#duplex conversion

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is beautiful- these former 1890 duplexes in St. Louis, MO were converted to a single family home and now, the 5bd, 3ba, 3,957 sq ft home is for sale for only $400k.

Isn't the new entrance hall interesting? Looks like there was some sort of stovepipe in the brick wall.

Beautiful brick fireplace and original floors in a sunny living room with French doors to the garden.

isn't that brick wall spectacular? Love the arched openings.

Pretty doors on the cabinet must be original. They did a great job of saving the brick walls.

Original huge drainboard sink.

Good job on the kitchen. The light blue accents are so pretty.

This colorful hall serves as a pantry.

Interesting Japanese teahouse style dining table.

Oh, I love the bathroom. The interesting tile and the original sink and tub are superb. Plus, it's so big, there's plenty of room for the laundry.

Look at the shelving on the stairs and the assorted posts. What a creative renovation.

Large sitting area at the top of the stairs.

This must be a bedroom that's used as a family room. Look at the sliding door.

Great bath with a wall of closets and original sink.

Large bedroom used as the primary.

Cute child's room. There's a mural on the ceiling, or maybe it's a map.

This nice room has doors to a terrace.

Stairs to the finished attic.

It's beautiful up here. So bright and sunny.

There's a beautiful big bedroom up here, too.

And, look at the size of this bath. Beautiful original bath and sink.

Large covered patio.

What a great house, especially for the price.

6,067 sq ft lot

There's no garage, but plenty of parking.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2907-Texas-Ave-Saint-Louis-MO-63118/2067536365_zpid/

[lavenoon]

Is there anything from Robin's childhood that brings them nostalgic comfort they would want to share with the boys? Like there was a certain special place they frequented they would want to share with them? And how would the boys react to it? (Feel free to include Eclipse in this :D)

Ahh, that's a super sweet thought, but I don't have a good answer for it!

At the core, Robin is still supposed to be the reader insert - I wouldn't want to impose more of a backstory on them than they already have! Plus my general vagueness in regards to where AU takes place, given that I am a very rural European trying to appease the masses on the American continent - places would be out, I just don't know any!

BUT I can at least somewhat dip into the reactions - of course it would be highly dependent on what it is they share, but for an unspecified but largely positive comfort item/ place...

(Going to write this however in a more "boy and love interest" way as this is more something for the audience to enjoy. Since it's not something that will ever come up in AU n all. For Eclipse and the AU Y/N it'd be similar but a little more toned down!)

Well, the boys' initial reaction would be pretty much the same! Very careful and near overwhelming awe. If it's something to handle, they wouldn't make moves to do it until you offer it to them, and for a place they'd all three try to take it all in before saying anything.

They would want to learn as much as possible about it, all three of them.

Eclipse would very much start with the questions - gentle, but undeniably curious. Quieter than usual, and sticking close - maybe cuddling, or crouched low, or just leaning in, but definitely seeking to minimize any distance between you. Somehow finds questions not even you would have thought of, and making you think about some of your replies, and both of you learn a little more about that comfort! Very excited to hear about it, and will nuzzle extensively once you're done talking (and maybe while you're at it, too)

Sun would ask for something a bit more hands-on - "Show me?," and then just listen, uncharacteristically quiet. He also wants to learn all about it, but rather than asking the questions himself he'd rather learn it through the lens of what you want to share, and think of! Ever the old fashioned romantic, he's got his focus on hands - and hold yours as his thumb brushes over the back of it. Might give it a little kiss at the end of your explanation, just to show you that he's listened, and he loves you, before asking any other questions he has left.

Moon is the most subdued of them all, dipping nearly into entirely nonverbal. He just doesn't want to risk interrupting you at all - but his body language leaves no doubt that he's interested, and listening. Tilted head, an open expression, hands patiently folded behind his back or holding on to you, if the situation allows for a cuddle! Would prefer handling anything with your hands to guide him, with him at your back. Might speak up just to crouch next to you and then joke how he wants to see things "from your perspective" before slipping right back into silence.

Sun and Moon may also see it as a sign that it's okay to talk about their past, and those worn children's books still tucked away safely at home. It's not a time they particularly miss, but the memories are still a comfort to them.

Eclipse doesn't have many sentimental items from his past - he's pretty young altogether, and never had to job hop like Sun and Moon. He is the little brother who was protected financially, and for a good while Sun and Moon were the lone breadwinners. But he does have his necklace, a symbol of both his brothers with him, and he might just share some of those memories, good and bad, starting some time soon <3

[purerae]

— DUPLEXITY;;

fem!reader x coworker!yanderes

— who knew attempting to bond with your co workers would lead to a fucked up love triangle?

prologue; quit your job! If dying was an option right now, Y/N would take it with a gleeful smile.

Sprinting through the woods, her ears ringing, she slams her grimy, broken hand against her head over and over. Her knees, bruised to a swollen pulp of purple, threaten to buckle beneath her. A deep, unprotected gash dressed painfully across her back, its edges rotting, every movement tearing at the poorly dressed wound.

