#and anything with very hot materials usually have you wearing a lot of leather + face shield + shoe coverings its heavy

[paging-possum]

I feel like you're the person to ask about this but what's the usual dress codes for someone working a lab (making dnd npcs who are scientists lmao)

OKAY! so the thing is that it actually does depend a bit on what kind of lab it is and what you're working with! I'm mostly in wet biology/chemistry labs, and the general lab requirements are 1) safety goggles/eye protection, 2) lab coat, 3) full coverage clothing (like long pants/sleeves), 4) closed-toe shoes, 5) gloves, and 6) long hair up! More protection might be used (like hearing protection/respiratory protection or an apron or smth) but as far as I know those first things are pretty standard fare. basically keeping everything covered and making sure nothing gets in the way of what you're working on!

[another-lost-mc]

DIAVOLO x gn!Reader 1.2k Words | NSFW | Explicit | Making Out, Marking, Oral Sex (m!receiving) CW: Mentions of alcohol. -> Prompt: Kissing in an Alley Behind a Bar [ Obey Me! Masterlist ]

Diavolo makes every date with you an adventure. He loves exploring all the things in the human world that you used to take for granted; everything excites him, and it’s difficult not to be excited too.

Tonight he asked you to join him on a date at a human world bar. Bars aren’t really your thing, and you don’t drink much at the best of times, but you agreed anyway. It’s hard to say ‘no’ to the demon prince that asks you for so little, while the love in his eyes promises you the whole world just for being by his side.

Most of the time when you go on human world excursions, Diavolo is overdressed for the occasion. He looks handsome, sure, but his large stature and expensive, perfectly-tailored suits draw a lot of attention.

(You try not to grumble too much when other people blatantly stare at him, or try to flirt with him even though you’re standing right there, your arm obviously linked with his. Even though he doesn’t say anything, he knows you get a little jealous—and he makes it up to you later in the privacy of his bedroom and shows you why you have nothing to be jealous of.)

You wait patiently for Diavolo in the main foyer of the Demon Lord’s Castle while he finishes getting ready. You grin and ask Barbatos which suit Diavolo plans to wear tonight, but he looks far too smug when he hints that you might be disappointed. 

Diavolo’s voice echoes when he greets you from the top of the staircase nearby. You turn towards the staircase and wave, but your own greeting dies in your throat. You expect him to come bouncing down the steps in one of his three-piece suits. You didn’t expect him to wear a black leather jacket you’ve never seen before, or the slim-fitted white t-shirt underneath, or the dark wash jeans that hang low on his hips and cling to his muscular thighs. 

His joyful smile sharpens when he’s close enough to slip his hand in yours, and you realize you’ve been staring (and probably drooling). Your mouth opens and closes a few times while you try to think of something to say.

I want to climb you like a fucking tree doesn’t seem appropriate in present company, even though Barbatos has caught you both in compromising positions before.

“You look nice,” is the most eloquent reply you can manage in that moment; your voice is a bit higher than usual, and you want to die when your voice cracks.

Also, when did it get so hot in here?

Diavolo beams at your compliment (and very obvious once-over). “I thought I would try a different look today, considering the very casual nature of our date location.” He escorts you to the portal Barbatos conjures for you, and he leads you in the direction of a local pub his butler located for you in advance.

The demon prince grunts when his back slams against the bar’s rough brick exterior, but his eyes glitter with anticipation under the flickering street lamp overhead. His devilish smile is wide and full of teeth, and he traces his fangs with the tip of his tongue while he drinks in your needy expression.

“If I’d known bringing you to such a place would have this result, I would’ve done so much sooner,” he chuckles as he tilts his head back to give you access. You moan against his neck and scrape your teeth along the skin of his throat; he exhales a shuddered sigh grips your waist to drag you even closer to him.

“It’s those fucking jeans, and that shirt, and it’s—it’s everything about you,” you nearly whine against his collarbone between clumsy, open-mouthed kisses against his skin. Your hands slide under the thin material of his shirt, and he twitches when you graze the ticklish skin of his belly. 

“I’m yours,” he promises in a rough voice, and his hand cradles your nape and forces you to look at him. “All yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“You big sap,” you scold him half-heartedly, but your breathy voice lacks any real heat. You push yourself against the firm, muscular planes of his chest and slot your mouth against his in a desperate kiss. You can taste the alcohol on his tongue when you lick into his mouth, and you chase the bittersweet taste with your own

He swallows your breathy sounds as he moves against you in a frenzied kiss. His own deep growls punctuate the wet sounds of his lips and tongue caressing yours. He jerks his hips when you run your hands over his chest and tweak his nipples between your fingers.

He’s hard and straining in these jeans he bought specially for you, and his body burns so hot he feels like you're consuming him. He's not going to last long no matter how you touch him. The only thing he knows is that he doesn't want to paint the inside of his pants when he can be inside you somehow instead.

“I want you,” he pants as you kiss a sloppy trail across his jaw and down his neck. Your muffled uh-huh tickles his skin and he pulls your hips flush against his. He grinds himself harder against you while you suck a mark below his ear.

(Diavolo knows Barbatos will disapprove of the mark and insist he cover it up later. He doesn’t want to, though—he would wear all your bruises and bitemarks proudly. He wants everyone in the Devildom and all the realms beyond to know that it's his bed you warm each night.)

The alley is dark and grimy and off-putting, but Diavolo still wonders how he can fuck you against the cold brick wall without roughing up the soft skin of your back. His train of thought breaks when you suddenly drop to your knees; the desire radiating from you in waves overwhelms him.

When he scents the air, he can smell your soap and your sweat, and below that, he can pick up the faint traces of the arousal that's dampening the inside of your pants. It makes his mouth water and he has to remind himself to be patient.

He throws his head back with a moan as his large hands stroke the sides of your face. “You’re so perfect for me,” he grits out. “I'm going to fuck you against this wall before I take you home.” He knows you're both desperate, and his dirty promises make you whine, a high-pitched noise that makes his cock ache. He tries not to buck his hips against your face when you rub your cheek against the rough denim covering his aching cock. He hears the soft sounds of metal clinking together when your nimble fingers loosen his belt.

“You'd better,” you mutter against him, tongue flicking against the wet spot of his boxer briefs before you pull them down.

You should've guessed all along what he wanted when he brought you here of all places. You wait until he looks at you properly—

—with his tousled hair and dark, lustful gaze blown-black, and his spit-slicked and swollen lips, and his chest heaving with anticipation and the control it takes for him not to push you against the rough brick behind him and impale you on his cock—

—and then you finally swallow him down.

[justafoxhound]

Ask game qs <3

For Tali and Burke:

what do they have in common with you? how are they different? would you get along with them?

are they associated with a certain color? what color do they wear the most?

do they smell like anything notable?

if applicable, how would your other characters describe them? i mean specifically the people around them.

Thank you for these! They were tricky, took me a while til I could sit down and think about the answers >_< [from these oc questions]

What do they have in common with you? How are they different? Would you get along with them?

Talia I think we both work well independently, share a similar sense of humour, can be pretty blunt and appreciate the logical solution.

Where she's my polar opposite is she's impulsive, thrillseeking, can keep her head in crisis! I'd like to think we would appreciate where we complement each other, and get along by both being pretty easy going. But maybe she'd write me off when I don't communicate or hang out for quite a while, but I would be thinking 'my friend, it only feels like yesterday!' :')

Burke We're both planners, consider the bigger picture, usually keep our cards close to our chests (though he's way more extreme with all this), hear and see things around us while we sit quietly.

However I plan to be prepared, and he is a ~schemer~. He's always working, driven, has a mission, as opposed to a living. He really needs to be high status/the boss.

We might work well together in passing, like I'd appreciate he's very ordered and in charge, he'd appreciate I'm reliable and cause him no headaches. But I think he'd find me boring in a social setting, and certainly not fun material as any kind of protégé lol. XD People don't really find out much about me unless we get into more one on one conversation, but unless he was laying on the charm for some reason, I feel like I wouldn't actually get that close. I guess maybe I'd sense how fake he is…? and not engage.

Are they associated with a certain colour? What colour do they wear the most? I feel like Burke wears neutrals most of the time, probably has a brown dusty travelling suit. Doesn't always want to be particularly memorable. Idk what he has in game but I usually think of him in a mid grey suit and red tie.

I feel like red is Talia's colour! Loud, fiery, danger lol. I think she'd flit between bright colours depending on her mood.

Do they smell like anything notable? Burke smokes a lot, so always somewhat smoky. I wrote he wears fragrance, and I don't know much about scents but after reading a guide on men's fragrance I can imagine him wearing something with spice and leather notes. Or something he thinks will smell expensive and refined, but perhaps overpowered. He would want to block out the stench in some places and not smell like the rabble.

Talia probably picks up scents from whatever activity she is doing that lots of. Oil, fumes, ocean spray, something earthy- being outdoors is still very novel!

How would your other characters describe them? Jericho: Burke? The guy with a stick up his ass?

Amata: Talia is hot headed… which may be an understatement come to think of it. But she is doing the right thing from her point of view, even if it is warped. She always backed me up in her way.

[squishytenya]

Male reader wears lingerie in front of s/o with anyone of your choice. Also can I just say lingerie on males be looking *chef's kiss*

Pairings: aizawa, sir nighteye, dabi x male!reader

Notes: reader is a guy but this can be read as amab or afab :)

Warnings: this is smut or like pre-smut at least, individual warnings above each character, D/s themes,

Shouta Aizawa // Eraserhead

Warnings: use of ‘pretty boy’

He loves it, like genuinely

Aizawa has a normal sex drives but he’s freaky, he knows what he likes and what he doesn’t

This also means he usually doesn’t have time for lingerie, nor would he have assumed you would want to wear it which just made this so much better

His favourite colours tend to be darker and his taste in general is either soft pastels on you (baby pinks, blues with lace) or things like dark lace/harnesses

The first time, you went for the soft, lacy look

Smoothing your hands over your torso, you let out a sigh. The lace covering your waist was a very light pink, almost white. The garter belt felt soft against your stomach and you fiddled with the straps that led to matching white stockings. Your thighs spilled out of the top, making you sigh a little but you knew Shouta wouldn’t mind much. The panties were the star of the show - the same almost-white pink lace as the rest, covering your crotch completely except for a small heart shaped cut out at the top.

You had forgone the matching chest piece but slipped on a silky, sheer robe that you already owned. This helped calm your nerves as you knew your partner liked this robe. Still, you stared at your figure on the mirror. There was an odd mix of uncertainty and pride in you. You definitely looked hot though.

As can be attested by the hand that slipped round your waist, pulling you back against Aizawa’s chest. He threw his work bag on the desk, circling his arms fully around your waist and nuzzling into your neck.

“Is this what you get up to when I’m gone hmm pretty boy?”

Dark stubble scratched your neck when he talked. A small whine escaped you when he attached his lips to your neck. Kisses being left up and down caused you to shudder, whimpering when his canines nipped the warm skin. Another, more risqué, noise bubbled out of your throat when his calloused hands reached round and gripped your lace covered cheek.

“Fuck” he grunted, pushing his hips against your ass

“The things you do to me y/n”

Dabi

Warnings: corruption kink, reader has a collar, one spank

He’s very horny all the damn time

But i feel he would just assume you didn’t like the idea of lingerie and not ask? Not that he didn’t make up for it with other shit

You’re gonna have to find a way to get it into your house without him noticing because he frequently ‘helps’ you pick what underwear you wear for the day

Another person i think would either go for the completely pure, white lace lingerie because corruption kink yk? Either that or straight up leather, chains and collars

Non-stop horny compliments from this one

“Fuck” dabi grunted from above you

You were sat on his lap, facing him. He had his scarred hands pressed against your skin underneath your white babydoll. His hands moved slowly, warm flesh dragging over your skin as if savouring every part of you. You shifted. It was more of an effort to move past the slow grinding you both had found yourself in but Dabi saw this as defiance.

He tugged on the white lace of your lace panties.

“Stay fucking still” he growled into your ear, pulling your hips closer to him.

You whimpered, grinding down on his bulge once again. The spank that landed on your lace-covered ass caused you to jolt forward, once again pushing against Dabi. He grunted and turned, planting you so you were laying on the bed and facing him. He grinned down at you and leant down once more to press a row of kisses along your neck, biting around the leather of your collar.

“Gonna reward you for looking so pretty for me”

Mirai Sasaki // Sir Nighteye

He is a busy person so I don’t see him having all that high a sex drive because when he comes home he is so tired

So when you guys do have the time, you try to do different stuff a lot to make up for lost time which results in weekend long fuckfests

Honestly? Not picky at all on which type you wear BUT he has a thing for bright colours or sheer material like mesh

Wear one of those sheer bralettes and the panties that are literally see through? Or one of the mesh bodysuits? He’s gone

“Pumpkin, where are you?”

You giggled nervously, calling out to your husband that you were in your bedroom. You were perched on the bed, sheer panties and bralette contrasting against your skin with their forest green. The fabric did very little to cover anything. The twinge of nervousness grew as his footsteps drew closer, you looked towards to floor in anticipation.

Two fingers tilted your chin up.

“My, what do we have here?” He drawled, staring at your body in the lingerie.

“I thought I’d do something special for you”

Lithe hands slid down your body, circling your nipples through the barrier of mesh fabric. He hummed as he traced your body with his hands, finally coming to cup your crotch and rub you through the fabric. The friction made you whine, grabbing his arm. Yellow eyes snapped towards your face, eyebrow arched with a ‘tsk’, you let go immediately.

“You like it?” You gasped, rutting into his touch

“Definitely” he hummed, leaning down to press his lips against yours.

“So good for me, my precious boy”

Thank you guys so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it mwah <3

Remember reblogging is the only way to help content creators!

[cantalouupe]

collar

nsfw!!! xiao x f!reader

sub top xiao, very mild petplay, pet names, semi public sex

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You know Xiao loves you. He’s a sweetheart despite being a bit aloof or closed off to others and you know he would do anything for you - almost.

When you came to him with a peppy bounce in your step, big grin and hands holding something resembling a animal collar, though, he closes you down immediately.

“Absolutely not.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to do,” you faux pout. “Maybe I was showing you the new accessory I got for my cat.”

Xiao deadpans at you. “You don’t own a cat.”

“Sure I do.”

Your grin grows big again and you show him the collar more closely. An encrusted golden plate that sits at the front of the dark piece of leather reads “xiao” in all capital letters.

He blinks at it, once, and then twice before looking back up at you. “....I’m not wearing that.”

You open the latch that holds each side together and reach out to put it on him anyway. “I got it specially made for you, so you have to wear it.”

Leaning away while pushing your hands down, he murmurs “that’s humiliating. I don’t want to wear it.”

The way his eyes follow the item tells a different story, with a light flush running across his cheeks confirming your suspicions. From past experience you’ve found that he likes the feeling of something - usually your hand - around his neck and thought this would be perfect to have while your hands are busy touching him elsewhere.

“You’ll look so pretty though,” you tell him, keeping the collar in hand while you reach to slide your spare onto the smooth skin of his throat. “Don’t you want to be a good kitty for me?”

He freezes momentarily at that, eyes staring unblinking at you before a shudder rolls down his body. For other people, he may be like a stone statue, emotions never showing through. But for you, he was easy to read like a book.

“Ah, was that a yes?” He doesn’t answer you but his head falls back, neck on display for you. An act of submission.

You squeeze once with the hand that sat on his neck, making his eyes flutter shut momentarily. In that time his eyes were closed, you swapped out your hand with the collar, clicking the clasps closed so it stayed in place.

The collar suits him, you think, a dark leather band that fits snuggly around his neck. Connected to the golden plaque with his name engraved was a similarly golden bell that hung just an inch down.

You poke the bell with your finger and it swishes, jingling. Xiao glares - unthreatening - at you when he hears the sound.

“I wish you could see yourself,” you murmur to him, ghosting your fingers over the metallic name plate.

He’s so quiet like this, already breathless even though you hadn’t really touched him yet. “Do you like it?”

You pull him along to sit at a chair near a round decorative table, sliding onto his lap once he is seated before responding with an affirmative hum. “You look like you need to be taken care of.”

If you grind down you can feel him under you, already hard from getting collared. He’s so easy to rile up, your subtle hip roll making his own stutter back up into yours.

With the constant cool pressure of the leather around his neck you doubt he’ll last long. He already looks gone, his pupils blown out so only a small ring of his iris is visible and his chest rising and falling in little hot pants.

You pull his shirt, all the way up so his chest is exposed. He lets you do it, falling back against the seat when you brush your thumbs on either of his nipples.

They’re so sensitive, too. If you didn’t already have a plan for him you’d probably try to make him come just by playing with them alone.

Once their hard against your fingertips you move on, shuffling back to sit more on the ends of his thighs, where they meet his knees. With space made you’re able to slip your hand below his baggy pants and pull his hardened cock out.

Making your hand into loose circle shape, you let it slide down the length, friction of skin against skin making him twitch in your grasp.

It’s a little dry, so you hold your hand up to his mouth. “Can you spit for me, kitten?”

His mouth is already opened a bit and you’re surprised he isn’t drooling. He lets out a little noise but listens to you, spitting in your hand so you can use it as lubricant.

The slide is wet now, making it easy to do a continuous up, down, up, down movement. It must feel a lot more, because he gets a little louder, a little more into it. He’d be fucking up into your fist if you weren’t sitting on him and you momentarily wish you had sat beside him so you could see him do that.

Despite how good your slicked hand feels around him, he seems nervous about someone catching to two of you in the act, now gripping onto your wrist that moved up down the length of his cock.

It’s night time so you personally aren’t worried about it, as the inn is much less busy - pretty much dead - at night. The only time anyone is up here is to get a glimpse of the view, but even then they chose to go lower down because they know Xiao likes to stay up here, preferably alone.

He’s a little out of it though so it makes it easy to continue without him protesting much, the slick grip around him making it hard for him to say no to you.

When your wet palm circles the head, he releases a shaky sigh and the hand that was tightly wound around your wrist loosens.

He seems to forget about the possibility of onlookers after that, especially when you finally sink down on top of him.

Tight wet hear engulfs his cock, squeezing around it and he has to hold back from coming right then and there. “Oh, god, wait wait wait-“ he struggles, grappling onto your hips to try to stop you.

“You better not, Xiao.” You reply lowly, slipping the rest of the way down so you were seated right in his lap, whole length inside you.

He lets out a sob, cock kicking against your constricting walls. It’s so good, so tight and he wants to come so bad, hanging right over the edge.

“Please, please please please,” you don’t know if he’s begging you to let him come or begging himself to hold it. Either way, you don’t respond, giving him a moment to struggle against the onslaught of pleasure on his own.

You wait for the feeling of being filled but it never comes. With a gleeful pinch to his nipple you start moving, a slow gyration of your hips that makes Xiao’s thoughts turn syrupy.

The both of you stay like that for a while, with you leading a smooth roll of your hips while Xiao stifles sobs of pleasure into little desperate whimpers.

“Will kitty hold back for me?” You request once you feel as though you’ve given him some time to adjust to the feel of your cunt around him and he nods tearfully.

He’s so good, you think as you raise yourself a little, so the head of his cock is just pushing inside your entrance. “Go ahead then,” and you don’t have to tell him twice for his hips to start thrusting up into you, chasing the soaking heat.

Your thighs burn a little from holding yourself up at an angle but it’s worth it to see him so needy. The bell on his collar jingles with the effort to fuck upwards and it seems to spur him to keep going. You realize quite quickly that he won’t last much longer.

You let him do his thing, but lean in, resting your hands on his shoulders for balance while you lean in towards his ear. “You know, you’re so good for me like this, kitty.”

The rhythm he has stutters and he moans an “oh fuck, oh fuck” while trying to regain it. You latch your lips on a spot right above the edge of the collar, sucking a mark - a claim - into his skin.

It must be too much for him, the poor thing moaning loud and bucking his hips harder into yours.

“Next time,” you murmur against his neck, “I should get you a leash. Then you’ll really be like my little pet.”

He comes and god it’s a sight to behold. His eyes squeeze shut and his mouth parts and his back arches, so hard it looks a little painful. You seat yourself down so his come fills inside of you instead of spilling out onto himself.

Hair falls in his face when he slumps forward as he’s coming down and you push it back, petting him in a comforting manner.

“Good kitty.” His hips jump and he whines, overstimulated by your words and your cunt still wrapped around him.

You go to unclip the material around his neck but he immediately stops you, mumbling that he wants to keep it on for now.

The next time you see him he’s wearing the collar, along with the time after that. He doesn’t seem to want to take it off and you’re not sure if it’s because he likes the pressure around his throat or if he likes feeling owned but either way it makes you hot inside and almost always results in his moans and the jingle of a bell filling the quiet night.

[harrywritingsbyme]

The one about Harry's leather suit

Based Off Of This Ask

And This One

A/N: So I know it’s like a week late, but Harry won a Grammy...and I’m so proud of him. I wish I could’ve written this sooner, but I’m not as talented and as quick to come up with fic ideas like so many other writers on here. So I decided to just write a smutty and little blurb for y’all. This one was rlly hard to write, not bc I was writers block or anything; simply bc there were just too many good concepts to choose from. Plus the timeline of events of said concepts and the fic in general would be shitty and I didn’t want to jump from one time to a new one and not have a cohesive fic…that takes a lot of practice lmao. So I had to leave some stuff out even tho I rlly didn’t want to. But I hope what I was able to put together isn’t trash…the ending sucks but that’s okay I guess. enjoy🙃

3.7k wordsss

You were going absolutely insane right now. As you sat at the end of the bed and watched Harry get ready for his performance, you were finding it incredibly hard to maintain your composure and hold on to any shred of sanity you had left. Your eyes followed his every movement as he floated through the room, not once stopping to focus on something other than Harry. The only times you looked away were when he caught you redhanded staring at him. But even then, your eyes were trained right back on him once he wasn’t looking in your direction. As you sat there, you could feel your body becoming warmer and warmer, little beads of sweat forming along your forehead and the back of your neck as you watched him. You could also feel the area between your legs becoming stickier and stickier as the time went on. Now you always loved the clothes he wore on stage and how he made just about anything look great. You were also consistent with the mindset that Harry was the most gorgeous man to ever walk the earth. 

But for some reason, in this moment he was even hotter than normal and you were completely obsessed with what he was wearing. His outfit managed to make him look even hotter than usual, his gorgeousness managed to make his outfit look even more stunning and hot, and the both of them together managed to push you to the brink of exploding into a billion tiny pieces. On top of all that, even though you knew his nerves were flowing regarding his first and opening performance at the Grammys where he was nominated an incredible three times, you could still feel his excitement and confidence radiating off of him. Which only contributed to you being pushed even closer to exploding into tiny pieces. The combination of feeling proud of Harry and his accomplishments, being very enamored for him, and being extremely hot and bothered over his mere existence was a whirlwind that only Harry could pull you out of. 

“Okay, so how do I look babe?” Harry asks as he turns around to fully face you, his voice breaking you out of your riled up thoughts. 

“You look great.” You quickly reply, trying to suppress the fiery need you had for him that was rumbling nearly uncontrollably inside of you.

“Are you alright Y/n? You seem a bit out of it.” He asks, his voice filled with concern. Well, pretend concern that is. He wasn’t going to just call you out on being so turned on right in front of his team; he wasn’t going to embarrass you like that. He was already doing it in very subtle ways. From keeping the bathroom door open a bit so that you could watch him change, to making sure to catch you staring at him, to even taking the time to shower you with love and attention. Harry knew exactly what he was doing to you and he got such a kick out of watching you crumble and become desperate for him. Maybe that was just his self proclaimed narcissism working in the form of a mild embarrassment kink. Either way though, Harry knew exactly what he was doing and he knew the effect all of the little things he did would have on you. He also knew that he’d have to take care of you before he was sucked into the madness of it all. No matter how much he loved driving you up the walls with his antics, whether it was turning you on beyond compare or annoying the hell out of you, Harry was always going to make sure you were alright. Plus it ended up working out in his favor since he could really use a pre-first time ever Grammy performance round to loosen him up and shake all the nerves that were running through his body. And you looked too cute just sitting there at the edge of the bed watching him.

