herotypical | ooc ↻ appointments & messages

ooc ↻ appointments & messages

❮ buffy, when i said you could slay vampires and have a social life, i didn't mean at the same time! ❯

catch-all appointments & messages post for

herotypical @

luceti; please title and date your top tag accordingly -- think of the ~~children~~timelines! [ written ], [ voice ] & [ action ] are all viable. the addition of funky and hip song lyrics is also welcome (and maybe a little encouraged).

ATTENTION -- looking for old threads? previous appointment posts can be found here and here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"You missed me. You were pining, weren't you. Pining and pining and lost and lonesome."

And Jack dove onto the bed.

"Wasting away. All pined out."

Buffy's swimsuit and sarong were left on her room's one chair, abandoned in a sandy heap. No. Wait. Their room. This transition would be a long and strange one -- one she contemplated while sitting up in their bed, picking at the frayed hem on an otherwise nondescript nightshirt. Summer was far too hot for her usual patterned pajama fare.

"How's the back?"

"Still behind me."

It was sore, of course, but Jack had had far worse very recently. He picked up his Cuddlesome Me pillow and turned it to face the wall. "You'll just have to be gentle, eh?"

"Hey. Me? I'm always gentle. I'm Miss Gentleness. Except, possibly, for today. And for a few other times and...shut up and come here." Her vague gestures turned into an attempt to grab at him and drag him into a loose hug.

"You didn't get lost on the way to the freezer, did you? It doesn't usually take that long to put back a bag of no-longer-so-frozen vegetables."

Dragged he was.

Jack Sparrow had, in many ways, fashioned an idea of Buffy out of many things that she wasn't. And he believed in it to the bottom of his black heart, reality or no.

He held her now, covering her with kisses instead of answering.

"You know," she laughed, "it's pretty rude to ignore someone's question. In polite company."

But Buffy didn't seem to mind all that much, considering the kisses of her own that she was dotting across his cheek. Followed quickly but the curve of his neck. And her fingers skated the scars on his upper back. How dare they do that to him; how dare she hurt him, too. Despite Jack's protests, it was difficult to feel at all absolved.

Regardless, she kept laughing. "Unless you were signing up for chores. On the whiteboard. The chore-board. The one on the fridge. The one all us Seven dwellers use to divvy up the housework none of us really want to do."

A pause: "Just ask me. I'll do it for you." His palms slid gently across her lower back before settling firmly against her. "I wasn't, though. I was thinking...

Just thinking. 'Bout McCoy, and all. That's all."

Oh, she would joke all day and all night about lumping every last chore on his head but...realistically? Buffy Summers will aim for a fair distribution of work. She might even be inspired to even higher levels of neatness with Sparrow around to keep her on the straight and tidy. Cullen House had always been so well-kept. The same could have been said for his old apartment in Building Four. She'd been surprised to see it, back then. Neatness hadn't yet been something she expected from him.

Now, she knew better.

"I guess it's hard not to. Think about him. Here. Living in the house full-time doesn't change that. But I'd like to at least pretend to think that he'd approve..."

"Pretend. Very well -- I shall pretend also."

Because he wouldn't. Oh, McCoy would not approve.

"Besides -- I have to be the head of the household, now. And I approve. You can't get much more legit than that."

"What does that make myself, mmm?" Jack kissed her again, long and lingering this time. It wasn't that long before that he'd only been allowed to dream of doing this with her. When he'd had to sneak past Seven to reach the woods and hope that those who lived there didn't see him.

"Mmm. Hmm?" Lost -- but only for a moment -- she delayed her response until well after the kiss. And, perhaps, another. "The novice, of course. The newbie. The frosh. The soon-to-be-hazed."

Her hand dropped from his scars, trading trepidation in for something sweeter as she sank her fingertips in amongst his feathers.

"O-oh." A deep, slow breath as she touched him. "Thought I'd have special privileges and such.

Mmm."

"Quite the opposite. You've gotta work your way up to special privileges."

"Tell me, then. Direct me. Instruct me."

"Rule number one?" She propped herself up on an elbow and continued preening and fussing over his wings -- one feather at a time. Black and -- ahem -- darker black. "Don't mess with the toaster."

"I shall only trouble it at pop tart time."

"I mean it. Breaking it is practically an eviction-worthy crime."

Bones's law; not hers. Emony had supercharged the appliance and the Doctor and thereafter kept it protected. "By all means, use it. But go off-manual at your own peril."

"I don't like peril so much." He stretched his arms high over his head. "Worse than cold tarts."

"I think I'm more of a Toaster Strudel gal, to be honest. There's something supremely gratifying about decorating your own breakfast pastry."

"What's a toaster whatsit?" The pirate nudged her with his hip. Get on top, now.

After only a token smattering of attitude -- housed mainly in her large, ever-expressive eyes -- she hooked a leg around his waist and pushed off the mattress with one hand. Buffy quickly assumed the upper hand that Jack had as good as impressed upon her, drumming a playful beat with her fingers on his chest.

"Strudel. Toaster Strudel. Think...oh, an apple turnover but toasterable. And with little packages of icing you spread yourself. Pillsbury."

".........In the morning, darling. I will make you a Pillsbury strudel apple thingit."

Jack fixed his gaze on those green eyes. He'd thought about them a great deal while serving on the cargo loading mission, night and day -- working for the ring that would match them.

"We don't have any. I keep scoping out the store but either the Malnosso aren't keen on letting them through or someone else has been hogging all my rightful strudels."

The ring still sat on her wrong hand but it did, at least, sit there. It was treasured -- and for far more than its accompanying intentions.

"Besides, you can't make breakfast every morning."

"Why not? Got to feed you up and all." She'd kept him fed at such a low point in his life, after all. "The woman who wouldn't let me starve."

no subject

how is it you manage to tag JUST as i get back. timing. i swear.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject