#Two Weeks in Love - 1950

[kaleldobrev]

Aren’t You Forgetting Something?

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben, Hughie Campbell, MM & Nan (Reader’s Grandmother)

Original Prompt: Requested by anon | I gotta tell you that not only I love your writing but I love your series writing, specifically. When something new drops I’m always happy to read it before going to bed because I somehow feel connected to the characters, like I know them! I love to keep up with them and I love Ben’s and Y/N relationship so much. I’m in the mood for some angst between them tho, maybe Ben forgetting her birthday and receiving a silence treatment? I don’t know, but I trust you.

Summary: Ben forgets one of the most important days in yours and his relationship — your one year anniversary

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Cursing (40x), Forgetful!Ben, Ben making fun of Hughie for the umpteenth time, Implied violence, Lots of angst, Fluff, Vulnerable!Ben & Implied Smut at the end

Authors Note: Takes place in the Hughie’s Best Friend is Dating Soldier Boy Universe | I changed it from birthday to anniversary, so I hope that's okay my anon friend! | Takes place after After Everything | I had a lot of fun looking up 1950s fashion for this | There will not be a second part to this but I will still be adding to this universe | This came out a lot longer than I expected it to, but I had a lot of fun with this | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ Hughe's Best Friend is Dating Soldier Boy Masterlist ⋆

You never thought that this day would ever come, but it was finally here: yours and Ben's one year anniversary. It was a milestone that you never thought would come, as the relationship between the two of you wasn't always easy. It was rocky, and sometimes very, very messy. But despite all of the messiness, you loved him unconditionally, and he loved you just the same, but showed it in his own unique ways.

Ben wasn't the kind of person to verbally say, "I love you," as his love language tended to be that of a physical nature. He would do chores around the house that you hated to do — despite him having it too. He would bring things back from missions that reminded him of you — often those objects being covered in someone else's blood; and he would kiss and smack your ass every time you were in his path, no matter what either one of you was doing.

Although you love those physical actions, you hoped that maybe one day you would be able to hear him utter those three little words you had been yearning to hear — and maybe, just maybe, today was that day.

Since Ben was away on a secret mission that you weren’t apart of since you were sick at the beginning, you took this whole week that he was away in order to plan what you were going to do for him the day of. Initially, the two of you agreed that you really weren't going to do anything special to celebrate, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized how important this milestone truly was; not only for your relationship, but for the two of you individually.

Although it was only a year, your relationship with Ben was the longest you've ever been in. Not that you've had many previous relationships, but every single one you had previously never really lasted long (you were lucky if it lasted two months), as they either did not understand the whole vigilante justice objective of The Boys, Butcher somehow scared them off, or they were (funnily) threatened by Hughie.

But Ben was different in this way compared to your other relationships. He understood the vigilante justice, he understood your hatred for Vought, and he wasn't threatened by Hughie in the slightest (Hughie was actually threatened by him). Despite all of his flaws, he was perfect in his own way.

When it came to the Ben side of things, you were not his longest relationship by a long shot, but you were the first and only person to have genuine feelings for him. Those genuine feelings being something that no one had seen coming — not even you. But he was someone that gradually turned into becoming the person you had wanted to spend the rest of your life with, despite how strange that sounded to most people.

Your plan for the big day was simple, but felt like it would be special enough to really honor and celebrate the relationship. You had planned to make his favorite dinner: steak and mashed potatoes. For dessert, favorite pie: pecan. And dress in the style of a 1950s housewife, as that was a style he had never once seen you in before.

Even though you have made his favorite dinner and dessert hundreds of times before, dressing up as a housewife was something that was definitely beyond your comfort zone and expertise, so you went to the one person that knew could help you best: your Nan.

Despite the style of the housewife fashion basically being obsolete, it was a look that she adored, and dawned on even years after the style had become out of fashion. Her hair was always neat and never out of place, her lipstick always the deepest shade of red, and her dresses always the brightest of hues. You remembered seeing pictures of her back when she was your age and she was a knockout (Ben agreeing), so when you told her that you wanted to dress in the housewife style, she beamed and quickly went to her closest to pull out the nicest shade of red that perfectly matched your skin tone.

“Just don’t do anything sexual in this dress. I’ll never be able to get the stains out,” she told you with a wink. Her comment causing you to roll your eyes.

“You’re just as bad as Ben,” you told her.

Ben was eager to get back home to you, as this mission was taking a lot longer than he had anticipated. It was supposed to be a quick and easy assassination (something he had done alone hundreds of times before), but one thing after another kept going wrong, and he couldn’t help but blame “his team.” He felt himself getting more and more agitated by the second, and there was nothing he could do about it, especially because you weren’t here to help him take the edge off.

Even though rough sex with you right now would be the highlight of the mission, he wished that you were here to at least talk to him, because you were one of the only people he knew that he could have an actual conversation with that wouldn't end up with him being annoyed.

He paced back and forth, with shield in hand; the only sounds between him and the rest of the group were the occasional snicker and his heavy boots. “You’re making me nervous walking around like that,” MM said, behind his binoculars.

Ben rolled his eyes, stopping a few feet away from him. “Then what would you suggest I’d be doing right now? We’re just sitting around doing nothing.”

“Is there somewhere else you need to be? Cause we’re here to do a job,” MM replied, removing the binoculars from his eyes and turning in Ben’s direction. “And we’re going to be here as long as it takes to do this job.”

“I’d rather be in Y/N’s pussy or ass right now, but because you guys are all somehow getting worse at your jobs, I can’t fucking do that right now,” Ben said, grinning an annoyed grin.

His comment caused mixed reactions from the group; but mainly disgusted looks from MM and Hughie. Butcher and Frenchie on the other hand, looked indifferent about his comment. “I really wish you’d stop mentioning how much you like fucking my best friend. It’s getting…weird,” Hughie commented.

“Fucking pussy,” Ben mumbled to himself.

With the pie cooling on the counter, and with dinner almost ready, you felt your heart beating faster than normal. Was it normal to get this nervous about anniversaries? To you, it felt like another day with Ben, but that’s not the way your heart and stomach was making you feel.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you almost didn’t recognize yourself as you dawned red lipstick, and a matching shirtwaist dress you had borrowed from your Nan. But you couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction was going to be as this was something he’d never seen you in before. Yes, he’d seen you dress up a handful of times, but it was in a modern style of dress — sweetheart and plunging necklines with a slit riding up the thigh; not this style which was something he hadn’t seen in decades.

You smiled though, thrilled with your appearance despite the nerves you were feeling. Your hair perfectly styled similar to that of Rosie the Riveter and deep red lipstick that was in a similar shade to your dress. The last thing to complete the look were pearls — your mothers specifically.

Finally covered in a thin layer of blood, sweat, and ash, the mission was finally over, and a huge sigh of relief washed over Ben. In just a few short hours, he would finally be home to his girl. “Fucking finally,” he said, mainly to himself, as he placed his gun back into his holster.

He looked over to his left, and Hughie was standing there with ripped clothes, he too covered in a thin layer of sweat, blood, and ash, holding a gun with his usual slightly constipated look on his face.

As Ben was about to walk away, as he didn’t really want to wait up for Hughie, he sighed, knowing that you’d want him to ask how he was doing in this moment, although he couldn’t give two fucks. “Hey,” he said, and Hughie looked over at him. “You good?” He asked.

The look on Hughie’s face changed; it was no longer the look of constipation, but slight annoyance. “Am I good?” He asked, his hands falling to his sides; the gun slightly hitting him in the leg. “What part of — yeah. I’m fine. Just, just peachy.” His tone radiating sarcasm.

“Awesome,” Ben grinned, giving him a thumbs up as he started walking away; being careful not to trip over any debris. “You comin’ or what?” He called out, as soon as he left the room. “I ain’t gonna be late because of you.”

Hughie’s face changed again to that of a puzzled one. “Late for what?” He asked, but quickly shook his head. “Actually, don’t fucking answer that because you’ll probably say something disgusting.” A loud, booming laugh from Ben could be heard down the hall in response.

As you sat on the couch watching tv, your nerves were starting to get the best of you again, and you were beginning to second guess your decision in wearing this outfit. You thought that it would be a special surprise for him to see you dressed like this, since it was something you usually didn't wear, but at the same time, maybe he wouldn't even notice or care. You weren't entirely sure if it was because he was a guy, or because he's been around such a long time, that he'd seen and done everything, and there was nothing that remotely fazed him at this point in his life.

Staring at the door, you got startled suddenly from the sound of your phone ringing. There was a small part of you that hoped it was Ben, but it was your Nan. Taking a deep breath to collect yourself, you answered the phone. "Hi Nan, how are you?"

"Hi Sweetheart. Has Ben seen you yet? How'd he like the pie?" She asked, her voice sweet.

"Ben's not home yet, but he should be home soon," you told her.

"Okay dear. Well, can you tell him hi and give him a big kiss for me? I always thought he was so handsome back in the day. He still very much is. Aged like a fine wine," she chuckled to herself. "But don't tell your grandfather," she chuckled again.

"Yes, I'll tell him hi and kiss him for you," you said, quietly laughing to yourself. "You know he's always happy to hear from you," which was the truth. He was always happy to humor her and reminisce about the good old days, even if he had heard some of her stories numerous times before.

As you heard the door unlock, you smiled widely. "Nan, I have to go. Ben just walked in," you said.

"Okay Sweetheart. Happy Anniversary!" She said happily. "Don't do anything I wouldn't," she chuckled again, before the two of you hung up the phone. There's not a lot of things Ben wouldn’t do, you thought.

"Fuck it's good to be home," Ben said, walking into the house and placing his shield next to the door. "I swear, your friends are getting worse at their jobs somehow, cause I probably would have been home fucking sooner if — Fuck, look at you." He finally looked up now, and you were standing there in an outfit that he had never once seen on you. It was something that he hadn't seen in decades in fact; and the biggest grin appeared on his face.

You didn’t move a muscle toward him, but he heard your heart beating like a jackrabbit. The sounds of his heavy boots walked across the floor toward you. “Do you like?” You asked, and you gave him a small spin; the dress slightly flowing as you did so. “Thought I’d do something special. Different.” You smiled, practically beaming with excitement. He wondered what the occasion was.

“Haven’t seen one of these in fucking decades,” he said, slightly reminiscing with a grin. He looked you over, eyeing you up and down, one of his fingers hooking into the belt loop of the dress. “What’s the occasion?” Your once beaming smile slowly faded into a frown. “What?”

“You seriously don’t know?” You asked, your voice slightly irritated sounding. He hadn’t had the foggiest idea what made today so special, other than you dressing differently than you normally did.

He looked at your face, trying to obtain some kind of hint, but he had no clue. But your heart was racing faster now. You were pissed — and he didn’t fucking understand why. “No, I really fucking don’t,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me? I’m not a fucking mind reader Princess.”

You let out a huge huff, rolling your eyes at him. As much as he thought you were cute when you were pissed, he didn't like it when you pissed at him. "Un-fucking-believable," you said, pulling away from him.

"What?" He asked, still in utter disbelief.

"Your favorite fucking dinner is on the fucking table along with your favorite fucking pie. I'm going to bed," you said, your voice angry as you stormed off into the bedroom, slamming the door. Two seconds later, the door opened again. "You're sleeping on the couch tonight," you told him, and slammed the door again, promptly locking it behind you.

You knew the lock wouldn't be able to keep Ben out, as he'd be able to bust open the door with barely any effort; but you knew he wouldn't remotely try to come into the room, as he knew not to come in when you locked it — thankfully, he was starting to understand boundaries.

You couldn’t help but be angry, upset, and frustrated. But at the same time, you weren’t remotely surprised that he didn’t remember. It was something that neither one of you initially wanted to make a big deal about, but between this being your longest relationship, and the last person he celebrated an anniversary with gave him up to the Russians, you figured why not make this day special after all?

It took everything you could to hold back the tears as you started to remove your makeup; feeling like it was an utter waste of time. It didn't take you that long to do this, but you went through some effort looking up tutorials online to try and be as 1950s authentic as possible, even asking your Nan for tips on how she used to do her own.

The mascara started running down your face, as you tried your best to scrub it off. But it was barely getting removed, which only frustrated you more. You pounded the dresser, and let out a muffled sounding scream.

A small knock came at the door a few seconds later. "Sweetheart, you okay?" Ben asked, and you scoffed.

"Fuck you," was the only response you could muster up in the moment.

"Ouch," you heard him mumble. "Can we...talk?" His voice hesitant.

"No. Just leave me alone Ben," you said, and you could hear sadness in your voice.

You heard him let out a frustrated sigh. "Alright," and the sound of his heavy boots walked away from the door. He sounded frustrated too.

As Ben ate his dinner that you had made for him (his favorite no less), he tried to figure out why you were so unbelievably pissed at him to the point that you refused to talk to him. Yes, he’d seen you pissed numerous times (either at him or about something else), but you’d never been so pissed to the point that you’d completely shut him out — and that terrified him.

Like usual, he started going down the list of things that he knew pissed you off: not taking his boots off in the house, tracking mud into the kitchen, getting blood on the furniture, doing coke on the kitchen table, crushing Bennie’s on the marble bathroom counter. Maybe it was the boot thing? Yeah, it had to be, he thought.

As you lied in bed staring up at the ceiling, you sighed heavily, wanting more than anything to unlock the door and invite Ben to come in and cuddle with you. It had been almost a week since you’d last saw him, and you just wanted to feel his skin against yours. But you didn’t want to give in — you earned the right to be pissed, even if it wasn’t particularly fair to be, since you agreed not to make it a big deal. Then again, he did forget your anniversary.

You heard a knock at the door again, and you sighed an annoyed sigh. “Go away,” you said.

“I think I know why you’re pissed at me,” Ben said. Your eyes lit up, and you sat up straight in bed, eager for him to say Happy Anniversary. A smile formed on lips, waiting. “I forgot to take my boots off when I came into the house,” and then your smile faded.

“Fucking Christ,” you mumbled, falling into the bed again to stare up at the ceiling.

“Is that a no?” Ben questioned.

“That’s a no,” you responded, annoyed.

“Son of a Fuck,” you heard him mumble, as he walked away from the door again.

As Ben sat on the couch flipping through channels, he continued to think about what you could possibly be this pissed about if it wasn’t the boot thing. Women are so fucking complicated, he thought. Weren’t this fucking complicated back in my day.

He stared at the couch, sighing in annoyance as he didn’t want to be sleeping here tonight. He wanted to sleep in bed with you; something he had been looking forward to the entire week he had been away from you. He looked forward to holding you close, and making you feel safe, tracing patterns on your bare back like you did to him. He honestly didn’t know what he was going to do if he didn’t figure out why you were mad; because he loathed when you were mad at him. It was a time that made him feel the most unease and insecure, and he was rarely insecure and uneasy.

Ben hadn’t known you for long, but you had managed to somehow worm your way quickly into his heart. You were someone he felt a strange connection to the moment he laid his eyes on you; and you were the one person that made him feel safe and loved. You were the only one that he felt he could be his true self around.

He thought of ways in which maybe you could forgive him, and started working on those; one of them being washing the dishes from his dinner even though he preferred you to do it. But he hoped that maybe this small gesture would help in his favor. Maybe I can go down on you? He thought. You always forgive me after that. Then again, I don’t let you come until you do…

As he made his way back into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks, as he noticed something on the calendar that for some reason, he hadn’t noticed previously. Today’s date was circled with a single sentence written in your handwriting: 1 Year Anniversary.

“Fuck,” he said to himself. “I forgot our fucking anniversary.”

Ben stared at the circled date on the calendar, mentally cursing himself because he had forgotten it by accident. It was a day that he meant to remember, and even repeated over and over again while they were heading to the mission. But because it had taken so long to complete, it left his mind, because it had become entirely mission focused.

You’re never going to fucking forgive me, he thought. This was how he was going to lose you. Panic started to set in for him, realizing that he might have to live the rest of his miserable existence without you; and that was something he couldn’t bear the thought of. Ben didn’t need a lot of things, but he knew that he needed you.

Tossing and turning, you were having a hard time trying to fall asleep. You wanted Ben to be lying next to you right now, caressing your hair, and feeling his rapid heartbeat. It was simple moments like those that you enjoyed most with him; because sometimes you would forget all the awful and horrible things both of you had done in order to meet and to get to this point. If Grace hadn’t recruited you, you would have never met the love of your life.

The love of your life: now that was a sentence you never thought you’d ever equate to Soldier Boy. He was someone you grew up having a crush on since you and your father had watched his movies on repeat to the point you had to buy another VHS tape because you’d worn it out. He was someone you wished you could have met because he was always your favorite (partially because he was also your dad’s favorite).

But he was a Supe, and you had told yourself that you’d never end up with one after what had happened to your uncle, but here you were, dreaming of spending the rest of your life with one.

You sighed heavily, and ended up on your back again. A knock came at the door again, and you turned to face it. “I forgot our anniversary, and I’m sorry,” Ben said, and you cocked a brow. His words seemed genuine, and hurt at the same time. “I tried to remember; I really did but…the mission took full focus.” You heard him sigh, and you knew how hard this was for him, as apologizing was something he wasn’t particularly good at, since Vought basically taught him to never apologize for anything. “I don’t want to lose you over this. I….fuck,” he mumbled. “Can you please open the door so I can look at you?”

He heard you getting up out of the bed, slightly sighing. He could hear your heartbeat, and it was music to his ears despite the rapidness of it. He heard you unlocking it, his nerves starting to show as he tapped the wall next to the door.

You opened it up gently and stared at him through the crack of it. Your eyes slightly puffy from crying. He felt his heart drop, hating that he was the one that had made you cry — he never wanted to be the one responsible for that. “Sweetheart,” he began. “I know I fucked up.”

“Did you actually remember, or did you look at the calendar?” You asked him, your voice barely audible even to him.

“I looked at the calendar,” he admitted. “But to be fair, I really did try and fucking remember. You can ask your friend. I was saying the date on repeat, and then the mission got in the way 'cause they weren’t doing their fucking jobs properly.”

“Hughie can back that up?” You asked, and he nodded. He hoped that you wouldn’t ask him, because he wasn’t sure if he would actually corroborate his story or just fuck him over.

“He fucking hates me, I know he wouldn’t back me up,” Ben added. “I make fun of him too much. But it’s hard not to, I mean look at him.”

“I’m not going to break up with you if that’s what you’re worried about,” you said, hopefully reassuring him. Because even though he gave off the attitude that he didn’t need anyone or anything, you knew you were the only person he needed. You were the one person Ben could rely on no matter what; and you couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen if something bad had happened to you, or if your relationship ever ended.

“I don’t like it when you hate me,” he whispered. “You’re the one person I couldn’t bear to have hate me.”

��I don’t hate you Ben,” you said, reassuring him again. “I could never hate you.”

“Even if I killed Hughie?” He asked, slight teasing in his voice. But you gave him the look, and his teasing smile quickly faded. “Right. He’s off limits.” His hands finally went up in the air, as if he was surrendering. “I’d never kill him, don’t worry. I don’t actually mean it.”

“I wanted to do something special for you, even though we agreed not to make it a big deal because I figured this was a milestone for the both of us. You’re the longest relationship I’ve ever had, and the last person you celebrated an anniversary with gave you to the Russians.”

“I gave her a fucking diamond necklace too,” he mumbled.

“Ben,” you began.

“Sorry, sorry. Look, I want to make it up to you,” he said. “Let me start by —”

“Going down on me?” You questioned, cocking a brow.

“Well…yeah…I mean, don’t you like when I go down on you?” He asked.

“Yeah of course, but I was kind of hoping for something else than the usual way,” you confessed.

“Like what? Me saying I love you or something?” He asked.

“Don’t say it just because you think that’s what I want to hear. I want you to say it because you actually mean it.” It was three little words you had longed to hear for a while. And even though he had said it, he said it in a way of a question, because he thought it was words that would make this situation all better; almost like putting a band-aid on a huge gash.

“You know how I feel about you. I thought it was obvious when I first saw you,” he said. “When I first saw you, I thought you were a fucking knockout. I mean, I pictured you sucking and bouncing on my cock so many times before you actually did.”

“If that was supposed to sound romantic, it failed,” you said; barely humoring him in the moment.

He sighed, slightly rolling his eyes. “What I’m trying to say is, I may not be perfect, but there are five things that I know. Numbers one to three, I love your boobs, ass, and pussy. Number four, you’re the only person I ever fucking need in my life, and five, I love you. And I’m not just fucking saying that. I really fucking do. And you know how fucking hard that is for me to say cause the last person I said I love you to was a fucking bitch.”

Ben looked at your face, trying to find any hint of what you may be thinking. But he didn’t have the foggiest idea. All you did was stare at him with those big eyes of yours, looking at him like a lost puppy. “You said it,” you whispered, almost in disbelief. “You actually fucking said it…Ben…”

That’s when you wrapped his arms around him, finally feeling your small embrace. A grin formed on his face as he wrapped his arms around you in response. It felt nice to say it to you and say it to someone that he knew actually appreciated him. He let you see another side of him, a side that he would never let anyone besides you see. “Can I go down on you now?” He asked, speaking into your hair. You let out a small laugh, and felt you nod into his chest.

Without a second going by, he picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, happily bringing you into the bedroom.

Tag List: @madzzz0797 ⋆ @dumb-fawkin-bitch ⋆ @nancymcl ⋆ @deanbrainrotwritings ⋆ @jackles010378 ⋆ @deansbbyx ⋆ @uncle-eggy ⋆ @foxyjwls007 ⋆ @queenie32 ⋆ @jzackles ⋆ @shy-taylorsversion ⋆ @ladysparkles78 ⋆ @zepskies ⋆ @roseblue373

Weren't Tagged & Think You Should Have?

If you weren't tagged, and think you should have, I'm sorry about that! But there may be a few reasons for that. You did not fill out of the Google Form List (which can be filled out using this link), you do not have your mentions on, or you are not currently following me.

If you're having trouble filling out the form, don't hesitate to send me a message or leave a comment! 💜

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

Enemies to lovers, period sex and dirty talk with james potter please 🥹

yay a kinktober request! this is why i love these things, i would've never put those together (this request gave me some saltburn vibes ngl but dw i didn't take it that direction)

mdni obviously, fem!reader wc: 3.8k - sorry i got a bit carried away; hope you enjoy!

Bloody Hell

Damn, it was like your period was on a schedule to come when as inconvenient as possible recently. You weren’t supposed to get it for a few days. You groan, clutching your achy back, considering whether this meant you had to change your Halloween costume for tonight. You were going to Sirius’s party as witch. It didn’t involve white trousers or anything ridiculously tight or short, so you felt fine wearing your fancy dress with your now necessary period pants. 

As the day dragged on, pain killers helped the cramps, but definitely not the moodiness. It’d been a while since it made you this grumpy. But, Halloween only came once a year, and you’d been excited for the party, so you try to change your attitude as you’re getting ready later.

The witch’s costume is a bit typical, but you’d loved the colours and liked the classics. Besides, it fit unusually well. Tight and loose in all the right places, the perfect skirt length, and not to mention what it did for your… bosom. You looked hot. The first person you see upon arriving at Sirius’s does not help your mood: James bloody Potter. Looking gorgeous as ever… Wait, what? No. Not gorgeous. Annoying. Yes, that was it. Annoying and smug and irritating and fit. Ugh, okay, whatever. He looked really fit. 

He hadn’t dressed too far from his normal self. Still wearing his typical leather jacket and jeans, but he’d cuffed them differently and had arranged his usually very messy luscious head of hair differently. 

“A witch, Y/L/N? Really?” God, why did his stupid, gruff voice always have such an effect on you?

“Not very creative.” “At least I dressed up, Potter. What are you supposed to be? A twat?” 

“Har-har. So witty. This, for your information, is a 1950’s look.” “Oh, is it? I thought I saw you wearing it last week.” 

He just glares at you. “Alright, alright, you two. Should’ve dressed as vampires; hasn’t even been five minutes, and you’re already at each other’s throats,” Sirius comes interrupting, giving you a quick greeting hug and shoving James a bit along the way. 

“Hi, Siri,” you hug back. “Blame your bestie. He’s the one who doesn’t know how to be nice.” “Oh, because you’re always a ray of sunshine?” James retorts. “Fucking hell,” Sirius sighs, already walking away, busy playing host. He’s already turned his back but you — both of you — clearly hear his exasperated, “Just fuck already, and stop torturing the rest of us.” 

Your wide, mortified eyes snap to James, whose expression mirrors yours. Then he just scoffs and walks away. Typical. 

The party goes on and is actually quite fun. The place is completely covered in Halloween decorations, and some of the costumes are amazing. It’s working wonders on your mood, especially when Remus arrives, but the grumpiness has a way of sneaking its way back into your system whenever Potter approaches. 

You catch him looking over at you frequently, and it gets on your nerves. What does he want? To pick a fight? And why do you care? You try to ignore him as you keep chatting to Remus.

But it becomes impossible when he comes to stand right next to you. “Alright, mate?” He claps Remus on the shoulder, completely ignoring you. 

“I’m standing right here, Potter,” you can’t help but say.

“Yes, I noticed.” “Did you? Because, you see, most people when they notice someone is having a conversation, don’t just interrupt it and ignore them.”

Remus is off with a sighed, “Not this again.” “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot how much you love my attention,” James says smugly, finally turning to you and smirking. You roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m desperate for it,” you deadpan. “Though don’t think I haven’t notice you looking at me, Potter. If I did want your attention, I wouldn’t really be left wanting, would I?”

He seems a bit flustered by this, and you love it when you actually manage to get to him, to render him speechless even if for a mere moment. So, without a clear idea of where it will even lead, you pounce on the opportunity that seems to be presenting itself. 

“Am I wrong? Why have you been so interested in what I’m doing tonight then?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, take a step closer. This really throws him.

“Pfft, have not.” He crosses his arms defensively. “Wow. So witty.” You cross your arms, mirroring him. 

This draws his gaze down to your chest, and it lingers there. He seems to catch himself after a few seconds, but it was still a few seconds too many. Interesting. 

God, was there any way Sirius was right? It was bound to happen some time. 

And even if he was… if James was… what? into you? as into you as you were him? was that what you wanted? Actually admitting the feelings sounded much scarier than relentlessly arguing with him forever. 

You’ve gotten lost in your thoughts (and, ugh, feelings), so you don’t notice how long has gone by. Nor do you notice that your demeanour is changing, shifting from teasing and challenging to reflective and slightly worried. 

“What?” James asks, noticing.

“Nothing,” you panic.

“You’re definitely thinking something.” He waves an accusatory finger around your face. “Pfft, am not.” “Wow. So witty,” he repeats, and it’s filled with glee at retaking the upper hand. 

This annoys you to no end, but you still can’t think of anything to say, so you just push past him with a “you’re so annoying.”

You try for a while to enjoy the party, to ignore James Potter — and the many thoughts and feelings about James Potter that won’t stop hounding you. You keep looking over at him, unable to help yourself. 

The seemingly millionth time you do, his eyes catch yours. You want to look away, but something keeps you from doing so. Not wanting to give him the upper hand, again? Not wanting to look away from his beautiful orbs, possibly? 

You just stare at each other from across the room for what feels like the heaviest few seconds of your life. Then his gaze drops, and rather than victory you feel… disappointment. You want him looking at you. Want to look at him back. Your disappointment doesn’t last for too long, though, as you realize he’s walking over to you.

He stops right in front of you, extremely close. He doesn’t say anything. You watch each other intently. “You’re staring at me,” he finally says. “You were staring at me first.” 

Expecting him to deny it, you’re stunned when he responds, “So what if I was?” Then he checks you out shamelessly, his eyes dragging across your whole body, lingering on your chest, exploring your face, before landing back on your own.

That’s it. Stupid, shameless Potter. You do the only thing to do: you take a tiny step forward and smash your lips against his.

He’s kissing you back ardently before you even truly realize what’s happening. His hands grasp you desperately, pulling your body into his; his mouth contorts over yours, devouring you hungrily. He moans deeply enough for you to hear it over the loud sounds of the party. When he gropes your arse, you moan back. But you also realize what the fuck is happening. In the middle of a crowded room. So you pull back from him. 

His mouth chases yours desperately, not wanting to break apart. 

“Wait, James, wait.” He does. And he’s looking at you funny. “Are you alright?” you ask him. “I like how you say my name, sweetheart.” His sincerity surprises you, melts you. So even though you can’t help yourself as you respond, “Whatever, Potter,” it’s much softer than usual, warmth where there’s usually snark. He smirks at you.

“So can we keep kissing now?” “We’re in public, James.” 

You don’t miss his lips quirk at the word. “So?” “So? I’m not a bloody exhibitionist! I have some standards…” “Toilet, then?” “Yeah, toilet,” you nod frantically. 

His hands don’t release your hips the whole way you chase each other to the bathroom. He catches the back of your neck in a couple of quick kisses, and it’s sending tingles down your whole body.

You’re extremely grateful it’s empty when you reach it, rushing in in a frenzy. James slams the door shut and wastes no time in pushing you against it. He picks up where you had left off.

His mouth is hot and delicious against yours, his tongue dancing against yours in its explorations. He enjoys your mouth but soon traces down your jaw and starts sucking on your throat. You shiver at the sensations and pull him to you, your fingers winding into his gorgeous hair. He moans at this and the vibrations directly against your skin make you whimper.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says, his lips still tracing your throat. “I love the sounds you make.” 

You hum, and he grazes his teeth across your skin, morphing your voice into a soft yelp. “Yeah, like that,” he chuckles gruffly.

The next time his mouth makes it to the base of your neck, he continues downward. He starts kissing the tops of your tits desperately, bringing his hands up your body to grope them as he does. 

“Fuck, I’ve been going mad all night looking at these. You should wear this every day.” His hands move to your hips pulling you from the door over to the sink. “C’mere,” he says as he lifts you to sit on the small counter.

You wrap your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck. You play with his hair as he kisses you fervently.

“I’ve always wanted to pull your hair,” you confess, surprising both of you with your honesty. “Oh yeah?” He looks so turned on, you throw any last inhibitions out the window. “Yeah. Fuck, you have nice hair.” You tug harshly on it, and his reacting groan is almost animalistic. His now black eyes stare directly into yours for a charged moment before he dives back into you. 

He kisses wetly down to your throat and chest, and this time when he gets to your breasts, he unceremoniously pulls your dress and bra down. 

“Fuck, you have nice tits,” he echoes and grins. He plays with them, kneading them and tugging on your nipples, rolling them between his fingers before shoving his face between them. He licks across your chest and circles your nipple with his tongue. He switches eagerly between them, puckering them both up before taking one into his greedy mouth and sucking. You let out a loud, strangled whimper at the intense and exquisite sensation, and James hums around your tit. You cradle his head against you.

Rubbing his face against your breasts, he pleads, “That’s it, baby. Keep making those sounds. I love hearing how good you feel. It’s so fucking hot.”

“Jaames,” you whine as he sucks your nipple again. 

“Fuck, Y/N.” Groping them hard one more time, he brings his hands down from your tits, massaging your sides before grabbing your thighs. He squeezes them harshly, jiggling them and running his nails across your skin. 

He’s running his hands up your thighs, under your skirt, toward your center, whispering “You wet for me, baby?” when your stomach drops and you remember, panicking. You’d been so caught up in James, you’d entirely forgotten. 

“Fuck!” you yelp, pushing James away suddenly. He stumbles, then takes a steadying step back. He looks completely confused (and unreasonably sexy, all scruffed up from making out with you). “Fucking hell, Y/N. What? You alright?” 

“I — fuck, yeah, I’m fine — I just — fuck.” You cover your face with your hands and squeeze your thighs shut. “Hey,” James says much more softly. “What’s up, love? Y’alright? You’re kind of freaking me out.” “Ugh, ‘m so sorry,” you slur into your hands. He grabs your wrists gently, pulling them away from your face. “It’s alright, whatever it is. Just… can you tell me what’s wrong?” God, how you wish you could vanish in that moment. Or better, not have had your bloody — literally — body betray you like this this morning. Why this fucking time of all times to come early? 

You’re mortified, embarrassed as hell, wishing there was some way out of this without having to explain the truth and put James Potter off, probably for good. After all the time and tension it’d taken to get you here at all. 

“Y/n?”

You take a steadying breath but still can’t get the words out. So you cover your face again, only able to utter them while feeling hidden from him. “‘M on my period,” you confess. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, so you brave moving your hands down and looking up at him. You’re not sure how to read his expression. Then he grins lightly and brings his hands to your cheeks. He tucks your now messy hair behind your ears on both sides before holding your face. 

He’s surprised you several times tonight, but this next one takes the cake. “If you don’t mind, I don’t mind,” he says simply with a shrug and a caress of your cheeks. “What?” You can’t believe it. Every other guy it’d come up with before had treated it like the most disgusting thing. “I don’t mind,” he repeats, chuckling, moving his face closer to yours to look up deeply into your eyes. 

“Are you serious?” “Yeah. I mean, if you don’t want to that’s fine, obviously. Like if you’re not feeling well or whatever, but if it’s just about the blood… I can handle a little blood.” “It’s more than a little,” you whisper embarrassedly.

“I didn’t mean it literally,” he laughs. How can he seem so lighthearted? Could he really not mind?

He brings his hands back to your thighs, pulling them slowly apart, giving you time to resist the motion, stepping between them when you don’t. He messages them on either side of his hips. “So?” he asks seductively, clearly eager to continue. “You really don’t mind?" “Really. Fuck, Y/N, I’ve been wanting this so fucking long, I’d be a madman if I waited longer just because you’re on your period.” 

Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you open your legs a bit wider at his words. The dark smirk that usurps James’s expression as you do makes your cunt pulse. God, you want him. Blood be damned. 

Slowly, so slowly it’s driving you insane, he ghosts his hands over your skin the rest of the way up your legs. When they finally reach your underwear, they snake under the waistband and tentatively pull. You lift your hips, and he yanks them the rest of the way off. 

Instinctively, you try to shut your legs. James standing where he is only lets you do it part of the way. Pushing the insides of your knees open again, he says, “No need to hide, gorgeous.” “I — “ But words fail you. So, you simply let him open your legs. 

Sensing your tension, James kisses you again. He starts softly, but you’re both so hungry for each other, so worked up already despite the interruption, that it’s only a few seconds before you’re ravaging each other again, moaning and grasping and pulling each other close. With his mouth still on yours, one hand holding your face, the other comes between your legs, grazing where your thigh meets your cunt.

You shiver, a combination of nerves and pleasure. He breaks your kiss, but rests his forehead on yours, looking straight into your eyes. He lifts his eyebrows in question, and you nod hesitantly. 

He finally brings his fingers to your center, ghosting over it. When you feel the string of your tampon under his fingers, you ashamedly let out an “Oh, god” then “sorry.”

James tssks at you and whispers, “’S alright, sweetheart. It’s fine. Maybe let’s get rid of this, though, cos it’s where I want to be, yeah?” Fuck, how could he keep turning you on even more? You nod and bring your hand between your legs. You pull out the tampon and toss it over into the rubbish bin.

Without further ado, James touches you properly. His fingers slide up and down your wet folds. Your slick and blood mix under his ministrations, but it feels so fucking unreal that you finally start not to care.

You’d always been sensitive during your period. But no one else had ever touched you during it. Nor had it been after ages of sexual tension and lustful fantasies. Every graze of his hand is divine, and when his motions become proper strokes, the full length of his fingers rubbing against you, you squeal as your head falls onto his shoulder. One hand clutches the sink, the other James. “Feel good?” he teases. “Yes,” you sigh desperately.

“How about this then?” he asks as he plunges two fingers into you. You scream. 

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he laughs. “I mean, keep screaming, but maybe not so loud. Don’t want anyone to come knocking when I’m finally this close to fucking you.”

“Fuck.” “Hmm, that’s it. Just relax, love.” His hand thrusts as his fingers curl inside you, and you clench in utter pleasure. “Fuuuck, you’re squeezing me so bloody tight, love. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.” You let out some kind of strained affirmative groan and clench again. “Yeah? Want to feel me fill you up?” “Yes, fuck, yes, please.” 

“Who knew you could be this nice, Y/L/N? That all it’d take was my fingers inside you.” “Shut up, Potter.” But there’s no bite to it. “We both know you don’t want me to shut up. I can feel how much you’re enjoying this.” You just bite your lip and whimper when he pushes his thumb against your clit. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You can bring the snark back after I make you cum.” 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the thought, and you nod, giving into him. “I know I could do it like this, but I can’t wait any longer to feel you, baby.”

He pulls his hand out of you, and you whine. When you see how entirely covered in blood it is, any further sounds die in your throat at your mortification. 

“I —“ you start, but James just shakes his head and kisses you to shut you up. Not breaking apart from you, he reaches blindly for the hand towel and cleans his hands when he finally finds it. There’s still dark red traces of you on the fingers that then hurry to his trousers, opening them in a rush. He pushes them down and pulls his cock free. Your cunt clenches around nothing at the sight. “James,” you whine. “Yeah, sweetheart?” “Please fuck me.” With a deep groan, one of his hands roughly pulls your head to keep making out with you and the other grabs his cock and lines it up with your center. He pushes in fast. His mouth devours the sounds yours makes in response. 

He starts pounding in and out of you, not bothering to start slow. You’re sure you’d be wet enough regardless, but as things stand, he’s gliding in and out of you. A loud squelching sounds as he thrusts, but before you have time to be embarrassed, James moans, “Fuck, you feel so fucking amazing,” and pounds harder.

He has to bring one hand to the sink just behind you to stabilize himself from how roughly he’s going; his other hand takes a vice-like grip of your hip. His head ends up in the crook of your neck, and he kisses and sucks. Your hand comes to his hair, your other arm clinging around his shoulders clutching him as your whole body reverberates with his movements.

He slows down only enough to lean his head slightly down to where your tits are bouncing. He sucks your nipple and keeps it in his mouth as he keeps fucking into you. At the harsh and unexpected suck, you scream again. He makes no effort to quiet you. 

With his face at your chest, he’s opened a bit of space between your bodies, and he brings a hand to where he keeps disappearing in and out of you. He starts rubbing messily on your clit. 

With that sensation on top of all the others that have your body on fire, you cum violently around him with strangled yell. 

He thrusts through it, but a few clenches of your pussy later, he can’t help but cum too. Your clutching cunt milks him dry. 

He’s panting loudly when he finally stops moving, his hips still, his face resting on your chest. An aftershock ripples through him, and his body gives a quick shake. Then he gives your breast a quick peck before moving to kiss your mouth. It doesn’t last; he’s so out of breath, but he rests his forehead on yours as he recovers. His arms rest on the sink on either side of you, caging you in. You feel warm and safe, and you stroke up and down his strong arms. He smiles and pecks your lips. 

“Not bad, Potter,” you finally break the silence. He chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“You cannot possibly act nonchalant after the sounds you just made, Y/L/N. I’m surprised no one burst in here thinking someone was getting murdered.”

You laugh together. It’s concerningly nice.

When you settle down, James looks between you. He pulls out gently. And it’s a fucking mess. 

“I don’t think the words ‘bloody hell’ have ever been so appropriate,” he jokes, staring at it. “Oh god,” you say, covering your face in your hands again. “C’mon, Y/L/N. I thought we were past this bit.” It’s harsh but encouraging as he pulls your hands from your face and quickly kisses your forehead. “C’mon,” he offers as he helps lift you off the counter in a way that lets you hop over the… puddle. 

You both stand there staring at the crimson crime scene of a sink. 

Looking at it but leaning toward you, James asks, “D’you think we could get away with saying it’s Halloween decorations?” 

You burst out laughing again.

“The blood, maybe, but… there’s some of you there too…” 

“Well, at least our first time is certainly memorable. Happy Halloween, Y/L/N.” 

Your heart does something funny at “first time.” So, you ignore it for now and simply say, “Help me clean this up before Sirius actually does murder us in here.”

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part two)

Steve Rogers x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Steve tries to settle into his life in the 50s, and we get a glimpse of the days when Steve and the reader were getting to know each other post Civil War.

themes/warnings : pining, unrequited love, Steve beginning to regret his decision (he just won't admit it yet), the NSFW stuff won't happen until after a whiiiile, this is a slow burn (y'all can blame Steve!!)

word count : <2k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

The 1950s, one month after Steve's arrival

Peggy knows about you. It doesn't take her long to figure it out. What started out as the mystery figure her partner seems to be so wistful over - as time passes, the idea of you becomes stronger.

It takes shape, like you are not just a memory to be gotten over.

You're there, in their very walls, but you're not. Of all the people Steve left behind, your shadow looms the strongest over him.

"She must have been special, Steve. She sounded like a very dear friend," Peggy expresses, one morning over breakfast when they were going through the people in Steve's future.

Past, to be more apt. All those people are no longer going to be a part of Steve's days. You no longer will be.

He thought he would be fine with it all, treating it like the end of a book. This is his fresh start with Peggy, a chance to simply live his life without constant threat of impending doom.

That apple pie, white picket fence, American dream. He wants to have a son and a daughter. Maybe he'll even name them after you and James.

The two most important people in his life then, reflected in the children whom will be his reason for existence.

Everything should be just perfect.

So why isn't it?

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

2017, eight months after the Avengers' Civil War

Being on the run was brutal, but familiar.

A year ago, you were made to choose between the two sides in the Sokovia accords, after your old friend Natasha pulled you out of your over extended holiday.

She wanted you to join her side, Tony's side. They could use all the help they can get to fight Captain America who apparently had gone rogue.

Little did she know that you would end up fighting with him instead, after you found out what his motivations were.

After the war, yourself and all those who acted against the accords were branded enemies of the state. Incidentally, this included Nat, who also had a change of heart.

Captain America - Steve - broke you out of a maximum security prison, and you all branched out in different parts of the world to go into hiding.

At first, you and Nat went to her safehouse in Budapest. Then to one of your apartments in Malta. Eventually, you had to separate to keep the trail cold, and to confuse anyone at your tail.

Which is how you ended up in some remote cabin in Alaska with none other than Steve himself.

And you got to know each other really well.

He was closed off at first, maintaining a sense of cordiality that must come as second nature to him. It was evident that the Civil War took a toll on him. He had an anger, a resentment about him that wasn't there when you first came across him in Romania. When you decided to cross over and aid in his cause.

For the first few weeks, he kept his distance, merely keeping up with what's required of a fellow lodger on the run. He made sure there was hot coffee left for you when he brewed a fresh batch. He was always quiet in his room across the hall. He would say his polite good mornings, his how are yous, before taking his daily walk in the woods, scouting the area for any potential anomalies.

It took a while before he stopped being just Captain America in your eyes, but inevitably, you grew to know Steve Rogers.

And you came to fall in love with him. But you didn't admit this until much, much later.

You're not sure which one of you broke first, but eventually the polite, little greetings turned into breakfast conversations, eventually incorporating comfortable inside jokes.

You discovered that he had a myriad of questions about your chosen life, how you ended up working for The Agency. Much like the Red Room but without any ties to a particular government, The Agency specialized in producing highly-skilled individuals when it comes to combat and covert operations.

For a while, it was your MO to make sure that the widows were unsuccessful in their missions which involved civilian casualties. So you first encountered Nat when the Red Room gave her the task to take you out, but you were too wily and evaded her at every turn.

At some point, and to both yours and her surprise, you actually ended up becoming friends.

You could tell that Steve was holding back in commenting on your choice of profession, but he wasn't really in any position to judge - America's former poster boy turned into their number one fugitive. He wanted to suggest that perhaps there was a better life out there suited for you, one that didn't require you to constantly look behind your shoulder.

But how could he? You were there because of him. In a way, his rebellion pulled you out of your momentary pocket of paradise.

You told him you had retired before Nat called you in, but of course that wouldn't have lasted long. One way or another, you always found yourself back in.

Like you were craving it, almost. Or because you had nothing else but this life. This was your normal.

"What do you think it would look like, if you actually had a shot at normal?" he asked, the glowing embers of the fireplace dancing shadows across his face.

You observed him, and you couldn't help but note how impossibly good he still looked even with his facial hair unkempt and grown out. "What I think it would really look like, or what I would want it to be?"

The corner of his lips raise at your statement. You were right. For both you and him, what you want is almost never what you can get. "Either way," he shrugged.

"Well," you paused. You knew you were stalling, but you didn't really know what to say. "I guess... there was a time when I used to want the normal life. You know - a partner, kids, a lakeside house with a nice backyard, maybe a dog."

"What kind of dog?" he asked suddenly, distracting you.

"Oh, uhm, I like German Shepherds."

He smiled, "I like them too."

That one remark was enough to make your imagination run wild. He likes them too, he said. What must it be like to be with Steve, to live in a lakeside house with him? Enough, you quickly reminded yourself, stop before you get hurt.

You must have been staring at him then, because he casted a gentle glance at you, saying, "Keep going."

You found yourself continuing with more ease, "I never really had a whole family. Only lived with my parents for a time, didn't have any siblings. So when - if, and that's a big if - I do have kids, I'd want more than one. So they would always have each other, you see."

When you looked back at him, his blue eyes were arresting, almost like they're boring right into you. Captain America is trying to get a good read on you, and you feel like you're laid bare before him. But it's not a discomforting feeling.

Maybe it's just the effect Steve has on people. Or maybe it's you. You weren't ready to accept just how much you already took a liking to the Captain America. You just knew - it would not end well.

These things never do.

But then he said, "When you do manage to have all of that, will you send me a postcard? Let me know how you are?"

Your smile widened at his sincerity. He wasn't just playing along, indulging in what you think are just delusions. He actually meant it. "Steve, you'll always be welcome at our lakeside house, you know."

"Our?" he smirked.

"Yeah, well," you leaned back at his implication, but his expression is enough to warm you all over. "I... I meant, mine and my partner's or... mine and my dog's, I don't really know - "

He laughed lowly, the sound hearty and deep in his chest. "I understand what you mean," he said, before adding, "although, I definitely wouldn't mind sharing a lakeside house with you."

"And my dog," you added jokingly, but your pulse had already quickened.

He nodded, but he wasn't finished. "Could be my dog, too." You don't know whether to be grateful or disappointed that he didn't say, and our kids. Grateful, you decided. It had to be that. You were getting too ahead of yourself.

You agreed, playing along, "As long as I get to name him."

"Of course, doll."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The 1950s, two months after Steve's arrival

Steve decides that he would get a dog.

It's about time, he believes. He's always wanted to do so anyway, and what better time than now, when he is settled in a good home base with a lot of backyard space for the dog to roam around.

He wants to get a German Shepherd, and it's fine, because Peggy does not really have a preference.

It is the evening before he is scheduled to visit the animal shelter, when Peggy asks him if he has decided on a name for the dog.

He startles at that, looking up from his plate. He barely registers her hand that has been caressing his own throughout dinner. Steve, being Steve, immediately feels ashamed at how he doesn't seem to be present and appreciating the moment.

"Have you thought of a name?" Peggy tries again.

A name, he ponders. No, he always thought he would leave it up to you.

"I'll figure it out," he says after a while, taking Peggy's hand and bringing it to his lips.

Everything will be perfect.

Read part three here.

taglist: @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan

caution: this is will be the slowest burn, and even MORE angsty when things come to a head.

the next chapter will be from the reader's POV and how she's coping...

Are all of these dog shenanigans alluding to how the reader will walk Stevie boy like a dog??? *evil, maniacal laugh*

Taglist still open!

[historical-fashion-polls]

the normal pinned post for the blog can be found here

hello my spooky lovelies! 👻🦇🎃🌙🩸💀🕷

in celebration of the spookiest month of the year, I have allowed some mischievous spirits onto the blog to pause our normal queue and instead host (ghost host, if you will) a month-long halloween-themed bracket tournament of some outfits that have been featured on the blog since its inception 🎃🦇

here is how this will work:

there will be seven different brackets, each based around a halloween-y color combo (listed below with links to the masterpost for each bracket)

each poll will last ONE DAY rather than the usual week, after which a winner will be decided to go on to the next round

due to the number of outfits in each bracket, five brackets will start at the same time (sept. 28), and two will begin partway through october

the brackets will not compete with each other, so there will be seven winners at the end

the round one matchups have been chosen roughly based on date (so, it might be an outfit from 1837 versus one from 1843), but the mischievous spirits have little regard for orderliness, and have shuffled the various matchups so that in the second round, a 1950s outfit might be competing with one from the 1880s

as a result of this, various matchups may not be very comparable (especially as the tournament progresses), so use whatever criteria you see fit to pick which outfit you'd rather wear 🎃🖤

with all those logistics aside, I encourage you to peruse the brackets, choose your favored champions, and even fill out a bracket if the... spirits... move you!

THE BRACKETS (updated daily(ish))

SPIDER (green and black)

VAMPIRE (red and black)

SKELETON (black and white)

BAT (all black)

GHOST (all white)

PUMPKIN (orange and black)

WITCH (purple and black)

(as always, if you have questions, please feel free to reach out! 🎃)

[camilaxmartin]

I love Carmilla too

Carmilla in a secret relationship and shes planning on an official introduction but when she does they already know the person she's with (didn't know they were in a relationship) and know them pretty well so they ease up on the 'you hurt her and your dead' talk. They have a good laugh about Carmilla being nervous

Not sure if I explained it well but hopefully you got the idea but you can take it anywhere you like

sweet little secret

navigation // rules // masterlist

summary: telling the ‘world’ about your relationship with carmilla:) fem!overlord!reader

warnings: some cursing probably maybe suggestive themes?, straight up fluff tho

note: i made it like a relationship but they haven’t established it? sorry for that but it just happened😭 also i had my fun with the “hurt her and you’re dead” i hope you don’t mind it:) i made rosie and velvette our besties here cause,,, duh (it came out much more sweet than i imagined? help??)

requests: open!!

it was supposedly another one of those mornings when carmilla would wake up first, realise you’ve spent the night at her place and immediately freak out, waking you up and telling you to sneak out of hers, and her daughters home. it was a tradition at this point, happening about three times a week.

yet, this morning carmilla wasn’t the one to wake up first.

your eyes flutter slightly at the light of the sun coming through the window making sure not to let you go back to sleep. you, unwillingly, opened your eyes and groaned not wanting to wake up. just as you’ve come more to your senses you felt something fluffy stroke your face. you moved your head to the side and noticed carmilla peacefully sleeping next to you, small smile on her face, as her hair was the thing touching your face. a smile crawled up onto your face as you kept looking down at her. you moved one of your hands to her face and gently stroked it, pushing any of her hair out of the way. carmilla immediately opened her eyes at the first touch like a trained assassin. she looked a bit scared at first but when her eyes allowed her to finally notice it was you, her expression softened and she yawned sitting up.

“you slept well, cariño?” she asked yawning again, her eyes softly closing along. you chuckled looking at her as you sat up as well.

“yeah, i assume you did too?” you asked with a small smile as carmilla playfully rolled her eyes at you.

“i did” she nodded her head and one of her hands found yours, twirling her fingers with yours.

“i’m surprised you’re still not yelling at me to get out” you laughed, squeezing her hand as you mention the normal morning you two share when you sleep at her place. she rolled her eyes again but less playful this time as she squeezed your hand and kept on her grip.

“i’ve been thinking about it, actually” she said as she kept looking at your face. “maybe… we could stop that kind of mornings?” she asked as she softly looked away, not in a sheepish way but in a more relaxed one. you tilted your head slightly not being prepared for a question like that as your smile widened.

“what do you mean?” you asked wanting to understand her properly. she chuckled at your words and her eyes came back to you.

“i mean-“ she started and moved closer to you, the covers still on top of you both. “we could tell odette and clara about our… thing?” she explained as she got onto your lap, the amount of affection rare from her, as she put her other hand, the one that wasn’t holding yours, onto one of your cheeks cupping it softly as she stared into your eyes excitedly.

“ye- of course. if that’s what you want” you said surprised she actually wanted to do that. you two hadn’t really established anything that was happening between you two before. of course, you liked her and she definitely felt something for you as well but it never seemed that you needed to talk about it. it wasn’t a secrets as well i mean- when you think about it, it kinda was but only when it came to it! carmilla never really spoke with anyone about you and if one of your friends asked if you had something going on you just answered with a simple “yes” not getting into more heavy details. your smile widened even more seeing her excited look.

“it is what i want” she said stroking your cheek with her fingers, the weight of her slowly making itself present as she kept sitting on your lap.

“is there any particular reason for it?” you asked as you cuddled up more into her hand, closing your eyes and waiting for her response. she chuckled at your question and shook her head slightly.

“not really” she said and sighed, something more definitely hiding behind her words. you opened your eyes to look at her and smiled still feeling her hand.

“then we’ll do it” you shrugged and squeezed her hand still linked with yours. she smiled even more at you and got off of your lap, getting off of the bed as well. your eyes followed her as she walked towards her huge wardrobe and opened it looking for something to wear while she was only in her underwear from spending the night with you. your eyes roamed her body uncontrollably as you just laid there with a smile of your own.

“i’ll give you one of my shirts” she said bending over in the wardrobe looking through some of her clothes. you looked away from her with a grin as you closed your eyes laying in her bed.

you didn’t have a bad relationship with odette or clara, it was more of a… professional thing if you could say. they knew you, of course, by being an overlord and buying a lot of stuff from their company and you, of course, knew them as kids of your loved one. but still telling them you’re practically dating their mother and fucking her a few times a week (which they definitely had heard by now) was something that was unconsciously making your anxiety rise up. you let out a deep breath just laying there deep in your thoughts. you heard carmilla shuffling around the clothes and just the sound of her in the room with you, calmed your nerves a bit. you opened your eyes and saw your ‘girlfriend’ walking over to you with an old shirt and shorts in her hands and a huge smile on her face, her eyes glowing more than usually.

“here you go, mi corazón” she said handing you the clothes. you sat up again taking them from her and yawning as she chuckled looking at you lovingly.

“i’m going to make breakfast for the girls and you so come down anytime you want” she said while walking to the door and smiling one last time at you. “can’t wait to see you actually be there with us” she huffed with a laugh and then closed the door behind her, leaving you all alone with your thoughts, giving you some privacy to change. it’s not like she has already seen you naked a hundred times before, no.

as you changed into your picked out outfit and finally got out of bed you walked beside a mirror carmilla had in her room and fixed your hair a little to look more… presentable. it was literally nothing just a breakfast with them but it still made you anxious. you took a deep breath and finally got out of the room closing the door behind you. the whole house was quiet due to its size and the small amount of people living in it. you tried calming your mind a bit as you started humming a tune while walking down the long corridor moving towards the stairs. you jumped a few times in excitement as well, finally going down the stairs and admiring everything you saw while walking. you heard the sound of oil sizzling on the pan and moved towards it to finally find the kitchen.

as you walked in you saw carmilla cooking something and a set up table ready for four people. you smiled seeing that and swiftly moved to walk behind carmilla and wrap your hands around her waist. she chuckled obviously noticing your presence a lot earlier as she moved from left to right preparing the food.

“mi amor, we want to tell them not demonstrate it” she chuckled but made no effort in pushing you off. you smiled putting your head on her shoulder and closing your eyes, smelling the delicious smell of whatever she was making.

“i know but they’re not here yet, are they?” you asked with a chuckle of your own as she rolled her eyes at you. she moved her hand up to take out the plates and added another ingredient to her cooking.

“right” she said finally after a moment of silence as she started stirring that something in her pan.

suddenly the two of you heard a quiet gasp from the entering of the kitchen. you immediately took your hands away from carmilla and awkwardly moved away from her, looking sheepishly at the person who was standing at the door. odette started at the two of you more confused than shocked as she fixed her glasses so they wouldn’t fall off of her face. you waved to her slightly as carmilla suddenly started focusing so hard on her cooking. odette tilted her head looking at you and not waving back as she was definitely studying you.

“really mom?” she asked as she walked over the table and sat down in one of the chairs still looking at you but now also at her mother’s back. carmilla chuckled not answering her and you sighed then walked over to the table as well, choosing a spot across the girl. she moved her eyes to you and then to carmilla almost immediately.

before anything else could happened clara walked into the kitchen with her phone in her hand groaning and not even establishing your presence. she sat next to odette and shoved her phone into her face showing her something.

“how dared he?! they were a perfect fit!” she whined rolling her eyes and taking her phone away from her sister. she looked at something on it as her eyes slowly moved to you and they widened. she put the phone down at the table and smiled at you excitement floating from her face. you smiled at her awkwardly as well, as your eyebrows went a bit up at her excitement. “is this what i think it is?” she asked giving her sister a side eye. odette just nodded slightly and went back to staring at their mother’s back. “finally!” clara squeaked and put both of her elbows on the table, putting her head in her hands, starring at you.

“finally?” you asked surprised, starring at her back as she just chuckled at your question.

she definitely wanted to respond but carmilla walked over to the table with prepared food and put it down exactly at the middle of the table, sitting down in a chair next to you. she let out a deep sigh looking at her two daughters and then glancing for a second at you.

“girls” she started and her hand immediately grabbed yours under the table. you gave it a gentle squeeze, something inside telling you that this was gonna go a lot better than you expected. “as you know y/n…” she continued and cleared her throat, was she getting nervous? “her and i are…” she added and looked away from them just straight up starring at the food she brought there a second ago.

“together?” asked odette looking at carmilla with a stoic expression. satan, this girl was impossible to read.

“sneaking around every wednesday?” clara brought up suddenly and all of you looked at her. “what! it’s true!” she laughed and rolled her eyes playfully as odette shook her head at her.

“we know” odette continued looking at her mother now giving her a small smile. carmilla looked at the both of them a bit surprised but also relieved that, if they actually knew, it didn’t bother them. “but we’re confused on why you didn’t tell us sooner” she added and clara nodded her head at that. you chuckled softly, squeezing carmilla’s hand again.

“i…” carmilla started but closed her mouth not knowing what to say as she just chuckled and shook her head. “i guess i assumed it would be more of a problem” she added and let go of your hand, reaching out to take some food for herself. clara and odette shared a look after which they both started laughing. you reached out to grab the food as well, looking at them.

“it’s not” clara said with a smile and reached out for the food after you. “we actually hoped it’d be y/n and not some random ass demon” she said putting some food for her sister as well.

“i’m glad you like me then” you said with a smile, eating up your food and melting at the taste of it in your mouth. odette smiled and looked at you more relaxed now.

“of course we do” she said and started eating her food also. “we see how happy you make our mom and what’s more there to wish for?” she asked and grabbed the tea pot to pour herself a glass of tea. clara nodded along to her words.

carmilla looked at them with literal love pouring out of her eyes as she ate her food. “i’m so glad, girls” she said and they both smiled seeing her face. clara then chuckled and looked at you playfully again.

“but” said odette and all three of you looked at her, clara knowing exactly what she was going to say next. “don’t hurt her, y/n. i know you probably have no intention of doing so but…” she shrugged and took a sip from her glass. “know it’s gonna be us two after you as well if you hurt her” she finished her sentence and you chuckled nervously, starting to actually wonder what the two of them would do if you managed to somehow hurt carmilla. the silence took over for a moment as all of you concentrated on eating the breakfast.

“so…” clara started and began playing with her fork. odette looked at her with wide eyes.

“clara, don’t-“ odette started as well but it was too late and she couldn’t stop clara’s next words.

“do you like… love her?” she asked looking at you acting like a typical teenager in a movie. odette rolled her eyes and continued eating as carmilla chuckled rolling her eyes and giving you a glance as she awaited for you response as well. clara smirked looking at you intensely.

“yeah” you said after a moment with a deep sigh. “i think i do” you added and took a sip from your glass as the three of them started at you suddenly.

“i told you!” clara squeaked to her sister, hitting her arm a bit. “you owe me twenty bucks!” she added and laughed going back to her food. carmilla raised an eyebrow at them but didn’t say a thing as odette rolled her eyes still eating.

“you two made a bet or something?” you asked, curiosity getting the best of you. odette rolled her eyes again as clara giggled nodding her head.

“you can say that” she continued on giggling as carmilla shook her head knowing it’s better not to go down that road, knowing damn well her daughters were never up for good.

“in any case…” carmilla started and grabbed your hand that was laying on the table now, fully exposed. “i hope you will love her as much as i do” she said and chuckled seeing the excited look on clara’s face as odette just smiled at her words. only after a while you realised she admitted to loving you back.

“maybe not as much” clara laughed and carmilla rolled her eyes playfully, as odette kicked her sister’s leg under the table. “what! i’m just stating the truth! again!”

after a few weeks of you living at the carmine’s house and literally becoming another mom to odette and clara, carmilla decided she wanted to make your relationship fully official. at first she was sceptical to the idea of other overlords knowing about you two but at the same time it made her blood boil that she couldn’t grab your hand whenever she wanted without brining any suspicion to herself. so, she decided to make it official. did she tell you about this? of course not!

today was the day of another one of those boring and long ass meetings with other overlords. nothing special was happening actually, just a monthly catch up on what they’re doing and what they should be doing.

you groaned looking at your calendar and noticing that it is today. you stumbled out of yours and carmilla’s bed, walking over to your shared wardrobe to pick out a fitting outfit for today. carmilla was nowhere to be found as she was probably already in her office or in the meeting room preparing for it all. same goes for her daughters.

you picked a casual yet presentable outfit and decided to go to her office and wait for other overlords there, not wanting to be alone in this huge mansion.

~

as you walked into her office, she smiled at you from her desk and stopped doing whatever she was doing at that moment.

“mi vida, you’re here early” she said standing up from her chair and walking over to you, capturing you in her arms. you hugged her back and nodded your head.

“yeah, i didn’t have much to do so i decided to come here” you smiled as she let you go and went back to her desk signing some papers. you walked over to the chairs before her desk and sat in one of them. she hummed at your words.

“they should be here in not so long any way” she said staring blankly at the papers she was signing like it was her second nature at this point. you sighed and started playing with your fingers not having much to do here either.

~

everyone was there already and they’ve taken they places in the room waiting for the meeting to start. carmilla was fixing her lipstick in a mirror, in her office after sharing a rather passionate kiss with you just a while ago. you sat there smiling dumbly as always after she kissed you. carmilla looked at you and chuckled seeing your state.

“i’m still taking away your breath after all this time?” she asked chuckling as she stopped applying her makeup. you just nodded your head and her smile widened at that.

carmilla sighed as she closed the mirror and walked over to you, grabbing you by the hand and making you stand up. you looked at her a bit confused and this time she laughed.

“let’s go, they’re all here probably” she said dragging you by the hand to the door.

“you’re probably right” you mumbled and let her drag you, preparing for her to drop your hand as you reached the door, but to your surprise, she didn’t.

your eyebrows squinted together as you watched carmilla opening the door to the meeting room while still holding your hand. you wanted to wiggle away from her, but her grasp was too strong for you to do so, so you just watched the whole situation not understanding a single thing happening.

as she finally opened the door and slowly walked into the room, still holding your hand, you felt your face softly blushing noticing all the stares from all of the overlords. carmilla walked up to the middle of the table, her usual standing spot, and cleared her throat getting all of the attention from the rest as if they haven’t already been staring at you two. you stood there as shocked as all the other overlords looking at her confused.

“overlords-” she started and her thumb began slowly stroking your hand as she continued. “-i wanted to share with you all, that me and y/n are together” she said and your jaw literally dropped as you noticed a few giggles from rosie and carmilla’s daughters. “we don’t expect to make a big deal out of this, so with this information let’s just continue our usual meeting” she said and let go of your hand walking over to the chair you were normally sitting in and pulling it out for you. you, still fully confused and surprised, walked over to the chair and sat down, trying to stop your face from blushing. carmilla looked at you and softly chuckled, getting on with the actual reason of that meeting.

~

after about an hour or so, the meeting was over and all the overlords started to leave the room except for rosie and velvette who came up to you immediately.

“you’re together?!” asked excitedly rosie, grabbing both of your hands and squeezing them a whole lot. you laughed at her reaction and nodded your head.

“it seems so” you said and rosie giggled at your response.

“can’t believe you didn’t tell me! i always thought you two belonged together” she said and it was true, even before the relationship with carmilla she was always nudging you about how the two of you are literally made up for each other.

“yeah, well-“ you started but velvette interrupted you with a smirk on her face.

“you’re into milfs huh?” she asked scrolling on her phone and you rolled your eyes at her as rosie let go of your hands and looked at velvette as well with disappointment in her eyes.

“apparently” you laughed and gave velvette a soft nudge at the arm. she chuckled and put her phone into her pocket.

“no but really-“ she started and walked over to you even closer. “how is she in bed? those hands must be amazing due to the size eh?” she asked and you blushed at her question but tired to maintain your normal expression.

“she is- well… i suppose it is something for me and me only to know” you chuckled and velvette rolled her eyes taking out her phone again.

“you’re no fun” she said shaking her head obviously not being satisfied with your answer. you laughed and rosie smiled at you.

“i’m so glad you’re happy” said rosie as she put her hand on your shoulder. you smiled to her putting your own hand onto hers.

“i really am, she makes me happy” rosie giggled at your words and squeezed your shoulder.

~

after a moment all of the overlords actually left the room and it was only you and carmilla left. her daughters got back to their work as well. carmilla walked up to you and wrapped her hands around your waist hugging you softly.

“did i surprise you today, mi cariño?” she asked, whispering into your ear. you smiled at her and turned around in her arms.

“you did” you chuckled wrapping your hands around her neck. she smiled and closed her eyes.

“i decided i want to make them know about us” she said and sighed opening her eyes and looking down at you, giving you a look full of admiration. “that you’re mine and none of them can do anything about it” she chuckled and moved her head closer to yours, touching your nose with hers. you chuckled at that and tightened the grip around her neck just a bit.

“i don’t think they’d even try it. i mean…” you laughed and carmilla rolled her eyes playfully, yet fully agreeing with you.

“i needed to let them know that if anything ever happens to you, they’ll have to deal with me” she said and moved her head so her lips connected with yours not leaving you a chance to answer.

carmilla gripped your waist tighter as she kissed you, closing her eyes, definitely wanting to do that for a while now. you smiled softly into the kiss, closing your eyes as well and letting her fully embrace it. she moved you even closer to her body by your waist and swiftly slipped her tongue inside your mouth, playing with your own, making you moan and grip her neck with your fingers. she groaned softly at the feeling and leaned away, your foreheads now touching. she smiled at you opening her eyes, as you did too, and just sighed looking you deep in the eyes, love literally pouring out of hers.

“i love you like nothing else in this world mi vida, you are my heaven in hell”

[sweetiecutie]

Pairing: husband! Tom Riddle x fem! wife! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, kinda public sex but there’s no one around, fluff!!, kinda domestic and soft, inaccurate bc there’s no way sexy two pieces existed back in the 1950’s💀, once again my horrible knowledge of basic grammar

A/n: really felt like writing lil something for hubby Tom🥰 Sorry for disappearing for such a long period, I have lots of cool ideas and drafts but my adhd never allows me to finish any on them;( Anyways, wish you a very pleasant reading and hope you enjoy💖

It was a sultry sunny day, the kind you experience in the middle of September, when calendar summer is already gone but the sun still gladdened people with last warm days.

It took you only a few days of bothering and fake accusation of not loving you to convince your husband Tom to finally take a day off from his job at ‘Borgin and Burkes’ and go have some fun together on a beach. He was grumpy and pouty for the first half an hour, but then seemed to accept his fate, indulging your little whims and wishes.

You didn’t manage to talk him into taking a swim together, no matter how hard you tried, but Tom did, eventually, took his shoes off and rolled up the cuffs of his trousers, standing ankles-deep into warm sea water, watching you dive and dork around in salty waves.

You were currently laying on your side on a soft picknick blanket facing Tom, left arm bent in elbow, head propped up on your hand, your eyes lazily wandering all over your husband’s side profile. He was laying on his back right next to you, arms thrown behind his head, nape resting on his palms.

Tom had changed. The juvenile plushness was long gone from his cheeks, instead leaving place for his sharp jawline and protuberant cheekbones. His hair was a slightest bit longer than it used to be during your school years, framing his pale face in dark silky waves. You noticed how he was nibbling on the inside of his bottom lip ever so slightly - a telltale sign that Tom was thinking intensely about something faraway. You fought the urge to trace the outline of his nose with gentle fingertips, knowing perfectly well how grouchy and whiny he’ll get at this action.

Your eyes wandered lower, taking in his outfit - even despite the scorching sun and high air temperature Tom refused to ditch his usual suit trousers and, this time, baby-blue shirt - instead opting to undo quite a few buttons, allowing a generous view on his pale chest.

A sudden idea visited your mind so you sat up from your semi-lying position, throwing one leg over Tom’s hips, settling yourself atop his pelvis comfortably. Your nimble fingers ran up his chest, caressing exposed areas of his skin with tender touches, all the way to his face, cradling it softly in your hands; you leaned down to scatter small kisses all over his cheeks, nose and lips.

- Y/n, what are you doing? - Tom chided you softly, the corners of his lips tugging up in slightest of smiles, even though it was pretty obvious that he was unpleased with you interrupting his thoughts.

- Trying to seduce you, - you replied stoically, not a hint of embarrassment nor unease could be heard in your purring voice.

- Right here? - Tom asked, you could hear his voice rising just a slightest bit, giving out his astonishment.

- Yeah, why not? - you said offhandedly, your lips stretching in a cheeky smile, gazing down at your husband mischievously.

- What if someone sees us? - Tom rose yet another question, cocking one of his perfect eyebrows at you.

You made a show of looking around the deserted beach, not spotting a single soul being around; not only this place was secluded by dangerously high cliffs, making it extremely hard for reaching, but also the fact that it was Wednesday - a middle of a working week - reduced chances of anyone being around to zero.

You brought your sight back to Tom, shrugging your shoulders theatrically:

- I can’t see nor hear anyone, Tommy. - one of your hands reached behind your back, gripping on the straps of your two-piece swimming suit, tugging on it slowly, un-doing the tight knot. You didn’t bother to untie the second knot on your neck, instead deciding to pull the bra off over your head, throwing it teasingly on top of your husband’s chest. - I think you’re just being a buzzkill that you are, Riddle.

You made an accent on the last word, watching Tom’s eyes wander to your now exposed tits, noticing your hardened from still unpleasantly damp fabric of your bra nipples. You cupped your breasts, pinching your nubs with thumbs and index fingers, all while slightly rocking your hips against Tom’s clothed groin, sighing erotically at the slight friction it created against your clit.

You repeated your movements a few more times, circling and swaying your hips so sensually, putting more pressure into your thrusts, increasing a pleasant feeling against both your sexes. You peeked down at Tom through your eyelashes, noting the way his chiseled jaw clenched, his dark eyes never leaving your perfect body.

You smiled widely at his hungry stare, leaning down to place a soft kiss on his chopped from salty sea wind lips - he kissed you back almost immediately. Tom’s hands came from under his nape, picking your bra from his chest and tossing it aside before coming to rest on your waist, thumbs pressing gentle circles into your heated skin.

His slim fingers wandered all over your body, eventually reaching your plushy thighs - rough fingertips glided up and down your skin, rising herds of goosebumps in their wake, stopping on your ass, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

You could feel Tom’s dick hardening at your simple manipulations, his bulge growing noticeably bigger in his pants, rubbing against your soft ass with every smallest move you made. You didn’t bother taking Tom’s trousers off, just undoing his zipper and pulling his semi-hard dick out of his underwear. You wrapped your fingers around his shaft, pumping it slowly a few times, your eyes never breaking an eye contact.

You straightened up, standing on your knees; you struggled quite a bit while taking off your bottoms, since this position wasn’t the most comfortable. You heard Tom muttering quiet ‘oh god’ under his breath in feigned annoyance, obviously teasing you, for which you lightly smacked him on the chest.

Once done and completely naked you slightly scooted forward so that your awaiting pussy was hovering right above Tom’s heavy cock. You gave him a few more jerks before leading it to your slicked folds, sliding them along his throbbing shaft, properly slicking him up with your juices. After a few more moments you aligned his swollen tip with your pulsing entrance, lowering your hips slowly, gently sinking onto his length. A satisfied sigh left both of you once Tom was fully buried inside of your quivering warmth, your ass pressed tightly against his thighs.

His broad hands came to rest on the swell of your hips, molding and playing with soft flesh in between his long fingers. You let out a small whimper as you could feel Tom’s cock stuffing you full, his tip was pressed against your cervix so deliciously, all along with a pleasant stretch on your plushy walls.

You rose your hips carefully, still adjusting to your current position, sliding off half of his length, and sank back down onto his cock, providing such desired friction. You watched his adam’s apple bob as Tom swallowed heavily, and you repeated your actions a few more times, until you found a comfortable rhythm, impaling yourself over and over again on his steady cock.

Your hands came to rest on Tom’s chest, supporting yourself against his body, back arching at the pleasant feeling of his dick grazing all the right spots inside of your throbbing pussy. Soft moans spilled out of your lips as one of Tom’s hands went down to play with your clit, skillfully circling and massaging swollen nub with the tips of his fingers. Your head lolled back, a loud cry of your husband’s name rolled off your tongue as you quickened the pace of your thrusts, rocking against him so passionately.

Tom rested one hand on your nape, putting a bit of pressure into his touch, indicating for you to lean down. You did so, lowering your torso until your chest was pressed flush against his; your lips found his in a matter of moments, connecting in a fervid kiss, his tongue slithering into your mouth, making you gasp in surprise.

Your loud moan was swallowed by Tom’s greedy mouth as he unexpectedly thrusted his hips up into your perfect squelching pussy from underneath; his free hand was gripping onto your waist tightly, fixating you into this position. You broke your kiss, burying your flushed face into the crook of his neck as his hips picked up a quick pace, fucking your pussy raw with his throbbing cock.

- Yeah? You like that, you little minx? - Tom rasped into your ear, his lips brushed against your ear shell, making you tremble slightly. You nodded your head ‘yes’ fervently, leaving open-mouthed kisses all over the side of his neck.

- I love it so much, Tommy. Please, don’t stop, please, please, - you babbled out incoherently, your mind hazed and barely working from intense pleasure rolling through your body in waves.

Tom slid his hand from your nape and along your spine, all the way down to your jiggly ass, especially relishing to grab and mold your pliable flesh with his fingers. The hard, smooth strokes of his cock inside your slicked pussy caused ecstasy to well up inside you, your body prickling, almost painfully, in foretaste of a nearing orgasm.

Your hands grabbed on Tom’s biceps, you could feel his muscles flexing underneath your touch. You bit down onto his shoulder, eliciting a quiet hiss from the man underneath you, knowing how much he disliked when you left hickeys in such obvious places. His hand left your waist to slide in between your pressed bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles onto it, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm.

- Tom, ‘m gonna cum, ‘m gonna cum, please don’t stop, - you mumbled into his skin, hot and bothered, and you felt him nod at your words, his hips picking up faster pace, snapping loudly against your pliant body.

White stars hit your vision, as you felt your orgasm rippling through your trembling form, setting every nerve in your body on fire in intense pleasure. You didn’t register all the moans and pleadings slipping past your lips as you babbled in your euphoria, your quivering pussy along with dirty words only brought Tom closer to his own release.

Tom followed you soon enough, cumming with a groan and a low moan of your name, dumping his thick load deep inside of you. You laid rigid atop him, both of you trying to catch your breaths, listening to the soft whisper of wind and sea. Surprisingly, Tom was the one who broke the comfortable silence:

- A few more moments and I’d go deaf on one ear, - Tom commented and you didn’t understand what he was talking about. It took you a few moments to realize that all this time you were moaning and screaming uncontrollably mere centimeters away from his ear, surely causing a lot of discomfort, especially knowing how sensitive man was to any sort of noises.

You chuckle airily, muttering quiet ‘sorry, darling’ under your breath, your hand going up to comb your fingers through his silky, now knotted, hair, massaging his scalp lovingly.

Dragging Tom all the way here was definitely a good decision.

