#Look at all the winter layers. Plus a stomach warmer And another layer with her logo on it.

[sannyo-appreciation-posts]

Sannyo's Outfits

Honorable mention

Her frequently used damaged art

[strange-n-unbluusual]

Pink! Ch. 4: The Late Date

*Beetlejuice/Original Female Character. Adult situations. 18+ only.*

Summary: After six breather years away, Beetlejuice returns to find the house on the hill overrun by coeds. Lydia allows him to stay, but has rules. Things get more interesting when Beck, one of the housemates, reveals she can see him. Following a sordid affair, Beetlejuice finds himself lingering around Beck more and more. But will her affection last? And why does it seem to bother Lydia so much?

Chapter 1: The Setup

Chapter 2: The Buzzkill Date

Chapter 3: The Ex Lover

This one is a doozy! 18+ only!!

DMs are always open for thoughts, feedback and suggestions. Ty. On AO3 as CopperContessa_13

They weren’t kidding around when they named the place Winter River.

By late November, it was uncommon for the town to go more than a day without being graced by at least another inch of snow. Constantly clearing her car was annoying, but Beck enjoyed the white stuff otherwise.

She smiled when she saw a bright light peeking through her curtains one morning. When she opened her curtains, she saw the sun was reflecting off a fresh layer of snow that had fallen during the night. About six inches lay untouched on the roof outside her window, the rays making it shine like glitter. Some fluffy flakes still floated lazily down from the sky.

Just beyond the roof, she could see the people moving around in the town. The snow there wasn’t quite as untouched as her immediate view, but the scene was still so picturesque.

The plow trucks had already come, easily moving the puffy snow off the roadway. Most driveways were cleared, too, but tire tracks tattled on who’d woken up too late to shovel before work. Focusing on one street in particular, she noticed a man started to clear his neighbor’s driveway after finishing his own.

Children, no doubt on break from school, were already preparing barricades for snowball fights and running down the streets with sleds in hand. During Winter River's first snow this year, Beck asked Lydia if any kids ever came to sled at the house’s hill. Lydia said she’d let them if they tried, but that they hardly got visitors these days.

Something about a bad experience with a Girl Scout and a census taker? Whatever.

Inspired by the scene, Beck dragged her art desk in front of the window. Warmness tickled her feet as she walked past an air vent. Settling in her chair, she turned to a fresh page in her sketchbook and grabbed a piece of charcoal.

It had taken a couple of days for tensions to ease, but they did. Beck and Lydia maintained their distance, but it was more out of respect than compulsion. Lydia had noticeably stayed over at her girlfriend’s house more since the big fight. When Mariah was over, though, they were considerate and quiet. That didn’t go unnoticed by Beck who, consequently, decided it was in poor taste to pointedly use Lydia’s towels to clean up after she and Beetlejuice finished screwing around.

Having the house to herself really did help Beck cleanse any petty energy that remained in her brain. Nice mornings like this, especially, made her worries feel small.

Being alone on Thanksgiving break wasn’t sad or stressful for her. With school in Connecticut and home in New Mexico, she realized early on that a trip home for such a short break just wasn’t worth it. Plus, it wasn’t like she felt alone.

Her parents kept tabs on her through text messages. She had lengthy streaks with both of her sisters on Snapchat. The ghosts were still around, too. Adam and Barbara, whose presence around the place was a bit more common now, would sometimes make idle conversation. And, of course, there was also Beetlejuice who was… a lot.

As if his snarky observations weren’t grating enough when she pretended to not hear them…

Beck didn’t know someone could be so endearing and insufferable at the same time. She’d learned to finish her work at the campus library because, geezus, Beetlejuice was an unstoppable force at home. It didn’t matter if it was noon or midnight, he was always at the door when she got home. She always found the act endearing until he opened his mouth. From the moment she came in through the door, he'd follow her around like a very talkative shadow. Beetlejuice had a surprising amount to say about his day, considering he never left the house.

Books she read, movies she watched, websites she browsed. You name it. Beetlejuice had a very staunch opinion on all of it. Don't even get him started on what he thought of her housemates. Kendra will never be “punk,” Ash’s poetry is shit, Cici’s weird nipples make her boobs look like googly eyes and Lillian is a shallow bitch. Beck had heard it all.

He never had anything bad to say about Lydia, of course.

After his conscious stream of thought ruined the emotional climax of a series she’d been binging, Beck decided she’d had enough. She was about to tell him off when a thought finally occurred to her: he only talks so much because it's been so long since he’s been heard.

It was a cathartic moment.

It was also cathartic when she learned he got really quiet after blowing a load or two.

They had yet to bang outright. He told her that they couldn't. Something about Netherworld bureaucracy barring him from having sex with a mortal without being summoned. Wary of unleashing a demon for the sake of a 30 second bone sesh (give or take, she imagined), Beck decided she was fine with just hand and tongue stuff.

Speaking of bedroom calisthenics, it was weird he wasn’t curled up next to her that morning.

Beck looked up from her drawing pad to glimpse at the town again, but was distracted by something new on the roof.

She adjusted her posture just enough to make out the beady eyes of a snowman sitting outside her window. The snow used to make it was dirty looking, brown and grey. Its eyes and mouth were made up of tiny pebbles. A black and white striped scarf hung loosely from its neck. A gust of wind blew the knit fabric against the (several?) flimsy twigs being used for arms.

“Hey, sugar tits! Coffee’s on!” Beetlejuice announced while kicking the door to her room open.

Beck flinched, causing the charcoal she was holding to make a thick line on the paper. She frowned at the mistake, but decided not to make a big deal out of it. She could probably pass it off as a tree branch or something. Oh well.

Turning to face him, she was relieved to see him holding two mugs. Caffeine was just what she needed.

“You don’t have anything to do with that cute snowman on the roof, do you, Lawrence?” she asked while grabbing a cup.

“Cute? He’s not cute,” Beetlejuice scoffed. “Look at him peeping into your room! That dirty pervert.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve let that slide.”

He grinned and pulled her to his side with his free arm. She tried her best to ignore the gesture, opting to clutch her hot mug with both hands instead of embracing him back. Messing around was one thing, but she still wasn’t sure what to do when he made affectionate little gestures like these.

Still, there were worse ways to start a morning.

Beck took a sip of the coffee. Her face twisted into disgust.

“Something wrong, babes?”

“W-what did you use to make this?”

“Dirt and water,” He said taking a gulp of the stuff. “Why do you think the snowman is so dirty? I spent the morning digging through the garden to make this.”

Trying to contain her repulsion, Beck calmly walked over to her dresser and set the mug down.

“What? Is this not how you’re supposed to do it?” he asked. “Lydia said it was made with plants.”

“Yeah! A coffee plant. Which is definitely not topsoil.”

“Well I got it from the garden, didn’t I?!”

Beck took a deep breath.

“You are… something,” she said.

“I don’t get your deal. It tastes the same to me,” he shrugged.

“Stop drinking that!”

Beetlejuice stared her down as he chugged the rest. He patted his tummy and made a satisfied “ah” noise. Beck rolled her eyes but cracked a smile.

Jokes on him, she thought. She wouldn’t touch him again until he used some mouthwash.

You can’t have a weak stomach when you’re with someone like him, Beck had learned. If it wasn’t clear from the moss on his face and the dust that wafted off of him when he moved, they guy had an affinity for filth. What was more frustrating than the dirty clothes and greasy hair, though, was that she knew he could do something about it with a wave of his hand. Fucker didn’t even need to shower! He just liked being that way!

Beck liked her men dirty, though.

“I was just trying to do something nice for you,” he grumbled.

“Hon, I know, but it’s gross” Beck laughed.

She slightly regretted using the pet name when she saw him visibly perk up at its use.

“Let me get changed and I’ll make a real breakfast,” she quickly added.

“Are you gonna make pancakes?!” he gasped, lighting up further.

“If you want, I guess.”

“Fuck yeah!”

⁂

Later in the day, they’d decided to turn on a movie. One of Beetlejuice’s favorites— The Exorcist. He was so enamored with the screen he didn’t even see her slip away. He was re-alerted of her presence at the sound of heels clicking on the kitchen’s wood floor. He whipped his head around, desperate to get a view of her from the living room.

