You both shake and writhe together, coming down from the highs of your explosive orgasms. Poor Austin can no longer hold you up, the adrenaline leaving his body and rendering his arms slack. He gingerly places you back down on the counter before he actually does drop you for real.

You both simply stare at each other, eyes full of nothing but love and adoration. He presses his forehead against yours as he tries to catch his breath.

"My god that was somethin' else." He giggles.

"Mm. Yeah, that was amazing." You praise, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to find your way back down to Earth. "Oh hang on, I missed a spot on." You say curiously as you inspect Austin's perfectly sculped face in your hands. You didn't do the best job apparently of getting rid of all the whipped cream off of Austin's cheek. You take the ruffled edge of the apron from between your bodies and bring it up to his face, gently cleaning off the shiny sticky residue of the cream.

Austin hums as you dote on him. "You really are so goddamn perfect, y'know that?"

You blush. "No, you."

Austin rolls his eyes and smacks your ass lightly, making you jump. "You're incorrigible." He chuckles, bemused by your inability to take a compliment.

Your apron does it's job wiping Austin's face and neck. You do one final pass along his skin before you smile at your handiwork. Austin sighs contentedly when you place an affectionate kiss on his cheek. And he reciprocates by taking your chin in his palm, his fingers caressing your jaw, as he presses his pillowy lips tenderly onto yours.

Somehow you both forgot that Austin's cock is still stuffed full inside your pussy, the feel of him buried to the hilt was like home and you didn't want him to leave. Neither did he, but the alarm on the stove buzzed impossibly loud in your ears, alerting you that it was at the perfect temperature to put the pie inside.

Austin laughed, crinkling his nose cutely. "I would say sorry for getting in the way of making your cherry pie. But i'm not." He said jokingly.

You attempted to laugh but you whimpered as Austin withdrew himself from your used and abused pussy. His come leaked out of you and fell onto the floor by his feet. He took note of the mess on the ground and trailed his eyes hungrily over your exposed cunt oozing with his load. He licked his lips.

"Now that is the best looking pie I've ever seen. Goddamn." He threw you a sexy wink before making his way over to the sink to grab some paper towel to clean himself off.

You groaned at his joke. "Aus, I just knew you were gonna say something like that." You pinched the bridge of your nose with your fingers, laughing and cringing at the words that flew out of his mouth.

Once he was done with himself, he pulled his pants and boxers back on, zipping them up. He turned back around to you with a new towel and went to work on cleaning his come from your thighs. A simple but caring romantic gesture that made you swoon.

"I thought you love when I make jokes." He teased. After cleaning you up he threw the towels in the trash and lifted you down off of the counter and back on steady ground. You wobbled a little, grasping at his biceps as your legs regained life.

"Of course I do, you're actually really funny when you want to be." You quipped back in a sassy tone.

He feigned hurt by putting his hand over his heart. "Ouch. That one cut just a little too deep, baby."

You fluffed your long lashes at him as you tried to readjust your top and your apron. "Love you." You said, dripping with too much sugary sweetness.

But Austin was putty in your hands. "Love you more." He scanned the kitchen floors to where he discarded your sleep shorts and ran to grab them, handing them to you. "Figured you wanted these back." He grinned.

"Yes thank you, I don't wanna be standing here trying to make this pie with my vagina hanging out." You giggled.

Austin threw his head back and burst out into a hearty belly laugh. "Honestly, that sounds so sexy to me. I would not complain."

You slapped his arm. "Of course you wouldn't. But I seriously need to get a move on with this pie. I'm not even done rolling the dough out."

With your shorts back on and trying your best to look put together, as if you didn't just get brutally fucked on the counter, you turned your attention back to the half rolled out pie crust. You still had so much work ahead of you.

Austin shoves one of his hands into his jeans pocket while the other one drapes around your waist, he looks down at you like your his entire world. And you are. "Would you like some help?"

You avert your attention away from the mess on the counter and up into your man's sparkling diamond eyes. You smiled warmly and nodded. "Sure I'd love your help, thank you."