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is basically the only thing that keeps writers creating new content

[taahko]

I just found your blog today can you please explain or point out a post that explains the MASH timeloop thing? I love the show but I've never heard anyone talk abt it that way before

oh yay hurray ive been waiting for an excuse to talk about this lmao sorry this is long

ok so basically maeve (my gf) and i started watching mash for the first time about a month ago and we started joking about it being like the characters were stuck in a time loop mostly because the same basic episode format is repeated over and over, because it's a sitcom from the 70s and the episodes arent meant to be watched en masse where you can start noticing all the little repetitions and plot holes and inconsistencies that naturally occur in longform tv

but then i started to pay attention to the dates being mentioned in the show - famously the korean war never technically ended, but american troops were involved in active on the ground fighting between 1950 and 1953, so the entire 11 seasons of mash have to be squeezed into that three year period. with 251 episodes occurring within 1,129 days, that gives every episode about 4.5 days of real time. so it works right? no time loop right? well wait a sec

for the first 5 seasons or so of mash they give very consistent dates about when things are happening. for example, bj arrives in korea in september of 1952, at the start of season 4. colonel potter arrives about a week after him, and talks about how he has 18 months left before his retirement. that gives us about 7 months for the shows final 7 seasons to take place in, meaning that by the episode 'point of view' in season 7 we should be around december of 1952. in that episode the pov character starts writing a letter home and in the corner he writes the date:

september of 1951. ok, could be that this episode isn't meant to take place in the regular timeline of the season - maybe for some reason its just like, a random flashback episode. but bj, charles, and potter are all present, even though none of them got to korea until 1952. now i KNOW that this is not like, the True Hidden Secret Lore of MASH, this is the writers realizing they were running out of road and turning back the clock a bit to accommodate for how long the show was running on. but play in my time loop space with me please

more talking points:

consistent jokes about time zones and how difficult it is to call the states because "our today is their yesterday but if you call them now it might not reach them until our tomorrow and by that point our yesterday will be their today"

hawkeye's increasing mania over the seasons and his conviction that the war will never end, comparing the camp to dante's inferno multiple times. maeve once pointed out that the closer hawkeye comes to realizing that he's trapped in a time loop the closer he gets to being institutionalized - and what does the series finale cold open onto ? hawkeye in a mental institution. the only way out is to lose yourself etc. sidenote frank also escaped the time loop by going insane and getting institutionalized

in a war for all seasons bj potter and charles are all present at the 1951 new years party as well as the 1952 new years party

there are three christmas episodes, two of which bj is present for even though he should only have spent one christmas in korea

details of people's families and lives shift around - sometimes potter's got multiple grandchildren, sometimes he only has one, sometimes its a girl, sometimes its a boy, sometimes she's 5, sometimes he's 2

we're not the first people to talk about this either, here's a good video compilation posted a couple yrs ago of time loop moments

overall ive been using the time loop thesis to add another layer to my mash viewing experience. it increases the already present sense of constant dread, anger, frustration, and disgust with their situation that the characters feel, plus it feels like a very poignant take on the united states' constant warmongering and violent existence. it really never ends, it just goes on an on. the future's been canceled by the war department- we're just gonna replay the past.

[saylorsaysstop]

Third Date Etiquette | Bucky Barnes

a/n: Bucky is def my comfort character and writing for him when I haven't in so long is AHHHH. please enjoy 💗

pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

The ingredients lay before you on the table. Potatoes, onions, garlic, carrots, and most importantly–chicken. Your nerves were wracked as you studied the contents of the recipe over and over, practically committing it to memory. It was your third date with the extremely captivating and handsome man, Bucky Barnes. You two quite literally ran into one another at the local Starbucks–you with a very sweet and frothy latte, Bucky with a bitter iced black coffee. 

“Hi,” Bucky had said to you, piercing blue eyes like windows to the soul. You immediately took comfort. Weird, but you felt safe and you hadn’t been in his presence all but for 30 seconds. 

“Hi,” you answer with a sheepish smile, admiring your hands. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” 

He smiled in the friendliest of ways. It wasn’t every day you slammed into the hard chest of a man who looked as though he just stepped off of the latest Men’s GQ issue. His scent was homey, earthy. Woodsy and aromatic, he smelled like citrus and sex. The good kind of sex, too. Mouth-watering sex, the kind that will have your toes curling and aching at a memory recalled throughout your normal day. 

Introductions were quickly exchanged and you were shocked when the stranger who you found to be Bucky asked for your number. By the end of the day, he asked you to dinner, and now just a few weeks later this was lucky date number three. And you offered to cook for him. Your grandmother said that a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. So with that information tucked away nicely in your brain, you asked if he had any food allergies, and mentioned chicken, and Bucky was immediately on board. He offered to bring the wine. 

As you began to prepare your chicken and cut up your veggies, you heard the knock on your apartment door. A soft smile spans across your face as you wash up your hands and race for the door, eager like a teenager falling in love for the first time. Inhaling slowly to try and dampen the quick thud of your heart, you check your reflection in the mirror and ensure you look presentable. Opening the door, Bucky stands there in a pair of dark jeans that hug thick thighs wonderfully, a navy blue v-neck tee, and his jacket. In his hand is a bouquet of roses and the bottle of wine he promised to bring.

“Hey, Doll,” he smiles. It didn’t take him long to give you a sweet little pet name, and ‘doll’ was so fitting, as if he came straight out of the 1950s. 

“Hello, handsome.” you say breathlessly, ushering him to come inside. He steps over the threshold and pops a gentle kiss onto your cheeks, his warm lips and slight scruff a perfect mixture that sends your heart into overdrive and an ocean down below. 

You take the flowers and wine from him, laughing over your shoulder as he comments on your sweet little apartment. “It’s very cozy in here.” he laughs, admiring the bookshelf in the corner filled to the brim with all of your favorite reads. From historical romance to paranormal, all the way to romantasy and the occasional dark romance, you had something for every mood. 

“Thank you!” you beam. “It’s not much, but it’s home.” 

Bucky felt his heart soften at that. It’s not much but it’s home. There was nothing more he wanted in this world than to feel at home. To be quite honest, he hadn’t felt the essence of home since Steve, and he wasn’t so certain that he’d ever get to experience it again. But then there you were… bumping into him in that coffee shop. With your bright smile, ease of conversation, and breathtaking beauty. He was smitten and starstruck by you. 

“The flowers are gorgeous, Bucky. Thank you so much.” You exhale as you place the vase of water and flowers as a centerpiece on your kitchen table. Bucky looked around, noticing the prepped chicken sitting in a stainless steel roasting pan. Veggies were lined around it like a little bed for the chicken to rest on. He smiled to himself, eager to have a woman offer to cook for him on a date. It wasn’t something he was used to and he wouldn’t take for granted the sweet gesture. 

“I’m glad you like them.” He answers. You look at his jacket and laugh.

“Go on, make yourself comfy. Take your coat off. You can lay it over one of the chairs.” 

Bucky wets his lips as he shimmies out of his leather and lays it over the back of the wooden chair as you instructed. He admired the full view of you for the first time tonight. You wore a dress that dropped just to your knees and a pair of blush pink flats. You wanted something semi-formal but comfortable. The dress hugged your curves and Bucky’s mouth watered at the image of his hands tracing every single one, committing them to memory. He opened and closed the fist of his metal limb, his eyes fluttering shut. He wanted desperately to know how you tasted and not just what lay beneath that dress and panties he coould only imagine looked like–but your mouth. Your mouth looked so sweet and delectable, lips that were made to fit perfectly against his.

“Do you need help with anything?” Bucky asked, gazing around at the nicely-kept kitchen. You had cleaned up as you went along cooking this evening. 

“Yeah… You can make yourself useful.” You smirk with a playful tone to your voice. “You can open that bottle of wine while I grab us two glasses… You grabbed my favorite.” 

Bucky laughed. “I remembered you ordering it on our first date.” 

You stalled in front of the cabinets, the memory of that first day clouding your mind. How much of a gentleman he was despite everyone saying that chivaraly was dead. He pulled out your chair, let you wear his jacket on the way out because it was practically freezing, and he walked you to your doorstep where he kissed you goodnight. Not on the lips, but on the cheek, because he wanted to set the standard with you–that you were worth more than jumping headfirst. He wanted to feel you out, take his time. After all, you would be the first woman he’d grown to fancy in a very long time… and after Sam’s whistling over the picture Bucky showed him of you once he confiscated your socials, Sam was hollering for Bucky to quickly lock it down. 

“You paid attention.” you giggle, realizing that the wine glasses were sitting on the very top shelf. Grumbling, you were about to grab the stepstool before a warm hand ghosted across yours and a hard chest was felt against your back. Bucky effortlessly grabbed two glasses and locked eyes with you, his eyes not helping but to drop to your lips. 

If you weren’t trying to impress him with your cooking skills, you would’ve forgotten dinner all together and jumped straight to dessert. 

Bucky smiled at you as he unloaded the two glasses into your grasp before he went to work on popping the cork. You were enveloped with that homey scent once more, that citrus sending a shock appeal through your loins, your eyes fluttering closed. If you weren’t paying attention to maintaining your balance, you might just pooled to the floor then and there. 

As he popped the cork and you put the chicken in the oven and set a timer on your phone, he offered you a glass. 

“Cheers,” You smiles, clinking your glass to his and taking a sip. The feel of the wine on your tongue was smooth and silky, causing you to ponder if Bucky’s tongue felt the same. You lick your lips as you sat the glass down and admire him. 

“What?” Bucky asks.

Smirking, you shake your head. “I’m just surprised is all.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow at the statement. “Surprised?”

You nod your head. “How I happened to score running directly into the arms of someone this good looking.” 

Your comment on his appearance sent a flush down the back of his neck. Bucky Barnes was not the kind of man that blushed, but he suddenly felt an odd sense of heat rise on the apples of his cheeks. He tucked his tongue into the pocket of his cheek and chuckled, cursing under his breath at how a woman, for the first time in his life, had the upper hand on him. 

“You’re all for flattery tonight.” Bucky chuckles. 

“It’s the truth.” You don’t back away. That was another thing that pulled Bucky into your orbit. He loved that you said anything that came to mind. It didn’t matter how outlandish or awkward it could sound, he loved it. You spoke your mind. You were the epitome of fearless and he knew he could use some more of that in his life. 

The longer you two stood there and the silence grew, it was one of comfort. You both drank from your glasses and Bucky knew that if he didn’t take his chance now, he wouldn’t ever do it. He stepped closer and circled a hand around your waist, dropping low on your hip. The feel of his large hand through the fabric of your dress sent a jolt of electricity down your spine as you peered up at him. 

“Jumping to dessert first?” You dare to ask.

“Doll, dessert has been on my mind since I woke up this morning.” Bucky drawled, his voice rich and deep. His warm breath fanned over your bottom lip as he searched your eyes, waiting for the invitation, eager for your confirmation that you too wanted some dessert before dinner. 

Grinning wildly, the tip of your head and the subtle pushing into his hard frame was all he needed. Bucky caught your thin between his fingertips and dipped low, his lips slotting against yours. 

Perfect fit. 

His lips molded to yours. They were soft and pleasant and warm and everything you could’ve dreamed of. He kissed you with such softness that it stole the breath from your lungs. You unhooked your fingers from around the stem of your wineglass and raised them, laying them over his shoulders. You took the leap of courage and deepened the kiss, being the first to run your tongue across his bottom lip, asking for permission to infiltrate.

Bucky opened his mouth a little wider and your tongues touched which sent both of you into a frenzy. A low grunt of approval climbed up Bucky’s throat followed by a breathy moan leaving yours. He turned you both so that the curve of your back was pressed into the island. He pushed forward, your body folding slightly across the granite as he kissed you deeper, kissed you as if you were the oxygen that was snatched from his lungs, kissed you like there would be no tomorrow. 

“Bucky,” You gasp his name as you pull away for a breath of fresh air. But you were so desperate to kiss him again. You never wanted to stop. 

Bucky’s eyes flickered with a deep sense of want and you had a strong feeling this date might just go to third base. 

He smirked down at you, the playfulness of his eyes putting you on high alert. His thumb grinded into your hip and in a flash, he had you lifted and your bottom on the counter. Wedging his body between your knees, a shrill of laughter escaped you as you drape your arms over his shoulders. Bucky comes back in, diving head first for more, this time with a lot more passion.

He didn’t hold back. Bucky’s hands gripped your sides and danced up until he was grabbing your face, the gasp flooding your lips at the mix of cold of his metal hand and warmth of his flesh one. You groan louder against his mouth as you tangle your legs around his waist and locking your ankles. 

“How much longer on that timer?” Bucky asked between deepening kisses. 

You glance down at your phone. “30 minutes.” You giggle. 

Talk about some third date etiquette. You wanted this more than anything.

“30 is all I need, Doll.” Bucky laughs, lifting you off the counter and leading you to the couch where he climbs on top of you, his hard body pressing against yours.

[tipofthemountain]

actress

tags: biker!Simon “Ghost” Riley x actresses!Afab Reader, Fluff, Established relationship, reader is a famous actress. Mentions of sex and sexual acts but no action is taken. Minors should still take extreme caution reading!

word count: 1.5k

summary: Reader is on set of her newest movie and Simon comes to visit!

a/n: First story I’m posting! I’m a little nervous for what everyone will think but I hope you enjoy it!

ps. biker!Simon is my current hyper fixation so bare with me if there’s like a million more biker au stories :}.

edit: adding this in but my requests are open!

༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻ ༺𖤓༻

It was a warm Tuesday inside studio lot B. A beautiful facade of a two story house stands in a field of white daisies. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes when you walked onto the set. It looked so real! An exact replica of the real house you’ll be shooting on in a week.

The role you are playing is that of a farm wife with her three children, except your husband is having an affair with the barns keeper and your sleeping with the maid. Neither of you know you’re both cheating of course but the children do. The entire plot of the movie is the children trying to get the parents to find out about the double affairs. It’s a LGBTQ+ romance set in the early 1950s. It’s filled with steamy sex scenes and overly dramatic fights.

It’s the exact kind of movie you love doing. Sappy period pieces. In fact the movie that put you in the spotlight was almost exactly like this except it was the 1860s and you where a young unmarried queen with a “live in maid”.

Your boyfriend of 5 years Simon, or as his biker group likes to call him “Ghost” for the skull bandanna he likes to wear around his face, dropped you off on set on his newly refurbished 1980s Harley Davidson. You swore sometimes you thought he was more in love with that bike than he was with you.

“Make some money baby.” Simon told you after a steamy kiss early this morning.

Simons always been supportive of your career. The two of you met on the set of a Tv show when he was hired as a last minute extra for for some bike scene you can barely remember. For Simon it was love at first sight, but for you it was ‘I’ll wait and see where this goes’. Spoiler: You fell in love and are engaged, set to be married later this year.

“Where is my Anna Marie?” You hear your director yell out as you sit in your makeup chair getting touches done to your character’s signature red lip.

“Over here Clark! I needed my lips retouched. I think Amy got a little excited!” Clark Russel. You’ve worked with him a few times now and he’s always been a joy and a pleasure to work with, not something you find comes easy in this industry.

“Your needed on set in five. We’ve got to have this last shot of you and Blanche in the kitchen. We’ve got one week of shooting left here in the studio before we all go out on location.” Clark quickly spills out with you barely catching any of it.

Blanche is played by your costar Amy Heart. A talented actress 3 young years older than you. You’ve done several movies with her by now. You consider her one to your best friends and even plan to ask her to be a bridesmaid.

“James, Finn and Blanche are all on set. We just need you.” Clark makes direct eye contact with you as your makeup artist finishes the last touches on your makeup. He always insisted on calling people by their character names and you never questioned it.

James is played by Arther Godwin. The man that’s supposed to be your characters husband. You’ve never met him before this project but a quick IMDB search led you down a rabbit hole of bad low budget horror movies that you and Simon later binged watched. Finn is played by Roderick Grant, a fresh face. This would be his breakout role after a stream of hit indie movies.

“All done.” Your makeup artist releases you and you stand up from your seat grabbing the jacket that goes with your costume. You throw the jacket on around your shoulders and loop your arm in Clarks.

“Let’s get this show on the road!” You say in an over dramatic southern accent to which your director roles his eyes at.

༺𖤓༻

After 3 more hours of grueling take after take of Clark just having to get the tear sliding down your cheek just right, to which you where ready to rip his head off. Your just about to pass out on your trailer couch in nothing but a robe and very thin 1950s appropriate lingerie, when you hear 3 gentle knocks on your door. You get up with a puff of air leaving your lips putting your hands in your hair.

“Who is it!” You yell not really wanting to get up to answer the door.

“Open the door and find out!” You hear that oh so familiar thick Manchester voice behind the thinness of your trailers door.

In no time you’re rushing to the door and pulling your bulky fiancé in to your trailer and lacing your red lips with his. Simon closes the door through your sloppily sweet kisses. He smells of expensive leather and gas but you still drink all of him in.

“You miss me tha’ much?” Simons thick accent lets out through a smirk.

“Always.” You smile up at the tall man resting your chin on his chest.

“How was today? Make anyone else cry today?” Simon jokes but you take serious offense.

“That was one time and I didn’t even mean to yell at the poor guy.” You slap his shoulder as you both take a seat next in the oh so comfy couch in your trailer.

“I was only joking love.” Simon laughs and places a gentle kiss to your temple. He has one hand around your shoulder and the other rubbing up and down your thigh softly. You with one of your hands on his much bigger thigh and the other holding the hand that’s around your shoulder.

“Long day. Completely closed set. Only Clark and the main cast where set to shoot today.” Closed sets are usually indicators that you where filming your sex scenes today. You had one with your on screen husband and one with Amy. You almost never liked doing sex scene with men. It was never because Simon didn’t want you to or that you ever hated your male costar. You had this respect for Simon and you felt like the sex scenes could get too real sometimes. Personally, you never wanted for Simon to watch a scene of you sharing a bed(or even sometimes a kitchen counter) with another man. But every time you would ask Simon he would always just say some form of ‘This is all make believe. It isn’t real. I know you love me and some fake sex scene isn’t going to change that.” You still sometimes denied it though.

“When are you off?” Simon ask softly moving his hand further up your thigh.

You knew the game he was playing, he always did this when visiting. He always got you worked up and sweating before you had to go back and shoot a scene.

“30 minutes my love. We have to finalize a few things for today, but nice try honey.” You push Simons hand down slightly and look up towards him. Of course he has the cheekiest smirk on his face.

“I miss you at home.” Simon says kissing down your neck this time and creeping his hand back up your thigh.

“Simon.” You whisper scold him as he makes his way onto your shoulder planting sweet kisses.

“I miss the way you smell…” He grabs your hips and lays your back flat against the couch hovering over you as he plants kisses down over your collar bone. You inhale sharply when he moves his hand under the thin bra provided by the costume department.

“I miss the way you feel…” He moved his other hand to finish untying to robe from around your waist. He slowing starts kissing his way down your stomach stopping at the hem of the very 1950s lingerie.

“And I certainly miss the way you taste.” Simon has a giant smile planted on his face when he plants open mouth kisses down your thigh.

And just when he’s about to touch your center 3 harsh knocks are placed on your door.