Beck was wearing tall brown boots and very tight jeans. The straps of a lacey bralette peeked out tastefully from under a knit sweater. A bit of jewelry and makeup accentuated her features. Her hair fell in big, loose waves just above her shoulders. Her coat and purse were held under one arm.

Beetlejuice wolf whistled, grabbing her attention.

“You look like a million bucks, Beck!” Beetlejuice said, walking over and slapping her ass.

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly. “I actually wanted to wear this cute bandeau and jacket I picked up the other day, but I’ll save that for when it gets warmer. Hoes don’t get cold, but they do get pneumonia.”

“Why are you worried about getting sick? I thought you were staying in today.”

“No. I actually need to head out soon.”

“Why? Grocery store closing?”

“No, Lawrence,” Beck giggled. “I’m going to the pub downtown. This guy from my sculpting class struck up a conversation with me about craft beer. Apparently he knows the woman who owns the place. We’re gonna try some of their new pours together.”

Beetlejuice was quiet for a moment before he finally responded with a breathy laugh.

“If I didn’t know you any better, Bexley, I’d say it sounds like you’re going on a date.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Yeah I am. My first since Lydia.”

“Well, you can’t go then!” he snapped.

She looked up at him in surprise.

“And why the fuck not?” Beck spat back.

“Because you and I are already together.”

Oh boy.

Beck’s mouth gaped open for a second, not exactly sure what to say.

“No, we’re not,” she said firmly. “I’m sorry I never laid it out, but what we have is strictly casual.”

“It’s not casual, babes,” he insisted.

Beetlejuice’s words were calm, but she didn’t miss the bits of red that were starting to fleck his green hair.

“We can talk about this later,” Beck said dismissively. “I need to go.”

Beetlejuice pinned her against the wall, holding her firmly in place by clutching her forearms above her head. Her shoes felt like they were glued to the ground— likely his powers holding her. She struggled against him, but quickly realized it was useless.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“No, baby, never,” Beetlejuice cooed into her ear. “I’m just going to prove a point.”

“What point?”

“That your fucking little breather flings can’t hold a candle to how good I make you feel.”

Beck didn’t get a chance to respond before he hoisted her from the wall and laid her on the nearby countertop. He quickly undid her jeans but looked at her for approval before pulling them down. She hesitated for a moment before shrugging.

“Prove your point, big shot. Make it fast.”

Beck knew she was being greedy and inconsiderate for pulling a stunt like this so close to her date, but she couldn't help herself. She'd become addicted to his constant attention.

She tensed at the coldness of his tongue, but it quickly warmed inside her. It always did. One of Beetlejuice’s hands grasped her thigh while the thumb of the other worked her clit. Her hips spasmed at infrequent intervals at the pleasureful sensation.

She loved the way his tongue pulsed inside her at a steady rhythm. At first she was turned off by how inhuman in looked— wormlike and darker than a human one. The way it could stretch and move her, though, was incomparable to anything else she'd experienced. He was already driving her wild, his movements simple but skilled.

He wasn’t allowed to know that, of course.

Beetlejuice looked up at Beck. She was supported on her elbows, giving her enough height to look back down at him blankly. He knew she was trying her best to be unenthused, but her act wasn’t convincing. Aside from her electrified hips, he could read the lust in her eyes and hear the lilt of an occasional whine leave her mouth.

Not good enough.

Craving a more intense reaction, he slid out to tease her ass for a second. When she opened her mouth to gasp, he quickly rammed the tongue back into its familiar sheath. Beck’s hips bucked into his mouth and she let out long, pleasurable cry.

Beetlejuice smirked, raising an eyebrow at her from his spot below.

“Don’t get cocky,” she groaned.

Repositioning, he placed a hand on either of her thighs and spread her legs further apart. He took a second to appreciate how beautiful and vulnerable she was in this position before diving in headfirst again. She panted, weaving a needy hand in his hair. She'd move him gently, desperate to chase her orgasm with his help. She loved it when he maneuvered so that his appendage could both rub her little pleasure button and fill her insides.

She closed her eyes, imagining it was his cock filling her instead.

After manipulating her with his mouth for a while, Beetlejuice withdrew. Beck, who’d mostly shucked off her pants by that point, wrapped a desperate leg around the back of his head. She tried to push him back into place.

“I’m so fucking close,” she pleaded, “Please don’t stop.”

Everything in him wanted to oblige her.

Beetlejuice was obsessed. He craved to feel her fall apart in his hands. After so many rendezvous like this, it started to felt like his purpose in unlife was to worship her body. It felt like sin to not to give in to her wants.

But he had a point to make…

Beetlejuice kissed her left thigh, the wetness from around his mouth transfering partially onto her with it.

“You can cum when you tell me that no breather will ever satisfy you again.”

“That no wha-? Oh!”

She threw her head back and arched towards him as he slowly slid a thick finger in. The speed was disappointing and teasingly slow. Sitting upright now, Beck tried to stimulate herself further but was unable. Her hips felt like they were being held in place, making it impossible to ramp up the speed by rocking back and forth. Her hands, similarly, felt stuck to the counter. It kept her from playing with her clit.

Beck tried to contain her frustration but failed miserably. Finger still moving painstakingly slow, Beetlejuice watched her thin veneer of calm fall apart. A deep, grounding sigh from her lips slowly became a vexed protest. He laughed openly at her struggle and pressed his forehead against hers. The proximity gave them both a rush.

“Say ‘you’ve spoiled my body too much’ and maybe I’ll let you cum,” he said.

“I’ve had better!” Beck spat back.

He bit her neck in response. Pleased at the scream he elicited from her, he kissed the mark it made.

“Don’t do that! I don’t want Nathan to see it.”

"Fuck Nathan!"

Beetlejuice was about to bite harder when he got distracted by a buzzing noise. They both got quiet. Looking around, he realized it was coming from her jacket on the floor. It, along with her purse, were knocked out of her hands when he pushed her against the wall.

She grumbled when his hand and face left her body. Beetlejuice leaned down and fished the buzzing thing— her cellphone— out of her jacket. He looked at the glowing screen, an evil grin spreading on his face when he saw who was calling her.

“Pick it up. Now,” he demanded as he tossed it to her.

He dismissed the restraint from one of her hands, allowing her to catch. She swallowed nervously before answering.

“H-hi Nathan."

Beetlejuice resumed his position on her neck and teased her entrance with his fingers. As he placed his other hand on the small of her back, Beck realized with horror what he was about to do.

She bit her lip to suppress a moan as two of his thick fingers slammed into her repeatedly. It made her crazy, feeling the hilt of his hand ram against her pelvis. Beck tried to close her thighs to buffer the movement, but his powers still kept her position locked. He nibbled and sucked her neck, careful not to bite too hard this time. She liked it when he paid attention to the spot on her collar bone, too, he'd learned.

Her body trembled at the sensations. A tremor was in her voice, too.

“I’m not standing you up, I promise,” she laughed nervously into the phone. “I, uh, I’m stuck at my house. My car won’t start. Sometimes that happens when it gets too cold.”

Beck let out a yelp as Beetlejuice put a third digit into her.

“No! I’m fine. My back just hurts from hunching over my desk all day. W-what was that? Oh! Uh, yeah that’d be awesome. You're the best. I’ll see you in five.”

She hung up the phone, immediately tossing it aside in order to manipulate her clit. Beetlejuice laughed against her skin.

“Not so cool now are you, Bexley.”

“Shut up and finger fuck me like you mean it.”

That was all the prodding he needed.

Her sweater bunched up as the hand on her back clenched into a fist. Beetlejuice started kissing her on the mouth. Beck kissed back, fiery need consuming them both. When he untethered her other hand, he was surprised to feel her tugging his pants down. He moaned into her mouth at the way she stroked him.

Beck's concentration on him wavered. She broke their kiss and stopped manipulating his cock, too focused on getting herself off before she had to leave.