“Hey Harry, how much time until we have to leave?” Harry asks his stylist, his attention still in your direction.

“A little over an hour.” His stylist promptly replies. 

“Can I have 30 with Y/n please?” Harry asks, his attention still in your direction. He could see you beginning to squirm a bit under his gaze and he wasn’t going to let up until you two were all alone and he could dive into everything that was going on with you right in front of him.

“And not a second more Harry! And Y/n!” He replies, poking his head around the corner to point his response at you as well. “We have to get pictures and all before we leave.” He then proceeds to get the other two of his team members together and out of the the door. “And please don’t get anything on the clothes!” He shouts back, already having a pretty good idea as to what you two were about to get into before closing the door, leaving you and Harry all alone. 

Without saying a single word to you, Harry steps closer to where you’re sitting on the bed and reaches out to grab your hands and pull you up from the bed. To which you immediately oblige and stand up in front of him at the end of the bed. And in what seemed like a blink of an eye, Harry switches positions with you, sitting at the end of the bed before pulling you right on top of him and into his lap.

“What are you-“

“Don’t act like you don’t want it.” Harry interjects, deciding that if he only had 30 minuets with you, he wasn’t going to be playing any games. 

“But we only-“ 

“Do you want to stop throbbing down there or what?” He asks sternly, cutting you off again.

“M’throbbing so bad.” You sigh, completely giving into him and beginning to move yourself against him a bit.

“Why doll?” He asks, wrapping his hands around your thighs to pull you higher up into his lap before helping you move back and forth against him. 

“You just look so good daddy.” You moan, letting out a little sigh at not only the image of him that was stuck in your head, but also at how good it felt to have some type of friction down there. You were craving any type of touch or attention from Harry and you were finally getting it.

“You like what daddy’s wearin’ for his performance?” He breathes out in response, beginning to get a bit more riled up himself. He was already quite turned on at how you were trying so hard to keep it together. But now you were on top of him, a little subby, and falling apart. He could feel his cock growing and growing in his pants beneath you. And the more you moved back and forth on him, the harder he got and the more desperate he became to have your walls around him.

“Mhm!” You whine, continuing to move back and forth against him. “Need you so bad!” You whimper, leaning into him a bit more so that you could dig your clit down into him. Which in turn causes your moans to become a tad higher. 

“Is that little clit of yours tingling for daddy sweet girl?” He asks, bucking his hips up into you a couple times, picking up on the slight change in your movement. “Bet it’s nice and swollen f’me. Always so sensitive and ready to be played with.” He continues on, reminiscing on all the times where he made you squirt multiple times simply from toying with and sucking on your cute little bud. 

To move things further along, Harry removes his hands from your thighs and he brings brings them up to your waist before lying back against the bed and pulling you higher up in his lap. You were so caught up in how good it felt to be relieving some of the pressure between your legs against the bump in Harry’s pants that you didn’t even notice Harry taking a peek underneath your dress. 

“Well I see someone decided to wear panties today.” Harry chuckles as he pushes his index finger up between your folds a bit to pull the panties that your pussy had practically engulfed out, causing you to snap out of your pleasured trance.

“Figured it was appropriate for the occasion so I decided to just throw a pair on.” You explain through your soft pants, a cute little smile spreading across your face in the process. 

“Cute. But if y’gonna wear panties sweets, make sure they can fit all of y’pussy.” He chuckles, admiring how the glistening and fleshy lips of your cunt practically swallowed up all of the material from your panties.

“But I thought you liked that daddy.” You whisper though a little pout, lifting your dress a little higher to take a peek down there yourself. 

“I do sweet girl. It’s just that I prefer easy access y’know. Never know when I may wanna fuck you or eat your pretty little peach.” He explains. “Don’t want anything in the way.” He continues on, swiftly pulling your panties, which were pretty sticky by the way, to the side to expose your even stickier pussy to him.  “Now that’s even cuter.” Harry huffs, his need to feel you growing by the second. You were so wet that all the curly little hairs around your pussy were completely matted from all of your sticky juices. He had to feel that around his cock.

“Thank you daddy.” You whisper back, feeling a warmth rising to your cheeks at his comment and the fact that he’s just ogling at your pussy. “Now it’s your turn.” You whisper excitedly, moving down off of his bulge some more and shifting your focus on undoing his pants. “I see someone didn’t have the same idea.” You note upon seeing that he was completely bare underneath his pants. 

“Don’t like t’be confined baby, you know that.” He replies simply. “Again, easy access.”

“Just don’t get hard while you’re performing, you know how you get.” You warn. See, given the fact that Harry loved performing, on top of the fact that he was again, a self proclaimed narcissist, he tended to get a bit of a performance high so to speak. And as a result of that performance high, Harry would get excited. And since he is now a 3x Grammy nominee, and performing for that matter, that performance high was definitely going to be intensified. 

Once you’ve completely undone his pants, you immediately push your hand down into them and you pull his cock out. At this point he was fully hard and throbbing, begging to be lodged in between your walls. You could see and feel all of the veins running up and down his shaft and his head was a reddish color with glistening precum beading at his slit. As you stare at his very sizable cock, you couldn’t help but be a little bit intimidated at his size. He was so big and even after the countless times he’s pushed into you, it was still incredibly hard to fathom all of him being able to fit inside. But that didn’t meant that you didn’t want him to be inside of you. So without wasting any more time, you lift yourself onto your knees and you move up to hover over Harry’s cock, keeping your hand wrapped around his hard yet soft shaft. When you do this, Harry uses his free hand to bunch your dress up at your hips so that he could watch you sink down onto him. 

“Don’t be scared of it baby. Just take it inside like the good girl you are for daddy.” He encourages through his breaths, pulling your panties to the side a bit more. You then begin to lower yourself down onto him, stopping when you feel the thick crown of his cock nudging at you. Since you couldn’t really see, you feel your way around, pushing his cock around the warm and ready area between your legs. Once you have him positioned at your entrance, you begin to slowly sink down onto him. 

“Oh my-fuck daddy!” You whimper, feeling the familiar sting that came along with taking Harry’s cock.

“Doin’ so good f’me baby!” Harry praises trough his grunts, becoming a bit overwhelmed at how good you feel around him. Your whines were like music to his ears as you filled yourself with him and your walls were like heaven. 

By the time you make it a little over halfway down his cock, you’re all floaty and incredibly overwhelmed that you can’t even go any further without stopping. When you open your eyes to look down at Harry, you see him staring back at you with intense yet proud eyes and you couldn’t help but clench up around him a bit. 

“Can I have more daddy?” You moan, moving mack and forth against the portion of his cock that was already inside of you. Instead of verbally replying to your question, Harry lets go of your panties and brings it up to your waist so that both hands were at your waist for him to guide you the rest of the way down. And as he does, the both of you let out the most frenzied moans, you and Harry feeling the deepest part of you becoming full with his cock. There were even little tears welling up in your eyes because it just felt so good. When you’re fully sitting in his lap again, you immediately begin moving against him. You have keep both hands planted on his bare chest as you grind and bounce yourself on his cock

“Fuck Y/n! Takin’ me so well doll.” Harry grunts, keeping his hands tightly wrapped around your hips as you move. Even though your movements were a bit sloppy, they were still nothing short of perfect. At some points you’d get a good bouncing rhythm going, lifting yourself and dropping back down onto him over and over again. And then you’d hit that spot inside of you, and you’d just keep yourself down and grind and circle your hips around to apply pressure and friction to that spot with his cock. Other times you’d be moving on his cock, but you’d be digging your clit into the slightly coarse hairs surrounding Harry’s cock, that being your biggest pleasure point. Harry was positive that your little button would be all swollen and even more sensitive than it already was once you were done but you could’ve cared less. All you were concerned about was feeling good. And so was Harry. 

He loved and thought you looked absolutely cute being all selfish and trying your hardest to relieve yourself. While you were consumed with pleasuring yourself, you were in turn pleasuring Harry in ways that were beyond belief. On top of the obvious fact that your walls were the best and the only thing Harry ever wanted to be around his cock, your juices were also playing a part in his pleasure. Since you were practically gushing around him, your juices were constantly flowing out of you. They were dripping right out of you, down from his cock, and down to his balls and even further to his entrance. It felt so good to Harry, he wished he could have more. You were making him feel so good that his moans were just a song of your praises.

But even though you were making Harry feel absolutely amazing, you were becoming exhausted. At this point, it was too much and you could barely hold yourself up let alone keep moving back and forth against him. Upon seeing this, Harry takes control of it all and flips you two over so that he’s on top of you. When he does this, his cock slips out of you. But instead of immediately pushing back inside, Harry brings his hands to your thighs to push them apart before pulling your panties back over to the side and attaching him mouth to your oh so sensitive clit.  When you feel Harry suckling on your clit, you lose it. You could feel him suckling and sucking on your button, quickly flicking his tongue back and forth against you, not once letting up. You could also feel him using his free hand to lightly scratch at the inside of your thigh which was also very sensitive. Harry then lets up from your clit to give you one wide lick from your entrance all the way up to your clit before going back to sucking at it. And at that moment, you realize that you wouldn’t be able to wait and cum with him. You just let go right then and there. To be more specific, you squirt all over the lower portion of Harry’s face and part of his chest. When he feels your warm juices splashing against his face, he begins to suck even harder; making your moans intensify and your hands tug even harder on his hair. Once you’ve stopped squirting, Harry detaches his mouth from your clit, and quickly licks and slobbers all over you before coming back up. Even though your juices were all warm, it was still a little refreshing considering the fact that he was quite literally burning up in the all leather look that you loved so much.

“Now what you have between your legs is a Grammy winning pussy sweetheart. And it deserves every other award there is to give.” He praises through a chuckle, causing you to let out a little, tired out laugh. Harry was completely in awe at how amazing your cunt was and what you just did. But he doesn’t spend too much time being in awe though because he can feel his release bubbling in his lower stomach and the time he has left with you was running low. So he taps his cock against your very pink and swollen clit before sinking back into you and going right into pistoning himself in and out of you over and over again. With every stroke, Harry could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. He could also feel you tightening your walls up around him with every thrust. You were incredibly sensitive from your last release and you were on the brink of another. Whenever he slams back into you, he almost grinds up against you, aka your clit. 

“Gonna cum again daddy!” You cry out to him, digging your heels into the bed and clawing at the sheets, feeling a second wave building up inside of you. 

“Cum with me baby.” Harry growls, feeling himself approaching the edge of his release. And with two more swift thrusts, you and Harry are catapulted off of the edge. As you squirt for the second time (thank goodness he had them pushed down far enough so that they wouldn’t get all wet), Harry unloads all he has into you, dropping his head into your neck as he releases spurt after spurt of his cum into you.

After a minuet or two of catching his breath, Harry lifts his face from your neck and he slowly pulls himself from you, making sure to quickly pull your panties back over to keep his cum from spilling out and making an even bigger mess between your legs. And to really keep all of that cum secure inside of you, he pushes your panties back up between the lips of your pussy. They were going to end up in there anyways so why not. 

“Thanks for the sugar high doll.” He hums as he hovers over your disheveled and adorably fucked out figure, his bended knee right between your limp and spread legs. “I love you” He softly sings with a dopey smile. Proceeding to bring his hand up to lightly choke you and  cup your chin before connecting his lips with your slightly parted ones for a kiss. It was supposed to be And as he sponges his lips against yours, you could feel his tongue gliding perfectly against yours, taking complete control and exploring your mouth. 

“I love you too.” You reply with a little laugh once he pulls away from your lips, still floaty from it all.

He then stands up and pulls his undone pants back up. He looked absolutely gorgeous right then and there. When you see your phone lying on the bed where you tossed it a little bit earlier, you quickly reach over and grab it to capture a quick snap of that undeniably hot moment that was right in front of your eyes. His pants were undone like they were when he first put the clothes on and because you missed out on that first opportunity to capture him like that, you weren’t going to miss out on this one. Especially when he’s covered in that amazing post sex glow. 

“Are you takin’ pictures of me?” He smirks as he begins to do his pants back up. 

“Mhm, how could I not?!” You ask, dropping the phone back onto the bed to fully take in his actions in front of you.  “Plus, I want to be the first to memorialize this suit.”

“Well you’re first one to christen it that’s for sure.” Harry jokes. “I do look pretty hot though if I do say so myself.” Harry admires, looking into the mirror beside him. 

“Very hot. The leather is just doing it for me for some reason.” You admire.

“Well m’glad you like it sweets.” He Hums “Gotta get up though, I have a feeling they’re about to kick down the door.” He replies, quickly doing his pants back up before leaning over to grab you up from the bed. 

“Cant feel my legs.” You tiredly huff, doing your best to move with Harry’s tugging motions.

“Well if I win on Sunday you won’t be feeling your legs for the entire week.” He replies mater of factly.

“And if you don’t?” You ask, deciding to poke at him a bit as you sit at the end of the bed.

“You won’t be feeling your legs for the entire week.” He chuckles, repeating his previous statement.

“Now I’m really looking forward to Sunday. I mean…I get to watch you perform in this suit again, I get to watch you achieve something major in your career, and I get the opportunity to be railed at the end of it all. I’m the real winner here.” You happily reply to Harry before falling back onto the bed. 

Masterlist

[amysteriousmessenger]

The rfa + saeran sending nudes to mc

I got you anon!! I hope these are okay! <3 

RFA (+ Saeran and V) sending Reader nudes Headcanons (NSFW)

Yoosung Kim sending Reader nudes Headcanons

Yoosung has literally never taken a nude picture in his life, he gets embarrassed even at the thought of it. It’s not something he would really be into usually, but if you get him really in the mood and send him a couple of pictures first to make him feel more comfortable he might consider sending one or two.

He isn’t really sure what it is you want to see, and he definitely doesn’t feel like he can ask Zen or Seven what he’s supposed to do because they would literally never live it down. He’d also never survive the shame of asking in the first place. 

Yoosung is a little bit self-conscious of his body and doesn’t think particularly highly of himself, so the most you would probably get from him is a picture of his semi-erection bulge through his trousers, maybe with his hand slipping underneath. 

He’s not one for taking pictures of himself but he’s more than happy to see some of you, if you’re willing to send them. He can’t believe how lucky he is that he’s the one you chose to share these photographs with.

Zen/Hyun Ryu sending Reader nudes Headcanons

  Zen? The chance to share another selfie? He’s already on board. It always sits in the back of his mind that he worries the server will get hacked and that the pictures will leak and it could damage his career, but he has faith in Seven’s protection.

He doesn’t even need a reason to take them, he already has a bunch stored. He tries to keep them tasteful, so there’s never really any full cock action, it’ll be concealed with a towel or a well placed shampoo bottle. He has to make sure the lighting hits his body just right to show you all of his best muscles. He has a full length mirror in his bathroom, and by God, he’s going to make use of it. Most of his nudes are post-shower pictures because he thinks he looks particularly good when dripping wet. Well, he is dripping with good looks after all.

He’s also definitely one to get turned on by his own pictures, and his own moans too if you’re having phone sex together. He definitely prefers sending them whilst talking over the phone because he wants to hear your reaction to them and to hear you praising him.

If you wanted a fresh TM picture, you’d be most likely to get one of Zen pulling his grey sweatpants slightly down to reveal his abs, V-line and the top of his pubic hair. He’d also lift his t-shirt up so you could see his abs in the shadows. The lighting would be dark and he would just be lying in bed but*chef’s kiss* it’s still OnlyFans worthy. 

Jaehee Kang sending Reader nudes Headcanons

Jaehee has also never really been one for taking and sending pictures of herself. It makes her rather anxious and she doesn’t really think there’s anything special enough about her body to justify taking a picture of it. Like Zen, she would worry about the pictures somehow getting leaked and damaging her career, but reassures herself that there’s essentially zero chances of that happening and if they did, Seven would make sure that all evidence was destroyed. 

She’s always pleasantly surprised and extremely flustered to receive images from you, but she might need a little coaxing and reassurance in order to send one back.

She’d start simple, with nice pictures of her thighs, maybe her stomach with a little bit of her bra revealed whilst she worked up the confidence to send anything else. 

Even when she is more comfortable, Jaehee doesn’t really take her underwear off for these pictures. So, the most explicit you would get from her is her ass reflected in a mirror in some lingerie that she bought for the two of you to enjoy on her. 

Jumin Han sending Reader nudes Headcanons

As much as Jumin enjoys receiving explicit images from you, telling how much you want and need him, he rarely sends one back. He much prefers to call and hear your voice and tease you saying that you’d have to wait for him to come home before you can have him, and that you deserve a punishment for pulling something like this when he’s at work, especially when you know he has a meeting he’s supposed to be concentrating on right now.

On the occasion that you do get a picture back, it’s a blurry. Barely even visible. You wouldn’t even know it was a concealed erection otherwise. The majority of Jumin’s lewd pictures are of his bulge through his suit trousers, hidden under his desk. 

Whilst he would fuck you in his office, he’s not one for masturbating at work so he’d sooner send you a picture of his clothed erection and tell you what you have to look forward to the second he steps into the penthouse.

Besides, him ignoring his erection now is only going to make it feel even better later when he finally gets his hands on you.

Saeyoung Choi sending Reader nudes Headcanons 

Every time Seven gets a picture from you, he mutters a prayer and kisses his cross, asking forgiveness for the sins he is about to commit. 

Seven’s nudes still have Honey Butter chip crumbs on his trouser leg. Tasteful. Classy. 

He worries about one of the hackers chasing him somehow coming across yours and his nudes, so whilst he Cannot bear to part with your wonderful, blessed, gorgeous images, he’ll keep them on an encrypted floppy disk that only he knows how to gain access to. He is the only one that will ever get to see such photos of you.

He’ll send images similar to Zen, with his V line and pubic hair visible and his hand disappearing beneath his trousers, but the outline of his dick very much visible. 

He’s also very much someone that would want to call you so he could hear you as he was touching himself. Bonus points if you’re putting on a show for him on one of the cameras whilst you’re on the phone with him, because then he gets live action visuals. 

Sometimes he’ll wear his maid outfit and send you pictures of his ass, jut to keep it fresh and remind you that he does have a rather nice ass, if he does say so himself. 

When he’s jerking himself off, he’ll bite onto the hem of his t-shirt so he doesn’t cum on it and revealing his stomach and chest in the process, but it is Quite a few to see him finish on his abdomen, which he would probably send you a photo of before cleaning it up. 

Saeran Choi sending Reader nudes Headcanons (Unknown)

[The only alters I can see actually sending nudes would be Unknown and Suit Saeran, so I’m going to write this with Unknown in mind!]

Out of Saeran’s alters, Unknown is the flirtiest and probably the one who would actually send a nude first once it was established both parties were interested. He’d take the picture from below whilst he was lounging on a chair, so the phone has the upward angle and got to include all the Best TM aspects that he wanted in the picture. 

Unknown would bite at his shirt to reveal his abdomen and to show a devilish flash of a grin. The phone is set to an angel that it’s exactly what someone would see if they were on their knees in front of him, which was entirely intentional on his part.

The photo would cut off above the smile, and his free hand would be resting just next to his bulge, most definitely drawing attention to it. His legs are slightly spread and his tattoo is even more visible than usual.

It wouldn’t be a full nude, but definitely the outline of his cock pushing through the leather trousers and the caption, ‘I bet you want to see more, right?.’

If you sent him a picture back, don’t expect a lot of praise because the only thing you’re going to get back is a ‘heh, not bad’. That means he really liked it.

V/Jihyun Kim sending Reader nudes Headcanons 

V rarely sends his own nudes, but you know what he Would send? Your nudes. He would absolutely send you photographs of lewd polaroids that he had taken over the course of your relationship. To him, that was better than any pornography available and it was the only material that he had any interest in it.

He doesn’t really think he’s anything special or worth taking pictures of, but you on the other hand, he could take a picture of you every minute of every day and it would never be enough.

The closest you would get to a nude from V would be his silhouette looming over the bed that was covered in these pictures, the shadow of his hand over his crotch. 

It would have been creepy if anyone else was to do it, but V was your partner and you thought it was rather hot that he prized and worshipped  your images in such a way. He adored the way the expressions you made, the emotion, the purity and how good you were making one another feel in those photographs. 

[yesmooshoe]

6) (i) from the AU list for ironhusbands? 👀💖

You’ve got a date tonight and you asked for advice on what to wear but I’m so in love with you and damn you look good in the outfit I picked out for you.

“Rhodey Rhodey Rhodey! I need help!” Tony cried out as he burst through the front door of their drafty apartment.

Rhodey’s head shot up to look at him, but he didn’t move from the nest he’d created on their couch. He was wrapped in several blankets with a few large stacks of books and notebooks surrounding him. Mid-Terms started next week, and he had a lot of material to get through.

As Tony stumbled over some of Rhodey’s books on his way into the living room, he finally noticed all of the shopping bags that Tony was carrying.

“Did you get a haircut?” Rhodey asked, seeing that his friend’s usually unkempt hair was freshly trimmed and styled.

“Yeah, and I got a bunch of new clothes. I have a date! An actual date! And all of my clothes are trash and I’ve got no idea what to wear so I went to the mall and just like bought everything that looked cool because I just really want her to think I’m cool.” Tony rambled as he dropped the bags to the floor and started tearing through them.

“Wait, hold up. You have a what?”

“A date!” Tony said with a big smile.

“With who?” Rhodey asked as he closed his book, realizing that this was going to be a thing. Tony didn’t date. If he wasn’t at the apartment he was either at class or in the robotics lab, and he didn’t really have any other friends.

Until this year, at least. Tony was 17 and finally the same age as some of his fellow classmates, so Rhodey had noticed him being a bit more social. Still, Rhodey felt very protective, and while he’d never admit it out loud, he kind of missed having Tony all to himself.

“Uh, Amy Lin? She’s a freshman! And she’s on the robotics team and she’s just super cool and smart and we were sitting outside today and she was like 'hey do you want to go out sometime?' and I was like 'what do you mean, we're already outside.' and then she laughed and was like 'no like...go out. On a date.' and I just felt like such an idiot and I didn't know what to say but eventually I managed to say yes I think and well now we're going on a date! And I have no idea what to wear, you gotta help me. Everything I own is ripped or has burn holes from welding or is covered in grease and who knows what else and I just want to look good."

Rhodey resisted the urge to tell him that he'd look good in a paper bag, and did his best to swallow his own jealousy before he started helping him look through the bags.

The crush on Tony was very new. 

Two years ago Tony had just been this quiet, nerdy kid who didn't know how to do his own laundry and was afraid of his own shadow. This year though? This year he was just different. Over the Summer he'd grown a few more inches, gotten his braces off, discovered contact lenses, and overall just came off as more mature and confident. Rhodey's jaw had literally dropped when he saw him for the first time at the beginning of the semester, and ever since then he'd been struggling with a lot of feelings.

"Uhh, ok. Well first of all, where are you going?" Rhodey asked as he pulled out item after item, which ranged from a leather jacket to a tuxedo, so he wasn't sure what the vibe was going to be.

"Bowling."

Rhodey just laughed. "You bought a brand new tuxedo to go bowling? Is that what you rich white people do?"

"I...I mean, I don't know. She mentioned maybe getting dinner at one point and I think I just panicked like what if she wanted to go somewhere fancy instead of bowling and all of a sudden and I just started grabbing everything I could possibly need." Tony explained, sounding a bit exasperated.

"Dude, take a deep breath. It's going to be ok."

"I know I just...I want to do everything right. I want her to like me, ya know?"

"She will! She already does. She asked you out, didn't she?"

"Yeah but...I don't know. I don't know what to do. I'm just not used to this. People liking me. I’ve always been so much younger than everyone at school and no one ever talked to me and I always just feel like I missed out on learning how to be a normal teenager. I don’t know how to date." Tony admitted, being way more candid about his feelings than Rhodey was used to.

"You don’t have to worry about that anymore. Just go out and have fun. Be yourself."

"I’m just afraid she’s going to see what a huge nerd I am and change her mind."

“You guys are on the robotics team. You’re both nerds. It’ll be fine.

