#apologies to my non-american followers

[acid-rainclouds]

California’s burning, cold fronts are hitting, the Earth’s global warming is set to be irreversible by 2029, insurance companies are pulling back the one thing they promise you when you give them your hard earned money.

And where is your government?

Patting themselves on the back for doing fuck all and being “professional” while a soon-to-be tyrant makes his way into office spouting literal Hitler rhetoric. “Take Greenland, take the Panama Canal, take Canada”

Why are we still sitting on our asses? Why are we just letting this happen? Voting obviously does not even work anymore because propaganda and distractions are at an all time high. Just because it doesn’t affect you NOW doesn’t mean it won’t come for you later.

People don’t even have the attention span to read even a paragraph without some mind rot video playing underneath with an AI voice filter reading it for them.

“I’m just one person.” Everyone fucking is, go to rallies, go to riots. They won’t listen to us if we’re polite, so yell in their damn faces, spit on the elite. Make them pay attention.

We outnumber them 100-1. They are the 1% for a reason. Don’t let Luigi be the only one to stand up for us. (Even though I don’t even think it was him.)

You still wanna live to see 2030 right? If things keep going the way they are now, you might not get to.

[gaysindistress]

What if Simon didn’t listen when Price told him to apologize to his girl before she does go off and find herself a better man? - part two

a/n: I know John isn’t American but I kept picturing him as Joe from SIX and honety Gibs from NCIS and I couldn’t stop myself. I sincerely apologize that this John is American-grumpy-hot-military-older man coded (not really). Also I know it took a month and I’m so sorry 🙈 I got so busy at work but it’s here! Enjoy!!

Warnings: smutty smut smut, phone sex

non-mcu masterlist

part one

Taglist: @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @calicocat45 @whos-fran @vonev @yyiikes

The situation at hand is tricky to say the least. Waiting around and trying to be careful of everyone’s feelings will push you away. On the other hand, he’s wanted to show you the love that you deserve and now is his chance.

Fuck Simon.

Fuck him for treating you like a safety net and like you’re replaceable. Fuck him for letting you shoulder the burden of your relationship and expecting you to always be at his beck and call. Fuck him for lying to you instead of having the balls to just be honest about why he wanted to break up. Fuck Simon Riley for saying that you could find a better man and expecting you to not listen to him for once.

“I want a lot of things,” he starts and takes a moment to choose his words, “I might be a gentleman but I’m a selfish man. I won’t take what’s not offered but you’d be hell bent to find me sharing my life with others. If you say that it’s over and mean it, well then love, I’ll be the most selfish man you’ve ever met when it comes to you. Im not some young lad anymore; I’m settled in my life and now that things are stable I want someone to share it with. I’ll follow your lead when it comes to how we share it but just know that I don’t want something casual or even friendship.”

You’re still resting your chin on his shoulder, listening to his every word as hope begins to fill your eyes. It’s the last sentence he whispers as he gazes down at you that causes your breath to hitch;

“I’ll love you until my lungs give out.”

And this man Delivers. The capital d is not a typo. John Price understands that you’re an independent person and he respects that. That’s not to say that he doesn’t spoil the absolute shit out of you and ensures that you are happy in every facet of your life imaginable.

The dogs are being wild today and overwhelming you? As soon as he gets home, he’s taking them out on a walk and giving you instructions to go have yourself a nice hot bath. Dinner is already taken care of so no need to worry about that. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the quiet.

He’s been on deployment for a couple weeks and the loneliness is starting to creep in? You will be getting at least two check in texts a day and a call or FaceTime if he can before you go to bed. You should also expect some sort of care package to be on your doorstep weekly. This could be anything from flowers to your whole ass Amazon cart, all you need to do is say you miss him and he’s got you covered.

Things have been a little tense between the two of you? Well get ready because you’re going to be doing a check in that night where the two of you talk about whatever is going on. If it’s something small like you’re both stressed from work and a weekend getaway is needed, he’s already got that planned. If it’s something that needs more work, he’s ready to dive right into it and figure it out.

Still true to his internal word, nothing physical happens between you two at first. He wanted desperately to kiss you when he told you he would love you until his last breath but he didn’t. Disgusted by the enormity of his craving for you, John vowed to wait until you asked for his physical affection. Of course this meant he wouldn’t give into any of your advances until you told what you wanted.

After that night, you began the long and arduous process of breaking down John’s resolve. While it may have been unspoken, you knew what he wanted but you weren’t going to give into him so quickly. It started with closing the distance between you two. Instead of sitting on opposite ends of the couch, you’d lay your feet in his lap or move just close enough to trail your fingers over the back of his hand. Only would you move to sit beside him if he slung his thick arm over the couch’s back and beckoned you closer. Then you would take every opportunity possible to cuddle into his side and slyly skirt your hands across the waistband of his sweats when you wrapped your arms around him. If you were in the kitchen together, you were always just out of his grasp. His fingers could grasp at the back of your shirt but never fully grab you. You’d swiftly slip around him if he moved behind you but not before brushing your hands over him in some way.

Eventually you grew bolder and began to shower with the door propped open. You’d said it was so the dogs could still see you but John isn’t stupid. He knew that you wanted him to catch a glimpse of your body through the foggy glass doors. But here’s the thing; he’s not Simon. Simon would’ve joined you and fucked you on that glass door like your life depended on it but not a captain price.

No no no. John Price is going to make you say those three little words, ‘I want you’, before he touches you even if it means leaving on for a mission without so much as a chaste peck on the lips. No amount of sly looks and sneaky touches is going to convince this man to give into you.

He starts beating you at your own game though. his bedroom door is suddenly always cracked open making it so that you can hear every rumbling moan and gasp of your name when he fists his cock at night. You no longer feel the waistband of his underwear when you wrap your arms around his am waist during your cuddles. Instead your fingers find the thick trail of hair that disappears under his sweatpants. Speaking of which, John knows about grey sweat pants and he exploits that turn on every chance he gets. Soon it goes from just wearing them low on his hips to forgoing boxers (as mentioned above) and sometimes he even ‘forgets’ his shirt. The memory of his thick bare chest on display alone is enough to make you clench your legs together.

When he finally does have to leave for work, he presses a light kiss to your temple and tells you to be careful. It goes without saying but John makes your promise anyways. Eases his old heart as he likes to say. If only he would go easy on yours…

Nearly every photo, FaceTime, what have you, this man is bare chested with lidded eyes and a knowing smirk on his face. He knows that you’re frustrated with the way things have played out; namely his departure with no memorable moments. He’s already become an expert in you, knowing what your body langue means, what your blushes mean, and most importantly, what your words truly mean.

Probably about a month in to this mission is when it comes to a climax. Your hands were doing nothing to ease the ache between your legs and your toys were making it worse. It was as if your body knew that it was you instead John rubbing small circles into your clit late at night. You’d tried nearly everything you could think of aside from finding someone in a pub and telling the older captain about your dilemma. While you two weren’t anything more than roommates with feelings at this point, it still felt wrong to find someone else to help you out. With only one person that your body wanted and nothing you could do about it, you settled for being sexually frustrated and irritable.

John is finally able to get some alone time to call you and actually talk to you. Settled into some poor excuse for a cot, he makes himself comfortable as he waits for you to pick up. It makes maybe a few rings before your tight voice comes through with a short ‘hello?’

He wants to chuckle and fails to suppress it, “Well hello to you too, love.”

Immediately you sigh when you recognize his voice, “oh John it’s you. How are you?”

“Been better. What’s been going on with you?”

You let out another deep sigh, pausing to answer as you contemplate what to tell him.

“What is it, love? Something bothering you?”

“I…I’m just….im just irritable,” you attempt to pass off as the full truth but John knows you better than that.

“Irritable you say?”

You can hear him shuffle around on his end and it causes your legs to cross to even think about him. God it’s beyond annoying to be this turned on over just hearing him move around, let alone hear his voice right now.

“I’d say a relaxing day is in order,” he teases with a low pitched sultry tone, “find some relief in a massage maybe.”

Relief.

The word feels hot as it washes over your brain and invokes images that would make a nun curse under her breath.

You snort at his suggestion. In that small noise, he finds all the answers he needed; you’re about to break and murmur those three sweet words.

“No appeal to that, love?” He asks and you can just hear the smirk he’s wearing. “A massage isn’t the relief you’re looking for though is it? You need a different type of relief, isn’t that right love?”

That bastard.

You hear him shuffle again and you swear to god you hear the sound of a belt coming undone.

“Talk to me. Tell me how I can help.”

If you weren’t needy before, you must certainly are now. You feel pathetic, a bitch in heat with the way your body starts to react to his simple words. Practically mumbling you attempt to tell him to fuck off but it doesn’t sting as much as you’d hoped. John laughs off your feeble attempt at hiding the true reason you’re in a mood.

Instead of adding flame to fire, he stays quiet.

It takes 40 agonizing seconds of silence for you to groan his name out of frustration. The captain only hums his acknowledgment that you spoke.

Phone sex isn’t new to you by any means however there’s something about this time that causes you to falter. There’s something about the way he initiated it but is allowing you to lead where it goes. There’s something about the way he knew what you needed within seconds. There’s something about the way your body seems to know that it craves his without ever touching.

“Yes,” you mumble while your cheeks burn and your body sings at the thought of getting what it truly desires.

John chuckles under his breath and the sardonic sounds causes your eyes to squeeze shut.

“Be a good girl for me and slip your hand into your panties.”

Your hearing dulls to a muffled tone as your hand follows his instructions. Barely does your ears register the sound of skin on skin, a slick hand taunting an impossibly hard cock. Your name comes out as a groan when you tell him to continue.

“Fuuckkk, love. Tell me are ya wet?”

“S…soaked.” You sigh as you roll your clit with your fingertips.

He lets out a string of curses as his hips buck up into his hand and his cock throbs from his slow pace.

“I want you to keep rubbing your clit and fuck yourself with your fingers,” the captain orders you, “and dont try to hide any of those pretty sounds.”

You mumble a weak ‘okay’ as you work your clit in small circles, feeling yourself become even more wet.

Strings of curses fall from his lips as he listens to your desperate cries of pleasure. The sounds of his thrusts get louder and louder in time when you bury two fingers in and become to fuck yourself like he told you to. It feels better than all of your other attempts but it’s not enough.

Nothing will be enough until you can feel John’s cock deep inside of you. Until you can feel his hips rut against yours and his hoarse moans in your ear. Until you feel the burn that his facial hair will give you when he eats you out like a starved and neglected dog. Until you feel his warm speed leak from you after he’s worked you through several of your own orgasms.

The thoughts of what is to come push you over the edge and you moan out his name in an absolutely pornographic manner. It stirs something disgustingly powerful and sinful deep in his gut when he hears it. He can only imagine the beautiful display of pleasure and bliss that you’ve come as you lay panting post orgasm.

You can only imagine how stunning he looks with his sweats pulled down to his mid thigh, his bare chest rapidly rising and falling while his stomach is painted with his own cum.

“John?” You whisper after your breathing has returned to normal(ish). “When are you coming home?”

His lips turn up in a smirk at your word choice, “missing me more than you let on, now are ya love?”

“Yeah it’s lonely without you here. you can’t leave on another deployment like this without fucking me before.”

“I promise it won’t happen again, my love.”

[rottenblur]

National anthem|A.ANDERSON

College football! Abby x reader| 2.3k

Summary: Being dragged to a football game by your best friend wasn’t something new, but Abby breaks out in a fight with another player, you just happen to be the one to come to her rescue. Would you have done it all over again if you knew what was going to happen in your dorm that night?

Warnings: smut violence for a second, abby being taken (doesnt last long), alcohol use, fluff sort of, thigh riding, kissing, choking for two seconds, patching up abby, past abby being a asshole lowkey, abby being a air forces wearer.

She was a true american. Long blonde hair, a scholarship for college football, to be the best quarterback in the state. An expensive car, a doctor for a father, daddy’s money.

Abby had boys half her size all over her, too bad for them they weren’t her type, led alone she was taken. Abby had her bitchy, short, brunette girlfriend. You always thought of her as a small dog that never stops yapping.

You knew Abby due to your only other friend, the only other non snobby person at this school. She made you go to all of the football games played at your school, if they weren’t there she would drive the two of you wherever they were playing

She says it’s because she really likes football, you knew it was because she had a crush on the masculine linebacker.

You walk with her out of the cafeteria after paying an outrageous amount for an inappropriate amount of food. She turns her head to look at you. “I’m really excited, this is their enemy school.” You roll your eyes at her.