A long and drawn out scream soon crescendoed from Beck’s mouth. It was so unabashed it almost made Beetlejuice blush. He loved it when she didn't care who heard her cumming. I made him feel powerful. The Maitlands were probably somewhere out of sight and clutching their pearls over it. He certainly didn't give a fuck, though.

“Oh, fuck, baby. That’s right. Ride it out,” he whispered.

Combined with the feeling of her hand on his cock, the sensation of her body clenching around his fingers was almost too much. Beetlejuice was close to climax, too.

Regaining control of herself, Beck's hand started working him again. Beetlejuice grunted and came all over the base of the countertop.

They just stared at each other after coming down from their respective highs. The silence spoke volumes.

In a moment of tenderness, Beetlejuice tried to kiss Beck, but she turned her head.

Wordlessly, she readjusted her clothing. He watched bemused as she maneuvered her hair to fall over the purple and red mark he’d left on her skin. Hearing a car horn honk outside, she picked up her things and headed for the door.

Beck dared to glance back at him one last time.

Beetlejuice smirked back, mouthing the word “spoiled."

She slammed the door behind her.

⁂

The date was a bust. Nathan didn’t even go in for a kiss when he dropped her off.

It's not like she had anyone else to blame but herself, though.

Beck was distant the whole time, her mind more interested in replaying what had just happened rather than listen to her date talk. When she did pay Nathan mind, it wasn't for long. She was self-conscious about hiding the hickey on her neck. She was too distracted to give meaningful answers to the questions he asked. She was too overwhelmed with the worry that he could smell Beetlejuice on her. It wasn't long before he gave up on coaxing conversation out of her.

“Whelp. See you in class Tuesday,” he sighed when he dropped her off.

"Thank you. I'm sorry," was all she could manage to say back.

She really did feel sorry. She really did like him.

Beck was surprised that Beetlejuice wasn’t waiting for her in the foyer. She thought for sure he would been itching to gloat about how he was right. About how that dumb breather didn’t have a chance with her and all that.

He wasn’t waiting in her room when she got up there, either.

This was so unlike him, Beck thought. Where the hell could he be?

The ceiling above her room creaked.

“That bastard,” she muttered.

The message was clear: not only did he demand that she grovel, he demanded she actually go up to the attic to do it.

Resolved that she wouldn’t play his game, Beck started to get ready for bed and kicked off her shoes. Tossing her keys onto her dresser, she noticed the coffee cup that had been left there earlier. The art desk was still by the window, too, along with the drawing she’d been working on.

Picking up the sketch pad, she noticed the thick black line from before was gone. The picture, otherwise, was the same aside from the addition of two crudely drawn figures. A man and a woman peered out at the rest of the town from a window in the top part in one of the houses. The detail was hard to make out, but she could tell they were holding teeny tiny coffee cups.

Beck smiled despite herself.

[h-styles-babes]

Harry Styles Blurb/Request #11

Hey all. It’s been...the hottest of minutes since I last posted anything. So sorry about that. My depression has been a real bitch lately, but I’m feeling a little better now and I think the writing bug has finally hit me again. I have a few updates about my writing, but I will address those in a separate post later. 

Anyway, here is the highly requested second part to the “Tell me you need me blurb.” Honestly, this one will probably leave you just as unsatisfied as the first part, but I’ve left it open for another part if you guys would like. Either way, you’ve been warned.

Read Part I here.

Part II

Y/N continued on with her life. Really, what else was she to do? Sit around and wait for Harry to show back up at her door, armed with an explanation about why he’d left, sent her a message about talking to her later, and really hadn’t spoken to her in literal months? She wasn’t that type of girl in general, and she wasn’t going to start just because she was dealing with Harry Styles. They’d been friends long enough that she knew how to deal with him properly, and that typically meant mirroring his behaviour and leaving him alone until he initiated contact.

However, this was the longest they’d ever gone without any contact, so it was definitely grating on her nerves a bit. Something was off, and she didn’t like that she didn’t know what it was. She had no other choice but to live with it, though.

She’d last seen him in July, when it was scorchingly hot in London, and now it was February, and she was wearing three layers of clothes as she walked to the local Tesco in the biting wind. It was just after three in the afternoon, and she had the day off work, and figured a movie day by herself and some incredibly fattening snacks were a good way to spend it. She had a film already picked out and ready to play back at her flat, but she realised she needed more options for snacks, so a trip to the shoppe was in order.

She entered the Tesco, the electronic bell chiming as she stepped over the welcome mat. She hastily removed her gloves before picking up a hand basket and making her way to the sweets aisle.

After she’d chosen some worthy contenders, she figured she’d be a tad responsible and go pick up something to make for dinner that was simple and quick. She was an adult after all, and feeding oneself at least two meals a day seemed like an adult thing to do. And since she figured a roll of Oreos and a box of tea biscuits didn’t seem like they qualified as an actual meal, a trip to the freezer sections seemed like a good idea. While a single serving pasta meal wasn’t the healthiest option, at least it was real food.

When she turned the corner of the aisle, she was surprised to see Harry standing at the end of the aisle, peering at frozen fruit through the transparent door, seeming to be contemplating the merits of different fruits to whatever smoothies he was planning on making. Y/N was sort of astonished to see him in a grocery store himself, as opposed to his personal shopper who was usually in charge of his grocery shopping. Also, she was almost positive that she’d just seen some stupid article just the other day that stated he was in Japan, and now he was in the middle of London, in this ridiculously comfy-looking jumper and a folded up bandana tied around his head to keep his longer locks out of his face. He looked unfairly gorgeous for the whipping wind outside that he had to trek through in order to get there.

The tapping of the wellies Y/N was wearing against the linoleum floor alerted Harry to someone else’s presence at the opposite end of the aisle. He darted his head up out of habit to see who was near him, and he was struck a bit dumb when he realised it was Y/N.

Y/N had been frozen at the end of the aisle when she saw him, debating whether or not to flee the other way or carry on in her mission to get her frozen meal without really acknowledging him. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to Harry, it was just that it seemed like this wasn’t the time to be having a conversation after not talking to one another for nearly seven months. Meeting at one of their homes seemed like a better setting for their reunion.

“Hey,” Harry called softly, blinking out of his own stupor. He cleared his throat in that nervous way he had, and that was enough to let Y/N know that this bout of silence between them was definitely different than all the ones they had before. She had felt it in her bones the entire time this radio silence had been in effect, but knowing Harry felt the same way cut her deeper than she thought it would. What had happened to them?

“Hey, H,” Y/N responded.

When he didn’t respond in any other way to her greeting, she sighed and went about her business, turning and searching for the brand she liked. She easily spotted the meal she wanted, all the while she could feel Harry’s gaze boring into the side of her face. He hadn’t moved since they’d greeted each other, the only sign he hadn’t inexplicably turned into a human statue being that she could hear him breathing and saw the slight rise and fall of his shoulders under his large jumper.

She reached in and grabbed the meal she wanted. When she turned and Harry still hadn’t moved, her hope of him saying anything else to her flitted away. She simply glanced at him before making her way down the aisle and to the front of the store in order to check out. She made polite small talk with the cashier as they checked out her items and bagged them for her in the little canvas tote she’d brought along with her. She felt Harry come up behind her to wait for his turn to check out, and she dodged around him to get out the door.

Y/N was three blocks down before she was accosted.

“Darlin’, wait,” Harry called, a few paces behind her. “Please.”

Y/N took a few more steps to contemplate whether or not she was actually going to stop and wait for him to catch up. She finally sighed as her steps slowed before coming to a complete stop. She may have been giving into his request to wait, but she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of turning toward him in anticipation. She had more dignity than that, she reckoned, and if he had something that was important enough to ask her to wait for, then he’d have to be the one to really get it going. She wasn’t willingly going to give it to him.

When Harry finally caught up to her, he stood by her side silently, seemingly waiting for her to acknowledge him. She stood with her head down, though, both blocking out the chill in the air and avoiding having to make premature eye contact with him. She couldn’t ever recall a time when she had absolutely refused to look at Harry for anything other than some petty little game they played as children. She didn’t like that she was doing it now out of self-preservation. It made her uncomfortable and left a bad feeling in her stomach. This wasn’t them, but she didn’t know how to move past it if Harry wasn’t willing to be a grown up and actually talk about his feelings or just what the fuck happened the last time they’d seen each other.

