#and gets out that heavy expensive silverware

[musings-of-a-rose]

Not Without You

Pairing: Lucien Flores x f!reader (nickname: Poppy)

Word Count: 2800+ 

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: Listen. I saw that clip of him making out in The Uninvited. That's it. That's the explanation. This is not betad. This one is for the sluts.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

→Tell Tumblr this should be shared with others by reblogging! That's what the algorithm loves (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Lucien Masterlist

--------

I get out of my car, staring up at the ridiculous mansion in front of me. The sound of the ocean, just out of sight behind the giant home, is soft and gentle in my ears, calming me. Giving me a little mental boost before I sigh, smoothing down my dress. I make my way to the front door, weaving between a few cars that were parked out front. Expensive cars.

It's not that I'm jealous of my childhood friend. Emilia deserves to be happy and she's happy that she married money. Some fancy producer out here in LA that fell for her big eyes and bright smile the second he saw her.

But that doesn't mean I wanted to come to one of her dinner parties, having to schmooze and pretend to be interested in what everyone has to say. I've been here before, met the people, fucked the party boy actor that eventually broke me, and yet here I am, unable to say no to Emilia.

I raise my hand to knock, dreading what the evening will bring but the door flies open before my knuckles touch anything. Emilia stands before me, a few rollers still in her hair, stress all over her body.

"Poppy, you're early! Thank GOD!" She pulls me inside and hugs me, the door closing heavy behind me.

"I always come early because you need me," I smile as she chuckles, lightly punching my arm. "What can I do to help?"

"You're angel, I swear! Can you make sure the table settings are right? There's extra silverware in the-"

"I know, Emilia. Everything like normal?" I'd been to so many of her parties, I know exactly what the set up is.

She nods, her smile growing wider. "Keep it simple and classy. You know me!"

I nod. "So what kind of party is this one? Another schmooze for Mr.?"

She waves her hand. "Yeah something like that. He's meeting with a bunch of actors for some upcoming project. He's hand selected them."

"Cool."

Emilia thanks me again before running off to finish getting ready. I pause for a moment, looking around trying to remember where the dining room is. I head down the hall and into what I think is the dining room. It turns out I remembered correctly, my eyes roaming over the table and making small adjustments to the settings already there. I end up pulling out more silverware, fixing them to Emilia's standards. I hate that I know this stuff, but I've saved her ass more times than I can count at these things so it helps to know what to expect.

As I work, my mind goes back to all the parties past. The ones she brought me to when she first started dating the producer several years ago. She had been so nervous, as if the producer wasn't already head over heels for her. That's where I met-

No. Not going down that road again. I can't do that to myself.

I shake my head and finish the settings, adding some minor touches to the decorations and finally lighting the candles. A knock at the door brings me out of my head and I walk over to answer it. An older gentleman stands there, putting out a cigarette with his shoe. He introduces himself as the director. What an ego.

Several people arrive after him, a mix of actors and a screenwriter. They all mingle in the sitting room for a few minutes before Emilia and the producer make their way in, everyone doing introductions.

The producer claps his hands together, looking around. "We're still missing one, but I doubt he'd mind us getting started. Who's hungry?"

Everyone gives their approval but as they move towards the dining room, a knock raps on the front door.

"That should be him. Guess I tried to start too soon!" Polite laughter at the producer as Emilia moves to answer the door, a quick glance in my direction before she disappears down the hall. The producer is telling some little story about a prior movie he was involved in, one I've heard a zillion times. But his story is short and he motions behind me.

"Just in time! We were about to eat. Welcome, Lucien."

My back stiffens. The room starts to spin my chest heaving. He didn't say Lucien. Did he? Maybe it was another Lucien. It couldn't be my Lucien? No. He's not my Lucien. He made that very clear when he wanted to continue partying and I wanted to settle down.

"Perfect! I'm starving."

Fuck. There was no mistaking that voice, the one that sets my skin ablaze, makes warmth pool between my thighs, the one that told me he needed to focus on his career and couldn't be with me. Not in the way I wanted him.

A small hand on my elbow squeezes me and I know it's Emilia, gently guiding me towards the dining room.

"I'm sorry, Poppy. He invited him and I didn't make the connection until the last minute."

"You couldn't have given me a heads up?" I yank my arm from her grip and swallow hard. I can't let him see how he makes me feel. He doesn't deserve that. I turn, letting the others file past me until he stops in front of me.

"Poppy. I..I didn't know you'd be here."

I'm determined to show him how much better off I am, that he means nothing to me now. I look up into his eyes and all of my resolve goes completely out the window. Were his eyes always that big? That round? So soft? I want to yank him to me by the thin chain around his neck, press my lips to his and never let go.

Way to show him, Poppy.

"I didn't know you'd be here either."

A silence stretches between us, a heavy, loaded silence. His eyes soften the longer he looks at me and is that regret I see? No. I'm projecting. But then he offers me his arm, taking me completely by surprise.

"We can be adults. Shall we?"

Don't do it. Don't take his arm, Poppy. Don't do it, don't do it, don't-

My fingers close on his offered up arm. "I'm sure this is a great opportunity for you."

Fuck, he's still warm. His skin smooth where my fingers touch him. Way to go, Poppy.

He escorts me into the dining room and I feel Emilia's eyes glued to us. He pulls out my chair and I sit, him scooting the chair in behind me before walking around the table, looking for his name card. Which was conveniently placed directly across from mine.

The producer clears his throat after everyone sits and starts making some speech about the project, about handpicking everyone here, blah blah blah. I zone out, trying to use my peripheral to steal glances at him. It's been several years since that night we split, the yelling match that had devolved into quite possibly the hottest sex I'd ever had. No, don't think about that. I need a better look so I turn my head to take a drink and chance a glance at him, only to find him already looking at me, still with the soft eyes. I nearly choke on my drink, managing to swallow it and clear my throat.

He finishes his speech and everyone claps politely, starting to eat and talk amongst themselves. I sit, deciding to choose silence while eating but then Lucien looks directly at me.

"So, what do you think?"

"Uh what?"

Fuck him with those big, stupid eyes.

He gestures towards the producer with his fork. "The project."

"Oh. Well I'm not involved so," I shrug. "I'm just here for Emilia."

He chuckles. "How many rollers were in her hair this time?"

I laugh, my body betraying me. "Four."

"But seriously. A good project?"

"I think..I think it's an honor he hand picked you. I'm not sure what the project itself is, but I'm sure it would be great for your career."

His eyes study my face as I take a bite of my food. "It's not always about the career though."

Anger surges up through me. "Isn't it?"

"How are we doing over here?" Emilia had walked up, cutting off whatever Lucien was about to say to defend himself.

"Great, Em. I'm just going to get something from the kitchen." I set my napkin on the table and push my chair back, Emilia giving me the smallest squeeze to my arm before I turn and head into the kitchen, the door closing behind me and effectively cutting off the sounds of the dinner party.

I lean over the kitchen island, my hands splayed out over the cool marble, trying to calm myself down. I hear the door open, the chatter from the party momentarily loud again before the door swings shut and it's quiet again.

"Em, I'm fine. Really. He just...caught me by surprise. I can hold it in."

"What if I don't want you to hold it in?"

My head snaps up, meeting his gaze, embarrassment making my skin heat up. "Oh. I thought you were Emilia."

Lucien takes a few steps towards me, the light glinting off the thing chain around his neck. "You didn't answer my question."

I stand up straight, crossing my arms. "We've done this dance before, Lucien. It didn't end well."

He smirks and I want to slap him. "I think it ended just fine. In the doorway, on the floor, in the front yard. I had to move my neighbors were too jealous."

My body betrays me with a small smile at the memory but then I reign it in. "I'm still not paying for that end table."

He's closer now. When did he move closer? Almost close enough to touch. His voice is low and raspy. "I'd destroy every end table on this planet if it meant having you under me again."

Fuck. Me.

I turn away from him, not giving him the pleasure of seeing what he does to me. "Flattering. But you made it very clear I was not number one in your life."

"I was stupid. I guess I needed to prove to you, to myself, that I could actually do this acting thing."

Finally composing myself, I turn to face him. "And how'd that work out for you?"

His eyebrows furrow together. "Have you not seen any of my films?"

I had. I had seen them all. I know I shouldn't have, that it wasn't helping me get over him. But Lucien has this pull, this hold on me I've never been able to fully shake.

"Some. But I'm asking your opinion. Off camera."

His jaw ticks a moment before he takes a swig from the glass I only just realized he was holding. "It brought me here."

I scoff. "Yeah, the producer hand picking you is actually a very high honor. I'd be-"

"No, you misunderstand." He shakes his head and sets his glass down on the counter. "I lied earlier."

It was my turn to furrow my eyebrows. "When? You've lied to me a lot."

"Earlier, when I said I didn't know you'd be here. I knew, well...more like hoped you'd be here. Knew it was a long shot but the only way you'd talk to me again."

My heart was racing, nearly bouncing out of my chest as he takes another few steps right into my personal bubble, my lower back against the counter. "I already told you I'm not replacing that end table."

He's right in front of me, the warmth from his body radiating onto mine. "I was a fool, Poppy. I..I love you."

I've waited years to hear him say those words to me again, to hear him actually mean them. To hear them not sandwiched between things like "but I have to focus on my career".

His lips are so close to mine, his breath fanning over my face.

"You broke my heart, Lucien."

"I know. I'm sorry. Let me put it back together."

"Lucien, I-" but he cuts me off with the softest touch of his lips I've ever felt, a whole slew of emotions flooding my body, including the one pooling between my legs.

"I can't do this without you, Poppy."

"Do this?"

"Life. I don't want to do it without you."

Fuck.

I grip that chain around his neck and pull him to me, our lips crashing together, his body pressing into mine. But then the counter scrapes across my spine and I jolt, breaking the kiss to gasp in pain. Lucien steps back, offering me his hand.

"Let's go somewhere where we won't break the furniture."

I shouldn't take his hand. I can still back out. But a small voice in the back of my head believes that he means it. That he wants a life with me, wants what I wanted all those years ago. And right now, I'm letting that voice win. I take his hand and he smiles, that smile that makes me feel like I'm the only person in the world. He guides me out the back door, past the pool, past the changing tents between the pool and the beach, and down the walkway alongside the neighbors cement wall that leads down to the beach.

He spins me and I laugh, tasting the salty ocean air on my tongue. I back up towards the wall and he follows me, lowering himself to my level. His large hands wrap around my hips, gliding down to cup my ass, and I moan into his kiss, my hand gripping his shirt to pull him closer to me. He kisses me, his tongue sliding into my mouth like it had so many times before. One hand still firmly on my ass, the other slides up my side, cupping my face so tenderly, full of love. He pulls back slightly and looks at me, like he's shocked I'm really here. That he's really kissing me.

"I love you, Poppy. I never should have let you go."

"Then don't let me go. I've always been yours."

He kisses me again, his hips pressing into mine and I can feel him hard, my cunt desperately throbbing, begging to feel him inside me again. Somewhere in my haze of desire, I hear myself begging, whispering pleas in his ear to take me, that I need him inside me before I die. His hands slide my dress up my thighs, reaching under and ripping my underwear in two, tucking them into his pocket. He had ruined so many good pairs of my underwear that way, but I honestly couldn't care less. My fingers fumble with his zipper, but I manage to get it down, reaching in to grip him, a sharp intake of breath when my fingers close around him, pumping him a few times. His hands slide under my ass, lifting me up as he presses me against the wall. He slides into me and the world stops moving, colors are brighter, and I finally feel right, like I'm actually here on this planet. Every thrust of his hips brings him deeper into me, holding me here, holding me to him. His breath comes out in short pants, desperate pleas of love and apologies between our moans as he fucks me against the wall.

And then the light blooming inside me breaks, my head pushing back, my nails digging into his skin, my entire body tingling as pleasure radiates out from where we connect. Lucien follows suit, moaning my name as he spills himself inside of me, pushing as deep as he can. We stay like that for a moment, trying to catch our breaths.

"I want to stay inside of you but my legs are fucking shaking."

I laugh and he yelps, quickly trying to pull out of me as my laughter contracts my body around him. He sets me on the ground and zips his pants as I smoothe out my dress, my laughter slowly fading. I look at him and he looks back at me, his eyes still soft and gentle. He tucks some hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek again.

"I wasn't kidding, Poppy. I was fucking stupied before. I need you next to me. When we're together, I feel...right. like I belong here. I don't think I can face this life without you."

I know it's a possibility this will end the same way it did before, but something in his eyes is different this time. He's had time to think, time to experience life without someone with him. Without me. He's grown, matured - well, matured some at least. But do I want to open my heart back up to him? Knowing that he could shatter it again at any moment?

"I'm still not replacing that end table."

He smiles and it lights up my entire world. "That's ok. I have plenty more furniture we can ruin with our love."

-------

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry @mysterious-moonstruck-musings  

[jokeringcutio]

Reader x Stepdad William Afton (Drabble)

AN: You got me there, ANON. All right, here's a very QUICK drabble for you, because I COULDN'T RESIST. MATURE THEMES/NO EXPLICIT SMUT. Just a happy family dinner (well....)

Also, I am overwhelmed with prompt requests and I love them, so do keep 'em coming. But if you want to help me out for reaching my goal to save up to commission a celebratory piece of artwork for this tumblr (as we've almost reached 1000 mutuals following this account :3 ) please feel free to donate me a little something on Ko-fi ♡ ︎.

based on this in my inbox: [ See Reaction to the post here x ]

The clink of silverware against porcelain punctuated the silence, a staccato rhythm that seemed to echo in the cavern of your chest. Across from you, William’s hands were steady as he cut into his steak, but there was something about the tightness in his jaw, the way his blue eyes didn't quite meet yours, that whispered secrets.

"Sweetheart," your mother's voice sliced through the tension like the knife in William's hand through meat, "it's time we talked about a paternity test."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, a wild, frantic thing eager to escape. You swallowed hard, the mashed potatoes on your tongue now tasting like ash.

"Whoever the father is... he deserves to know," she continued, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling beneath her words.

"Of course," you agreed, the word brittle on your lips. Your gaze flickered unintentionally to William, then quickly away, fearing what might be revealed in a single glance.

He cleared his throat, a sound that rumbled deep and low, a prelude to the storm you knew brewed within him.

"It's only fair," he said, but his voice was a masterclass in control, every syllable measured, every intonation practiced.

"You can ring up the boys... see if they're willing." She was all practicality, all motherly concern, not an inkling of suspicion clouding her features. If only she knew…

"Right," you breathed out, the lie sour and heavy in your mouth.

In your bedroom, Evan's chest rose and fell with the innocent trust of sleep. Unaware. Untouched by the deceit that hung thick in the air. The door ajar, otherwise he wouldn’t sleep if he didn’t hear that you were near. As if somehow, your tiny son was aware that he had been born in a house full of dark secrets and possible danger.

Your fingers curled around your glass, the cool surface grounding you. Water, while your parents were drinking wine. Wasn’t your mom still trying for a baby? Had she finally given up now that she saw how it was to be between diapers and the soreness of giving milk?

William's gaze flitted toward the open door where your son lay oblivious to the grown-up games played at his expense.

"Will do it tomorrow," you promised, your voice a whisper of determination laced with dread.

"Good girl," your mother smiled, contentment lighting up her face. But in William's eyes, the reflection of a different kind of pride—a dark, devouring satisfaction—flickered and then died.

You pushed your plate away, appetite lost. While inside your thoughts careened like a runaway train, you tried to remain your compose. Look and act normal. But what would happen when the truth came out? What would happen when the masks fell away?

What would William do?

Because in all honesty, it wasn’t your mom and her feelings you were worried about the most any longer. She had proven time after time again to be there for you, no matter what lies had been told about you. Her two-goody-shoes daughter, suddenly a wild partying animal who had gone and get laid whilst drunk – even if she bought it she faithfully helped take care of you and your newborn son. She was so – so darn sweet! Like an angel sent from the blessed sky. If she’d forgiven you this, then you wouldn’t doubt she would forgive you the truth.

But…

Could you bear her disappointment? Right now? Could you see her so crestfallen and betrayed? Did you want to break that dam and wait whilst pain raked through you both – a pain that only time could mend?

Beside you, William scraped his throat, his thick fingers scraping past your thigh underneath the table. The horny beast. Even now he couldn’t stop touching you.

Shouldn’t he be working on one of his new robot animals? Like that yellow bunny suit he was making to resemble your favorite plushie? With the only difference that it was ten times bigger and build for him to wear?

You tried not to glance at your stepfather, not even when his fingers reassuringly squeezed your already bruised thigh. You gritted your teeth at the soreness – thanks to his latest bout of fucking, of course. The man took his chances whenever he could.

No, the real problem here was your stepfather. William was a tall, strong and dangerous man. His mind worked in ways that only left you guessing. And you had no doubt that he had hurt others in the past before to get exactly what he wanted.

If you wanted to play this game, you had to play it right.

Silently, you vowed to protect Evan from the shadows that lurked behind William's aviator glasses, from the manipulations that twisted beneath his agreeable facade. You would stand between your son and the man who wore danger like a second skin.

"Let's finish up here," your mother suggested, unaware of the battle lines being drawn right before her eyes.

"Indeed," William agreed, and his smile was a predator's grin, hidden in plain sight.

The baby slept on, his dreams untainted by the turmoil that swirled just beyond his reach.

[drunkinchicago]

coriolanus snow x lucy gray baird

link: chapter 1, link: chapter 2, link: chapter 3 link: chapter 4 link: chapter 5, link: chapter 6, link: chapter 7

Chapter 8: sweetest kill

I thought you were the sweetest kill

Did I even know?

And all the time we thought we did

Was it just for show?

If they try to pull you out

Would you even go?

All the time, we get by, trying to figure out our lives

Like a fadeout

When we took the level ten

Was it just a twelve?

And when we went to where we've been

Was it just for self?

Broken Social Scene, ‘Sweetest Kill’

I don't know what I heard

Or what it takes to forgive

You were mad at the whole world

You were angry, I didn't stop when you did

Searows, ‘Older’

It was shortly after eight when Coriolanus and Lucy Gray retired back downstairs, his hand swallowing the small of her back as they walked through the corridor. They remained wordless, swimming in the simultaneous familiarity and newness of touching each other. Lucy Gray could tell that Coriolanus was upset, and now felt certain that she wasn’t entirely at fault - he had no reason to be angry with her presently. She recalled the words he’d told her only moments before: “you can let me in, you can talk to me.” Shouldn’t the same be true vice versa? Did she even want it to be? She was beginning to feel lightheaded, a combination of neglecting to eat and the way it felt for Coriolanus’ chest to rise and fall against her as he breathed.

As they entered the dining room, Lucy Gray noticed that the table was perfectly set for two, silverware and plates awaiting at each head of the table. A red velvet runner occupied the space between the settings, splitting the table down the middle and adding to the sumptuous environment. “You should change for dinner,” Coriolanus said softly. It was strangely disconcerting to see her in her nightgown, as upsetting as it was attractive. Thin silk danced against her protruding ribs, her wrists bruised and breakable. As he made sense of the shape of her, he was struck by the recollection of the question she’d asked him only days prior - are you going to rape me ? His fingertips went numb at the thought of how easy it would be to do such a thing. She was nothing. She was everything. She couldn’t fight him, could she? But she could take everything from him. She had before. Seeing Lucy Gray this way, stripped down and bare, hardly clothed - it was fantastically overwhelming. Coriolanus felt void of control. He was engulfed by the possibilities of what he could do to her. He wanted to adorn each of her little fingers with heavy rings, expensive and rare, the weight of them dragging her to the floor and leaving her on her knees - rubies and emeralds and diamonds and Lucy Gray. He wanted to hunt her like a deer, sobbing after he shot her, taking note of all the ways her face reminded him of a wounded animal - large, brown eyes encompassed by a sharp jawline and hollow cheeks. He could see himself soaked in her blood, laden with regret and holding her against his chest, praying that being seeped with her would invent some goodness within his being. He wanted to invent her and hurt her over and over and over and over, if only to marvel at how perfect she was at every version, how impossible it would be for him to not need her.