“When are you gonna admit it’s just because of that linebacker?” You said to her, as she starts speed walking, you say her name and she just flips you off.

You arrive at the game, sitting on the third bleacher from the top, your friend searching for her girl crush on the side lines.

She doesn’t find her but she sees Abby’s girlfriend sitting on her phone on the bottom bleacher. “Oh my god, of course she’s here. Does she ever leave her alone?” She was right, fucking lap dog never went anywhere without Abby. Always following right behind.

Sometimes Abby looked annoyed like she wanted some space, sometimes Abby’s hands where all over her, on her waist, her hips, in her fucking back pocket.

It pissed you off, was it jealousy? Fuck no you could care less about Abby. Yeah you had a crush on her when you first arrived on campus, her a year older she was settled in, confidently strolling around campus it was so fucking attractive to you. She knew who she was already.

After going to a freshman welcoming party at a frat, where you talked for the first time, the lust quickly turned to hatred.

You were waiting in line for the bathroom on your third drink, tipsy but not quite drunk. She came up behind you, also waiting. You stood leaned against the wall clutching your drink, she looked you up and down. “Hey.” You said to her, she looked into your eyes. She was dressed in a t-shirt, black pants paired with white air forces, her hair messily down.

“What’s up?” She said then looked around. You clutched your drink tighter, she looked so fucking good, her sleeves were begging for life, arms too big for it. “I'm good, you new too?” You tell her your name, she repeats it and you nod. “I’m Abby, not new.” She walks up to the door, leans in to listen. “Fuck, get the fuck out. go fuck in your dorm.” She says as she pounds on the door.

Your eyes go wide, it was very forward of her. Too forward? They walk out, a guy and her soon to be girlfriend, this is when you met her too. “God you’re fucking rude.” Abby grabs the back of her shirt, she must have been drunk for her to get physical over such a little thing.

She turns around, now looking up at Abby. “You always such a rude fucking whore?” She asks, the girl looked like she would rock her shit, except Abby would knock her out in one hit. She apologizes under her breath then walks away.

After that you thought Abby was too intense. Believe it or not her and Abby’s relationship was the same then and now, they still fight and argue except they fuck it out. How did you know that? Your friend or should I say best friend’s dorm was right next to Abby’s. She heard them fight then fuck almost everyday.

At least it sounded like she was good at it. One night you slept over to her’s around two am they argued, then fucked it out. You could hear the moans from down the hall, if Abby’s dad didn’t donate so much to the school she would probably be kicked out.

The game goes well, you actually started to learn how football worked with the amount of games you had been dragged to by your best friend. She hadn’t even talked to the girl, it was kinda pathetic, you would never tell her that though. Around the end the enemy team was one point away from winning, Abby tripped, losing the ball. The other team won.

You put your head in your hands in disappointment, your friend tapped your shoulder. “Are you good? What’s wrong?” You look up at her in disbelief. “They lost.” You point to the field, she widened her eyes. “Really? Why?” She says. You roll your eyes.

“You are funny.” You say that get up, following the crowd in leaving. You're on the ground next to the field when you look over, Abby is approaching a girl with her hands out screaming about her tripping her or something. She was fuming, maybe she didn’t get so mad that one time just because she was drunk. Maybe she was always like that.

Her girlfriend walks over to diffuse it, Abby pushes her aside and starts swinging on the girl, it’s not like she wasn’t defending herself Abby was getting roughed up too. When you saw Abby spit out blood and keep swinging, that's when you decided you’ve seen enough.

You walk back to the dorms, your friend already left when you stopped for entertainment. You put your headphones in, walking at a comfortable pace till you stop at the vending machines, right at the dorm entrance.

You took an earbud out when you heard footsteps behind you, looking behind that’s when you saw her. She looked horrible. Her braid had come undone, her nose bleeding in two spots, a dribble of blood dried on her lip. God she was going to have a black eye tomorrow.

“Holy fuck, are you okay?” You say to her, she looks at you and for a moment she has a soft look in her eye. “‘M okay.” You walk up to her, putting a hand on her arm and analyzing her face closer. She didn’t resist.

“No you’re not. Let me clean you up, I have some stuff in my room.” She looks around, looking at her shoes then you. “Fuck it.”

She walks up with you to your dorm, you open the door for her, her following behind you. It was the first time you had seen her walk behind someone before, she was always leading the way no matter who she was with.

“Sorry if it’s messy, been studying like crazy the past week, haven’t really had time for anything else.” She strugs, sitting on your bed, kicking off her shoes. You gather the tossed about medical supplies you had. Some gauze, bandaids and alcohol. You grab a soda out of your mini fridge for her eye.

You hold it out, putting it on her eye. “Hold that, don’t have any ice, sorry.” She smirks, you sit on your desk chair, scooting to the edge and wheeling it infront of her.

You tuck one of your legs in between her spread legs, your knee inching away from her crotch.

“So what happened?” You ask her as you pour some vodka on a patch of gauze. “Shit, alot.” You roll your eyes, dabbing around her wounds to remove the dried blood. You accidentally touch the gash on her lip, she flinches and lets out a whimper of pain.

She clears her throat, trying to play cool on the fact she feels pain. As if it’s not normal.

“C’mon I’m fixing you up, the least you can do is tell me why.” You squeeze her thigh as an effort to comfort her. “I uh broke up with my girlfriend, I took out my anger on some girl, knowing damn well she isn’t the reason we lost.” She said looking down. You laugh, slowing your hands just so she has an excuse to stay longer. Seeing her in this vulnerable state made her grow on you.

She was better like this.

“So you broke up with her and you’re mad about that. Even though it was your choice.” She nods as if it's a perfectly logical thing to do. “Maybe it was the best thing to do? You know, My friend’s dorm is right next to yours. “Oh god.” She says then grabs the vodka, taking a quick chug then letting you continue. She had long taken the soda off her face.

You were slightly hoping it was to look at you.

“Yeah, she was crazy.” You believed her when she said that, she looked like the type. Not that you were the type of person to judge on how they look. If you did you probably wouldn’t be playing doctor with Abby on your bed right now.

“Can I say something?” You ask her, waiting for her to confirm. She nods, you place a bandaid across her nose covering the gash. “She never stopped talking oh my fuck, I dont know how you dealt with that.” She laughs, leaning back onto her elbows.

“Yeah, you learn to zone it out after a while.” She looks at you, up and down her eyes falling on a necklace tied around your neck.

She leans to you, grabbing the necklace, rubbing it in between her fingers. Goosebumps covering your body when she touched your skin. Fuck. That little touch made you feel things.

She looks into your eyes, then to your lips. It looks like she’s trying to figure you out, figure something out. “You’re in my engineering class aren’t you?” She says, still holding onto your necklace.

You nod. “I'm surprised you knew that.” She smiles at you, letting out a slight laugh. “After i freaked out at that party, then saw you in class the next day I was so fucking embarrassed.” She pauses then drops your necklace. “I never forgot you, you know I thought you were pretty cute that night.” You blush, grabbing the vodka bottle, taking a lengthy sip then coughing.

You never thought she could be embarrassed, she had so much pride.

“I thought you were intimidating.” You say honestly, as the vodka burns down your throat. She tilts her head. “That a good thing? Cause I’m going to take it as a compliment.” She says, taking the bottle from your hands then taking another sip.

You don’t know what came over you but you put her hand on your cheek, you look at her face to see her reaction, nothing.

Again she looks at your eyes, your lips then back to your eyes. She leans in, placing her other hand on your neck. Her plush lips connect with yours, you pull back looking at her then back in.

She moved fast, an innocent kiss turned into heavy making out. She pulled you onto her lap, her arm wrapped around your waist holding you tight to her.

She pulls off of you, kissing from your jaw to your collarbone, your back arching in response. She moves you over slightly, her thigh now in between yours.

Oh my fucking god.

She sucks on your neck, guiding your hips to ride her thigh, slow and brutal. With one hand she puts her hand on your neck pulling you back into a kiss as she guides your hips faster.

You could feel yourself reaching your climax, moaning into the kiss when Abby gets a call.

She picks it up, connects her lips to your neck, not stopping your hips.

“What the fuck Abby, where are you I’m at your dorm? I need my shit.” You feel her sigh on your neck, giving it one last kiss then responding. You try to quiet your moans, it was torture.

“I’m busy.” All she says before connecting your lips with hers. You feel her flexing her leg, laying down the phone on speaker now guiding your hips with both hands.

“Well hurry the fuck up or I’ll find whatever or whoever you’re doing.” Said her now ex girlfriend then hangs up.

“Gonna have to speed this up darling, not like I won't be back for more, you’re delicious.” She said into your ear, pushing you harder onto her thigh.

That pet name, god it pushed you over the edge. You squeeze her thighs between hers as your body shuttered on her, she kissed you then you moved off of her.

You look down at her thigh, now has a wet spot from you, you look at her face, lip bleeding again. You lick your lips, the strong iron taste filling your senses. Had it been bleeding the whole time?

You drank down her blood as you filled your lust, she didn’t stop you.

There was something so wrong about it..

She looks at you then her phone, sucking her lip into her mouth then letting it go, touching it with her thumb. Muttering a fuck under her breath, then standing up.

“Gotta go ‘m sorry.” She says while shoving on her shoes, walking to the door then walking over to you to give your forehead a kiss.

She touches her lip to her t-shirt leaving a crimson stain bound to last. “See ya.” That’s all you say to her before she walks out the door, knowing there was a chance you’d never hear from her again.

You still let her go.

A/N: college football abby makes me feral ive seen a couple of these and wanted to participate :)) love yall

[mariaxxxxx]

Blackberry (Steve Rogersx fem!reader)

Summary: You shouldn't have had too much to drink at that party, honey. (+18)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Hurt comfort, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, virgin!reader, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, HEA, good ending, somnophille, slight degradation, duvious consent, menstrual sex, pregnancy, arranged marriage, inexperienced reader, abortion commented, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), kidnapping, aftercare, curse words.

series masterlist

A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.

A/N: The following chapter has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex. I ask that you carefully observe the warnings to avoid triggers.

The party at the Stark mansion was a success as always. The cream of society was made up of businesspeople and new candidates for a seat in the American Congress. Dresses and hats fluttered in the cool spring breeze. You devoured a bowl of sugared blackberries, leaning against the bar counter, while watching your parents talk with friends animatedly about some topic involving economics and money. For God! You were so bored not even one of your friends decided to join you in this den of ostentation and hypocrisy.

And nothing, no matter how exciting it was to be in a superhero's house, could appease the enormous boredom that consumed his insides. Not even alcohol could keep you company at this point, your father would die before allowing a drop of alcohol to wet his tongue, so you were left with sugary blackberries that proved to be a good aphrodisiac on a hot afternoon.

You swallowed the last blackberry and left the empty bowl on the counter. He walked to his mother and whispered ‘’I’m going for a walk’’ in her ear and left the room before his mother could retort. You easily dodged the hundreds of guests and headed to the farthest drinks tent where an efficient bartender was juggling. The tent was outside, near a clump of trees, away from the watchful eyes of his parents.

“A blackberry margarita, please.” You asked, leaning slightly over the ivory surface.

"Identity." He asked.

“I didn’t bring it, but I guarantee that I’m of legal age.” You smiled as convincingly as you could, but he didn't seem inclined to help you. You rolled your eyes. “I’ll give you 100 bucks for the drinks.”

The bartender looked at You in disbelief. You felt internally angry; The childish features still hadn't left his face like the cute cheeks and plump lips, and that always got him into trouble.

“Not happening, girl.”

"Please! This party is a big mess, if you know what I mean. I need to stuff my face or I’m going to go crazy.”

Again he looked at her in disbelief. He was probably one of those people who only saw parts published in gossip magazines about young heirs who got into trouble.

"It went badly."

You sighed. Your father didn't even let you bring your cell phone. It was not polite, in his opinion, for a rich girl to interrupt an important conversation because of a message.

“A straight whiskey, please.” The deep voice next to him. “And a blackberry margarita.”

Without having to present ID or leave a tip to guarantee efficient service, the man, the damn Captain America, got both orders at incredible speed. The only thing You could think about was how tall and handsome he was.

"Here." He handed her the drink. “I got the impression that you forgot your identity and are being massacred by the damn bureaucracy.”

You smiled; by the drink and the wording so changing coming from a man considered by many to be an American God.

“Thank you, Captain.” You said as you took a sip of your drink.