Ignoring the piercing whine in her ears, her heart froze at the sound of shuffling drawing closer. Her legs wobbled, threatening to give out, but the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins kept her moving forward. An ear striking screech bursts from the girl’s throat, desperate to catch the attention of any passing drivers or hikers.

How could she be so foolish? It’s four in the morning, and she’s in the middle of nowhere, with two freaks relentlessly chasing her.

Her scream was a terrible mistake. It brought her no closer to freedom instead only closer to her pursuers. Their shouts echo behind her, filled with words she can’t—and doesn’t want to comprehend.

Pleas, threats, and bursts of anger escape from their mouths but the only thing that Y/N had her mind on was getting her brother and leaving this shithole. Y/N ran and ran, but to her dismay and an almost comical cruel sense of bad luck , Her vision was slammed with a wall ruined with graffiti that was now taunting her from her inescapable future. Her breathing slows as she stumbled back, desperately praying for anything that could save her. Surely they weren't close, she put in all this effort, they cannot be close! With trembling caution, she moved backward, her steps deliberate and silent. She avoided every brittle branch and insect littering the forest floor, straining to make as little noise as possible. Her back pressed into something soft yet unyielding, carrying the earthy scent of firewood mixed with the sharp tang of blood that she’ll always loathe.  Y/N’s breath hitched, frozen in her chest as the sound of heavy breathing enveloped her ears from just behind.

‘Fuck.'

“You can’t run from us. It’s two against one, cutie.”

Even with her back turned, she could picture his smug, shit-eating smirk. A chill ran down her spine as his arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, trapping her. God, she wished she had a bat so she could beat him till he was a lifeless piece of flesh that she could point and laugh at. Too bad that would never be possible, even if she had a weapon to begin with. Deep down, Y/N knew there was no escaping this. But with every ounce of strength her battered body could summon, she let out the loudest scream she could muster; a semblance of hope in her body that somebody could save her. It tore through the cold night air before everything turned black. The last thing she heard was another man's footsteps approaching them, and two voices she made an oath to never hear, conversing. All she wanted was a fucking pay raise.

-

-

- Y/N buttoned her blouse with a giddy smile, rushing around her room in search of the shoes she’d bought just for this day. "I can't believe I got the job! I'm so excited, this still feels so surreal."  she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm as she grabbed her phone, waiting for her friend’s response. "Girl, I'm happy for you!” her friend shouted over the line, her voice barely cutting through the loud music and chatter in the background. “Just work hard, and you’ll be promoted to detective in no time! My little Sherlock Holmes~” Y/N scoffs out a laugh before she shakes her head at the chaos on the other end. Normally, she’d lecture her friend about hosting a party at seven in the morning, but today, she was too nervous and way too excited about her first day to care. "Ahaha, Yeah  I don't know about that... I'm still in shock that I got the job to be the assistant, let alone be the main thing. I just hope the person in charge of me is nice." The E/C-eyed girl replied looking at the ceiling , nervously biting her nails whilst walking back and forth in her room.

"Don't stress about it! I'm sure they'll be nice, babes. And you should ju-" Y/N’s friend was abruptly cut off by a guy shouting in the background, his voice carrying over the music: “Ayra! Get back to the party already!” "Hold on a sec Noel! Im talking to Y/N" she yells back with an obvious scowl on her face… Well, Y/N was almost positive that she displayed one based on the tone of her voice. "It's fine! You go do your shit, I gotta’ finish getting ready." "Okay Okay, message me after your shift ends. I wanna know everything~!" The bubbly girl says as she mimics a kiss sound. Despite Ayra not being able to see Y/N, she smiles with a soft gaze at the phone before hanging up. Staring into the mirror, she carefully assessed her outfit. A sleek black blouse layered over a white undershirt paired perfectly with a matching black pencil skirt. Light makeup enhanced her features, and her neatly styled hair framed her face just right. She smoothed her clothes with her hands, beaming widely as she twirled in front of the mirror. Y/N gathered all her essentials, carefully packing them into her bag before stepping out of her apartment. She locked the door with a quick twist of the key, then paused to double-check it twice…just to be sure; it was a habit she had done ever since she lived in her parents home. 

Stepping into the elevator, she pressed the button for the ground floor. Knowing the ride would take a while, she lived on the second-highest floor, after all, she pulled out her phone to check the time. It was 7:15 a.m. Perfect. With the bus journey to the department taking only 30 minutes, she was right on schedule (which was always a struggle for her.) A grin spread across her face as she opened her email app and tapped on the message from the 'Warrens Department.' Her heart fluttered nervously as she re-read the letter, scanning each line to ensure she hadn’t missed anything important. As she scrolled to the bottom, her brows furrowed. There, tucked away, was a link she hadn’t noticed before.

'Shit I must've missed this' She thought with worry before quickly clicking the link, silently thanking her instincts for prompting her to double-check the message. The link was a profile of the detective that she would be working with. Looking at the picture, she notices that he was a very conventionally attractive male. The formally dressed girl squints her eyes before assessing the man that her eyes laid upon.

Xavier Allette, it read. Twenty-five years old, with five years of experience as a detective.