The two of you get to work posthaste on coming together as a team, creating the most sweet and juicy cherry pie you've both ever eaten. But while it's an outstanding desert, Austin much prefers the taste of you.

tags: @aconflagrationofmyown @harringrove-sketchbookpages @samfangirls @2lekk @moonchild-daniella @ggwritesstuff @plasticfantasticl0ver @austinbutlersworld @unadulteratedkingdomzombie @sapphirescripts @ash-omalley @pearlparty @denised916 @cartooncoaster @flowersofcement @allittakesisoneflight @powerofelvis @headfullofpresley @elvisabutler @avengen

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messinwitheddie · 19 days

Text

Squee "Nny!! It's been, like, 45 minutes! It's a tiny-ass mobile home! What are you still DOING in there?!"

Nny "Right now, I'm sitting on the ugliest crushed velvet couch I've ever seen while eating a big bowl of the best slow cooker chili I've ever had. I can't wait to learn this recipe in the future. On that note, I should invest in a slow cooker."

Squee "Come on, man! You haven't found ANY physical proof he's not the future you yet??"

Nny "I mean... Other than the alarming number of empty tequila bottles left all over the place."

Squee "Ok, well, you never drink, so he's not you. Mystery solved. Let's ho home, please?"

Nny "Eh... I've started worse habits.

Future me is supposedly dying. Maybe I just stop caring."

Squee "Jesus, Nny, really?"

Nny "He lied about having wife. I haven't found any kind of medical bills or ID or photos or anything-"

Squee "Maybe he keeps his ID and important papers on him at all times, because, you know, cops are dicks."

Nny "Maybe, but-- The fuck--? Future me has a vintage dough boy salt shaker... And it's filled with baby teeth!"

Squee "What?"

Nny "Baby teeth, some shiny rocks and a Canadian dime?... I'm going to draw on it. See if I notice."

Squee "Don't draw on his shit, man."

Nny "Seriously, what's with the teeth?

I found a JAR completely filled with gold-capped teeth in his bathroom cupboard. I found a 25 lb bag of powdered lime in his pantry-"

Squee "Oh God..."

Nny "Yup. Just like the one in my pantry--

A chest filled with jewelry-- pirate booty shit."

Squee "That's kind of neat--"

Nny "And a BIRD WATCHING diary filled with nothing but terrible doodles of the local bird population. NO WORDS."

[Previous page

(Excuse any and all spelling mistakes. I always overlook one or two.

Oh, the invasion of privacy. Poor Mr. Casarez. Don't shit on his hobby, Nny lol.

To me, one of the funniest things Nny does, at least according to Twitter what I recall, is break into peoples' homes and helps himself to their stuff before killing them (because it's all fiction!! To be clear. I wouldn't think it was funny if it happened to a real life neighbor or real life person in general.)

Also, now I really want chili, but it's almost well past 3 AM and I have no ingredients for good chili. My fridge is all condiments at the moment. Been a rough year...

Finally, Noise is born!! Sorry, @psycho-doughart for the slow crawl to his debut. Poor little guy doesn't have a voice yet.

Again, I really appreciate any reblogs, comments or tag-comments I've received from previous strips. Tugs my heart strings.]

#jthm #nny #squee #nny's looper #au #oc #noise #dough boy

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my-soupy-brain · 2 months

Note

somethin bout taking care of ted in a domestic setting. making him home cooked meals, so he can go to sleep on a full tummy. making sure he relaxes properly

It's Valentine's Day, and while it doesn't mean a lot to a lot of people, it DOES mean a lot to a lot of people, to. And I feel like reader x Ted would absolutely love to douse the love on this special day. So let's gooo!

---

Relationship: Ted Lasso x reader

Warnings: None, all fluff and comfort, a bit of flirting

---

You'd both been dog-tired for the last week with work. Ted, on the road with away matches, and you busy trying to keep up with your own work.

And on the eve of Valentine's Day, you realized you hadn't gotten him a thing.