Harry huffed out a breath after a solid thirty seconds of silence between them, and Y/N saw his breath manifest in the air from the corner of her eye. She was sure he was freezing in just his jumper out in the cold of the winter, but it was his own stupid fault that he wasn’t dressed in something warmer.

Finally, Harry said in a timid sort of voice, “Can we talk?”

Y/N snorted out a sound of disbelief that caused Harry to clench his jaw. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, and while that was a move that Harry typically found alluring, tonight it was a bit menacing, and he wasn't sure how to react to it.

“Seven months and now yeh wanna talk?” she asked incredulously before dipping her head back down to avoid looking at him. “You’re fuckin’ unbelievable.”

Harry ran his free hand over his face as Y/N began walking off again, in the direction of her flat. He left hr keep walking until she got to the end of the street, contemplating his next move, before he took off after her once more.

“I’m sorry I dropped off the face of the earth for months. I had some business stuff to take care of,” he told her, and it sounded incredibly fake to his ears. There had been business stuff, but he’d taking care of that in about a week. The rest of the time he’d spent trying to screw his head back on right, and apparently spending time in foreign countries with people he didn’t really know was the way to do it. He was lying to her, and he didn’t really understand why. He’d never lied to her before. Not about anything serious, at least.

Y/N could obviously tell he was bullshitting her, too, because she scoffed at him, continuing walking at a pace to try to get him to back off. She was no longer in the mood to hear him out. He didn’t seem to want to talk candidly with her, so she wasn’t going to force his hand. Apparently their fifteen-plus years of friendship meant nothing anymore.

“Whatever, Harry. None of my business. Just stop lyin’ to me. Better to not talk to me than give me shit excuses we both know are fake.”

Harry wasn’t surprised by her call out. She was never one to beat around the bush with him. It was one of the reasons he loved hanging out with her. Among several other things, but it was nice when he now lived in a world that told him what he wanted to hear in some strange attempt to appease him.

“If you’re gonna keep yellin’ at me, can we at least go to a more private area?” Harry asked, looking around to watch out for any stray cameras or overly interested bystanders. No corner of his life was really safe from watchful eyes anymore. He’d kept a relatively clean slate for himself since he’d become famous, and he didn’t want his first big scandal to be his best friend yelling at him in the middle of a London street in the middle of the day. No one seemed to be paying them any mind, too busy trying to make it to their destination to get out of the cold, but you never knew.

“What? Wanna get me back to my place so you can fuck me and leave again? I’m not in the mood, Harry.”

“Jesus,” Harry yelped, darting forward to gently grab onto her wrist. “Please don’t say shit like that in public.”

“I can say whatever the fuck I want,” she snarled, finally looking him in the eyes. She was sure they were licking with flames the way Harry’s eyes widened in response, but she couldn’t really be bothered. She was angry, and she made sure he knew it.

“Please,” Harry begged, definitely not above it at this point. “Let’s go back to yours and I’ll explain.”

Y/N huffed and didn’t verbally answer him, but she didn’t tell him to fuck off as she started walking again, so Harry took that as a good sign. They walked in complete silence, though Y/N was grumbling to herself about his inability to be a fucking man and just speak to her like normal people. She understood not wanting to have a private conversation in the middle of the street, especially when you were a highly sought after celebrity, but it was his fault to begin with that it had come to this. Seven fucking months! That was all on him.

She knew something strange had shifted between them that night, and while she didn’t blame Harry for being a little startled by the gravity of it and the intensity of what they’d done, which was so different than it had been all the times before, but that certainly didn’t excuse all of his behaviour. They were adults for fuck’s sake. And adults talked to one another with an open line of communication where opinions could be expressed and feeling could be understood. Leaving under the dark of the night with a single text that never had any follow up was no way to conduct oneself, and Y/N was going to make sure that Harry knew that as soon as he told her whatever he needed to say.

When they finally made it back to her flat, Harry kindly took her bag from her so that she could unlock the door. He went straight to the kitchen to start putting away their things, placing his frozen fruit right alongside her frozen pasta meal as if he lived her. And while his comfort with treating her home as his own usually warmed Y/N’s heart, she was angry with him at the current moment, so it just pissed her off more than anything. She wanted to growl at him to let his shit defrost since he was dumb enough to buy frozen food when he obviously thought there was a possibility he wouldn’t be going straight home, but she let it go. She wasn’t that big of a bitch, no matter how much the words were itching to come out of her mouth.

“Let’s have it, then,” she told him, shucking off her coat and hanging it in the small closet in the entryway. “Let’s have your amazing reason for why you left me hanging for seven fucking months. Why I woke up to a fucking bland text about how you had to go and you’d talk when you could. Why the only reason I even knew you were alive is because of some fucking rag article about you being in Japan. Why I suddenly became the least important person in your life. What the fuck did I do, Harry?”

“You didn’t do anything,” Harry told her, his voice sounding small compared to the near shouting she was doing.

“Then what the fuck? You’ve never completely cut me out like this before.” Her voice broke in the middle of the sentence, suddenly realising she was on the verge of tears. She hadn’t properly understood her own emotions surrounding this whole situation. She was hurt and she was angry. Her best friend had left her in the dust. For no fucking reason, apparently. Even when he'd been gone for months, he’d text her, send her funny memes, call her if he had the time. There’d never been radio silence like this before, and she didn’t feel good about it.

“I’m fucking in love with you!” Harry shouted, his voice finally matching the volume hers was at. His words made all of Y/N’s anger die in her chest instantly. Harry took a deep breath and her volume lowered. “I’m in love with you, and I’m fucking scared.”

Y/N’s tears finally fell, rolling down her cheeks far too dramatically for her own liking. She gulped. “Why are you scared?”

Harry clenched his jaw. He wanted to go to her and wipe away her tears. He’d never liked seeing her cry, and he’d never been the source of them before. It was killing him, but he wasn’t sure he could handle having her so close to him right then. His own emotions were raw and it was taking everything in him to say what he felt he had to.

“Because you have the power to fucking wreck me.”

[minichedders]

st.valentines day massacre 0.1

mobster!bucky barnes x reader

February 14th, 1929.

Gang warfare rules the streets of Chicago, anyone who was anyone knew that if you even whispered the name Al Capone, it wouldn't be long before you were shot or deemed crazy. He was rising to the top of the mafia, he was gradually taking down his enemies, along with the probation, helping him to build his empire, he grew to be a ruthless king. The passage of the 18th Amendment in 1920 meant that all the mafia groups increased earnings through bootlegging, speakeasies, gambling and prostitution. Capone’s income raised well over $60 million a year, he was one of the richest and powerful men in America.

Since 1924, Chicago had been a lawless and violent place; it was called the ‘reign of Scarface’; he was ruthless and did anything and everything to get rid of his enemies and rivals, all except one. The Irish gangster George ‘Bugs’ Moran…

10:25 am.

Your heals clicked along the street, impractical for the cold weather you thought, though your long fur coat was keeping some warmth, under it your favourite green dress. Your dad had convinced you to go round to the Michaels for brunch, however, opposed you where, he practically shoved you out the door, Mr and Mrs Michaels where both pushovers who were pushing you and their introvert son to get married, and apparently your opinion doesn't matter.

10:30 am.

You head tilted back as you admired the white sky, hoping that small snowflakes would soon fall. You loved winter, as it gave you an excuse to stay inside by the fire, and not have to socialise with men and their mothers that boasted about them, or the snobbish wives that had foolishly agreed to marry only because of the money benefits. You believed you were the only person in the city, or world, who wanted to marry for love, not benefits. Before your thoughts could carry you away, a speeding car drove past, abruptly stopping outside an old looking warehouse; what confused you where the three men who exited in police uniforms, and another 5 that stepped out of another car in black suits. Your interest was picked and your walking slowed, you had not yet reached the warehouse, but you could already hear muffled shouts, and a few seconds later, gunshots.