“I just - 

“Tony.” Rhodey Interrupted. He hated when Tony got like this, and something in him just snapped. “Stop being so down on yourself. You’re funny and smart and sweet and you tell great stories and you’re so enthusiastic about your work and about learning new things so that you can change the world. You’re incredible. And I’m sorry that no one in your life has ever told you that before, but it’s all true and if she sees what I see then...then she’ll love you, ok?”

Tony was just staring at him like a deer in headlights, and Rhodey immediately knew that he’d said way too much. He just hated when Tony got like this, and he wanted him to just see how great he actually was. 

“Rhodey I…” Tony started, clearly unsure of what to say in response to that, and Rhodey’s stomach just dropped. Had he completely fucked this up? Had he made everything weird? There was nothing weird about telling your friend that you love him, right? Even if you did happen to have a huge crush on that friend? 

They were both silent for what felt like forever, though in reality it was only a few seconds.

“You’ll be fine. Anyway. So when is this date?”

Tony glanced down at his watch. “I’m supposed to meet her in 45 minutes.”

“Well, then we’d better get to work.” Rhodey said as he stood up and grabbed an armload of clothes.

They made quick work of it, just putting Tony in jeans, a red t-shirt, the leather jacket, and a fresh pair of Chuck Taylors. They were a little quiet at first, but soon they found their way back to the joking and teasing they were used to. As Tony stood in the hallway trying to fix his hair the way the lady at the hair salon had told him too, Rhodey just stood back and admired his work. There was nothing spectacular about the clothes, but they were new and clean and fit him well. And the leather jacket was driving Rhodey crazy. As he watched Tony from behind, he wanted nothing more than to grab him, pin him against the wall, and have his way with him.

There were a million reasons why he shouldn’t do that, especially since he was literally about to leave to go on a date with someone else. With a girl.

“How do I look?” Tony asked, spinning around and giving him a big smile.

“Great.” Rhodey replied simply, resisting the urge to say hot. He didn’t want to make anything else weird.

Tony seemed unsure, but looked at his watch again and took a deep breath. “Right. Well, I gotta go. Thank you. For everything. Don’t study too hard, all right?” He said with a little smile before taking one more look at himself in the mirror and then heading out.

Rhodey tried to focus on studying after that, but he just couldn’t. He was jealous, he was embarrassed, and most of all he was horny. He took care of the latter problem a few minutes after Tony left, but after that he just laid on his bed and started at a crack in the ceiling while a million thoughts raced through his head.

This crush on Tony was stupid. Tony obviously wasn’t gay, right? And being gay in the Air Force sounded like a not-so-great idea anyway, so Rhodey really had to work on resisting these crushes if he ever wanted the chance to fly. Still, he couldn’t get that image of Tony in the leather jacket out of his mind, nor could he get over how jealous he felt. 

He figured that the best way to get over it was to distract himself, so he got up, took a cold shower, ate some dinner, and settled in back on the couch to watch TV and wait for Tony to get home. Despite the jealousy, he wanted to hear about the date and how it went. He just wanted Tony to be happy, and if dating Amy made him happy, then he’d do his best to be enthusiastic about it. At least on the surface.

Not long after Rhodey settled on the couch Tony came home and immediately plopped down next to him.

“Hey, you’re home early. How’d it go?” Rhodey asked, genuinely shocked that he was home. It hadn’t even been two hours, and he was just glad that he hadn’t decided to jerk off again.

“Yeah, it was fine. I mean, I had fun. We bowled and had some pizza and then sketched up an idea on a napkin for a bowling robot that we might try to build next week.” Tony said as he stared at the floor while fidgeting around with his zipper. “And then like, we were in the arcade part. Playing pinball. And she kissed me.”

“Well hey! That’s good, right?”

“I don’t know. It was weird. I mean, I’ve never kissed anyone before so I’ve not got much to compare it too. But like, it was like kissing my sister. If I had a sister, I guess. I don’t know. Just didn’t do much for me.” Tony admitted quietly, and Rhodey had no idea how to respond to that. Luckily, Tony kept talking. “And then it was a little awkward and she said that she didn’t feel like bowling anymore so we turned in our shoes and then she said that she thought that maybe we should just be friends.”

“Oh. Well shit, that sucks man, I’m sorry. But this is only your first date, there are plenty of other girls out there! There’s even at least 1 more on the robotics team, right? I’m sure you’ll find someone that makes you feel that spark.” Rhodey said as he put his hand on Tony’s shoulder. He just didn’t want him getting too down on himself.

Tony just looked up at him and smiled, and it was a look that Rhodey would have to file away to use later. “Thanks. Yeah, it’s fine. She still wants to be friends, so that’s good. Friends are good. I’m gonna go change, ok?”

“Sure.”

Tony stood up to head to his room, but then stopped and hesitated for a moment.

“Tony? You all right?” Rhodey asked as Tony turned to look at him. He was quiet for a moment, like he was searching for what to say.

“Are you doing anything Friday night?” Tony finally asked.

“No.” Rhodey answered, confused.

“Do you - would you be interested in like - going out?”

“W-what?” Rhodey stuttered out as his heart started pounding. This wasn’t actually happening, was it?

“Go out? Like...on a date? I guess? Unless I read that whole situation earlier wrong.”

“I…” Rhodey just trailed off, completely taken by surprise by all of this. “Um. A date?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Uh...ok. Yeah. We can do that, if you’re sure.”

Tony nodded. “I’m sure. Been thinking about it all night.”

“Oh.”

“Ok, so. It’s a date, yeah? Dinner? Movie? I don’t know, that’s what people do, right?” Tony said as he shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets.

“We’ll figure something out.”

Tony nodded again and turned to head to his room.

“Hey, Tony?” Rhodey called out after him, causing Tony to stop and turn to him. “Whatever we do, promise me you’ll wear the leather jacket.” Rhodey said with a confident little smile, finally regaining a bit of composure.

A huge grin spread across Tony’s face, like he was finally relaxing too. “All right.”

Rhodey was terrified, but also so excited that he couldn’t imagine focusing on his notes anymore. After Tony disappeared Rhodey ran straight to his room and to his closet, desperately looking through all of his clothing. Nothing seemed good enough, so he figured he’d have to take a trip to the mall himself tomorrow. He wasn’t sure he could look as good as Tony did in the leather, but he could certainly try.

[lotusss-flowerbomb]

Liberator

Bucky x reader

Warnings: Smut, cream pie eating, cum swapping

A/N: My sis @bluestarego​ randomly came up with an idea for this chaise and her ideas are literally the bomb, so of course I had to write it. There is unprotected sex in this story. Remember, this is fiction, so in real life package the meat before a beat. Hope y’all enjoy!

Word Count: 4.7k [My baaaddd]

********

"Ayo, tin man, where you going?" Sam asked Bucky when he saw him grabbing his jacket.

"To the bookstore. I'm tired of sitting here." He hurried to the door.

"Hold on, I'll tag along this time. Maybe we can finally look at some furniture for this place. We'll be here for at least another four months." Sam laced his shoes and followed him out.

Bucky and Sam had been undercover on this mission 3 months and counting. Nobody seemed to notice them in the small southern town. Either that or no one really cared.

Sam had been going on and on about getting furniture for the house to be more comfortable, but Bucky knew he was full of shit. Tony had given them a bunch of cash and he just wanted to shop.

"You know, you've been down to this bookstore everyday this week... What's her name?" He inquired.

"What?" Bucky tried to keep from smiling, but it was almost impossible whenever he thought about you.

"Yeah okay, you can pretend if you want. She'd better be cute or I'm gonna clown you. Does she know you're half robot?"

"Sam..."

"Relax, I'm kidding," he laughed.

When they pulled into the lot, the men jumped out, but before Sam could open the door Bucky stopped him. 

"Please do not embarrass me." He said seriously. 

"Man, move, you do enough of that on your own," Sam brushed past him. 

"Welcome! I'll be up shortly," you yelled from the back. 

You put away the stack of papers that you were going through and exited the small office. 

"Hi, how may I — oh, Mr. Stan, how are you today?" You smiled. 

"Please, call me Sebastian," he smiled. "I'm good, how are you?" 

You heard some books hit the floor. When you both looked over there, Sam was clutching a rack trying to keep it from falling completely over. 

"Guess I should go help with that. Be right back," you walked off. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. He made busy pretending to look for a new book, but he was having a hard time ignoring your laughing at all of Sam's lame jokes. He finally walked over. 

"Are you done tearing up the store?" He asked. 

"I've already apologized to the lady, Mr. Stan," he teased. 

"Do you have any new recommendations for me today?" Bucky asked, completely ignoring Sam. 

"Oh, yeah, I was telling Anthony about this new thriller we got in today. The author is pretty new to the scene, but this will definitely put her on the map. I had a chance to read it before the book was officially released." You handed him one of the books from the rack. 

"But this is new, so I can't rent it." 

"I won't tell if you won't," you winked and walked away. 

"Are you gonna ask her out?" Sam asked. 

"Are you insane?" He rolled his eyes and followed behind you. 

He handed you the book to check out. He liked your store, because it was a little different from any bookstore he was used to. You sold books, but you also rented the older ones. New books couldn't be rented for six months, but you were always willing to do buybacks for the ones in good condition. 

"Oh, I remember you telling me that you were looking for new recipes. I thought you might like this," you grabbed a cookbook, scanned it and then handed it to him. 

"That's nice, maybe he could whip something up for you," Sam patted his shoulder. 

Bucky gave him another murder glare. 

You laughed at his expression. 

"Don't worry, Mr. Stan, it's fine if you don't want to." 

"No, it's not that I don't want to —" 

"So you do?" You cut him off. 

"I uhh…" he ran his fingers through his hair. "Give me two days to find something that I think you'll like." 

"Your phone?" You held out your hand. 

He handed it to you and you put your number in and gave it back to him. 

"So I'll see you Saturday?" You gave him his bag. 

"Yeah, I'll see you Saturday," he confirmed. "But only if you promise to call me Sebastian." 

"Promise," you chuckled. 

You waved goodbye to the two men and watched them leave. You waited until they were in the car and pulling out of the lot before you picked up your phone and called your best friend. 

"You'll never guess who I have a date with this Saturdayyyy," you sang. 

"Is that weird guy who wears a leather jacket and gloves even though it's hot outside?" She said sarcastically. 

"Yes!" You replied giddy and undeterred by her sarcasm. "You have to help me find something to wear. I also need you to do my nails please?" 

She was quiet for a moment and then she bit out, "Fine, but I think he's weird and if he tries anything you'd better not hesitate to pepper spray him." 

"He's not weird. He's just different and I'm ready to find out what it is." 

Sam and Bucky walked through the furniture store. Bucky didn't know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew he wanted it to be nice for when you came over. 

He felt like every piece he liked looked really old. He may have been 100 years old, but he didn't have to let you know that.

His eyes were suddenly drawn to this odd looking chair. It was red leather with a high sloped back, a deep arc in the middle and the bottom was low with a slope. He read the tag; Liberator: $400, but who cares? Tony could afford it. 

"You thinking about getting this?" Sam asked, seemingly coming out of nowhere. 

"What do you think? You think this is something she'd like? Should we get a few of them for the front room?" 

"Nah, this should go in your room. I think she'll like it. She's young and this is a very modern piece of furniture." He advised. 

Bucky decided to trust Sam for once. He told the salesperson that he wanted that chaise. The poor girl's face turned a bright red and she was unable to look at him. He didn't pay too much attention to it, he was used to people shying away from his presence. 

The guys picked out the rest of the furniture and headed home. Bucky noticed that Sam was giggly. More so than normal. 

"What are you so happy about?" He asked. 

"Nothing man, a guy can't just feel joy? It's a good day, Buck, we finally got some furniture. You got a really nice chair. I'm happy." He tapped on the dashboard. 

"Why'd you bring up the chair?" Bucky squinted at him. 

"Because it's a nice chair. I like the chair. You know I'm all about relaxation." 

Bucky let it go. If he hated the chair once it was delivered, he'd simply return it. No big deal. 

Bucky put the final touches on the meal he'd chosen to prepare for you. He garnished the plates, set them on the table and wiped his hands on the apron he was wearing. 

The doorbell rang. You were right on time. He gave the table a once over before coming to the door. 

"Hi," he greeted. 

"Hello there," you said. 

He just stood there and looked at you from head to toe. The white lace dress you wore hugged you perfectly at the top and flared at the waist. 

"Can I come in?" You asked, tearing him away from his thoughts. 

"Oh, yes, sorry. You look beautiful," he said as he walked you to the dining area. 

"So do you. I think the apron is my favorite part," you teased. 

He looked down and quickly removed the apron from around his waist. He blushed a little. You smiled at how cute he was. 

He pulled your chair out and pushed it in once you sat down and then took his seat. 

" It smells wonderful."

"Thank you, I tried something new tonight." 

Truthfully, everything was new for him. Bucky never did any of the cooking. That was usually Sam's thing. He only got the cookbooks to suggest things, but tonight he gave it try for you. 

You took a bite and tried to keep from gagging. You saw Bucky take a bite and immediately swallow. He didn't bother chewing it anymore. 

You took a sip of wine after you were finally able to swallow. 

"It's terrible," he said. 

"No, it's not bad at all," you absolutely lied. 

"I'll order us a pizza," he said and took your plate away. 

You just smiled at him. You didn't have the heart to tell him the food was gross, because he tried and that's what counts. 

You moved to the living room and he turned on the TV while you waited for the pizza. You noticed that he still wore a glove on his left hand and was sure to keep it away from you. You figured he was just a little shy about having a prosthetic arm. 

Once the pizza arrived, you put on some quirky movie and ate your dinner. 

"I'm sorry about this. I should've practiced the recipe a little more." 

"What? This is perfect," you told him. 

You talked with him a little. He told you that he grew up in Brooklyn. How he and Sam were college roommates and started a contracting business together.

You clung to his every word and listened without interrupting. 

"So, are you gonna give me a tour of the house?" You ask. 

"Oh, sure," he says. He slips your shoes off of your feet before walking with you hand in hand to the stairs. 

"It's not much, but this is our office space, that's Sam's room, bathroom and this is my room." He pointed. 

You flipped the switch on in the room. You were shocked and quickly walked over to the red leather chaise.

"You don't strike me as the type to have one of these," you ran your fingers over the cool leather. 

"Oh, yeah, I thought it was a very nice modern piece of furniture to have. Um, Sam actually talked me into it." 

"Did he now?" You smirked. 

"If you hate it, I can move it out of here. I won't force you to look at it," he rubbed his neck. 

"Come here," you reached out for him. 

He gave you his hand and you told him to sit down on the chair. You straddled his lap and moved your hips in a circular motion until you felt him getting hard. He rested his right hand on top of your ass and laid his head back. 

He had been so focused on his work that he'd forgotten how much he missed the feel of a woman. You leaned in close and put your lips to his ear. 

"Undo my dress," you whispered. 

He reached up and pulled the string of the bow ties on your shoulder. The thin material fell down and exposed your breasts. Your nipples immediately pebbled from the cool air. 

You scooted back a little and pulled at his shirt. 

" No," he grabbed your hands, "I um, maybe we shouldn't." 

"What's wrong?" You quiz. 

"Nothing, it's just that I…" He was lost for words. He didn't know how he would explain his arm without you freaking out. 

"Sebastian, I don't care that you have a prosthetic arm or hand. Whichever you hide under these long sleeved shirts and gloves." 

He inhaled and pressed his forehead to your chest. He was nervous. Now he remembered why it had been so long since he'd had a relationship or sex. 

"Hey," you lifted his head, "it's okay, we don't have to do this if you're uncomfortable." You kissed his lips. 

You felt his body relax as he exhaled slowly. First, he took off his glove. You ran your fingers over the shiny black metal. You then lifted the shirt a little, this time he didn't stop you. You pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. 

You lightly dragged your fingers down his neck until you reached where the metal connected to his shoulder. You traced your fingers over the lines of gold, before moving back to his scar. 

"It's connected to you, so is it fully functional?" You were curious. 

"It is," he replied. 

"That's pretty cool. The doctors must've put a lot of work and thought into this." 

"Yeah, much better than the first one I had after the war," he blurted. 

"Oh, you're a vet?" 

"Uh, yeah," he said after realizing his mistake. 

"What was your rank?" 

"Sergeant…" 

"Well, thank you for your service and sacrifice, Sergeant." You pressed your lips to his. 

He slipped his hands underneath your dress and squeezed your ass. The cool metal of his hand made your pussy clench. 

He slid a finger down your ass until he reached your folds. He rubbed your clit in a circular motion over the fabric of your thong. He moaned into your mouth when he pulled it aside and felt how wet you were getting. 

You broke the kiss, stood, unzipped his pants and pulled them down. His hard dick popped up and was at full attention. 

"Sss, ooh," you hissed as you wrapped your hand around him. 

Bucky laid back and closed his eyes. Your hands felt so good on him. You spit on his dick and rubbed it all around making sure it was coated. 

You lined him up with your opening before slowly sinking down on him. 

"Shit!" He had to brace himself and fight a mental battle, so that he wouldn't cum at this very moment. 

You were trying your best to take all of him, but he was stretching you wide and the pain was almost too much. 

Once he was able to get himself together he grabbed your hips and thrust into you. He pulled your dress over your head, so it wouldn't be in the way. 

You rolled your hips slowly and sped up as the pain turned into pleasure. You braced yourself on the balls of your feet and held to the head of the chair as best you could. 

"Bounce on this dick," he smacked your ass. 

You bounced up and down while he sucked a nipple into his mouth. He used his right hand to rub your clit. 

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," you warned him. 

"Don't." He said and continued to rub. 

"Sebastian, I —" 

He grabbed you by the throat, "I said, no," he stuck his tongue in your mouth and continued to drive his hips upwards. 

He waited until you were right on the edge of your climax and then lifted you up. Your first instinct was to rub yourself to completion, but he stopped you. 

"I'm the only one who touches you from now on. Understand?" 

You nodded, but he wasn't satisfied. He wanted to hear you say it. 

"Yes, I understand," you said as you moved back, so he could stand. 

"Good, girl," he pulled you close to him and kissed you. 

He sat you down at the foot of the chair and dropped to his knees. You spread your legs wide and watched while he admired your pussy. Running his fingers up and down your slit. 

"Can I taste you?" 

"Yes," you moaned and laid back. 

Bucky sucked your clit into his mouth and licked you in circles. He was using his tongue to apply just the right amount of pressure to your clit. 

"You taste so good," he said. He spit on your pussy and rubbed it before sticking two fingers inside of you. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth and curled his fingers a little. 

"Ah! Fuck!" You screamed as you felt an orgasm building. 

He could feel you contracting around his fingers. Once again he kept going until you were almost there, then he pulled his fingers out and stopped sucking. 

"Why? Please!" You begged. 

"Ooh, that was only the second one and you're already begging? It's gonna be a long night, baby girl." He teased. 

He pulled you to the edge a little more, rubbed the head of his dick up and down your slit and then slid inside of you. 

You rolled your nipples in between your fingers while he fucked you. He couldn't take his eyes off of you. He'd wanted to feel you for so long. Ever since the day he wandered into your store and laid eyes on you. 

He pulled out of you and turned you on your stomach. This time switching his pace. He spread your ass cheeks apart and rolled his hips slowly as he watched his dick disappear inside of you. 

"Fuck!" He moaned as he felt himself losing control once again. 

He watched as you clawed at the chair. He could feel your pussy getting tighter and tighter. 

"Can I cum? Can I —" you were cut off by your own moans. Your body didn't wait for permission. 

He felt it. Your pussy gripped him tight and he exploded inside of you. His hips jerked as he gave you every last drop. 

He pulled out and dropped to his knees behind you. 

He smacked your ass, "Give it to me, push it out," he demanded. 

You pushed the cum mixture from your pussy and was shocked when you felt his mouth on you sucking it out. No man you'd ever been with had been so bold or comfortable. 

Once he was satisfied, he stood and turned you around to face him. He squeezed your cheeks together, so you'd open your mouth. You stuck your tongue out ready for what he was about to give. 

You were so fucking turned on, you grabbed his hand and slipped his fingers back into your pussy. 

He spit the cum into your mouth and then kissed you. Swirling his tongue around yours as he fingered you to another quick orgasm. 

He looked at his cum coated fingers and then licked them clean. You couldn't resist kissing him again and tasting yourself on his tongue. 

Bucky picked you up and carried you over to the bed. You didn't want to let him go, but you finally gave in. He walked to the bathroom and came back to clean you up and then himself. 

He got in bed with you and laid his head on your chest. You ran your fingers through his hair. So many nights he'd thought about this moment. So many nights he'd thought about just being closer to you. He wished he could stay with you forever. 

He sighed. 

"What's wrong?" You asked him. 

He sat up and looked at you, he wanted to tell you the truth, but he knew that he couldn't. It would put you in danger and he couldn't risk it. 

"Nothing, everything is perfect," he smiled. 

"You have beautiful eyes, they remind me of someone, but I have never been able to quite put my finger on it."

"Thank you," he kissed you again and turned away. 

You played with his hair until he fell asleep and then you slipped out quietly. 

You were opening boxes and getting ready to stock a rack of magazines. You'd been doing well with keeping them out of the store, but a few of the teenagers kept asking and you finally caved. You let them know that you drew the line at tablets and that they were absolutely out of the question. 

You flipped through one of the fashion magazines and came across an article about Earth's mightiest heroes. You were skimming the article when you heard a knock at the door. You looked up to see Bucky waving at you. He was holding a cup holder with two coffees and a bag of donuts. 

"Hey," you greeted him. 

He returned your greeting with a soft kiss. You didn't think you could ever get tired of those kisses. 

"Doing some stocking?" 

"Yeah, I was taking a break and reading this article. I finally ordered some magazines for the kids," you picked it up and thumbed through the pages. 

Then he caught your eyes. There he was stretched across the page. The photo had a blue and purple tint to it and his hair was long, but it was most definitely him.

"You're Bucky Barnes," you said in disbelief. 

"What?" He seemed startled by your words. 

"This is you!" You shoved the magazine in his face. "I knew that you looked familiar. A freaking superhero?! You lied to me, Sebastian — Bucky, whatever your name is!" 

"No, it's not like that, I couldn't tell you." He tried to explain. "I'm on a mission. Sam and I, we're undercover." 

"Oh, you're on a mission, so get with a local to blend in a little better? Ugh! I knew you were too good to be true." You paced back and forth. 

"No, that's not true," he grabbed you, "my feelings for you are completely real."

You squinted at him, "Get off of me and get out, because you'd still be lying to me if you'd never gotten caught." You pushed him away and walked into your office slamming the door behind you. 

Bucky picked up the box of magazines and took them. If you recognized him someone else would too. He couldn't take that chance. 

He knew doing that stupid photo shoot would backfire. He didn't want to do it, but Steve and Sam talked him into it, because it was for a good cause. He knew they'd have to speed up their plans. 

He called Sam as he headed back to the house and let him know that they had to move in on the targets sooner rather than later. 

You came out of your office once you were sure Bucky was gone. You looked around to see that he had taken the boxes. 

"Great now he's a liar and a klepto," you rolled your eyes. 

You heard the bell on the door and turned around thinking it was Bucky again, but it was just one of the people who ran the laundromat a few doors down. 

"Oh, hey, Austin," you looked at your watch, "is something wrong? You know I'm not open yet." 

He didn't say anything. He just kept stalking towards you. Your fight or flight kicked into gear and you made a dash for the door. He reached out and grabbed you, but you kneed him in the balls to escape. 

You didn't get very far before you were grabbed from behind. They put a bag over your head and threw you into the back of a car where they zip tied your hands in front of you. 

"Let me go! What do you want?!" You kicked and screamed. 

"Keep it up and I'll gag you… Maybe even with my cock," you heard one of them chuckle. 

You immediately calmed down. Last thing you wanted was that. 

"Please, if you want money you'll have to take me back to the store. I keep it in the safe." 

"Shut up, we won't tell you again." Austin said. 

"Austin, please tell me why you're doing this?" 

"Because your little boyfriend needs to be taught a lesson. Him and his friend have been causing trouble and it's bad for business. Unfortunately, sweetheart, you're collateral damage." 