Your sweet, comforting, loving boyfriend... had nothing on the Day of Love.

The next day, Ted was at work, you were working from home. And when you had a free couple of hours, you set the ball in motion.

Butcher shop: Meat acquired.

Grocery store: Other items acquired.

Vintage bookstore: Gift acquired. This was a last-minute trip that paid off handsomely.

You hurried home and finished work tasks so you could get started. You found a recipe for what you wanted to make - and while it wouldn't be as good as his favorite food back home, you had hoped it would make his heart happy.

And Ted, of all people, deserved a happy heart.

In the oven the meat goes, on a slow, slow roast. You whipped together the ketchup, vinegar, cumin, and spices for the sauce. You even found some cornbread mix and whipped together some honey butter for a topping.

And after you sat down for a rest, the doorbell rings.

"These are for Y/N," the delivery man says, handing you a bouquet of flowers. Beautiful. All your favorite colors.

"Thank you so m..."

"There's more."

He returns to his van and pulls out a dozen roses. A dozen daisies. A bouquet of balloons.

"Thank you!" you call, from behind the stems of flowers and the balloons floating above your head.

The card reads:

"Y/N - You make my life complete. You lift me up like a balloon. You blossom my heart like wildflowers. And you're as sensual and beautiful as endless roses. Love, Ted."

Okay, before you finish in the kitchen, you need to have a cry at how wonderful this man is to you. How you lifted each other up. How your friendship formed a bond that led into this relationship -- one you've never thought you'd experience outside of a romance novel.

By the time Ted walked in the door, his downturned mouth did a 180, smiling as the smell of meat hit his nose.

You were leaning over the counter, mixing chocolate cake batter, when you felt two warm hands on your hips, a familiar face and scent nestled against your neck.

"What'cha makin', sugar?" came a low Kansas drawl behind you. Your face tickled, and you leaned into him, where he delivered a soft kiss, his hands slowly roaming up and down your sides.

"Surprise."

Ted loves surprises.

"Go change into some cozy clothes. Dinner will be ready soon."

Ted nodded and delivered another sweet kiss before heading into the bedroom, returning in a Kansas City barbeque t-shirt and joggers. His hair fell over his forehead, and you smiled.

When you pulled the meal out of the oven and gave the sauce another whisk, Ted saw immediately what you were doing.

"Are those..."

"Ribs."

Ted could cry. You'd been tired all week, too, but here you were -- taking care of him. Like you always did.

You set the plate in front of him, along with a bowl of homemade barbeque sauce. You weren't sure you exactly nailed the Arthur Bryant's recipe but you found enough hints online to give it a shot.

Ted swiped his finger in the bowl, a dollop on the pad of his index finger, and he took a taste.

His eyes closed. He smiled. He sighed happily.

You said nothing. He was in his moment.

"Darlin'... I... I don't know what to say," Ted murmurs, reaching for your hand on the table, raising it to his lips and kissing it.

"I know it won't taste exactly like home, but..."

Ted shook his head. "It does. Because you're my home."

Swoon.

You dished up your plates, cut the oven-warm cornbread and slathered it with honey butter. And you and Ted dove in.

Honestly, for oven-baked ribs, they were juicy and tender. The sauce had a kick of sweet and spicy ("Tastes like you, honey," Ted joked), and the cornbread was warm and cozy.

When dinner was finished, Ted leaned back in his chair and patted his tummy.

"Honeybunch, I don't know how to thank you for this," he said.

"Happy Valentine's Day, sweetheart," you answered, getting up to collect the plates, kissing the top of his head.

Ted settled on the couch, and lifted his arm to bring you where you belong, nuzzled against his chest. He turns on a movie, and you pop up.

"I forgot!"

Ted watches you scurry to the next room, his eyebrows bunched, wondering what you have up your sleeve now.

When you return, you sit next to him and pull a wrapped book from behind your back.

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love," you say with a smile, and hand him the book. He knows it's a book, and he's excited. He's a curious reader.

But when it reveals "The Fountainhead" - his favorite book, in its first pressing, in wonderful condition, he sucks in a breath.

"How did you... where did you..."

"The vintage bookstore. Total whim."

Ted turns the book over, opening the cover slowly. You left a post-it (you know better than to inscribe a vintage, first pressed book) that says: "Happy Valentine's Day to my favorite valentine. Thanks for being my next chapter.")

Ted sets the book down and pulls you in for a hug, and lovely, romantic but sweet kiss.

"I don't deserve you, darlin'," Ted says quietly, holding your face gently in his hand.

"You deserve everything, Teddy."

Ted pulls you into a hug, kissing the side of your head so gently, so full of love.

"The cake!"

You bounce up from the couch in a hurry, removing the cake from the oven in just enough time. It's still moist, still perfect.

Ted smiles and wanders into the kitchen, his hands in his jogger pockets.

"Look at you, chef. Just pullin' out all the stops."

You smile and mix the frosting. Ted comes up behind you and pulls you into another hug, his finger dipping into the frosting, then against your lips, where he...

Licks it off.

"Might wanna save some of that there frostin', sugar," he mutters. "See if we can make a mess with it later."

From sweet to spicy, just like his barbeque sauce.

You smile and deliver the same, your eyes connecting, his cheeks blushed. He leads you into the bedroom, slowly taking off your clothes, slowly laying you on the bed.

And after making love on a frosty Valentine's Day, you and Ted curl up together, the TV on a low hum, and fall into a peaceful slumber.

(BTW, this is the look when you're cooking for Ted. Yes please.)

---

I wanted to get spicier but I just didn't have it in me today. But the cute/comfort? Oh yeah. My headspace is there 100%. Thanks for this prompt, friend. And for Valentine's Day, celebrate it with whoever makes your heart happy. And I hope that means yourself, too.

#ted lasso x reader #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fluff #ted lasso x you

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avengerscompound · 20 days

Text

The Interview - Chapter 17

The Interview - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating: E

Warnings: recreational drug use

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Melody Danes

Word Count: 2346

Summary: Melody Danes gets the break of a lifetime when as a lowly intern, she’s assigned to write a profile piece on Captain America. Steve Rogers is a hard man not to fall for and as she and Melody get closer and Melody’s career takes off, jealousy leads to sabotage, and the potential to bring her whole world crashing down.

Chapter 17

Melody was restless.

She still had her column to write and there was some online content to approve. Not to mention they were doing another vintage food interview at the end of the week and she still needed to track down two more recipes to be made for it. There were plenty of things to take her mind off the fact that Steve had now been away on a mission for over a week without a single word from him, and yet her brain was refusing to be distracted.

As soon as her fingers paused on the keyboard to try and work out the word she wanted to use, the thought that maybe Steve was in serious danger would pop into her head. When she went to Google recipe homemaking magazines from 1981, as the page loaded, she’d become certain that he’d been killed and that no one had found his body yet. It was becoming a serious problem, and not just because she wasn’t getting any work done, but because the more time passed, the more likely one of those terrible thoughts might not be her imagination getting the best of her, but something that had happened.

She wasn’t sure when the full-blown panic she was feeling set in. Steve had had to go on plenty of missions since they’d started dating. It was his job after all, and it was something he took seriously. Every time he went on one, she worried. It was hard knowing the person you loved was out there risking their life like that. It was harder still when there was no contact for a week. She didn’t like it, but she understood and it was something she’d been coming to terms with. This was something new. He’d never been away so long before without any contact at all. And he’d never been this late home. The dread had been building in her gradually, every day that passed it got more and more and tonight she just felt consumed by it.

She wasn’t alone in it. It was awful to be grateful that she had someone who was in the same situation as she was, and yet, the fact that Bobbi was in the same position Melody was, made her feel like less of a burden. It wasn’t her just dumping her woes on a friend who would never quite understand how she felt, it was the two of them sharing them and supporting each other.