‘Holy shit, he became a detective at 20? I was still in university then.’ Y/N’s thoughts wandered briefly as she reminisced about her own journey, a flicker of envy stirring as she compared herself to her boss.

Letting out a breath of relief that she didn't know she had; The assistant was expecting an old cruel man as her boss, but to her luck, it was someone of a similar age to her. And, as a bonus, he wasn’t bad to look at either.

Y/N knew better than to judge someone based on their appearance, but as her cheeks warmed, she couldn’t help but blush at the handsome face staring back at her from the screen. A straight pale face, with a clean-shaven look. His hair was a wavy deep black, tussled formally. Eyes sharp and matched with his extremely dark hair. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the absence of a glint or any sign of life in his pupils. ‘I’m overthinking it,’ she told herself. ‘He’s just posing for the picture’. It had to be her psychology degree kicking in, making her analyze every feature of his face like a subject in a case study. Xavier’s nose was strikingly defined, and his lips were full, holding a slightly warm tint that gave his serious expression a subtle softness. Though he was wearing a suit, anyone could tell the detective worked out as his jaw was sharp and his shoulders were broad. It was clear that he took good care of himself.

The only other information displayed on his profile was a list of the cases he had worked on and details about his educational background. 'Maketa Academy?!' That was the most prestigious high school that Y/N had ever heard of. You could either get in with a scholarship or a lot of money. Unfortunately for her, she had been neither crazy smart nor crazy rich, so attending a place like that had never been an option. Y/N couldn’t tell whether Xavier had gotten in through wealth or intellect, but either way, it was impressive. Her train of thought abruptly halted as the elevator chimed, signaling her arrival on the first floor.

Turning off her phone, She exits the building before walking a short distance to the bus so she could arrive at the destination where she was going to be working.

'Please be nice to me, Warrens Department.'

-

-

-

Y/N rushed out of the bus, the clock read 8:00 am. The bus kept on delaying because of the traffic that the driver faced. The 15 minutes that she was hoping she had left to spare, disappeared all because of not getting a driver's licence! Cursing at herself, she ran to the building that was two minutes away. She could get there in ten seconds, her stubbornness is saving her life today.

The girl stared in awe at the building for a second. It was massive and incredibly modern. A large sign labelled Warrens Department was placed right in the middle of the building. Shaking her head, she scans the key card that came into the mail a week ago and fixes any loose hairs before walking into the building.

8:01 am, Already a minute late, though not much of a difference, she didn't want to disappoint her boss on the first day. Power walking to the reception she sighs shyly before speaking up. "Hi!" Her voice cracks.

'Oh my god, first I'm late, now my voice cracks, I should just quit my job and leave this e-' "Hello! Who’re  you? I've never seen you before?" The ginger girl behind the desk questioned loudly. Her light southern accent peeked through. The red-haired was incredibly short, her face caked with pink-themed makeup matching her formal pink outfit. Y/N thought the receptionist was cute and seemed nice too! If she wasn't too busy stressing about being late, she'd love to be her friend. "I'm the detective's new assistant— Xaviers Allette's assistant." Y/N rambles, hands shaking with nerves.

"Y/N L/N?" The receptionist questioned with eyebrows raised, Y/N nods quickly and shows her key card to the lady. "I'm Abigail!" her smile drops, "Also, you should probably head over to his office quickly, Mr Allette hates tardiness.. a lot." It was now Y/N's turn for her face to drop, she mumbles a quick thank you before running off.She stops in her tracks as she realised her stupid mistake. "Hey Abigail, what's his room number?" Y/N spoke rushing back to the desk. Reaching halfway, the red-haired girl puts her hand out, ordering her to stop running back. "It's on the second floor, room 11, hurry!" She yells, shaking her hand. The late assistant puts a thumbs up as a way of saying thank you before completely ignoring the elevator and rushing up the stairs. Turning left she finds the room that is the lead detective. On the door, a silver plate is shown with  'Room 11' and 'Xavier Allette' engraved onto them in a fancy font.. It was clear that his room was the biggest on the floor.

Wiping the sweat off her hands and re-checking herself on the reflection of the plate, she checks the time. 

8:05 am.

Y/N knocks on her boss's door. The door opens automatically, she notices the man that was just on her screen almost an hour ago, sitting down with his eyes furrowed and lips pulled into a frown.  His eyes were fixated on his computer screen, fist propped against his chin. The assistant looks around while patiently waiting for him to say something.

20 seconds passed and all that she could hear were the sounds of him typing. the h/c hair-coloured girl clears her throat.

"Good morning, sir. My name is Y/N L/N, and Im p-"

"You're late." A deep, harsh voice cuts her off. 

A/N : New story :p !! i really like the plot for this one and will have a masterlist out for it soon!