They drove you for almost 20 minutes before they dragged you from the car and into a building. They took you inside, sat you down and bound you to a chair. 

"Call your boyfriend," one of his henchmen ordered. 

"How exactly am I supposed to do that with my hands tied, genius?" You sassed. 

He reached into your pocket and pulled up his name. You could hear the line ringing. 

"Can you at least take the bag off of my head?" You requested. 

Bucky was fuming. He and Sam had followed the rest of Austin's gang to this warehouse. But when Austin himself pulled in, he had you. 

He thought it was odd that they were all coming out here, but now he sees that this is a set up. His phone was vibrating in his pocket. It was a call from you. 

He accepted the call and sat his phone down to look through his scope. 

"You can either let her go right now or I will kill every single one of you." He said calmly. 

"Sebastian," you cried. 

"It's okay, baby girl, I got you," he hung up. 

He let off two shots taking out the men who stood guard at the door. He took down the others as they came running from the building. 

"I'm in position," Sam said into his comms. 

Bucky jumped down from the tree he was in and moved in. He hoped you were safe. He never meant for this to happen to you. 

You heard the shots. They were so loud and it seemed like all hell broke loose after. The men around you started shouting and then you heard the door slam. 

You rocked from side to side in the chair until it tipped over. You tried your best to get loose, but nothing was helping. You started to panic as the gunshots were getting closer. 

Fear and adrenaline took over and your ears began to ring. It seemed like the bag was keeping you from breathing as you started to hyperventilate. 

You started screaming when you heard the door get kicked open. You could feel the person cutting the tape away. You were gonna fight this time. They wouldn't get the opportunity to take you somewhere else. They'll kill you for sure. 

Once your hands were free you started swinging. 

"Stop!" Bucky yelled. "It's me—" 

You punched him in the eye. He could barely get a grip on you, but when he finally did, he snatched the bag off. 

"Y/N! It's me, calm down." He hugged you. 

You relaxed into his hold and sobbed into his neck. 

"They were gon-gonna kill m-me," you stuttered. 

"I never gave them the chance. You're safe now." 

Weeks had gone by and nobody spoke a word about Austin or his mysterious disappearance. In fact, people seemed to celebrate the fact that he was gone. 

He'd been running a drug operation through the town and using his business as a front. Apparently, he had ties to Hydra, which is why Sam and Bucky were brought in to shut him down. 

You were back at your store and business resumed as normal. Bucky had left the same night of the incident. He didn't even say goodbye. He was too ashamed to face you. 

You heard the bell above the door and looked up from your phone. Your heart skipped a beat when those blue eyes stared back at you. 

"Hey," he waved. 

"I'm busy," you said and tried to walk away.

"Wait, please," he grabbed your arm, "please?" He asked a little softer. 

"I'm mad at you, you didn't even say goodbye!" 

"I know and I should have, but I was a punk and I want to make it right." He pleaded. 

"You have two minutes," you crossed your arms. 

He lifted you up on the counter and stood in front of you. It was very dramatic. 

"I'm James, but my friends call me Bucky. I'm 103 years old, but I spent most of those years frozen and brainwashed. I really did lose my arm in the war, but it was world war 2. I'm from Brooklyn and my favorite food is pizza." He said. "Oh and I fought in two alien wars, although it felt like only one, because I died in the first one and when I woke up 5 years had passed." 

"Hi, Bucky, nice to meet you." 

You pulled him in for a passionate kiss. He pulled away and pressed your forehead to his. 

"I'm sorry," he said. 

He helped you down and watched you lock the front door and switch your sign to closed. 

"If you're really sorry, you'll make it up to me," you grabbed his hand. 

He scooped you up and carried you to your office. He'd absolutely make it up to you with no problem. 

@titty-teetee​

@bluestarego​

@literaturefeen​

@fandomfavesss​

@angrythingstarlight​

[chaaistheanswer]

I have a few questions about the kaahn if that’s alright. I have so many, your ideas have my interest and I just can’t help it.

Like how you settled on them using sign language and not speaking. Given where they live, what with sandstorms and other environmental impairments? How did that evolve in their culture? How does one communicate if they can’t see or have disabilities that impact their hands? Since touching isn’t acceptable in their culture and speaking isn’t polite. And their language, how did you come up with that? Did you have a point of reference you were using? How did it fall into disuse to the point only the shamens and leaders know it? Was it simply because they mostly use sign? Do they get told what their tattoos mean when they receive it? Are the tattoos usually only commonly known words? Is there any moment when speaking is allowed? When visibility is low or for those learning the sign language?

I love the clothing you designed, the colours, patterns, and masks clearly have a lot of thought behind them and I adore that. Especially since you gave them layers in a desert, which is uncommon to see. But accurate for desert living and ahhh I’m appreciative of the details. For the shoes is that a location specific thing or an all around? Since they’re in the desert and sand is…well hot, how do they navigate around that? They also seem to mostly wear cloth, do they not work with metal or leather to make armor?

Since they’re in Orlais, how do they avoid the Chevaliars and Chantry. I know you mentioned they usually left alone, but is that due to their remoteness in the Western Approach? They’re pretty ruthless with the Dalish and any “others” when it comes to religious beliefs so I wondered if it was their location was what kept them at bay.

And their diet, what do they eat? I know you mentioned that they don’t hunt their gods, so what do they eat given the sparse nature of their environment? Do they hunt gurgut, phoenixes, and varghest? How do they handle the venom and scales? What do they do with the feathers, scales, claws, ect?

Thank you!!! WOW these are very good questions!!!! 1) Honestly when their ancestors moved to the desert to isolate themselves from everyone else it was difficult for their body to adapt to the environmental changes. Many of them had severe sunburns and went blind. Exposure to sandstorms caused some of them to have respiratory and general ailments. A lot of them died because of it. But thankfully, their bodies adapted throughout the ages. The Kaahn of the current age are stronger now and can withstand harsh environments because they grew up there. They've also invented ways to help them survive in the desert like weaving special materials to shield them from the sun, etc.

2) Those who are visually impaired communicate through a special way involving music. They are taught a special music language through bongo drums and many of them are actually part of the arts and music faction where they have friends who know the language as well. Those who can't use their hands use their feet instead. Unfortunately, those who have any kind of impairment suffer the stigma of being seen as useless and can't contribute anything to the tribe. As cruel as it may sound, but there are times in the coming of age ceremony where a group comes back without their impaired team member on purpose. Though, thankfully this doesn't happen as often because the test assesses their teamwork skills as well. The chief is trying to change this mindset since he believes that everyone has a talent to contribute to the tribe. Actually, he wants to pass an act that makes learning special languages compulsory for everyone which is currently still being discussed in the council.

3) The written language is inspired by Japanese kanji and Baybayin. With Baybayin it's mainly the circles and wavy shapes and with Japanese it's the square shapes. I like the idea if some languages using logograms instead of alphabets when writing so there! The ancient Kaahn used the written language a lot, but because they moved to the desert where the food is scarce and it's a lot difficult to hunt for meat if you're not quiet enough. They came up with the Kaahn sign language to help them hunt quietly. Since then they've been using it way too often it has evolved into a form of Kaahn etiquette and they have been using it in their daily lives. The shaman is one of the oldest in the tribe, and they are a part of a long line of Kaahn shamans who are extremely knowledgable in ancient Kaahn traditions. Basically, it's their job to know about these things incase the tribe decides to stray away from tradition. While it is compulsory for chiefs and leaders to learn the written language because well, they're leaders and they must be an example to the rest of the tribe. Also, they should be able to read and write the records for their factions. Their masters (who leaders before them) taught them the script, which they then teach their apprentices, and the cycle goes on. There are times when they don't know a word or two then they ask the shaman for help.

4) The shaman tells them what their tattoos mean upon receiving it! Each word is assigned to a person because it represents who they and what type of spirit they have are even if some have the same words. Popular tattoos among hunters for example are: soldier, strength, diligence, zeal.

5) Speaking is allowed when only two people are in a conversation without anyone around. Usually a conversation between two close friends and not between acquaintances and especially not between a leader and a civilian. They follow a hierarchy. Mothers do speak to their newborn babies in a whisper as close to their ears as possible and without anyone around. This is said to form a special bond between the mother and the child. However, they do teach the child sign from an early age for them to get used to it.

6) They don't wear shoes anywhere! It's a religion thing. This allows them to "feel the earth" and adapt to a new environment. It's also a way to relive the lives of their gods since they don't really wear shoes.

7) They don't wear leather or metal! They're very skilled rogues and in order for them to get around easy without making a sound, they don't wear anything heavy and just wear light wool.

8) They're left alone because the Chantry can't just walk up to them without the Kaahn having to pick a fight. The Kaahn are less civilised than the other human tribes and see everything and everyone as threats. And for that, they're left alone. Their location plays a small part, but it's mainly due to their hostile attitude.

9) They do hunt those animals! They extract the venom and use them as poison which they put into their weapons. The claws and scales they use to craft weapons while the feathers they use as accessories or materials for weaving. They also hunt animals from the forest near the Hunterhorn Mountains which is a 1-2 hours walk from their camp. Nugs, druffalo, bears, spiders...

[rrameyguerrero]

Worldbuilding: Clothing

The clothing in the world you are building should make sense for the weather, the materials available, and culture. Poor people usually don’t wear the clothes that more wealthy patrons can afford. Time period is important if you are designing something based off of something from earth. There might even be gender norms that you character can choose to comply with or not. Do your characters have accessories, like belts, scarves, or jewelry? Do they have a concept of modesty? Do they wear make-up?

Creating fashions for your world can be a daunting task. I suggest using tools, like Pinterest, to gather ideas. You can look up other people’s ideas for current and past fashions from around the world. One thing to keep in mind though, you never want to appropriate someone else’s culture. Taking inspiration is one thing but ripping someone’s culture off because it’s pretty isn’t ok. So make sure you are being respectful.

While creating your fashion, you might want to jot down traditions. Maybe your characters have dress clothes for special occasions, work clothes for work, and leisure clothes for leisure. Or perhaps, your characters simply wear what is comfortable all the time. Some people may only change their clothes every few days. Some people change their clothes multiple times in a day.

Perhaps your character is going to a special event like a festival, wedding, or ball. They might purchase a new outfit, make one, or wear something they already own. Special events are times to show off the fashion of a particular world.

Suppose your characters are going on a journey of some sort. Do they pack a lot or a little? I make a DND style bag with a list of outfits to keep track of items brought. My main characters only pack a few outfits for a journey, and they only change their clothes when they need to. The ruler of Wen packs a whole trunk. She has a different outfit every day. Her travel attire still reflects her status.

What materials are available to the country? For example, Charozod is a fishing country. They catch these massive rainbow fish, and they use the scales for their clothing. When it is cold, they wear beaver skin coats. In Wen, on the other hand, each tribe has their own prevalent fashions. Yerikuu with money often wear spidersilk tunics and brownspun pants. Yerikuu who live communally, wear willowfiber or cotton tunics with brownspun pants.

Think of the type of fur, plant, and synthetic materials that are available. Cotton is a plant native to tropical and subtropical climates. Without machinery, harvesting cotton is a labor-intensive process. Cotton used to be expensive because of this process. On the other hand, it dyes well. Hemp is becoming more popular, but in order for it to become processed enough to make clothes, it would require some type of technology. Linen comes from the fibers of the flax plant. It grows in a variety of climates. Grass can be used too, but I don’t know how durable this would be.

Wool is an animal-based product that can come from a sheep, goat, yak, reindeer, llama, alpaca, and even rabbits. Wool is versatile and usually takes dye well. Wool can be knitted, crocheted, or woven to various weights.

Leather can be made from any animal skin (almost). Snakes, cows, buffalo- anything. Leather is very durable and can be waterproof. It is advisable to use leather as outerwear and shoes. Furs can also come from any animal. So let your creativity shine. Furs are often associated with cold weather climates.

Silk is often made from a moth larvae that feeds on mulberry trees. But as I mentioned before, my world has spidersilk. So you can have anything. Silk has a smooth texture and takes dyes well. It can be worn where it is cold as well as where it is hot.

When making fashions for your world, it is important to consider dyes. What do they have at their disposal? How would they create the color that you envision? The easiest colors to have are earth tones, like browns and greens and greys. Some cultures make reds from beetles or tiny snails. Maybe if your characters live on the coast, they can use squid ink to make something close to black. Flowers can be used, it would take a lot of them to make one item.

Your character’s religion, magical, or social caste will also probably influence their dress. Maybe a certain group covers their heads for one reason or another. Maybe others don’t. Maybe a certain group wears robes all the time. Maybe others pierce or tattoo their skin once they reach a certain milestone. How do these groups perceive the other?

Climate is a major factor in what we wear, so it should be important to your character too. I live in South Texas- it is November now- and I am walking around in shorts. My uncles in Chicago have already had to pull out their light jackets. This is in the same country. So, it is important to know how large a region your MC’s homeland is.

For someone who lives where it rains all the time, they might own some type of rainboot and rain jacket with a hood. Waterproof clothing is a must for when it’s always wet out. Maybe they oil or wax their fabrics, or maybe they have extremely tightly woven fabrics.

Someone who lives along the beach may have multiple bikinis. Maybe they have sunglasses and sandals. Anyone who lives in a colder climate will have warm fabrics and lots of layers. Perhaps they wear a coat, cloak, scarf, and gloves to protect themselves from frostbite. Remember, dark colors absorb heat.

People who live where it is hot might wear loose, light fabrics. Perhaps they wear a head covering and sunglasses. Maybe they wear less clothes- or no clothes. Be mindful of the sun. There’s a reason people in the desert are covered from head to foot.

A person’s livelihood will influence what they wear. A person who is a potter will want to wear clothing that doesn’t matter if they get it dirty. But someone who spins silk will want to wear clean clothes that are unrestrictive. Maybe your characters work in an office building or something similar. Fashion may be more important to them.

If a person’s career is to be a farmer or gardener, they might wear loose fitted clothing. Pants are probably going to be preferred over dresses. They will want to wear clothes that are durable, that don’t rip easily and are easily cleaned. Stable shoes are a must, unless there is an express reason for being barefoot (religion, poverty, ect).

Someone who is a fisher or a pirate might wear short pants or skirts so they don’t have wet ankles. They will want to wear something that dries quickly. Durable clothing is important when they are at sea.

Someone who does any sort of fighting, like a soldier or a police officer, will want something that does not restrict their movement. Depending on their fighting style, they may have protective equipment like armor, but not every culture uses armor. Armor can range from leather to steel plates. Sometimes rank is apparent by the uniform of the person, but others are uniform.

Lastly, People in your world will have items of apparel that are shows of wealth. Certain colors and jewelry are only worn by the rich. In the past, girls ruffled their sleeves or wore corsets. These things are purely to be fashionable. Long nails and restrictive clothing can go to show that this person is privileged enough to not work. Elaborate hairstyles are also signs of the rich.

Whatever you do, have fun with it.

 Here are some resources:

https://artsandculture.google.com/theme/explore-traditional-clothing-from-around-the-world/-gLSnpTzzdkwJw?hl=en

 Here are some blogs I found:

https://humanvariant.wordpress.com/2009/10/11/worldbuilding-clothing-and-fashion/

http://www.artofworldbuilding.com/culture-and-clothing/

[mostly-marvel-musings]

A Mere Mortal - Chapter Three

A/N: This story is based on the prompt : Vampires cannot enter a house without your permission, but what if your landlord’s a vampire? It’s his house, he’s just letting you live there. Part of the Landlord Vampire Fic Frenzy hosted by the amazing @just-the-hiddles . I’m super nervous about this one, so feedback’s most welcome!

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Bucky Barnes x Vampire! Loki x Human! Reader

Word count: 2570. Yep. This one’s a bit lengthy!

Warnings: 18+ stuff. Some smut!! Foul language. Vampire Diaries reference?

Tags: @buckybarnesplumwhore @ladyacrasia @tcc-gizmachine @alexakeyloveloki

Taglists open! Send me an ask if you wish to be tagged!

...

“What did you say?” your mouth hung open and eyes went wide as Bucky uttered those words.

He chuckled looking at your stunned expression and said, “You heard me. The town’s history is rich with legends and myths of vampires and ghouls. I’m sure you could find tons of books about them in the library.”

“That is fantastic! Oh my God I knew I chose this town for a reason!” you were practically giddy with excitement.

“You keep surprising me (Y/N). A normal reaction to this would either be a person packing up his things and getting the fuck outta here or laughing in my face.” He said as you both walked out of the store.

You rolled your eyes and repeated your previous statement, “And I’ll keep breaking the stereotypes Mr Barnes. I don’t usually fit into the ‘normal’ box. And it’s a good thing.”

It sure is, he thought gazing at your form in the street light. The warm glow of the sodium vapor lamps made your face appear warm and alluring. The cold air made your breath visible, creating wonderful patterns against the night sky. Your scent intoxicated his mind and he couldn’t simply say goodbye to you just yet.

“Let me walk you home doll, wouldn’t want you getting attacked by vampires on your first week here.” he said placing a hand on the small of your back as you both turned towards Chapel Street.

“I could kick his ass, I can kick box pretty well you know. Not outrun him though, if he’s anything like the ones in Vampire Diaries. You know where they go whoosh from one place to another in a second? Have you seen it?” you asked making an attempt to gesture the fast running from the show.

He doesn’t seem like a guy who would watch the teen shows with way too many hot vampire and hybrid guys. Why did you even ask that? You seemed to lose your ability to carry on a decent conversation with this guy. That was a first.

“Never mind. So gimme more information on the legends. I’ll pester Frank tomorrow at the library but nothing like stories heard from local peeps right?” you teased hoping he’d forget you had asked a stupid question initially.

“I’ve grown up listening to these stories from my grandma, my mom, just everybody. Though their versions vary slightly.

The one that’s stuck around for centuries is about Lucas and Morwenna Klyn.” Bucky looked at you, he had lowered his voice slightly and his hand hadn’t left its place from your back.

You were trying to adjust the weight of the shopping bags in your hands, but hearing those names you looked up and couldn’t help snort a laugh.

“They sure sound like names straight out of a horror book. Go on.”

“Morwenna was said to have migrated here from somewhere near Ireland about 200 years ago and had found this town most to her liking. She was this evil vampire who had witchy abilities-

“Like a hybrid? That’s one thing missing from the Vampire Diaries, they’ve got werewolf vampires but not witchy vampires. Oh but there’s that original witch Esther.”

It was like your mouth was out of control. Rambling absolute nonsense when this very hot guy was eager to tell you stories about his hometown.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why said that. I’m just a little crazy about all of this. I’ll keep my mouth shut now I promise.” You said physically putting a finger on your lips, adjusting the two bags in your left hand.

“I’ll forgive you this time.” He narrowed his impossibly gorgeous eyes seriously but the smile playing on his lips.

“So Morwenna had all sorts of powers, she was said to have the ability to control people’s minds, make them do her bidding. She met Lucas here in Dewsbury and he fell madly in love. Typical. Morwenna was beautiful, anybody would fall in love with her. She had a way with words too.

One day Lucas found her feeding on his younger sister Evelyn in these very woods. Her fangs dug deep in his sister’s neck, sucking the life out of her, Lucas watched in horror as Evelyn turned paler and paler in front of his eyes. He ran to stop her but was too late. Evelyn dropped to the ground like a piece of rock, her lifeless eyes still staring at Lucas even though there wasn’t any life in them anymore. Morwenna wiped the blood off her chin and approached Lucas, hunger still visible in her jet black eyes. She bared her fangs and Lucas made a run for his life.

Little did he know that she loved chasing her prey. Making them run for their lives, like feeble little lambs made her feel like a true hunter. She fed on him but didn’t kill him. Instead she turned him into a vampire. Evelyn’s ghost is said to haunt these woods till date. And here we are.” Bucky came to a stop abruptly.

“Whoa. You can’t leave me on this horrific info. I wanna know the rest.” You didn’t realize you reached your house so soon. You wanted to invite him in but he interrupted your thoughts.

“We’ll continue later. I’ve already taken up a lot of your time. You need rest (Y/N). Meet me for drinks at the pub tomorrow?” Bucky stuffed his hands back in his pockets and looked at you expectantly.

“Done. If you don’t show up at the pub on time, I’ll show up at your house and irritate the fuck out of you until you complete the story.” you threatened jokingly but you were very capable of doing that. Though you didn’t exactly know where he lived, you could figure it out sure.

He laughed out loud and the sound made your stomach do somersaults.

Even his laugh is fucking perfect.

“Relax I’ll be there. Goodnight (Y/N).”

He went for a handshake but you went for a side hug, you met somewhere awkwardly in between.

“Goodnight Bucky. Thanks for walking me home.”

“Even though you can kick box.” Bucky teased, making you chuckle.

He turned and started walking into the woods. You stared at his back for a good two minutes fighting the urge to say something but failed.

“Don’t let Evelyn haunt you in there.”

“Don’t worry I can kick box too.” He turned as he replied and shot you a wink.

You watched him until he disappeared into the night and turned to walk inside your house.

Setting the bags on your beige granite countertop, you looked out the kitchen window that overlooked the woods. They sure looked creepy, you were busy thinking about your extremely charming landlord though.

Smiling like an idiot, you were interrupted by a much too loud growl emitted from your belly.

“Shit! Dinner.”

…

You peeked open one eye to check the time, it read 6:01 am. You had woken up way too early. Maybe you could sleep in for a few more hours, but then you couldn’t once you were fully awake. Perils of being a light sleeper. Sprucing up the place seemed like a good idea, anyways there were a lot of boxes yet to be unpacked, especially your writing material.

What was the main reason for moving here? Writing!

And you were yet to set up your writer’s desk which you were very particular about. And couldn’t just have one writing spot. Inspiration struck at the most random places and situations and you had gotten pretty good at being prepared for that. It always helped to have a great view outside the window. Something about staring off into the distance made your brain come up with a thousand ideas.

The cabin bedroom was a large space, enough to set up a decent writing space. There was a ledge that ran along the bedroom window which was wide enough for you to sit and the bed was attached to it and it had the most gorgeous view of the woods; that would work too.

So you got to work after taking a shower and whipping up a quick breakfast for yourself.

A progress update meeting about your new book was in two months, which seemed like a long time but really you’d be needing all the time you could get to whip out another best seller. Which meant you needed to start writing as soon as possible.

After setting up the ‘work space’ you opened your computer, grabbed your glasses and stared at the blank word document for a few minutes.

Time to block out all the X rated thoughts about your super hot landlord (Y/N). Let’s get some work done, a draft, a outline structure, something. You can do this.

...

The concept of time soon lost on you once you began. It was going well, the ideas were flowing and you were typing them out at lightening speed.

A ding from your phone that lit up next to your laptop startled you out of your zone. It was a text from Bucky.

I’ll see you at the pub in fifteen? - James B

Had you really been writing for that long? Apparently you completely forgot about lunch. And now there wasn’t enough time.

Hurriedly you texted back a reply and got dressed. Drinks on an empty stomach never ended well in your case, you wished you had set an alarm or something.

...

You walked in the dimly lit pub and instantly the smell of booze and bar snacks filled your nostrils. You heard your name being called out from the far end and turned to see Bucky waving you over to a corner booth.

A warm smile on his face as you walked closer and you noticed he was wearing a leather jacket over a dark shirt, looking handsome as ever. He stood up to greet you in a hug.

“You look beautiful.” He said as you took off your jacket and sat opposite him on the semi circled sofa. This place looked like it belonged in the 80s. It probably did.

“Thanks you too.” your cheeks reddened further at your embarrassing response and the initial compliment, you closed your eyes and looked down. Fucking nerves.

Luckily he saved you by not dwelling on it further and asked what you’d have to drink.

“I’ll have the local beer please.”

Eyebrows raised in surprise as he probably saw you as a wine girl. You just shrugged at this point.

“Breaking stereotypes. Got it.” He replied nodding his head with a wide grin as he placed the order.

The conversation flowed as easily as the drinks and soon you had that much too familiar buzz. You were in the middle of explaining a funny incident that happened with you and Sam, giggling way too much when you were interrupted.