“Why?” Lucy Gray’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, her arms crossing over her chest in sudden self-consciousness. Coriolanus instinctively reached out to touch her shoulder, utilizing the same tenderness he’d adopted on the roof, holding her as though she was about to shatter. He hadn’t been aiming to create shame - it was just making him too crazy to see her this way. He leaned down to meet her, relishing in the novelty of their height difference.

“It’s a nice dinner, Lucy Gray,” he said, noticing her slight flinch as he circled his thumb closer to her collarbone. “Do you not like the clothes I got for you?”

“I do like them.”

“So put them on.”

Lucy Gray locked eyes with Coriolanus briefly, an air of contestation brimming. Coriolanus knew that she found his orders dehumanizing - she always had, even when such demands were for the better and at the sake of her own life. She had provided rations to Jessup against his will, she hadn’t run when he told her to at the start of the Games. Lucy Gray aimed to exercise her autonomy in the most challenging of ways, which made Coriolanus want to control her even more. He found it stupid.

Coriolanus removed his hand from her shoulder and stood to his full height. “Go.”

He won. Lucy Gray broke their stare sharply and retreated without looking back, her footsteps landing in all the places he’d walked a hundred times.

Imagining that he had at least five minutes, Coriolanus ambled toward his own room. In solitude he could feel the full force of the last hour, excitement fresh on his tongue. She’d let him touch her - even leaned into it. Coriolanus couldn’t hide his smile as his door slammed behind him, the muscles composing his cheeks already burning with elation. He knew his image was far from normal - six feet of striking blondeness grinning maniacally with his lights off. And he wasn’t right, and he didn’t care. She made him feel insane and he liked it. Lucy Gray made him sharper, smarter, sicker. She made him a victor, then she made him a Gamemaker. One day she’d make him a President, wouldn’t she? What else would she make of him? What would he get to make of her ?

Coriolanus pulled at the string of a fringed lamp to illuminate the room, his eyes flitting around the meticulous nature of it. Since finding wealth, he’d become strangely compulsive about cleanliness, hallucinating the movement of rats in his peripheral vision. What this place had once been haunted him - and it’d been that way for the majority of his life. He couldn’t forget it or get rid of it no matter how hard he scrubbed his windowpanes, but he would try. Coriolanus stared at the right corner of the bedroom, envisioning the space where his rusted metal bed frame had once lived. He’d outgrown it at fourteen, his feet hanging off the edges, permanently cold and uncovered.

It was strange to recall that that was the very bed he’d slept in when he met Lucy Gray, handing her a white rose at a train station as though he reeked of privilege and purity. He was none of those things, not then - he was just a boy sleeping on a rotting mattress with a red eviction notice stamped on every fiber of his being. Having grown accustomed to his current luxuries, Coriolanus was reminded of his recent reality as though it was water thrown in his face. Such vulnerability was an assault to what he wanted to achieve, yet Lucy Gray hadn’t thought anything of it. In fact, Coriolanus was beginning to realize that the broken fragments of his life were a drawing point in her eyes, a piece of common ground. In their roots, she was not quite District 12, and he was not quite Capitol. Perhaps others thought of this as a downfall, but Coriolanus knew the truth - it made them better.

And it did, he thought as he moved toward his mirror to adjust the collar of his shirt. They were anomalies, mysteries to figure out and puzzles to break apart, yet no one else would be granted the opportunity to make out the truth of them. He would make sure of it. There wasn’t a price on Earth he could be paid to give her up. Their indistinguishable allure is what Coriolanus planned to use to dominate anyone who’d doubted either of them - the runt girl from Twelve, poor little songbird, a Snow without a pot to piss in, the sound of Snow falling. Lucy Gray just needed to let him in and make amends with the edges of herself she’d feebly attempted to iron out.

There’s a reason you can tame snakes, don’t you know? Don’t you see that they recognize the deceit in you? Coriolanus knew this, because he saw it too.

Coriolanus was cued to dinner by the knock of an Avox, two slow drums against the hardwood of his door. He strode toward the dining room with anticipation and demanded a bottle of red wine from the maid mulling outside the kitchen. Strangely, he found himself nervous in his own home, unable to reconcile with the insecurity that somehow Lucy Gray was not real, that she was not actually here, that she was nothing but sand slipping through his fingertips.

She saw him first, long legs and curly hair and a maroon button-up he must’ve changed into. He watched her longer, grabbing the back of his chair harshly.

Her hair was wet.

Wet.

Water dripping down her cheeks, messily applied makeup, features made sharper by the strands of hair clinging to her supple skin - he was dizzied, because she was perfect, but also because she looked just as she did back then, her hand on the doorframe and her empty words reassuring him that she was simply fetching katniss. The water was all over her, droplets racing down her chest and stomach to find purchase in places his hands hadn’t yet touched.

Had Lucy Gray even bothered to dry off? She was soaking her dress, satin and light blue and strappy and low slung - one of Coriolanus’ favorites from the order. Of course she’d picked it without encouragement. Of course she knew what he liked. Coriolanus’ heart pounded faster as he imagined the steam that likely still remained in her bathroom, dying out by the minute. How lucky it’d been to be breathed in by her, warming her throat and lower belly. Had she shaved? Did her sides smell like the lavender soap he’d purchased for her?

“Hello,” Lucy Gray said. She brought her elbows to the table and balanced her chin between her hands, her hair falling forward.

Now the water was dripping on the table, circular stains flushing on the tablecloth and beading on her plate. Water, everywhere, wet , everywhere. Coriolanus was flustered, his hands shaking as he pulled his chair out and willed himself to sit.

“You look nice.” He practically choked on the words.

“Nice?”

“Gorgeous.” And she did. So much that it hurt.

Lucy Gray seemed more satisfied with that answer, a slight smile playing on her lips. Coriolanus could tell that she liked the dress, which in-turn granted him great pleasure. The semblance of confidence enumerating off of her reminded Coriolanus of the Lucy Gray he once knew.

“Do you like my hair wet?” She asked, her eyes dark and antagonizing.

So it was intentional. He would have to be honest.

“I’d like to pull your head back by your hair so far that you see whichever version of me you liked the best.”

Lucy Gray blinked, expressionless. “And then what?”

“Then I’d wring you out, wash my hands with you.”

“Would your hands be cleaner or dirtier, then?”

“Both.”

They were both silent as the first course was delivered, an ensemble of oysters soaked in a citrus vinaigrette. The bottle of red wine Coriolanus had requested was brought shortly thereafter, the sound of their cups filling swallowing the emptiness of the room. Lucy Gray nor Coriolanus broke their stare, Coriolanus’ fingers on his right hand tapping against the table one-by-one.

“Right before we first kissed, when you gave me the compact,” Lucy Gray finally said, her voice soft and afflicted.

“What?”

“My favorite version of you.”

Coriolanus felt the sensation of something deep within him breaking, quickly transported to the moment she’d recalled - how he’d cried before her, the taste of peaches on her lips, her begging for him, so hurt by the idea that he’d disliked her ballad, the jealousy of it, the newness of it, the lingering scent of roses in the air. His rare bird. Lucy Gray had noticed his perception of her back then and cared enough to articulate it. She’d wanted his approval. It had felt so good.

“You called me extraordinary,” Lucy Gray continued, her voice barely a whisper. “In every way, you said. The most incredible girl you’d ever met.”

Coriolanus remembered. “I meant it.”

Lucy Gray looked away when he said it, focused on moving her food absently with her fork. “The most incredible girl you’d ever met,” she repeated.

“You were,” Coriolanus said firmly. If she wanted an ego boost, she could have it. It was true. He could see that moment as vividly as she could, the rawness of it, the fragility. “You are.”

“I’d rather it’d have been a lie,” Lucy Gray stated plainly as she merged her attention to her glass of wine, bringing it to her lips.

“Why?” Coriolanus had no other response, swallowing the hurt dryly.

Lucy Gray was interrupted by the silent shuffle of the second course. Coriolanus didn’t care to notice what the plate carried, considering neither of them had touched the first one. He set his gaze on Lucy Gray, refusing to stray from her face, willing her to see him for who she wanted him to be. A natural goodness is born into everyone, she’d said in the forest that day, his mother’s shawl decorating her upper back. Coriolanus couldn’t read her intentions or her opinion of him - her admitted attraction the day she’d arrived, her refusal to say she hated him, how she’d drifted into his arms in the rose garden only an hour before. This could not work if they weren’t able to have an intensive conversation, and it had to. It had to work.

“Why?” Coriolanus repeated, his lip quivering. He tried to cover such a vulnerability by bringing his hand onto his chin and resultantly over the corner of his mouth, but his hands shook too. Lucy Gray noticed.

“Because you saw me that way, and even yet that was the best we got - lies and a shotgun, Coriolanus. If that’s what you would do to the most important person in your life, what better is there? Aren’t we just waiting for the other shoe to fall? How am I supposed to have any hope for this? How was I?” Behind her protective exterior, Lucy Gray was showing signs of equivalent emotional affliction, her voice catching on the word ‘we’. Her eyes were beginning to water, wide and deer-like, reminding Coriolanus of his prior fantasy to hound her. He would feel better if she began to cry.

“I was out of my mind, Lucy Gray, because if you remember correctly, I was not the only one who lied that day.”

“You were going to kill me.”

Coriolanus slammed his hand on the table with such veracity that the forks and knives jumped at his force, Lucy Gray flinching in a manner that he found performative. “I was not going to kill you, Lucy Gray. I just wanted to disarm you, to… I’m a sharpshooter, Lucy Gray. Nothing would’ve been fatal, I-I would rather kill myself, I-” he paused, gesturing to their surroundings. “Don’t you see that I want to prove something to you, prove myself? What is it going to take?”

A single tear streamed down the left side of Lucy Gray’s face, merging with the water that continued to drip down her arms from her hair. “So you just wanted to shoot me?” The question was asked with an accusatory scoff.

“Yes, I wanted to disarm you. I said that. I said it wouldn’t have been fatal.”

“Wow, thank you. How inspired.”

They’re just not inspired, I guess. Sarcasm hung still in the air. Coriolanus wished she would stop trying to demean him. He was being honest, wasn’t he? What could she possibly want? “You’re confusing me and I’m frustrated,” he said plainly.

“How do you think that I felt alone in the woods for months, Coriolanus? Don’t you realize that I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t believe I had to for my own survival?”

“That was your choice.”

“I didn’t see it as a choice.”

“I can’t control that, can I? I’m sorry that poor little Lucy Gray had to sit in a tree with her thoughts for a while. You don’t seem to be any more at peace in a penthouse with anything you could desire, either. Maybe that’s a choice.”

Lucy Gray was crying now, giving pause to the maids approaching the table with yet another wasted entree. Coriolanus waved them away. “Maybe I do hate you,” she said, the words ugly and unwelcome in her mouth.

Coriolanus stood from his chair in a single cohesive movement, ignoring the abrasive sound the action made as he tore it across the flooring. Lucy Gray’s eyes were covered with her hands, but he could tell by the way she retreated against the back of her seat that she knew he was coming. It seems we are both overwhelmed, he thought to himself as he approached her slowly, modestly. Once close enough, he sank to the floor beside her, letting her look down on him, his knees on the carpet.

“You don’t,” he whispered, noticing that even here, he was almost her size.

Lucy Gray looked at him through the gaps of her fingers, spreading them wider to memorize the sight of him submitting to her.

“You have a knife there,” Coriolanus directed his eyes to the right. “Sharp enough to slit my throat, if you want. You could do it fast and precisely. I wouldn’t be able to stand fast enough. Then you could take the elevator to the first floor, tell my driver that I requested you to go to the train station. There’s a line to Twelve every four hours - I used to check. By the time these wordless Avoxes could be of any benefit to serving me justice after they find me, you’d be gone, back to the Covey, the woods, wherever you’d like. And maybe Peacekeepers would come looking for you. Maybe they’d find you. But I never would again. I’d be dead.”

Lucy Gray brought her hands to her lap, twisting them together. She looked horrified, but Coriolanus simply leaned his head back, exposing his throat to her. His hair, long and unruly, fell across his forehead, and he looked nowhere but her. “Do it, Lucy Gray,” he said through gritted teeth. “Show me that you hate me.”

She was wordless as she moved to grab the bulky handle of the steak knife, Coriolanus unmoving. She wouldn’t do it. He knew that she couldn’t, and it was making him feel better and better by the second, his heart drumming. Lucy Gray could talk all that she wanted, say whatever she pleased - it was talk, that’s all. Here, in the moments shaped like life or death, was where he could find how she felt about him. These were simply the Games they played.

As she leaned over him, the water from her hair now falling onto his face, he decided this wouldn’t be a bad way to die. He opened his mouth to lick what came off of her, smiling at the taste of lavender. She had used it, it’d been the right choice - he’d spent five minutes in the market deciding whether lemon or lavender would suit her better. Lavender, yes. Definitely lavender. Lucy Gray was still crying, and Coriolanus welcomed that on his tongue as well, drinking whatever he could of her. She choked on her sobs as Coriolanus put his hands on her knees, leaning closer to the angle of the knife.

They remained in this position briefly, Coriolanus beginning to run his fingers up and down her thighs, bunching up her dress. Her hands shook, almost dropping the knife once. But she tightened her grip, then, her hand going white around the handle - because she didn’t want it to fall on him, cut him by accident. He noticed it.

Finally, Lucy Gray threw the knife across the room, crying harder as Coriolanus raised himself slightly off the floor to hug her. He wrapped his entirety around her, squeezing her against his chest as she moved to the edge of the chair to entwine her legs around his midriff. She was still taller than him like this, only barely, him remaining on his knees and her seated. Coriolanus ran his hands up and down her spine, letting her cry against him. “Shhh,” he murmured. “See, Lucy Gray, you don’t hate me. You don’t hate me. Quiet down, you’re okay.”

All in due time , he reminded himself as he nuzzled his lips against her neck. She’d failed another test with flying colors, just as he’d wanted her to. Her hair fell over his face, drowning him in her scent. It was the smell of shame, what wrong and right became when they mixed together - lavender and roses.

[marvelingjules]

From my first week in the apartment, things I have done/learned....

Groceries fucking suck - especially when you’re building up a pantry.

It can be very quiet which can be very unsettling if you’re used to ambient housemate and outside traffic noises.

Sometimes you discover quirky things like hey that light switch doesn’t always work so you need to double check or else the light won’t actually turn off and will be on all day. And yes, you do in fact need to have maintenance come fix that.

I can and will logic away why I don’t need to talk/ask about the storage door outside and how it won’t. fucking. open. So far it’s been ‘I’ve been at work’ all week.

Random household items are weirdly expensive, and some are cheaper than you think, and some you can find cheaper at cheap-stores and are actually really nice.

Sitting in the morning with my coffee and the blinds over the patio pulled back a bit, and the glass door opened so it’s just the screen for half a foot, sitting in calm quiet watching Bailey sniff out at the fresh air in the sunshine, is absolutely soothing and a good start to the day, but hard to step away from as well.

Making meals is still a pain. Convincing myself to eat anyways is bleh. Leftovers need to be eaten but also suck and I get grumpy about it.

However I can also just make myself double-chocolate frozen belgian waffles for lunch and no one is around to judge me for it. Is it healthy? Not really! But at least I’m eating. :)

I really, really like the bowls I picked out and bought. And the silverware. Worth the extra cost for them because using them makes me smile.

I can nap whenever I want and no one gets to judge it.

Coming home after work is so much less heavy. I am still tired, but so much calmer and lighter in that exhaustion than before. (”I don’t know if that really makes sense, that before it was a heavy exhaustion and now it’s a calm one, but that’s what it feels like,” I told my therapist. “No, I think that makes perfect sense,” she assured me.)

You accumulate a lot of boxes and trash when moving in. It piles up. It haunts your space. You do eventually have to take it out. Yes it sucks. But you’ll feel better for doing it.

[jedi-bird]

One of the things I like about being an adult is being able to choose just how much or how little I want to own of something, back account willing of course. No one can tell me I can't have 30 pairs of socks. No one can tell me not to buy a tea I like in bulk (which is usually cheaper and yes I'm going to use it all).

And sheets. The number of fights I used to have with my mom about the fucking sheets in our room....

My mom and I shared a room together after we moved in with my grandparents when I was really little. We continued to share a room pretty much up until she died with I was an adult. Between space (my grandparents slept in separate rooms for many reasons, mainly because my grandpa was a jerk) and necessity, there wasn't a lot of choices. My mom also refused to ever go through her own stuff and instead chose to throw away our things, so this also meant our room only had one bed because all her belongings from when she divorced my dad were shoved into that room.

My mom insisted that people could only have one set of sheets. They also always had to be a white background with tiny delicate pink and yellow flowers on them. And she wasn't great at actually doing household chores so washing them took all day and they were usually still damp when it was time for bed.

I used to get yelled at all the time once I hit puberty. My period was very irregular, very heavy, and often "violent" for lack of a better description. No matter how careful I was, there were leaks quite often at night until I managed to convince her I needed different pads than the ones she insisted I had to wear. She screamed at me a lot about this. Never mind the fact that she definitely should have taken me to a doctor because this was not normal, nor was the burning and intense pain and nausea. This in no way helped with the hatred I had toward myself growing up nor was it my fault (took decades to realize this).

When my partner and I got married and I was in the process of moving in, I insisted we have more than one pair of sheets for several reasons. They were okay with it. They, too, had grown up with only one and hated it as well. So we bought two very cheap sets and switched between them.

I have since bought three more sets, brining us up to five. One is my favorite (dark emerald green and so soft); one is light blue and is their favorite (expensive so bought with a coupon and gift card and also very soft); another light blue that is also the only one that fits the air mattress we have for guests; a gray one that is okay; and a white, blue, and grey one with prints of Captain America's shield on it that I have because it holds too much heat but keep because it's pretty and it's a good indicator that I've waited too long to do laundry.

Five sheets might seem excessive, but there's logic behind it. I get sick. A lot. I get sick a lot less now that I'm home pretty much 24/7, but for a while I was very sick every other week. So being able to change a sheet and just go right back to bed feels like a luxury. If one tears (which happened to one of our old ones), we already have replacements. If we change it and something happens we can change it again immediately. I didn't buy they all at once; I've slowly collected them over time, same with pillowcases, and with the exception of that one sheet, nothing has cost more than twenty bucks.

Being an adult and being able to control my environment is wonderful. I get eye rolls occasionally from family about having "too many sheets" or "too many towels" (partner goes through three a day and nothing will get them to change) or "too many plates" (we have enough for four meals before dishes must be done, that's really not that much). My mother in law sometimes makes comments about how she only has three mugs and then freaks out when she wants everyone over and there's not enough cups for everyone; same with silverware (four sets for five people, assuming she remembered to do the dishes), towels, and places to sit. I grew up living like that and refuse to do it again. I don't hoard things and I don't buy more than a set upon amount. But I like not feeling rushed to do chores and not feeling like I can't rest if I'm sick.

So yeah. I like having more than one set of sheets. No one can tell me no. My comfort is in my hands and it's great. That's one of the few parts about being an adult that I like.

[cherrydreamer]

Rebirth My entry for Day 8 of the HarringroveApril challenge! Steve isn't sure what to expect when he offers Billy a spare room after he leaves the hospital. He figures that Billy might be quiet. Withdrawn. The Billy that Steve had gotten glimpses of in that too-white, too-cold, too-quiet room. The one who curled himself up small and flinched away from touches and didn’t utter a word, even when his cheeks were wet with silent tears.

Then Steve thinks he might be angry. Surly. The Billy who screamed at the orderlies and hurled his cane at the doctors and pounded on locked doors until his knuckles bled. The one who was rightfully pissed off with the hand that fate had dealt him. Steve wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been resentful of Steve's offer. If he rejected it or decided to take it only to destroy it rather than let himself have even the smallest piece.

That was if Steve actually sees him at all. If Billy doesn't just grab whatever isn't nailed down and drives straight to the nearest pawn shop in Steve's Dad's bright red midlife-crisis Ferrari. Steve won't even stop him. Will just leave the keys right there in plain sight and make sure that Billy doesn't forget to take the silverware hidden away in the sideboard.