[lilbitdepressed27]

Tara Carpenter/Fem!Reader

Summary: Part two of They Find Your Dog

Warnings: none

WC: 1.8k

Author's Note: requested by @perfectartisanwerewolf hope you like it dude. Sorry for any mistakes

After everything finally settled down. It hade felt like everyone could finally let out the air they were holding in. It was almost a year since the last ghostface incident. Everything that followed had been chaotic. With everyone suing the NY police department and actually winning. It was no surprise that it took a bit of time to move on. You, Tara, Sam and by extension Danny had all moved into a nice duplex house. With the money you, Tara and Sam got from the law suit. It was more than just affordable.

Getting together with Tara, romantically. It was bound to happen. You both moved in together just as roommates. But that had quickly changed after just a week of living together. Before you finally found the courage to ask her on a date. Then from there. Everything just fell into place. Tara's room became a guest room and she now slept with you. You honestly couldn't be happier.

Sam. Living right next door had been settled knowing her sister needed privacy as well. But she still had wanted to be close to her sister so, moving into a duplex house was the best option for Tara and Sam. Sam moving in with Danny had also happened with the help of Walle. Sam had really taken in how Walle was with Danny. And if Walle trusted Danny. She felt more comfortable being with Danny.

You had taken what Chad said that day very serious. Getting in contact with Walle's old trainer. Who also had a few different puppies in training. Getting every single one of your friends one. A boxer for Chad, an American Staffordshire for Mindy, a Rottweiler for Anika, Dobermann for Sam. Ang beautiful white cane corso for Tara.

The process wasn't easy and it sure wasn't quick. Which was why you had to wait a bit for things to settle down and for everyone to heal. Finding the perfect moment to bring up the conversation. Which happened to be a warm Fourth of July. With everyone getting together.

You had taken Walle with you and he had gotten along with every single one of those dogs.

"What are you smiling about?" She knew you were hiding something. She wasn't blind. The smile on your face was so cute and judging by the way Walle looked her. It almost seemed that he also knew about the secret.

"Nothing." It was drawn out in such a teasing way. That smile turning in a teasing one. She wanted to know but she could wait. She was patient.

Her arms wrapping around your shoulders from behind you. You leaned back, head tilted back, her lips  gently nibbled on your ear. "Come on tell me."

You absolutely loved her kisses. Since getting together, she couldn't stop kissing you where ever she could reach you, and you surely weren't complaining. "You'll find out soon enough."

*

"Y/n there's someone I would like for you to officially meet."

You had been busy helping Danny make the burgers and hotdogs, when the voice of Sam pulled your attention away from the grill. There standing next to Sam was Gale Weathers and Kirby Reed. You never really personally met Gale or Kirby officially. Only briefly seeing Kirby at the hospital after Quinn, Ethan and their dad were arrested.

"Oh hello, it's nice to meet you Ms.Weathers and Detective Reed." At the two new people arriving at the party. Walle stopped playing with Chad to be by your side. Wanting to make sure the two new people were safe to be around.

"It's nice to finally meet you. So this is Walle." Gale asked, she had been astonished that this dog was able to sniff out who was ghostface. Sam had told her how Walle was around the last three ghostfaces. Kirby had also told her Walle was able to sniff out that Quinn was never really dead. She had just gotten away before they could actually catch her.

"Oh yeah! This is Walle. It's okay buddy." You gently patted him showing him that it was okay. He went to sniff out the two older women, the two letting him. Looking completely amazed at how the dog was acting. Sniffing them out, only relaxing when he was sure. Returning to be back on your side, a smile on his face with his tongue sticking out.

"Good boy. Go play." And like that he was off playing with Chad again.

"Fascinating, do you know where I can get one of him?" Although Gale was joking. Part of her was being extremely serious.

*

Tara had watched how you spoke with Kirby and Gale. You had been gushing about how you've read just about every book that Gale has written, although you did in a way scold her for writing bad about Sam. Gale had looked like scolded child. It was a funny sight to see. It caused her and Sam to smile. You were a complete nerd as you went back to talk about her books.

Gale had also asked her own questions about you and Walle. She couldn't believe one person could take down ghostface so quickly.

"Oh that wasn't me, that was Walle. If he doesn't trust someone, I don't trust them. Simple as that." You had answered the question right away. If anything Walle was the one to take down ghostface.

The more Gale spoke with you, the more the idea for a new book came along. To write about how a companion could not only be great company, a companion could also be the one to save your life. When you told her about the incident at the park her mouth dropped. She remembered reading something similar. That article had been a popular article for quite a while. She just never imagined it would be the same dog as the one rolling in the grass as he tried to take the rope away from Chad.

The conversation was flowing and she could see why Sam and Tara trusted you so much. It was until your phone rang. You had quickly excused your self before you left the backyard going back into the house.

Tara trusted you, there was no reason to doubt you but part of her couldn't settle her nerves. The secret you were keeping had made her a bit nervous.

When you came out with a bright smile her nerves settled just a bit. "Uh guys."

Everyone stopped what they were doing. Looking at you. You felt a bit nervous with all the eyes on you but you pushed through. "Okay, uh I know things have been a bit, crazy. And I don't know how serious you guys were about this but I went with it anyway. Um I didn't know Gale and Kirby were gonna be here. So I had to make a few calls. And I wasn't really sure if you'd guys like it or oh god, you guys aren't allergic to anything right?" The question was now directed to Kirby and Gale. Who both shook their heads.