Bobbi had been pacing a lot this evening. She’d tried distracting herself by watching TV, and then by sewing. Nothing seemed to be able to distract her. Melody understood. Even journaling her feelings hadn’t helped Melody.

When the music started playing, Melody stood up from her laptop and headed out into the living room to check on her. Bobbi was standing by the window tapping her fingers against her thigh. It had been a few years since either of them had smoked weed, but the way Bobbi was tapping her fingers like that, reminded Melody of when Bobbi was in college and dealing with transitioning, her unsupportive parents, and trying to keep on top of her grades so she didn’t lose her scholarship. There were a lot of nights back then when the two women had used pot to take the edge off their stress, and when they smoked, Bobbi always sat in the window holding the joint against her thigh.

“How are you doing?” Melody asked, coming over to Bobbi and wrapping her arms around the other woman’s waist.

“Fucked,” Bobbi said as her arms circled Melody. “How about you?”

“Yeah. Same,” she said. “Can’t stop thinking something really bad has happened.”

Bobbi frowned. “I just wish there was some way we could know for sure. All my Google alerts have been dead since that thing in Minsk.”

“Mine too, and none of my contacts have heard anything,” Melody complained. “I texted Steve again today.”

“Mel…” Bobbi scolded. “You know he’ll message you as soon as he can.”

“I know,” she said. “But I don’t know. It makes me feel better.”

“Does it?” Bobbi asked. “Or does it make you watch your phone for ten minutes in the hope that this time he replies?”

Melody pouted. Sometimes it was hard having a best friend who knew her that well.

Bobbi’s phone chimed in her pocket and she pulled it out. Melody looked at her expectantly, hoping that this time it might be Bucky who was messaging her. Bobbi started to reply to whoever it was but looked up at Melody and shook her head. “It’s Mattie. Asking if we’d heard anything.”

Melody rested her head against Bobbi’s chest with a sigh and as Bobbi sent texts back and forth with Matthew, she played with Melody’s hair. “Need to start a club,” Melody said.

“Oh yeah?” Bobbi chuckled. “What? Like an Avengers’ partners’ support group?”

“Yeah. Exactly. We can all talk about our feelings and then we can get drunk,” Melody said.

Bobbi laughed. “Sounds like a good idea. Maybe I should invite Mattie over now.”

“Yeah, do it,” Melody agreed. “We can all freak out together. I’ll order pizza.”

The pizza arrived before Matthew but not by a lot and soon the three were sitting around in the living room with cocktails and pizza feeling sorry for themselves.

“We really need to do something to get our minds off this,” Melody said as she swirled her margarita around in her glass.

“I thought that’s what we were doing,” Matthew said.

“No,” she said. “We’re moping. We need to not be moping. What can we do not to mope?”

Matthew fished into the pocket of his pants. “I do have weed,” he said, pulling out a baggie.

The image of Bobbi standing by the window smoking a joint popped back into Melody’s head again. “Yes!” she said. “Yes, let’s do that.”

“God, it’s been so long,” Bobbi said, getting up and going to the window to open it as Matthew began to roll a joint. “This is going to go straight to my head.”

“Yours?” Melody teased. “I was always a lightweight in the first place.”

Matthew finished rolling the joint and put it between his lips. “Well, this will be distracting anyway.”

He took a deep draw and held it as he offered the joint to Melody.

“You two,” Bobbi scolded. “Not inside. We can’t have the place reeking like pot.”

Matthew rose quickly, held his breath, and dashed to the window. When he reached it he let it out, laughing to the point he started to choke. Bobbi lost it giggling and patted him on the back.

“Let’s just sit out on the fire escape to do this,” Melody suggested as she came over, pinching the joint between her fingers.

The trio climbed out of the window and sat side by side passing the joint between them. The laneway below was fairly quiet, and if they looked to the side they could see past the busy traffic of Central Park West and just into the park. Even with the sound of the traffic, it was peaceful and Melody began to relax into a soft contentment, her head fuzzy and soft as the joint got smaller and smaller.