Instead, Steve seems to get Billy. Just Billy. Maybe a Billy with his rough edges rounded just enough to let himself accept an offer of help. But still one who struts into Steve’s house and makes himself at home instantly. Throws his jacket over the bannister and flings himself down on the sofa without even taking off his shoes. Gazes round at the big television and the modernist decor and lets out a murmur of appreciation, “Nice place, Harrington. Any chance of a drink?”

Their first night goes well. They sit in front of the TV and Steve orders pizza and refuses to give Billy a beer because, “Dude, did you not hear a word the doctors said? No booze, no weed and no-” “No fucking fun, Harrington. I get it.  Uh. Fine Mom, I’ll have a Coke.” And Billy grumbles and grouches and rolls his eyes, but he drinks his Coke and he eats his pizza and he even takes himself off to bed when Steve declares that they’ve both had a long day.

So Steve breathes a sigh of relief. Thinks it might be OK, after all.  A little odd couple maybe but...they can make it work. Which is good, because he has a shift at Family Video that he can’t miss. So the next day he leaves Billy home alone. Entirely unsupervised, but for a whole pack’s worth of Post-It Notes dotted on most surfaces, reminding Billy to eat, to drink, to take his meds, to call Steve at work if he needs him, to call Hopper or Joyce if he needs a proper adult, to call Doc Owens if he feels anything anything weird. And Steve helps customers and shelves films and yells at sticky-fingered kids and moans to Robin and tries very hard not to think about all of the possible things he might find when he gets home.

But still. His minds whirls.

And while he might not have been expecting Billy to destroy the place, not now, Steve sure as shit isn't expecting to come home, exhausted from the shittiest shift of all shitty late shifts, to find Billy reclining in Steve’s dad's Eames chair, wrapped up in his mom's silk robe, his hair piled into the soft, pink towel tied on top of his head and absolutely reeking of peach body lotion.  Steve’s Mom’s very expensive peach body lotion, to be exact.

"Hey, Harrington," Billy drawls, as soon as he spots Steve lingering in the doorway, "Dude, that Jacuzzi tub your parents have is in-fucking-cred-ah-ble!" He ends his declaration with a  sensuous, feline wriggle against the leather chair, the silk robe shifting up and revealing so much shining skin that Steve can't help but wonder whether he's wearing anything underneath it.

"I mean it," Billy grins, "Better than all that goddamn physical therapy. I feel like a whole new man. Re-fucking-born." He stretches again, and the robe slips to reveal what seems to Steve like a whole acre of chest. Scarred, and a little paler, but still muscular. Still firm. Still right in Steve's eyeline.

"Yeah?" Steve's tired. His head is buzzing. He's not thinking straight. There's suddenly a lot more slippery, peach-scented skin in his life and he's spent a lot of the last few weeks staring at a poster of Rob Lowe glaring down at him, all big hair and dangly earring, and he’s been talking to Robin and maybe he's been... thinking. Not straight.

That's his excuse, anyway. The only reason he can think of when, instead of walking away. Instead of rolling his eyes. Instead of slipping quietly on to the couch and turning his gaze to Magnum, P.I and his thoughts to Tom Selleck, instead of doing any of those sensible, normal, reasonable things, Steve keeps looking at Billy and just cocks an eyebrow and lets out the one and only thought that’s been running around his brain since he walked in,

"Got anything other than that robe between your bare ass and that leather, Hargrove?"

And Billy blinks. Flushes. Red rising from his chest to his neck and spreading all across his cheeks.  But he also smirks. And spreads his legs, just a little. Just enough.  And then he catches Steve’s eye and his tongue darts out to wet his lips and his smirk turns wicked. Turns irresistible, 

“Wanna come find out?” 

[vs-redemption]

This piece was written as a part of the anniversary event for the @konoblog-simps Discord server. Be sure to go to the MASTERLIST to read and support the pieces by the other writers for this event.

Hurt/Comfort (Jean Kirstein x GN!Reader)

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Heavy themes of marriage (Shoutout to @undersero for inspiring this idea)

The clock sitting up on the mantel was the most unoffensive object you could think of. It was a beautiful, handcrafted thing that had been gifted down to you and your boyfriend by his parents when the two of you had finally decided to move in together. They’d told you to think of it as an early wedding gift which had made both you and Jean blush and sputter awkwardly. It was a sweet memory, but you had no idea when you’d actually be able to make their wishes come true. You and Jean were still trying to get established and weddings were expensive and time consuming to plan. You knew that first hand since you’d been helping your best friend with their wedding, and the time on that gorgeous mantel clock was telling you that there was only an hour or so before you had to leave for the ceremony and you were still sitting at the floor of your living room wrapping silverware for their reception.

“Babe,” Jean peeks out of the bedroom, hair still damp from the shower while holding up two ties. “I have no idea what to wear to this thing. What does ‘dressy casual’ even mean? Are we dressing up or looking casual?”

“We already talked about this yesterday,” you sigh while grabbing another fork, knife and spoon from the pile in front of you and lining them up on the napkin to wrap them as neatly as possible. It was one of the easier things your friend had asked you to do for the wedding, so you had kind of brushed if off as something you could do once everything else was taken care of. But once you started on the task and realized how much of a pain it actually was to get the creases perfectly and to tie off the napkin without letting everything else shift and unravel, you began to worry you wouldn’t get it done in time. Combine that with the fact that you had to do over one hundred of them after a long week of working a full-time job that didn’t pay nearly enough, and you were starting to become panicked and cranky.

“You just said we were going to be outdoors,” you could hear the frown in his voice. “It’s going to be insanely hot out today. Do I need to wear a jacket?”

“No,” you reply shortly, fingers fumbling to hold the flap of the napkin down while tying the ribbon around it in a perfect bow.

“Do I even need to wear a tie?” He asks.

“Jean!” You huff and look over at him sharply, “Please. Can’t you see that I’m working on something right now? I have to get these done and I haven’t even started getting ready. I’m sure whatever you pick out will be fine.”

Jean bristles at your tone and you didn’t blame him. It wasn’t his fault you’d put this job off to the last minute. But maybe you did hold him at least a little responsible for the fact that you two hadn’t even talked about getting married, at least not seriously. You’d dropped more hints than you could count while going through the wedding process with your friend, but he always seemed to shy away from the topic.

“I’ve just never been to a beach wedding before,” He says, “and I don’t want to be the only one over or under dressed.”

“I don’t have time to help you go through your closet right now,” you hold up your hands, wanting him to understand that his wardrobe was the least of your concerns at the moment. “Sorry. Maybe when I’m done with this.”

“Well how long is that going to take?” He eyes the pile of silverware in front of you warily.

“Not that long if you offered to help.” You hadn’t meant to sound as accusatory as you did, but the stress had been building up within you as the date approached and it wasn’t as if you could take out the burden on your friend. It was their wedding and you didn’t want them worrying about a single thing on such an important day.

“What?” Jean recoils and then furrows his eyebrows. “I’m not doing that! You’re the one that took on this job and waited until now to do it.”

“When was I supposed to do this, Jean?!” You gape at him, hating that he actually called you out. “I’ve been working every single day only to come home and do stuff for this wedding. Rehearsal dinners, re-fittings, making center pieces, collecting RSVPs and helping with seating arrangements. It’s a lot!” Tears had already begun to burn in your eyes. Deep down you knew that you weren’t mad at Jean. You were just overtired and overworked. Plus, all this wedding talk had made you both wonder and fear if your own relationship with Jean was going anywhere.

“You know what?” He throws up his hands. “All I asked was for some help with what to wear and you turned it into this huge thing.”

“Wow! Forgive me for expecting some sympathy and support from my plus one…” You roll your eyes, trying to calm yourself down by looking at your lap and taking a few deep breaths.

“Well maybe I don’t want to be your plus one anymore.”

You blink, processing his words for a moment and not believing they’d just come out of his mouth. You couldn’t help but wonder if there was a deeper message in there and it made you feel terrified to look up and meet his eyes again.

“I didn’t mean that.” He has the decency to try and backtrack but the words had already been said.

“Didn’t you?” You finally look up at him, anger and hurt in your eyes. Jean looks surprised and falters for a moment before coming over and sitting on the couch in front of you.

“What does that mean?” He whispers.

“For weeks I’ve been doing nothing but wedding stuff, imagining what this process will look like for us and hoping that you’re starting to feel inspired to take that next step too… but it seems like you’ve only been more distant lately.” You hated to say it out loud because it might just pave the road to a destination you really don’t want to arrive at. Jean is silent for a few moments which only serves to make you dread his reply all the more.

“Is that really what you think?” He finally asks.

“What?”

“You really think I don’t want to marry you?” He tilts his head curiously. “There’s nothing I want more than to be with you forever.” He says it calmly and firmly as if it were the truest thing he’s ever said. “And of course, all this wedding stuff has been making me think about us and our future. I know it’s a lot to take on and I’ve probably delayed us too long for so many trivial reasons, but I know it’ll be worth it. Marriage was always in the cards when I decided to be with you.”

“But then why haven’t you said anything?” You ask quietly. “I feel like you’ve hardly talked to me at all recently.” Jean laughs and shakes his head.

“Honey, you’ve been going full steam ahead with all this stuff that I haven’t had a real chance to properly spend time with you. You get home and immediately start on a project or get ready to run out the door again to go to one of your friend’s appointments.” He finally moves off the couch to kneel next to you on the ground, gathering you in his arms. “To be honest, sometimes it felt like you were the one that wasn’t talking to me.”

He had a point. Suddenly it was so obvious. Poor Jean had been putting up with you and all your running around lately, and you had the nerve to accuse him for being distant. Before you could even try to feel guilty though, your boyfriend is assuring you that everything is okay.

“You’re a good friend to help out so much with this wedding. I wasn’t really angry that you were taking the time to do all this stuff for them, but I did miss you.” He grimaces a little then. “And maybe I was a little resentful that you asked for my help when I haven’t even gotten to spend much quality time with you lately. I shouldn’t have snapped at you though. That wasn’t right.”

“And I shouldn’t have gotten so wrapped up in all of this and neglected you,” you bring your hands up to cup his face. “I’m so sorry Jean, for that and for accusing you of not wanting to be with me.”

“No need for apologies,” he assures you before leaning in to press his lips to yours sweetly. “You’ve been under a lot of stress. I should’ve offered to help you a lot sooner.” He pulls away and looks at the pile of silverware. “Show me how to do this and we’ll get it done in no time, okay?”

Your lips pull into a smile and you nod your head, a feeling of relief settling over you as you grab a set of silverware, a napkin, and a ribbon. “Thank you so much,” you begin to show him the steps of how to roll it all up and tie the bow neatly. “And once this is done, I’ll help you pick out something appropriate to wear.”

The mantel clock continues to mark the passing time as the two of you sit side by side, the pile of silverware growing smaller with every minute. At first, it had seemed to be counting down the moments to an urgent deadline, but now it almost felt like it was ticking forward towards a wonderful future where you and Jean could finally enter a new chapter and take the next step in your relationship.

@anlian-aishang

[saeyoungchoismaid]

in all honesty, i don't know how this would work, but it intrigued me.

24 + diavolo, maybe? if you can find inspiration for it :)

You did it perfectly anon!! FINALLY an ask for hubby Diavolo <3 Lmao this was just supposed to be a little drabble like the rest of them but nO I just hAd to go overboard. So now I have to add all this mess:

Pairing: Lord Diavolo x gn!reader Genre: angst, fluff, fake dating au Warnings: uh his dad hates you??? Summary: With the Demon King wanting Diavolo to find someone to rule with him, it’s only natural that he lies and says he’s already found someone(you), right?  Word Count: 2k words (so much for this being a drabble lmao)

24. kisses for a cover (I’m assuming this means like a cover up like a lie)

Being the prince of The Devildom comes with many responsibilities, including but not limited to: running The Devildom since his father has no interest in The Devildom’s affairs, hosting events and gatherings to strengthen his bonds with other lords and the other rulers of the three worlds, keeping an eye on the student council (which is mostly composed of meddlesome brothers that he cares for deeply), and the list goes on. 

Oh, can’t forget the fact that he is required to marry and have someone to rule by his side. Yeah, that’s apparently an important one. He’s always realized his responsibility and has accepted all parts of his life as fact, but when you come down from the human world to participate in his program, his solid plans suddenly all come to a screeching halt. 

It becomes clear to him that he can’t go and marry someone just for the sake of The Devildom. I mean, he’s been ruling The Devildom for most of his life just fine without someone else! He decided he wasn’t going to do it. He doesn’t want to marry anyone except for you and when he does, it’ll be because you two are ready for marriage, not because it’s his duty as prince. 

His father didn’t like that though. 

Despite Diavolo being the ruler of The Devildom, he is not yet the Demon King. That title still belongs to his father, who always has the final say. And in this case, his final say is that Diavolo cannot rule the kingdom on his own any longer. 

Diavolo sees red when he hears this news. 

It isn’t until his father decides to host a party to introduce him to possible suitors that Diavolo lies and says he’s already found someone to rule by his side. When asked who, Diavolo says your name, and, of course, his father wants to meet you right away. 

The only thing is, Diavolo hasn’t told you of his true feelings, meaning you are oblivious to how he truly feels about you. His father cannot know of this though. So, with Diavolo on his knees before you, he begs you to pretend to be his lover. He promises that he’ll do whatever you ask of him, as long as you do him this favor. 

Unbeknownst to Diavolo though, you’re just as crazy about him as he is about you. So of course you agree to his plan. 

Asmo helps you with your appearance, Satan teaches you some big words to use in front of the Demon King to impress him, Lucifer teaches you the proper mannerism to use in front of him, Mammon lets you wear his most expensive jewelry, Beel shows you the correct silverware to use during the dinner and in what order to eat it in, plus what to avoid, Levi gives you history facts about The Devildom and what the Demon King has done for it before Diavolo took over, and Belphie reminds you to flatter the Demon King as much as possible to please him. Barbatos, of course, goes over everything with you again to make sure your success is definite. 

When you’re finally ready, Diavolo picks you up at six o’clock sharp to bring you back to his father’s mansion for dinner. He smiles when he sees you, though his smile shrinks a bit when he notices how stiff and nervous you are. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispers to you when you reach him, gently taking a hold of your hand to kiss the back of it. His smile returns to its original state when you smile at him, your cheeks gaining heat to them at the compliment. 

“Thank you. You look quite dapper yourself,” you reply softly, admiring him in his fancy suit. His smile turns into a grin, happy to hear that you like his suit. His tie is your favorite color and everything. 

“Well, let’s get going,” he says as he leads you to the car and helps you get in. He talks to you about every and anything on the way there, trying to distract you and calm you down before you arrive. It works up until the car pulls up in front of his father’s mansion, your throat suddenly going dry. “You’ll do great,” he promises. 

He helps you out just like how he had helped you in before assisting you up the grand steps. When you reach the door, he gives a single powerful knock before waiting. You two aren’t waiting long before the door is flying open and a small woman is standing there. “Good evening. Please come in,” she greets meekly, pulling the grand door open for you two to walk inside. 

You two are then led to the dining room, where your chairs are pulled out for you two to sit. Within the next minute, the Demon King is walking in. “Welcome, welcome! I’m glad you two made it here okay!” he greets, surprising you with how chipper he seems. He takes a seat at the head of the grand table, your hands starting to shake a bit in his presence despite how friendly he seems. During Levi’s history lesson, he told you about all the scary things he’s done in his time. 

As soon as he’s taken his seat, servants are flocking in with trays of drinks and appetizers. You all wait until they’re gone before beginning to eat. You stare down at your plate, trying to remember everything Beel and Lucifer taught you. Why are there three spoons and three forks? Surely you don’t need that many. You glance at Diavolo and pick up the same fork as him, taking a deep breath to help relax your nerves. 

You glance at the Demon King to find that he looks satisfied with your silverware choice. Was this a test? You don’t have time to ponder it before he’s firing into questions about you. The first one being: “So, you’re...human?” How are you supposed to answer that? Of course you are, and he obviously knows this. 

“Um, yes,” you stutter out, feeling your cheeks flush when you realize your mistake. “Yes, your highness!”  He lets out a small hum, seeming to make a mental note of your mistake. From there, things seem to only get worse. It’s like you suddenly forgot how to speak like a normal person and things you’d never say are flying out of your mouth. You’re just trying to impress him and make him approve of you but you’re doing the exact opposite. 

It isn’t until the end of dinner that he announces this. 

“You know, son, I’m not sure this one is the best idea,” he starts, frowning at you as he gives you a once over. Before he can even continue though, Diavolo is standing up and glaring down at his father with a look of pure anger. You’ve never seen him so worked up before.

“I don’t care what you think about them! You told me to find someone to rule with and that’s what I’ve done. I love them and they will be by my side as I rule over The Devildom!” he announces, making your jaw drop as you stare up at him. You close your mouth and clench your jaw though when you remember what you’re here for. He doesn’t actually love you. He’s saying all of this to convince his father that he’s found someone who will rule with him. 

You apparently tuned out of the conversation at the wrong time because the next thing you know, you’re being tugged up by Diavolo and his lips are finding yours. Your eyes go wide in shock despite your brain trying to yell at your body not to show any signs of surprise. It’s easier said than done though. 

All too soon for your liking, Diavolo is pulling away from your lips. Something flashes in his eyes—hope or love maybe? Eh, who are you kidding—before he’s turning to look at his father again. “You see? I don’t want anyone else; I want them! They’re mine and I’m theirs!” he shouts at his father. Before he can reply to his son, Diavolo is dragging you out of the room and to the front of the house where the car is awaiting you both. 

Diavolo is silent for a long time while you two drive back home, a heavy frown on his face and his knuckles white with how tight he’s clenching his fists. “I’m sorry for all of that,” he apologizes softly, bringing your eyes away from his hands to his face. He’s not looking at you though, simply staring out his window at the scenery passing him by. 

“It’s okay. I understand. Barbatos informed me of your relationship with your father,” you say softly. They get along and all, but they more often than not end up in some sort of disagreement. It’s normally about how things are being done in The Devildom though. 

He sighs and reaches over to take your hand in his, staring down at the small hand in his big one. “I hope you’ll still consider my proposal,” he says softly, making your brows furrow. 

“What proposal?” you ask. His eyes finally meet yours and your heart skips a beat at how expressive his eyes are. 

“To rule The Devildom with me, of course,” he replies like it’s obvious. Your brows shoot up to your hairline at this news though. 

“What? I thought that was just something you were telling your father, so he wouldn’t force you to marry some rando,” you rush out, trying to wrap your mind around his words. There’s no way he actually wants you to rule The Devildom with him. You wouldn’t know the first thing about ruling over thousands of other people—er, demons.  

His brows knit together at your response, his other hand moving to grab your free one. “(Y/n), I’m sorry. I...I should’ve said something sooner,” he whispers, staring down at your hands now. This only confuses you more though. 

“Tell me what sooner?” 

He’s silent for a long moment, trying to gather the right words he wants to say. “I love you. What I said back there, it’s true. I want you to be by my side and help me to run The Devildom. You have so many good ideas and suggestions, I just know you’ll make a wonderful leader.” 

Now you’re just gaping at him like a fish. 

“What? No. No, I...I can’t,” you mumble, pulling your hands out of his. He just pulls them right back to him though. 

“You can’t? Can’t what? Be with me?” he asks softly, his voice sounding close to breaking, just like his heart. 

“No! No, I...I want to be with you. I love you too. I just...I don’t know the first thing when it comes to ruling over demons, most of which want to eat me,” you reply, trying to sound playful and joking but failing, your words being too true and hitting too close to home.

That didn’t stop Diavolo from smashing his lips to yours for a passionate kiss though. “That doesn’t matter. None of it does as long as I get to be with you. I’ll even step down from being King for you,” he mumbles against your lips after you two pull back for air. 

“No, don’t do that. These people need you just as much as I do. I’ll learn how to rule with time. Just stay by my side, okay?” you whisper back, pulling away from his face enough to look up into his eyes. 