“Steve. Just Steve.” He said taking a generous sip of his own drink. “I hope he really is of age. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

"Right. Steve. Just Steve.” You repeated with a mischievous smile. “I promise I will show you my ID as soon as possible.”

“What’s your name, pretty girl?”

You found yourself smiling and blushing at such a flippant compliment coming from such a divine man. You told him your name.

“A beautiful and delicate name. It suits you." He took another generous sip of his Whiskey and you took advantage and drank some more of your drink. It was sweet and went down as light as water.

“How can I thank you for the drink?” You asked.

"Talk to me."

You drank more of your blackberry margarita.

"About what?"

"Anything. Just… entertain me at this boring party.”

“Anything…” You took another sip. “As long as we can help ourselves to one more of these.” You got ready for your now empty glass.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Steve said, finishing the whiskey with a hint of a smile on his lips.

At some point, between conversations and glasses of margarita, Steve convinced you to show him every corner of the mansion. You accepted, looking excited about taking a tour with such a handsome man by your side. You and Steve left the tent, avoiding curious glances and boring conversations. He showed you the room where the Avengers met, the works of art that Tony insisted on buying, the training room and finally a long corridor with similar doors. He opened one of them and you entered a large room without windows, with a large sofa in the center, a minibar, a large TV that took up the entire wall and a strange device that you thought was a stereo.

It was large, clean and richly decorated. It felt like a sanctuary for leisure time. Steve pointed to the sofa and you sat down, he went to the minibar and returned with a bottle of reddish liquid. He sat down next to her.

  “Do you want to drink more”? He reached out his hand, wrapping his long fingers around the bottleneck. He extended this to You as if it were not a trap that You were about to willingly fall into. “It’s a liqueur made with blackberries. I got it from a senator at a party at the White House. I noticed how much You like the fruit and I would like You to try it.”

You had already had too much to drink. There were glasses and more glasses of margaritas, and you already felt your body a little soft, but you couldn't refuse the proposal of a man as beautiful as that. The man who sacrificed a lot for this nation. It's just a drink, You thought. Getting drunk next to Captain America, who is a hero, is a much better idea than getting drunk alone in a mansion. And you loved blackberries.

"Yes please." You mumbled, and Steve looked so proud of your response. He poured you a generous dose of drink. You drank. It was strong and very concentrated, very different from your sweet and light margherita. You didn't care you just drank more while Steve looked at You with a big smile. Beautiful. It was a beautiful smile.

One drink turned into two, then three and four.

“You’re blushing.” He smiled, he said drinking some of the liquor. “Your first kiss wasn’t that bad.”

You didn't notice. But You started sharing very personal things with Steve; You told him how your first kiss, as a child, was a disaster with a classmate you liked. You said how it was drooling and clumsy.

"It was horrible". You made a cart.” I did it because my friends wanted it. I should have waited longer.”

You don't feel it, but your knees spread of their own accord as a warm hand, not yours, lifts your dress a little and exposes the inside of your thigh and begins to massage in gentle circles as you finish another glass, laughing hard. , the heat growing whenever he got closer.

“A girl as beautiful as you should have someone.” He says in a reprimanding tone. He was close, very close. You drank more.

“No” You laugh, louder than usual, You feel so good, so light. But you feel a wave of disappointment wash over your body when you remember that you had no one. She couldn't even remember the last time she was touched or praised by the opposite sex.

“With such a beautiful face like that, it’s hard to believe.” He smiled. “Such a beautiful body and...”

He pauses.

“And…” You encourage him to continue.

“With breasts as beautiful as yours, I’m sure everyone…” He stops, looking embarrassed, his hand on your thigh about a little more. "Forgive me. This is inappropriate.

"No." You say quickly, urgently, although more slurred than usual.” I don't mind. You can praise them.”

"No?" He asks, his voice perfectly steady, with fake surprise behind it. Had you and he already had so much to drink because he didn't seem any different? “Would you mind showing them? I would love to see."

You shake your head and mumble no. With one hand, the other held the glass of drink, You released the bows on your dress that held your breasts, You didn't wear a bra, you didn't need them to make your breasts look beautiful, something you were secretly proud of. Her breasts bounce out towards him.

Steve reaches out his hand and gives it a nice squeeze. You let out a small moan at the intimate touch.

“I want to suck your six.” He blurts out.

His smile disappears, mostly in shock at such a bold revelation. But a part, a big part, of you feels flattered that Captain America wants to play with your breasts and all you wanted at that moment was for him to touch you.

"All good." You mumble in a slurred, broken voice.

Steve pushes your body until his head is between your breasts. You feel him take a deep breath, smelling you, his right hand grabs one of your breasts. He tilts his head and wraps his lips around your closest nipple.

The sensation is strange, it tickles, cold, but it warms up quickly. You had never felt someone do it like this before, it was much more like a brief lick or a clumsy and seductive suck like many boys did. But with Steve it was different. He was grasping as if trying to extract fluid that will never come out. He moans lewdly. You drop the glass and place your hand under his blonde locks, pressing his head against your breasts.

“Steve.” You let out a moan as he takes a long nip before releasing your breasts in a wet pop.

  “Where is your glass?” He asks.

You don't respond, because you're too oblivious to pay attention to his words. His body was hot, his vision blurred and his nipples hard and sensitive. You were oblivious when you felt Steve put a full glass in your hands, he mumbled a drink and you obeyed, wanting to leave him satisfied.

You drank more. Maybe four or five or six more glasses. You do not remember. The last one ended up kind of spilled because you couldn't hold it while Steve helped you take off his dress. You feel his head being placed on a soft pillow or perhaps a cushion, You couldn't tell; his vision was blurred and his senses were weak. Warm hands slide down your legs to your panties and gently remove them. Your blurred vision is bathed in the sight of Steve shirtless on top of you. Beautiful. He was so beautiful.

You're moaning and shaking with nervousness, or at least you would be if his grip wasn't holding you in place. Her pussy burned with heat and desire, it was like rough sandpaper that moved in and out, swinging a seesaw from hell.

“It hurts.” You mutter. You were a mess and you know it, the words come out slow and slurred. Humiliation rises deeper than pleasure can reach, and disgust crawls over your skin with a sheen of sweat. He had touched her before. Stimulating your clit until you came on his long fingers, but it wasn't enough, it never would be. He was big and thick, with powerful hips that caused her great pain with each thrust.

You weren’t expecting it when he tilted his hips just to rub the fat head of his cock against your aching pussy. You moan at the small shock waves caused by the brief contact with your clit, but he smothers your moans with a wet, hot kiss, taking away your oxygen. He shoved his cock back inside her ripped hole.

He moaned against You, his mouth open panting, as if he was feeling something that You didn't. The intrusion not only stretches, but burns and hurts. Dry fiction mixes with rough movement. The tears flow, You feel the wet trail they leave on your cheeks. The disorientation left You dizzy and contained, a prisoner of your own body, but that didn't stop Him from exerting his strength against You. He was heavy. Upon noticing your whimpering, the hand that was on your hips goes up to cover your mouth, spreading tears and saliva everywhere.

“It’s okay, my love.” He said between moans. “You are so beautiful and as sweet as berries.”

The blackberries. The damn blackberries were the ones who brought her here. Steve gives another powerful thrust, preventing any further thought. You scream into his hand. He begins to fuck with desire, with strong thrusts, riding his own release. You moan, writhe, scream when a sensation begins to blossom at the tip of your toes that rises to your abdomen causing your muscles to contract slightly and then relax. Steve doesn't stay far behind, he pulls out of your pussy and with one last thrust spills all of his semen inside of you.

You are sleeping too deeply to understand, but not too deeply not to hear. You hear some loud footsteps, a door closes, before you feel someone approaching.

"Mommy." You speak as you sit up, try to open your eyes, your mind is still spinning. A great light hits your eyes and you close them quickly. Little by little you open your eyes slowly until you get used to it.

You wish your mother had killed the man who enchanted you with smiles and drinks so that you would give yourself to him, you may fear that strange conversation and the lectures, but you longed for your mother's safety and her lap. But it wasn't his mother who was sitting next to him. It was him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He says as he brushes the strands of hair out of your face. “Your parents are a little upset now, but they will get over it little by little, you'll see. They will be happy for their little daughter who has won over the national hero and is about to walk down the aisle.”

"What are you talking about?" You say roughly, trying to get up, but the quick action made your body weaken. Steve picks you up and sits back down on the couch.

“I will take care and spoil you a lot, my love. You will see. I will fill you with gifts and love. We're gonna have a lot of fun." Steve says with a scary look on his face.

"You are crazy." You say in tears. “My parents will...”

"Do not worry about a thing." He pulls away and stands up, walking over to the minibar counter where a red bowl awaits him. He pities her and returns to You. “I'm already taking care of everything. All You need to do now is eat.”

Fear flooded your body You had already trusted that man and look what happened, but You had already seen too many documentaries and police series to know how much this type of person hated being contradicted. Maybe being his sweet, obedient girl would provide you with some benefit. With your body shaking, you stretched to see the contents of that bowl. A sound of disgust escaped his mouth when he realized they were blackberries.

[itgetsdarksometimes35]

But At What Cost?

Warnings: This chapter: Thoughts of suicide, non con, physical abuse, miscarriage; the series: non-con, dub-con, depression, forced marriage, angst, forced pregnancy, 18+

Word count: 2,925

Pairings: Dark!Bucky Barnes / Reader

Summary: Reader is the youngest girl in her family. After being sold to Bucky Barnes, and forced to have his child, she and her sisters look for a way to escape.

~ indicates time change

- indicates a POV change

A/N: Holy shit, I have not updated in 4 years... Life has been so busy with moving, having a child, and starting my new business but I am so incredibly happy to be back! I would get that writing itch but would never scratch it, until now. I plan to post weekly for a long as I can stand it. I also hope to participate in challenges and NANOWRIMO next year, so hopefully this year can be a warm up to where I used to be. Anyway, enough rambling. Let's get into the third and FINAL part to my most popular series, Small Price to Pay. Enjoy!

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Three months. That’s how long it’d been since you and your sisters had escaped your Hellhole of a life. That’s also how far along you were in your pregnancy. You weren’t showing yet, but all your sisters and nephews and nieces knew. Nobody allowed you to stand too long without offering you a chair, and you were exempt from all household chores, to your dismay. The one thing you begged to let them allow you to do was shop on your day and take care of the young children.

Today was your day to leave to get groceries. This time was always extremely stressful for you and your sisters, none of you knew what lay beyond the door. There was no way to know if today was the day that you would all have to separate. More stress was in the air due to your pregnancy. 

Lucille wrote the list of supplies before handing it to you, smiling. “Okay, here’s everything we need. Do I need to remind you not to talk to strangers?” She lifts an eyebrow, her lips turning into a smirk as you slap her arm playfully. 

“Don’t worry, mom, I promise I won’t.” She laughed at you before hugging you close. You all always did this, just in case it’d be your last time together. 

Anne was next to hug you. “Stay safe, baby sis.” You hugged her tight, calming your nerves as you smelled her candy perfume.

 You went on to hug Vienna and she rubbed your belly. “No matter what happens, just know baby boy will keep you safe.” You smiled at your sister.

“You’re so sure it’s a boy?” Vienna nodded.

“Positive. I predicted all my kids’ gender correctly, what makes you any different?” She lifted your hand from your belly, replacing it with yours. You’d always wanted a girl, but deep in your heart you felt it was another boy too. You’d never admit this to your sister, you’d never hear the end of it.

“Your witchcraft doesn’t work on me, devil woman!” you joked, causing all your sisters and you to laugh. You savored that moment, how you felt and the way you all sounded at peace. No doubt none of you had felt that way in a long time. A piece of you knew it all was temporary, soon you’d all go back to worrying. Was that shadow or a person following them? Was that stranger living near us before or did they just move in? What do we know about them?

You were pulled from your thoughts when Anne clapped her hands. “Well, on your way. You want to get there and back before rush hour.”

~

You shopped the aisles of the American store, looking for your last items. As you're pushing the cart you hit something. No someone. You looked up shocked and immediately apologized upon seeing a woman with white hair. Her hand travels down to her protruding belly protectively, and your eyes get wide.

“I am so sorry, Ms, here let me help you.” You rush to the woman’s side as she tries to bend down to pick up her dropped items. She stands back up as you bend to get her items before handing them to her.

“Don’t worry about it, I should really look where I’m going. I don’t have a giant sign on me.” She chuckles at her joke, and you just nod your head. You couldn’t help but feel you knew her, but shook your head. That’s impossible. You knew no women except your sisters and nieces.