“Miss, Mr. Russel said he needs you.” The voice calls out not even waiting for you to respond.

Simon lets out a laugh and you sit up and push him lightly.

“That’s not funny!” You whisper yell at him only to make him laugh even more. You stand up and tie your robe back around your waist and walk to the trailer door.

“It’s a little funny.” Simon says watching you with a panicked look on your face.

“I’ll be back in 20 minutes. I love you.” You place a gentle kiss on Simons lips and him returning the kiss.

“I love you too.” He says back placing one final kiss to your forehead.

Before you leave however you whisper into his ear “I think you owe the costume designer.” and bite the end of his ear playfully.

Simon watches you with his his cheek drawn inside his mouth as you grab the door handle of your trailer and leave him alone with his nothing but his thoughts for the next 20 minutes.

༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻༺𖤓༻ ༺𖤓༻

final thoughts: i definitely got carried away while writing. I tend to do that. I get caught up on details that most likely don’t even matter all that much. I feel like somethings definitely could have been left out and more things added in but in the end it’s just a story and if you don’t like the first few sentences, just skip the story and move on.

@gauloiseblue for you friend <3

[garricks4thwingqueen]

*Whispers* angry love confession with Garrick after years of pining?

After All This Time Garrick Tavis X Reader

Word Count: 1950

Irish Gaelic for old Tyyrish: Princess - banphrionsa. 

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, a little bit of angstyness.

 Two years prior to Fourth Wing 

                                                                       Y/N POV

   You woke up at 5:30 a.m. the morning that Garrick had to leave for Basgiath. You looked over to your right where the gentle sleeping giant teddy bear lay. No you and Garrick weren’t a thing even though you had a crush on him for as long as you remember but you remember overhearing Xaden’s warning speech to Garrick that you as Xaden’s little sister were off limits for well forever. And now after the uprising of parents you and Garrick were now foster siblings so anything more should be pushed to the back of your minds right? Wrong. Your heart felt so heavy this morning as Garrick stirred awake. He was leaving to start the school of hell; and you were going to be stuck here in a foster home that was probably the worst placement for all 107 of you.  At least Garrick was going to get to see Xaden again. You just hoped that they would both survive their  first two years so you could see them both when you started your first year at Basgiath War College. 

                                           Garrick’s POV

   “Good Morning Princess.” “Tis not.” Y/N huffed, crossing her over her chest. “Oh come on please don’t be pouty for me. We aren’t going to see each other for another two years.” “Or never.” I sat up in bed cupping her cheek. “Hey let’s not think about that yay?” “Yay ok sorry.” She mumbled with a sigh. “Let’s go get some breakfast before I have to leave in three hours.” She nodded her head slowly getting out of bed. “Come here.” I said holding my arms out. “It’s going to suck for us both but it's going to be ok. I promise. My banphrionsa. I will always find you no matter what and maybe one day we can truly be together.” 

                                            Y/N POV

   Garrick had said to you after breakfast that morning after breakfast placing a soft kiss on your forehead before leaving for Basgiath. It took everything in you to not run after him and get a real kiss. A real kiss that you may never get.

                                                  Y/N POV

                                             633 August AU 

    It had been almost three full weeks since you had been reunited with your brother and Garrick as well as Imogen, Liam and your cousin Bodhi. But gods was it hard keeping your true feelings for Garrick pushed down. You weren’t 5 year old little kids anymore; even Imogen was starting to pick fun at your not so subtle glances at Garrick or your subtle reactions or over reactions when other girls started to flirt with the now third year cadet. 

                                                          Garrick’s POV

   It was now three weeks since I had seen you again. I was shaking out of my wandering thoughts by Bodhi as I stood watching you spare another first year cadet. “Like what you're seeing Tavis?” Bodhi chuckled. “Lay off Durran. At least she can still fight.” I smirked as I watched you walk towards your water bottle after you had won the match of the Matthias girl. “Like what you see Tavis?” You smirked at me on your way back over. “I-” “Oh he absolutely does.” Bodhi chuckled. “Wanna take a picture so it’ll last longer?” She asked and did a twirl that landed you in front of my chest. I chuckled deeply. “Miss me princess?” “Terribly.” “Careful your brother is in ear shot.” “Maybe  I don’t care what Xaden thinks anymore.” “Maybe you should care what he thinks.” Xaden huffed from my right. “Maybe you should stop pining after the Sorrengail girl if you want to care about mine and Garrick’s relationship.” I chuckled at your remark and how quickly the smirk faded on Xaden’s face. “I just care that you're safe. Is that too much to ask of my little sister?” Xaden snapped. “You know I could choose to be with any of these other cadets in this hell hole; say Ridoc perhaps. You should be lucky I’ve been pinning for Garrick since we were kids, foster brother or not.”    

        I growled at your response to Xaden. “You will not be with any other cadet in this god damns school.”  “Overprotective Gary?” She giggled. “Damn straight for gods knows how many years I’ve been wanting you and god forbid that I’ll let being foster siblings or your actual brother get in the way of us anymore Y/N. I swear if anyone tries and stop us now I will have Chradh char them right where they are standing.” “You're mine and mine alone and finally safe with me.” 

                                                   Y/N POV 

   Damn this was hot. You thought to yourself. You knew it would be heated, maybe a tad bit of anger in the air when you and Garrick finally confessed feelings for each other. But god's damn was he really your over protective Gare Bear. “Safe in Basgiath. That’s kinda ironic isn’t” You smirked slowly wrapping your arms around Garrick’s waist, making sure to look at Xaden; who now was standing arms crossed angrily over his chest. You smiled as Garrick chuckled softly; “Yeah, I guess it’s ironic, but you're safe with me. No one will touch you while I’m around, no one can say anything harmful. You understand that banphrionsa?” You nod your head burying it into his chest. “No one but you.” You said quietly. “What was that princess?” “No one but you. I’m yours.” 

   “That’s right, princess. Only I get to be this close to you. Only I get to touch.” As Garrick spoke to you noticed it shifted to a tone that you weren’t quite used to. One that was dominant yet serious, but oh hells did it do things to you.    

     “I don’t care that you’ll always be my foster brother now. At least you're not Xaden and not my actual brother. But now, we don’t have to push our feelings for each other way down below the surface.” You said in a tone you tried matching Garrick’s with but it wasn’t quite there. Looking at Garrick you could now tell there was a hint of possessiveness in his eyes as he spoke to you next: “Yes my princess, we don’t have to push our feelings down now. I am not pushing my feelings away for you anytime soon love, because you're mine now.” 

  “I’m all yours Tavis. Whether Xaden likes it or not.”  You made sure to glance at your brother who now looked like he was fuming. But you quickly looked back at Garrick as he started to rub his hands against your hip, a wide smile on his face as he spoke: “Damn straight You are. Xaden’s going to have to learn how to share you. Because I won’t be giving you up anytime soon.” 

   God your heart fluttered. You knew Garrick had always been protective of you and Xaden and those he considered close friends. But damn, now that it was solely directed to you as his; it was doing things to you in your lower abdominal region. “Gods I missed you.” You breathed. 

       Garrick stood looking down at you which was a good two feet difference with Garrick being 6’ 6” and you just 5 feet even. “And I missed you, princess. A lot. Putting up with Xaden for two years on my own….” “But you; I also thought about you every goddamn day Y/N. I never stopped thinking of you. Thinking of you being stuck in that foster home all by yourself.”  

    “Same.” You admitted in a tone that was much softer than Garrick’s. “When I got your first letter knowing that you and Xaden were still alive after you finished your first year here. It was like the greatest breath of fresh air ever.” 

          You didn’t think it was possible but you could have sworn Garrick’s expression darkened a bit at your words. His hands still on your hips giving them a tight squeeze as he began to speak; “The first year here was a nightmare, Princess. You wouldn’t believe the hell Xaden and I went through during it.” Your eyes softened as you gripped his waist tightly. “I know being the oldest of the rebels you both have-” You started to say as Garrick cut you off “Hey, focus on right now, with me, my banphrionsa.”

    You sighed “That whole first year you left. I made a calendar on the wall marking the days so I’d know when to expect the first letter from you or Xaden after your first year here ended and you were able to send letters.” “You made a calendar Y/N? A whole entire year?” Garrick asked, speechless. “Yeah I made two actually. The next one marked every day a letter was sent and received and of course when I could see you again. Right on their cream walls.” You smirked. “I bet they were pissed off by that.” Garrick chuckled. “Yeah I kept it hidden when I was there. I'm sure they could have wished they could punish me for it. Maybe toss some more verbal slurs out about how we are rebel trash.” 

  Garrick chuckled. “You made two calendars on their precious cream walls just because you missed me, missed us.?” “Yeah all because I missed you. And I knew when we slept together in that house it had just been as friends. But after all that time of almost four years sleeping in the same bed it felt so cold after you left.”  “You were alone in that cold house without me… god’s it drives me crazy; Knowing you were alone and cold while I was here. While Xaden was here.” You hummed in response “Like you said we are here now. We have each other finally I get to say I love you and mean it with nothing holding us back. 

   “Say it again.” Garrick breathed, threw a raspy breath as his eyes darkened and the grip on your waist tightened. “I don’t get to hear it from you first Gary? You giggled. “You want me to say it first? Garrick chuckled. “I mean I’ve said it once it’s only fair if you say it again before I say it twice.”  “Stubborn runs in the Riorson bloodline, I swear.” Garrick chuckled. “Then my early threat stands. Should I go find Ridoc?” You smirked.

    Garrick let out another low growl. “Damn it no.” He chuckled. “I love you Y/N Riorson. Damn it, I always have and you know how damned hard it's been keeping that to myself all these damned years?” “Yes I know; I’ve had to do it myself and the feeling of finally getting to say I love you. Feels so god damn freeing.” You both earned a huff coming from Xaden but ignored it; as Garrick said earlier he was going to have to learn how to share. 

    “Say it again.” Garrick said through a rasped breath. “Now I’ve said it twice. Is it really fair for me to say it a third time before you say it twice?” Garrick chuckled; “I love you; Y/N Riorson and your right it feels so gods damn freeing to be able to say it.”  

       “Take me upstairs, Garrick.” You smirked, running your fingers through his hair. “You want me to take you upstairs princess?” Garrick rasped. “Take me to your dorm on the third floor, Garrick. I’m still bunked in a massive room with a bunch of first years so no way in hell is that happening.” Garrick chuckled as he picked you up bridal style and started carrying towards the stairs that lead up to the third floor dorms. 

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it. Stay tuned to a spicy part two!  (Also I should apparently not post synopsis before I start writing the physical fan fic lol)

Part 2

[damthosefandoms]

Jumbled

(ao3 link)

Summary:

RIP Sodapop Curtis, you would’ve loved having an IEP/504 Plan.

(AKA, Soda struggles in school his whole life, and doesn’t understand why, because it’s the 1950s and 60s and getting a diagnosis for a learning disability isn’t exactly on the table. Neither is the scaffolding and support he really needs.)

Sodapop Curtis was the type of kid who sat at the kitchen table for hours on end crying over math homework until his dad got home from work and struggled to explain it to him. All that effort, and then he’d always inevitably lose it somewhere between the kitchen table that night and his teacher’s hand the next morning and all that effort would be for nothing.

Soda was five years old when he started kindergarten, at the tail-end of the summer of ‘56. He remembers his mom comforting him the night before, when he cried because he was going to miss Ponyboy who wasn’t old enough for school yet and because Darry was going into fourth grade and would be on the other side of the school all day, and Soda would never get to see him. He remembers pouting because Keith Mathews, his and his brothers’ collective best friend from down the street was going into first grade after promising Soda last year that he’d get in a lot of trouble so he could stay and do kindergarten with him (he lied).

And then Soda was just plain miserable, sitting there on the bus sandwiched between Keith and a boy a little younger than Sodapop named Johnny Cade (who lives two doors down from the Mathews’ house and Soda never sees because his parents are mean and keep him inside all day), because Darry decided he was “too cool” to sit with his horse-crazy kid brother in favor of the big kids whose mommies don’t make them wash their hair when it’s dirty and greasy and walk around with those little black switch-combs and pretend they’re the coolest kids on planet earth, ‘cause one day those combs will swap out for blades and they will be.

Probably because they are, but Sodapop doesn’t know that yet—right now he doesn’t really know or care about grease or what side of town he lives on. He is six years old and the only thing on Soda’s radar right now is that Mama promised they’d save up for him to go to horseback riding camp next summer, and that’s his biggest dream. He wants to be a rodeo legend or win the Kentucky Derby or something. He hasn’t quite decided yet. He figures he has time to parse out the specifics—he just wants to ride a horse.

They get to school, and after a particularly pushy reminder that Mama told him at the bus stop this morning to make sure Soda gets to his classroom alright, Darry points his little brother toward the Kindergarten wing. Soda takes Johnny Cade’s hand in his because he found out on the bus that Johnny is going to have the same teacher as him, and they push through the hallway of their elementary school to find Mrs. Moran’s Room Four.

Soda very quickly learns that not every kid goes into kindergarten equally. Johnny is the smallest and the youngest kid in their grade, and Soda’s the second-youngest and it only takes a few weeks for Soda to think to himself that maybe that’s why he can’t read yet. He’ll be six soon, and that’s how old Evie is. Most of the kids who live on his side of town started kindergarten when they were six, he realizes. She sits next to Soda and she’s a good reader, but she’s one of the oldest kids in their grade and so of course she’s smarter than him. Then again, Sherri Valance, who is also in his class, isn’t going to be six until next spring—kind of like Johnny, and according to the birthday chart on the wall—he asked Mrs. Moran to read it to him one day when he couldn’t sleep during nap time and she very begrudgingly agreed, so he memorized everyone’s birthdays and how old they’d be turning because why not, right?—but Sodapop finds out that she went to preschool.

He didn’t go to preschool. He doesn’t know anyone who did. He remembers Mama talking to Dad about preschool for Ponyboy this year, but Dad said something about “expensive” and Soda stopped listening ‘cause they always get sad or angry when that word comes up.

Sherri Valance can read and she’s got pretty red hair and a backpack that’s not even a hand-me-down, and she went to preschool. So did all her friends in Room Three. Soda doesn’t know anybody in Room Three but he knows that the kids his friends know in there didn’t go to preschool. Timmy Shepard was in Room Three last year with Keith. He didn’t go to preschool either; heck, neither did Keith. But they can both read now, and they went to first grade, so Sodapop figures he didn’t miss out on too much.

Until it’s the end of the year and he still can’t read. Well, you don’t need to read to go to horse camp. Soda doesn’t nap a single time that year, either. He spends his precious kindergarten naptime not-reading the book Mrs. Moran gives him to keep him busy and picking at his cot when she snaps at him to be quiet. Mrs. Moran decided the day she read his first name off the attendance sheet that she didn’t like him, and Sodapop Curtis did not like her either.

First grade is so much better and yet so, so much worse.

Soda has a very hard time on his first day, because he misses his mom, and his dad, and Ponyboy, who begged to go to school too this year but he’s still too little at only four years old and Mama’s doing her best to get him reading now. Darry is in fifth grade and seems even farther away, and Soda doesn't have recess with Keith and Tim’s grade this year, and Johnny’s in Room Seven making new friends. Evie’s in Room Eight, and Soda’s trapped alone in Room Nine. Sherri’s still in his class. On the third day of school, Soda decides her hair reminds him of cherries. She laughs, and it sticks.

The best and brightest part of first grade is his teachers. He was put in Mrs. Larkin’s room, and she’s amazing; but when he gets there on the first day, there are two teachers in the room. Miss Luft, it’s explained, is a student teacher, which means she’s learning about first grade just like they are. She’s learning how to teach and they’re learning how to learn.

Sodapop still doesn’t even know the alphabet. He doesn’t know his sounds and he can’t keep his letters straight. Mrs. Larkin has him sit with Miss Luft when he tries to write a small moment story. She draws lines in marker on his paper for him to write each word on. Every line she has to make longer than the last because he can barely fit two letters on it, and he’s pretty sure she can’t read what he wrote any more than he can.

But Miss Luft always calls him capable. She has to explain to Sodapop once a week what that word means. He does his best to remember, but he has a lot of things to remember and it gets lost in the jumble somewhere.

He hears Mrs. Larkin and Miss Luft talking, sometimes. They hide their words behind stacks of paper and turned heads but he can hear them anyway.

Reversals. Attention span. Off the wall.

“And he’s low,” he hears Mrs. Larkin say one morning. “Mrs. Bolan’s got one that low too, but at least hers is quiet.”

He has no clue what any of it means. It’s all teacher talk, he isn’t supposed to get it, and he knows they aren’t trying to hurt his feelings, but hearing it makes him feel bad anyway because they don’t talk about other kids like they do him. They don’t get those sad looks on their faces about other kids, either.

“Does your brain get jumbled sometimes, Soda?” Miss Luft asks him one day when he’s sitting at his desk, eyes red and puffy from crying because he wasn’t allowed to go to gym class unless he finished his spelling worksheet. But he can’t. He’s been sitting here for forty-five minutes, ever since they got back from recess, and he can’t. Do. It. He tries to write his letters how his teachers have shown him but they just won’t appear in the place he wanted them to, like his pencil won’t obey him when he writes. He tries to start at the top line and somehow his pencil puts itself at the bottom.

He tries to write the letters anyway, but they don’t look like he thinks they’re supposed to, and he doesn’t even know what that means because every time he looks at a b or d, or m or n or h, or—god forbid someone tells him to write the letter k. It just looks like a stick.

His numbers are just as bad. Someone’s always reminding him to put the one before the seven instead of the other way around, but he doesn’t remember writing seventy-one, he can’t even count that high!

“Jumbled?” He says in a shaky voice, still trying to calm down.

“Like mixed up. Like it’s hard to think ‘cause you got too much going on in there?” She taps his forehead and he half-heartedly giggles.

“Yeah, it gets real jumbled. All the time,” Soda says.

“I feel like that sometimes too,” Miss Luft says, and she sighs. “Like I can’t think at all some days. Like my brain shuts off without me tellin’ it to because there’s too much goin’ on and I can’t focus, and just answering one question gets overwhelming. It’s too much. But it’ll be okay, Soda, I know you got it in you. I believe in you, you hear? If I could do it, so can you.”

She doesn’t say much else, but Sodapop has never felt more seen. He cries and clings to her on her last day at their school, hating that she only got to stay for ten weeks. Mrs. Larkin is amazing and he loves being in her class, but the year just drags on and on, and towards the end of the year Soda can’t decide if school is getting harder or he’s getting dumber. Maybe it’s both.

He gets to go to horseback riding camp that summer, and he meets a kid named Dallas who he thinks was in Room Seven with Johnny. Dallas is mean. Soda finds out he’s a whole year older than him, which confuses him because Dallas is in his same grade at school.

“An’ how come I never seen you at recess or nothin’?” Soda says one day at lunch. He’s got a bologna sandwich, because his mom swears by cold cuts. Dally stole an apple out of their counselor’s lunch and doesn’t seem to have anything to eat otherwise.

“They don’t let me out much,” Dallas says. “S’what happens when you spend all your time in the principal’s office.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Just feels good to get in trouble sometimes.”