“He’s worth it though,” Matthew said. Both Melody and Bobbi turned slowly to look at him.

“Hmm?” Bobbi hummed.

“Sam. This is so fucking stressful, but he’s worth it. I know we haven’t been dating as long as you two, but when we started dating I never considered myself the settling down type. I had boyfriends and one-night stands. I didn’t commit. But if Sam wanted to go exclusive, I’d do it. He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with that I could see spending a whole life with,” Matthew explained.

“Do you want to be exclusive?” Bobbi asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “No. Yes. Maybe.”

“Well yes, that’s all the available answers,” Bobbi deadpanned and the three of them broke down into peals of giggles.

When Matthew finally got his laughter under control he had another long drag on the joint. “I don’t know. I said I needed to be non-exclusive to start and he was fine with that. I can’t be the one that turns around and changes the conditions.”

“If you don’t do it, he’s not going to do it,” Melody said.

“Mm… but I also don’t know if it’s really what I want. I don’t know if it’s something I can even do,” he said. “But I would try for him if he wanted to. Maybe what I want is for it not to be casual.”

“Well, you should talk to him,” Bobbi said as Matthew handed her the joint.

“I will if he’s still alive,” Matthew said. “And he comes home safe.”

That made the three of them sag against the wall again, matching frowns on each of their faces. Bobbi took a drag and held it, looking over at the park again. She let the smoke out in rings and sighed. “Bucky’s for sure worth it. He took a while to open up, there’s a lot of trauma there. But I can relate to that. Our trauma is different but it recognizes each other. And seeing the person he is under that - I feel privileged. This sucks, but the amount it sucks so outweighs how amazing being a person he trusts with that feels.”

Melody smiled and nudged her. “You’re such a poet,” she said.

Bobbi smiled and leaned her head on Melody’s. “Steve’s worth it too,” Melody said. “I feel like on paper we’re so mismatched but he is so kind and respectful and funny and kind of an asshole. I’ve never met anyone like him and I just love him so much. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“It’d be cool if we all work out because we’re all friends and they’re all friends. We’ll get to be playing cribbage on the porches of our houses that we own next to each other,” Bobbi said.

“We might have to learn how to play cribbage first,” Melody said and they all broke down into giggles again.

Melody took another draw of the joint. “You think they’ll approve of us sitting out here smoking weed?” she asked.

Matthew snorted. “I’ve smoked with Sam before, I don’t think he’ll care.”

Bobbi shrugged. “I don’t think Bucky would care either way.”

Melody tipped over sideways groaning and curled into a ball. “Oh no. He’s gonna be so disappointed in me.”

“He’s not your dad, Mel!” Bobbi said, laughing loudly.

“I know, but he has a disappointed dad voice!” Melody whined.

Bobbi and Matthew completely lost it, doubling over in peals of laughter as Melody covered her face. She was suddenly pulled out of her thoughts by the vibrating in her pocket.

“My butt’s vibrating,” she said, sitting up and fumbling her phone from her pocket. She narrowly avoided dropping it down the fire escape and pressed accept without looking at what was written on the screen. “Hello?”

“Mel? I didn’t catch you at a bad time did I?”

It took a moment for her brain to work out what was going on. She knew it was Steve on the other end of the line, but she couldn’t quite accept that it could actually be him calling. He sounded exhausted and a little confused. She held the phone in front of her face and saw his name and quickly slammed the phone back against her ear.

“Steve? Is that really you?” she said.

Both Bobbi and Matthew sat up to attention, looking up at her expectantly.

“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me. Are you okay? You sound funny,” he said.

She burst into tears. The stress she’d been holding all bubbling up and releasing at once. “I thought something had happened,” she sobbed.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “It was complicated, but I’m fine. Exhausted and a little banged up but fine.”

She took a moment to just sob, and Steve sat quietly letting her cry it out. She could almost feel the reassuring arm around her shoulders that she knew would be there if he was there beside her. “Matthew and Bobbi are here,” she hiccuped as she started to get her tears under control. “Are Bucky and Sam okay?”