“Well, I’m sorry again. Have a good day, ma’am.”

“Wait!” You look back at the woman when you turned to leave her to her business. “I’m sorry to bother you, but could you help me with my groceries home? I live just down the road in Kilven’s road, I was going to ask a grocer to help me but they’re all men. I don’t feel comfortable with that, I’d rather have a woman. If you can’t I completely understand, just thought I’d try anyway.”

You considered the woman for a minute. Kilven’s road was next to yours, it would be an extra 5 minutes max to help this pregnant woman. You understood her wariness to ask a male to help her home. Besides, you did hit her with your cart.

“Sure, let me just check out and I’ll be happy to help you out.”

The woman smiled at this. “Really? That’s great, thank you so much! My name’s Nat by the way.”

~

You and Nat talked the short walk to her house, she had just moved there a year prior to be with her German boyfriend-turn-husband of 6 years. You  nodded your head as she told you stories, you kept your life story vague. You had just moved there yourself, but that’s all you offered.

“Do you have any kids?” You opened your mouth to speak before closing it again, unsure how to answer. You wanted to trust Nat, but you were still getting a weird feeling around her. “I’m sorry, that’s very rude of me. Don’t answer that.”

“It’s okay.” You smile at the woman as you readjust the bags on your shoulders. One held Nat’s items and the others yours. You both shopped light to your luck. You continued to walk in a bit of silence until the woman pointed to her house. 

“Here I am.” You followed her up the steps as she took out her keys. “Would you like to come in? My husband baked a mean German chocolate cake.” She took her bag from your shoulder, and you smiled at her generosity. 

“No, thank you, but I should really be getting home if I want a headstart on dinner.” The woman nodded at your response.

“Of course, of course. Thank you again for your help, get home safe, dear.”

You thanked the woman as you waved goodbye and stepped away down the steps. You hurried off the road with your bag and to your own, never looking back. Little did you know the woman was following you the entire time. 

~

When you got to your house, you took out your keys swiftly before putting them in the lock. You opened the door, looked out and saw nobody there, then locked it behind you.

“I’m home!” You walked to the kitchen, noticing the eerie silence. That’s weird. “Hello?” You walked up the stairs, still not hearing one child. Did they leave? They didn’t call you. When you reached your room you gasped at what you saw. 

“James?” Your husband smiled back at you as your sisters sat in the small room’s corner. James had a gun pointing at the bathroom where you heard small whimpering sounds, no doubt the children were in there. 

“Hey, Baby, miss me?” You gulped.

“James, please. Let my sisters and their children go. I’ll go with you peacefully, just don’t hurt them.” James shook his head.

“Can’t do that, Doll. These women have husbands who are worried sick about them and their kids. Would it be right to just let them kidnap their children and disappear halfway across the world with them?”

You looked to your sisters as tears fell from their eyes. This was all your fault. You should’ve never stayed with them, you and Bucky should’ve found your own place to escape to. You should’ve known James would find a way to you.

“James, please. Don’t do this.” Just then the door downstairs bursted open. You all, except Bucky, jumped at the sound. Fast steps made their way up the stairs, and then Nat appeared in the room’s doorway. Only this time she had no belly.

“Natasha, perfect timing.”

Natasha?

Suddenly you remembered. How could you be so stupid? The woman before you with her own gun was the woman you met at your wedding. She talked to James about moving to Germany to live a life on the downlow. Back then she had red hair.

She sauntered into the room, smirking at you, before aiming the gun at the same door James just was. “Their husbands are on their way here. They should be getting off the plane in about 5 minutes and they’ll be here to get children and wives back in no more than 30 minutes. I’ll keep these lovely ladies company until then.” Your sisters’ eyes widened at her words, and you started crying. 

James smiled and lowered his gun before walking to the bathroom. “Good.” He opened the door and your nieces and nephews started crying. Your heart broke for the pain you were causing. James walked from the room with your son in his arms. “I have everything I need, so I think I’ll take my wife and son and head out.”

Your son calmed down his cries when he was in his daddy’s arms, snuggling closer to him and laying his head beneath his chin to suck on his thumb. 

Natasha turned her attention to you, still keeping the gun pointed at the door. “Look at what you caused. Your son could have grown up without a father. Is that what you want?” She raised her voice at you causing you to jump a little. You shook your head, closing your eyes as more tears poured from them.

“It’s okay, Nat, all that matters is we’re all back together. Isn’t that right, honey?”

“T-that’s right,” you whispered, not wanting to speak the venomous words. James walked over to you before grabbing your arms in a tight grip. 

“Happy you agree, let’s go home. Now.” The last word was growled in your ear, causing you to stiffen again. You opened your eyes to see your sisters again. They smiled weakly at you.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed out. James pulled you from the room then the house. A car came to pick you up as you traveled back to the Hell you had tried so hard to crawl away from.

~

When you got back home, James beat you. Bad. You cried and screamed at him to forgive you. Punches flew at you from every side. Your eyes threatened to swell shut from his blows and your lips were purple and bruised. You tried to tell him about the child you were pregnant with, but he couldn’t hear you through his rage. When you were down he kicked your stomach and you cried out in immense pain. He just grabbed your face and kissed you roughly.

James then picks you up from the ground before pushing you down on the bed. “Take off your clothes,” he demands, leaving no room for negotiation. Your mind was still foggy from what had just happened that James had forced on you the minute you both walked through the door and he handed Bucky to a maid you had never seen before. “Now, Doll, don’t make me repeat myself. I’m already pissed.” His nostrils flared as he spoke. 

With shaky hands, you steadily reached for the white button up you had been wearing. You discarded the fabric to the floor, revealing to James your white lacy bra. His pupils dilated as he watched on, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Next was your skirt, and then you were left with just her matching underwear set. You looked up at James with doe eyes, waiting for your next order. Just like the obedient little girl James had made you. 

“Keep going,” was his only command as he reached to pull off his white dress shirt that hugged his muscles just right. He palmed his growing hard on, the outline very prominent in his black dress pants. The size made your eyes water with more tears. You knew he wouldn’t be gentle. No matter how many times James fucked you, you were still just as terrified as the first time, nearly crying every time he’d stuff it into your tiny cunt. 

James reached behind you aggressively to undo your bra and let it fall to the floor along with your other clothing. Your boobs bounced from being free, and you slowly slid your panties down next. 

You were looking to the floor as you untangled the lacy fabric from your legs, but looked up when you heard a chuckle. You met James’ eyes as his face was turned up in a smirk. 

“Such a fucking tease,” he tsked, “You just want me to destroy that tiny little pussy of yours, don’t you?” You kept eye contact with him as you nodded her head.

“Yes, sir.” 

James leaned down in front of you, grabbing her face and pulling you roughly forward to his lips. He squeezed your jaw so you would open to him, wanting nothing more than to assert dominance with his tongue. 

James’ kisses were never loving, just hungry. He moaned into your mouth as his tongue explored; all the while you sat back with submission, allowing your master to take full control of what’s his. After what felt like minutes, James finally pulled away, pushing you back even more and causing you to whimper at the force. The fight in you dying forever ago.

James unhooked his belt as you held his gaze, dropping eye contact was a rule that you had learned not to break. Once her clothes were off, they had officially begun; after that she wasn’t allowed to look away from him. 

“Turn around. You’re going to learn not to disobey me one way or another.”

“Yes sir.”

“Did you really think you could escape me?” You started to cry again.

“I’m sorry.” 

“No, not yet you’re not. But you will. Look at me.” You turned around and your eyes widened. James’ left arm was replaced with that of a metal one. “You wanna know how I got this?” He tossed a cast that was in the shape and color of his arm that you were used to to the floor. “I was a prisoner of war in World War 2. I was used as a war machine long after the war ended. I’m an ex-supersoldier, Baby. Did you really think you could escape me?” James was starting to raise his voice as you started to cry again. 

He spanked your ass with his robotic arm and you lurched forward at the force. James continued spanking your bare ass until you were so raw you could barely feel it anymore. Your stomach cramped so bad and you screamed at the sudden pain, clutching it and falling to the bed weakly. 

“Get up, I’m not done with you.” But you couldn’t move. You could just stay in the fetal position as your body convulsed in the worst pain you could only relate to birth. Then you felt a liquid escape from your vagina. Your eyes squeezed shut as you begged the pain to leave you soon.

“Y-you’re bleeding. Are you okay?” James’ words barely reached your ears as you suddenly felt nauseous. You couldn’t move as your stomach emptied it’s contents on the bed. Then you saw black.

~

James had beat you so bad you had a miscarriage. When you woke up, you were in a hospital bed. A nurse was checking your vitals when she noticed you were awake. She greeted you, asking how you were feeling, before informing you of the terrible news. She asked to confirm what your husband had told them, that you had fallen down stairs and that explained your bruises and swollen eyes. You said yes.

After that day you were forever broken. You never stepped out of line with James, and you became the wife he had always wanted. No more did you dream of an escape, nor what the future held. You didn’t care.

James was never the same, either. After the incident, he was doting. Always saying he loves you, buying you expensive presents daily with flowers of different kinds. He tried to set you up so you could see your sisters more often, and he even let you leave the house. But you wanted none of it. You took the gifts with not so much of a smile, you rejected to see your sisters, and you chose to only leave the house when food was needed. You only bought Bucky clothes online, not being able to stand being in a child store. 

When Bucky’s 4th birthday rolls around, 3 years later, he is eager to start preschool. He didn’t remember his aunts or his cousins, and he was closer to his father than ever before, shying away from you as you grew colder and colder to both of the relationships you had in your life. It was him who dropped him off to school as you stayed home with a maid to take care of you and your needs. You were currently pregnant with a girl. James said you’d name Dahlia, Dolly for short. She’d be your perfect rainbow baby, he said, a real Doll. 

When Bucky came back home he showed you a card he had made for James at school, insisting it go on the fridge. You obeyed, hanging it there with a magnet that made Bucky happily skip away. 

The card showed Bucky and James hugging, not a sight of you or the child in your womb. You were a waste of space, a visitor in the home you’d created. A hollow shell of who you used to be. You thought about your suicide. It seemed easy, too easy. It’s a small price to pay for freedom, but at what cost? 

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Taglist: @jtargaryen18​ @coconutqueen21​ @collette04​ @nsfwsebbie​ 

[sliceofdyke]

hellooo i'm maddie (they/she)! welcome to my blog, enjoy your stay ^_^

basic info: 9teen + autistic + tme nonbinary lesbian + chinese-american

mutuals can ask for priv blog/socials :)

update 1/29/25: new followers please read my carrd and like this post before following!

asks off and dms closed to non-mutuals for now. i have 90+ dms and am unable to check them all at the moment. however, please keep tagging me on fundraiser posts. i'm a full-time college student and may miss them sometimes, so apologies in advance.

additionally, here are some legitimate gaza campaigns i'd like to spotlight. i urge you to reblog and donate if you can.

ibrahim yaser & family @ibrahim-family (post, gfm)

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[supernaturalconvert]

Too little too late

Apologies for linking this with the fandom but this fandom and the time I’ve spent here has been a great insight for me when it comes to perhaps some part of the American society mindset.

These are my two cents and I may not be entirely right but I wanted to share my perspective as a non-American simply coz I have tried to speak very openly about everything and this has definitely impacted and affected me as well.

I’ve seen so much intolerance and misinformation in this fandom with labels thrown around a guy who was none of those things. The wildest thing about that was many of these people knew he was none of those things or even if they disagreed with his phrasing they were well aware of his intentions but still called him those names and tried to twist it in the most ugly stories possible. They bullied him and wished ill against him even at his lowest times. You know what that represented, a serious lack of empathy and engaging with someone as a human being.

Another thing that was surprising was that after they did all that they somehow saw themselves as the GOOD GUYS saying things like that this person who has been so open about his struggles in life deserved to be treated this horribly. A guy who was treated unfairly by a colleague was somehow in the wrong for being treated like that. Victim blaming essentially.

At the same time, there was this guy below who is talking about hatefulness here perpetuating this at every opportunity he got. Lies and half truths were his weapons for a supposed friend.

I am sorry Misha but you have been a bully in real life and even if I want to support some of your messages (I support Palestine which he doesn’t) I cannot support you as it’s messanger since you and many of your followers are beacons of hypocrisy who don’t practice what you preach and are very much not the good guys.