The more you spoke the more you got nervous. And Tara wasn't the only one who noticed. Walle was quick to be by your side.

With a deep breath. "I got you guys something. I'll be right back. Please stay here." Like that you were gone inside, Walle right behind you.

"Okay what's with her?" Sam asked the moment the door slid shut. She was a little worried, especially since Tara had filled her in on why you had Walle in the first place. At first she had thought Walle was just a well trained dog. She never would have guessed that he was also a service dog. As much as she tried to deny it, she did worry and may have been a bit more over protective towards you. Especially when you would be out running with Walle for too long. Apparently she wasn't the only one either. Cause Tara did as well.

"I don't know but I trust her. She was like this when she tried to hide my birthday present from me. Her excitement and nerves kinda got the best of her and she blurted out the moment I asked what she was hiding." You had been so angry with your self that you couldn't keep her gift a secret. It was literally the day before her birthday. You were so adorable.

"Oh my god was that why she was pouting when we go to your house?" Anika asked with a laugh.

Tara nodded with a laugh as well.

"Okay guys. I didn't really think this through." You mumbled to yourself. You had asked Mac, Walle's old trainer, to hold and take them through the side gate. Every single pup was so well behaved. You knew they would love them but you were still a bit anxious.

"Chad, I would like you to meet someone." Chad raised his eye brows confused but still gave you all his attention. Since he had been the one with the idea. You figured he would be the first one.

"Rex come here buddy." The brown boxer was quick to get to your side. You had the back gate open, and once he had the signal he was quick to make a he line to Chad. The dogs had been given a piece of clothing so they could get familiar with their new owners scent.

"Oh my god!" Chad dropped to his knees as the dog was quick to lick Chads face.

"Mindy meet Oliver." At the sound of his name the white and brown American Staffordshire came to you, you petted his head. He then made a beeline to Mindy who also dropped to her knees to great the dog.

"Dude!" She laughed the pure happiness in her tone.

"Anika meet Benny." The black Rottweiler ran straight to Anika. Anika let out a small squeal of excitement as the dog ran to her.

"Sam this is Alex." The brown Dobermann made his way to Sam. Sam had also looked shocked and yet her eyes filled so much graduated.

"Tara my love meet Duke." The white cane corso. Stood next to Walle who was happy to lead Duke to Tara.

You also called out Hudson and Wilson. The two Dutch Shepherds were brothers. Taking one of the dogs to Kirby. "This is Hudson." Turning your gaze to the older woman. Gale stood to the side watching everyone enjoying their dogs with a small smile on her face.

"Gale this is Wilson. Here's a companion that is trained into keeping their owner safe. He's trained by the same man that trained Walle."

Gale tried to blink away the tears as she looked down at the face of the dog who looked at her with a smile on his face.

"Thank you Y/n."

You beamed with pure happiness as they all enjoyed their companions. You felt a sense of accomplishment. Walle stood beside you, looking up looking as happy as ever.

"We did good buddy."

The rest of the day was spent playing with the dogs. Loving the way every one bonded with their own dog.

:)

[magics-neptunes-things]

Blue Words (One Love 8)

Hi guys!

Some of you asked for it, so this is the new chapter for One Love.

Please be aware that this chapter isn't the happiest of all I wrote for this series, but I tried to add some fluff in it.

Also the Title is from a french song called "Les mots bleus" and this is the only song with the world "blue" i could find, with Lucy going to Chelsea. (Still hating it)

Thanks again for reading me ♥

TW : Angst, Sadness.

(1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7)

London has always been a city who was foreign for Ona. Even when she was living in England, she was in Manchester and all the teams here were just opponent. Unless Laia Codina who came there in 2023 and Mariona who will be here now, she doesn’t have friends here. There are Laia and Leila in Manchester still, but she didn’t have any reason to come back in England since she left for Barcelona.

Well, it was before.

Because now, Lucy is going in fucking Chelsea, a team she hated all her life. It would have been better in her eyes if Lucy went in Arsenal, at least she will be with Mariona. But no, she’s wearing blue and Ona can’t get used to it.

When Lucy received another call from the Barcelona’s staff, they were both in Cuba, their day just finish after strolling in the city during the afternoon. They were enjoying the swimming pool of the hotel, Ona inside water while Lucy was happily drinking a Piña Colada, sitting on the swimming pool with her feet in it. Ona understood very quickly that the conversation isn’t going the way Lucy hopped.

Because the English woman really wanted to stay in Barcelona. She loves the city, the people, the team, the league, the wins… And she loves Ona, of course. She never decided anything in football while thinking about her love life, but this time she wanted to do it. Life chose to be different though.

Lucy didn’t take a decision without talking to Ona before. Lucy wanted to play as much as possible, she’s not young anymore and she knows that her months are counted. She’s not stupid. But Barcelona couldn’t promise her that, now that everyone came back from the respective injuries. Lucy could have accepted less money if she was still able to play as much as she wants. But it wasn’t Barça’s plans. So, after a long discussion with Ona, she didn’t accept Barcelona’s offer, with sadness.