He smiles brighter than The Devildom’s moon as he nods his head rapidly. “I swear I will. I’ll help you every step of the way.” He seals his promise with another kiss...and then another...and then just one more to be sure.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

MASTERLISTS

More with Lord Diavolo

Join my discord: https://discord.gg/qnDxJ6rr67 

Tag List: @katelynwithpaint, @buzzybeebee, @stressylexy, @jungialo, @fanfictwarrior, @ohbbobeyme, @zeldan7, & @otome-otakuwu ✦ if you would like to be added or removed, comment or send an ask. Also, remember to tell me if you ever change your username so I can continue to tag you :)

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Heart-Shaped Box💟9/End

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), forced pregnancy, some violence, intimidation, some elements untagged for sake of plot.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister Series: Get Your Fix

Summary: You accept a job as an au pair, but not all is as it seems.

Note: Finally finishing this one up. Sorry it took me ages but I’m doing my best to go back and wrap up whatever I can.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Masterlist

Bucky pulled out of you as he held your head down, bouncing the bed beneath you as he pushed himself onto his back. You panted as your sweat dampened the sheet beneath you and he leaked between your thighs. You winced as you rolled onto your side and slowly sat up. 

He had you whining loud enough that you had no doubt your guests heard it all. It only seemed to encourage his partner-in-crime as you soon heard a similar scene on the other side of the wall. You were sickened by that noise and stood warily as you cupped your hand over your cunt and scooped up his cum before it could drip onto the floor.

“I told you to keep it down,” he snickered and sat up, his muscled back to you as he stretched his arms above him, “get the shower started, I’ll be in shortly. You girls have a lot of work to do today.”

You grumbled and dragged your feet to the attached bathroom. The low buzz of the pipes filled the silence and you stepped under the steamy water. The moment of calm broke sharply as Bucky appeared from the other side of the curtain and stepped in behind you. He had you clean him with a lathered loofah and you bore it only for the eventuality of time away from him.

The other woman meant you wouldn’t be trapped with just him. It was little help or hope but it was better than your former solitary torture.

You dressed in black dress with daisies and made yourself look like his perfect housewife. You couldn’t hold the smile and make him believe it all the way but he wouldn’t anyway. He flicked your chin and clicked his tongue.

“Mmm, you’re getting there,” he mused as he dropped his hand and reached around to slap your ass, “better go get breakfast on. I’ll check in on our guests.” He squeezed and winked, “be a good girl.”

Those words made your insides curdled but you swallowed your disgust and nodded, “yes, sir.”

He stepped out behind you and watched you go down the hall to the stairs and you heard him knock on the door as you descended. You went to the kitchen and pulled out the frying pan and the coconut oil. You lined up the ingredients for crepes on the counter and took two bananas from the yellow bunch. Your mother used to make the oversweet delicacy and you needed a reminder that you were still that girl.

You stopped as you searched for something to keep the crepes warm after you assembled them, a lid that could fit over the plate or something akin to it. The lower cupboards you rarely opened. Bucky left the cleaning supplies on the counter with your chore list every day and you never bothered to look for anything else.

You stopped and stared at the drain cleaner and the can of toxic oven spray. Well, that wouldn’t be subtle enough, would it? They’d smell either of those a mile away. Anything under the counter would be easily discovered but it did give you an idea.

You closed the wooden door and went back to your task. You heard the voices in the next room and the scrape of the chairs on the floor. Steve’s girl appeared in the doorway, rubbing her stomach as her face contorted.

“Smells sweet,” she said as you simmered the bananas with brown sugar, cinnamon, and a little butter, “almost too sweet.”

“Morning sickness?” you asked innocently.

“All the time sickness,” she sighed, “anything I can help with?”

“Do you know how to make crepes?” you asked as you whisked the batter.

“Not really,” she shrugged, “but I can learn.”

“It’s easy. Takes less than a minute,” you waved her over and tested the temperature of the pan with a flick of water, “so you wanna put just a little batter in…” you ladled in a careful dollop and lifted the pan, “you spread it like this,” you tilted it so the batter spread all around, “you just use the spatula a little on the edges to make sure they don’t stick and you flip.”

It was like second nature and she nodded quietly as she watched. The crepe cooked quickly and you threw it onto a plate and put the pan back to the burner.

“You think you can handle that?” you covered the plate with the lid of a pat to keep it warm. “Then we put some of the bananas and wrap them, bit of cream on top and some icing sugar…”

“You like to cook?” she wondered as she added batter to the hot pan.

“Not particularly, but my mother taught me,” you shrugged, “she can cook anything.”

“Oh,” she flipped the crepe and glanced at the door, “I suppose… it keeps him happy.”

“He’s never happy,” you murmured and cleared your throat, “so, you must be excited to move in!”

“I guess,” she slid the crepe onto the plate as you lifted the foggy lid, “you know how it is.”

You smiled and she tilted her head as she squinted at you. You went to the drawer where there was a box of blank recipe cards and continued speaking as you fished out a pencil from another.

“It’s always nice to get settled,” you said as you wrote, ‘they can hear us’.

“I suppose, nice to be in one place,” she replied stiffly as her features relaxed.

‘I have a plan,’ you wrote and raised your voice just slightly, “oh, you know, we didn’t even get you a housewarming gift. I’ll have to remind James.”

You went to the burner and held out the card under the coil until it caught. You threw it into the sink and watched it burn and curl. You ran water over it as it turned to ash and washed it away. You nudged the bowl towards her and leaned on the counter, “need help with that?”

“No,” she said as she started again, “I’m getting the hang of it.”

💟

You looked around the front room of the house next door. Steve’s girl opened one of the stacked boxes. For once, the men were gone and you could just enjoy their absence. 

Bucky agreed that a gift was in order and Steve had mentioned wanting to explore their new hometown. You tried not to seem eager but even the small walk across the lawns enlivened you. How long had it been since you’d been outside?

You started with the pictures. You left the frames in a stack as she assured you Steve would put the nails in and hang them. Then you moved onto the kitchenware and you kept her from lifting the heavy box of dishes. She seemed to forget about her condition and the reminder made her frown.

You stood behind the counter and set the dishes in the cupboards one at a time, the plates clacking one on top of each other. She watched from the other side as she arranged the silverware in the plastic tray.

“Can you do me a favour?” you asked as you kept on.

“What?” she asked as she dropped a butter knife with the rest.

“I know they’ve locked us in but can you check the garage door? Can we get in there?” you asked evenly.

“What?” she blinked and pushed herself straight, “even if we can, they won’t have been stupid enough--”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. I know we can’t get out that way either. It’s the same at our house. Everything is bolted up tight.” You assured her, “just go and check while I get these sorted.”

She left you and you snapped shut the door and finished with the utensils. You slid the tray into the drawer as she returned, rubbing her stomach.

“Yeah, we can get in but it’s mostly empty,” she said, “so…”

“Mostly empty?”

“Yeah, just the car--”

“The car,” you rounded the counter and curled two fingers for her to follow you.

You headed for the plain white door that led to the garage. You hopped down the steps as she remained at the top and watched you tentatively. You went to the car as she crossed her arms.

“He took the keys,” she said.

You tried the handle and the door opened. “I know,” you said as you put a knee in the front seat and peered into the back. Nothing. 

You felt around under the dash and found the lever for the trunk. You pulled it and it popped. You shut the door and went around the back of the car. You felt around the spare tire and your hand felt something plastic. You grabbed the handle of the half-filled jug and pulled it out.

“Hey,” you held up the bright blue anti-freeze, “do you wanna cook dinner here tonight? A housewarming dinner?”

Her brows knitted and she gave a long blink. Her lips parted then curved.

“You can’t mean--” she let out a scoff.

“It’s sweet. Hopefully they won’t notice if I add enough sugar to the cake,” you breathed, “we can’t let them settle. This is our chance.”

“I don’t-- I don’t know. What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’re still in the same boat,” you turned your free hand out, “that man has drugged me for months. I think it’s only fair that he gets a taste of his own medicine.”

She swallowed and looked down at her stomach. She inhaled and cradled her bump. “It can’t get worse than this, can it?”

💟

You spent the day unpacking, the distraction not much of one as you thought of the bottle you hid at the back of the cupboard. By the time the men returned, you were ready to move onto the second floor. 

Bucky offered a bottle of non-alcoholic wine and basket of expensive macarons as your gift to your new neighbours. He forced a kiss from you before he let you follow Steve’s girl upstairs.

You sat in the bedroom and heard the men ascend shortly after. You peeked in on them as you opened the linen closet to shove in the spare sheets. They were hammering together a crib. You knocked lightly on the doorframe as you watched them.

“Huh, what’s going on?” Bucky looked up from the directions.

“Um, we were just… thinking, we could have dinner here tonight? A little housewarmer? I could grab some ingredients from ours--”

“Give me a list, I’ll grab it,” Bucky puffed as he bent to help hold the rail in place for Steve, “that sound okay?”

“Fine by me,” Steve smiled, “it’ll be nice to have our feet on solid ground.”

You left them and returned to your only ally as she sat on the bed and stared at a packet of pills. She crushed it in her grasp and huffed. She flicked away tears with her knuckles. She tossed them over her shoulder.

“He kept them,” she snarled, “it’s like he’s mocking me.”

“What?” you neared her and sat carefully beside her.

“I never… I worked with him, you know? He brought me these drinks and I didn’t realise he was dosing them. The stuff, it made me itchy… it made me so hot and I just needed anything. I hopped on him I was so desperate and-- I told him to stay away. I realised what he’d done and I told him to leave me alone and you know what he did,” she crossed her arms over her stomach.

“No, I--” you touched her elbow.

“He broke into my apartment and replaced my pills. And he didn’t leave me alone,” she spat, “he did this all and he still has the goddamn pills like they’re some sort of trophy.”

She hung her head and grunted in frustration. You leaned against her and put your arm over her shoulders. She let you and the tension drained from her body.

“Even if we get out…” she whispered, “I’ll always have this piece of him.”

She pressed her palms to her stomach and you frowned. There was nothing you could do or say. You’d been lucky so far, even if it only fed your suffering. You didn’t have another life to worry about.

“We don’t have to if--”

“I want to,” she hissed lowly, “I want him dead.”

💟

Usually, you tasted the icing and licked the spoon. Not that night. The blue shade of the frosting was anything but suspicious as you spread it over the fluffy cake. It was a perfect disguise. You topped it with blueberries to add to the theme and dusted on a few coloured sprinkles. You stood back and admired your work as the smell of garlic filled the kitchen.

“I know it’s not much,” Steve’s girl said as she stirred the sauce, “but it’s what I can manage.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” you said as you took the meatballs of the burner and tested the spaghetti, “noodles are perfect.”

You strained the pasta and helped pour the meatballs into the sauce. You mixed it up and poured it into a large glass dish and the noodles into another. You brought them out to the table and called the men to dinner before you fetched the wine, both alcoholic and not.

Steve’s girl sat as you poured a glass for each of you and the men sat. You set the bottle down and nestled in next to Bucky as he served himself. When the plates were full, the other woman nudged Steve and whispered in his ear.

He cleared his throat and stood, “um, I know it’s just us but I guess I should say thank you for all the help and we’re excited to be neighbours… can’t wait for the kids to be running around these halls together.”

“Mmm,” Bucky lifted his glass, “hopefully…” he muttered doubtfully and looked at you, “that better be what she’s having,” he nodded to your glass.

You held it out for him to sniff and he gave you a sour look. He tutted and sat back to twirl noodles around his fork as he set aside his glass. You took a sip of the gutless wine and speared a meatball on your tines. You chewed and looked at Steve’s girl. She let Steve rub her thigh under the table and forced a smile.

She was playing it well and you felt as if you would fall apart. You felt as if Bucky would see right through you the minute you walked in with the cake. What would he do then? Steve couldn’t hurt his girl, she had the baby, but you, Bucky could replace you still. Maybe that was for the best but it didn’t mean you weren’t scared shitless.

You cleared the plates and retreated to the kitchen. Just you. You’d gone over it, you didn’t want them to catch on. You didn’t get too close with them around, you acted like strangers, you really were after all.

You sliced the cake into careful portions and came out with two plates at a time. You put them in front of each chair and sat. As you did, Steve’s girl covered her mouth and gagged. She pushed herself up unsteadily.

“Honey?” Steve asked as he rubbed her lower back.

“It’s the baby I--” she gulped sickeningly, “I gotta--”

She rushed out and Steve gave a look, “nausea. It’s been like this for weeks.”

“I’m going to make sure she’s okay,” you stood, “go ahead and start without us.”

You went down the hall and as you neared the bathroom, Steve’s girl opened the door and pulled you inside. She looked genuinely sick and you smelled vomit on her breath. She turned and rinsed her mouth and shuddered. 

“I didn’t actually feel sick until I got in here,” she wiped her face with the hand cloth, “when I realised--”

“Everything’s in the trunk,” you assured her, “once they’re out, we get the keys and go.”

“How do we know--”

“Retch,” you hissed, “we wait until we’re sure.”

She gave an exaggerated hurl and you heard the clink of porcelain and silver and the drone of voices. You listened through the door as she watched you in the tight space of the half-bath.

“I’m thinking about getting her an… exam,” Bucky’s deep tone carried, “maybe she can’t…”

You let out the breath you were holding and closed your eyes. Just a little longer. 

When you heard a sudden lull, your eyes rounded and you turned the handle and let yourself out into the hall. She crept close behind as you peered through the open archway. Both men had their faces on their plates in the crumbs of vanilla cake and smears of blue icing.

“Let’s go,” you went to Steve and shoved your hand into his pocket, “shit, they’re not here.”

“Here!” she pulled her hand from his jacket hung on the rack, “you think they’re dead?”

You looked from one to the other and shakily felt along Steve’s neck. “Still a pulse. I think maybe… they’re only knocked out.”

“The serum,” she shook her head, “means we have to go quick.”

You hurried after her and followed her down into the garage. She climbed into the driver’s seat and moved it back as her stomach pressed to the wheel. You got in the other side as your body trembled with adrenaline. She hit the button attached to the keys and the door slowly raised behind her.

As she reversed, you felt a sudden shock around your neck and yiped. You’d forgotten entirely about the necklace. She stopped suddenly and watched you writhe in agony.

“Shit, shit,” you leaned forward until the shock stopped, “the necklace.”

“Fuck,” she reached for it and you batted her away.

“No, you’ll get zapped,” you gasped as you pulled on it desperately. It was too tight to get past your chin but too strong to snap. 

She took the keys out and tossed them in your lap. You lifted them and twisted the necklace around the house key but there was no give. You sobbed and dropped your hand.

“I can’t,” you looked at the bent key, “you gotta go without me.”

“What? No, I can’t--”

“You have a baby,” you said as tears burned in your eyes and your throat tightened, “go, please.” You dropped the keys on the dash and opened the door. “I can’t--”

“No, you have to come with me,” she begged.

“No, you have to go before they wake up,” you got out as you grasped your neck, the searing pain still hot on your flesh, “I’ll… I’ll survive. I have this far.”

“N--”

“Shut up!” you slammed the door and hit the hood, “go!”

She stared at you and her lip quivered. She gave you one last sad look and grabbed the keys. She sniffed as she gripped the wheel and backed out down the drive. 

You fell to your knees and sat back on your ass as you watched her drive away. You shook your head and held it in your hands as you sat behind the invisible wall of your prison.

The tires screamed at the end of the street and the noise of the engine faded into the distance. You laid on your back across the concrete and covered your face with your arm. At least you could live with knowing you got her out. Well, you couldn’t really say you’d be living. You’d be alive but little more than that. 

But you’d survive knowing that you kept one person from that pitiful fate. Even if it wasn’t you. Even if you knew that you would pay for it in the end. Even when those men woke up and found you laying in the garage, the sweet flavour of antifreeze on their tongues as the bile of their anger overflowed and drowned you. 

You couldn’t do anything but wait. If you were lucky, they might just kill you and that in itself would be freedom.

💟 💟 💟

END

[my-ultimate-is-ready]

Tyrant [00.3]

[00.1] [00.2] [00.3] [1] [AO3]

Nero gets his way, and since he is and has always been tight-lipped on details, you’re not sure what that means beyond a dinner invitation.

Even though no one shows up at your place and drags you to his table, kicking and screaming, it doesn’t mean you would voluntarily go. But it isn’t up to you, and none of this is an option.

Your course is preset, and you must remain disturbingly compliant.

In the restaurant, Nero zags into and out of what barely resembles a conversation’s definition. He talks disjointedly, interrupting himself as he works through the main course as though you have all the time in the world. Your impatience grows, and stress accumulates. Ever since you learned where you were supposed to meet, you’ve been calculating and wondering what kind of impossible contract will be dropped on your lap.

Dinner is usually a grand affair, but it’s never this extravagant.

Eventually, Nero stipples the corners of his mouth with a jacquard-woven napkin. He isn’t finished eating, but you understand his ritual and prepare accordingly. The silverware feels heavy in your hands.

Like your face-to-face meetings, Nero operates on an astoundingly analog level, and he draws something out of a welt pocket at his chest, revealing it to you by setting it down on the tablecloth, sliding it toward you with two fingers pressed against the glossy surface.

You know the face already.

Who doesn’t?

It’s a faux-candid of Genji Shimada lifted from one of his numerous social media accounts set up for attracting good PR to offset all the scandals he perpetuates.

You drag the picture closer once Nero lifts his fingers away, rotating it so Genji’s alcohol-twinged cheeks face you properly and examine how his smile evades his lips while remaining firmly in his eyes. He’s semi-posed, courting the camera lens, and it probably took 5 seconds on a search engine to bring up and click print.

Despite the erosion of enthusiasm towards work and your attenuated private sense of purpose, you’ve already decided Genji will be far too easy. He’s the kind of contract you would have welcomed when you were inexperienced and still figuring a method out. Now that it’s distilled into a theorem, you are confident he will break in its application.

It crosses your mind that you should even be insulted, which makes it challenging to continue to act as Nero’s mirror and reflect his impersonal nature.

“I assumed that since we’re here—” an egregiously expensive Michelin 3-star restaurant, with notoriously unattainable reservations and a dress code that required a tedious shopping trip to satisfy, “—this would be a challenge.”

“And who’s to say it won’t be?” Nero remains agreeable, wholly dismissing your reaction. Prioritizing the meal, he returns to eating.

You approach his statement judiciously, watching him tear into his jarret d’agneau. “What’s the catch?”

If your caution is of interest to him, you can’t tell. He finishes his mouthful, sets his cutlery back down, and then begins to smooth his clean napkin over a palm, looking through you. He always has been a formidable wall of incomprehension.

You continue, careful not to communicate your suspicion, “Evidently, Talon is still interested in the Shimada Clan.” You’re used to speaking at angles, allowing it to hang in the air and imply what you mean.

There’s zero give to Nero’s expression, no suggestion of what goes on inside his mind as you magnify what you already know about the syndicate, but to the same extent, no definite reply either.

You try again, being more direct than you’d prefer. “Have there been previous attempts?”

Breaking his silence, Nero asks with surprising texture, “Now, how would that matter?”

It wouldn’t. Not to Talon, at least, who have made it incumbent on you to make Genji bend in submission, presumably since it makes beheading easier.

Noting your expression, Nero graces you with a few more words on the matter. “Get into his head and take it apart.” There’s a hint of his scorching madness in the depths of his gaze that you hold to prove that you aren’t intimidated—even if you are.

“With pleasure,” you say because you have to say something.

“Let’s hope you don’t lose your conviction,” Nero says, breaking the conversational flow once more for another bite. He chews and swallows, then raises his glass. A grimace surfaces like water in an overflowing cup. “Well then. What shall we toast to? Your imminent success?”