I am in no way saying that one person’s treatment is anyway equal to an election result but I am merely commenting on the symbolic behavior that was exhibited by some of these people in a smaller microcosm.

Disclaimer: I am non political when it comes to American politics. I was simply talking about the word hatefulness that he has used in above tweet as he has perpetuated it as well.

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Fourteen

Summary: A letter for you.

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: Bad words, slight violence, more daddy issues, fluff, mention of sickness, some angst and... did I say fluffl?

Author’s Note: Oof, I really thought about how would I say goodbye to this story. There's so much I want to say, but for now I hope the words I wrote here makes some difference in what we build as a small community of mutual interest in writing and appreciating what we had of Carrillo.

Quite a journey to get here, right? And I should thank everyone for each conversation, each comment and appreciation towards this. As a non-English speaker, bring all of this here had been a challenge, but one I accepted with love.

As always, I hope I could give a good end for this love story. See ya!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

******

I wish I had done it differently, yes, but I don't think you should forgive me anyway. You don't know me and, by extension, you have every right to doubt my nature. Honestly, I recognize that that letter changed my life, as it reaffirmed that even though I’m in front of bullets or knives or big violent men every day, I’m still my father's daughter, which makes me a coward.

The Sun was burning your scalp a little, so you scratched the top of your head now and again because the heat was bothering you. From afar, you saw the small commotion in front of the building: people going out and about, fuzzing over each other. He didn’t exactly tell you where he was staying (you didn’t ask either), but the badge could do some convincing, such as your name. At least you hoped so. 

You looked at both sides of the street before crossing and, when you did, you ended up bumping into a girl – you apologized, even if a little bewildered, and she said everything was fine with a smile that you hadn't seen in those surroundings for a long time. That caught you a little by surprise, so you watched her go with a dumb expression in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“Permiso,” Excuse me, You said, approaching the doorman who was sitting in the empty lobby with his arms crossed.

He was cooperative and friendly, but said he wasn't sure if there would be anyone with that name there because the Americans were already leaving. Still, he called the hamal in apartment 15 (you saw him do it over his shoulder) and, shortly after, said that you were lucky and could come up.

Your father was already at the door when the elevator arrived and, for a moment, the two of you stood there for almost a minute just staring at each other without saying anything, as if you were meeting for the first time. He knew there was something you wanted to say that was unconventional, at least by the way he looked you up and down suspiciously, but he didn't give in to asking the question. With a gesture of his head, your father suggested (not offered, suggested) for you to come closer and you did so, just like when you were a child and had to ask permission to sit at the dinner table to eat. 

The apartment itself was already empty, except for a few pieces of furniture that were still scattered around and would probably be collected later. The floor creaked a little because it was made of parquet and the walls were obviously old – weird for someone with so much 'caliber', but you understood that maybe it was just a disguise for the neighbors.

“I still have a bottle of whiskey around here somewhere,” He said, even if not moving a muscle to reach for the said thing. 

“I’m good,” You shook your head, in time to see him agreeing silently. 

An awkward silence followed the decline. With that, you gave yourself another chance to look around and find something to comment on before going straight to the point. 

“When is your flight?” 

“In about three hours,” He shrugged. “I believe that the Embassy didn’t ask you to give me a ride like the first time.”

“You would know if they did,” You smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He saw that and responded the same way, even pulling a chair out of the small table in the living room to make himself comfortable for a confrontation. 

“What is it then? Did I forget to file some paperwork or something? Because if that's the case, I have to let you know that I-” 

“Were you the one who killed Juan Marcos?”

The question caught him off guard, but not in a harsh way – he probably felt more outrage for the fact that you interrupted him, something he never took quite well. For a moment, then, your father just stared back at you, then scoffed as if you were stupid. 

“Thinking about leaving flowers on his grave before you leave?” 

“I don't think your moral compass is adjusted enough for you to remember which ditch you used to dispose of his body,” You crossed your arms over your chest, not failing for a moment to spit out your thoughts. 

“Don't be moralistic.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve just been in this hell for so long, right? Catching criminals, doing the dirty work… that’s enough for you to give me some answers.” 

Again, a bit of quietness, but a contemplative one. He had that easy expression on his face, as if you two were discussing the weather, one that always put you on the edge of pure rage. You waited patiently, tho.

“... I did.”

“How.”

“You saw him, you know how.”

“Is this the kind of thing you would do for a daughter?” 

“It is, because I did,” He said calmly. “Is this some kind of intervention? This is what you want? Resolve all the frustrations you have with me now, hours before I, what’s that you said? Disappear from your life?” 

You looked at him with pursed lips, feet tapping on that stupid floor to prevent any more unwanted feelings. It felt like the Sun was burning your scalp again, so you unconsciously scratched that area again before rolling your shoulders and staring at him with a stone cold expression – one you certainly got from his side of the family. The question was there, burning in your lungs and throat, ready to leave your mouth and make him lose that sarcastic smile on his face. 

“... Would you do that for a son?”

The decline in his comfort was gradual, progressive, millimetric. The corners of his mouth lowered into a straight line, his jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened intensely. You flexed your fingers discreetly, trying to hide your defensive posture with the possibility of another aggressive approach on his part, but all he did was access you cautiously while looking for the justification for your question in the way you stood there, in front of him.

“What did you do?” He frowned, probably not sure of the end of that topic. 

“Me? Nothing,” You shrugged, head shaking. “Your son did.”

Your father rose from his seat with a harsh scrape of the chair but you kept still, glaring back at him. He could come closer, could do what he did in the office; it wouldn’t happen, though. You both knew, somehow, that someone was his weak point, the thing that couldn’t make him have good nights of sleeping for a reason you’ll never understand. 

That made you scoff a laugh before averting your gaze. 

“Now you know how it is.”

“Oh, so that’s what it is? Revenge?” His voice was so harsh, so taken by reticence and rage, that it made him static in a certain type of fury. 

“I think my best revenge was knowing that you got what you wanted most and he was nothing like what you expected,” You took one step closer, then another, and you two stood there, eye to eye. “Can you imagine? Being your son and having decency?”

“You better-”

“I better what? What, dad? Shut my mouth? Stop talking about Jorge? Or should I wait until you give me the first blow?”

Nothing. He stood there like a bull, fuming and grinding his teeth – no hand raised, no closed fists. 

“You asked what I want with all this, with this drama… I never expected anything I discovered about your life to be ethical or clean. You do whatever you want,” You shrugged again, this time going full exaggerated with a fake coy expression. “What I want is for you to take that plane, go back to the States and spend the rest of your days thinking of how your beloved son couldn’t be any more different than you in anything, better than you in anything and a man you’ll never be even closer to be. All that while being raised by a whore.” 

The slap was a familiar feeling, like that specific side of your face had a shape to fit his open hand like a glove. Even the movement of your head, the mixing of your insides, it had a natural way to flow, to go this way or another. Still, you’d been caught by surprise, so next thing you knew, your gum was bleeding – you could taste blood on the tip of your tongue, see it on the tip of your fingers when you assessed the small damage. It had the sting, the sharp pain, but that didn’t get a rise out of you. 

“That’s what you told him? That I’m your bad father who didn't beat you enough to give you good manners?”

“... Why would I need good manners? I’m a whore, right? Good manners wouldn’t make me fuck Carrillo like I wanted to and you couldn’t do shit to stop it,” That came out with such a force. “In all my life, nothing made me more happy than to trespass your limits as much as I could, to make you show your true colors and still put that scary expression on your face.”

With this, you took a few steps back, adjusting your clothes and smiling, the inside of your mouth and your teeth probably red from the blood. 

“Take that plane, go back home. I know that you’ll lie in your bed tonight knowing that you’ll have the same future as that damned Juan Marcos, alone in a grave that no one’ll visit.” 

It was as if thousands of years and hurt had finally created the courage to leave your shoulders, as if all the suffering he put your mother through had transformed into a controlled and punctual fury in your heart. A return. An end. And you left there knowing that, with that, you closed a cycle that gave you a happiness more sincere than Escobar's dead body on that roof.

******

Two days before…

You weren’t with your work clothes, so the heat was more bearable with the tank top. The worn out jeans were still there, just as the old boots, and just as the gun and badge. Habits. Carrillo looked at you beside him in the car, arms crossed with the stance of that old self, full Colonel mood of his. 

“Are you sure the info is relatable? Safe?”

“I am. Do you want me to bring all of the Colombian Army to this when you all should be celebrating something out there?” You turned to him with a teasing smile, seeing the frown on his face getting even more deeper. “Horacio-”

“Some of them are still out there. You should at least let Trujillo do a-”

“You’re already here with me, Horacio, and this is already too much. There’s people who need you right now.”

Instead of answering, he let you hold his toned arms, then both sides of his neck to melt some of his stubbornness in avert your gaze. Not getting a reaction, you tilted your head to get a better look of his face, jaw tightening in insistence, which made you sigh and let him go. 

“You don’t know him,” He said. 

“I’m aware.”

“And we’ve been through enough to be suspicious.”

“I’m aware,” You insisted, brows raised. “To be honest, I don’t know if I wanna do this but… If it’s him, if… I need to be sure.” 

“Why?” 

For a moment you just stared at his confused expression, not knowing the right answer to that – not sure if you had one. Then you pursed your lips, shook your head and averted his eyes to look through the window, where you could see the small house from afar. 

“... When my father left, my mother kind of disappeared. Mentally. It was as if the lights were on but no one was home,” Your tone was recoiled, way too low for someone so confident about their decisions. “He said some things to her, said this country was hell but even some cheap pussy could give him what he wanted. I honestly didn’t even know why he needed so much to have a son.”

You could feel Carrillo watching you carefully while you used that false calmness to explain what you wanted to say clearly.

“This made me spend time with my paternal grandparents because she couldn't bear to see me. I was a very complicated, restless child, so when my grandfather started using the old methods he used with my father and uncles when I messed up, I understood why he wanted a boy.”

You felt a weight on your chest, one that almost made you cry.

“At least I think I understand. He wanted to take out the frustrations of what he went through on someone and I was a girl, so naturally I couldn't handle punishment or fits of rage. I would have marks like my mother had and that would make things more complicated for his conscience. A boy could be molded to be strong, resilient. I was always too emotional for him.” 

Like the perpetuation of the species to whom he could transfer descendants or something like that. Bullshit. 

“I understand. Well, at least I think I would be that kind of person if things weren't different.”

“I don't think it's the same thing,” You shook your head. “You're here, that's more than he's ever done.”

“Because I love you.”

“And if you had children, you would love them too.”

Carrillo didn’t say anything. The idea of ​​children only crossed his mind when he was younger, as soon as he married Juliana, and it seemed so distant that he forgot what it would be like to imagine a life with children. You didn't want that, that's for sure; Given the life you two had, it would even be selfish to bring a child into the world. And even if the car was so quiet, so… calm, Carrilo always had the feeling that someone was lurking, and he felt bad for thinking that, in another time, he would be the same type of father as your father was.

You could feel, little by little, how his hand sneaked closer to yours, the tip of his fingers carefully passing through your knuckles before going up to your wrist. It was so soft, the way he touched you to test the water, to not invade your space, that when his hand reached for your forearm, pulling you just enough to make you turn to him, nothing could stop you from hugging him as if your life depended on it, pressing against his body fiercely. 

He didn't say anything because he didn't know how to say anything, because it wasn't like hearing the news that your father was coming to Colombia. Horacio was never good with soothing words. He knew how to act, that's for sure; in that case, if it were possible, if that sliver of humanity were to come away from him once and for all, your father would become a ghost like everyone else.

Well, but you already knew that – he had told you that when he recovered you from another low blow from your father. Selfishly, Horacio would always do his best to create miles of distance between the things he truly loved and those who risked any trace of peace he had achieved. And maybe you didn't know this, but he had made this promise to himself.

I'm not going to lose anymore, Horacio pressed you tighter against him, staring at the wall with the coldness of his decision. I don’t accept that.

“Let’s do this.”

******

I imagine to this day that you would never like Horacio. You always seemed too ‘communist’, progressive enough, but you would laugh until your stomach hurt at how stubborn he was. Still, I don't want to convince you to like him; I just want to tell you that it wasn't him who told me to leave before I could see you that day. You were fine, you were beautiful (I still know you are) and you were holding a baby in your lap, which I later realized was that of one of the patients you saved during an emergency birth. I was only there for 30 minutes and I heard people say more good things about you than they could ever say about me in my entire life. That's when I knew I had to leave you alone.