Only one day later Chelsea came to knock at her door, and after some adjustments, she said yes. It wasn’t ideal to be that far from Ona, but it’s better than Mexico or the USA who wanted her too.

Between their trip in Cuba and Ona’s training for the Olympics, Ona managed to find some days to come with Lucy in London to look for a flat.

They managed to find a duplex on the last ground of a building near a park, for when Lucy will have to walk Narla. It seems pretty good to be honest, but Ona has trouble to imagine Lucy here. She always has known her in Barcelona, in a sunny home. Not a rainy and grey one. It makes her sad, without any reason.

Ona putted a brave smile on her face during all her trip with Lucy, not wanting to damage any memories they could have here. Their time is counted after all.

She met some of the Chelsea players and she doesn’t really like them. She doesn’t like the way Millie Bright seems to find normal for Lucy to be here. She doesn’t like how some of the other girls are all flushed when they see Lucy. She talked a little bit with Julia Bartel who was playing in Barcelona while Lucy was talking with some of her teammates from England, but it was hard to keep smiling.

The day after, they went to Ikea to buy some furniture for Lucy’s flat, she already made come what she will need here with a boat. She bought a lot of candles from their favorite shop in Barcelona to have a little piece of Barcelona in London.

She took advantage of Ona getting a shower to put the last details of her decoration, before they have to leave to go to a party organized by Niamh Charles with a lot of Chelsea’s players. Lucy asked her if she wanted to go, and Ona returned her the question. When she saw Lucy hesitated, Ona mumbled something about creating a bond with her teammates and they decided to go.

But Ona would rather have time with Lucy only. Once again, she chooses to put Lucy’s feelings before hers.

She has the same false smile on her face all night, talking from time to time with some of Lucy’s new teammates, working on herself not to stick with her girlfriend all night. She knows how the English are different from the Spain about touching and everything.

“She will be great in Chelsea Ona, you will see. We’ll take good care of her.” Millie Bright told her with a big smile at some point in the evening.

Ona just smiled, asking herself what the blonde meant by that. She knows that Millie is straight or at least engaged with someone, but it’s still sound strange in her ears. She talked the most with Aggie Beever-Jones and Jess Carter, munching some vinegar crisps.

Lucy went to check on her several times during the night, but Ona always told her that she was fine, with the best smile she could give her. But Lucy isn’t fooled by Ona. She knows very well when her girlfriend is pretending, and it breaks her heart every time that Ona assures her she was fine and that they can stay a little bit more.

But at some point, Ona just feels overwhelmed. She’s not angry, or sadder than before. There is just too many feelings for her at that point and with the noise, the music and people blasting it’s just too much. She just has to cross Lucy’s eyes for the English woman to understand that it was time to go home.

“Come on” Lucy just says, reaching her hand for Ona to take.

The Spaniard oblige, following Lucy who pretends to be tired with the move and everything.

“Hope to see you soon again, Ona” Niamh smiles at the Catalan when they went to her to say goodbye.

“It will be hard but I definitively want her wagging in London for me” Lucy smirks, grabbing Ona by her hips to kiss her temple.

“Alexia will kill me if I wear a Chelsea jersey” Ona points with a small smile.

Lucy snorts and they say their goodbyes to the last people before leaving the heath of the flat. It feels good to breath fresh air, Ona closes her eyes two seconds while breathing intensely before turning in Lucy’s direction.

“Uber or walk?” Lucy asks.

“Walk? If you don’t mind.”

“Of course not”

Lucy smiles at her and Ona smiles back. Her smiles grow bigger when she feels Lucy passing her arm around her shoulders, and she let herself go against the bigger frame of her girlfriend.

“Better that way” Ona whispers, grabbing Lucy’s fingers with her hand.

Lucy hums, her lips stroking Ona’s hair softly. She can feel the younger girl’s trouble, but she doesn’t want to push her buttons and forced her to talk to her. But she feels like Ona might explode at some point, and it’s not in her habits to shut down her feelings like that.

She choses not to insist to much with Ona, using a small talk during their trip to her flat. They know Mariona is getting her things done during those days too, except that her girlfriend was already in London to find her a good flat. Even if it will be at St-Albans, Ona is glad to know that there is at least some people Lucy knows already.

She’s happy to find back Lucy’s flat, even if it doesn’t quite feel home, at least it’s Lucy’s.

“Are you tired or do you want to watch something with a last drink?”

“As you wish Corazon” Ona shrugs.

Lucy looks at her several seconds before deciding for a movie and a drink. She makes some tea while Ona is looking at something they can watch, grumbling when she realizes that a lot of the series they are watching in Barcelona aren’t watchable here.

“What did you make a choice?” Lucy asks with two fuming cups of tea. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“Friend’s” Ona grumble, before throwing herself in Lucy’s front when she sits next to her.

Clingy Ona isn’t really new, but Grumpy Ona is, Lucy thinks. She play with her girlfriend’s long hair for several minutes, watching television with an absent-minded air.

“Are you ok?” Lucy finally asks.