Soda doesn’t get him, but he likes horses, and so they become friends anyway. He and Dally start getting into trouble together, and Soda kind of starts to feel like he belongs somewhere. It takes his mind off the upcoming school year, which is great, because whenever he thinks about school, he gets butterflies in his stomach.

Dallas is in Room Twelve with Johnny when they get to second grade. Usually Soda keeps track of what classes all his friends end up in, but this year, it doesn’t matter anymore. Because second grade changes everything.

Mrs. Foster is ancient. She taught Soda’s mom once upon a time, and she had Darry in her class a few years earlier. Soda thought she’d be a great teacher because Darry loved her, but Soda can’t bring himself to even pretend to like her. She asks him what his parents were on when they named him.

“On what?”

Mrs. Foster just rolls her eyes and tells him to take a seat in the back where he clearly belongs. She lets him know that she’ll be calling him by his middle name this year. At least “Patrick” is “dignified.” Whatever that means.

Later, Soda can’t keep his words from erupting out of his mouth like a volcano during morning meeting, and she sends him back to his seat with a glare.

Five minutes later Steve Randle gets sent back to his seat for shouting out, too. He sits next to Soda in the back. He’s hiding a little red toy car in his desk and they play together. Mrs. Foster doesn’t seem to notice or care. She doesn’t call on Soda a single time that year, even when he does know the answer.

She also doesn’t like that Sodapop writes with his left hand. By the time he gets to third grade, he flinches and corrects himself every time he goes to pick up his pencil. He hopes this’ll solve the problem, but it never does.

Soda struggles the whole year. Steve doesn’t, and when Soda asks when his birthday is—he always needs to know, he needs to be able to sing happy birthday to all of his friends—Steve tells him he was born in April, the same year as Soda. Soda tells him how he can’t find a single pattern proving why he’s dumb, ‘cause age doesn’t seem to matter. Sherri aka Cherry is younger than him but smarter. She went to preschool. Johnny’s younger too, but he didn’t. Steve’s older and smarter but he tells Soda that he didn’t do preschool either.

“I did kindergarten twice, though,” Steve tells him. “Well, the first couple weeks anyway. Mom and Dad wanted me to start school when I was five but then I had to not do the whole year ‘cause my mom got sick and we were too busy and then she died so I stayed home with Dad. I did kindergarten the next year when I was six. Now I got friends in third grade and in second grade.”

They agree that Soda’s going to be Steve’s best second-grade friend. They trade that little red car back and forth and Soda still can’t read very well but he’s better at it now—Mrs. Larkin worked extra hard with him after Miss Luft left to make sure he knew his letters and sounds.

Mrs. Foster doesn’t seem to care, because she pretends he doesn’t exist. It’s a miracle Sodapop gets to third grade.

But it doesn’t matter. School doesn’t matter. Over time Soda just starts to remind himself that he has Steve, and Steve is smart, he’ll help him. Soda will get through this. Sure, after third grade Johnny gets held back, and it’s only a matter of time until Sodapop has to repeat a grade too, but… but he’ll be okay. He will. Someday a switch will go off and his brain will work right and he’ll be able to do it. He hasn’t failed yet, that has to mean something, right?

He hasn’t failed yet but no one has noticed he struggles, not his teachers, not his friends, no one. Maybe Miss Luft, but he’ll never see her again. He hopes she still thinks he’s capable. He had written in the book their class made for her that his favorite thing about her was that she believed in him.

As he gets older, he wonders if she even remembers his name.

But then again, he spends every weeknight crying at the kitchen table, physically unable to get past the first question on his homework sheets. In fourth grade Mama starts clearing everything off the table to help him focus, but he picks at the crumbs left behind from last night’s dinner, peels up the dried finger-paint Pony splattered everywhere, sits and rocks back and forth with each tick of the clock.

And every day after about an hour of making up little songs and fiddling on his paper until it’s spotted with holes, he starts crying, because he can’t bring himself to do his homework. And then Pony’s in school, finishing his homework before him, and Pony is just as much of a daydreamer, so that kind of stings. Darry has seven different classes to do homework for, on top of football practice, but he gets all his work done before Soda’s even started. His mom tries to help but it makes him cry even harder, ‘cause she doesn’t get it, it’s not about the homework it’s about his brain. It’s about Soda’s brain not working like everyone thinks it should.

It’s about his big, dumb, broken brain.

Johnny can’t read either, but he can focus, he can control his emotions and not cry or scream or stomp his feet at every little sound or touch, or overreact to things that aren’t a big deal at all, he doesn’t start throwing throngs off his desk when he’s mad, and he always has a reason why he does things. Steve can’t control his mouth or pay attention, but he can read and always turns in his homework on time. Keith never does his homework ever but he’s practically a genius compared to Sodapop.

Ponyboy brings home his first-ever spelling test and their mom sticks it on the fridge with a magnet.

That bright-red 100% is going to haunt Soda’s dreams.

Every night Dad gets home at 6:00 to find Soda still sitting at the table, eyes red and puffy, and tears staining his homework and the table. He chides him for the new mark Soda’s left in the table’s surface from digging the eraser-end of his pencil into it. Soda deflates, he didn’t mean to do that, it’s just—what else is he supposed to do? He’s not allowed to get up until his homework’s done.

Darrel Curtis Sr. is a loving father and a very easy-going guy, until he’s standing there over Soda’s shoulder holding his hand—his left hand, which Soda’s grateful for but also it feels so wrong after his experience in third grade—forcing him to write in the answers because he just doesn’t get that writing it is only part of the problem. His dad loves him, he’s gentle with his touch but every inch of Soda’s skin feels like it’s on fire when his dad makes him write.

It’s not his dad’s fault, but Darrel Sr. is only human, and he hates yelling at his kids, but he has to raise his voice to try to get Sodapop to hear him above his scream-crying because it’s the only way to help him learn.

Sometime when Soda’s in seventh grade, Ponyboy asks him what his problem is. Homework’s not that bad.

“I don’t like it anymore than you do, Soda, but I just don’t think it’s worth crying over, you dig?”

Soda throws his pencil at his brother, slams his history book shut, and walks out the back door. Ponyboy watches in confusion. When their mom comes in to check on them, he tells her Sodapop’s overreacting again.

Dally, who had moved away after third grade to New York but came back just in time to start seventh grade with Soda, finds him at the Pershing Park playground sitting on the swings. It’s where Soda ends up when he’s hopelessly overwhelmed by homework, or when the thought of school looms over him like a cartoon anvil. Something about pumping his legs and willing the swing to take him higher and higher takes away the sick feeling that the idea of popcorn reading Shakespeare in his fifth period English class gives him. Dally asks him if he wants to find something better to do, and a few hours later they wind up back at the Curtis house with busted knuckles and the beginnings of black eyes and they pour grease into Soda’s hair and grin at each other.

When Sodapop is sixteen years old, a sophomore in high school, his father finds him sitting at that same kitchen table, staring down over an assignment that’s asking him to write a thousand-word essay and Soda turns to his dad wordlessly, his throat is closing up, and his dad tells him to breathe.

But he can’t. He can’t. He’s going to be sick, he might actually throw up. He feels like he’s being stabbed in the chest. One thousand words. Sodapop can’t even count that high. He can’t even read Dr. Seuss. He can’t do this anymore.

“Dad, I want to drop out.”

“Aw, Pepsi-Cola,” his dad says gently that night, brushing Soda’s hair back and then pulling him into a hug, “I know you do. I’ve been talkin’ to your mother about it. We got the paperwork from the school. But I think you should think about it a little longer, alright?”

Soda agrees to try and finish out the year. His dad gets it.

His dad spent ten years listening to Soda cry over homework. His dad never called him dumb. His mom did what she could. But the only person in all his years of school who Soda ever knew really believed in him was Miss Luft, and she never came back.

He thinks maybe if he had more teachers like her, who believed in him and gave him extra help and supported him along the way, if there was something—something that made it so they had to listen to him, had to help him, had to accept that it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t read right, couldn’t focus, couldn’t control his mood swings or emotions or his volcano of a mouth… maybe he could’ve done better. Maybe if Mrs. Foster had let him write with his left hand, he could’ve figured it out.

Soda hopes one day they figure out what makes kids like him tick. What makes them struggle. He hopes one day that their schools will decide to help.

A few months after he talks to his dad, Sodapop finds the signed paperwork in his dad’s desk drawer. His parents have just been buried, and Soda can’t stop crying at the drop of a pin. He’s been skipping all his classes, but none of his teachers seem to care. It’s fine. He’s dumb anyway, a lost cause. They’ll just keep passing him up to the next grade without batting an eye at the fact that he never gets higher than a D+, no matter how hard he tries.

Sodapop will always be that one student who slips through the cracks.

He looks over the form to drop out. He figures the school will take it, if he pitches it to them as a last-will kind of situation. He doesn’t even need to ask Darry to give the okay, because Dad signed it months ago, like he had already known the decision Sodapop would make.

And he did. It’s dated that same night Soda sat at the kitchen table feeling like the world was ending and like he was dying because of a goddamn required word count.

But he knows Miss Luft believes in him, and he knows what his dad wanted, so he finishes out the school year—passes Gym and Auto Shop, too.

Soda hopes he made them proud. And now, he’ll never have to worry about explaining the dried tears on his spelling homework ever again.

[eggcats]

I got hit with motivation for a super quick, like 500 word one shot from my Housewife Vox au, so here it is. (I wrote this in like 20 minutes on my phone, so try to ignore any, like, glaring errors).

(I'm thinking maybe he's talking to Velvette, but I wasn't sure enough to name anyone so it's just someone close-ish to Vox, owned/employed by him, talking to him, here).

--

“I don't know how you can handle being in charge of all these souls when you're not even the boss in your own relationship.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I'm just saying, you're not even in charge of yourself and you expect to be in charge of ME too?”

“I don't know what you think about mine and Alastor's relationship, but if anyone's in charge of it, it's me.”

“Yeah, right. He kills anyone who even looks TWICE at you!”

“And I let him.”

“Sure…..”

“I can get Alastor to do whatever I want.”

-cut to Vox, in a 1950s housewife dress, making the world's most disgusting platter of jello with spam and mayonnaise-

“He'll eat this if I tell him to.”

“Vox, no one would even touch that, not even if you paid ‘em to.”

“He will. Watch this.”

Alastor doesn't know what he expected when he entered the kitchen, having been alerted to Vox desiring his presence by his shadow, but this. Was not it. His darling being dressed up was not too out of the ordinary, although typically he avoided others seeing him in such outfits. (Despite now having the power to eliminate anyone who would dare even think of mockery, some habits from being alive are hard to break.)

But when Alastor approaches his picture box, he's stopped when he notices the most atrocious imitation of food he's ever seen. Ears flattening, eyes narrowing, and a sharp increase in the radio static is all he can do for a few seconds as he attempts to process just what exactly he is looking at.

His Vox is not the most accomplished chef, even now, but Alastor KNOWS he has instilled some sense into him after 50 years together, and THAT….item….was certainly not something he had ever taught him.

“What in heavens name is THAT?!”

“Dinner!”

“It most certainly is NOT.”

“Don't you remember when I made this for you, back when we first met? I think it was one of the first things I ever made for you.”

“I remember I immediately tossed it into the trash, darling.”

“Well….I thought maybe you could actually try it, now? I worked really hard on it.”

“Cher, certainly there are other things you could test your culinary skills on, as opposed to….whatever that is.”

“If you're sure…I just thought it'd be a nice memory, like an anniversary or something, to show how much we've loved each other throughout the years. But I can do something else, I guess….”

Eyes widening, a light bulb shatters as Alastor grabs the food quicker than even Vox can track, and eats the entire thing before he can even react to it.

“Oh! You must have really liked it, huh?”

“I can honestly say I've never tasted anything like it before, dearest.”

“Awesome! So you're on board with the whole anniversary, thing?”

“That's a…lovely idea, mon cher. How…how often were you considering this…anniversary?”

“Oh, at least twice a month! I have a lot of jello recipes I've never been able to fully try out that I remember from when I was alive! And all of them will be just as delicious as the one I made today!”

“....Excellent.”

–

“Holy shit, Vox, I can't believe he actually ate it!”

“I told you.”

“How long before you tell him you made up the whole anniversary thing?”

“Immediately after our next one in two weeks.”

“That's diabolical.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don't ever question me again or I'll tell him to kill you next.”

“Got it, damn. Touchy.”

[wylanzahn]

New-ish post, kinda posting this on different platforms and getting a general vibe check for some ideas I have. But basically this Halloween I want to actually do something for the TTRPG and Actualplay world (oh yeah I’m into those kinds of things). I want to try and get both players, GMs, and casual viewers alike something fun to look forward to this especially spooky season. I’ll probably talk a little more when we get closer to the actual season of scare-giving but just know that if you’re interested I’m still looking for people to join in!!

As my team and I’d first debut we’re going to try and do a two to four session actual play, which will probably be released in the weeks leading up to Halloween. We’ve had a couple good friend way in on the matter of “setting” but now I come to you fine folk. Mind you this is a horror campaign/arc so if…

Isn’t your thing, keep on a moving.

But without further ado here are a couple of the possible settings for our players, and myself, this coming espookee season…

1.) Somewhere off the coast of Florida, 1926 end of the first major housing boom in the state, a small island which calls back to the Spanish Empire, is Isla Boñyela, a small port made tourist location during the boom of disposable wealth in 1920s America. A small group of friends from the northeast tag along down for the perfect paradise vacation. Only to discover the island is much much older than anyone could have ever assumed. Whilst dealing with upstart gangsters, unnerving US soldiers, and the terrified locals they find something older than even undead conquistadors.

While I don’t have a working title, this is an old project in the running which I’ve had a few attempts at revamping over time. Its previous title was “perfect paradise vacation,” and runs on the Call of Cthulhu 7th Edition game. Anywho it’s a blast of fun with Caribbean lore, tone of anti-imperialism, and something dark lurking beneath the waves.

2.) 1950’s America, the nonexistent state of Mid-Atlantia (DMV coded) in a small suburban neighborhood where nothing goes wrong… it’s almost “All-Hallows-Eve” and little Johnny and Susie want nothing more than to trick or treat this year with all the big kids, Dad’s finally getting the big promotion at work, and Mom just got a new waffle iron! Sure everything is neat here in America. Heck you just got new neighbors! Newlyweds in fact from somewhere big and fancy, they sure aren’t like any of us in our simple town. But… and you can’t say exactly why but things are different. Or perhaps they’re all too the same? Everyday a repeat of ever other bland day that followed you over and over and over and over… and you could swear, while no one may listen to you there’s someone out there. Stalking you from outside your own home- or- perhaps, he’s just your friendly new neighbor welcoming you… to the end.

Ahhhhhh! I’ve also been working on this one for a sec and god writing it out does excite me. This is also a Call of Cthulhu game but modified/homebrewed to have a uniquely 1950s horror feel. This is definitely one of the more unique games I’ve written and am truly interested in seeing where it goes (even if we don’t choose it). This is for those who feel like isolation, fear of the unknown, fear from within, and liminal space horror comes best into play! So whadya say neighbor?

3.) The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend, or How I Learned to Love Strahd, okay so this one is a lot less horror-y and falls much more under the comedic spooky category, just so yall know. Deep in the middle of Barovia, the ancient kingdom of Vampires, meets a council of Count Strahd von Zarovich's greatest commanders and lieutenants to hunt down Strahd's greatest enemy Rudolph van Richten and his party of heroes known as "The Grape-Smashers." Strahd's lieutenants have been gifted powers greater than any mere mortals, but are these gifts enough to stop Van Richten, or even enough to stop the personal ambitions of each other? Come find out in "How I Learned to Love Strahd."

Okay, as much as this may seem like a joke suggestion it cracks me up and I feel like it would be ill-advised of me to not at least mention it. In an era where "The Curse of Strahd," is well-overdone at this point, it's worth a take from an all evil "revenge story." Obviously this will be in Dungeons and Dragons 5th Edition, which, in my opinion, is really hard to use for horror, but this is a nice go-around. Come for the evil PCs, maybe a PvP battle or two, and a game of intrigue in the shadows of Barovia! All that and a buff Van Richten.

4.) Before Annapolis was ever called such it was known as Providence, a settlement of exiled Puritans in the Province of Maryland, but these early days were no easy set-up for the far-flung protestants... in the mid 1600s the English Civil War spilled out into their holdings across the waves as brother turned on brother, clan erasing clan, and something from the shores of the Old World would arrive in the New. When around every corner could be someone you've known your whole life, what's stopping them from hunting you in the depths of winter. All matters made worse when rumors of a witch begins circulating your small home.

Think "The VVitch" (2015) meets "A Field in England" (2013) meets Atun Shei's recent film "The Sudsbury Devil" (2023). It is the unexplored wilderness of early colonial Maryland, but the hateful warmongering that slowly builds that makes the horror and tension so clear. Unsure of what system we'll be using, but maybe the new Regency Cthulhu system.

5.) The Great Baltimore Fire of 1904 destroyed some 140 Acres of Baltimore proper... and in it's rubble awakened something far worse. But you and your fellow survivors are just trying to get by in the aftermath of the fire... only for something to call out, whether some strange magicks or perhaps just a sickness... but sickness doesn't even linger like this... it doesn't call to you...

Some more local history, aspiring from the actual Fire of 1904 things quickly devolve from there as rumors of a cult begin to spread along the streets of Rosland Park... a mysterious illness leaving even more dead... and the death of an eclectic professor. Definitely using the Call of Cthulhu 7th Edition for this one.

Aaaaaaaand that's it! Let me know what y'all think!

[seoksgrl]

right where you left me, 1. : jjk jungkook x reader 1950's au, biker au exes to lovers

tws: mention of illness, controlling behaviour

m.list next

June, 1959

Your mother is sick. 

When your brother sent you the telegram, you had expected it to be another plea to visit more, to bring Junghee to see your ageing family a little more often. To help out more with the family business. For years now, you had been the ungrateful daughter that had run away from town at twenty and never looked back. In your family’s eyes, that was a betrayal. 

Growing up, you were always the one who lessened the burden for your family. Your father had been sadly killed during World War Two, and the tensions on the homefront had taken your eldest brother from you a year after you left. In between the passing of your father and your departure from the seaside town where you grew up, you had spent the majority of your time taking care of those around you. You’d never asked for anything, never wanted for anything more than what your mother and older brothers were prepared to give you, even if that sometimes meant upsetting you. 

Your family weren’t poor, not by any means. You had a good home, good education and a slew of well-bred friends. You had been given the luxury to spend your time with a multitude of kind, if not slightly boring girls, and for a long time you had believed you were lucky. It wasn’t until you turned eighteen that your friendships seemed to pose an issue, and later led to the aforementioned escape. 

The hand holding the telegram trembles slightly, and you place the letter on the table. Any moment now, Junghee will come running down the stairs ready for breakfast, and here you are daydreaming of the past. You haven’t allowed yourself to do that in a long time, and you have come too far to fall victim to painful memories now. 

As if sensing your turmoil, your five year old daughter bounds down the steps and rushes through the archway into the small kitchenette. Her hair is mussed, dark and thick, falling over her small shoulders while she stares up at you bleary eyed. 