“Well if its not the famous (Y/N).” the smooth accented voice reached your ears as you slowly turned to see Loki standing near your booth grinning down at the pair of you.

“Famous? Am I famous?” you grinned back, the edge clearly off at this point. Loki had creeped you out in your meeting.

You missed the slight disappointment on Bucky’s face as you invited Loki to join you guys. Of course he covered it up and slid over to sit next to you, protectively close as Loki sat opposite you.

“So (Y/N), are you enjoying our little town?” Loki put both his hands on the table and leaned over to speak.

“I really am. People are so nice here, I’m not used to that. And Dewsbury has the most fascinating history!”

“So you know about the vampires?” Loki smirked as he glanced at Bucky who was shooting him a warning look.

“Oh yeah in fact, Bucky never got to finish the story last night because it was too late. I’m here to know the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” you said a bit too dramatically.

Damn this stuff was strong.

The men entertained you with stories of their own for the rest of the night and asked you about your life. You felt quite safe and were enjoying the little flirty banter going on between the three of you. You definitely had one too many pints.

You stood up to leave and instantly the room spun before your eyes. Loki’s hands landed on your shoulders to keep you steady.

“You alright there darling?” he asked, gazing into your eyes. You placed your hands over his as you nodded slowly and giggled.

Suddenly you felt Bucky slide a protective arm around your waist and pull you to his side, earning an eye roll from Loki.

“I got her. Let’s get you home (Y/N).” He said as he walked you both out of the pub, leaving Loki behind.

“I didn’t take you for a light weight doll.” Bucky looked at you as you had your arms around him to keep you steady.

“I’m really not. I just, I skipped lunch today.” you kept your eyes on the road as you approached your cabin much quicker than you realized.

“I just got into writing and lost track of time, not because I skip meals. I love to eat!” you clarified with another small giggle, as you both came to a halt in front of the house.

“Don’t sleep on an empty stomach (Y/N). I hope you have some food at home. If not we can go somewhere-

“No need Sir, I have some leftovers in the fridge. Thank you for walking me home. Again. You’re the best.” you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek and lingered a bit.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind you ears and glanced at your lips. He really wanted to kiss you, know what you tasted like. Know how your body felt against his. Though now wasn’t the time, it would be taking advantage.

He said goodbye and watched you get in before turning back and walking home. At least you were safe.

...

Your body was on fire. Every touch every kiss made your head spin. He was leaving a trail of hot kisses down your jaw and neck before reaching the spot that made you moan loudly as he sucked hard.

You rolled over and straddled his hips placing your hands over his toned chest. You leaned down to kiss him and he sighed opening his mouth to allow your tongue to explore it further. The fight for dominance continued as his hands tugged your hair. You slid your own in his raven black hair.

You rolled your hips against his clothed erection earning another grunt from him. You were placing wet kisses down his torso almost reaching the waistband of his underwear when he grabbed you and spoke in that deep honey dripping voice,

“We have plenty of time for that later darling. Allow me to taste you first.” Your eyes flew open as you stared at Loki’s lust filled face.

Your skin was on fire still as you jolted awake. Your arousal evident between your legs as you sat up. Grabbing a bottle of water from the ledge you took a big swig and walked into the bathroom.

Loki smirked as he noticed your flustered state through your bedroom window, before he turned and vanished into the night.

...

[cilldaracailin]

Killer Queen

Hello my Tumblr Lovely’s!

Happy Friday and Happy Holidays to me! At last a week off work! I am off an adventure down to the South West of Ireland and I am super excited for a ‘staycation’. Won’t come back with a tan but maybe a typical Irish accent instead!

On another side note, this is the last part to Killer Queen but Robyn and Taron will be back in a few weeks on another adventure. Thank you so much for all the love and comments. It’s been another fun time for them both!

Hope you all enjoy!

Suze xx

P.S The picture of the Spice Bag does not do it  proper justice but it is the closest one I could find that looks like what my local Chinese has but believe me it is one of the best things on an Irish Chinese take away menu and is so delicious!

7

“Because of you. "I believe I can love, and be loved with the heart.”

“Why haven’t you introduced me to this yet!” Taron said through a mouthful of chilli and salty chicken.

Robyn smiled at him as she dipped her fork into the paper bag to pull a chip out. “I am sure I have told you on many occasions that I can’t tell you all my secrets in one go. Otherwise you won’t come back and visit me again.”

“This is delicious. We don’t have these in Wales.”

“It’s an Irish thing.”

“I love everything Irish.”

“No, you just love food.”

“True.” Replied Taron as he took another piece of chicken from the bag. “But I also love everything Irish too.”

Robyn had walked him to her favourite Chinese take away in the town and ordered what she called a spice bag which was basically a brown bag filled with chips, breaded chicken strips, onions, peppers and carrots all coated in a salt and chilli spice flavouring. They took two forks with them so they could eat it as they walked but instead of going straight back to her house, Robyn directed him towards a picnic bench on the grass banks of the canal and they sat down to eat, sharing the food and a bottle of water between them.

“Taron?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you so much for the hug earlier and coming back stage. I definitely needed the hug and that’s twice now you have defended my honour.”

“And I managed to dodge the punch this time.” He added.

“Yes you did. Good reflexes.”

“And you are welcome. I think I needed the hug too. I will never let anyone take advantage of you like that Robyn. Never. No one has any right to take kisses from you, from anyone. Kisses are a gift that are willingly given.” He said as looked everywhere except Robyn’s face but he felt a cold hand on his cheek and he had to look at her. “Robyn?” He asked as she moved closer to him and carefully placed a light kiss to the right side of his lips.

“Just giving you a gift.” She said simply as she reached for the bag of food in his hands for herself. “This was a good idea. I was hungry.”

Taron licked his lips as Robyn was distracted by the Chinese and he begged his racing heart to slow down. Now was the perfect time to show Robyn what a proper gift of a kiss was but he was still so wary of what Keith had done that he wanted to be absolutely sure Robyn was ready for that moment.

“You were amazing again tonight.” Taron reached for the bag and stabbed two chips with his fork.

“I hoped the tension wasn’t too obvious.”

“Wouldn’t have known it was there if I didn’t know about it.”

“The judges from AIMs were there. I really just wanted to do the show justice and then that fucking arsehole had to fuck it up.” Robyn spat.

“You did chicken.” Taron assured her. “You have such energy on stage and this presence that you bring so everyone is caught up in your performance. You give everything you have to the songs and the way you portray your characters.”

“Well you have some experience with that Taron and know how important it is to give your all to the role you play.”

Taron chuckled. “Yeah I do.”

“I am glad your prep for the movie has gotten a little easier.”

“Me too. Getting my head around the script and Matthew’s vision has really eased some of my worries with it. It will be tough but worth it all.”

“No singing in this one though.”

He smiled. “No.”

“How will you cope?” Robyn teased him as she reached into the bag to pull a piece of chicken out with her fingers.

“Will you be sad when the show is over on Sunday.”

“Always. Probably have a tear or two as well. I get so emotionally involved and I hate saying goodbye to a character I have played. It has been the best week so far.”

“Two shows tomorrow?”

“Yep. It is probably best that you have to go back to London early. I will be pretty hoarse by tomorrow evening.”

“You hoarse and quiet? I don’t think so.” He laughed, giggling as Robyn tried to stab his hand with her fork but went for the bag of food instead. “You’ll miss Mimi?”

“Yeah.” Robyn ate the pepper she picked up with her fork. “She is fun to play. Don’t really wear hot pants and leather normally.”

“Or throw such risky dance moves around.”

Robyn chuckled. “I was waiting for you to mention those.”

“I did see a few moves that were more suited for an adult movie I think.”

“I was told to go for it and I did.”

“You definitely did. Maybe you could throw a pair of hot pants or a leather skirt into your wardrobe now that you have tried them out.”

“Sure, I will wear them to work on Monday.” Robyn looked to Taron. “Oh, you were being serious?” She half smiled. “You liked the outfits then.”

“Maybe.” He answered her, taking a drink of water from the bottle to distract himself from saying more.

“Then maybe I will think about it.”

Once they had finished their spice bag, they slowly walked back to Robyn’s house, Taron turning on the fairy lights once they were inside.

“You must be knackered Taron.” Said Robyn as she pulled her jacket off. “You didn’t have a great sleep last night.”

“I am actually ok and you are wearing my shirt again.”

“My shirt.” She countered. “We have had this conversation before. You give me your clothes, they become my clothes and returning to the conversation of sleep, let me shower quickly and we can sleep.”

Taron nodded. “Lyndsey told me I needed to sleep before Sunday.”

“You spoke to Lyndsey?”

“Oh yeah I never told you. I rang her when you headed down to the hall earlier.” Taron came to stand beside her, pulling the programme from his back pocket of his jeans and put it on the island beside her jacket. “Just to check out the photo. It was spread to the usual social media platforms but that was it. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“And she told you to get some sleep. Good.”

Taron leaned against the island once he had emptied his pockets. “I told you she looks after me on tour.” He reached over and tugged on the end of the shirt tails that Robyn had tied together. “I never thought to wear this shirt this way.” He grinned.

“Take note for future styling.”

“Hey will you do something for me?” He asked as he walked a little away from her and to the drawer he knew she had a sharpie in. “Will you sign this for me?” He handed her the marker and moved the programme closer to her.

“You want me to sign this?”

“Of course.”

“But why?”

“Because I want your autograph.” Taron opened the programme to her page. “Right here.” He pointed to beside her photo. “Come on Robyn. To Taron, love you lots, your chicken.” He teased.

Robyn chuckled and pulled the lid from the sharpie and started to write a little note, keeping her left hand in the way so Taron couldn’t see, picking up the programme and blowing on the ink to dry it before she closed it, putting the lid back on the marker.

“Right I am going to go and shower.”

“I will be here.”

Robyn turned to walk away but turned back and gave Taron a hug.

“What’s this for?”

“Just trying to get some extra ones in and because I don’t think you actually realise how much your actions this evening mean to me and I can’t quite explain it in words so hugs work just as well.”

Taron returned Robyn’s hug, surprised she was lost of words. She was normally one to talk her way out of anything, to make him feel better with her words but now she was stuck with what to say and as he leaned his face into her neck, felt a little sad for her. It was crystal clear that Robyn was very much used to being by herself and strong for herself alone and she was finding it a little difficult to believe someone else was prepared to give their all for her. “Go and shower and then we will get set up for our second sleep over. I think you are tired too chicken.”

“A little.”

Taron kissed her cheek. “Take as long as you need.”

Once Robyn had left his arms and made her way to the bedroom, Taron picked up the programme and flicked to Robyn’s page. ‘Dearest Taron, thank you for being my only and number one fan, my knight in stripes and a hat and giving the best warm and cosy hugs in the world and my tent. I am glad I kissed you in Florida. My love always, Robyn xx’.

Closing the programme and with a grin fixed to his lips, he rubbed his eyes. It had been a roller coaster of a day and he was definitely ready to sleep and get his last cosy duvet sleep before tomorrow. He followed Robyn into the bedroom and hearing the shower start, knew he was good to quickly change into his shorts and a black tank top. He figured at some point during the evening he was bound to be in cuddle with Robyn and wanted to be cosy warm and not over heated warm.

Once back in the kitchen, he routed through the presses for the cupcakes and brought the full packet and two glasses and a carton of milk into the tent, smiling as he saw cwtch and draíocht still sitting and smiling.

“You two best buddies now?” He asked out loud. “Just going to have to move you both. It’s my time to sleep now.”

He picked the dinosaurs up and moved them to in front of the couch and pulled the duvet back so tonight himself and Robyn could actually sleep under it. Last night both had fallen asleep on top of the soft material but tonight he was going to get into the make shift bed and prayed it would help him sleep. His nerves for the upcoming tour were also contributing to his lack of sleep and it was normal for him to feel a little apprehensive about it all, even though he had done a promotional tour many times before. Robyn being the most popular topic of conversation lately always made him nervous as he tried not to become defensive with his answers and be factual and keep his tone light and cheery, almost by passing the topic at times but after his last few days working, it was definitely a smile instead of a frown that fill his features when he was asked about Robyn. Taron lay down on the sheet and closed his eyes, feeling completely exhausted all of a sudden. Coming to see Robyn always brought new adventures for him and these two days only further deepened if it was possible, his love for her and perhaps a little bit more hope that she loved him too.

As Robyn dried her hair, she couldn’t help the long yawn fill her whole body. She was ready to lay down in her tent that Taron had made for her and sleep. “Taron.” She sighed as she unclipped some wet hair and separated the strands, clipping one half back up again. With the brush in her left hand and hair dryer in her right, she thought about her day as she dried her hair. Her wonderfully chaotic day. Their walk on the beach that morning felt like it was days ago to her and she smiled as she remember how excited Taron was when he finally won the dinosaur from the claw machine and smiled even more when she remembered how he had asked Jane to lead him to her during the break in-between the musicals first and second acts so he could give her the most welcomed and incredibly close hug but also how he had stood up for her, again. She was slowly getting used to someone doing that for her and Taron was quickly becoming someone she knew she could depend on for anything and she hadn’t had someone like that in her life for a long time.

Finishing drying off the last section her hair, she blasted the cold air over her whole head before tiding the dryer away and getting into her new PJ’s and t-shirt, tying Taron’s top up again at the bottom so it didn’t hang so loose on her.

She strolled out into her living room and couldn’t see Taron anywhere so figured he was already in the tent. She ducked in under the opening and stopped when she saw him lying on his back, one arm above his head, one on his stomach, his eyes closed. She half smiled as she saw what he wore.

“You would think it was twenty degrees outside.” She said as she sat down beside him. She knew he wasn’t asleep. Robyn could easily tell the difference in his breathing as he slept and now it wasn’t deep enough for him to be sleeping.

“I easily over heat.” He simply replied not opening his eyes.

“You should go and see someone about that.”

“That I am hot?” He opened one eye and laughed, seeing her roll her eyes at him. “You walked into that yourself.”

“Yeah I did. You look cosy.”

“I am. So cosy I don’t want to move to give you the cupcakes and milk.”

“You brought treats into the tent?”

“Do you even know me?” Asked Taron as he sat up on his elbows. “Course I brought treats.” Taron rolled onto his knees and pulled over the cupcakes. “We didn’t get to eat these last night.” He then brought over the milk and two glasses. “A quick bedtime snack.”

Robyn moved to sit closer to him and he opened the plastic container of cupcakes and took one out and handed it to her.

“Thought you were going to smush it in my face there for a second.” She said as she carefully peeled the wrapper off.

“I did think about it but that would be waste of cake and you have just come out of the shower and I know for a fact you would get me back and get me back worse.”

“I am glad you are learning.” She replied as she took a bite from the small cupcake, Taron stuffing a whole cake into his mouth once he got the paper off, Robyn shaking her head at him.

“What?” He asked through crumbs.

“Nothing.” She said with a smile, taking another bite from her cake.

“What?” He asked again once he had swallowed.

“Nothing. You mentioned milk?”

Still not convinced with her answer, Taron reached for the milk carton and poured the two glasses half way full, passing one to Robyn.

“Thank you.”

“No worries.”

Satisfied by chocolate cupcakes and two glasses of milk, and once both had made a trip to the bathroom, they settled in the tent. Taron was concerned about leaving the fairy lights plugged in but Robyn assured him it was ok because they were LED’s and she wanted to enjoy the tent for one more night before it had to come down.

“And you have left me to take it down.”

“Your father told me he would help you take it down.”

“I might just leave it up.”

“Your father will help you.”

“I am happy to leave it up.”

“Robyn?”

“You made it for me.” She answered him quietly as she buried her legs under the duvet and lay on her right side.

“You will have to get your sitting room back at some point chicken.” Taron pulled the duvet up over his legs and copied her stance but lay on his left side.

“At some point.” She agreed getting her head comfy on the pillow. “Thank you for coming Taron and coming a day earlier. It’s been another wonderful two days.”

“Yes it has.” Taron lay down, his body a little higher than Robyn’s. “You know what you would just perfect it?”

“No.”

“Taron cuddles.”

“Ok.” Shuffling over, Robyn lay her head on Taron’s shoulder, feeling his arm curl around her while he used his other hand to pull the duvet up over the two of them. “Night Taron.”

“Goodnight darling.”

Closing his eyes, Taron knew it wouldn’t be long before he fell asleep but he willed his body to stay awake for a little while longer so he could enjoy holding the woman in his arms who snuggled deeper into his body, her head now on his chest, her hand on his stomach but surrounded by comfort, Taron soon fell into a deep restful sleep.

They were used to the journey to the airport, having made it together many times before but for some reason, there was a different feel to the atmosphere as they rode the escalator together to get to security of the departures.

“We will see each other in two weeks chicken.”

“Yeah I know.”

“Ok well can you at least pretend you are not sad?”

“Ok.” Replied Robyn.

“And yet you have perfectly acted on sage the last four nights but still can’t get that sadness from your voice.”

“I am a little sad.”

“You haven’t been sad before when we were at the airport.”

“Sure I have but obviously managed to hide it better.”

“It’s two weeks. We have gone two months before without seeing each other.”

“I know Taron.”

“What is different about this time.” Robyn shrugged her shoulders. “It’s my tour, right? Robyn please don’t be worrying about me.”

“I always worry about you.”

He smiled a little. “I know but you don’t have too.” He saw the look she gave him and his heart melted. “And you are going to call me all the time to tell me I need to sleep after you have watched my interviews even though I have told you not too.” He gently tapped her nose.

“You know me so well.”

“I do and I know you need a hug.”

“Always.”

With a chuckle, Taron pulled her close smiling as her hands went to their usual place on his lower back and neck, while he buried his nose into her own neck. “I am not used to this.”

“Used to what?” She asked him.

“Having another person care so much about me but I suppose I should be used to it by now. Been that way since Florida.”

“Yep but I am getting used to it too.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not been easy opening up and you know why but for some reason with you, I just feel so comfortable and free and I trust you.”

“You just want more cuddles.”

“You benefit from those too.” She laughed but her laughter died down. “Please look after yourself.”

“I will.”

“And enjoy every minute of it.”

“I will.”

“And it’s ok to talk about me if you have too. Don’t avoid the subject of us ok?”

“I won’t and I will.”

“And sleep.”

“I will.”

“And drink lots of water.”

“I will.”

“And smile.”

“I will Robyn.”

“And make sure you promote the arse out of this movie because I know how proud you are of it and how hard you have worked to finish it and I am proud of you too.”

“I will and I know.”

“And Taron?”

“What chicken.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Taron chuckled against her. “You done?”

“You want me to keep going?”

“Would love too but I can’t miss my flight.”

With a tight squeeze, Robyn let him go. “I have something for you.”

“I figured. You brought a bag with you and once again I have nothing for you. Breaking all the present rules Robyn.”

She smiled as she picked up the backpack from beside her. “This was an unexpected gift.”

Taron watched with interest as Robyn unzipped the bag and his eyes opened as he saw a hint of green fur, even more so when she pulled the green dinosaur from the bag.

“Robyn…”

“Draíocht is yours Taron.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” She dropped the bag on the floor and held the dinosaur out to him. “I have cwtch, Rosie and Mari have theirs and this one, well this one is for you.”

“Chicken…”

“You told me that this was a girl dinosaur and because it was green it represented me. Well cwtch is you and he is mine so it only makes sense that you get draíocht and bring her home to London with you and then back to Wales.”

“Rosie and Mari will take her away from me.”

“Not when you explain about how we all have one. You need this Taron. You need to bring her with you.”

Taron took the dinosaur in his hands and looked to Robyn, his beautiful, sweet and considerate Robyn, who once more had managed to give him something so wonderfully thoughtful. “I will bring her home with me.”

“Of course you will.”

“And carry her through the airport?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. “And on the plane?”

“She makes a good pillow but I wouldn’t do that to you.” Robyn picked up the backpack. “This is for you too.”

Together they got the dinosaur back in the bag and zipped closed.

“Thank you Robyn.” He dropped the bag at his feet and wrapped his arms around her, suddenly feeling sad like Robyn was. He loved being around her, being with her and the distance was quickly becoming a problem. “You are too good to me.”

“I try.”

Both felt the deep breath the other took and the second one too.

“I really should go Robyn.”

“One more minute.” She spoke, her words a little muffled as her face was tucked into his chest.

Robyn didn’t want to let him go. Taron was so familiar to her now and she couldn’t even begin to describe how it felt to her to have him around and know he was around and there in Kilcreen just for her. She was beginning to truly understand what it was like to have someone actually really care for her and be interested in her and treat with the respect she absolutely deserved and getting a taste of it, she hated having to say goodbye to him.

“Minutes up chicken.”

“One more.”

Taron gave her back a rub and then with his hands going behind his back, awkwardly took her hands from him. “I really have to go Robyn.” He said to her as he held her hands. “I will call you when I can but call me whenever you want.”

“Ok.”

“And I will let you know about Paris as soon as I know.”

“Ok.”

“And watch all the interviews you want.”

“Ok.”

“Robyn, stop saying ok.”

“Ok.”

Looking down to her, he saw tears in her eyes. “Robyn?”

“Sorry I am being a girl.” She took her hands from his and wiped her eyes.

Taron chuckled. “Never apologise for being a woman, not a girl. I get it Robyn. I really do.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I will call you and see you in two weeks.”

“Ok.” She laughed when he frowned. “Sure Taron.”

With one last squeeze, Taron finally walked away from her, swinging the backpack onto his left shoulder and Robyn watched until she couldn’t see him anymore.

“See you soon rocketman.”

[kai-n-ali]

In the Fields of Asphodel (My Regrets Follow You to the Grave) | Chapter Three

Eleanor Blum didn’t know what to think of this man, this Peaky Blinder devil that made all of Small Heath cower before him, this almost-stranger with his dead wife and dead stare, but she wished he’d stop showing up at the flower shop she worked in. And that he’d stop looking at her with those blue eyes of his.

Follows aftermath of Season 03 throughout Seasn 04. Tommy x OFC.

Warnings: Depictions of child abuse, antisemitism towards OFC (slurs), canon-typical violence, canonical deaths, sexual themes, etc.

Word Count: 12K

Chapter One ❀ Chapter Two

Ao3  ❀ Wattpad

                            Chapter 3: Celandine (Joys to Come)

     She met her uncle for the first time barefoot and half-feral, wearing old blood on her fingers and streaked across her dress. 

     When they called Eleanor down to Headmaster Grafton’s office, her fingertips were still tender from embroidering dresses at the local dress shop earlier that morning. She rubbed them against the pleats of her skirt as she took the stairs two at a time, willing the sting away. Having left her shoes somewhere under her bed, still caked in mud from the rainy day, her big-toe poked out of a hole in her pantyhose and hit the wool carpet with every step. It scratched.  

     When she was younger, maybe eight or nine, the sight of the big oak door with its perpetual dust settled into the engraving of Mother Mary would’ve made her break out into a cold sweat, a phantom sting of leather hitting raw skin making her spine stiffen and her eyes water.  

     But she was thirteen now.  

     It sent a jolt through her system, seeing the door already open. Usually, the headmaster made all the girls knock before entering, waiting until they started to shift on their toes or rock on their heels. He liked spending long hours complaining to all the teachers, disparaging the young orphan girls’ lack of discipline. Sometimes, if he caught them fidgeting too much, he’d rap their knees with his cane.  

     Once, when she had been sneaking to the kitchen for a quick snack—she was the favorite of the cooks, but don’t tell anyone—she’d seen him frothing at the mouth over when one of the girls got snot on his new coat, due to some awful crying jag earlier that afternoon. His face had been a very fierce shade of red, she recalled, as he’d paced about in one of the empty classrooms, hands flicking about. The color disguised the faint pockmarks on his cheeks and the paleness of his complexion. Eleanor preferred it. He looked more… human, that way. It was nice knowing he bled like any other man.  

     Today, however, the door was open. Inside, sat the headmaster with one of Eleanor’s least favorite teachers, Sister Sarah, whose lips pressed into a smear of rosy pink rogue as soon as she caught Eleanor at the doorway, barefoot and with smudges of rust smeared down the cream of her skirt. She liked to say the lip color was all-natural, but Eleanor knew better. Across from them, in an over-large chair of what she knew was buttery-soft leather—she once got in trouble for curling up and falling asleep in it at nine-years-old, near delirious from a nightmare of her dead mother and having snuck out of bed and hunkered down in the unlocked office—sat a man she’d never seen before, his back to her.  