“Sí, porque?”

“Because I don’t have the feeling that you are. You’re grumpy like an old man.”

“No, I’m not” Ona pouts.

Her face is so cute that Lucy can’t help but laugh a little. She hopes that it won’t make Ona even more grumpy, so to avoid that she starts tickling her.

“Yes, you are!” Lucy smirks while tickling her girlfriend.

Ona tries to resist the urge to laugh, but Lucy knows how and where she’s ticklish. It doesn’t take her more than ten seconds to have a laughy mess writhing under her.

“Stop, Lucy please” Ona manages to pronounce between two laughs.

Lucy finally stops and she looks attentively at Ona while the younger calm her laughters. She lets her take her breath, stroking softly and lovingly her cheeks. She lets five other seconds pass, during which she looks deep in Ona’s eyes.

“Come on, Bonita, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Ona sighs and look away, making Lucy frowns. She’s usually the one who is struggling to let her feelings and struggle out, not Ona. Ona talks to her, explain to her her thoughts without any fear to be judge or mocked.

“Hey” she adds after some times, turning delicately Ona’s face in her direction. “Come on, it’s me. You can tell me everything, you used to do that. Don’t shut yourself from me, please.”

Ona blinks several times, biting her lip, before finally deciding to open her mouth. She can’t refuse anything to Lucy when she talks to her this way.

“It’s just… I don’t know” she frowns in turn. “I knew what will happen, but this weekend is like the concretization of all of this. And I know that I push you to accept this offer, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to let you go.”

Lucy wants to talk, but she realizes soon that now that Ona has started to talk, she needs to get everything out.

“It’s hard to know that you will be here after everything we had in Barcelona. I hate coming home to have a reminder that you’re gone, I hate to see Coco looking for Narla, I hate not to find the toothpaste tube open with its plug next to it. I know it’s not your fault, but I miss you and it hasn’t even started.”

She really wanted not to cry, but she can’t help the tears rolling on her cheeks. Of course she knew, it doesn’t mean that it’s an easy moment to live. They were so delighted when Ona signed her contract in Barcelona, so far away to think that they will be in this situation again several months later.

“And this weekend, I really wanted to help you settle down and make your flat cozy and comfortable and lovely, but it’s like that damn sadness couldn’t leave me alone. It’s your flat, not ours. It feels so strange.”

Her voice breaks at the end of her sentence, when she wipes harshly her tears with the sleeve of her sweater. Lucy needs to swallow the lump in her throat before talking, so she wipes herself Ona’s tears, way more softly than her, to have a distraction.

“I miss you too” Lucy mumbles before sitting, because she was still half lying on Ona. “It’s hard to imagine my daily life without your mess in it, but I swear on everything I have that I will come in Barcelona as soon as I have a day off, Ona. And I know you will come too.”

She stays silence for several seconds, during which Ona nods at Lucy’s words. Of course, she will come. Even if it’s mean catching a cold every weekend while freezing in the stand.

“And for the flat… Come on” she says suddenly, standing and grabbing Ona’s hand.

The Spaniard doesn’t have any other choice than following her to her bedroom. She frowns when she sees that Lucy has installed other frames, probably while she was showering before leaving for the party.

“This is the jerseys we swapped after the World Cup, but I thought it will be better to frame them together”

Lucy looks Ona when she gets closer to the jerseys while she’s talking. No one knows that they swapped their jersey that night and if someone just take a look at the frame, it won’t be easy to understand. But they both know and it’s enough.

“This one is a mix of the pictures we took when we won all our cups last year” she points another frame.

Ona gets closer of this one too, just to see a mix of official pictures of both of them, but unofficial pictures too. There is for example no way in the world that they posted picture of them kissing with the Supercopa cup, Lucy grabbing Ona’s waist while the younger has a bottle of beer in hand.

“And those are what I wanted to hang on other rooms too” Lucy adds while rummaging in one cupboard before taking out several other frames, of different sizes. “This one is for my nightstand (she shows a picture of them in Cuba), those are for my living room (there is a picture of Coco and Narla playing in the snow, one of them in Stani’s wedding, a selfie taking at Minorca and another one when Lucy’s family came to Barcelona to met the Battle) and I wanted to put that on my fridge (four photobooth pictures taking at Manchester, the first time Lucy came after they got together). Oh and this one is for the bedroom too (a picture of Ona with Lucy’s niece and nephew, playing on the beach).”

Lucy looks thoughtfully at the pictures before raising her eyes on Ona, almost shyly. Ona is still crying, (or again), she doesn’t even know. But this time, she’s smiling softly.

“You are not living here, but you are still part of that place Ona. No matter where I am, you are still with me. Forever.”

Ona almost crashes in her arms when she went for a hug and Lucy seriously think about writing to Jonatan because damn, those arms sessions for Ona worked maybe a little too much.

“I love you, so much” Lucy says again, Ona’s face in her neck. “I’m leaving Barcelona but I’m not leaving you. It doesn’t change the plans we made. I still want to marry you, we will have those little Ona running around in the house and everything we talked about”

“I want a little Lucia too” Ona objects weekly.