I cried in his arms later; I would cry a lot more in the years that followed, but I reserved every minute of my future life, the life I never planned for myself, to gather all the memories of what I could tell you one day. No, I'm not dying, at least not from my health, because you know that everyone dies one day, but I've been writing to you because I want you to know that you don't deserve the family you have because you're too good for us.

I want to tell you about Horacio. I want to tell you what we did and how I miss some things in life. I want to tell you this because I know he could be a solid bridge between the two of us, the person who would interpret you for me and interpret me for you. My mother would never be able to do it because of resentment, our father because of disregard and we because of ignorance.

Horacio, however, was my surprise during the time I spent in Medellín. If I want you to know me, I want to be able to reveal my best side, what I truly achieved when I decided I would love him.

******

It was strange not having plans, but you got on the plane alone. Horacio couldn't go with you, not at that moment; there was love between you, yes, but there was also responsibility, and he would never leave his own country behind. You understood. During the time you spent in Bogotá (not in Medellín), the two of you did things together: went out to dinner, visited places, had sex… Things that couples did. When you got on the plane, it was with the uncertainty that things would one day be okay, and that you would be able to reconcile life in Los Angeles with what had happened to the two of you in Colombia.

This was our father's fault and I'm completely sure of that. I was disallowed from having any further contact with the case, which I understood as private revenge for what I did, as if he wanted to take away more of the happiness you could have had if you were to work with Peña and Horacio later. I always resented him for that, I still do. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing he had done and today I know it wasn't, but it was as if every minute of my life, he took away a little of my happiness.

The letters you exchanged were always long, which went quite against his personality. It was as if, finally, he said in words everything he thought, did and gave his opinion. On your part, there were important descriptions, such as how much your mother was fond of him and the cases you worked on at the DEA. He, on the other hand, mentioned the well-known day to day life with Peña, what they worked on and how he missed you, above all, which hurt your heart.

“God, you have to put an end to this. I want to see you happy again, my daughter, and I want to meet him.” 

In one of them, which was a call, he told you something that he kept so deeply within himself that he was certain that, one day, he would come back to you for good and that there would be no turning back.

“I want to marry you. I see no other choice and I have no other way out. I need to assure myself that I’ll no longer have to tolerate this ordeal without knowing that I’ll come home and find you.” 

“Don't be so dramatic... I know people who would find our obstacles small compared to what they go through. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“So wait. The next time we see each other, I'll have a ring to put on your finger.” 

You know, I always thought he was a brute, but Horacio never failed to keep his promises. In fact, he came back with a ring, and we actually got married, which was a simple thing that meant enough to both of us. We moved to El Paso. It was close to Peña, in fact, and sometimes we spent holidays together, which I never thought would happen. Maybe, thinking about it now, it's those moments that I miss most.

“Is that white hair?”

“Fuck off, we both know we’re getting old,” You elbowed Javier in the guts, puffing smoke in the Texan hot air. “By the way, you’re getting a belly down there. Don’t come at me.”

“What I gained, you lost. Have you been eating?” 

No was the proper answer. He knew it was, and that was why he asked. Still, you shrugged, taking another drag. 

“... Yes.”

“Hey-”

“I am, Javi, I promise. It's just been different.”  

“I hope so. One of you needs to remain standing.”

It was around the time our father passed away. Well, I can't say for sure if it was too close or too far, especially since he fulfilled his own mission of dying alone. I didn't have the opportunity to talk after he got sick; I didn't even know if he had someone. Today I'm almost the same age as he was when I was in Medellín and I can't see him in myself, while I don't know if I would live my life differently if he asked me for forgiveness. Below I leave exactly where he is buried and, if you want, you can visit him. If you're the praying type, decide if it makes sense to give him the privilege of prayer; God knows I'd like that too.

******

At that point of things, you made fun of Horacio for not actually marrying you like the tradition said, just giving you the ring he promised he would, but you understood that the world didn't survive on big events like that.

When he found out what the diagnosis was, you went straight to the computer and did your research. It wasn't that you didn't believe the doctors, but the first step to acceptance was denial, and you knew how to do that very well. At the time, you had just been promoted to an important position in Mexico. You found a good doctor there who could treat him, and the offer didn't get as much back-up as you thought it would – it was like he thought he was going to die.

It was a very different change than it had been when you went to Colombia years before. There was no urgency, no hustle, just the tranquility of a bureaucratic job with a good house, space for a yard and a good salary. 

“It's in the early stages, so it's a relatively simple treatment. The change in routine and habits will be more severe, so I would be more attentive to that.”

You decided to stop smoking along with him because of this and, deep down, Horacio was a little upset at having to stop this habit.

“I don't know, I just feel embarrassed,” He said one night, you two sitting on the porch because he wanted to take a look at the street. “I didn't imagine that my life would end without emotion.”

“You won't die like this, stop being an idiot.”

“How can you know?”

“Well, because I just know.”

Not every day was easy and, honestly, coming to Mexico was the acid test for many things in my life. Interestingly, I never thought about giving up Horacio, and if I was honest with myself, I also thought that one day I would die from a gunshot or something that would make newspaper headlines. He would never admit it, and neither would I, because it seemed inconceivable, but having that life made us feel grateful and, most of all, lucky.

It was also at this time that I decided to get back in touch with you. He made a promise that if he was cured of cancer, he would include forgiveness for his own past, so we started slowly. I met Juliana (and the three children she had), and I started visiting our father almost religiously every year. We went back to Texas to see Javi, and sometimes we went to Miami to visit Steve. Horacio had reservations about my country, but he could appreciate some things that I think you might like too.

Jorge, I know that our life could have been different and I, as an older sister, feel responsible for being able to give you some glimpses of life with a family up here that loves you, because I would like that too. Along with these letters, I also send tickets to the capital, for you and your husband, if you want to visit us. Horacio is a great tour guide and I, interestingly enough, learned to be a great hostess.

I apologize for having done all this so late. Well, apologies are never enough, but I feel that this phase of my life, the phase of gray hair and wrinkles on my face, terribly nicknamed 'better years', is the right time for the two of us to reconcile for someone who left us behind.

I miss what we didn't have. Even if you don't want to, which I understand, know that my life is only complete because I know that a part of me is also in you.

******

“Appealing to nostalgia?”

Horacio barely raised his head from where he was staring at a box full of old trinkets. Through the mess of the office, he went straight to the memories of Medellín, rooting around and reliving the years in the dust, and he seemed focused enough to barely pay attention to you.

You could say that the guests were already arriving, that he should take a shower soon to welcome them, but the scene seemed so peaceful that you were afraid to interrupt and decided to participate.

“You have that perfume again,” He murmured right when you touched a framed picture of him and Trujillo alongside other stuff. 

“Does that bother you?” You eyed him over your eyeglass lenses, to which he tsked and shook his head. 

“You’re also appealing to nostalgia.”

“Huh, I remember that was the first thing you noticed about me when we met.” 

Horacio then looked back at you and, seeing your mischievous smile, smiled back, leaning back on the chair to give you full attention. 

“You drove me crazy, that's what.”

“I didn't know that was the effect it had on you. In fact, I was sure you hated me.”

“Because I couldn't want you and I wanted you.”

You left the frame in the box and walked over to him, walking around the table to sit on his lap, which he gladly accepted. For a few moments, you stood there, motionless, staring at his face, not knowing exactly what to say, just… admiring him, the grays on his hair and the lazy grin splattered there. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked then, always eager to get inside your head. 

“I always imagine that we wouldn't be here if we didn't live what we lived there,” You pondered, a hand massaging the side of his neck. “And it's weird because people have lost so much. Do you think we deserve it?”

“Is this part of your reconciliation process?”

“Yeah, I guess. I've been thinking about some things... I'm writing you a letter, even.”

“But I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know,” You pecked his lips softly. “Who knows, maybe I can express it with words instead of hiding it on paper.”

Horacio stared at you for a bit, his brow furrowed and the mechanisms moving in his head. You thought it was strange.

“What?”

“I want to read you something.”

You got up so he could look for what he was finding, and when he did, he took a notebook out of a box, accompanied by yellowed sheets of paper.

“I wrote these things while we were in Colombia.”

“And what exactly is it?”

“In the beginning, it was a diary of missions and operations that we carried out. The day you arrived, I ended up writing 'perfume' instead of 'precision', which made me realize that the feeling wouldn't leave my head. I didn't stop thinking about you after that, so I started… I don't know, writing down things about you, what you did, what irritated me and what I liked.”

There was no way to react, more out of shock than offense at him having kept it in for so long. You imagined a Carrillo from the past, a thousand times more stubborn and stubborn, taking the time to write about a woman he couldn't stand. Maybe sitting alone at night in the office, cigarette in one hand and whiskey in the other, mumbling swear words while saying he liked something about you, disbelieving his own feelings.

Then he took that photo that Steve had taken, which he stole and caused temporary chaos with your colleagues. You, younger, tired but with a spark of life, an eagerness to do the right things. 

You watched him as he looked at the photo and felt a warm feeling in your heart that seemed more frequent since you started having more moments together.

When he started reading what he wanted, you could barely move.

“I don't know what this woman did to me and I try hard every day not to ruin everything because I think about her so much. The perfume drives me crazy, the defiant eyes impress me and, oh my, lately I've noticed how incredibly mind-blowing those jeans make her. I have no one to express these feelings to, perhaps because I can't say in words what I imagine when I think of her.”

“Today she told me to go fuck myself. I had to suppress my satisfying smile when I saw that fire in her eyes when she spat those words in my face, because I purposely provoked her into being angry with me, thinking I wanted a reason to get her away from me. In the end, I know that that exact reaction was what I wanted, that she will never give up because she is too stubborn to do so. She goes to the end. She is true to what she believes. I'm sure I'm in love.”

“If nothing were as it were, I would ask her to dinner. I would see her eyes light up in the candlelight, I would make all the romantic moves and show a side of me that no one knows. I want to see her confused, I want to surprise her, and then I want to kiss her, make love to her, and feel every inch of that sweaty skin beneath my fingers while I see her sigh with the pleasure I'm going to offer. I want her, I want her so much, and I feel bad for every kind of thought I might have about her.”

“I call these verses, then. Versos de Placer, in my mother tongue, one that she knows how to say and that is even more beautiful when it comes out of her mouth. Verses that I will never be able to recite out loud, not to her, but I will be able to remember as the spark of a good memory of the complicated days we spent hating ourselves because the world we are in is destroying us. Always her, and never anyone who isn't her or who even looks like her.”

“Always her and her perfume and her accent and her presence. Always.” 

******

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

@seaweeden

[ladymoody]

INTRODUCTION ۶ৎ

⋆.˚ masterlist 💌 ; playlist 🎧 ྀི ; characters list ｡💿°‧

visit my website for further information!

Ⱄⱄ. .ⱄⰔ by Kiki Ⱄⱄ. .ⱄⰔ ~ my instagram 🦢

every work you will see here without credits is mine. do not steal my content. rebblogs are much appreciated!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

• she/her, intj, slytherin ⚯͛, gemini ☉ taurus ☾ virgo ↑

• my favorite movies are: evil dead (2013), the maze runner (the death cure), split - girl, interrupted - 8 mile, marrowbone, harry potter and the half blood prince, black swan, priscilla, lights out, the corpse bride, the shining, the crow, pearl

• my favorite tv shows/series are: skins, american horror story, the queen’s gambit

WHAT YOU CAN FIND ON MY BLOG

• reposts (hardy ever)

• matchups (if requested)

• FANFICS .ᐟ about the following fandoms (+ characters I’m willing to write about) check the full list!

- skins → james cook, freddie mcclair , jj, sid jenkins, tony stonem, maxxie oliver, rich hardbeck

- american horror story → tate langdon, kit walker, kyle spencer, kai anderson , dandy mott, harry gardner, michael langdon

- the maze runner → thomas, newt, minho, gally

- harry potter → draco malfoy, tom riddle, blaise zabini, remus lupin, sirius black, ron weasley, fred & george weasley

+ the fancast → mattheo riddle (benjamin wadsworth), lorenzo berkshire (louis partridge), theodore nott (lorenzo zurzolo), regulus black (timothée chalamet), young james potter (aaron taylor-johnson), young remus lupin (andrew garfield), young sirius black (ben barnes)

ABOUT MY FANFICS

- female reader only (or gender fluid/non-binary if requested)

- fluffy, angst, flirty/suggestive, smut*

- won't write about underrage characters

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ+ further information on my website

*please specify this in your requests!