You stood still, mouth agape, even though you shouldn't be so shocked, crime was basically unstoppable in this city. But never would you think that you would have to encounter something so closely. As you where regaining your breath, a man from across the road, someone you had not seen get out the vehicle, even though he was leaning against the bonnet, started walking towards you and calling for you. You froze, not knowing what to do; there was no point in running, not in these heels, plus, he has already seen your face, and knows that you had just seen their faces. Oh, you were so screwed.

“Ma'am?” He called again, his deep voice digging into your skin, making goosebumps crawl along your arms, shivering as they formed. Your head turned back towards him, seeing his face close up, almost losing your breath again; he was beautiful, dark hair, chiselled face, and a tall lean body which looked perfect in that pinstripe suit. If you were in any other situation with the man you would've jumped to joy, finding the perfect Valentines to the day.

Your ears began ringing, buzzing at the sheer closeness of the attractive man, and for a split second you felt as if the rest of the world blurred around him; that was until multiple gun firing in the etching warehouse tore your body limb from limb, panic coursing through your veins like a drug.

“Um, yes?” You said, trying to act as innocent and normal as you could muster, you couldn't die, you couldn't leave your father, not like this. You noticed his gaze drop down your figure, which was noticeably shaking, whether it was from the coldness of winter or the terror that currently ran through your body and soul you were not sure; he looked back into your eyes, the blueness of his reminding of when your father took you to the ocean when you were younger, they almost filled you with warmth, until you heard more calling and shouting.

“Buck! C’mon!” One of the men exiting from the warehouse shouted, making the man in front of you turn his head back, giving them a wave of his hand.

“I’m sorry about this miss, but you are going to have to come with me,” He said, taking a hold of your forearm, gently tugging you to the car; you were too cold and shocked to fight back, and the fear of not knowing what he might do scared you more. Stupidly, you let him push you into the passenger seat, and when he ran round to the driver seat, the three men shoved in the back began clapping, you already felt sick but their whistling and dirty comments made your stomach twist; until than man called Buck told them to shut up, which made you feel less queasy, only just.

11:22 am.

After driving in silence and tension, you arrived at a large house in the forest; the abundance of cars and bikes at the door already told you that this was obviously the mafia house, which only heightened your fear, all the worst possible scenarios where running through your head. You knew that they weren't going to kill you, not yet at least, they wouldn't have bothered to bring you to the house if they were, they were probably going to use you, which terrified you more than a bullet between your eyes.

As the men poured out of the car, you stayed still. The idea of moving seemed almost impossible as you just stared at the big blue house, envisioning all the dirty old men that lived in there, and the possibility of young girls being held unwillingly. A tear started to sting your cheeks as you let out a sob, not noticing the door beside you opening and Buck wrapping his arms around you, lifting you up and carrying you in the house, purposefully avoiding all the busy rooms and corridors. You were still in your dress and coat, which was now slightly damp from the frost and the tears that had fallen on the front, and you could feel your heels slightly slipping off the tips of your feet, although you were now too tired to adjust them. Buck turned into a room, large and messy, and placed you on the bed, slipping the shoes from your feet and neatly placing them on the floor. You both stayed in silence, apart from every so often when your sobs would unwillingly break past your dry lips.

The sight of any women crying made Bucky's heart twinge, but growing up in a ruthless world and business, he knew that if you wanted anything, you took it with no hesitation. And Bucky wanted you from the first moment he laid eyes on you.

"Why am I here, please, I won't tell anyone," You said in between broken cries, bringing your knees to your chest, curling yourself as small as possible; trying to remain an unwilling victim, too scared to look into the man's eyes in case you might slip into a lustful teenager.

"Because you are a witness, how am I supposed to trust a woman that walks the streets of Californa by herself. You are obviously reckless," Bucky replied in a rather harsh tone. He was lying. He just wanted you, to hold and protect forever; he knew he was foolish, how was she ever supposed to love her captor? Bucky sighed deeply, sitting beside her figure, watching as she winced at the gentle touch of his cold fingertips against her back, even with the layers of clothes on, you could still feel the jolt his touch sent to your body. you weren't supposed to react like this. But the longer he kept drawing small patterns on your back, the warmer you felt towards him, relaxing only slightly as the tears stopped flowing down your face. You understood why. 

"How long are you going to keep me here?" You asked, hesitantly, scared of his answer as he took minutes to reply, his fingers now still.

"Until I can trust you," He replied.

"Please, Please, I need to be with my father, he's ill, he can’t live without me," You said, lying. Your father wasn't exactly ill, he was just old, but you were true when saying he relied on you for everything.

"I'll have someone look after him don't you worry princess," Shivers. There it was. The wrong reaction to being nicknamed by a member of an infamous Mafia. You watched his dark, muscular figure rise, walking out the room, leaving with a distinct click, clearly locking the door. You ran around the room, checking the windows, all locked. No weapons, unless you smashed his head with a lamp. But anyway, you knew there was really not any kind of escape. You were in a house full of Mafia members, ruthless and dirty ones at that. You hated to admit it but this room was probably the safest place for a couple of miles. As well as that, if you did manage to escape, you know Bucky would probably go through the ends of the earth just to find you again, and possibly kill you.

Happy Valentine's day to me.

[the-everlasting-dream]

The Revelation, TRR AU - Part 16

Summary: Elizabeth, Liam and Drake come face to face for the first time in months at Olivia’s ball. 

A/N: Welp I’m trying to finish this gd series so here’s another chapter. Hope you like it. 

Word Count: 4000 approx

Warnings: Language,

Drake shifted uncomfortably in the limo as it sped down the highway. They’d been in the car for two hours and were due to be stuck inside for yet another hour on the trip to Lythikos for the Ice Festival. As much as he’d tried to resist, Olivia had insisted his presence was mandatory. He sighed internally not knowing when that she-devil would stop ordering them around and leave him in peace. He glanced up to where Elizabeth’s eyes were already on him already from across the car and he gave her a cheeky wink to which she fought to hide her grin, breaking their eye contact, a slight blush forming on her tanned skin.

Their first date was a few days ago and while it didn’t exactly go as he’d hoped, Drake couldn’t complain. He was just beginning to realise that romancing Elizabeth after her brain injury was much different to romancing her before. He was learning that she still needed a lot of time and space to process things and infringing that only ended up with a bad reaction. Despite every urge in him to just grab her and kiss the life out of her, Drake knew he should be patient and let her come to her own conclusions in her own time. 

 It was difficult, testing the length and breadth of his patience to take it slow when all he wanted was to gather up the woman he loved and kiss her until he could kiss no more. As frustrating as that was, he knew it would be worth the wait, she always was. He only hoped that they'd get to spend sometime together amid the winter festivities and hopefully talk about what had happened. 

 Guilt still sat in the pit of his stomach when he thought about the whole Kiara fiasco that was still weighing it's constant presence on the back of his mind and he knew he should tell her soon... but things were finally going well for him and Elizabeth for once. If he told her now, he risked everything they’d rebuilt and it would drive her further from her and maybe this time, she wouldn’t come back. After all there were only so many times he could be lucky right? I’ll tell her after this weekend, he resolved, settling back into his seat. If everything goes well.

-

The thought occurred to him again when they were all gathered for the opening of the Lythikos ice festival. He found himself standing in the courtyard, surrounded by his friends and the people of the duchy as they watched the fire lighting race. 

 ‘You okay?’ Drake asked, looking over at Elizabeth who stood beside him, wrapped in a thick coat, clutching her mug. 

She nodded but he could hear her teeth chattering so he slipped off the shearling lined leather jacket he was wearing and draped it over her shoulders. She looked up at him in confusion. ‘What about you? Aren’t you cold?’ 

He shrugged, glancing over to see that her mug was empty. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m going to see about getting you a refill.’ 

 Elizabeth nodded again, pulling his jacket closer around her and when she looked visibly warmer, he set off on towards the drinks stand. Along the way, distracted by the winner of the fire lighting race begin announced, Drake didn’t realise as he ran into someone, almost knocking them over. 

 ‘Pardon m-Oh!' 