[avintagekiss24]

CALIFORNIA KING || CHUBBY!BUCKY BARNES

pairing: Chubby!Sheriff!Bucky Barnes x black!reader || word count: 6,429 || warnings: smut, sex, vaginal fingering, hand job, bad language words

authors note: here we are! chubs is finally here! we’re set back in Virginia in the 60s in this one, but we’re not acknowledging the bullshit of the time period. i write to get away from real world issues, and i like the clothes in this decade. you will also notice a few characters from a certain show called Lovecraft Country, because, well, I like them a lot too. please enjoy.

line divider by, you guessed it, @firefly-graphics​ (they’re all so pretty)

Virginia, 1964

Your heels click along the pavement as you move towards the small diner in the middle of town. The sun is high and hot, the beams beating down on your bare shoulders as you adjust your yellow rimmed sunglasses over your face. Your white purse swings off the tips of your fingers, your bracelet, a present from Bucky, clinking softly against your watch, (another present from Bucky), as you move with confidence.

Your sister Ruby moves quietly behind you, her eyes out in front, scanning the sidewalk and street as the two of you go, “You shouldn’t come out dressed like that.” She huffs in your direction as she catches the eye of two older white women moving in your direction.

You turn your head towards her and then glance at the women walking past you, their eyes dropping down to your slightly exposed midriff, then your high waisted, navy blue shorts. You push your sunglasses down your nose and maintain eye contact with them as the two women move by.

“I’m not worried about these small town hicks.” You answer loudly, turning around to walk backward so you can keep your eyes on them, “I am free to dress how I please, thank you.”

Ruby shakes her head as she laughs sarcastically, “You never did know how to act.”

“It is 1964. They just need to get the fuck over it - we are here. This is just as much our town as it is theirs.” You spit, tossing your short hair slightly, “Plus, not everybody here is like them.”

Ruby closes her eyes and holds up her hands, completely uninterested in what you’re about to say, “You are playing with fire with that sheriff,” she hisses quietly, “And I don’t want to hear about it.”

You shrug defiantly, “Fine, then don’t. Let’s just get our rootbeer floats and not argue for once, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

“Perfect.”

“Wonderful.” You seethe, flicking your wrist towards her, ending the quick squabble. You grab the door handle and pull open the door to the diner, stepping to the side to allow your sister to pass, “After you.”

Ruby cuts her eyes towards you and smirks unenthusiastically before she crosses through the threshold. You roll your eyes and follow in behind her, removing your sunglasses and shoving them in your purse as you follow her to the front counter. The two of you sit side by side, Ruby smoothing her hands over her green, pleated swing dress, you waving down the young waiter.

“Afternoon ladies, it’s a hot one, huh?” he asks nicely, smiling at the two of you as he slides menus in your direction.

“It is, thank you,” you start, glancing over the menu, “I think I’m going to have a burger and fries, with a rootbeer float.”

“Great choice, and you, Ruby?”

She smiles, handing her menu back to him, “An olive loaf sandwich please. Potato chips, and a rootbeer float as well.”

“I’ll have it right up ladies.”

He disappears into the back and you and Ruby fall into your usual rhythm, practically ignoring each other. The front door chimes as a group of women move inside, their giggles filling the relatively quiet diner. You eye them as they move by, catching the glance of one Dottie Bodecker, your arch nemesis since grade school. Her blonde hair swings back and forth behind her head as she smiles at you, wiggling her manicured fingers as her group moves to the end of the long bar, taking up four seats.

“So Dottie,” you hear one of the brunettes start, “Do you think tonight’s the night? You think Sheriff Barnes is going to ask you to go with him to his re-election fundraiser?”

You flick your eyes towards them, drawing in a deep breath at the sound of his name. Dottie turns her head towards you, her blue eyes linking with yours where she smiles quickly before turning back to her friends, “I think so.” She answers cheerfully, another giggle escaping her lips, “We have been getting so close lately. I really think he’s gonna ask me to start going steady.”

You scoff loudly before laughter falls from your lips. Ruby hits your leg underneath the counter as you pull out a cigarette and place it between your lips, lighting it. You feel their eyes on you as you flick the butt of the cigarette, ridding it of the ash that’s built up and take another slow drag. You keep your eyes forward, not wanting to engage because you know if you engage -

“Here we go ladies,” the waiter says, cutting through your thoughts, “A burger and fries, an olive loaf with potato chips, and two rootbeer floats. Enjoy.”

Heat blooms across your skin as anger starts to brim just below the surface. You and Dottie have had the same common goal for almost six months - Sheriff James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes. The anger in you makes you start to wonder why the two of you are warring over him in the first place. He’s ten years older than the both of you, has a nasty divorce behind him, and by the sight of his tummy, he’s enjoyed one too many slices of Ambrosia cake. To you and Dottie though, he might as well be Marlon Brando.

It’s the way his eyes crinkle at the sides when he smiles. The way his nose scrunches when he smiles really big. It’s the softness in his voice when he says your name. The shyness that controls him whenever he’s come to bring you a flower. It’s the way he’s a dreamer - how he promises you a little house out in the middle of nowhere, complete with a white picket fence and a golden retriever. A couple of kids. A big old bed where he promises to always keep you pleased.

He’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen - the softest and the sweetest too.

“Just relax and eat your food.” Ruby whispers, squeezing your knee, “She’s just trying to get your goat.”

You flick the butt of your cigarette again, “Well, she fucking got it.” You sigh, grabbing a french fry and biting it angrily.

Dottie continues to gab to her friends loudly, Bucky and I this, Bucky and I that - deep down you know it’s bullshit. He spends too much time sniffing around you to give her the type of attention she’s trying to convince her friends of, but it still gets under your skin. You eat slowly, your lips pursed, your eyes staring a hole into the wall in front of you, your hearing absolutely piqued.

“Did I tell you he drove me home from work the other day?” Dottie says, running her hand over her ponytail as her lips curl into another smile behind her red painted lips, “He even stayed for dinner.”

“Well, your meatloaf is to die for, Dottie. He would have been crazy not to stay!”

You cut your eyes over towards them again just as Dottie leans into her friends, glancing around to see if anyone is listening (as if she honestly cares), “Did I also mention that he stayed the night?”

You slam your balled fist onto the counter, rattling the plates and cups and silverware that sit on the bar. All four heads of Dottie’s group snap towards you, Ruby’s eyes going wide as her mouth drops open.

“Is everything okay, hun?” Dottie asks sweetly, venom dripping from every word.

You lift your hand and plaster a fake smile on your face, scrunching your nose as you shrug, “I’m quite alright, Dottie. Just um, dropped my fork is all.”

“Oh,” she laughs a little, placing her gloved hand to her chest, “That must be a heavy fork.”

“Not as heavy as my fist will be against your -”

“We’re fine,” Ruby cuts in, a bright smile on her face as she nods towards Dottie, “Thank you for askin’, Dottie.”

Dottie smiles again as she tips her head towards Ruby, “You are very welcome, Miss Ruby.”

“Fake ass bitch.” You growl under your breath, prompting a hard pinch on your thigh,”Ow!”

“Just,” Ruby starts, widening her eyes at you, “Eat. Your. Food.”

You take another angry bite of your french fry and cut your eyes towards the glass door, staring out onto the street as you flick your cigarette again. Sheriff James Buchanan Barnes has no idea what he’s just gotten himself into.

-----

You sway your hips back and forth as your hair falls into your face. The music is loud, thumping even, as Ruby and her band plays up on the stage. An arm is thrown around your waist, pulling your closer as the two of you dance - chest to back, hips tucked into your behind. You laugh as you throw your arm around his neck and dip down low, a wider smile breaking onto your face as he moves with you.

The two of you push back up where you spin around to face him, grabbing the hem of your dress and pulling it up on your thighs as you continue to shake your hips. You throw the material of your expensive, new dress, and then swish it around, before you drop it to raise your hands in the air and spin back around.

That’s when you see them.

Those eyes.

Those deep set, deep blue orbs that always seem to find you when in the middle of a crowd. His lips are set in a hard line, his cheeks red, his jaw tight. He sucks his teeth as he leans his elbow on the bar. He blinks, slowly, cutting his eyes towards the bartender just long enough to grab the shot that’s handed to him before they are back on you, watching you grind against the stranger behind you.

Too damn bad for him.

You grab the man’s hand and pull it tighter around your waist, keeping your smaller hand on top of his as you dip slowly down to the floor again - your eyes never leaving the sheriff’s. You break the eye contact with him to glance over your shoulder as a devilish smile curls onto your painted lips as the two of you dance, your lips dangerously close to his. You push your behind into his hips and laugh when the man hoots and hollers before clapping his hands to the beat of the music.

You flick your eyes back to the sheriff’s just as he downs the brown liquid in the small glass in his hands and slams it on the counter, immediately asking for another. You smirk and wink at him before you turn in the man’s hands that are currently around your waist and away from the hard, angry eyes bearing into you.

“Boo!”

You spin to the side when a finger presses into your side and shriek when you come face to face with your little sister, “Leti!” You shout, wrapping your arms around her neck and swaying her back and forth, “I thought y’all said you wouldn’t be back from Chicago until next week! Tic! Come here!”

You release her to throw your arms around Leti’s boyfriend, Atticus Freeman’s neck, having to stand on your tiptoes to hug him tightly as he chuckles in your ear, “We just decided to cut it short, that’s all.” He answers.

“Yeah, right,” you smile, slapping him gently on his shoulder, “You two got into some trouble up there, didn’t you?”

“Never!” Leti exclaims as she smiles mischievously, holding up her hand, “And that’s scouts honor. Listen,” she says, glancing over her shoulder back towards the bar, “I’ve heard from a few people already. They’re saying that the sheriff is asking about you at the bar.”

“Well,” You wave her off, “You can tell them to tell him to mind his goddamn business.”

“Girl, you’ve got that man seething over there!” Tic laughs, “Askin’ how you know this fool,” he says, pointing towards your dancing partner, “What his name is, when he got into town, how long you been here tonight…”

You shrug defiantly, batting your eyes at the pair of people in front of you, “Not my problem.”

“You’ve got your nerve!” Leti laughs, “Who in their right mind antagonizes the goddamn sheriff?”

“The very same one who dates the goddamn sheriff.” Tic says, shaking his head, “Y’all’s mama gave y’all balls of steel.”

Leti rolls her eyes but smiles widely, grabbing your wrists and pulling you deeper into the mass of people. The three of you dance the hours away as Ruby keeps the small club rocking. You’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, out of cigarettes, and slightly tipsy when Tic wants to get you and Leti home, so you relent without a fight.

You push out into the night air, the breeze instantly cooling your balmy skin. You giggle as Leti mumbles in your ear and take a few steps into the alley before you stop dead in your tracks. Sheriff Bucky leans against the brick building, his head turned towards the street but snapping back to you when he hears your familiar laughter. He pushes away from the wall and places his hands on his hips and utility belt where he taps his nervous, angry fingers.

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath, pushing it out of his nostrils harshly as he turns his head towards the building again, trying and failing to maintain a calm demeanor, “Tic, I wasn’t um, I wasn’t aware you were back in town. Welcome home, soldier.”

Tic shifts his eyes to you before he nods towards Bucky and takes his extended hand, “Thank you sheriff, that’s uh, that’s mighty kind of you.”

“You’re a brave man, fighting for this country. You let me know if anybody gives you any trouble, you hear? Ms. Lewis, how are you this evening?”

“Mighty fine, sheriff. Thanks for askin’.” Leti answers, offering him a soft smile. She knows what it’s like to be on the ass end of one of your fits.

You stare at him as he nods slowly, clearing his throat again before he shifts his eyes back to you. You cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head as you blink at him slowly and let out a hard breath. He drops his eyes down your body, then snaps them back up to yours, his lip slightly snarled the entire time.

He points at you quickly, before he drops his hand back to his belt and glances back at the building, “May I speak to you, please?” he asks, clearing his throat again.

“What for?”

He chuckles lightly, widening his eyes as he drops them to your feet, “You know what for.” he snaps, still tapping his fingers against his hips, “Please.”

You glance at Leti and Tic, whose eyes have settled on you after the quick tennis match between you and Bucky. You sigh again, “I’ll meet you guys at home, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Leti whispers, pushing up closer to you, “He looks mad.”

You roll your eyes, “I can handle him. I’ll be fine.”

Leti grabs Tic’s hand and moves past Bucky, “Have a good night, sheriff.”

“You as well, Ms. Lewis.” He glances over his shoulder as Tic and Leti move down the alley, and only turns back to face you once they’ve turned the corner, “You stood me up.” He spits angrily, pointing at you again.

You shrug, indifference written on your face, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know exactly what I mean!” he hisses, taking a few steps towards you, “Damn it, I waited forty five minutes for you.”

“You get out of my face.” you scoff, pushing his shoulders roughly.

“So I spend all day worrying about you, only to find you here with some jerk’s hands all over you!”

You laugh, rolling your eyes, “Spent all day worrying about me, did you? That’s rich.”

“Okay,” he barks, nodding quickly as he chews on the inside of his cheek, “What is it? Huh? What did I do now?”

“Like you don’t know.”

“I don’t know! Please! Enlighten me.”

You cross your arms over your chest again, staring down the alley. You feel his eyes staring into the side of your face, waiting for you to speak.

“Answer me, damn it!”

“Why don’t you ask Dottie Bodecker what you did wrong?” you hiss, snapping your head back to face him.

His face contorts in confusion, his shoulders slumping slightly, “Dottie Bodecker? The fuck she have to do with anything?”

“Her meatloaf is to die for, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes and throws his hands up dramatically, turning and taking a few steps away from you. He spins back around seconds later, shaking his head, “If you don’t start saying what you mean, girl!”

“You slept with Dottie Bodecker a few nights back and I’m done letting you make a fool a’ me!” you scream as your eyes squint hard.

You brush past him, bumping his shoulder as you start down the alley, walking fast as you huff, the anger bubbling. You hear his heavy feet behind you, his keys jingling as he wraps his fingers around your bicep. You shrug away from him and whirl around, pointing your thin finger in his face, “Don’t you touch me.”

“I did not sleep with Dottie Bodecker!” He hisses, “Where are you getting that load of shit from?”

“From Dottie herself. She told the entire diner this afternoon!”

“Well she’s full of it!” He shouts back, “I didn’t touch that woman!”

“But you drove her home from work?” You ask, antagonizing him, raising your eyebrows and crossing your arms over your chest.

He scoffs, placing his hands on his hips again, “Yes. I drove her home. She flagged me down -” You start walking again, completely uninterested in hearing his sorry ass story, “Goddamn it. Listen to me!” He shouts, grabbing your arm again, “I did not touch that woman. I have never touched her. I promise you.”

“And why should I believe you? Huh?” You ask, breathing hard, your eyes wide and bouncing between his, “Tell me!”

“Because I love you!” He shouts loudly - so loudly that it makes you slam your mouth shut, “Goddamn it!”

You watch as he starts to pace, dragging his hand through his short, dark hair angrily before he drops it to his side. Because I love you! The words bounce around your brain as he places his hands back on his hips.

A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

That’s the first time he’s said it.

He loves you.

“You know what?” he says after a moment, turning back to face you again, “You want to continue to play games with Dottie, you go right ahead, but you leave me out of it. I have been nothing but good to you, nothing but open, nothing but doting… I’m done, you hear me? Done. Keep playin’ your little goddamn games!”

You click your tongue and roll your eyes again as he walks off, tugging at the leather jacket covering his torso. He can barely zip the damn thing. You sigh and tilt your head as he turns around the front of the building as embarrassment starts to flood through you. Your skin heats up again, but this time from the feeling of turning out to be the asshole, which doesn't happen very often (it probably should.)

The sound of your heels clicking against the concrete bounces off the buildings as you move to the end of the alley, peaking around the corner to find his police car still sitting at the curb. You spot his head resting back on the seat and put your hands behind your back as you walk slowly towards the passenger side. You lean over and glance in the window, finding his eyes closed and his hands on the wheel as he breathes in and out, in and out, in and out.

You glance up and down the street before you knock on the window, “Can I get in?”

“No.”

You click your tongue and let your shoulders slump, “Come on, sheriff.”

You watch as he exhales hard and you have to drop your head so that he can’t see the smile that forms on your lips. He reaches over and pops open the door before he straightens up in the seat, keeping his eyes forward as you slide in next to him. You chew on your lip as you blink over at him, your eyes trailing down his bicep and forearm before you start playing with your fingers.

“I’m sorry.” You say quietly, your voice small and slightly playful.

“I don’t want to hear it.” He answers quick, holding up his hand.

You laugh a little but cover your mouth quickly with your thin fingers as he cuts his eyes towards you. He huffs again and you start to whine, closing your eyes and tilting your head towards the roof, “Sheriff, look at me.”

“No.”

“Come on,” You laugh, “I said I was sorry.”

“And that’s just supposed to make this all better? Right? Just because you said you’re sorry?” he asks softly, turning to face you.

You shrug, dropping your eyes to your fingers again, “Yeah?”

He laughs earnestly at your sheer audacity. You smile, biting down into your bottom lip as you send your eyes toward him, your smile softening at the sight of him. The crinkles are back. His nose is scrunched, his eyes turned into slits as he laughs. You glance down between the two of you and see a bouquet of flowers on the floorboard.

His laughter dies down and he shakes his head as he lets out a sigh, “You are such a stubborn ass.”

“But that’s why you like me, right?”

He looks over at you, his eyes moving around your face, “Maybe.” He answers softly.

You grab his hand and place it in your lap, your thumb rubbing gently over his knuckles. You blink at each other, all of the anger and agitation bleeding out of you both like it wasn’t even there to begin with. He squeezes your hand and rubs the tips of your fingers with his thumb before he leans over to kiss you softly.

You moan, your eyes closing instinctively as his pillow soft lips hit yours for the first time that day. Relief and calm washes through you as he massages your lips with his and loops his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You're soon pressed up against his wide chest and body, your hands sliding over his shoulders and to his back. You hug him tightly to you as the intensity builds quickly, his stomach pushing over his belt and pressing into yours. You hum as his thick fingers skip up your thigh, palming your flesh softly.

His lips fall to your neck, his head nudging yours upward to gain full access to your sensitive skin. He sucks lightly, making you tense and moan as a jolt of sensation shoots straight to your sex. You grip his shoulder softly as that wandering hand moves further up your thigh - right into your dress, where his fingertips brush against your warm, tingly sex.

“Sheriff,” You breathe, spreading your legs and pushing your hips forward as you rub his shoulder.

“Yes ma’am?” He answers, his voice low and heady.

“Take me home and take advantage of me, please.”

His chuckle vibrates through your flesh. He nips at your neck, his teeth dragging along your skin, “As much as I’d love to darlin’, I’m on duty.” You groan in dissatisfaction, making him laugh again, “You shouldn’t have blown me off earlier, I could have taken care of you then.”

He pushes your panties to the side and brushes his fingers over your soft skin, where you shiver instantly. He pulls back so that he can watch your face as he pushes between your folds, stroking your slit gently, teasing you with just the tips of his fingers. You hiss and squeeze your legs together, jutting your hips forward to try and coax him inside.

He doesn’t take the bait.

But he wants to.

He glances over his shoulder behind the car and then out in front, finding the streets bare. He can hear the muffled sounds of Ruby’s band still going strong inside the small club. There’s been no calls over the radio in over an hour. He’s got time. He kisses your mouth quickly and pulls his hand from out of your dress to turn the key, bringing the loud engine to life, filling the silent night air with noise.

You push up onto your knees as he pulls away from the curb and throw your arms around his neck, your tongue sneaking out to lick just under his ear. You smile when you feel him shiver from the contact. You plant kisses on the side of his face and along his jaw before you blow softly into his ear, making him jump in his seat. You grab his earlobe with your teeth and pull softly as you drag your hand down his chest and over his soft stomach where you start to fumble with his belt.

The car speeds up suddenly as he jams his foot on the accelerator when your hand slithers into his pants. You laugh when expletives fall from his lips, the car swerving as he struggles to keep his eyes open and on the road in front of you. Pumping him slowly, you grab your bottom lip between your teeth again and rest your forehead against his temple. You breathe heavily into his ear, humming and moaning as you stroke him quickly, your thumb brushing over his sensitive tip.