“Yeah, they’re here, put us on speaker,” he said.

She did as she was told and held the phone out to them. “Okay.”

“Bobbi!” Bucky’s voice sounded a little far off, but he didn’t sound as tired as Steve. “I missed you.”

“Buck!” Bobbi yelped. “Oh my god. Babe. I was so worried.”

“I know. I missed you so much. I wanted to call but we weren’t allowed,” he said. “I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” they all said at once.

There was laughter on the other side of the phone. “Hey, Matt,” Sam said. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Matthew said. “Will I get to see you tomorrow?”

“Are you working?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, but I can get off,” he said.

“I’ll come meet you at work. We can go home together,” Sam said.

“Will you come see us?” Melody asked Steve.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Steve said. “We have to debrief when we get back. But I promise Bucky and I will be at your door as soon as it’s done.”

“I can’t wait. I’ll have dinner ready,” Melody said, wiping her face. “I love you so much, Steve.”

Steve laughed softly. “I love you too. We’ll be back soon. And I promise we’re fine.” There was some noise in the background, and Steve sighed. “We have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mel. Bobbi, can you hug her for me?”

“You got it, Steve,” Bobbi replied as Melody started sobbing again. “See you soon, Bucky. Love you.”

“Love you too, Darlin’. See you tomorrow,” Bucky replied.

“See you tomorrow, Matt,” Sam called out.

The call disconnected and Melody, Bobbi, and Matthew all piled in on each other, hugging, laughing, and crying as relief took them over.

// NEXT

#marvel #avengers #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfic #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x ofc #ofc #original character fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #the interview #avengerscompound

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sukunasun · 2 years

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begging you to pls elaborate on dilf geto.

more dilf geto.

"you have a tattoo," you say when you see his bare back under fluorescent lights, exposed and gleaming with sweat. it's a late night at the gym and geto's getting in the last few reps of his set. you're meant to drop by for...something you didn't remember because nothing is as important as watching a shirtless geto do pull ups.

he’s in the middle of his routine and it never gets old no matter how often you get to this part; muscles no longer as defined but they're there, filled out in just the right way, a little thick around the biceps, trading in washboard abs for toned lines and a nice bit of chub around the sides. adonis belt be damned, he doesn’t need one, geto's waist is perfect as it is, so sturdy you could watch him do hip thrusts all day. (...bare shoulders square and resting against a bench, hips rising and falling to a steady rhythm as he breathes through it, huffing, puffing. a drop of sweat rolls down his chest and you forcibly block out any ideas of what it would taste like on your tongue)

"i was really impulsive back then," he explains, sheepishly grinning as he eyes it in his reflection. still stark black and fearsome, the memory of him laying flat on his front for eight hours while his old headmaster rhythmically tapped and pierced a dragon into his skin is fresh. so is the pain he endured for a roaring face over his deltoids, sharp claws and scales leading down the middle, dipping, flexing under his shoulder blades, bending and moving along as he completes the last of his workout. "although, a lot of people were put off by it," and you wonder why.

gojo offers his input, "it's intimidating? he looks like he's in a gang," and he's not wrong considering geto's fashion taste is...questionable to say the least. closet consisting of oversized t-shirts he’s picked up from the vintage store, the kind with faded graphics and tacky script, animal print button-ups that are two sizes too small—thus, said buttons become redundant when he only manages to get three of them clasped—and these silk floral shirts he’s bought in bulk from a tourist shop. over the top sure, but it’s something else too, that which lies beneath the clothes because nothing ever wears geto, he makes it work, all the time.