Drake found himself staring into the eyes of Kiara herself, the sight of her immediately inducing the feelings of guilt and shame all over again. The two of them stared at each other awkwardly for a moment, not knowing what to say because what could they say? They’d avoided each other for the last few months and although Kiara didn’t have anything to do with Elizabeth’s accident, he could tell she was still beating herself up for it. It had occurred to him that he should find her and tell her that none of this was her fault, that it was him and only him that was responsible for the mess they were all in but the selfish part of him, the real dark, ugly side wanted someone to blame, wanted someone to yell at so that he wouldn’t have to face the core truth that he’d fucked up. An apology was forming on his lips when Kiara beat him to it. 

 'I heard Elizabeth is back..' She finally spoke up, voice unreadable, eyes flitting around like she didn’t know where to rest them.. 

Drake blinked. 'Yeah... yeah she is.' 

‘C’est bien, that's good I suppose.' 

'Mhmm.' 

Another silence stretched out between them completely separate from the festivities that unfolded around them. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, her face was a constant reminder of all he was hiding. 

 'Have you told her?' 

There was no need to define what she meant. And yet his tongue failed to move, feeling like lead in his mouth, heavy with the weight of an answer he didn’t want to voice out loud. 

 ‘Drake, does she know?’ Kiara’s voice pierced through his brain almost painfully, notes of desperation, she needed this almost as much as he did. He dragged his eyes up to her anxious ones, her gaze revealing the answer before his mouth ever could. 

 ‘No.' 

 ‘Know what?’

Shock rippled through his body and the hair on the back of his neck stood upright as Drake turned to see Elizabeth approaching. The pool of guilt bubbling in belly had grown until it was brimming in the back of his throat, constructing his airways slowly but sure and he fought hard to swallow under Elizabeth's gaze. How much of that had she heard? 

 ‘Know who I am,’ Kiara replied like the diplomat she was her expression sweetening so quickly he could barely keep up. ‘Do you remember?’ 

Elizabeth’s forehead creased for a moment in thought and the apprehension that was twisting in his gut only grew until- ‘You were one of the suitors for Prince Liam — King Liam’s hand. Kiara?’ 

Her small smile spread to Kiara’s face. ‘Thats right.’ 

 ‘Were we… were we close?’ 

Even Kiara’s diplomacy training couldn’t hide the tiny shift in her facade where if he had not been paying attention, Drake would have missed the guilty look. 

‘Not really…. Enjoy the rest of the festival.’ Kiara raised the glass of ale Drake hadn't realized she'd been holding and set off, blurring into the crowd almost immediately. 

 His breath caught in his throat as Elizabeth watched her leave, gaze lingering long after the other woman disappeared into the crowd.   

‘Richmond?’ he burst out finally, unable to stand her silence and she turned to face him. 

 ‘That was strange,’ she pondered before nodding to the mug in his hands. ‘Am I still getting that refill?' 

‘Yeah,’ he choked out, swallowing thickly, glad to have a distraction from the apprehension that twisted through him. Maybe if he ignored it hard enough, it would go away.. 

-

Drake had no such luck as hours later he was still wrestling with the guilt that was gnawing at his stomach while waiting for the girls to finish getting ready and they could make their entrance to Olivia’s ball together. The black tie he was wearing seemed to suffocate him and he anxiously tugged at it, vaguely aware of Maxwell’s excited chattering in the background, thoughts elsewhere. In his mind he pictured the cold look Kiara had shot him when they’d met eyes after the festival, her meaning clear. 

 Tell her or I will. 

He would tell her but just not now… Elizabeth was just warming up to him, to the idea of them and if he wanted to have any chance of repairing their relationship the last thing he should do was bring up the thing that drove them apart in the first place.  

The question was: Could he trust Kiara to keep it a secret until he found the right moment?

 Drake didn’t get a chance to ruminate on it further before Hana’s excited chirp rang out. 

 ‘We’re here! Sorry!’ 

About time… The words were almost off his tongue as he turned around but they never made it out loud when his eyes fell on Elizabeth. 

Clad in a long sleeved ballgown, the navy fabric complimented her dark complexion perfectly as she made her way down the staircase, arm in arm with Hana. Silvery beads entwined across the bodice and sleeves so that when she moved the entire outfit shimmered. Dark hair twisted into an elegant undo, her makeup was applied just so to let her eyes sparkle leaving him starstruck for a long moment at the sight of her, unable to find the words to describe the vision he saw before him.   

‘Little blossom you look phenomenal,’ Maxwell announced, taking the words right out of his mouth. ‘Hana you are a fashion fairy godmother!' 

'Thanks! Plus it has pockets!’ Hana piped up, proudly gesturing to the dress but Drake couldn’t keep his eyes off Elizabeth. 

As she approached him, he caught a sliver of skin where the presumably conservative dress parted in the middle to reveal the barest hint of her legs. Realising he was stating, she reached up to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear, glancing shyly up at him from behind dark lashes. He swallowed hard, trying to string a sentence together. 

‘You look… just… wow.’   

Cheeks dusted with a light blush, her nervous expression giving way to a shy smile, mouth opening as if to say more but Hana interrupted.

 ‘I think we’d better get going, Olivia will have our heads if we’re later.’ 

Maxwell seemed to jump to attention, immediately offering Hana his arm. ‘Oh jeez yeah, I’m very attached to my head!' 

 Drake did the same, bending his arm at the elbow. ‘Shall we?’ 

 Elizabeth paused for a moment just long enough for him to start doubting himself before her slim hand slid into the crook of his elbow, drawing close to him as they began to walk. He had to bite back a gasp at the weight of her hand against his arm, keenly aware that all that separated them now was a few layers of clothing. He could feel her tension burning through their contact, with every step she seemed to wind tighter into herself, jaw set as the grip she had on him grew steadily tighter as they approached the ballroom. 

 ‘Lord Maxwell Beaumont and Sir Drake Walker. Ladies Hana Lee and Elizabeth Richmond.’ 

As soon as the herald pronounced her name, all eyes in the ballroom were turned on them and as their small group made their way through the aisles, Drake could hear hushed whispers rising from the crowd around them, no doubt surprised at his and Elizabeth’s presence together. HIs chest tightened at the unwanted attention only to be disrupted by her nails digging painfully into his arm. The distance to the front was mercifully short but there was no denying it, the entire court now knew that Elizabeth Richmond was back in Cordonia. Olivia awaited them at the front of the room, ready to greet them as the hostess and nearby rising from his chair was… Liam. 

 At Elizabeth’s slight intake of breath, Drake felt tension curl tighter inside him as he laid eyes on his childhood best friend and kept his eyes intensely trained on her to gauge her reaction to seeing the King of Cordonia. 

 ‘Lady Elizabeth,’ Liam was saying, dipping into a bow. ‘It is wonderful to have you back with us.’ 

‘It’s uh… good to be back,’ she replied nervously, the same stray lock of hair falling into her eyes as she curtsied. Drake couldn’t say for certain but he saw a jolt of familiarity run through her body as the king pressed his lips to her hand politely. Drake felt Liam’s blue eyes settle on him and the tension between them cracked like a whip in the air. 

 ‘Drake.’

‘Liam.’ 

‘Its nice to see you again.’ 

‘Uh huh.’ 

Drake knew he should have made an effort to act cordial — they were in public after all — but couldn’t find it in himself to put on a front even for a moment as his feelings spun into a tempest. This was the first time the three of them had been in the same room since… He shoved the mental image down as they took their seats and dinner was served. While conversation around him remained amiable, anxiety wound him into a tight knot. 

On one hand, there now was a deep rooted resentment. He could not forget the lengths he’d gone through since the early stages of the social season to control his feelings for Elizabeth, to force himself to banish them knowing that he could never betray Liam like that but when the tables were turned, he seemed to have no qualms denying him the same courtesy. 

 Years of friendship weighed on his conscience too, he knew Liam, probably better than anyone else, in that there was not a malicious bone in his body. Ever since they’d announced their engagement in the safe house months ago, Liam had done a pretty good job of hiding his feelings for Elizabeth but some part of Drake always wondered whether they were still lingering under the surface. He wouldn’t try to steal her from him now would he? If he hadn’t been so distracted, he would have noticed Elizabeth curling further into herself from where she was seated in between Hana and Maxwell, obviously uncomfortable from all the attention she was receiving from members of the court.  