     The headmaster was a man with light hair and even lighter eyes—this chilled, near clear grey—with a thin, cruel mouth. Slim in that fashionable way wealthy people always were with pearls dripping down the languid lines of their throats or Patek Philippe watches wrapped around the delicate curves of their wrist bones. Eleanor was envious—they never had any awkward bits, no hollowed cheeks that looked scooped out with a melon spoon, no knees that stuck out in knobs of bone under paper-thin dresses. 

     “Anne,” Headmaster Grafton beckoned, hand waving her inside. Eleanor bit her lip to avoid doing anything stupid, like curse him out or attempt to deck him, and felt the familiar sting of her front teeth sinking into the torn skin. Her knobby knuckles weren’t very good for punching, unfortunately, quick to bleed with the semi-fresh welts stretched across them from Sister Martha, the only teacher who still rapped her with the leather strap when she got an answer wrong. The only teacher who ever called on her anymore.           

     It said something about her that Sister Martha was perhaps her favorite person here.  

     Grafton clucked his tongue, waited until she stood across from his desk, hands folded in front of her. She kept her eyes on the carpet, this fluffy, garish thing the color of blackberry wine, and his eyes on her forehead seared into her skin. “Anne,” he said again, and it made her want to tear at her hair, or maybe his eyes, those cold eyes—because, yes, Anne was her middle name, her mother’s name, but it wasn’t fucking hers. And she’d stopped biting at her nails, recently, and they’d grown long enough to do some damage if she tried. She could do it.  

     Eleanor, apparently, was too Jewish of a name, and while none of the staff or teachers could do anything about her last name, as full-on kike as it was, they could switch out Eleanor for Anne. Saint Anne, at least, was the mother of Mary. 

     Eleanor, christened Anne, baptized anew.  

     (There were nights when she was laying in her bed, still damp from when one of the older girls had dumped buckets of ice-cold rainwater into the sheets—or on one particular occasion, from being freshly scrubbed of pig’s blood from the butcher’s a street over; the stains never came out—where she just repeated her name in her head. Over and over again. Mouthing around the syllables, tasting them on her tongue just so she remembered. Just in case. They’d scrubbed out the Yiddish with lye soap, the language of her mother, but her own name she’d keep.)  

     The next bit of what the headmaster said sounded off to Eleanor’s ears: a record scratch, a jerk of a needle. Nothing but a string of words. And now her eyes were on this stranger.  

     Even sitting, he seemed towering to Eleanor, a looming presence—a well-built man going soft in the middle. He looked like he could snap Eleanor’s wrist with the press of his pointer finger and thumb, but when she risked a glance at his face, swiveling her neck very covertly, his face was made up of long lashes and crinkles at the corners of his hazel eyes. On his head was a shock of red hair, left wavy rather than gelled back slick and going strawberry blond at the temples. His cheeks were peppered in white-as-snow stubble. This man could’ve been ancient as time itself or, maybe, thirty-five—Eleanor didn’t know.  

     But what caught her attention most was that word the headmaster said—that word. Uncle. Your uncle. This strange man with too-expensive clothes and a floral lapel pin, this was her family, her kin. Eleanor spun on her heel, away from Grafton and towards this new man, this silent man whose brown leather loafers must have cost more than her entire wardrobe.  

     “You’re Ma’s brother?” she asked, unable to believe it. Even through the blurred memory of her five-year-old self’s eyes, her mother had been a woman made up of dark colors, brunette curls near black and skin that tanned brown in the sun. This man was all light, all pale gold. But it was the only explanation that made any sense. 

     She’d seen a photo of her grandparents once, obviously red-haired despite the black-and-white, and thought maybe that explained it. Though they had possessed much darker complexions.  

     Her uncle—her uncle—blinked. “No,” he said, short and to-the-point but not cruel, and his voice was feather-soft. There was an odd lilt to his voice she’d never heard, a funny way he spoke his vowels. “Your father’s brother, actually. Will Connolly.”  

     An Irish last-name if she’d ever heard one.  

     Eleanor stared at Mr. Connolly. “My mother was a whore,” she said, tone gone flat between grit teeth. Grafton hissed. Sister Sarah snapped out a sharp “Anne!”, but that wasn’t Eleanor’s name, so she didn’t respond. On the fine-boned features of her so-called uncle’s face, she looked for any traces of shock. There were none. Not even a furrow of his faintly-lined forehead. “How d’ya know I’m his?”  

     Mr. Connolly only smiled. “You may not see it, but we look a lot alike, you and I. I haven’t a doubt.” She opened her mouth, shut it again. She couldn’t find the words. “He passed, unfortunately. Last summer. But he wanted to know you. Make things right.” At some point, Grafton opened his big mouth again, and some sort of grown-up talk ensued, but Eleanor couldn’t get herself to focus, couldn’t rip her eyes from this stranger’s face.  

     She tried to be sad—hearing that this man, her father, was dead.  

     But her head was stuffed with cotton; her very system gone numb.  

     In a flash, the headmaster’s hand white-knuckled her shoulder, his form too hot along her back, and Eleanor went very still. Felt her limbs lock into place. Her heart stuttered. “Be good, dear,” the man said, and his tone was saccharine, sticky sweet as a bubblegum cigarette. She didn’t answer, didn’t breathe, and in a moment, she heard the click of Mrs. Lynch’s sensible shoes before the door shut behind them both with a heavy thud. Eleanor’s eyes flinched closed.  

     After a breath, or two, and a silence so heavy it weighed down her shoulders, she sat in a recliner across from Mr. Connolly, crossing her legs at the ankle as she slumped into the velvet material. She could be a lady when she wanted to be. But one foot couldn’t stop tapping against the carpet. The one with the bare toe. Eleanor took in a deep breath. “It’s lavender, isn’t it?” she asked, abrupt, and he arched a brow at her, leaning forward, hands propped up on his thighs and elbows bent. “That pin.” She gestured with the jerk of her chin.  

     He laughed. It was a low sound, rumbling deep within his chest. Warm. “Keen eye. Aye, it is.” The tied sprigs of lavender were delicate for such a large man, the feathery fronds rendered in silver, and the whole pin perhaps smaller than the stretch of his thumb. It really was beautiful—she wanted to sketch it with the charcoal pencils hidden beneath her mattress. “It was me mother’s.” 

     Even more embarrassing, she wanted to hear that laugh again. He hadn’t been laughing at her. It hadn’t seemed unkind at all. 

     But when she looked up from a scab at her knee, she saw his expression didn’t look like he wanted to laugh much anymore. His own gaze was glued at a spot by her right wrist, and for the first time, the man that was probably her uncle looked rattled. His jaw clenched. His eyes perhaps a bit wide, blue and brown and green. There was a flush to the tops of his cheekbones that hadn’t been there before.  

     She took a quick glance down, then darted back up to stare at him again. Her sleeve had ridden up.  

     Eleanor bit at her lip. He saw. It didn’t matter. It didn’t.  

     (“Little pig,” one of the girls said, almost loving, almost fond as she held her down into the dirt and muck of the backyard, and another pressed the glowing eye of her cigarette into the skin of her forearm. This girl’s hair was in pretty blonde braids, frizzed in the summer humidity, and her grip was tight on her wrist. The cigarette steady between her fingers. The flesh sizzled and sizzled while she held it there, and Eleanor thought of the mud caking the back of her hair and of the blue of the sky and of how much she didn’t want to cry. While they laughed and laughed and laughed.   

     But, no, it didn’t matter now. It didn’t.)  

     Eleanor tugged down her sleeve without looking away. The thin, healed skin of those circular burns disappeared behind the stained cuff of her dress shirt. Say something, she thought her eyes might have said when they locked with his, and her skin felt like it was burning all over again, hot and too tight. I dare you. Mr. Connoly’s lips pursed. Then he opened his mouth.  

     “Anne,” he started. And didn’t seem capable of saying anything more.  

     If she squinted, he really did look like her a little—in the straight arch of his brow, the curve of his top lip. The own red of her hair. The freckles across his nose bridge were fainter than her own, but the shape of the nose itself was the same. A fair counterimage, masculine where she was either soft or gaunt. “It’s Eleanor,” she said after a beat, and her voice sounded strange to her own ears, like from somewhere far away. She flexed her toes against the carpet. Knew there was no place to hide. She’d corrected him—this stranger that wanted to take her across the sea, this man who, from the sound of it, wanted to bring her home with him. 

     To her eyes, the hands resting on his pressed trousers seemed the size of boxing gloves.  

     Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, got stuck in her throat. She swallowed around it. But all Mr. Connolly did was cock his head, just so.  

     “Eleanor?” he asked, and his tone was mild as milk.  

     “My name,” she explained.  

     He sounded puzzled. “But they call you Anne?”  

     Eleanor shrugged, picked at a run in her hose. “Because it’s my middle name,” she said. Because they’re bastards, she thought. “But I wanna be called Eleanor if I’m comin’ home with you,” she told him, pushing onward. Maybe she was imagining it, but she thought the corner of his mouth quirked, just a little. “Not Ella or Ellie or anythin' like that.” She paused. “Please.” 

     And the stranger that was her uncle smiled, wider than before. “Call me Samuel, then.” And he reached out to offer his hand to shake. She leaned forward to take it. “Eleanor.” 

                                            ❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

     After a month at Sam’s home—what the few staff there dubbed Narrow House due to its long and low layout—Eleanor made her first grave mistake.  

     Narrow House was the most strange and most fantastical place Eleanor had ever stepped foot upon. While it was in Chelsea, London, a place with a good bit of bustle from the glimpses she’d catch outside the car window, the sycamore trees that sat shoulder-to-shoulder at the front of the house cut off the outside world, blanketing the whole place in shade. It felt like a place for the fae. Not for man. The first two weeks of near silence she experienced, only disrupted by the rustle of leaves and the static hiss of cicadas, had left her jumping at every sound at night, curled up on top of her covers and hiding her face in her knees. Waiting for the monsters to come.  

     There weren’t any, of course. She should’ve known better—she wasn’t a kid, anymore.  

     Or maybe they were very shy monsters. Either way.  

     Truthfully, Eleanor couldn’t recall her reaction towards the place when she first stepped into the house, just the feeling of Sam’s hand settled feather-light between her shoulder blades. The way her eyes were welcomed by warm hues of gold and cream and deep red. A few leafy plants draped over a table just at the entryway; senses itching, she wanted to touch the waxy film of the heart-shaped leaves but flexed her fingers instead. There’d been a similar plant on Sister Agnes’ desk; it had always looked so parched.  

     (By the time she hit ten years old, she’d mastered the art of tip-toeing on her stockinged feet, having learned which floorboard squeaked, which route ensured the most carpet coverage. There was a single board in the main lobby that shrieked a blood-curdling sound if you hit it with your big toe just so—she’d learned that the hard way.   

     At night, when all the other girls were pretending to sleep, too afraid of a lashing to even breathe out-of-turn, Eleanor would go to Sister Agnes’ desk with her cup of water, steps hidden amongst the cacophony of gasps. Walking in wide sweeps over the creaks and sighs and moans of the wood and never spilling a drop.  

     The nun called its sudden revival an act of God. Maybe it was cruel, but she let it die after that.)  

     The entryway was dotted with chairs stacked high with pillows and throws, and through the open doorway to her left, she caught a flash of what could have only been a chandelier, though she’d never seen one outside of a magazine, all delicate cut crystal spiraling down, hung over a long and dark dining table that seemed to stretch into infinity. 

     Before she could absorb any of it, however, an electric jolt of fear overcame her, stole the breath from her lungs. A giant mass of dark fur appeared from another room, launching itself in her direction. Eleanor went rigid.  

     Trapped between her uncle’s hand and this eldritch horror, there was nowhere to turn.  

     “Sweet-Pea,” Sam said in a stern voice she’d yet to have heard from him, one that came from somewhere deep in his chest, and she flinched so hard she thought her bones must’ve ground together.  

     But he needn’t have used it, because the shadowy figure had already sat back on its hind legs right at her feet without any prompting, slobbering globs of drool onto her patent leather shoes and looking up at her with big, patient eyes. Its tail beat against the ground.  

     “Hi, Sweet-Pea,” she said, faint. The big dog near came up to her chin. She had to yank back her own hands when they automatically reached out to pet it—its coat looked so thick she thought that once she buried her fingers into the coarse curls, they’d be done for. They’d sink so far in they’d never come out again.  

      “He’s still a puppy,” Sam said, sounding apologetic. Tall and skinny with paws too big for his stick-thin limbs, and no longer a blurred-out nightmare created by his quick scamper towards her, the only thing frightening about Sweet Pea was his magnificent height. His teeth were exposed in a doggy grin, tongue lolling as he panted. “He gets excited.” His hand moved from her back to her shoulder, giving an awkward two pats that made Eleanor go even more still. He dropped his hand fast. The next words came out soft, a gentle nudge, “You can pet him if you want.”  

     And so, she had, resting a tentative hand on his head. His fur wasn’t very soft, she found out, but the feeling of his head butting against her stomach for more attention made a smile bloom on her face before she could bite it back.  

     Later that day, she’d met the rest of Sam’s pack. Besides Sweet-Pea, his Irish Wolfhound, there was Fennel, a Spinone Italiano; Ginger, a Border Terrier; Lady Susan, a Scottish Terrier; Cricket, a Rough Collie, and Billie, an English Water Spaniel. Though she’d asked after the breeds—more to be polite than anything, because men always seemed to get so worked up over their dog breeds, or at least the headmaster had—all the names spun around in her head, muddled and mixed. Though, Billie’s name was impossible to forget from the start: the stout pup with his chocolate fur was as round and fat as a sausage link, and as soon as she’d offered the little guy a treat, he’d nipped it out of her hand and rolled over for a belly rub.  

     Very quietly, she’d whispered an “I love you”  to her new friend—because how could she not?—and she’d ducked her head at her uncle’s chuckle.  

     It was still a really nice laugh.  

     They’d spent a good twenty minutes where Sam would drop treats into her palm to bribe the dogs with, showing her how to make them roll over and sit, to beg with their paws up and to run circles and other tricks. Eleanor learned a lot in that short time. That Lady Susan had a very imperial look to her whenever she demanded treats, arching her head and narrowing her eyes as if to say: “Well? ”. That Fennel had a love for licking between toes, as she’d left her shoes at the door. That Cricket’s fur felt like a cloud. By the time they were done, her clothes were littered with dog fur, white and brown and black stuck to the grey of her dress.  

     Her uncle had also promised a tour and an introduction to some of the staff, but one look at the overwhelmed expression on her face once they’d hit the sitting room, full of ceiling-high bookcases and couches that could seat a small army, and he offered to show her to her room instead. Her head still spinning over the fireplace as he guided her up the stairs. He left the door cracked open before he left.  

     “Come get me if you need me, yeah? I’m just across the hall,” he’d said, and she’d nodded like she’d meant it. He didn’t look convinced. “Bathroom’s the door next to this one,” he told her, a wrinkle to his brow, and was gone with the pad of footsteps on hardwood. 

     That night, she’d slept on top of the covers of a bed that could’ve housed four or five of her fellow orphans. Afraid to disturb that array of artful pillows at the top of the bed, she curled up at the bottom in a tight ball. Velvet and silk and in colors she’d never thought she’d be able to touch with her own hands. She still wasn’t sure she could. 

     The summer night meant it wasn’t even that cold.  

     That night, Billie hopped up onto her bed while she laid with her eyes wide open, listening to the wind whistling through the trees, feeling ungrateful and homesick and wanting the midnight roar of Brooklyn’s streets. Wanting her mother. He’d pressed his wet nose against her cheek, and she’d cried into the soft, downy fur of his chest until her eyes grew so puffy, she had no choice but to close her eyes and sleep. Eleanor was only glad that Sam couldn’t hear her. She’d mastered a silent cry years ago. It had taken a while, but she’d learned.  

     (You see, the headmaster liked to watch. Until it got boring. He’d bring the nuns in to witness. Maybe he spoke—she wasn’t sure. Her knees dug into the carpet; she could feel the indents form on the scraped-up skin there, red and raw and irritated. Bits of fluff sticking to half-formed scabs, still gooey with tacked-up blood. And the belt buckle clinked with every swing. It made more noise than her. One day, she promised herself, she wouldn’t even cry at all. The headmaster liked to watch, so she bit at the inside of her cheek until she bled, until salt and snot ran down her chin and dripped onto that hideous fucking carpet, the color of blackberry wine. Until it got boring.)  

     But it was different now, weeks later. Eleanor had learned the layout of the place, the few staff that her uncle kept around the house. And she knew his habits—what he liked. What he expected from her. As long as she was good, he’d keep her around, and maybe he’d even end up liking her a little bit.  

     She’d done so well until now.  

     It’d began over breakfast, a butter knife dripping marmalade hovering over her burnt toast as her uncle set down the newspaper in a rustle of pages, peering down at her through the thin frames of his spectacles. There was a sense of finality in her uncle’s expression that made her mouth go dry. A scraping sound reverberated throughout the kitchen, knife on toast.  

     Eleanor didn’t feel so hungry anymore.  

     It was a shame, too—she'd only just started allowing herself these bits of extra luxuries. Climbing under the covers at night. Picking a mint leaf off the plant in their windowsill to taste. Taking the dogs on a walk without asking for permission. Drawing a bath instead of washing up with the sink and a rag. Running her fingers along the spines of Sam’s books, instead of just using her eyes.  

     Marmalade. She liked it when the bits of rind stuck to her teeth, chewy and sweet. 

     “I think it’s time we get you a new wardrobe,” Sam said, and she felt dread wash over her, settle into the chinks of her armor. She knew what that meant; she knew what he was going to say. “I called the family seamstress”—and who the fuck has a family seamstress, anyhow?—“and she agreed to come over today to get your measurements.”  

     Eleanor opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “You don’t need to do that. My clothes are fine,” she said, voice low, and hoped the defensive bite in her words was heard only by her. No such luck. By the wrinkle that formed at Sam’s brow, that wasn’t the case; if her tone hadn’t alerted him, the way her hand shook the triangle of toast in her grasp was clue enough. The toe peeking out of her stocking met the hardwood of the floor as her whole foot began to tap against the surface in a full-blown jitter. 

     Sam seemed to piece together his words very carefully. “Eleanor,” he began, and Eleanor’s knees were shaking so bad she feared rattling the table with the force of it. When he got serious, his speech went much more formal. “I am your guardian. I know... you feel as though you don’t need new things. And I’ve held off for all these weeks. But being as I am in a place to provide you all the luxuries in life, I feel as though getting you clothes that do not have holes in them—and aren’t several sizes too small, at that, clothes that  actually fit —is more than reasonable.” This had to be the most she’d ever heard him speak in one sitting. His eyes were roving her face, but her face was already directed towards the poached egg on her plate, not him. “D’ you understand?” 

     Eleanor nodded. Her cheeks blazed. 

     Sam let out a breath she hadn’t realized he’d been holding in the first place. “Alright then,” he said around a sigh. Like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders after her compliance. Like her opinion had mattered to him. “Good. Mrs. Davies’ll be here at two. Eat your breakfast now, eh?” There was a smile in his voice when he said it, but she scrambled to shovel in the remains of her breakfast anyhow, gulping orange juice and scraping the runny yolk off her plate with the crust of her bread. Smearing marmalade across her face in her gusto. He didn’t say it like an order. But just in case. Her stomach churned.  

     Orange peel was still stuck in her teeth when the sun hit her face, fifteen minutes later. 

     It was always coolest out in the early mornings, so that’s when Sam (and now her, it seemed) did the garden work. This was his normal morning routine, he’d explained to her, until the winter frost made it near impossible to go out until midafternoon when the sun was at its height. The mist felt like a balm to her frayed nerves, brushing against her skin; the morning dew coated her shoes in a gloss. Taller blades of grass left wet trails on the stretch of tights over her ankles.  

     Autumn was just beginning to touch the trees, glimpses of ochre and pinpricks of cherry red among all the green like a child’s finger-painting. The white stone pathway was framed by heather growing taller by the day, sprigs of pinkish-purple, or lilac, that tickled the pads of her fingertips when she brushed through them. Though, she and Sam kept having to replace their mulch whenever the dogs dug it up. Said path led to a man-made pond stocked with fat, happy koi; they nibbled at her fingers for food when she stroked her hands through the water. She wasn’t sure how long she spent knelt by the pond in the first few weeks, just watching it ripple under her hands, disrupting lily pads that were sent bouncing on the waves 

     Sam had cut her some of the heather to hang upside down in her closet, bundled up with dental floss and left in the dark on a clothing hanger to dry out. It didn’t have much of a scent, but its color had made her eyes sparkle at the very first sight of it. She couldn’t wait to hang it in her room; maybe on one of her bedposts, if it didn’t shed too much.  

     Besides helping with maintaining the heather, she also pruned the asters planted in clusters out in the sunlight, placed close to the patio furniture. She liked the touches of yellow and purple at their centers best. “You could press one, if you like,” Sam told her one day in early September when they’d just began to bloom. She hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away. “I could buy you a book for it. You could collect any you want.”  

      Eleanor hadn’t responded, wondering if it was a test—ribbing her, attempting to trip her up into asking for too much—but she hadn’t needed to speak a word. Her uncle plucked a flower from its stem, bright white against the tanned calluses of his hands, and held it out towards her until she offered up cupped palms for him to drop the bud into. It landed center face down.  

     “I’ll get you one,” he had said as if that transaction settled it, simple as that, and now, weeks later, a leather-bound journal rested on her bedside table. Parchment paper was tucked away in one of the drawers, though she wasn’t allowed to touch the iron without permission.  

     This rankled at her, sometimes. She’d worked as a seamstress’ assistant, for God’s sake, but Sam insisted, and Eleanor didn’t dare protest. In any case... It felt. Nice. To be worried over. 

     Among Sam’s backyard and dedicated garden, there were countless other flowers Eleanor had gotten acquainted with, though their names she had yet to quite master. White and pink autumn crocuses, she could identify without a pause or hint of self-doubt, but the miniature yellow blooms with their outreaching pistils she could not, for the life of her, recall any details of. Just that they liked hugging warm walls in the winter, shielded from the biting cold.  

     Currently, Sam was ruining the fine wool fabric of his trousers, knees sinking into the damp earth, checking on his radishes with careful touches. He patted the spot at his side. Eleanor rushed to kneel. His smile was a small one; she was graced with no baring of teeth. No threat. Not bite. Just a smile. He offered up the bag of mulch at his other side. “They’re not retaining moisture,” he explained, in that voice he often used when instructing her in any way, patient and steady with little variation in tone. No abrupt rises in volume that made her skin prickle with nerves. “Mulch will help with that. But we’ve gotta keep it a real thin layer, y’ see, like this.”  

     Eleanor heaved in a breath and let it escape in a little puff of air. “Why thin?” she asked, tentative, and watched her uncle’s eyes light up. 

     “Good question,” he praised, and Eleanor felt her ears burn, felt her cheeks pull with a reluctant grin. Sam grinned right back. “If you’ve got too thick a layer, it’ll keep any water from getting in, from reaching the roots. Ruin all your progress then, won’t it?”  

     The rest of the morning passed in this manner, checking all the plants, watering and pruning and patching up holes in the mulch from overzealous paws, before the housekeeper, Ms. Catherine Moore, let out the dogs at 11 AM sharp, a pitcher of what looked to be lemonade in hand. Eleanor inwardly cheered: lemonade was her favorite. The dogs chased each other throughout the garden, nipping at their siblings’ tails and rolling in the dirt. From where Eleanor now rested, sweat beading her brow as she took cover beneath the picnic table’s umbrella, Cricket trotted over, resting her head on her grass-stained knee with a flick of her mane and a small yip escaping her mouth. Eleanor dug her hand into the scruff of Cricket’s neck, offering a scratch—that fur was still cloud-soft.  