"don’t tell me you’re into bad boys." you hear the smirk in gojo's voice. his best friend definitely looks the part of a yakuza boss. although, it's not that either, because geto's not a boy, he's wild and sexy and just the right amount of a rebel, a man no one fucks with. comfortable in his skin, playing by his own rules. who makes your knees go weak with every new cigarette he lights, every black strand of hair that fades into silver, only getting better with age, and he embraces all of it.

its the way he carries himself, matured, confident, unapologetic. even when he’s hurriedly grabbed something of yours by accident and finds himself at a bake sale with it pulled taut and stretched over his chest, cinching around his bulging arms. ‘I’M A HOT GIRL’ it reads, and his brownie recipe has never failed him but he gives your clothing some credit, after all, he’s raised over a thousand dollars. which is quite a feat given that most of these private school snobs wouldn’t ever think to consume anything that wasn't gluten-free or low in carbs.

while in comparison, geto always cooks by taste, whether cold soba noodles and steaming white rice among an array of dishes he’s prepared by hand, he's come to realise that "a recipe is only a suggestion," he shrugs, smiling when the braised pork and tempura turn out better now that he's more generous with the seasoning. a stew boils on the stove and it makes your stomach grumble when he’s placed it before you at his dining table. he chows down, big huge clumps of rice clasped by his chopsticks, the spinach he’s blanched and mixed with the stir-fry is almost gone before you can get a taste of it, but he saves extra pieces of meat for you. the tilt of his head when he relishes in the flavour, the groans he lets out, "mhm...thats good," his voice grits behind a mouthful. his savagery on display, hunger, and pride at what he's made, that he's now sharing it with you.

gosh, you don't know how long you can stand this, here with legs spread wide on either side, geto leans back into the chair that's dwarfed by his tall frame, his whole chest out collecting the crumbs that fall, caught in the fabric of his apron with white rabbits lining the hem, jaw clenching, unclenching as he chews, fuck...does he know how beautiful he is, geto looks the picture of perfect health. who eats whatever he wants and enjoys it. all the salt and sugar, the extra bits of garlic. even when he would come off messy, sloppy, your heart clenches every time he so much as blows the spoonful of soup before feeding it to you, or that he reaches out to rub at the sauce left at the corner of your mouth, licking it off his thumb.

the act is innocent, nothing more than a kind gesture on his part. but seconds later, it sets something off in him when it dawns on him. feels that desire bubbling up, suddenly self-conscious and so aware that your bodies are so close. only separated by a feast and an unnamed...thing; an overwhelming burst of longing, heart slowing down because you can only focus on each other, he could inch just a little closer, kiss and suck that corner tasting of balsamic vinegar and sweet surrender.

"what does he have that i don't?" says every guy who tries and fails to impress, to charm. geto finds his old records one day as he's clearing out the back room. a few hundred of them nestled in a beer crate, worn from age and use, dusty, but holding all the memories in the grooves and scratches of the vinyl. decorated with the fingerprints of a younger geto in high school picking it up as a hobby not knowing how to actually hold one or care for them. now he's learned to hold them by the edges, that they should be stood upright instead of getting stacked on top of one another, keeping the pressure and weight off them. so wary of everything, gentler, patient.

sifting through them he comes to find one that has an old and worn-out cover, running his fingers over it he relishes in the feel of the wrinkles and texture underneath, the smell so inviting and long-lasting, waxy and yellowed on the edges, only getting better with age. slipping the record out he places it gently through the center spindle, before dropping the needle on it. when the beginning sounds of a soul tune ring through the speakers, he takes a moment to relish it, crackles and all, basslines vibrating through the house.

geto pulls you closer by the hand. "dance with me," he smiles, and so do you. "forget about them," he whispers, lips pressed to your ear, holding you close, holding you tight, swaying. forget about all the other boys who make you run circles around them. you're tired of it, to say the least, of going through the talking stage, the pointless hookups, and all the ways these dates will never live up to a moment spent in his presence.

#dilfism is an epidemic ... and im only making it worse #i would pay big money to see a showdown between dilf geto and dad geto.... whorish vs wholesome....#this is a geto girls only event if ur not a geto girl go home #ask #anon #sunpiece #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #geto suguru #geto suguru hcs #geto x reader #saturated #geto suguru smut #geto suguru fic #geto smut #geto hc #dilf geto

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