By the time Liam was sweeping Olivia onto the floor for the first waltz, Drake managed to picking up her subtle signals. Wanting to put her more at ease, he stood up and offered her a hand, his mind going back to the memory of how relaxed she’d been on their date. 

 ‘May I have this dance?’

Her gaze dipped from his face to his hand and back up again, and for the tiniest of seconds he swore she was going to refuse but she gave him a tentative smile, placing her hand in his. Drake was highly aware of the whispers that stirred up as they made their way to the dance floor, quickly arranging them into the starting position of the first song. 

 ‘Oh!’ Drake gasped as distracted by the extra attention, she'd immediately stepped on his foot. 

‘Sorry,’ she murmured and he dismissed it with a nod, drawing her closer into his arms. 

Tonight felt like it could have been a do over, he realised as they began to trace the steps to the Cordonian Waltz. Months ago in this very same ballroom, he’d lied to her face that he couldn’t teach her the waltz in fear that if he ever got that close to her, he might never want to let go.  He twirled her once, the motion jerking as she faltered in her steps, eyes engaged elsewhere, watching as Liam lead Olivia into an elegant dip. Drake barely composed himself and attempted to lead them into the dance again but realising too late that they were jumping in on the wrong beat resulted in Elizabeth's foot digging into his again. 

 ‘Drake I-' 

’No we’ve got this,’ he insisted not sure if he was talking to himself or to her, fighting to keep his voice away from the edge of desperation. He resettled his hand on her waist pulling her closer, feeling the stares and twitters around them of nobles highly entertained by both of their presences, taunting him almost to fault, to fall, to mess this, the smallest of things up again like he had the first time.   From out of the corner of his eye, he could see Liam twirling Olivia in a series of complex circles, much too advanced for his skill level and his third attempt to execute a similar move only ended with them barrelling into another couple who had taken the floor with them, earning him an angry scowl from the count. 

 ‘You okay?’ He murmured to Elizabeth who was strung taut with anxiety, as he lead her to a quieter section of the dance floor away from the band and the crowd. 

 ‘Uh huh.’

 ‘Hey, look at me,’ he soothed as her uneasy gaze flicked from the crowd up to his. ‘Its okay. Just focus on this.’ Quietly counting out the steps, he lead her through the basic box step and when he felt the tension release from her figure, gradually increased the complexity. 

 ’That’s it,’ he encouraged as she turned in the perfect twirl this time, bringing her back to his chest as they swayed slowly from side to side. 

He could smell the familiar peach scented shampoo she always used, feeling the warmth of her body pressed so closely to his and tilting his head, he allowed the tip of his nose to graze her cheek gently. Elizabeth inhaled deeply at his touch, eyes drifting up to gaze at him through her long dark lashes. They were barely moving now aside from a gentle swaying, lips inching closer and closer as if magnetised until they were a hair’s breadth away. It was at that very moment that the band struck up a lively tune, drawing up a quiet cheer from the crowd, effectively shattering whatever mood had built up. 

 ‘I can get you a drink if you’d like?’ Drake offered as they separated regretfully and she nodded. 

 ‘Water please.’ 

Feeling his hands shaking a little, he took a little detour to the bathroom first.

‘C’mon Walker,’ he growled to his reflection. ‘Pull yourself together.’ 

Being here with her, in Olivia’s ballroom brought back memories of months ago. It felt like a lifetime had passed since Elizabeth had pretended to faint so the waiter would bring them some bisque and he’d found himself leaping (almost literally) to her aid. The thought of her in his arms grinning up at him as she made a quip about keeping him on his toes made him feel warm inside. They’d almost kissed. 

Again. 

 To have her so close to him, again, Drake knew he had to be patient but the anticipation was killing him. He wanted so badly to go back to the way they used to be, for her to be his again, to be able to draw her into his arms and never let go. Baby steps. When she’s ready it will happen, he repeated, glancing at himself in the mirror once before heading for the bar. 

 ‘Water and a whiskey on the rocks.’ 

 As the bartender got to work pouring the drinks, a murmur of surprise from the crowd made Drake turn around. He followed their gazes to where Liam was escorting someone else to the dance floor. 

 Elizabeth… 

 Drake’s stomach dropped as he watched his best friend take  his ex-fiance in his arms for the starting position of an English waltz As they moved fluidly, much more fluidly than he had, across the floor, he felt his inhibitions creep back in. She looked so calm in Liam’s arms, almost as if she was meant to be there. Maybe she was… Maybe she was never mine to begin with and all this was just a twisted game fate was playing with him, to dangle the thing he wanted most of all just within his grasp only to pull it away at the last possible second.   

He picked up his whiskey and drained it, leaving her water untouched as he stalked out of the ballroom. He paused in the door way, unable to help a backward glance towards the dancing figures and headed back to his room.

-

Drake wasn’t sure how much time had passed before someone knocked at his door. He rolled his eyes, knowing if he ignored it, they would soon give up and leave. Like everyone else he knew. But the knocking persisted despite his efforts and finally he sprang out of the chair he was sitting in to pull open the door. 

 ‘What?!’ 

‘We need to talk,’ Liam told him from the other side of the threshold. 

 A bitter taste filled his mouth. 'I don’t think theres much to say. Aren’t you meant to be at the ball? Y’know dancing with my ex-fiance?’ 

‘Grow up Drake. This,’ the king motioned between the two of them, ‘has to end. I want my best friend back.’ 

Even though deep down he agreed, he couldn’t fight the resentment that welled up. ‘What kind of person kisses their best friend’s fiancee?’ 

The other man blinked for a moment before the memory from months ago kicked in. ‘Drake.. ahh it was complicated. Back then, she was confused, I was confused..’ 

‘So knowing she had lost her memory, you took that as your chance to swoop in!’ 

‘That’s was not my intention and you know it,’ Liam growled back, anger piquing in his tone. ‘She kissed me remember? And I would never go behind your back, you know that!’ 

 ‘Really? Did she kiss you again when you went to New York? Or does that not count as going behind my back?' 

Liam ran a hand over his face. 'Yeah I went New York. I went to see her hoping she would change her mind and come back if I asked her. And guess what Drake? She didn’t. She didn’t want to come back for me.’ 

‘You sure about that?' Drake scoffed in reply but the king barrelled on.   

‘No you’re going to shut up and listen to me Walker. She came back for you. Dude, she doesn’t remember your relationship and I’m still not who she came back for. She came back when she heard you were injured defending her honour. She wants you, she just doesn’t know it yet, and if you screw things up with her...I’ll never forgive you.' 

They were standing toe to toe now, glaring in each other’s face and Drake noticed the look in Liam’s eyes, he was telling the truth. Nothing more happened and that was the truth. There was also a hurt there. A little bit of bitterness too. He’d recognised the same one in Olivia’s eyes when she’d glared at Elizabeth with Liam in the early stages of the social season. You have everything I wanted, you better not waste it. 

Liam swallowed with some difficulty, voice weaker now. 'You got the girl man so why are you here sulking instead of holding onto her and reminding her that she belongs with you?’ 

 'Guys! Maxwell’s voice interrupted whatever answer Drake would have produced as he came jogging up the hallway. ‘Have you seen Elizabeth?’

‘What?’ 

‘I thought she was with you.’ Liam replied, eyes narrowing. 

‘She said she wasn’t feeling well and she was going for some air and told me not to follow her. A-and now I can’t find her.’ 

‘And you listened?!’ Drake gaped at the younger Beaumont. 

 ‘Well yeah, you know how persuasive she can be.’ 

Drake was already down the hallway before Maxwell could finish his sentence, Liam on his heels. ‘Which way did she go?’ 

'Out the door nearest the ballroom.’ He took the stairs two at a time, barely able to keep himself from tripping as his eyes raked the halls, in search of her glittering navy dress. 

‘She was headed that way,’ Maxwell called out, pointing at an open door that lead out to the white covered estate. 

Drake’s stomach urched as a low rumble of thunder could be heard overhead as the amount of falling snowflakes began to increase. 