↓ ↓ EXTRA! ↓ ↓

if you enjoy my writing you can ask me to write customizable stories for you. I’ll need your information (which you can write in your request) and I’ll write the fanfic! remember that the more information I get, the more detailed and interesting the story will be! (you can find all the steps on my website).

english is not my first language so I apologize if you’ll find some misspellings!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! ᯓᡣ𐭩

feel free to ask me whatever you want, even if your character is not on the list or doesn’t belong to any fandom I listed in here. remember that I may always consider your requests♡︎. XOXO.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ I am following everyone back and I'll support your blogs. feel free to tag me in your posts!

- ♡︎ kiki

© All Rights Reserved

[deathdetermineslife]

Hello! I like your blog very much! I was wondering if you could do one for military f/os, especially non American ones/ fantasy military, of course if you are comfortable with it! Thanks ❤️

i will try my best!

buy or make fake military metals for them! a lot of them get awards for what they do in service.

write down some meals that they would eat while serving their military. are they gross and prepackaged? are they actually good?

make a collage of things they bring with them on a typical deployment, if they go on any

rank their preferred ways to fight on the battlefield!

create a special date for your s/i and them to go on when they come home from deployment/battle

write fake letters from them! checking in on you, telling you about the goings on of war, things like that.

make a training regiment they had to follow in the beginning of their recruitment! if they have to follow something different now, make another training regiment!

if in a fantasy context, draw a diagram of some of the weapons they might fight with!

if they're away from home a lot of the time on a base or on a ship, write some of their favorite things about it (even if they don't like it that much)

have they interrogated anyone? write a drabble of them interrogating someone from the other side

draw or edit their military portrait! (I'm sorry if this is more of an American thing, but I personally use it in a fantasy context and I think its fun!)

make them a special piece of jewelry for them to carry with them while they're away. maybe its something like a locket of your hair or just something pretty for them to remember you by

i apologize if any of these are too American but I do use these in all of my writing. also my apologies that this took so long I've been lacking motivation today blehg

[fruitcoops]

hi!! been loving all your fics lately 😍

I’m wondering if you’d have fun writing something where logan and sirius (and talker? someone else?) are playing video games with the headsets on and talking to each other and then somebody steps away and accidentally leaves the headset on and the other two overhear stuff with the boyfriend(s) 👀

could be coops or o’knutzy or both, could be before everyone knows about whichever relationship or after, or both!!

Silly fluff on a Thursday! Utterly non-spicy, too :) Character credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“Fucker.”

“From the bottom of my heart—and know that I mean this with every bit of my soul—I hope you die.”

“Oh, sh—fuck, sorry guys.”

For just a moment, their dismay harmonized. The sounds of battle ceased and the screen went dark.

Sorry, You Died.

“I mean, maybe if you two didn’t discuss half your plans in French…”

“Woah, woah, hey, come on,” Logan protested over Sirius’ indignance. In the small icon to the far right, Thomas raised his hands with a look that distinctly lacked apology.

“This is aggression against Canada,” Sirius scoffed. “Classic Americans.”

“Aggression against Canada?” Thomas spluttered.

“Yeah,” Logan chimed in, adjusting his headset over one ear as he reached for a handful of chips. “That. Totally.”

“Tremzy, if you eat those into your headset, I will crawl through the screen and suffocate you.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at Sirius’ video square and made sure his microphone was in prime position to capture the deafening CRUNCH that followed.

Twin groans answered; Thomas removed his headset with a fake gag. “That just echoed across my living room, you little weirdo,” Sirius grumbled.

“Get a headset like the rest of us, lame-ass.”

“It’s worse that way,” Thomas chimed in.

“I told you,” Sirius continued with a whine Logan wished the press could hear before lauding him as some solemn superhero. “It was supposed to be here today.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan said mockingly, just because he could. “Where is it, then?”

Sirius groused a little more under his breath; the sound of aggressive clicking followed as he moved his character over to whale on Logan’s for a few seconds. It didn’t damage his XP too much, but Logan filed that away for later. Somebody wasn’t getting his extra tincture of healing at the next checkpoint.

The Field of Regeneration was further from their goal than he would prefer—it had taken them an hour and a half to get to the mountains the first time, but he had faith that the fourth time would be the charm. There was a saying about that, he thought. Something like it. He rolled his ankles under the coffee table as their characters moved over the hills in a pack, bracing his arches against the table leg for a better stretch. His toes popped and he grimaced; they really hadn’t moved much today. Then again, early summer was made for lazy days in front of the television with his friends.

Sirius swung by the boulder pile and collected the healing kits the same as before. Logan didn’t bother waiting for him—they had been though this section enough that he could catch up on his own. He had promised Leo they’d reach a stopping point by 6:30, anyway, and there was no chance he would pick video games over acting as a sous chef, paid in kisses.

The chirps faded as they made their way past challenges that had once been world-ending. Logan was glad they weren’t dragging this out longer, too focused on reaching the checkpoint to fuck around. It was one of many reasons he would choose Sirius and Thomas for weekend games over anyone else; they had fun, but they knew how to settle down and win.

Logan grimaced. Hockey brain was supposed to be banished until at least July.

“Let us know when your setup gets here, Cap.” Thomas’ voice startled him; he barely avoided stumbling into a ravine.

“Ouais, we’ll give it a test run.”

They were coming up on the edge of the forest, now. Logan swapped his inventory around and carefully sidestepped the spike trap he had (unfortunately and with great embarrassment) fallen for the second time around.

Sirius’ mouth twitched. “Hey, Tremz, watch your—”

“Shut up, god, I hate you so much.” Their digitized snickering filled his ears and he made sure to be on solid ground before freeing a hand to flip them the bird. “I’ll go call Sunny and Kuns to play instead. See if I care.”

“Don’t you have two boyfriends within arm’s reach at all times?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “They are on a date, if you must know. And Leo hates character games.”

“Ew, you know what kind of video games they like?” Sirius teased.

“Aren’t you literally married?”

Thomas skipped past a cursed runestone and reclined back in his seat. “I think we can all agree that I’m winning here.”

“If you were here in person, I would throw something at you for that,” Logan informed him. Did it matter that he was greatly looking forward to having Thomas around for Christmas in a few months? No. Not here, not now, not while he was within chirping range. The very lenient penalty for dating his sister had been clear from the start. Logan couldn’t let him get too comfortable.

The greatest threat to achieving their goal appeared just as they reached the base of the mountains. Logan was feeling so proud of their quick time before that.

“Which game?” Remus asked from the corner of Sirius’ frame, unloading his pockets on the side table.

Sirius tilted his chin up for a kiss to the cheek, like he had no respect for Logan’s poor, innocent eyes. “Legendborn, with T and Tremzy.”

Remus hummed. He tugged at the collar of Sirius’ shirt with one finger, biting at his lower lip. Logan’s stomach dropped through the fucking floor. “Want to come upstairs for a bit?”

“NO!”

Remus flinched hard at the resounding shout from three different voices, then burst out laughing; Sirius reddened faster and more vibrantly than Logan had ever seen. “Dear god, Loops!” Thomas sounded downright scandalized. “The man doesn’t have a headset! Give us some grace! Some warning!”

Logan wrenched his microphone closer to his mouth with a clumsy hand. “You’re paying for my therapy, Lupin.”

Remus managed to pull his face from Sirius’ shoulder long enough to stumble through part of an apology before breaking down into laughter again. “Fuck—my bad, my bad, I didn’t realize.”

“Clearly!”

“Keep your husband under control, Captain!”

Sirius turned a lecherous smile on them, then caught Remus by the front of his shirt and pulled him down to lick a long, wet, horrendous stripe up his cheek. Logan threw his controller aside and flopped backward on the couch, hands over his eyes, as hysterical laughter and Thomas’ spluttered protests filled his ears.

“I thought you two would finally be normal and boring after you got married,” he groaned, sinking deeper into the cushions. Sirius, the menace, was damn near cackling. “Can you stop being freaks about each other for two fucking seconds?”

“Nope!” Remus said cheerfully. “It’s state-sanctioned now, actually.”

“Marital bliss,” Sirius agreed. “You’re just jealous.”

Logan peeked through his fingers and found Thomas shaking his head. “T, if I ever lick one of my boyfriends, I want you to take me out behind the rink like Old Yeller.”

“Jealous,” came Sirius’ singsong answer. Remus made himself comfortable with his chin on Sirius’ head, grinning madly.

Losers, the both of them. Lame and sweet and married to a nauseating degree. God, Logan couldn’t wait for his turn. Preferably, though, it would wait until after he had logged off.

[liskantope]

I do wonder how long you'll continue quibble over the definition of "Nazi" and whether it's applicable to Trump and his ilk. When American citizens start disappearing into Salvadoran prisons (as Marco Rubio is currently negotiating for)? When Musk starts denying social security payments to "enemies of the state?" At what point will you admit that these people are worse than people who use the word "Nazi" imprecisely? Or will that always be the greater sin to you?

I find this ask in bad faith on multiple levels.

I'm going to assume it was inspired by the following aside in this recent post of mine:

oh God only hours in we're already going down this path again of trying to pounce on every possible opportunity to equate Trumpism with Naziism could someone just wake me up in four years please

I'm assuming this, because outside of that little run-on passage, I see no excuse whatsoever to round off my feelings about the discourse surrounding Trump as my thinking people who use the word "Nazi" imprecisely are worse or committing a greater sin those who practice actual Nazi-ish behavior. If I were more into demanding apologies as a way to navigate completely uncharitable accusations and if it weren't for the above-quoted passage, I would be challenging you to either apologize or point to anything I've actually said that comes anywhere near to showing that I have that attitude.

But as it happens, I did write the above-quoted thing in the middle of a post about Elon Musk and other things, and I realized soon afterwards it was a bit inappropriately calibrated (and said as much in a reblog), and it could -- especially the last phrase "someone just wake me up in four years please" -- come across as implying that my main worry about another four years of Trump is people jumping at every opportunity to call people in the other tribe Nazis. It arguably went a little over the line. (As to the extent to which people being overly-eager to make Nazi accusations really is one of my main concerns about the next four years, let me come back to that.)

As well as assuming the worst from that one passage, I can only imagine you're doing that thing where (as I suspect) someone who only knows me through this blog kind of roughly estimates the sum total of words I've spent complaining about one thing over another, weighted by the amount of emotion evident from the tone of the complaint, and uses that to make assumptions about the actual weight of my feelings. (In this case you possibly also conveniently ignored my post soon after expressing disgust with Trump's first round of executive orders, but that's mostly beside the point.) Sorry, the words you read on a screen coming from this one blog don't tell you that much about the sum total balance of my emotional capacity and my belief system and what I care about. As at least one friend of mine (I think two, independently) once put it, assuming you know the sum total of who I am as a person from the proportions of words I spend on different topics on a single social media account is dehumanizing.

Thirdly (rereading your ask you don't exactly imply this assumption, but you sure show no sign of having considered an alternative), it's not as though my frustration with people who misuse "Nazi" is against anyone who compares proposed policies that are actually Nazi-ish as policies to Naziism. For instance, I myself was perfectly vocal in 2016 about how Trump's suggestion of making every Muslim wear some insignia that indicates they're Muslim is pretty much verbatim out of Hitler's playbook and that a bunch of other ways Trump was talking were Hitler-esque (again, possibly not vocal on this blog because again not all of my thoughts and feelings are part of this blog, but I distinctly remember talking on Facebook about it) and was bringing it up just in the past year in conversations with multiple non-liberal friends (and even got some agreement from them!) I've never had any problem with rhetoric treating Trump as anti-democratic in his mindset and a dictator wannabe and I've taken part in it myself. (Admittedly sometimes I do get annoyed at how the term "Fascist" has been stripped of half its meaning in this context and could be shutting down conversation too much, but I wouldn't call this concern a priority.) If his administration does something that has a really strongly Nazi-ish stench -- somehow revoking the citizenship of Americans whose origins are in "shithole countries" and mass-deporting them, let's say -- even if under my careful analysis it turns out that such an action doesn't quite fit the philosophical standards of Naziism, I'm not going to quibble about it. It shouldn't be anyone's priority at a moment like that to distinguish between "straight-up Nazi" versus "way too close to being a Nazi".