“Morning, mama,”

“Come on, sweetheart,” You usher your child onto the seat at the tiny kitchen table, “time for breakfast,”

It’s only when you say the words that you notice the lump in your throat, and you know that no matter your complicated relationship with your hometown and with your mother, you are upset to hear that she is so unwell. The familiar guilt you had always felt as the only daughter comes rushing back so fierce it takes your breath away, and you brace a hand on the kitchen chair to steady yourself. 

“Where’s papa?” Jung-hee asks, her tiny fist wrapped around the spoon she uses to dunk into her cereal, splattering milk on the tablecloth. She doesn’t look up at you, and you wonder if perhaps she has inherited your traits as a child, keeping to herself, maintaining a meek, quiet demeanour. You dearly hope she hasn’t. 

With a deep inhale, you swallow the emotions clogging your throat and grab the hairbrush off the counter, gathering her knotted locks and combing through them gently, “Papa is away this week, remember?”

Youngsik hadn’t wanted to leave, but running a business from home isn’t feasible, and so you understood when he pressed a quick kiss to your lips early this morning and jumped into a taxi. Despite the love you feel for your husband, whenever he kisses you, that familiar deep pang of longing always bursts free seeking its mate. You don’t know how many times in the last six years of your marriage that you’ve had to focus on something else, anything else, to get the feeling to go away. 

It seems that even here in Seoul, far away from your family or from the memories your hometown provokes, you can’t escape the lingering feelings of lost love. Perhaps you never will, and it’s that thought that keeps you awake at night. 

The train is smooth despite the rough terrain, and you attempt to focus on Junghee sitting in your lap and looking out for animals to distract yourself from the fact you are returning home for the first time in seven years. Even though there are a couple of hours left of the journey, you can practically feel the suffocating energy of the town ahead drawing you in, taunting you. 

It’s hard to predict what awaits you in Busan, but one thing for certain is that you will come face to face with your mother for the first time since you begged her to let you move to Seoul and finish your studies there. Teary eyes, a broken heart, sobs wracking your body with such ferocity that even now you find it hard to draw in a breath from the memory alone. 

Your mother was always a cold woman; quiet, reserved and hell bent on making sure her children slotted neatly into society. Everywhere had a social ladder, and even in a sleepy place such as Busan, there was always a hierarchy that your mother strived to maintain. One foot out of her carefully calculated plan inspired a world of icy anger that scared you more than your father’s fiery temper had as a child. 

It’s her dark, penetrating stare that you remember most about the rainy night you made your getaway. The moment your mother got a chance, she had bundled you onto the first train with a healthy envelope of money and a promise from you to only return once you had fixed the mess you had made of yourself. Within a year, you were a straight A student with a new husband from a wealthy family, and in her eyes, that was success. 

You hadn’t thought so, but Youngsik had been kind to you, and so it was easy to let yourself love him. Though no amount of love from a good man could ever repair the scars left by the one person you hope never to see again. 

And also the one person whose eyes you need on you the most, though you will only admit that to yourself in the dead of night, faced away from your husband in bed, staring out into the darkness of your bedroom. Right now, on a train packed full of people that are likely to remember your family name, you have to remain poised. 

Once the train pulls into the station, you step into the role of a dutiful daughter, wife and mother, tugging your child along with you through the small train station. It’s early evening now, and the fog from the sea has begun to settle, a warm, wet humidity clinging to the air around you, almost suffocating you in its grasp. After so long in the suburbs of Seoul, it’s hard to readjust to the salty sea air that coats the inside of your lungs with a nostalgia you hadn’t even realised you were missing. 

“Y/N,” A voice slashes through the silence and you turn your head to see your brother, Sangchul, waiting for you. He is much older now, a moustache shadowing his top lip. If you look closely, you can almost make out a feathering of grey hair at his temples and the worn smile lines that deepen as his eyes drift down, “And my little niece,”

“It’s been a long time,” You smile, though it fails to reach your eyes with the stark reminder of why you are here in the first place. Sangchul looks so much like your mother, it’s difficult to prevent the mist from coating your vision, and all at once you feel your brother’s arms wrap around you in a hug that would be out of character if the two of you weren't about to become motherless as well as fatherless.

Sangchul’s voice is gruff, and he squeezes you a little tighter when he speaks. You have a feeling it’s more for him than it is for you, however. “Too long,” he pulls back, eyes glassy, but piercing - so much like your mother, “It’s been four years since you last visited, Y/N,”

Sangchul scolding you is one of the many things you had expected when you stepped off the train, but it still stings, and once again you’re sent back to the past, feeling like the teenage sister who disobeyed his rules one too many times. 

“I’m sorry, Sangie,” You say, though it’s hard to force the affection into your voice. Sangchul was never your favourite brother, but since Sungho’s passing, he is all you have left, “You know how hard it is for me to come back here,”

His frown only deepens, “I hope you aren’t comparing seeing your family with seeing that vermin,” even now, years later, you still flinch when Sangchul calls him that, “I don’t want you mentioning Jeon J - “

“Please don’t say his name,” You let out a shuddering breath, panic tightening your chest. You haven’t heard his name in seven years, and you need to keep it that way for as long as feasibly possible. You are here for your mother, and nothing else.

Sangchul seems satisfied with your reaction, if a little uncomfortable, but he makes a gruff sound, bending at the knee to greet your daughter before helping the two of you with your bags. 

The view outside the car window is remarkably unchanged from your last visit, though your hesitancy to make any journeys out of your mother’s home meant you saw very little. With an intense fear of locking eyes with him, you’d travelled from the train station to your mother’s house, only leaving when you were due to get the train back two days later. The anxiety every visit back home brought you only meant you spent the last four years putting off visiting, until almost half a decade passed without you even realising. 

By the time you pull up to the house, Junghee is almost fast asleep, her head lolling against your arm and Sangchul offers to take the bags so you can carry her up to her room. Formerly your room - now, you stay in the guest room, fit for you and your husband, though his absence won’t be felt much. Your family has only ever met Youngsik once, and that was at your wedding. Since then, your mother has either been too tired to travel or your husband has been too busy. 

For some reason, their opinion of your husband has never bothered you, despite the trouble you have caused your family in the past regarding such matters. You never let yourself dwell on why that might be, too scared for what the conclusion might lead you to. 

When you walk into your old bedroom, you’re instantly hit by a wave of familiar scents. As always, a bouquet of white roses sits on the windowsill, and you have to look away the moment your eyes land on them. You’re thankful that you won’t be staying in this room, aware already as you nestle Junghee under the blankets how difficult seeing it all is. So many memories come flooding back to you, and it’s only when you’ve put your daughter to bed and raise a hand to your cheek that you even notice the tears falling. 

“It’s difficult,” Sangchul says, his sudden presence at the doorway startling you a little, “Mother is sleeping now. The doctor will be here in the morning, he comes by every day to check on her. I’ll wake you when he’s here,” he stands back, letting you leave the room, and suddenly you can breathe again, “Get some sleep, Y/N,”

He leaves you then, stood in the hallway with your arms wrapped around your waist, staring into your former bedroom and fighting off the debilitating need to sink into the past. You won’t let yourself, not now, not ever. Once you’re in the neutral space of the spare room, you sit onto the bed, swallowing a sleeping pill with a glass of water and sinking into the plush mattress. 

When sleep comes, it gives you no reprieve from the memories that plague the outskirts of your mind, and when you awake just a few hours later, you can feel the sweat soaking the nape of your neck. This week was never going to be easy, but you realise that your delay in visiting may have just made things all the more challenging. 

Falling back into sleep again, you don’t fight the memories this time, letting them come as they wish. It’s with a sigh of relief and a deep, longing ache in your chest that you fall into a deep slumber, drifting through images of dark eyes and even darker nights. Soft kisses, forbidden love and the one man you never let yourself think about.

please let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist!

[nickfowlerrr]

For the valentine's day prompts, could I request Lee + 13 from this list?

it’s you and me

pairing: lee bodecker x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut. pet names. lee and reader are married. uhm not really much else lol.

words: 1950

notes: thank you so much for sending this in!! 🥰 it’s two months late lol but here it is! 🩷

thank you in advance for reading and reblogging. i hope you guys enjoy this little drabble. as always, comments and reblogs are more than welcome and so appreciated!

You’d waited all morning for Lee to leave for the station. As much as you loved the days he’d dilly dally to spend extra time with you before he had to head into work, today you were a ball of anxiety - though you tried your best to keep your composure in front of Lee.

He had actually woken up early to serve you breakfast in bed, much to your surprise. The twinkle of affection in his eyes as he looked at you kept you from putting up any kind of protest as he pushed you back in bed, the sloppily formed pancakes tasting better than they looked as he fed them to you, his proud smile at your compliments was a charming sight.

Though his thoughtful gesture was appreciated, it was still throwing a wrench into your plans. You had to be at the antique shop by nine to get the watch you’d had an eye on since you saw it last week. It would be the perfect gift for Lee, you just knew he’d love it.

The owner of the shop was a stingy old man named Arthur. You’d had a couple of conversations with him over the few times you’d been in the shop.

You had asked if he would keep the watch for you until today when you’d be able to buy it, but he refused. “It sells when it sells,” he had said.

But you knew you couldn’t buy it before today, Lee would see the purchase on the bank statement and ask questions. You were an awful liar and there would be no way he wouldn’t find out what the purchase was before you could surprise him with it.

You were planning on getting to the shop right when it opened to get the watch, hoping against all odds that it would still be there so you could give him something nice for Valentine’s Day.

Breakfast in bed was sweet and though you were worried both of you would be late for where you had to be later, you didn’t stop him when Lee cleared off the bed and crawled under the covers with you once again.

His soft lips trailing along your skin lovingly had you completely forgetting what you were just fretting over. You let your fingers slide through his hair as he made his way down your body, his big hands squeezing your fleshy hips after he ghosted them down your curves. He pulled your underwear off with ease and you slipped your night slip over your head in a flash, completely exposing yourself to him as you sat up on the bed. You knew his intentions were dead set on you, but you couldn’t let him get started. Once Lee’s lips were between your legs, there was no stopping him, not until he was completely satisfied. You weren’t complaining, but you didn’t have the time for it this morning.

Instead you leaned forward, hooking a finger in his boxers as you pulled him toward you.

His lips brushed against yours teasingly before he really kissed you. You let your hand slip under his shirt, running your palm along his soft stomach and up to his broad, solid chest before he got the message and took it off for you.

Your hands found his shoulders as you pulled him down on top of you, wrapping a leg around him as you kissed him hotly.

“Mmm,” you moaned into his mouth as he pressed himself against your bare pussy. You were already wet for him, could feel your slick growing with his every move. “Boxers off, Bodecker,” you mumbled against his lips. “Need you,” you whined when he didn’t comply right away. “Need to feel you, please, baby.”

His lips were by your ear as he rolled his hips into you tauntingly, you could hear the smirk on his lips as he spoke, “Love it when you beg for me, sugar.” He rolled against you again, another whine leaving your lips. “Tell me what you want, baby,” he coaxed.

“Want you. Want you to fill me up, need you inside me, Lee, please,” you begged pathetically.

Lee had one hand on your hip and the other on your breast, squeezing your tit in his hand as he growled before quickly ridding himself of his boxers. You could feel his thick cock bobbing against you when he’d freed himself and you moaned at the feeling. You spread your legs further as he lined himself up with your slick hole.

Slowly, he pushed into you. Even with just the tip, he had you clenching around him as he cursed under his breath.

“So fuckin’ tight, darlin’, fuckin’ heaven,” he praised, his words falling into a moan as he seated himself deeper inside you.

Lee let his head drop to your chest as he slid further inside of you, deep groans rumbling in his chest and falling off his lips as you took him in. He took one of your pert nipples in his mouth, eliciting a whimper of pleasure from you as he swirled his tongue around the bud, sucking and nipping, loving how sensitive you always were before he took your other breast in his mouth, paying the same attention to both.

When Lee reached his limit inside of you, your knees nearly against your chest as your legs were on his shoulders, he began rocking into you languidly. The double stimulation on your clit and your sweet spot he triggered with each movement was incredible and had your toes curling as you whined and moaned beneath him.

His weight pressing into you as he fucked you was delightful, and the feeling of being stuffed full of his cock was all you could focus on as you were brought closer and closer to the edge.

Lee was panting as he thrust in and out of you, your breasts bouncing with his every move. You could tell he was close as he grabbed onto you tighter, his hips slamming against you harder as he lost his rhythm. You cried out for him when his thumb found your clit and started rubbing circles on the bundle of nerves with perfect pressure until he had you coming around him. A flurry of moans and cries intermingled with his name fell from your lips as you rode out your high around his cock.

Not long after you came, Lee’s breath hitched before he let himself go with a throaty groan, thick ropes of his come filling you up as he emptied himself inside your tight walls.

His heavy breathing and praises of you filled the air as you both laid there trying to catch your breath. Lee buried his head in your chest as you played with his hair, his thick arms wrapping around you as he held you close.

��Mhm,” you hummed contentedly with your eyes closed as you relaxed further, his presence coaxing you into a peaceful respite. “That was nice,” you laughed. “Not how I was expecting to start the day, but you always are full of surprises aren’t you Mr. Bodecker.”

You could feel Lee’s smile against your skin before he lifted himself off you, kissing your cheek sweetly.

“Always, Mrs. Bodecker,” he grinned at your still relatively new title, “And that’s just the start of it, darlin’. There’s a lot more of that comin’ to you later today,”

“The sex or the surprises?” you questioned playfully. Lee leaned in for another kiss, this one softly on your lips as you kissed him back in kind.

“Both,” he smirked against your lips before he got off the bed to start getting ready for the day.

As he disappeared into the bathroom, you suddenly thought about the time. You turned to check the alarm clock, still not set to go off for another ten minutes. You took a breath, telling yourself to calm down. You’d have more than enough time, and though you’d planned on walking to the shop once Lee left, you figured you could ask him to drop you off at the grocery store on his way to work and then just walk the rest of the way to the shop - that alone would save you on time.

You wouldn’t be so worried if you hadn’t seen the way Mrs. Marshall eyed the watch as you were leaving the shop the other day..

The sound of the shower starting caught your attention before Lee poked his head out of the bathroom door.

“You joinin’ me or what?” he asked, causing you to smile as you climbed out of bed and made your way over to him.

You wrapped your arms around him as you pressed your body to his, looking up to him as he stood tall before you. “You gonna wash me off, Sheriff?” you asked headily.

You gasped as Lee smacked your ass playfully before he responded, “I’ll do whatever you want me to, darlin’.”

He effortlessly picked you up and you instinctively wrapped yourself around him as he walked you into the shower, clinging to him like your life depended on it until he finally let you down under the warm water.

Still, even with your feet safely on the ground once again, you found yourself glued to your husband, not wanting to let him go as the water beat down on the both of you. You could feel the mess between your thighs but you didn’t want this moment to end so soon. You let your hands dance up and down his back as he held you.

You stayed like that for a long while, enjoying each other’s presence until the peaceful lull was broken by your alarm going off.

“Damn,” you cursed under your breath as you pulled yourself off of him finally and turned to grab his shampoo, “you’re gonna be late if we don’t hurry,” you told him.

His hands found your arms, running up and down soothingly as he pulled you back against him, his arms wrapping around your middle as his hands fell to your plush tummy, his head dropping to your shoulders where he left soft kisses on your damp skin. “I’m in no rush, sweetpea. ‘ fact, I was thinkin’ about just calling off for the day,”

“Lee,” you said almost disbelieving.

“What? I can’t recall the last time I took a day off for myself since I became Sheriff. One day without me won’t kill ‘em. Besides,” he said, turning you around to face him, “it’s our first valentine’s bein’ married. I wanna spend it with you, Mrs. Bodecker.”

“Yeah?” you asked demurely as you stared up into his brilliant blue eyes shining down at you.

“Yeah,” he assured you with a boyish smile on his lips as his wandering hands explored your body, squeezing your ass as you pressed yourself against him once again, hiding your face against his chest as you laughed softly, smiling in contentment. “That’s really all I need,” he said with a kiss to the top of your head, “some time with just you.”

His words relaxed you as you took them in. You’d make sure to still go out later today to get him something, but if the watch was gone by then, it just wasn’t meant to be. You wouldn’t stress on time, though. Not when you were lucky enough to spend all day with Lee now, no work to call him or you away from one another like it so typically did. You’d enjoy the day with him, and worry about all the extra stuff later on. As long as you had each other, today would be perfect.

[dresden-syndrome]

26/VII-1978. State Security department No. 64, Burgas region, People's Union Republic of Bulgaria, EESU.

"Full name?" Iva Kostadinova Milcheva.

"Date of birth?" 7th of April, year 1950.

"Registration place?" City of Burgas, "Prvi Internatsional" street, **** **** **.

"Ethnicity, citizenship?" Bulgarian, citizenship of EESU.

"Employment?" European Communist Party, chairman deputy of Burgas municipal committee.

The same unchanging questions and answers, learned by heart and thrown in an emotionless bureaucratic manner. Who knows how many thousands of them Iva had to fill before; in this country, it's just a part of life. Only this time she was made to sit in what looks like interrogation room, the guards standing besides and the light of table lamp straight to her face. Trying to keep calm and still, like she always used to, just as if today is not the most horrible day in her life.

"What did you bring me here for?"

During her Party career Iva managed to cooperate with State Security quite a lot; although wary of them, she viewed them with respect rather than fear. This day, when they called her to get in the black Volga for a visit, she didn't think anything could go wrong - saying no to State Security invitations has never been an option anyway - until they cuffed her hands and turned to the unknown direction.

"You've been accused of assisting in a right-wing revisionist conspiracy against the socialist regime. Did you know that?"

Arrested. Arrested for political crimes.

It's somewhat like an accident; nobody is safe from it, everyone prays it doesn't hit close to home yet it feels like it won't happen to you right until it does. As experienced as she was, Iva couldn't yet believe that. Isn't it that only the spies and enemies end up there? How could she, who always loved her motherland more than life itself, become one?

"No. I didn't participate in anything."

There were no answers in her head, no time to plan what to say or do for a better outcome. Only one task of immense willpower. Not to cry. Not to scream out loud. Not to think of her breaking future. Stay calm. Do what they say. Even if it gets worse. Even as she feels the cold steel lock on her wrists and her eyes cover by a thick cloth.

"Take that one to cell 2-18."

As Iva exited the main hallway, held by guards by each side, into what seems to be a staircase, a horrifying scream struck her ears from below. It sounded like someone cried out in pure agony, abruptly ending with a sound of doors locked at that lower floor.

"Just what they deserve."

After a long disorientating walk through quieter upper floors, the blindfold falls, the cuffs unlock and the door shuts with an unpleasant metal bang. A cold lonely prison cell, for a couple of weeks or for the rest of her life. Nobody knows.

The nice summer day which began with a cup of strong coffee, two cigarettes and a nice walk along the beach filled with Soviet tourists and ice cream shops finally comes to an end.

Art tag @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump @whumpedydump @whumpthefifth @monarchthefirst @sunshiline-writes @project-xiii @3-2-whump @unforgivenn