     From the corner of her eye, Eleanor watched Ginger, unkempt and often indifferent towards the other dogs, make straight away for Sam. He was lounging in a chair opposite to her, nursing a cigarette; the strands of his hair unshaded by the umbrella lit up a striking red-gold, like fire woven into thread. Her hair never looked so brilliant. “Little monster,” he greeted with a smile, inviting the dog onto his lap for pats. “I know it was you, digging up the mulch. Menace that you are.”  

     Ms. Moore reached them then, pitcher clutched in one plump fist close to her chest and two glasses pinched between the fingers of her other hand. The ice rattled within its glass container, sloshing the juice near over the brim and swirling the ladle in the pitcher ‘round and ‘round. Up close, Eleanor saw bits of fruit suspended within, sliced strawberries and what looked like quartered peaches, dying the drink more orange-pink than yellow where they settled at the bottom.  

     The pitcher, then the two glasses, were set against the patio table, cushioned with a pinky. Ms. Moore was a woman even older than her uncle, perhaps sixty years old, with a crinkle-eyed smile that she shot at Eleanor right now, head ducked under the umbrella to escape the sun. She pulled from a pocket in her apron two straws.  

     Eleanor took one when it was offered to her and watched with eager eyes when Ms. Moore began filling up a glass, holding the ladle still to avoid spillage; the housekeeper then used said ladle to spoon out several more pieces of fruit, slipping them into the glass with barely a splash. “Here you are, Miss Eleanor. You look parched.” She clucked her tongue, and the fine wrinkles around her mouth creased deeper. “Samuel, now y’ know I told you to get that girl a hat, didn’t I? She’s goin’ t’ burn right up at this rate.” 

     She’d never heard anyone else ever call her uncle Samuel, but being as Ms. Moore had worked for the family since Sam was in diapers, Eleanor imagined she was the exception. 

     In any case, Eleanor didn’t think she’d burned in her whole life, spending hours beneath the rays of the summer sun, skin growing darker and darker still. New freckles peppering her skin. But it was sweet—that she cared at all. She hid a smile behind the brim of her glass.  

     The few hours left until the arrival of the seamstress blurred by, her nose buried in a book that Sam recommended for her, a collection of short stories. Her fingers were coated in remnants of juice, having reached into the glass to pull out chunks of peaches, syrupy and dripping. They stuck against the pages if she lingered too long. She was more than halfway through “The Yellow Wallpaper,” wondering at what that smooch must’ve been that the protagonist was seeing, wrapping about her room and marring the paper that was driving her so mad, when Ms. Moore came back again, an odd look in her eyes when she peered over at Eleanor, squinting in the sun. Sam looked tense. His eyes flickered to Eleanor. 

     “Mrs. Davies is here, Samuel, in the parlor.”  

     And oh. She’d forgotten. She’d forgotten all about the seamstress. 

     This was where she mucked it all up.  

     A subtle shiver taking over her fingers, she tucked her book beneath her armpit before wiping imaginary crumbs off her skirt. Eleanor took a very deep breath, one that rattled in her chest. Mustering up a smile for Sam, one that felt like an open wound stretched across her face, she sat up. Her chair pulled up hunks of grass as she pushed it back. “You don’t need to come,” she said, tried to mean it.  

     Sam just shook his head. “It’d be rude of me, not welcoming a guest. And Mrs. Davies is an old friend of me mother’s, besides.” 

     Mrs. Davies was a small and squat woman in her late fifties, shorter even than Eleanor, who stood just a few inches below five feet at thirteen. Her cheeks were round and pink, her hair a dark blond. Barely greying. Her skin looked almost leathery, and those round cheeks pushed her eyes shut with the force of her smile. All smile lines. 

     “Oh,” she gasped, as loud as a gunshot even across the room, and only the pressure of Sam’s hand at her back prevented her from flinching back and away. Her voice was fairy-soft, airy and light. Like it could just float away with the wind. “She looks just like Winnie! Your mother had the same nose. And her hair, Samuel,”—yet again, with the Samuel, was that an old lady thing?—“such a lovely shade of red, it is.” That bright smile was spun her way. Sam slowly inched her forward, bit by bit by bit, until she was a mere handshake away from the older woman. “We’re going to have such fun together, dear. Every girl deserves pretty clothes.”  

     Eleanor didn’t know what she deserved, but it didn’t feel like this, trapped in the too-hot room of her uncle’s parlor, baking from the heat radiating off the fire-place. Those red bricks of the mantle, she knew, would be warm to the touch. Trapped in this room, to be poked and prodded. Left exposed. Don’t be so dramatic, she scolded herself.  

     This is what her uncle wanted.  

     And shirts that fit would sure be nice. No snags. No missing buttons. 

     Her uncle’s hand was heavy on her shoulder, this barely-there pat; she was ready for it. Didn’t flinch. There was a smidge of satisfaction burning away in her chest at that. “I’ll be just outside, then. Put on the kettle,” Sam said as if trying to reassure her, and he held out a hand for her to place her book into. With one last pat, a little stronger this time, he was gone with the click of the door behind him. Instead of looking at Mrs. Davies, she traced with her eyes all the titles on the bookshelf behind her instead.  

     She didn’t seem to mind. Out of the corner of her eye, Eleanor noticed the length of measuring tape curled around one wrist. “Alright, sweetheart, we’ll get into all that you’re lookin’ for—oh, I can just imagine you in dark green, you’d look so sweet, or some rose. So precious! But first, I really do need your measurements.” She beckoned Eleanor closer still, to where she was standing in the middle of the carpet, her little brown heels set against the cream with its deep red patterns, vines and roses twined into diamond-esque shapes. Eleanor tried not to drag her feet.  

     She was right in front of Mrs. Davies, now. “Thank you, ma’am, for agreeing to do this,” Eleanor said, because she could be a polite little girl if people let her be.  

     Mrs. Davies cooed. “Marge is perfectly fine, dear.” 

     “Thank you, Marge.”  

     Marge stroked her hands up and down Eleanor’s arms from shoulder to elbow, like soothing a startled animal, and Eleanor felt her whole body lock up in reply. “Alrighty now,” she said, and her voice really was just like a fairy, “let’s get to it.” Eleanor tried relaxing at the sweet sound of it, uncoiling her tense muscles bit-by-bit, starting with her toes and finishing with her shoulders. Best to start small and build up. Marge kept pushing onward. Hands still on Eleanor’s arms. “Take off your clothes for me, Eleanor dear.” 

     Static.  

     “’M sorry?” Eleanor asked, and her voice was not her own, something stretched thin and alien. The hands were gone, now, and Marge was unrolling that measuring tape from around her wrist. For a moment, Eleanor just counted how many times it unwound: one, two, three, four, five... Quick, practiced jerks that she missed if she blinked too slow. Six, or seven?  

     “Well, I’ve got to measure you, don’t I? And all that extra cloth gets in the way. We want these to fit you nice, with just a bit of growing room.” Marge went on to mumble something about “Samuel needing to fatten her up, just look at those boney arms,” but Eleanor’s ears were roaring, louder and louder and louder. She couldn’t hear a thing.  

     She couldn’t think; she couldn’t think; she couldn’t think— 

     Eleanor must’ve said, “Okay,” must’ve agreed, because her hands were moving on their own accord, reaching up to undo the first button of her blouse without needing any guidance from her mind at all. But they shook so bad, these tremors that jerked at her fingers and strained her knuckles, that she couldn’t get the button free from the loop. Her breath rasped in her throat, coming quicker and quicker: it was like breathing through a straw. She squeezed her eyes shut. It was just a fucking button, just a fucking button.  

     (Whenever Grafton got irritated, truly irritated, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. This awful, wet sound. He did that now. Eleanor kept her eyes on the carpet, traced the pattern there with her eyes over and over again. Counted how many loops there were in a sequence. Sixteen. It was an ugly fucking carpet, she thought. She thought that every time. “Shirt. Off,” he said after he was done clicking, and she undid her buttons one-by-one. She did not raise her eyes to the belt. But still, her chest tightened with the anticipation of it, the slap against bare skin, and she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe.) 

     She couldn’t breathe. 

     If she saw the scars—if she told Sam, he wouldn’t want her anymore. Just seeing the burns trailing up her arms made his jaw flex, made his eyes go all dark and wet. She’d saw. It’d upset him. He wouldn’t want her. Eleanor gasped for air, moved her hand up to her throat like she could somehow coax out the breaths trapped within in. She couldn’t breathe. 

      There was a concerned sound, this slight lilt of a question being asked. A shuffle. A brush of air. And then, there were hands on her arms again.  

     Eleanor flinched so hard she swore it must’ve wrenched her shoulder out of socket. 

     The hands left, but it didn’t matter. Eleanor sank to the floor, knees-to-chest, and clapped her hands over her head. Watched the world fall in a blur of colors, even behind closed lids. Like a flicker of flame, red and orange and terracotta. “Samuel,” and this she did hear, high-pitched and hysterical, sounding far off even though it must’ve been shouted right in front of her. Must’ve been screamed to be heard through the water and sludge, the mud that clogged her ears, her throat. “ Sam! ” 

     There was a bang. The rattling of hinges. “Fuck,” a man’s voice said, and Eleanor thought she must’ve recognized it. Curled up as she was, all the soft parts tucked away, it was easier to focus, a little. “Get out, Marge. Go,” and there was an unsteady pause, “go and turn off the stove, please.”  

     In response, there was a click of the door shutting once more. And footsteps, sharp and clear before becoming muffled by the carpet, sounding off closer and closer. It was followed by the creaking of old knees. She smelled Sam’s cologne, woodsy and a little sweet. Like vanilla and cedar. But it was so safe, curled up in the dark of her knees, so she just tightened her hands over her head.  

     A sigh, soft but close enough that it ruffled her hair. “Eleanor,” Sam said. “Eleanor, love, what’s wrong?” She’d never been called love before.  

     “Please don’t be mad,” she whispered into the skin of her knees.  

     “What? ” 

     “Please don’t be mad,” Eleanor gasped, ragged enough that it scraped, and felt the tears welling up in her throat. Salty, like sweat and blood and other unpleasant things. She swallowed them down. “I’m sorry. I tried to be good. I’m sorry—I’m sorry.” 

     “Eleanor, no, no.” 

     “I’m so sorry. I-I, I—” She choked on her own breath, coughing and sputtering.  

     “Hey, hey,” he shushed, and she could hear the fluttering of his clothes, the shifting fabric of the light cardigan he wore. “Just look at me, okay, love? Please just look at me.”  

     Her arms ached, and her head pounded from the stress of holding back tears with nothing but a fraying strength of will. She let her hands fall from where they, without her knowledge, hand become entangled in her hair. Her scalp stung. “There we go now,” Sam said when she peeked out from behind her knees, raising her head to meet wide, concerned hazel eyes. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow. “There’s my niece.” Eleanor shook her head, though at what she didn’t know, coughing again when she tried breathing in. 

     “Whoa there. Just breathe with me, okay?” And Sam took in a deep breath, holding it in before letting it out again. Eleanor found her attention hyper-focused on the rise-and-fall of his chest. “In through the nose,” he said, “and now out through the mouth.”  

     She wheezed on the first exhale, but by the third, it didn’t hurt much anymore. Sam looked almost boneless with relief. Eleanor stared down at her knees, felt her bottom lip begin wobbling. A damning tell she couldn’t shake.  

     “Eleanor,” he breathed out, sounding like a deflating balloon, and her eyes shot up to look at him again. She would never get sick of hearing her name; she wondered if that was why he said it so often. “Eleanor, you don’t have to be sorry, okay? Not at all.” 

     Eleanor shook her head, violent enough that her curls went flying. She had to clear her throat to speak, and her voice came out hoarse. “But I think I upset Mrs. Marge.” That damn fucking lip wobble again—it made her feel five-years-old; it made her feel small. “I was bad.”  

     Seemingly speechless, Sam stared at her, knees on the carpet and hands limp at his sides. He was making that expression she’d feared before, where his eyes went all dewy, and he looked, for all the world, like she’d socked him in the jaw. Wounded. One of his hands, massive enough that it could wrap around her wrist two, three times, reached out. Up towards her face. Eleanor flinched her eyes closed. He sucked in an audible breath.  

     This was it. This was it.  

     But Sam just placed a hand on her cheek, cupped her jaw. His palm was softer than she thought it’d be, even with the callouses. It made Eleanor feel strange. Warm. If she pressed in closer, she worried the touch might burn her. 

       (“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, young lady,” Grafton said, and his fingers had a tight grip on her jaw. She looked. She thought his eyes were very grey, and she didn’t want to think about what else she thought.   

     Later, when she was in an empty lavatory, scrubbing at the crescent moons on her palms with soap that stung, she thought back to that moment, when his hands were on her chin, thumb and forefinger pinching the skin there. His nailbeds were well-maintained. Clean, pushed-back cuticles. Her mother had always taken good care of her nails. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, young lady,” he’d said, and she had thought his eyes were very grey. She had thought that if he moved those fingers any higher, she’d bite them clean off, bite through blood and bone.  She wondered if she’d done it, if she’d be picking his veins out from between her teeth right about now.   

     Eleanor ended up throwing up in the sink. God, hopefully, no one heard.)  

     “Eleanor,” her uncle said, like trying to call to her from underwater, and she blinked. Couldn’t remember where she’d gone. “Eleanor, I’m never going to hit you. Not ever, y’ hear me?” 

     And Eleanor said back, instant, “I hear you.” It was what she was supposed to say.  

     Sam’s brows furrowed. “No,” he insisted. Brushed a curl from her eyes with a finger. It had a half-healed cut from what looked like garden shears. “I feel like you aren’t understanding me. Even if you think you’re bad—and you’re not, Eleanor, you’re not. But even if you ever are, I will never hit you. Do you hear me?” 

     “I hear you,” she said, and she almost believed it, too.  

     Later, she told Marge that she’d like a green dress, maybe, if that was alright. And that she enjoyed mother-of-pearl buttons. Marge said she could have whatever she liked. She got measured in her shift, and Sam lounged on one of the couches, reading from a large tome with deckled edges. And it was alright. It was all alright.  

                                             ❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

     She wore that green dress when she met her father’s wife for the first time with her two children—her half-siblings, she couldn’t comprehend it—in tow. Whenever Eleanor felt her nerves start to rise, her palms start to itch, she’d trace the daisies Mrs. Marge had embroidered on the sleeves and breathe a little deeper, a little steadier.  

     When Sam had come to her, hands wringing nervously in the doorway of her bedroom, she hadn’t known what to think. Learning that her father had been married when he was with her mother... Well, that hadn’t been a shock. Married men had laid with her mother all the time; she may have been only six years old when she’d been taken to the orphanage, but she hadn’t been stupid. Or blind. She knew the look of a wedding ring, even if her mother had never worn one herself.  

     Learning that Sam wanted her to meet her late father’s family, his wife and his children... That had given her pause. Eleanor had stared at him, aghast, mouth agape; her attention entirely torn away from the journal in her lap. Her pen, still pressed deep into the paper, left a spreading stain over the dot of one of the i's, a black cloud of ink. She’d been practicing her cursive, the careful loops of it—Sam was in the process of picking out tutors for her, and she’d sworn to whatever higher power there was out there that she would not be an embarrassment—but how ugly her uppercase S was no longer mattered.  

     “Sam, they’ll hate me,” she’d blurted, digging her fingers into the fabric of her comforter. Sam had looked at her then, the agitated fidgeting of his fingers slowing to an abrupt stop, and he’d strolled over to sit beside her before she could barely blink. 

     “It’s impossible to hate you,” he said, which Eleanor knew to be a lie. “And if they tried, they’d be out of our house, wouldn’t they? Just like that.”  

     And so, here they were.  

     Josie Connolly was a woman who loomed over everyone around her without even trying, easily above six feet in her lace-up boots, and made all the taller with her hair piled high on her head, its color so dark it was near black. Like Grafton, she was thin in that fashionable way, slim wrists encased in lavender gloves and the curve of her cheek both sharp and soft, silk over steel. She peered down her nose at Eleanor from where she stood behind Sam, near hidden in his shadow. Sam stepped forward to take her coat, and never, never had Eleanor felt so exposed from one pair of grey eyes, so stripped down and flayed. Which was saying something. “She looks more like you than Will,” was the first thing past her lips, the slim line of her eyebrow raised in some sort of amusement gone sour.  

     To be fair, Eleanor thought, being faced with your dead husband’s infidelity would make anyone bitter.   

     Her uncle’s smile was a brittle thing. “Josie, good to see you. As always. Hello, Junior. Hello, Lottie. Merry Christmas.”  

     That’d been another thing Sam had fretted over—whether a Christmas dinner would insult her Jewish sensibilities. Like she hadn’t grown up in a Roman Catholic orphanage. Or, perhaps, she noted, an amused curl to her mouth, that was why he asked at all. He always got scowly at the slightest mention of her time there, though he tried his best to hide it.  

     It’d been almost cute, watching him leap up from the edge of her bed to pace the length of her bedroom, flinging his hands about in endless motion, his sleeves rolled up and the freckled skin of his forearms stark against the background of her dark green walls, recently painted. It was one of the first times that Eleanor thought they really looked related, like kin. The way he puffed stray strands of hair out of his eyes, his wrists too busy lolling this way and that. 

     “You’re laughing at me,” he accused, once he’d paused long enough in his rant of telling her, for the fifth or sixth time, that her comfort was paramount, that they could schedule a different date—that'd it’d been Josie’s idea, anyhow, not his own—to actually take a good look in his niece’s direction. He sounded very pleased.  

     “I’m not,” Eleanor protested, but she was still smiling. “Christmas dinner is fine, Sam, honest.” In truth, she’d liked Christmas back at the orphanage, if only because the sisters were nicer that time a year, less likely to strike out with the leather strap. Christmas cheer and all that. Besides, Christmas dinner was almost always more delicious than any other meal of the year, more plentiful: potatoes and chicken, green beans fresh from the market. One year, they’d even got slices of pumpkin pie. Christmas time was very kind to orphans, even Jewish ones.  

     It hadn’t compared to making latkes with her mother for Chanukah—her mother had never allowed her to grate the potatoes, and she remembered, even now, watching with saucer-wide eyes as the pile of shreds grew and grew and grew, a small mountain on their kitchen table. The smell of onions caramelizing in Bubbe’s cast-iron skillet, the promise of them being jammy and sweet, almost buttery on her tongue. The bubbling of the vegetable oil on the stovetop. She’d scoop applesauce onto her mother’s latkes, heaps and heaps of it, until Anne scolded her for the mess. Withholding laughter that glittered behind her eyes. “You can’t fit all that into even your big mouth!” Her fingers had always been so tender, wiping at the applesauce oozing from the sides of her mouth, down her sticky chin, that the memory of it all always made Eleanor want to shut her eyes, to wrap her arms around herself and lean into that great love again, even if only the remnants of it.  

     Not to mention the honey and apples on Rash Hashanah, the perfect treat to her five-year-old eyes and tastebuds. And challah, eggy and so, so sweet: sweet as everything was meant to be in the New Year. The bread perfectly round, braided by her mother’s careful hands. Its top always so crunchy. Her mother hadn’t been a religious woman, not at all, but “Food is the language of love, my sweet, and our family has passed onto us so much of it.” No, Christmas couldn’t compare.  

     But maybe all Christians were kinder on Christmas, even to the bastard children of cheating, bastard husbands too dead to curse their names. The thought perked her up. It felt like a silly hope, but one she was willing to cling to. “Besides,” Eleanor told her uncle, giving him her most nonchalant shrug, like the thought of meeting the family of the man she hadn’t been good enough for didn’t send a chill down her spine, like it was better than fine, “it’s just a dinner.” 

     Just a dinner, indeed.  

     The kids behind Josie were perfect and pretty in the way that made Eleanor’s teeth clench, that made her want to tuck her hands behind her back and scratch at the half-healed scar tissue, scaly and ugly, that stretched across her knuckles. She did not do that.  

     The younger one, Charlotte, shot her (their) uncle a smile—there was a gap where one of her canines should’ve been. She looked like she belonged in a Monet painting, all strawberry blonde hair and soft pastels. Up close, Eleanor noted her eyes were the palest shade of green she'd ever seen. “Merry Christmas, Uncle Sam!” Their chins might’ve been the same, she thought, as she tried not to fidget when those pale, pale eyes fell on her face.  

     William Jr., sixteen, was a carbon copy of his mother, already towering over all of them, even Josie, with skin so light it was translucent. “Merry Christmas.” His voice was nasally from what was probably a cold, if the red tip of his nose was any indicator. He didn’t look at her at all, trained his gaze studiously on Sam, on his mother, on the wall coat rack where he placed his winter jacket. On anything that wasn’t her. It wasn’t subtle.  

     “This is Eleanor,” Sam said—like they couldn’t have known. Abruptly, he was behind her again, his hands curled around her shoulders; his presence warm at her back. It was almost baffling, how quickly Eleanor eased under his touch. Felt some of the tension leach out of her. She’d been grinding her teeth without even noticing it; her gums felt tender. At least I’m doing it with you, she thought. At least it’s you. Josie’s eyes were narrowed in on her. Her own gaze trained on the woodgrain of their floor, Eleanor straightened her spine and choked out some form of a hello, pleased to meet you. And steeled herself for the rest of the day. You’ve got this.  

     There was one thing she could say about the whole affair: dinner, at least, was delicious. Her plate was piled to the point of excess by Sam, slabs of dark turkey meat, stuffing and gravy, roasted potatoes with garlic, cranberry sauce, and some strange pancake-like side called Yorkshire pudding. By the time she was less than a third of the way through her meal, her fork not even scraping the bottom of the plate, her stomach had begun cramping to the point that she felt vaguely ill.  

     Normally, she could get away with feeding scraps to the dogs when this happened, slipping them bits of fat among other treats under the tablecloth while Sam looked the other way, their teeth closing around the food so gentle their canines barely grazed her fingers at all. But Josie didn’t like dogs, apparently, so they were all out playing under the watch of Ms. Catherine. Eleanor longed to join them. She nibbled at a Brussels sprout. 

     The small talk was unbearable.  

     “Have you gotten your invitation yet?” Josie asked her brother-in-law, cutting her potatoes into dainty, bite-sized pieces. Sam arched a brow as if to say: be more specific. She gave a light scoff in reply, popping a morsel into her mouth and chewing carefully, lips pursed, before speaking up again. “Don’t be daft, Sam. You know I mean Leo Amery’s New Year's soirée.”  

     Sam shrugged. He looked elegant in a way that Eleanor could never pull off. “I believe so. To be honest—I didn’t pay much attention.”  

     Charlotte, who had lit up at the mention of the party, made more sprite than girl from the glittering of her eyes, shot an affronted scowl Sam’s way. Her nose crinkled. “You’re so boring, Uncle Sam! It’s going to be perfect this year—Mum promised I could go. The invitation said the theme's A Midsummer Night’s Dream!” It looked, for a moment, like she was about to start waving her hands around, enthusiasm clear in the way she vibrated in her chair, but a cool look from her mother had her settling back down. Her smile shrank. Still, she pushed on, in a much more sedate tone. “Summer in winter. Fairies and magic, isn’t that fun?”  

     “Very fun,” Sam agreed, shooting her a smile, voice kind enough he seemed almost sincere, even to Eleanor’s ears. Charlotte smiled back, but her eyes were on Eleanor now, her head cocked to one side.  

     “Are you going to come, Eleanor?” Maybe she was imagining it, but the younger girl seemed almost pleased at the thought.  

     Josie clapped her hands, a thunderous sound that sent Eleanor into a fit of flinching. “Yes, how about it, Eleanor?” She said her name in this slick, mocking way that made her feel filthy just hearing it.  

     Eleanor exchanged a frantic look with Sam from where he sat at the head of the table. Will Jr., who up to this point had been silent and motionless at her side besides the steady consumption of his plate, turned to look at her with his mother’s grey eyes. Well? he asked. She opened her mouth but couldn’t find the words to speak. She could imagine nothing more hellish, dressed up just to be stripped to the bone by the sharks of London polite society.  