But what I will continue to get frustrated about is people turning every possible little symbolic thing (a precise choice of words maybe or maybe not taken out of context, a gesture, a meme, rather than actual policy-level proposed actions) into Nazi-ish intentions and trying to use that as a bludgeon whenever they can against the Other Tribe (the Trump Side). And it isn't even a question of whether I'm more more bothered by that than by actual Naziism, like one versus the other, either-or... because the point that people who talk like you often don't seem willing to see is that frivolously calling things Naziism undermines resistance to actual Naziism by making complaints about Naziism get taken less seriously. (Prime example: the myth that Trump called Nazis "fine people" because of the blatantly-taken-out-of-context "fine people on both sides" quote gave ammunition to the Trump side and made media claims about Trump's beliefs lose credibility and has bolstered the idea that the media is out to get Trump/Republicans rather than report the truth.) I'm really not anxious to see the anti-Trump side come across, as in the last time around, as desperate people who are determined to jump at every possible pretense of stamping the Nazi label on anyone and any utterance associated with the other side, and anyone who is worried about whether the nation will take notice of actual Naziism should have the same concern!

Finally, to return to the question of to what extent what I'm actually dreading about these next four years is liberals being overly liberal in pointing and shouting "Nazi", this is not so much a direct response to the ask as something it naturally brings up which I think is only fair for me to clarify here: The way I've seen it going into this new-but-also-returning administration, one could fully expect a lot of over-the-top, semi-incoherent horrifying things to be proposed and then even attempted and tons of uncertainty and chaos as to what they even mean and what will and won't actually be implemented (this is the stage we're in right now!), and then (hopefully) a lot of it being settled right off the bat and (hopefully) most of the over-the-top scary things not actually happening. (Yes he has more loyal judges this time around, there are various reasons to argue that circumstances are different this time, etc.) Last time around, things were horrible in a lot of ways and he fanned the flames of every instance of social unrest and refused to concede the next election and had tons of dictator-wannabe vibes but this country actually turning into something like a Nazi state didn't actually happen. With this in recent memory, I saw Trump's second election as forecasting a mildly low probability of something actually Nazi-level coming from the government, a mildly high probability of significant Nazi-sounding stuff being said from the White House, a very high probability that there will be widespread genuine terror for a while that Nazi-like things will happening, and a virtually 100% certainty that the level of severe toxicity in our political discourse and social relations will continue to rise. (My side loving to point at everything and everyone on the other side and cry "Nazi" is one small piece of that.) And a generous proportion of my raw emotional reaction -- and where the careless "someone please wake me in four years" throwaway comment comes from -- has had to do with that 100%-certain thing that contributes to a major widespread social ill and also happens directly all around me. Having some of this emotional reaction, while not a thing I should be particularly proud of, is very different from being unable to look at actual Nazi-ish policy and recognize it as a far worse evil than some people shouting "Nazi" too freely (and feeling some of that revulsion in my gut when it happens). And I would think anyone with a reasonable bit of emotional intelligence should be able to understand that.

[plasticfangtastic]

My Masterlist

Howdy my name is Kay and I write fics for the boys (mostly just Homelander centric) this is a directory of my old and new fics, any projects am working on have worked on can be found here.

I hate short stories and I write long Chapters, I love Butchlander and Butchie content.

I'm currently on a writing hiatus

Old pin post with the following works can be found here:

Of The same Poisonous Ilk (A Butchlander/self-cest fic-- on hiatus)

Building Blocks (a Butchlander fic-- on hiatus)

Anybody Else Won't do (An Ashlander fic-- on hiatus)

Can We be Lonely Together (A HL x reader fic or Homelander x Joe Goldberg from YOU fic-- completed)

American Royalty (A dadlander x reader fic with a homelander daughter OC-- completed)

Carnivorous Lamb (A Homelander x Male! OC priest kink/ntr fic-- completed)

Thicker than Water (A Soldier Boy x Homelander fic-- one-shot)

No Codiciaras los bienes ajenos (A HL x Ashley x Butcher fic-- one-shot)

Behind the Scenes (A Hometek fic)

When the Lion loved the lamb (A HL x Male oc prequel to Carnivorous lamb one-shot)

This wasnt in the job description (An Ashlander fic one-shot)

My current fics:

Quiet Room-- A Homelander fic about him and Jonah Voguelbaum going to see Shrek.

A Garden Without Impurity-- Homelander X GN Reader fic, he is a polygamist and reader is his favorite spouse

Lemon Scented Messes-- A Butchie fanfic (my first one ever)

Charred Steaks-- A Butchlander fic short and sweet involving a partially depowered Homelander

Thank you for reading!

[wytchwyse]

When The Spirits Squabble: The Witch As A Mediator.

It is often the job of someone who keeps spirits or who lives in service to spirits to mediate between them when they are not sharing space peacefully in your life. Sometimes our spirits have different personalities which can cause discord and upset in the lives of the practitioner. I myself have recently stumbled upon this issue with one of the  spirits I have worked with the longest (Nicnevin) and the newest (Diana).  If you notice a theme here you would be correct, both Witch mothers,keepers of cunning, and mothers of spirits, Fair folk, and Fata etc. 

I keep relationships with these spirits because they help me learn Witchcraft and magic. But what they needed to understand was they had different things to teach me. Nicnevin oversees my study of Scots-Irish Cunning, and Diana, my Italian-American cunning.  I became aware that Nicnevin was blocking interactions between Diana and myself for  feeling a bit neglected, I apologized, and gave offerings and told them my expectations moving forward. And I prayed fervently to them as well as la Madonna. And the situation quickly sorted itself out  after that. 

Normally offerings, fervent prayer, and healthy personal boundaries are enough to sort out this issue UNLESS within your system/tradition there are spirits who canonically don't get along then it would be wise to listen and enshrine them in separate spaces and follow your system/traditions procedures to handle this. So much of the discourse on Spirit work today is just fear mongering, when we could be talking about the responsibility it takes to tend to spirits, And how to troubleshoot effectively without panicking.  

This situation wasn’t dire. It was unpleasant and needed to be corrected in case it escalated. And sure I know of practitioners who had full on poltergeist-like phenomena and curses like Anomalies happening when they let this go for too long, but when you keep up with your spirits check in regularly it's really a non issue. Moral of the story is to tend to your spirits. Also  you do not need to keep a hundred spirits. 

It is better to have a strong relationship with 1 or 5 spirits/ group of spirits than trying to keep all the spirits. Also it is possible to have a working relationship with a spirit like one you don't enshrine in your home but keep in your heart and mind and sometimes give offerings to when you need their help. But if you're new i think wait on relationships like that as it would just be overwhelming and takes you away from your close spirit team.

[iamarealkat]

FIRST COURSE - KNIVES

(or at least the ones I recognised from the TV-show so far)

mads mikkelsen by kenneth willardt for vanity fair italy, 2015 - aka my favorite shoot of his.

i apologize.

1. Spyderco Harpy

• appears in Hannibal season 3 in Italy .ೃ࿐

The Harpy was designed as a knife for seamen, featuring a karambit style blade that magically cuts right through rope, the serration lending a hand to the task.

Additionally, the Harpy boasts a detailed tip, which can chew through a manner of different materials, probably one of the main reasons why Hannibal found it handy for different...matters. To sum it up: This is not one of his kitchen knives, but rather one he used as a pocket knife in all different kind of situations.

Originally the japanese Spyderco Harpy was designed to accommodate the needs of commercial fishermen. The hawksbill blade is modeled after the talon of the Harpy eagle, allowing for a deliberate pulling cut where the object does not slip off the end of the edge. The hollow-ground blade incorporates SpyderEdge serrations and a thick spine for support. The handle is made of stainless steel with a drying vent, perfect for Hannibal and his exquisite taste…and of course correspondingly expensive. A good 200 euros for this fine tool, everybody. But he seems to be rolling in money, so no problem for our favourite cannibal.

2. Chroma Type 301 style by F. A. Porsche

• appear in various episodes as Hannibal’s kitchen knives .ೃ࿐

To be honest I really fell in love with the Spyderco Harpy and didn’t quite think anything could change that. But. When I tell you the design…omg. The Chroma Type 301 knife series was brought to life by F.A. Porsche (yup, the german car guy) and the chef of the decade, Jörg Wörther (austrian chef).

Japanese knives have achieved global recognition for their quality, as the Japanese hold a long tradition in metallurgy. The Japanese metallurgists have elevated the forging and sharpening of the blade into a form of art for hundreds of years, since the era of the notorious Katana swords. On the other hand, Europeans and Americans also make excellent knives, often characterized by superior ergonomics and design, but rarely distinguished for the hardness and sharpness of their blade.

The type 301 knife series by Chroma bridges the gap between Japanese tradition and the European design, this series standing out for its unique design and practical function. Porsche and Wörther closely worked together in order to develop the final shape of the handle, which is optimized for maximum usability. The result is a precision cutting tool. Each knife is carefully weighted to ensure perfect balance in the hand and in combination with the highly ergonomic handle, it feels like an extension of the user’s hand. The Chroma type 301 knives follow faithfully the Japanese philosophy, which dictates a knife to be lightweight and flexible. They are made of high-quality Japanese 301 steel, a relatively lightweight material which has a 56-58 hardness rating in the Rockwell hardness scale. This renders the type 301 knives harder than most of the non-Japanese knives and among the hardest knives within their price range. The increased hardness allows the knife to maintain its sharpness longer and also to slice better.Even though the Chroma type 301 knives are mass produced, they are carefully razorsharp sharpened by the hand of a master. Quality control is performed on one-to-one basis and not through random sampling. And by the way…did I mention the extraordinary design.

3. Kai Shun Knives

• appear in various episodes as Hannibal’s kitchen knives .ೃ࿐

Before Shun Cutlery was established in the western market, most people were used to heavy European-style kitchen knives. With Shun’s entry into the marketplace, home cooks and professional chefs alike were introduced to the lightweight precision of fine Japanese cutlery. Thinner blades, sharper edges, and lighter weight gave Shun a high-performance edge that the heavier knives couldn’t match. Each Shun still takes at least 100 handcrafted steps to complete and Shun remains true to its ancient heritage of quality. At the same time, Shun takes advantage of thoroughly modern, premium materials and state-of-the-art technology to provide that traditional quality to millions of professional chefs and avid home cooks throughout the world.

Today, Shun has become one of the most well-known names in kitchen cutlery. It has won awards for innovation and quality. It has been admired and emulated. With new styles, new materials, and an ongoing dedication to the spirit of innovation, Shun will continue to provide Japanese kitchen cutlery of outstanding beauty, impeccable precision, and the very highest performance.

4. Global Knives

• appear in various episodes as Hannibal’s kitchen knives .ೃ࿐

Global G Series knives are typically put together in what's called a three piece construction. The blade is stamped out of sheets of steel of a proprietary stainless steel alloy, while the two handles are created and welded together separately. The blade and handle are then welded together into one solid piece of stainless steel.

What makes these Global knives a bit unusual is that they start off empty. The blades are welded on without a tang and the handles are actually hollow. Instead, to maintain balance, they are filled with a very precise amount of sand.

Now it's quite unusual and you might just write this off as Japan being Japan and doing things differently because...well, they're Japan, but it seems to work very well for them.

The ability to inject a precise amount of weight (sand, in this case) as needed directly into the knife has led to them getting a reputation or having very precise and excellently balanced knives across their range of products.

That said, ergonomics are always personal.

Global G Series knives tend to feel very lightweight and evenly balanced. Some people tend to prefer a knife that is more weighted to the back for a firmer grip, or to the front for chopping action. This is the classic global knife version, but of course there are various other series one can discover. Unfortunately I am not able to tell the exact version Hannibal uses in the show by just watching...if anyone has an idea let me know!!!

[puckinghischier]

Okay, I have to say this is a non-American but I think Southern accents are incredibly interesting, fun and hot. Like, I could listen to it all day no matter how thick or soft it is.

My lecturer's from South Carolina and tries so hard to hide his accent but whenever he gets really passionate, it slips out and it's great but he takes a moment and stands like 🧍"My apologies, idk what came over me." like the devil took over?? That was a tangent but my point is the Southern accent is fire

so what i’m hearing is based on my experience and based on what you just told me, i need to go to a hockey city and just stand around these men and speak. got it. 📝

no but fr i never mind when people point it out, but sometimes when we’re visiting my dad’s family up north, people will literally follow my mom and i around stores just listening to us converse and i’m like…hello? just say hi?

my work crush when i worked at disney used to always tease me about it, and he told me he would sit at home and think of words he wanted to hear me say, so he’d come into work with a list, i shit you not. i asked him if he wanted me to just read the dictionary to him and he was like “….actually yeah” and i’m so sick in the head bc i would’ve done it 😭