Bucky weaves you through the empty town and finally pulls up behind the police station, blending in with the small fleet of exactly two other police cars. He loops his arm around your waist again, pulling you closer - sitting you down on the seat. He grabs your calves and throws them over his thighs and rucks your dress up around your waist. He slips his fingers underneath the band of your panties and pulls roughly, slipping them right down your legs and over your heels to throw them into the backseat.

You squeak when his thick digits push into you, his thumb flattening against your clit. He starts to pump, slow and deep, his blue eyes scanning your face as he drags in air through his open mouth. You roll your hips into his hand as he strokes your walls and teases your clit, you hooking your arm around his neck. You sit up straighter and push your chest into his side, keeping one leg thrown over his thigh, and placing the other on the floorboard - leaving you spread open.

He kisses you quickly, moaning and then hissing as your hand continues to push along his shaft. He brushes his nose against yours, his warm breath washing over your face as you nuzzle right back into him, your mouth falling open as he curls his fingers inside of you.

“God, sheriff,” You rasp, your hand halting as he strokes your insides.

“What was that, darlin’?” He whispers, his words full but languid, “What’s my name, sweetheart?”

You tense, pushing your body up the back of the seat as you squeak again, his fingers pushing deeper and harder. You buck your hips into his hand, throwing your head back, your hair tickling the exposed skin of your back, “Oh, sheriff.” you pant.

“That’s right, you sweet little thing,” He coos, “You fuck my fingers, sweetheart.”

You hum before licking your lips slowly, “I want more than your fingers, sheriff,” you say, your words rushed and hot. You lean forward and kiss him hard, placing your hands on either side of his full face, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks.

You pull away after only a few seconds, dragging in ragged breaths, your chest heaving hard. Reaching behind your back, you pull on the zipper of your dress, the material falling away from your body - leaving you naked.

Bucky inhales sharply.

You lay back on the seat, wrapping your legs around his waist as he twists and leans over you. He reaches out and places his hand in the center of your chest, right between your breasts and just leaves it there for a second as he blinks. You arch your back, rolling your shoulders and head when he sweeps his fingers down your sternum, stopping at your belly button. You grab his hand and bring it to your right breast, cupping your supple flesh as you force your back away from the seat again and suck the tip of his index finger into your mouth.

He pulls his hand away reluctantly - but keeps his eyes on you as he shrugs out of his leather jacket. He blinks slowly, pulling his eyes down your smooth, brown skin as his fingers work out the knot of his tie. He loosens it quickly and pulls off the thin clip before he yanks the tie over his head and discards it to the floor. He flattens his palm on the inside of your thigh and pushes it down to your sex, massaging you again as his free hand pops the buttons of his shirt.

Your mouth drops open as you purr at the sensations rippling through you as he touches you, his fingers soft and slow, “Bucky,” you keen.

He hears the desperation - the ache - the trembling need in your voice. He wants to satisfy it. All of it. All of you. He pushes his pants low on his hips, down to his knees before he adjusts his position between your legs, leaning over you further. You grip his sides as his stomach rests against yours, his cock pushing at your entrance.

His eyes wander again, away from your face and down your virtuous body, knowing he and he alone has been the only man to boast its yield, “You’re beautiful.” The words slip off his tongue like silk. He means it.

“You’re beautiful.” You return quickly, running your hands down his soft, wide chest.

You know he doesn’t believe it when you say it. Out loud, in this vulnerable position. All of him on display. Every little roll and crevasse for you to see - he isn’t Tic. He isn’t six foot something, with cannons for arms and a washboard stomach. He’s just a man, a simple man, in love with a beautiful, bold, mischievous woman.

You dig your fingers into his flesh as he enters you, spreading you. You thrust your chest towards his as you slam your eyes closed, gasping at the fullness - the completeness - you feel. Your body starts to lunge upward, your breasts pushing with the movement. His weight leaves you as he sits back on his knees, his hips still prodding as he draws your leg up onto his chest and shoulder, dropping kisses on your ankle.

There’s fingers around your throat, squeezing gently before they venture up your chin and into your mouth. You accept them willingly as he flattens his free hand to your chest again. You stretch your arm forward, slinking your thin digits up his arm to his bicep as his hips push, push, push into yours. Soft. Deliberate. Slow. Ravishing you in the only way you know - the only way you want.  

The pressure builds in your stomach, steady and purposed. He knows it - he knows you. So, he grabs your hips, pulls them closer, your legs falling over his thighs, your feet sliding along the old leather seat as he fucks you. He leans over you again, knowing you like his weight on you. He digs his hips into yours - his cock plunging into your soft, accepting cunt as he watches you. Mouth hanging. Lips red. Breath heavy.

It’s a rhythm. An intricate dance the two of you have perfected over time. Pushing and pulling. Giving and taking. The windows are foggy with the heat your bodies have created - your skin damp; balmy. Little droplets of sweat beading between your breasts. His tongue is quick to rid you of them, the droplets, pushing out from behind his lips to lap at your skin. He’d do anything to please you.

Fingers tweak your thick nipples. Rough palms grip your hips. Deep groans, low hisses fill your ears. Soft words, pretty designations falling from his lips. Affirmations of love.

“I love you,” you pant, your words shuddering with each breath, “Bucky, I-”

“I know it, doll. I know it.”

You choke suddenly as the fire spreads without warning. Your orgasm rushes through you, burning a familiar path through your wilderness. Bucky fucks harder as you come - the sound of his skin slapping against yours growing louder, his grip on your hips harder.

He loves to hear you. Crying, screeching, mewling, howling as his body peels you apart, layer by layer. He loves to watch you - shuddering and trembling, hips jerking, toes curling. It’s all he needs, all he wants. He wraps his fingers loosely around your throat again and lets himself go, strained grunts accompanying your ungodly sounds as he starts to spurt over and over.

You flatten your feet against the seat and push your hips upward - still gasping, still jerking uncontrolled as the synapses continue to fire. The additional warmth he provides as he spills into you electrifies you. No other man will know the depths of you, will fill you with his seed. You’re ruined - and you like it that way.

He collapses on top of you when he can’t hold himself up any longer. Soft skin against soft skin. You instantly corral him in your arms, pushing your dainty fingers into his soft, brown hair as he nuzzles into your neck. Breath still hard and hot. You're sticky and he’s sticky, a satisfied haze drifting into your eyes and brain, lulling you.

He pulls you up with him seconds later, his eyes darting around the empty, quiet parking lot, glancing out the back before he scans through the windshield. He pulls his pants back up over his hips and reaches into the backseat to grab the blanket he keeps stowed away, wrapping it around you. He pulls you close, slinking that long arm around your shoulder and pushing his nose against yours as a lazy smile covers his face.

You hum happily as you rest your hand on his stomach, rubbing his full tummy softly with your finger tips, “Tell me about that big ol’ bed again,” you whisper, nuzzling into his face and nose with yours.

“Mmm,” he hums, smiling softly, “It’s called a California King. They make ‘em for all those stars out there in Hollywood.” You giggle, and his smile broadens, “I’m gonna get you one of those beds, I promise you.”

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

“I do. Although,”

“Although, what?”

“I don’t want you drivin’ Dottie anywhere anymore.”

He chuckles. The tips of his fingers brush over your naked shoulder and then dance down your arm, “She just wants what she can’t have. She’s jealous a’ you.”

“I know it.”

“Then don’t pay her no mind, girl. I mean it.” A silence drops over the two of you for a few minutes before he says, “I won’t drive her anywhere without tellin’ you. Okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I’m sorry.”

You smile as you rest your head against his, letting your eyes close as sleep starts to pull you in. You feel him grab your fingers, pulling them away from his body as he starts to fumble around, slipping his arms back into his uniform. Once he’s dressed, you fall back into him. He wraps his arm around your neck. You place your hand back on his soft, round stomach. He rolls down the window, allowing the warm breeze to caress your skin. Nights like this are the best. You don’t know how you could be so stupid. You know he loves you.

You’ve always known.

“I’ma get you that little house over there on Pleasant drive, you know it?” he asks, daydreaming again, “We’ll get married -” You scoff, “What?”

“Married?” You ask skeptically, rolling your head on his shoulder as you keep your eyes closed.

“Yes. Married.”

“How are you going to be the law in this town if you’re steady breaking it?”

He chuckles, “You don’t listen to the news?”

“No,” You say softly, squeezing him tighter as you let out a breath, “Too depressin’.”

“Well,” He starts, dropping kisses to the top of your head, “Richard and Mildred Loving are fighting hard for people like you and me.” You open your eyes and blink slowly, watching as the wind plays the branches of the trees across the street as he continues, “They’ll overturn those bullshit laws - just you watch. I’ll marry you the very next day, right here in the middle of town.”

“You think?”

“I think, what?”

“They’ll overturn ‘em?”

“They have to. The world’s too big for that small minded, backwoods bullshit now.”

“And then you’ll buy me that house over there on Pleasant Drive?”

“Mmhmm.”

“And then get me one of those big old beds, what you call it?”

“A California King.”

“Yeah, that.”

“Sure will.”

“And then?”

He takes a breath before he sweeps his nose along yours again, brushing the tips together, “And then we’ll be together until we grow old and grey. I’ll probably be four hundred pounds by then, but.”

He chuckles as you pinch him, making him squirm from the sharp pain, “Stop it.” You warn.

“Look at me now! I’m well on my way.”

“I like you just how you are.” You say simply.

“I suppose you do.”

“I do.”

You barely have to push in to grab his lips as the two of you are already so close. You moan softly when they meet. That arm around your neck tightens, keeping you close - oh so close. You don’t tell him right away, but you like those daydreams of his. The house on Pleasant Drive, the big old bed, the wedding in the middle of town. You dream about them every night and wake up with them every morning. You don’t ever tell him though, because you’re the practical one. He’s the dreamer - and you like it that way.

You still don’t even tell him on the day he makes them all come true. How much you like those dreams of his.

[hes-writer]

Under the Table

Summary: harry eats y/n out under the table

Warnings: smut, public sex, oral, female receiving

Word Count: 2744 words

A/N: my submission to the 'sex bucket list fic challenge' hosted by @berrynarrybanana !! so many wonderful writers have participated in this and their works are out of this world ✨

___

Y/N had never been to this restaurant. The fanciness and seemingly high-end decorations should be enough explanation as to why. She stared at Harry in complete adoration as he touched the small of her back, gently pushing her forward to follow the waiter. They walked near the back of the restaurant. The waiter unlocked a door, gesturing for them to enter.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes to get your order,’ He placed the menus on the mahogany table. The round furniture draped with black cloth, accentuating the starch white plates and crystal silverware. A bottle of wine stood to the right, candles lit in the middle of the table. They nodded at his statement.

“Gosh, H. This must be so expensive,” She glanced around the room in amazement, dazzling lights reflecting in her irises. He pulled her chair out for her like a proper gentleman.  She smiled in appreciation.

“Only the best for my girl,” He planted a kiss to her temple, settling himself on his seat. Harry tried his best to focus on reading the description of each dish but Y/N was more interesting. Her hair curtained as she faced down to read the menu. She bit her lip in thought, her stomach growling in anticipation.

“Think ‘m gonna get the steak with mash,” She stated, folding the menu closed. Harry immediately glanced down to pretend like he wasn’t just staring at her beauty, imagining dirty thoughts. Her thighs parted around his head. Her juices dripping past her clenching hole, looking for something thick and big to fill her.

“I’ll get the same but with a side of peas,"

“Copy cat,” She teased, filling her glass with white wine. The stain of her lipstick on the rim made him absolutely mad.

___

“What’s gotten into you? Aren’t you hungry?” Y/N asked, slicing her steak, popping a bite in her mouth. She moaned at the taste, releasing a satisfied moan and even letting her eyes roll a little. “It’s so good,”

Harry dug his blunt fingernails on his outer thighs to prevent himself from gripping her hair and fucking her into oblivion. She had no clue of her effect on him. Y/N raised a brow at him, utensils paused to wait for his answer. He glanced at his plate, clearly untouched except for the small spoonfuls he scooped of his peas. “I am,”

“Why aren’t you eating then?” She questioned, easing another forkful in her mouth.

“‘M hungry for somethin’ else,” He drawled out, suggestiveness dripping from his tongue. His lustful gaze eyeing the pucker of her lips.

She widened her eyes, freezing at his statement. “We’re in public!”

He shrugged, gesturing to the private room he had booked for them that surely was about to be handy. “And? Y’can’t tell me you don't want my head between your thighs,” He leaned back against his seat, one arm resting on the opaque table cloth draped over the table. “That you don’t want my tongue licking your cunt,” He bit his lip, watching her take a sip of her wine nervously.

“Stop it, Harry,” The waver of her voice indicated to Harry that she was being affected. Her thighs squeezing tightly for the slightest bit of friction against her core. She tucked a strand of hair, shifting uncomfortably at the growing wetness. The fabric of her satin red dress suddenly feeling too heavy on her skin. Warmth crawling up her legs despite the shortness of her dress. Despite the exposure of her cleavage from the deep cut, she couldn’t help but feel completely naked under Harry’s scrutiny.

“Don’t you?”

She heaved a deep breath, stabbing her steak in frustration for letting his words affect her so much. “No, I don’t.” She gritted her teeth, hating the way his dimple deepened with the curve of his lips upward.

“That’s a lie,” He pushed his elbows forward, making her instinctively rest her back against the seat in intimidation. “I know you’re squeezin’ your thighs right now. Wanting to feel something touch your pussy. Bet you’re wet, soaking your panties,” His tongue darted out to lick his lips, glistening his mouth and making it almost impossible not to kiss him. “Want me to go on?”

Her utensils clanged against the plate. A shot of arousal flooding her body. If she focused, she was sure that she could feel the moisture on the apex of her thighs. She wondered if it would be a good idea to tell Harry that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath her scarlet dress.

“I-I,” She stuttered, “I’m not wearing anything underneath,” Her whisper was attentive as if there was an ear pressed up against the door.

“Jesus, fuck,” He seethed through his teeth, rolling his head back at the thought of her dripping on the chair. The stain of her slickness flooding between her thighs. It was enough to make his mouth water, “You’re making it hard not to drop on my knees right now,”

As much as she wanted his lips around her clit, tongue prodding between her slit; Y/N knew that this wasn’t the place to do it. She failed to stay quiet when his mouth attached to her core. He was way too good at eating her pussy. Feverishly mouthing her wet skin into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Groaning in pleasure like seeing her eyes closed in pure bliss was bringing him satisfaction. “Don’t,’

He tilted his head, saying in a mocking tone, “No?”

She shook her head, watching as he disappeared under the cloth, “What the hell is he doing?” Y/N mumbled to herself. The opaque table cloth prevented her from seeing him.  Harry crawled underneath the table, the light from the room seeping through the cloth, allowing him a great view of Y/N’s shaking legs, bouncing up and down.

“H-Harry,” His warm palms pushed her legs apart, her scent engulfing his senses. She gripped the corners of the table, keeping her eyes glued on the door directly facing her. “Nghh,” She moaned, extremely turned on, throwing caution in the wind.

He pushed her dress up, bunching the silky fabric on the tops of her thighs. Y/N was grateful that the table cloth was long. Harry pulled on her hips, asking her to move closer to the edge of the chair. He spread her thighs further, creating a little nook for himself between her legs. He nipped at the plush skin, making Y/N straighten her back.

“Oh my god,” She whispered. Mixed feelings swirled in her; the rush of being eaten out under the table in a private yet public place spiking her arousal. He gripped her calf, placing her legs over his shoulder for a better position. She tried to appear as normal as possible; not like her boyfriend was about to grace her with his talented tongue. He fisted the fabric of her dress to get it out of the way, balancing her as he traced the tip of his tongue against her slit.

“No fuckin’ panties. Tryna kill me, I swear it,” Harry growled lowly. Y/N sucked her lips into her mouth, eyeing the hinge of the door. A knock sounded from outside, the waiter probably checking in on them. He lifted the table cloth to meet her frantic eyes, “Try to stay quiet for me, yeah?”

The door opened less than a second later. The waiter entering with a tray of wine for a replacement of their empty one. “Hello there, where’s your date?“ A friendly smile directed to her.

Y/N nodded in response, a tight-lipped smile was returned, “In the bathroom,” She inconspicuously reached down to tug on Harry’s hair, warning him to not do anything. Of course, he didn’t listen.

“I’ve brought our finest selection of wine,” The waiter’s gloved hands gestured at the bottles, proceeding to explain each wine’s flavour and history. Y/N tried her best to appear present despite Harry’s warm tongue flattening to lick her deeper. Languid licks stroking her wetness from her fluttering hole to her sensitive clit, depositing the wetness under the hood. His plump lips puckering around her nub. He sucked softly, trilling his tongue.

“Which one would you like?”

Y/N’s lulled eyes snapped open, “The second one,” The waiter nodded, turning his back to uncork the bottle open. Y/N took the distraction to wet her dry lips, Harry peeking a slit from the cloth to stare at her throat bobbing as she stared at the ceiling. He smirked at the sight, dropping it to get back to work. His fingers dug on the skin of her ass planted on the chair. Heavy breathing filtering through his nose and hitting her mound as he stretched his lips to fit her whole pussy in his mouth. Y/N couldn’t help but release a whimper at the sensation.

“What was that?” The waiter turned around pouring the wine in hers and Harry’s empty glass. Harry bit her thigh as a warning to stay fucking quiet.

“Just...can’t wait to taste it,”

“Is there anything else you need?”

Y/N shook head immediately, “No, you can leave now,” Barely holding on to the moan she wanted to release. The door closed shut, exhaling a sigh of relief. “Holy shit, Har,”

“Great job, baby. I can’t wait to taste it too,” Harry tightened his wet muscle, firming the tip and using it to outline circles around her entrance. He traced the rim of her opening, gathering all the sweet juices that he had yet to savour, humming low in his throat as he swallowed it down. Groaning heavily against her core, his nose pressing into her clit in added stimulation. She wanted to scream. Her throat ached to yell out his name instead of being forced to experience this much pleasure without an outlet. Y/N wanted to see his face but she was too fucked out to reach over and hold the cloth. The mystery of not knowing his next actions heightening her anticipation, clenching her stomach with the unknown sensations. She balled her hands into a fist, slamming them against the table that had Harry chuckling

He curled his tongue inside of her, feeling each groove of her core, slicing each wall with an intimate stroke of his tongue. He dropped his legs from his shoulders. She just about shrieked when Y/N felt his middle and ring finger prodding her tight hole, petting her slit as he kissed around her body. She felt frustrated at him for taking away his tongue. She felt absolutely insane and out of control when his fingers plunged into nudge at her swollen g-spot, tapping his tongue rapidly against her button, “You’re so good to me,” She sighed, allowing her body to slouch, her thighs shaking with his abuse. She was sure that the waiter won’t be entering for a while.

“Taste so good for me,” He muttered in response, moaning at the way a clear, thick liquid attached to his bottom lip. He swiped his tongue to break the string, savouring her taste. His fingers curled up, jolting her hips along with the wave of pleasure he was providing her. Silent whimpers littered her mouth, desperate pleas of his name escaping her lips in breathy gasps. Her hand grabbed the back of his head, encouraging him to continue his actions.

Harry made out with her pussy--a full lip-smacking, tongue grazing session with his fingers toying inside of her. He pulled his fingers out of her. She hissed in response, mumbling quiet begs.

“What was that?” He asked arrogantly, instructing her to hold the cloth so that they could see each other. “Want somethin’ from me? Tell me what,”

Sweat dripped on her chest, slipping under her dress. Her eyes clenched shut as she tried to collect her heaving pants into a calm breath, “I want your tongue on me and your fingers,”

“You want my tongue, honey?”

She whined at the nickname, pushing her hips up to feel something. Anything. She was so desperate to cum that she nearly forgot where they were. Her half-eaten dinner was cold from being untouched. The meal was probably in the hundredths yet the only thing she cared about was coming undone.