     “Eleanor’s got time,” Sam responded for her, and there was a firmness, a finality, to his reply that had Josie straightening in her seat. It was quite the feat—her posture had already been impeccable. “And if I never had to go to one of those stuffy things again, it’d be eons too soon.” His smile had an edge, and Eleanor hid her own, blotting her mouth with her napkin. “Though, fairies do sound nice, Lottie. You’ll fit right in.” Lottie beamed at him from her place beside her mother.  

     Whatever reply Josie had on the tip of her tongue, it was disrupted by one of the cooks trotting in, a jolly man named Joseph who clutched a large platter in his hands. Following close behind was June, a part-time maid, who darted about the table with whispered apologies as she gathered up plates and used silverware. Eleanor forked over her still overflowing plate with poorly-hidden relief. June stopped just long enough to tut at her, a smile lingering at the corner of her mouth. “You’re too thin by half, miss,” she scolded, quiet enough not to be heard over Lottie, who in a surge of passion, started regaling to Sam her recent sewing project, something about embroidering a landscape into the hem of a dress. If she weren’t her half-sister, only a year out from her father’s death and sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with his widow, Eleanor would want to pick her brain for what exactly that entailed.  

     “I’m saving up for dessert,” Eleanor lied with the bat of her lashes. June just shook her head and moved on to hoist Junior’s empty plates on top of the pile. Meanwhile, Joseph had sat several dishes in the center of their table: a fruitcake, a Yule log, and to Eleanor’s equal amount of dread and delight, what looked like an apple tart.  

     This is the end of me, she thought, eyes wide. “Thank you, Mr. Joe,” she murmured as the man walked past, and he shot her a grin before disappearing through the door with a whirl of his apron. By the time she had looked away from him and back towards the table, Sam had set a sizeable slice of apple tart right in front of her, the filling already oozing onto the plate. She shot him a look of betrayal. The corner of his mouth quirked up, even as his eyes blew wide in mock-innocence.  

     For a blissful moment, there was just the sound of forks hitting ceramic and a pleased hum or two. Even Josie picked through her slice of Yule log with something close to relish, patting away imaginary crumbs or smears of chocolate ganache between bites. It was almost peace, that thrum of tension from the start near silent.  

     Then Junior opened his mouth for perhaps the first time since they sat at the table, head twisted Eleanor’s way. “D’ you even celebrate Christmas, Eleanor?” Silence. He said her name the same way his mother did: like it was something rotten in his mouth. Like it was something to be spat out. Josie’s face peeled back into a smile.  

     It would’ve been beautiful if her eyes weren’t so cold.  

     “Um,” Eleanor stuttered and could’ve heard a pin drop. Charlotte’s head perked up in interest over her tart, and Sam opened his mouth to speak, so she pushed onward. “I did celebrate it. At the orphanage with everyone else, like I’m doin’ with you. But no, um, I don’t personally celebrate Christmas.” She thought it sounded rather diplomatic of her. Sam’s shoulders uncurled, just a little.  

     “Right,” Junior pushed onward, and he leaned into her direction far enough she could almost feel his breath on her face. The high points of his cheeks were very pink. “Because Da didn’t just fuck a whore, he had to fuck a Jew, too.”  

     Eleanor didn’t know what to say to that. It was true. Sam looked like he wanted to spit. “William—” 

     Josie cut in, clearing her throat and scolding, “Now, Junior, language,” but it was the most pleased Eleanor had ever seen her. Lottie looked pale, even paler than usual, slinking back into her seat, sweet tooth forgotten; she looked so much smaller than before, this girl who already had Eleanor beat by a few inches at eleven years old. That thrum rose to a near roar.  

     Sam scraped his fork across his empty plate, a deafening, obvious screech. It cut through the tension like a knife through butter. “I’m getting awful tired, Josie,” he said like there were several things he was getting tired of right about now. But his tone softened, directed towards Charlotte. “My old age must be catching up to me.”  

     Eleanor didn’t look up from the tart, uneaten, on her plate. Josie’s voice grated, smooth and polished as it was. “Well, it’s getting late.” Junior didn’t say anything at all; his eyes were still burning a spot into her cheek.  

     They left with the adjusting of coats and kisses and hugs sent Sam’s way, and only Lottie waving her a goodbye, a simple wiggle of her fingertips before her mother grabbed her wrist and tugged.  The closing of the door sounded like a gun going off. Bang.   

     Staring into the empty space where they once were, Eleanor didn’t really know how to feel, her body slumping into a chair set up against the wall of the wide entryway. She sank, boneless, into the countless throw pillows, covering her eyes with the palm of her hand. Her head pounded. “You didn’t have to make them leave, y’ know. It's okay that they're mad at me.”  

     Sam let out a sigh that was equal parts exasperated and fond. “Eleanor, what did I say when we first discussed them coming over?”  

     I know what you said. Still.  “But they’re your family,” she insisted, pulling back her hand to glare up at him. 

     “So are you.”  

     Sam looked at her, backdropped by the several feet long pastoral painting behind him, and must have seen something in her expression—bewilderment, maybe, or discomfort at that bewilderment—because he let out a great sigh. With a rustle of clothing, he crouched in front of her, his forearms resting against his thighs. The set of his jaw said, look at me. And so, she looked. Really looked. He still had a smile for her, small and warm.  

     “And I like you better,” Sam told her, eye-to-eye with her now, and his words spoken with that sort of earnestness in his voice and demeanor that he always had around her, that made her ache when she lingered on the thought of it too long. Like poking at a still-healing bruise. Eleanor tucked her smile into her hand, but it didn’t matter: he grinned back.  

                                          ❀❀❀❀❀❀❀ 

     The Chelsea Physic Garden glasshouses were some of the most beautiful structures Eleanor had ever seen in her twenty-four years. The long glass panels stretched high above her head, matching on either side and meeting in the middle. Plants bracketed her and Sam, the foliage so thick it near shielded their guide from sight, a stout, middle-aged man with his eyes on his watch ever since Sam told him a verbal tour was unnecessary.  

      Huge benches ladened with terracotta pots, blossoming with blues and pinks and purples and reds. Pops of color so bright they were practically eyesores. She thought The Garden of Medicinal Plants’ section on herbal remedies had been her favorite, based on smell alone, or maybe the pond at the center of the garden itself, chock-full of lily pads and mosses, boggy and messy and alive, rife with aquatic life, but this, this took the cake.  

     Eleanor was staring, eyes growing bigger and bigger as she tried to take it all in, when Sam knocked into her arm with something sturdy. It crinkled against the sleeve of her blouse—the present he’d brought with him, tucked safely underneath his arm no matter how much she whined and cajoled. “Finally caving, old man?”  

     Sam rolled his eyes. “Just take it, old woman.” He bugged out his eyes, all drama. “Twenty-four! Already one foot in the grave.” She ripped it out of his fingers with a bark of a laugh.  

     “I doubt you’ve got more than a pinky toe in yours. Gonna outlast us all, remember?”  

     It was his turn to laugh. “Just open it, Eleanor. Before I go greyer, yeah?” 

     Eleanor could live the rest of her life without another gift, but the sound of ripping through wrapping paper was still one of her favorites. All the destruction without any of the guilt. She peeled back the final layer and went still. “Oh,” she whispered, breathy, near soundless. 

     It was a flower dictionary, with deckled edges that fit the tips of her fingers perfectly, the leather of the cover worn and well-loved. The gilded title sent a rush of familiar fondness through her, a rush so strong she was almost dizzy. She laughed. “Where’d you find this? It looks exactly the same.” Exactly the same as the one she’d gotten for her first birthday from Sam, fourteen years old and curious about anything she could get her hands on. Sam hadn’t really seen the appeal in the language of flowers, she knew, but he’d indulged her anyway. It’d been the only thing she’d asked for that year, the only thing she’d really wanted.  

     She’d used it for years, a great reference for whenever she wanted to sketch a particular flower, but it’d been chewed up by Sweet Pea right before she turned eighteen years old, made a total ruin of slobber and teeth indents, the ink all smeared and the spine cracked clean down the middle. An apparently rare edition he’d scrounged up for the first time at an old bookstore in East London, she thought she’d never see the likes of it again.  

     “I have my ways.” Laughing again, Eleanor just shook her head, grinning so wide it hurt.  

     There was an odd bump between the pages, a groove where everything else was smooth, and when Eleanor went to inspect it, expecting a bent page, she found a pressed flower instead. Bookmarking a page of tiny, yellow petals and even tinier rows of font, was a celandine plant, its ruffled leaves still attached. Perfectly preserved.  

     “I did some reading,” he explained, when Eleanor couldn’t get herself to speak. She shook her head until she could breathe right again.  

     “You’re such a sap.�� 

     He gave her that smile, the one just for her. And Eleanor tucked the book tight against her chest, holding on. She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Ready to go home?” 

[the-girl-who-walks-with-faeries]

Answers to Dark Academia Asks

Its called I'm bored and I am procrastinating from doing my dissertation (its on medieval Norse dragons btw, I can make a post about it if anyone is interest), so I'm doing these questions. It has probably been years since I've done one of these, so let's learn a bit about me!

ink: favorite dead language?

Old Norse, mostly because its what my studies mostly focus on, though I have a soft spot for Latin, because I studied it throughout middle school and high school.

quill: how would you describe your writing style?

I don't really know. Supposedly its a weird writing style that I need to improve on, according to my professors. One of them told me it reminded them of a "1950s Robin Hood radio play" in some of the phrasings, so lets go with that.

perfume: scent of choice, whether it be a perfume/candle or just in general?

I really like bakery smells, like vanilla and cake and such, but also peach and fruity smells as well. If someone could make a perfume that smells like a peach crumble I'd be all set!

parchment: what area of philosophy interests you?

None, I've never been really interested in philosophy, sorry!

candles: favorite quote?

Oooooh that's a hard one. But on my page I have "not all those who wander are lost" from Tolkien, so let's go with that one!

raven: what makes you feel most like a “dark academic”?

Despite being online for class, it really helps that I study at an old university. Yesterday I sat in the sun at the ruins of the first monastery in my town, and that felt pretty "dark academic". Otherwise, its when I have to get out a book for my classes that looks like it hasn't been checked out in decades.

pages: do you annotate your books? how do you prefer to annotate them?

I never annotate books that I just read for entertainment. If its for research, I will highlight/underline, put sticky notes in, and occasionally write in.

corduroy: any big past regrets?

In this pandemic, there are a bunch, lol. But mostly its that I didn't do a lot of the traditional stuff that students at my uni do, and now that I'm graduating this year and everything is closed, I have to miss out on them.

violin: favorite composer? favorite piece of classical music?

I don't often listen to classical music, its just not something I gravitate towards. For composers, I really like listening to film scores, especially by Howard Shore and Harry Gregson-Williams. Anything fantasy is usually up my alley.

teapot: how do you take your tea or coffee?

I really like infusion teas, which I know someone will tell me that doesn't really count. But I just always like having a red berry tea with one or two sugars. For coffee, I prefer iced, and will get an iced caramel latte if I'm ordering it, but will just have a hot coffee with milk and sugar if I'm at home, because it's easier.

library: preferred study environment?

I love studying in cafes! I find that staying in the library too long makes me less productive, so I like sitting at a table in a dark cafe, having a coffee and being able to get work done while still having people talking and music playing around me.

wood: what does your ideal future look like?

While I would love to be part of some monster hunting/occult secret society, I don't think that's a possibility. I want to go into academia, hopefully being a professor, but would also be interested in working in museums and archives as well!

leather: favorite book(s)? what makes them special?

Anything by Tolkien will probably top my list because I have always had a special connection to Middle Earth that I can't really explain. I also love Narnia, His Dark Materials, Howl's Moving Castle, etc. etc.

canvas: is there any work of art that resonates with you? why?

Anything that's Pre-Raphaelite or Romantic, I just find that art style so beautiful and magical, especially because they tend to have very mythological/legendary themes to them that I appreciate.

capelet: quintessential piece of dark academia clothing?

A black turtleneck. I wear way too many turtlenecks in general, but growing up I watched the History Channel where every historian wore a black turtleneck. So now as a historian, I love wearing black turtlenecks haha!

feather: favorite poet? favorite piece of poetry?

I know this might be controversial, but I just don't really like poetry! I like reading epic poems like the Aeneid, Beowulf, etc., but for some reason I've just never gotten into modern poetry. If anyone has any recommendations let me know!

shadow: what makes you feel nostalgic?

Carving pumpkins, sitting outside on the porch in the summer, baking cookies with my mom.

sandalwood: what plants/flowers would you like to have in your study?

I want so many plants, but I just don't have a green thumb! I would love to have some small plants dotted around my study and propagating plants along the windowsills if I thought I could keep them alive. Maybe I should just start with a cactus.

clock: early bird or night owl?

Neither? I guess in the summer I become more of an early bird, but I like mid-morning to early afternoon time more than anything. Or late afternoon as the sun is setting!

pressed flowers: have you every fallen in love? out of love?

Yes to both.

orchestra: describe the songs on your most played playlist

Currently that playlist is a Buffy x Spike playlist because I started binge-watching BTVS but now I just listen to it because its got a lot of songs about illicit romance, unrequited feelings, etc. that is just really nice to listen to.

fire: which of the seven deadly sins do you find yourself leaning towards?

.....pride.....

tweed: any languages you want to learn/are learning?

I am currently learning Old Norse, Old English, and am re-teaching myself Latin. I would like to continue to learn Middle English and Welsh which I have taken breaks from. I need to learn German and/or French for PhD applications next fall. And I think it would be cool to know Ancient Egyptian and read hieroglyphs. Is that enough?

dust: biggest fears?

The typical answer of failure. I'll tell you though that I have an irrational phobia of the ocean and whales specifically. If anyone can explain that, I'd love to know!

silence: do you consider yourself to be a good secret keeper?

100%. Plus, I like knowing what everyone's secrets are, because I just think its interesting.

[rebelbyrdie]

SwanQueen Ficlet:  Black and White Pt 2

More reasons for Emma to drool over Regina. Also Regina shows a different side to herself.  It isn’t really edited because I typed it out at work.  It’s just sort of an idea.

Snow was going to pout forever.  Thank God Emma didn’t live with her anymore.  She could not imagine putting up with her full time right now.  She had said words that Emma had never imagined coming out of sweet Mary Margaret’s mouth.  She had covered the kidlet’s ears.  The White Court had lost the big tournament.

It had been close.  Mulan had trashed everyone in the sword fighting event.  She’d won easily.  The archery stuff had gone differently, though.  Merida Hill, the fire department’s chief, had easily beaten Snow and everyone else.  So it had gone, neck and neck all day so jousting had become the big tie breaker.  David and some other the other White Court men were all excited to compete.  Even Henry had scampered off remarking that his Mom had promised to let him play at being a squire.

Emma had never seen jousting, except for watching A Knights Tale on cable.  It looked painful.  Snow had excitedly explained the whole thing to her.  Leather and cushioned armor, padded lances, horses going slower than usual.  It still looked hella dangerous.  Emma was never going to let Henry do it.  Even full-contact football was safer then this knight shit.

They had watched, Emma wincing, and Snow politely clapping, every time two knights crashed into each other.

David was doing good.  He was knocking everyone down.  Which, Emma had gathered, was winning.

Of course the other side was doing just as well.  There was a rider in all black that was knocking just as many people over.

“I can’t believe Regina would let a teenager do that.”  Ashley remarked.  “I mean look how small they are.  No way they’re a full knight.”

“Could be a woman.  Regina had several female soldiers.  Jill maybe.”  Sean, who had been knocked out of the jousting tournament earlier, replied.”

The final match was between David and the small dark rider.  When David hit the dirt, Snow had let out a shout so loud it hurt Emma’s ears.  She hadn’t stopped bitching and whining to make sure David was okay.

They had all lined up down on the field for the “closing” ceremony.  Archie was waiting with a big trophy.

The announcers, two of the supervisors from the cannery, came over the loud speaker.

“And here to accept the victory for the Black Court is His Royal Highness, Prince Henry.”

Henry, escorted by Zelena and Maleficent, came out to the middle of the field.  He had changed clothes  Well he had changed his whole image to match the Black Court’s over-the-top gothic image.  He was wearing a black suit was a fur-lined black cape and a gold mini-crown (circlet?  man-tiara?) with black gems in it. He looked older than his years and handsome,  Like a real prince.  

“Sorry Grandma, Grandpa.  I sort of had double-duty today.”

“Wait.”  Snow all but stamped her foot on the muddy grass.  “Where’s Regina?”  

Henry blinked, confused.  “Right here, duh.”

The black knight, complete with a green and gold cloak thrown over their armor, stepped forward and took off their metal helmet and mask.

Emma almost had a heart attack.

Regina stood there, in armor.  Her hair was sweat-soaked and plastered to her head. There was a scrape on her cheek and the vein on her forehead was prominant which told Emma that she had a headache.  Despite, or maybe because, all of that Regina was beautiful.  Like an Amazon Queen who had lead her people to victory and was about to take her spoils.

 “I thought it would be more appropriate to let Henry accept the award.” Regina cocked a brow.  “I am not photo or speech ready.”

Emma just stared, open mouthed.  Regina.  Regina who wore dresses and always had a perfect manicure.  Regina who was the feme-est of femes.  Regina, who snarled her nose up at everything not-fancy.  She had just whipped countless dude’s asses with a pony and a big stick?  Emma couldn’t comprehend it.

“You-”  David cocked his head to the side.  “You didn’t compete under your coat of arms though?”  He sounded a little confused and a lot embarrassed. “Its not green.”

Regina shrugged a leather clad shoulder.  “My father’s coat of arms.”

Archie held up a microphone.  “I am pleased to announce the First Annual Black and White Tournament has been won by the Black Court.”

He handed the microphone to Henry.  Henry grinned.  

“Thank You.  I want to give a round of applause to all of the competitors today.  Black and White, we all represent Storybrooke.”  He paused for a thunderous roar of applause.

“The proceeds from today and a matching donation will be given to the Black Court’s chosen project, the Storybrooke Youth Center.  Thank you everybody for coming out and we hope to see you tonight at the ball.”

So here they were, at a way-over decorated ball room in City Hall.  Emma had no idea what kind of magic Zelena, Maleficent and Regina had used but it had  worked.  She felt like she had walked into a scene from a movie.  

THe whole town was going to ring in the new year with style. Not Emma’s style, though.  She was way not her style.  She was in a long white pageant gown with ruffles and tulle and more fluff then a dress should legally be able to have.  She felt awkward and out of place.  

Hook, dressed all in white (which she was sure Snow paid for) sidled up to her about nine o’clock.  He already smelled like rum.  

“You look beautiful, Luv.”

She wanted to puke.  She should have scooped up Henry to be her escort before Regina had lured him to the dark side.

Speaking of Henry, her Kid was surrounded by teenage girls.  His Price act and new edgy Black Court look was a hit.  

She kind of wanted to ground him for treason or something.

“Care for a dance, Luv?”

He had his one hand in his pocket, like he was holding on to something.

Emma definitely did not want to dance, or anything else, with him.

“I’m sorry, Captain.  As the victor, Emma is obligated to give the first dance to me.”

Emma turned around and felt her heart stutter and her brain flat-lined. Regina stood behind them.  Gone was the sweaty knight of earlier.  She was dressed to kill in an outfit that had to be from her Evil Queen days.  She had a black corset top and leather pants that was covered, barely, by a long black jacket that was cropped in the front and flowed to the ground in the back.  Her cleavage was partially covered (more like accentuated) by a big and fancy necklace that matched the crown on her head.  The gold made her skin glow and the rubies were the same color as her lips.Her hair was long and curled into a complicated up do with even more jewels in it. She had to be wearing boots with a killer heel because she was almost the same height as Hook.

When Emma finally regained her senses, she let out a hoarse.  “Yeah.”  She pulled in a deep breath and hoped the oxygen helped her brain reboot.  “Can’t say no to My Queen.”

Regina lead her to the dance floor with a chuckle.  

Hook stood in place, eyes wide and furious.  He knew better to fight Regina, though  Not only did she have magic, half of her posse did too and exactly none of them liked Hook.  Basically, Emma had thrown her lot in with the wrong team.  

“Thanks.”  She mumbled to Regina when they were far enough away.  “It was either this or deck him.”

They started to twirl around in what Emma was almost sure was a waltz.  Regina lead her confidently along and she followed as best she could.

“You do realize he has a ring box in his pocket.  I believe the pirate was going to ask you to be his wedded wench.”

Emma bit back a groan.  She had been afraid of that.  “Frankly I’d rather go ten round against you with the ponies and the sticks.  No padding.”

Regina laughed.  A full on threw her head back laugh.  It was better than the music, the best sound Emma could remember hearing in a long time.  Regina so rarely laughed.  

“Speaking of.”  Emma continued as she fumbled through the dance.  “How did you learn to do that?  It doesn’t seem very queeny.”

Regina smiled.  “My father.  He went behind Mother’s back and taught me when I was a teenager. I had to do more than a few practice runs to re-teach myself a few things.  It was not at all like riding a bike”

Emma literally could not imagine.

“So-”  They turned and Emma could see Snow and Hook having a heated conversation on the other side of the room.  Neither of them looked happy.  She dropped her head to Regina’s shoulder for a moment.  

“I think I’m defecting to the Black Squad next year.  You and the Kid got cooler better clothes and nobody on your team is trying to set me up with an asshole.  Between Hook and my mother I am never going to make it to midnight.”

She was totally done and over this whole Black and White bullshit.

Regina was so close, the dancing had slowed down and they were basically just swaying together now. Emma soaked in the moment, the intimacy of it all. 

Regina’s skin was hot against her own.  She smelled like apples, rain and honey. Her touch was electric and sent delicious.   Regina was intoxicating.  Like lines of cocaine on black velvet, intoxicating, addictive, an incredible high that could so easily turn into decadent and delirious destruction. If Emma let herself slip, if she took even the tiniest taste, if she gave in to temptation, she would be lost.  She knew that she would never be able to stop.  Would never want to.

Regina’s hands crawled up her back.  Emma could feel her touch burning through the material of her dress.

“Em-ma.” Regina’s voice was like whiskey and starlight and it was whispered right into Emma’s ear.

She had seen so many sides and shades of Regina, so many moments had passed between them.  This moment, with Regina’s arms wrapped around her, was her favorite.

“I would be honored to have you on my Court.  Beside me, beside our son,  Where you belong.”

Belong.  Emma hadn’t felt like she belonged anywhere, ever.  The very idea was ridiculous.  Yet.  Yet, she craved it.  She never felt more like herself than she did when she was with Regina and Henry.  They felt like home, like the living embodiment of Tallahassee.

“I-”

Emma lifted her head.  She searched Regina’s eyes.  She looked for sarcasm or spite but only saw love.  Overwhelming amounts of love.  She got lost in Regina’s beautiful eyes and the endless capacity of her heart.

“Regina.”  Emma licked her suddenly dry lips.  She had so much to say.  To confess.  She had never been good with words.She wasn’t even sure there were words for the emotions swirling inside of her.  “My Queen.”

Regina’s eyes lit up at that.  Like it was the sweetest thing she had ever heard.  Based on Regina’s checkered past, it probably was.

Emma couldn’t wait anymore.  She didn’t care where they were or who saw.  She was tired of black and white, good and evil, fighting and drawing lines.  They were in a fairytale town, at a fairytale ball and they were fairytale royalty. It was time for their Happily Ever After.

Emma leaned in and did the one thing she had been dying to do since the first time she’d seen Regina.  She kissed her. 

The floor tilted under Emma’s feet.  Angels sang in her ears. Kissing Regina was better than drugs.  Emma ran her hands through Regina’s hair and let it curl around her fingers.  Regina held her close, her nails dug into Emma’s shoulder blades.  It was perfect.

Claps and gasps invaded their little bubble of bliss.

Emma opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) and looked around.  The room was bathed in golden light.  THere were stars dancing across the ceiling and black and white pops of light, like fireworks.

There was no denying it now.  The entire town had witnessed them share their first and apparently true loves kiss.

Regina rested her forehead against hers.  

“You want to get out of here?”

As opposed to facing down the entire town and her crazy mother?  Absolutely.

“Your place or mine?”

Regina’s smirk was the only answer Emma got as they disappeared in a swirl of smoke.