 ‘A storm’s brewing tonight, if she gets lost out there…’ Liam shared a look with his friends. 

 Drake didn’t need to think twice, ignoring his best friend’s warnings, he brushed past them into the cold night. 

-

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[buckykingofmemes]

Closet Softie

Or, How Bucky Barnes Nearly Ruined His Tough-Guy Rep

(On AO3)

The trail mix was gone. 

The nice, expensive trail mix, with twelve kinds of nuts and the big sunflower seeds and dried fruits, the kind Tony only rarely left sitting on the common floors for everyone to get at, was gone. 

Clint had been looking forward to that stuff all morning. 

All the way through a hellish morning “jog” with Steve, all through Nat handing him his ass on the training mats, all through firing the same batch of misweighted arrows over and over so Tony could take scans and fix the design, he’d been thinking, when this is done I get to go upstairs and hang out on the couch and watch Dog Cops and eat the good trail mix, guilt-free. 

And it was gone.

Clint was gonna shoot somebody.

Just as soon as he figured out who’d taken the trail mix.

kingofmemes posted:

yesterday i saw a sad duck in the park who kept getting picked on by the other ducks so today i brought some trail mix and we had a nice lunch together. also i think he might be the duck who pooped on sam last week. if so, he is officially my new best friend. 

Posted at 3:29 PM, 24379 notes

(Read More Below)

Was...was that Barnes? No way was that Barnes. There was zero chance that the huge guy teaching a swarm of kids how to throw a baseball in the park was the Winter Soldier. That was ridiculous. Barnes was probably back in the Tower, brooding or something. Definitely not throwing crazy curveballs while a six year old with a broken arm rode piggyback. There were a dozen or so kids of varying ages clustered around, trying to mimic his throw. And while the big guy did have hair about the same length as Barnes’s, Barnes’s hair definitely wasn’t done up in sloppy child-made braids and topped with a dandelion flower crown. And Barnes would rather loose his right arm than deal with a bunch of kids, right? Even if these grubby little monsters were being remarkably well-behaved. 

Had to be somebody else. Clint kept walking. 

kingofmemes posted:

today i learned that i can throw a baseball hard enough that it will explode on impact. and also that if you do that, you better be prepared to teach a bunch of kids how to do it, because they wont ever leave you alone otherwise

Posted at 4:47 PM, 26658 notes

Clint actually tripped over the package left in front of his door. Avenger he might be, but it had been a long day at the end of a longer week, and he was tired. And usually there wasn’t anything left in the hallway to trip over, what the hell. 

Clint grabbed the box and dragged himself into his apartment. Hopefully it wasn’t a bomb. If it was, he was totally gonna get blown up, because he was too tired to check before he opened it.

It wasn’t. It was a bizarre knit shirt-thing, big enough to fit him and with a hood and hoodie pocket, but without sleeves.The whole thing was made of a soft dark purple yarn, and it seemed unbelievably warm. It was...kinda perfect. He’d just been complaining on the last op about how hard it was to find warm clothes he could wear that didn’t restrict his arms so he couldn’t shoot. 

He pulled it on. It was even warmer than it looked, and softer than Thor’s godly hair. Clint loved it.

But who the hell had given it to him?

kingofmemes posted:

i dont care what anyone says, knitting is a combat-applicable skill, and if you disagree i will fight you. with my knitting needles.

Posted at 3:42 AM, 47292 notes

There were cupcakes on the counter. Beautiful, glorious, still-warm cupcakes on the kitchen counter, and Clint was gonna eat all of them before anyone stopped him.

Well. Maybe he would share with Nat. Otherwise she might make him regret it. Nat was kinda the worst. 

Wait, were these cupcakes for him?? They were lavender. With purple frosting. And the other half were little dark chocolate and red velvet sandwiches. Maybe it was a coincidence? Clint mused it over as he shoved a third lavender cupcake in his mouth. The red-and-black ones had some kind of dark red filling leaking out between the layers. It looked like blood. Nat reached past him and snagged two of them. He’d jump, but he’d gotten used to her sneaking up on him all the time. She was the worst. Clint refrained from commenting by stuffing a fourth cupcake in his face. They were really good. 

Nat made a little muffled moan noise. Clint reached for one of the red cupcakes, and she slapped his hand down. “Those are mine,” she grunted around her mouthful of cake, because she was only ladylike when it suited her. 

“Says who?” Clint asked, even as he took another purple cupcake. 

Nat pointed to the paper plate. Where Clint’s cupcakes had previously sat, there was blocky sharpie lettering: Have fun on your mission & dont die. Below was a little drawing of an arrow and a spider. There was no signature. 

Huh.

Nat swallowed. “We need to leave now if we don’t want to be late for the pre-op briefing.”

Aw, no, cupcakes. There were still so many left, Clint didn’t want to leave them. They wouldn’t last a day in the Tower. 

“Take the cupcakes with.” Nat ordered, sweeping out of the room. 

Nat was the best. 

kingofmemes posted:

cupcakes are great. you could have one really big cake or 40 tiny cakes, thats so fantastic. im gonna die if i keep making this many cupcakes somebody help me eat all these

Posted at 5:43 PM, 23749 notes

Barnes had a death wish. It was the only logical conclusion. There was literally no other reason for him to suddenly yell “Motherfucker!” during a debriefing, while Nick Fury was talking. 

That was the kinda thing that got you keelhauled. Clint would know, he was a human disaster. Barnes was apparently worse, though he seemed to have balls to match, because he sat still and maintained eye contact as Fury glared him down. Weaker men and some brick walls had crumbled under that glare.

Barnes waited him out, and endured the following dressing-down with respectful yes-sirs no-sirs and sorry-sirs. And then promptly dashed out of the room as soon as the debriefing was over.

Weird. 

kingofmemes posted:

ever get clawed in the stomach by the secret kitten you rescued and stashed in your hoodie pocket? because let me tell you. it 1. hurts and 2. hurts emotionally, because i love her and she hates me

 Posted at 4:47 AM, 37294 notes

Clint staggered into the common room. A bad op gone worse had not at all been helped by a stint in medical, which he hated, and he’d gotten home to discover that Lucky had knocked a houseplant over and somehow gotten dirt through the whole apartment and needed a bath. And Lucky did not like baths. Plus he was still dealing with a nasty cold. So now Clint was tired, injured, sick, wet, and somehow still covered in dirt. 

Aw, life, no.

Barnes was on the couch, watching with raised brows as Clint stood and contemplated the disaster that this week had been. Possibly also he might be judging Clint for being such a human train wreck.

Clint sneezed pathetically. 

Barnes stood up. Clint watched him, too exhausted to be concerned. 

“You look like you could use a hug.” Barnes informed him.

 It took Clint a moment to separate out what he’d expected Barnes to say and what he’d actually said. And then he said, “What?” Because, no way. 

“A hug. Want one?” Barnes repeated, like Clint was slow. Which, to be fair, his brain was basically operating at the pace of a drunk slug.

“I...thought you were a no-hugging friend.” 

“Mostly yes, but I’m in a good headspace today and you look like you could use either a hug or a mercy killing. And I don’t wanna get blood on this knife, I just cleaned it.”

Huh. That was...huh. Should he be touched or terrified? Clint didn’t think he had the emotional energy for both. 

“So. Hug. Want one?”

“...yeah, please.”

Barnes was a weird hugger. He came in slow and careful like he was expecting something to detonate, but once he was there, it was like being wrapped up by the world’s nicest bear. Strong and steady and taller than Clint, damn him, but nice.

“Thanks.” Clint mumbled at his toes.

“Yeah, yeah. Sit on the couch, I’m gonna make you some soup before you pass out.”

Barnes was such a softie, Clint thought, splayed on the sofa, and slipped into sleep.

kingofmemes posted:

it turns out that the best way to cure grumpiness is with hot food and niceness. or maybe it was the murder threat that helped.

whichever. ill keep doing both just to be sure. 

Posted at 4:47 AM, 5392 notes

Mod Hell note: Please note that Bucky did not feed bread to the duck. That is because bread is BAD FOR BIRDS and you should never give it to them, as it can cause serious health problems. Nuts and veggies are good. Google it.