“Yes, please,”

He granted her wish to stick his tongue further in her pussy until a pull at the back of his throat prevented him. He explored her center with ominous hunger, cheeks wet with spit and arousal. He pressed his face closer, a newfound determination to make her cum right under his nose. Strong strokes of his tongue planing up her nerves almost to the point of pleasurable pain. The harshness of his licks splitting her pussy around his tongue. His mouth pulled her clit, harshly sucking at the nub until it popped from his mouth. Leaning into taking it into his mouth again, humming low in his throat to push her further over the edge. Watching the engorged bundle of nerves redden with his deep sucks and trilling licks. He shook his head, dipping the tip of his tongue into her core, letting his movement prod her walls.

“C’mon, puppy. Cum for me,”

She sobbed feeling the electricity sparking. The coiling spring in her stomach tightening to the point that she could feel the heat radiating from her body. The chilling in her spine buzzed with each flick of his muscle stroking her up and down. Tiny pricks of pins and needles flickered her bum, the rough movements of her hips rubbing her ass against the coarse seat. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, white noise filling her ears. She hadn’t had the sound mind to muffle noises with her palm, leaving every cry she had to release in the open air. Luckily, Harry snaked his arm to cover her mouth just as she heaved a tortured sob. His palm getting wet with tears that exuded from her strained eyes from the force of her orgasm exploding from her center to the rest of her body.

Her fingers twitched with the need to ground herself. Toes curled in her high heels while Harry continued to prolong her orgasm with slick rubs to her clit. His fingers spreading to squeeze the nerve in between, catching the nub at its most heightened sensitivity until she had to push him away, using the tip of her heel to nudge at his torso.

Harry slipped out from under the table, knees cracking from being bent for too long. He stretched his arms over his head. He used his napkin to wipe his dripping fingers, sipping his wine while Y/N panted tiredly.

“You’re insane. I can’t believe you did that,”

He rolled his eyes, “I can’t believe you almost got us caught,” He inspected the questionable stains on his maroon velvet suit, clicking his tongue as if to say ‘oh well’.

“You’re the one who kept going!” Y/N defended, crossing her arms over her chest. She stood up on shaky legs to give him a hug, burying her face in his chest. “Next time, it’s going to be you,”

Harry pushed her back by her shoulders, “Me? What do you mean?” Y/N swatted his chest in annoyance. As if he didn’t know what she meant.

She glazed her eyes over with innocence, a pout on her lips, “I dunno. Might just duck under the table and lick your cock. Maybe even suck the tip. You know how much I love your taste,”

He tensed in her arms, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “You wouldn’t,” He chuckled in denial, knowing full well that she wasn’t the type to do something as dirty as that.

“No?” She mirrored Harry’s words from earlier, tilting her head to the side. “But I wanna watch you squirm in front of everyone. Wanna feel your big cock deep in my throat and they’d have no idea that you’re letting your little girl suck you off under the table,”

The hardness in his pants nudged her lower stomach, forming a discernible bulge in his black trousers. He was not only a narcissist. Harry wasn’t one to shy away from exploring his sex life with Y/N, wanting to do anything and everything with her.  Uncomfortable blurts of precum soaking his boxers at the thought of having to act as if he wasn’t quite literally getting his dick sucked by Y/N’s heavenly mouth.

He can’t wait for their next date.

____

do y’all wanna see what happens on their next date 👀

____

Permanent Taglist: @fangirl-moment-x @kissme-hs @agoddamnmango @harrys-kingdom @harrysstyleseyes @calums-sugarbaby @queenbeestuffs @ashkuuuu @kettxo @send-me-styles@littledreamybeth @trustfulhaz @harrysfeastedflower@harrystxleslx @befourep @moonandstars-xo @babebenhardy @particularnarry @mendesromano @harrystylinsince1994 @juliassgem @miscll-fangirl @little-dragon-ate-my-heart @myfangirlworld @haroldssfedora @winchesterwife27 @w0wfxck@arypesanchez @harriemelonsugar @someinsanefangirl @derangedcupcake @bobo-bush @peachesaquari @shawnsnovel @ivegotparticulartaste@adore-you-hs2 @combativehood @simonsbluee @hockeyschmockey​ @belovedcherry​ @harrysahottie @adore-you-hs2 @splendidsunsetsx @turtoix @la-cey @harrys-watermelons @softkidinlove

[fernpost]

Cycle 3 - A Meal

[link to ao3]

[first] - [previous] - [next] 

“Do we not have it?” Lup’s voice, just on the edge of unadulterated panic, filters through the room. It is borderline sweltering, and they’ve been at it all day.

If they don’t have it, it’s all been for naught. Taako bites at his nail, racking his brain, “fuck, do we not?”

Lucretia is sitting across the room, writing down notes from the day before. Her hand stills as she looks up, “it’s missing?”

Lup wipes her brow, before snapping her fingers and dropping to her knees, opening a small cabinet. She digs frantically through what they have, “if it’s not here, there’s none. I’ve looked all over- we honestly should have had it sooner but there was so much to do and-”

Taako steps behind her, hands resting on his hips to feign casualness. Lup adjusts her position and curses as she hits her head. Taako is about to comment, when she gasps.

He is silent as she jolts backwards with a cry, hand held in the air in success, waving it in the air, “we have it!”

Taako pulls it from her grasp, making his way towards the stove. Lup follows close behind, “if we had used the rest of the garlic last week, I would have jumped ship in shame.”

“Can’t make Mama Davenport’s special meat stew without it. Who are we to surprise our great captain with subpar stew.” Taako peels it quickly, cutting it up and tossing it into the pot liberally, firm in his lifelong belief that no recipe can have too little of the perfect allium.

Lucretia smiles as she scribbles in both of her notebooks from the table, “and Taako couldn’t have transmuteted more because…?”

Handing the spoon to Lup, he turns with an affronted gasp, resting his hand dramatically against his chest, “Do you think me a subpar chef?” With a snort, he kneels to peek into the oven, checking the status of the bread they are baking, “but actually, transmuted food is never as good as the real stuff. You can always taste the difference. It’ll do in a pinch, but for the occasion the Taaco’s spare no expense.”

“Ah, of course.” She goes back to her writing, content in listening to the two of them cook more.

After a few more minutes of gentle stirring, Taako sends Lup to grab Barry from the lab, where he’s been pouring over the same notes for a few hours now. Magnus, Merle, and Cap’nport should be back within the next half hour, if the Sending note Taako received is to be believed.

Considering it’s from Merle, who's to say. But preserving the heat of a dish with magic is much easier than making a dish from scratch, so it won’t be the end of the world. Anyways, Taako will give Merle shit either way.

Taako hear’s Lup laugh as she approaches, so he knows she successfully managed to wrangle Barold away from his work. He is already tired of their strange almost-flirting rituals, but it’s nice to see Lup so excited about something, even if it is a nerd like Barry.

(Taako is steadfastly ignoring how much he enjoy’s Barry’s company himself. Or Magnus’s. Or Lucretia’s. Or how comforting it is to talk to Merle. Or how welcoming Davenport always is. It all means nothing. They’re all still his coworkers. He definitely never seeks out their company. He pretends not to think about how the last time he was around the same people this long was his aunt, and he pretends not to think about how that ended. And it never feels bad when they leave on dangerous missions to look for the Light. Never.)

“Lup, the bread!” Taako calls out, pulling the stew from the stove and bringing it over to the table. Lucretia picks her notebooks up, bringing them over to the small sitting room and leaving them on the rickety coffee table (it wasn’t always rickety. Magnus had been trying, apparently, to teach Barry a wrestling move Merle had described to him once. Mending only goes so far). Lup crosses the small kitchen quickly, grabbing the oven mitts from the counter and pulling the bread out. It smells absolutely divine, of course.

Barry hovers near the edge of the kitchen, hands hovering awkwardly in front of him, “can I help-”

“Not after last time, Bluejeans.” Taako places the lid on the stew, turning to the fridge to look for the cider bottles he knows are in there somewhere from a small market they found near the end of the last year.

“Can you grab the plates?” Lup asks as she removes the bread from the tin and begins cutting it. Barry is quick to help, pulling the plates down from the cabinet right next to her (he’s trying so hard to not brush against her, it’s almost sad). Once he has a stack of seven, he pulls out the utensils as well.

Lucretia stiffens from where she has made her way to the window in the sitting room, peering out. “They’re back!”

Barry glances over, almost overbalancing and dropping the silverware as he gets distracted. After he regains control of the plates, he asks, “how do they look?”

“No worse for wear. No one’s limping or missing anything important, at least.” She pauses, and squints, “I think Magnus is a little singed, though.”

“He’ll be fine.” Taako waves it off. The big guy not getting injured would be more surprising.

Lup is bringing the tray with the bread over when the front door opens. Taako places the last cider down before calling out, “oh Captain!”

“We have a surprise for you!” Lup yells.

“What do you-” Davenport pauses, and Taako has cooked enough for the gnome to know he is smelling the air. “Is that stew?” He rounds the corner with the others. He looks tired, thick bags hanging heavy under his eyes.

They were supposed to be gone a week for a recon mission, but Merle sent a message saying they’d be a few days later. About halfway through them being gone, Taako had started digging through the books Davenport brought. One was, for some reason, an old cookbook. It was covered in scribbled writing, and a note left at the beginning detailed how Davenport’s mother gifted it to him when he left for his first job on a ship. One recipe in particular had a sticky note marking it, and Taako had glanced through the recipe. It seemed easy enough, so he brought it to Lup to make.

If she had said anything about him being a sap, he’d deny it. He just enjoyed trying out a new recipe.

“Are we going to eat or just bask in the smell?” Taako sits at his normal seat, not waiting to begin to serve himself. He passes the ladle to Lup, watching as the others join them. Davenport remains standing, only moving when Magnus kicks his chair away from the table, gesturing for him to sit.

The ladle is passed to their captain, who scoops some of the stew and stares at it, “is this…” Davenport looks up at Lup and him, squinting, “did you two go through my cabin?”

An overlap of “no,'' and “Taako did,” answer his question, and Taako quickly slaps Lup on the arm. “Was just looking at your books. You expect me to not read a cookbook you’ve got hidden away?”

Davenport doesn’t answer. He scoops up some of the stew and sips at it, obviously hesitant. It’s quiet in the room, before he smiles, “almost as good as my mom made it.”

A cacophony of mockery aimed at Taako blusters out, his own voice just barely rising above as he defends his honor and abilities.

No one mentions how their captain looks a little misty-eyed. It’s been a long three years.

Later that night, Magnus approaches him and Lup as they play cards in the sitting room, vaguely describing a pie his dad used to make on Candlenights, asking if the two of them thought they could recreate it.

Taako is offended that he believes they can’t.

[looneysguidetolife]

apartment stuff from howtogrowthefuckup

not all of it, but stuff i find particularly useful/want to remember. RIP this blog. the gimmick wears off after a while but it was genuinely useful information.

BUDGETING

suggested monthly budget for groceries for a two-person household is $553. estimated weekly budget is around $100. 

find a pad of paper and a pen and keep it with you for the next 24 hours. Write down every single fucking thing you use or even touch in your house. Tomorrow I want you to look at that list and figure out the cost of everything.

keep track of how much you spend on gas monthly.

add in your estimated utilities. You can fucking google that on your own, because it’s going to be different for wherever you want to live. Absolutely do this if you plan on moving to a different town or state.

divide your total monthly income by three. Hey, look at that, it’s my good friend Math again. Funny how he keeps showing up. Make sure the number of your expenses is less than the other 2/3rds, if it is, you can continue.

FINDING APARTMENTS

apartments.com

Focus on your top 10. Then your top 5. Then your top 3. Don’t go any farther than that (and don’t get rid of the research for the other 7 just yet). Create crazy complicated rating systems. Make an excel sheet or start putting stuff on your wall and connecting them with strings. Go full-on serial killer. Dedicate yourself.

You should also make note of how big the room is so you know if you can even fit what little you own. The same goes for the hallways or stairs or whatever exists outside the apartment on the way from your car. Could you get your mattress through all that shit?

PACKING

Figure out what you want to donate and what you want to put in the trash before you start packing.

Do not go grocery shopping right before moving... Just wait til you’re in the new place to make that trip.

Change your address. Like a week before you move. While you’re doing this, make a list of everywhere you’ve entered your address and need to change. Keep that list. Your future self will thank you someday.

Start in one room and pack all that before moving to a different part of the house. This is a good way to keep all your stuff together and it’s also a good way to find out that you own five decks of cards or one too many furbys.

Put everything into piles: keep, donate, and ditch.

Label the boxes with what room they belong to so you know exactly where it needs to go. Some people like to also mark this with a color coded sticker. 

Also label what’s in the boxes. For example: Kitchen - silverware; cooking utensils; hot pads; magnet collection. You don’t need to label every item individually, but have some idea of what’s in there. Label it on more than one side. Don’t label it on the top, because you’ll just end up stacking boxes on top of each other.

Distribute the weight of your stuff. Mix heavy books with stuffed animals.

Alternately, pack by weight. Heavy stuff goes in small boxes, light stuff goes in big boxes. Basically what I’m saying is don’t pack a massive box with too much weight that it’s too heavy to carry or will break the box.

Use all of your suitcases and bags for packing!

For toiletries - take off the top, place plastic wrap over the opening, replace the top. This way you don’t end up with lotion all over your towels or something.

Know what you’ll need immediately and make sure those boxes are the last thing on the truck, first thing unloaded at the new place. Maybe keep those things in a clear container so you can see exactly what’s in there. Hint: three of the things you’ll need immediately are your toolbox, cleaning supplies, and toilet paper.

note to self: get toolbox and first aid kit.

Take pictures of the new apartment. Before anything goes in it. This way if there are any scratches on the wall or stains on the carpet, the new landlord can’t say it happened during the move.

ASKING QUESTIONS

Apartments.com and My First Apartment both have lists of questions to ask.

questions directly from the blog:

Is the apartment available and is it still listed at the same price or are they trying to swindle you/are they completely incompetent at updating their listings?

Will it be ready when you need it? It’s gonna totally suck if you find the right place and find out it’s not available when you’re ready to move

Are there appliances? Are they included? Do they even work? 

How old is the apartment? This is important to ask because it will tell you how much trouble you’re going to have. Like, if it’s Civil War era, you might have issues with foundation cracks or old wiring or ghosts of soldiers waking you up in the middle of the night.

Have there been any issues with insects, rodents, mold, or mildew? You have to ask this. No good self-respecting property manager would tell you this of their own free will.

What kind of security is there? Did you have to go through a gate when you came in? Do you need a key to get into your building before you get into your door? Or does your door face out cheap motel style? Are there electronic pass codes? Is there any kind of security force on site?

If you ever find someone willing to hang out with you, is there a special place they need to park? Do you need to let the office know if they plan on staying the night?

Where do you park? Is parking included? Is in indoor or outdoor?

Do you need a city sticker to park on the street? [Note: I asked this when I moved to Missouri and everyone thought I was batshit crazy. This is normal in places like Chicago, not so normal elsewhere. See if you can determine that before you ask a crazy question.]

Can you paint the walls? Can you put holes in the walls? Can you do whatever it is you do to walls, so long as they look the same when you move out?

What exactly is the maintenance policy, beyond walls? What is covered, what’s not? And who do you contact when there’s an issue? Is there a maintenance person on staff, or do they call out to someone in the area? Do they have a 24-hour emergency maintenance line

Is there heat and air conditioning? What kind? If it’s a window unit, will it be included in the apartment? Are the costs of heating and cooling included

Do you have control over the temperature or is it a building thing?Are any utilities included?

Who are the cable and internet providers in the area? What are their rates? Does the apartment complex have an exclusive contract with one of the companies?

What kind of people live here? Do they have children? Are they all ancient? Do they have, as I suspect my last neighbors did, a bowling alley in their apartment?

Just how much are you going to hear from your neighbors? On a scale of Ernest Hemingway to Les Mis, how thick are the walls?

When is rent due and how do they want it? Are checks required? Can you pay with a credit card? Do they want it all in cash? Also, how is rent submitted? Can you pay electronically or do you drop it in a mailbox?

Do you need renter’s insurance? About how much does it cost? Are there any weird things that need to be included that might not be everywhere? Like, are earthquakes an issue?

What is the process for applying to the apartment, should you choose to rent it? Are there credit checks?

What’s the pet policy? Is there pet rent?

Are there quiet hours or other weird rules about volume or people or places or things?

Are there public areas like pools or parks or gyms? What are the rules regarding those?

If you have a roommate, will both of your names be on the lease, or will one person be designated as the responsible party (you better pray it isn’t you)?

What about trash? Is there pick up or dumpsters? Recycling?

Is there a storage unit included? Where is it? What kind of security does it have?

What happens with deliveries? Do they all go through the front office or are they left on your doorstep? Are you able to pick stuff up at any time? Do you need certain ID for it?

Is there a dishwasher? Is it louder than the bowling alley next door?

If you’re in an area that gets snow, do they plow or shovel? Will they totally bury your car if you don’t move it when the plow comes by?Is there public transportation anywhere?

not questions, but things to pay attention to:

Where are the outlets? Take note of prongs.

Are there permanent light sources or do you need to go to Ikea?

How big are the rooms? What shape are they? Are you going to be able to fit all your shit in here? [Note: you should already have a floor plan online, but ask for a paper copy if they have one.]

Do the people in the office seem at all competent? Are they going to make your life a living hell?

Can you get your stuff up/down the stairs or through the doors when you move in?

Are the appliances/apartment gas or electric?

Bathtub or shower?

Can you open the oven and fridge and still walk through the room? Will opening any doors block off other areas or hit something else?

Can you get a cell signal in the apartment? Seriously.

EDIT: waybackmachine links:

1 • 2 • 3 • 4

[themanip]

yellow roses

⤳ blurb: lee felix and his seven friends are chosen to go to america and attend a private high school. with only three able to speak english fluently, they get assigned another student to help them navigate american high school. they quickly come to realize that the sweet girl who speaks korean is much more than who she shows during school hours.

⤳ pairing: lee felix + willow arroyo ⤳ genre: romance, coming of age, drama, fluff, eventual smut, very angsty ⤳ warnings: chan being super sweet, cursing, mentions of bullying, not much to worry about this chapter ⤳ word count: a little over 3.1k 

"Can you turn that music down, please?"

Ronnie tapped her shoulder softly, which surprised the young girl. Swiveling around and yanking a headphone out of her ear, she crinkled her eyebrows at the balding man. "Sorry?"

"Can you turn it down? It's so loud I can hear it," her manager stared at her with blank eyes, and she nodded gently. Pulling her left hand from the swamp of dishes and dirty water, she dried her hand on her apron, and clicking the volume button to a lower setting. "I get it, Winnie. It's not the greatest job in the world, and you wanna listen to music and your grumpy manager is being an ass," she let out a soft chuckle at his words.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I don't mean to be an ass, I'm just exhausted."

"It's alright, I get it. I worked like you did when I was your age, and I know how much it sucked. It was just better for me because I got paid double what you do," he smiled softly, clapping his hands together.

"Minimum wage is no laughing matter, Ronnie. I eat one-fifth of a lemon bar for lunch everyday," she eyed him fake angrily, and his eyes softened. "Really?"

"No, what the hell," she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Usually it's a bagel or something,"

"Okay," he sighed softly, taking his cap off and running his hands through his hair. "If you wanna close up a bit earlier, I can come in at five instead of seven,"

Her hands halted as she scrubbed a plate, and she smiled gently. "No, it's okay," she finished washing the last dish, and set it on the drying rack. "You have Eliot now, and I'm sure Olivia isn't getting much sleep without you home during the night, so go home, and take care of your son,"

She melted at the thought of his newborn son, and how beautiful he is. She wasn't extremely good with children, but babies made her absolutely swoon. She also knew how hard newborns were to deal with, and having Ron not home to help probably made things hell for his wife, Olivia.

"You sure?"

One solid nod and a tired grin sent Ronnie on his way home, knowing he would recieve a full night's sleep. Despite the intense amount of work, she loved the diner. It was always warm, she always had at least one plate of food if she needed it, and Ronnie cut her a lot of slack.

She dried her hands off on her apron once more, and headed to the front of the restaurant near the island of stools. It was past midnight now, and occasionally there were some older customers who came in drunk, or just got off work. It seemed to be a quiet night, so she figured it wouldn't be too bad if she took a quick pee break.

On the other end of the diner were the restrooms, and she scrambled over there. Her footsteps and the dark shadows in the bathrooms often creeped her out, she went in, did her business, and left. Once she opened the door, she spotted two bewildered teenage boys at the front door, looking around with wide eyes.

"Hey, are you guys open? I saw it said twenty-four hours but—"

He had an Australian accent, and it made Willow purr on the inside. "Yes! Yes we are, I'm sorry," she sighed in embarassment, and rushed to the front of the diner. Her boots, which usually help her feet with the consistent standing, are now a nuisance as she stumbles across the floor.

"Oh no worries, we know it's kind of late,"

As Willow stumbled next to the boy, who she now saw another boy standing next to him with red cheeks. His accent was beautiful, she thought. He was also inhumanely good looking. The one who'd spoken to her had darker brown hair, on the wavier side. He had a larger nose, and his lips were quite full. He was beautiful.

The other one stood silent, and Willow smiled and held menus. "Booth or do you wanna sit at the island?"

"Uh, booth please," the brunette spoke up once more, and she silently led them to a booth that was clean and somewhat in the middle of the restaurant. Gentle background music filled the silence, and all that was heard was soft scuffling as the two boys followed the only girl working.

She sat them down, and the other blonde boy smiled sheepishly. "Here are your menus, can I get you something to drink first?"

"Can I get a coke, please?"

That time, it was the boy who'd she never heard speak. His voice was deeper, almost curiously soft.  The brunette spoke once more, "Do you have tea?"

"Of course, sir. Unsweetened or sweetened?"

"Oh, sweetened please," he nodded thoughtfully, smiling. "I will be right back with your drinks, take a look over the menu and you can let me know what you want at your earliest convenience," Willow smiled genuinely, and she bowed slightly. She didn't even mean to, she just felt odd alone, at midnight, with two teenage boys in her diner.

"She called you sir, Chan," the blonde boy whispered to the one opposite him, this Chan character. "She's really nice, we have to leave a good tip," Chan responded, and that's all Willow managed to hear before she started making their drinks.

The next hour or so dragged on, with Chan, Willow, and the other figure, whom she'd learn is Felix, and her coming back and forth to collect orders, serve seconds, cook said seconds, and giving refills. Each time, Chan would apologize for inconveniencing her as if it wasn't her job, and she would smile softly. She could tell that he would never be rude to fast food workers or people just intending to do their job.

Usually, there would be a chef, or at least someone who can cook, and at least one other person working. The past few weeks had been Willow mostly by herself, picking up extra shifts, and as long as it wasn't busy, she could manage cooking and waittressing. She got paid double time, and she picked up overtime on days where Ron did not want to come in early. He also didn't want to burden Helena, one of his other over-nighters, who'd just gotten back on her feet after a house fire.

She wasn't a bad cook, and she was quick on her feet. She could hold down her own, and Ronnie knew that. Hence he trusted her with his entire diner, on most nights, and to hold the fort down. She would now easily bring home paychecks over a grand, with taxes taken out every week. As her two very cute customers continued eating their seconds, she scribbled messily on her notepad on the counter.

She stood on the inside of the island counter, and was counting expenses. She had a lot of shit to worry about, bills included. Gas, electric, dog food, groceries. She could take maybe three hundred dollars off her bill fund thanks to her mother, but it still didn't help in the scheme of things.

Frustrated, she scribbled out her list. She had to worry about this later, there was no need to worry before she got her paycheck. Her eyes felt heavy, and she tried to rub the sleepiness from them. She had at least five more hours before she could even think about leaving, and she still had to clean this place from top to bottom.

"Do you think we could get the check, please?"

Chan's timid voice broke her from her daze, and her face reddened in embarassment. She had forgotten they were here. Setting her pen down hastily, she shuffled over to grab the printed out receipt, and held it tightly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to zone off like that," she set the check down, and took notice of their neatly stacked plates with silverware crossed on top. Her cleanup would be very easy, and she absolutely loved when she had customers like this. "Oh, no worries," Chan smiled and eyed the check. "Is it okay if I take these?"

Pointing towards the stack of plates, the other boy, Felix, quickly grabbed them and handed them to her. Underneath the plates, their fingers touched briefly. A sheepish smile followed from both, and she quickly scurried to put the plates in the dishwasher. All she had to do was get them checked out, clean the three plates, clean the milkshake cups, the soda cups, and sweep. Some general maintenance, and if nobody else came in, she was in for a decent night.

"Hey, you didn't charge us for the milkshakes," Chan mentioned softly, slight accusatory tone. "They're on the house," Willow smiled back from the bar island, and Chan cocked his head in confusion, "if that's okay,"

"That's really kind, thank you," once again, a gentle, dimple-filled smile from Chan, and a sheepish, red-cheeked one from Felix. She wished to hear the blonde boy speak again, his voice so rich, so deep. He seemed sweet.

Her first thought was that they were boyfriends. It angered her, but only in a way that two of the cutest guys she'd possibly ever seen were together. It was adorable, to say the least. Little did she know, they were definitely not together.

Willow came to collect the money, and Felix stared up at her. "Are you from around here?"

Her eyes widened, and her mind went blank. That was usually how someone asked if she would be missed had she been kidnapped. "That sounded really creepy, I'm sorry," he clarified, and she loosened her shoulders a bit, "We are new to town, and we don't know where Glarien Avenue is. We just moved in, and can't find our way back. The GPS says the street doesn't exist," he finished quickly, and she nodded gently, deciding on whether or not to tell him.

"Oh, uh," she bit her lip, "the street got a new sign on accident, and the GPS or whatever national database that programs the information never got updated, I guess. If you pull out of here, take a left and go forward like three-ish blocks. There's gonna be a bright yellow house, and once you see that turn right, and then take a sharp right again and if you just keep going down you should see Glarien. If you get lost, just come back,"

It took only five minutes for the two Australian boys to clear out, and for Willow to finally take a breath. As she took care of all of the dishes, she went for the check last. Their total was somewhat cheap, twenty-three dollars, for two full meals, two sodas, a sweet tea, and extra sides of fries.

As she counted out the money, she was thoroughly confused. There were two twenties, and two fives. There was fifty dollars here, and their meal was less than thirty. On the check was a small note.

Really good food, really good service. We hope you have an amazing night, and whatever is left after our tab is paid is yours. Thank you!

An exasperated sigh left her mouth, and she sat in the booth where the two boys sat. Staring at the money in front of her, her chest felt heavy. All of her emotions poured out, and the thought that a strangers kindness' brought her to tears was shameful yet elating. That would be three less hours she would have to work, three more hours of sleep, or soccer practice, or studying. More time to not stress over bills.

She sat there for a few minutes, breathing in and out, as deep as she could. Wiping her face of any tear remnants, she stood up, collecting the money in hand. As she eyed the clock, she sighed inwardly. It was only 2 AM.

A little less than five hours later, she was walking into the doors of LaPrine High School, with at least two hundred other students. For seven in the morning, teenagers were pretty damn annoying. Squeals and loud murmurs was everything that she could hear, and it made her turn her headphones up louder.

For a private school full of snobby inbreds, there were some okay kids there. Most of them were the scholarship kids, who'd had their fares paid for, like Willow. If someone found out that you were a scholar student, you'd immediately be laughed at and taunted. She managed to keep hers a secret, though. She excelled, and she made sure to throw in an occasional snicker when needed to prove she was just one among the bunch.

She wasn't popular by any means, but everyone knew her. She was a suck up, that was for sure. Every teacher liked her, her grades were impeccable, and she was an all-star soccer player. She managed to have better stats than Ian Rewns, the past all star soccer legend, and he wasn't even a midfielder.

She also was known to stay pretty quiet, and to herself socially. She had a few casual friends, some classmates she talked to, but nobody really close. She was okay with that, she was pretty busy anyways. She had school from eight in the morning to three, then soccer practice from four to six-thirty, and if there wasn't a game, she'd go home around seven, and at eleven she would go work the graveyard shift at the diner. On average, she'd get four to five hours of sleep. Friends, or a social life, just take away from that time.

As she stopped at her locker to pull out her textbooks, she felt a tap on her shoulder. "Ms. Arroyo," it was her principal, Mrs. Samson. "Can you come with me, please?"

It was only two weeks into the school year, so there wasn't much she could get in trouble for. Maybe it was to rearrange her classes? No, every class she had was only alotted for that specific hour, there was no way. Her tuition? God, she hoped not.

"How are your classes so far?" as they rounded the office hallway, Mrs. Samson was making casual conversation. The clicking of her heels intimidated Willow a bit, but she'd known her for over a year. She wasn't as scary as everyone made her out to be. "They're good, I just finally settled in,"

"I know this year seems like it may be hard, but by the looks of your GPA next year, I think you'll be satisfied with it." Praise made Willow purr like a kitten, and her entire body tingled at the realization that this probably wasn't bad.

"Me too," she replied softly, and Mrs. Samson held the door to her office open for her, and they stepped in. Her office was tidy, shades of light blue and gray, and was a little too cold for Willow's liking. "Come and take a seat, hun,"

Unsure still, she took a seat. Her back didn't touch the seat, her anxiety from not knowing why she was there overtaking her comfortability. "You're not in trouble, don't worry," the older woman smiled at her as she took her own seat opposite her desk.

"So, I know you are a busy girl," she looked at her with eyes of compassion, and a soft smile decorated her face. "I have a proposition for you," she continued.

"Do you happen to remember when you did student tours for the incoming freshman?" Her first year at LaPrine, she was allowed to do student tours as community service hours for NHS. She was actually so good at it, and the organization of it, that she got to do it again this summer, and handled it all by herself without any staff. It was pulled off effortlessly.

"Of course, this year too," Willow nodded in agreement, and she waited for the woman to continue. "Well, if you agree to help me for a while this year, I will make sure all of your community hours are taken care of, and anything else you need help with will be considered done,"

Willow wanted her to get to the point.

"What is it?"

"Remember on your National Honor Society resume, you said you're bilingual and speak more than just English? You weren't lying, right?"

Willow laughed so hard she nearly bust a lung, and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "Mrs. Samson, my last name is Arroyo. But of course, I can speak more than just Spanish, though,"

"You listed Korean, correct?" she eyed a piece of paper, which was most likely her aforementioned resume.

"Yeah, I can speak it somewhat fluently, and I can read Hangul well, I sometimes have trouble writing it, though. I don't imagine I'll be writing Korean letters, will I?" Willow's Hangul was absolutely preposterous, any native Korean would agree.

"No, that's silly," The elder crossed her hands together, and leaned forward. "Starting tomorrow, we have eight foreign exchange students coming from Korea, and you are an exemplar student who also happens to speak said language. One is a native English speaker, and two others speak it fluently. The rest can manage only a conversation or two, so you can understand our worry. I'm sure it would be nice for them to have a friend as well,"

"For the rest of the year?"

"Yes, but I'm sure that they'll manage to speak more fluently as the year progresses," and Willow shook her head, "I'm not worried about the language, I just don't know how that would work,"

"How so?"

"Well, are they all girls? Are they boys? Is it a mix? And won't their classes be much different than mine?"

"They're all boys, ranging from sophomore to seniors, and they're super sweet. Very respectful boys, from what I hear. I promise you, I will make it worth it if you help me out, and at least be a friend and reliable student to these boys. And no, they will not all have the same classes as you, but it will probably be courses you have taken, save for the seniors."

"I will also put in a good word for you to Mr. Ramirez, and how that head position on the team should be an exemplar student and player," she mentioned the soccer coach, and Willow cringed inwardly. She hadn't spoke Korean, in full length sentences, in over a year. She could remember it, but she'd be rusty.

"Okay, but you owe me one. No, more like eight; you owe me eight, Mrs. Samson."

"Deal. Come in tomorrow early if you can, and you can give them the tour. I will be here as well, so if you want to meet me in the cafeteria, I will bring you coffee."

"I like my coffees with extra creamer and sugar."

"Done."

[oumaheroes]

Earthbound: Ludwig’s Story

Characters: Germany, Prussia

Context:

Hundreds of years after the fall of Earth, mankind is slowly starting to return. Some people have a stronger urge to return than others, confused by fragments of memories from a life already lived.

Arthur’s story can be found here. 

Matthew’s story can be found here.

Gabriel’s story can be found here.

---------------------------------------------

Ludwig is six, and is sick again. The doctors don't know what's wrong with him; they know what's causing it at least but they have no idea why. He can't keep food down and every time he tries to stand the world pitches and swims and he can't keep his balance so he never manages to stay up for long before he bonelessly falls to the floor, where he feels no better.

It's the gravity, the doctors say, for some reason he's affected by the gravity. The artificial gravity that he's known all his life; it's as if he's just climbed aboard and his body suffers from relapses where it just can't acclimatise. Where it suddenly realises that something's not quite right and rebels against him for a week or so. This his family already knows, but his mother isn't satisfied with such a lacklustre answer so she takes him to a different doctor every time he suffers another attack just in case one of them is even marginally more competent than the last. These 'episodes', as his mother likes to call them, don't happen all that often, but he seems to have one every ten months or so and they are regular enough to annoy his mother to no end. Ludwig doesn't really know if she's annoyed that no one can fix him or with him himself, Gilbert won't say and normally his big brother talks to pretend that he knows something so his silence worries Ludwig the most.

Mother is a very important person with a very important job: she's a governor of the space station upon which they live and it is very important that Ludwig remembers this. So, when he's laying in bed clutching at his belly and desperately clenching his eyes shut to minimise the swaying, his friends at school think that he is away for a special training academy. Because can you just imagine, the governor of a space station's son being space sick?

His father doesn't like to call it that because he thinks it's degrading so his mother doesn't, when she thinks Ludwig can't hear, anyway, but Ludwig knows that's what the kids at school would say so he happily keeps mum because it's easier than lying. They don't talk to him much besides, they find him too cold and distant but that's because he's so scared of disgracing his mother further that he can't quite relax fully.

When Ludwig is thirteen his mother, after exhausting all doctors aboard their large floating colony, finally accepts that it's unlikely that this small problem of his is going to go away. Her way of dealing with it is to pretend that it just doesn't happen; during an attack Ludwig is sent to his room where he stays painfully alone with only his books for company whilst she busies herself with her new campaigns. She's running for director now, aiming as high as she can go and there's no room for weak, feeble Ludwig all the way up there.

His brother tries his best to keep him entertained and happy during these times, but Gilbert is healthy, strong, smart; he's everything that Ludwig should also be able to grow up to be and their parents have sent him off to expensive schools which means that he's more often away from home than not. Sometimes Ludwig wonders if they've sent him away because they want Gilbert to be the all around best he can be, or if it's to distance him as much as they can from Ludwig. It's almost as if they're worried that Ludwig will taint him, or that maybe Gilbert will grow too attached to him and distract himself from what's really important. That Ludwig will anchor him down.

At five years older it's highly unlikely that Ludwig will be the one doing the influencing, but his brother, despite hardly seeing each other and such a large age difference, does seem to genuinely care for him. During one particular attack, when Ludwig is eighteen, Gilbert is home from university; it is almost Christmas and his family are preparing to travel to where his grandparents live on the other side of the space station, where they'll spend the holiday. Of course, it is now that his body decides to betray him.

He, his parents, and his brother are gathered around the large dining room table finishing off dinner. It is tense. Mostly it is Gilbert who talks because despite their mother's cool demeanour and their father's lack of interest he seems to always have something to say to fill the silence and speaks easily. Even with the response he gets, or lack of it, he seems honestly unperturbed and remains cheerful, somehow managing to both eat and speak without seeming impolite. As much as he loves his brother, Ludwig is also supremely jealous.

He stares at his fork, contemplating which point in the evening would be best to ask if he could slip away, when his body decides for him. His stomach swoops, his ears pop and the table tilts alarmingly. He clenches the edge in panic to remain upright and the noise alerts his mother, who looks up from her dessert in irritation.

'Ludwig, we are going away tomorrow.'

'M- mother-'

His mother sighs and looks at his father, who sharply stares back. 'Dear?'

His father grunts and spears another forkful of fruit pie. 'They're expecting him to come.'

'But the photographers-'

'What do you want me to do, Hilda?'

Meanwhile, Ludwig has still not been dismissed and cannot now seem to find the words to ask for permission himself without spewing all over the fancy silverware. He doubts that that will make the situation better, somehow. Gilbert notices and stands, attracting his parents' attention.

'I'll take Luddy to his room.'

'Darling...' their mother tries to say something, but it's what she's trying not to say that comes across the loudest.

Gilbert ignores her and walks around the table, slowly helping Ludwig to his feet, then away from the table and swiftly towards a bathroom. They make it just in time. Gilbert pats him comfortingly on the back and rubs soothing circles into his shoulders until he's finished, then hands him a glass of water.

'So, they're still arseholes, huh?'

Ludwig snaps his head up in horror, but this is a bad idea because the image of Gilbert swims before him and he has to shut his eyes.

'Don't call them that.' He finally manages, weakly.

Gilbert tuts. 'What the fuck did they feed you with in order to churn your personality out.'

Ludwig lays his head on the cool tiles of the floor and groans inwardly at how nice the feeling is. 'They're not arseholes.'

'Yeah, and my name's Shirley.'

Ludwig cracks open an eye, but Gilbert's not joking. He is, for once, deadly serious. 'How'd you put up with them Lud?'

Ludwig shrugs and gives a small shake of his head. 'They're our parents, Gil. They still care for me. Besides, I'm not exactly making it easy for them.'

Gilbert looks disgusted. 'You're their fucking son, arsehole. They're supposed to take care of you. They ain't even doing that right are they?' Gilbert runs a hand through his shock of white hair and bits his bottom lip whilst he shakes his head. 'Look at how they treat you versus me.'

'Yes, but I'm not exactly-'

'But nothing!' Gilbert raises his voice slightly and swallows. When he speaks again, he's much quieter, back under control. 'Have they got you in a university programme yet?'

Ludwig's silence is answer enough and Gilbert sighs deeply before brushing back Ludwig's sweaty fringe. 'There's nothing wrong with you Lud.' His brother sounds so very sad. 'Fuck, there's nothing wrong with you at all. They know full well that if they put you on a planet rather than this floating heap of rust that you'll probably be alright. And have they? Have they fuck.'

Ludwig wants to argue against him, wants to say something to stand up for himself if not for their parents but his eyes are suddenly burning and his throat is choked up. He knew a long time ago that his parents had given up on him, but to hear it from someone else hurts more sharply than anything he tells himself.

There's an odd companionable silence for a while; Ludwig lays still with his face against the floor and his brother's hand carding through his hair so he almost misses what Gilbert says next.

'I was gonna wait till Boxing Day, but I've got us tickets for Earth.'

Ludwig tenses and holds his breath. Gilbert continues. 'I was gonna wake you up on the 26th and take you away with me, but I want to tell you now instead, cause you look like shit. We're gonna get out of here Luddy; I've always wanted to take you to a planet and what better one is there than the original, huh?'

'You, I- you can't- what about your studies? The internship you've got?' Ludwig manages to stammer out, opening his eyes.

Gilbert brushes his concerns aside. 'I never liked medicine, really. I've always wanted to go to a planet, so I'm mega up for it.'

Ludwig knows he should say no, knows that he shouldn't take up the offer. He'd be denying his brother so much, he'd be exactly what their parents worried he'd be because he'll only drag Gilbert down and down and down like a heavy lead weight and ruin all of his chances at a good life.

But Ludwig wants to be selfish. He reaches out and clasps onto Gilbert's hand, squeezing it tightly. 'Gil...'

Gilbert flashes him a grin and winks. 'I know, right? How awesome am I?'

---------------------------

AN:

I’ve been a very busy bee recently and haven’t been able to write anything, so in lieu of something new, have something old.

This is from my fic Earthbound, which I’m embarassingly fond of. It’s made up of several different stories and Ludwig and Gilbert’s is the one that I’m the most happy with after all these years.

Hope you enjoyed!