“My brother would probably say that it’s a terrible choice, but everything you want Bonita.”

Taking a big breath making her shivers, Ona finally leaves Lucy’s neck. She’s not crying anymore, and Lucy kisses her face almost ten times before talking again.

“I need you to talk to me when you are struggling like that. Can you promise me you will do?”

“Only if you promise too” Ona answers, looking at her expectantly.

Lucy rolls her eyes, which makes Ona smiles softly. They both know who will need to work the most between the two for that.

“Promised” Lucy finally says.

“Promised back”

Lucy kisses her on the lips that time, savoring Ona’s taste and Ona’s body against her. They didn’t talk about it, but Lucy will miss the lazy mornings in bed and having Ona around her like an octopus with messy hair. Ona stilling her clothes too. Talking about that…

“And I will leave half of the dressing for your clothes too, for when you will come to see me”

Ona smirks.

“I was hoping to leave every time with some of your clothes”

Lucy laughs this time and grab Ona’s face with both of her hands to kiss her one more time.

“Time to go to bed? I’m kind of exhausted.”

“Yes please” Ona mumbles.

They take turn in the bathroom, Lucy going to turn off the TV and the lamps in the living room before going in her bed. Ona follows her soon after, crawling under the sheets to snuggle against Lucy.

“We will be alright Ona, I swear” Lucy whispers in the dark.

“I know. I trust us” Ona whispers back.

She left her loving position to be able to kiss her.

“I’m going to miss the fan’s speculations about us being together after every game though” Ona smirks.

“Oh, don’t worry. I have an idea for that.”

Ona raises an eyebrow, questioning Lucy that way but the English woman just shake her head with a devilish smile before kissing Ona again. She managed to make her forget about what she just said, but the O. Battle jersey from Spain is definitively coming this week for her to wear during Spain’s first game in the Olympics.

[xephyras]

' A Second Reflection '

MDNI. 18+ ONLY.

a/n: i fear i possibly cooked with this? idk, i wrote it in like 2 hours. first cillian murphy centric smut kinda goes hard.

btw: that new M. Night Shyalaman movie ‘Trap’ sucks. It's basically slutty Josh Hartnett being a dad with mommy issues and everyone not doing their job.

Second, yes, this is fucking diabolical and will in fact be better because I am amazing at writing darker shit.

Third, yes, this is because I watched Red Eye again on my Roku at 1 a.m in my duplex. (Sorry to my upstairs neighbor if you heard my tv.)

warnings: DUB/NONCON. dead dove do NOT eat, 18+, evil!dom!stalker! jackson rippner and sub! reader. jackson rippner is an actual villain, not bastardized, rough sex, unprotected p in v, breeding kink from rippner, dumbification (once again my weakness), heavy degregation, spit kink, biting kink, just overall really mouthy rippner, major power play kink, size difference if you squint, bruising, hickeys, break in, choking, hair pulling, slapping, mirror kink, blood kink, also, jackson rippner is like lowk pathetic bcz, yk... men whining.

word count: 4.18k

NOT proofread, I apologize in advance for any errors or mistakes!

"Keep your eyes on me, slut. I want to see your face while I fuck you.” He barked out, straining on your hair again as he pulled you up.

Darkness filled the room you sat in comfortably, your dust-covered mirror shimmering softly in the cinnamon candles you had lit a few minutes before. Duvet covered pulled up to your chest, and legs shuffling under with a comfort that always seemed to await you, you felt entirely serene.

The day was as usual boring, mostly spent inside working from home, taking a few calls, and mellowing around in your pajamas. These days seem to muddle together into one big mix, but it was nothing you fret over. It was rather comforting compared to the busy streets which bustled from the early hours of dawn to the peak of the night.

Only thing you would say that pinched wildly at your relaxation like a child on St. Patrick's day seeing a person not wearing green, was the overwhelming feeling of a set of prying eyes on you. However, this had become realtively common since you played that damned mirror in front of your bed.

You commonly had liked to rearrange your room; especially on the late nights where your shitty sleep schedule caught up, giving bursts of energy late at night. Hence, you assumed it was your paranoia playing a hopscotch game with you.

Nevertheless, you found the serenity of your window open, blowing a soft wind in, rather comforting. Leaving the blinds open often to let the orange sunset light in, you simply would stare until it went dark at times. Being on the first floor of your home, too, passerby's were actually much more fun to look at than you realized. ‘People-watching’, as some would call it.

However, in this night specifically, the warm breeze flushing onto your shoulders felt rather omniscient of some warning it communicated. You didn't get it, but something irked you. To deprive yourself of your own time, you simply read a book, traveling your mind into the world of your favorite reads.

Conversely, your brain pried at you. Thinking it was simply a lack of sleep, especially because it was now around a quarter after midnight, you set the hard book down. It was a hot night, you might as well have left your window open. After all, it was a safer neighborhood.

After blowing out the residue of your melted candles, you covered the rest of your body with the duvet. Serenity at last, you thought. Gently shutting your eyes, you simply wandered off mentally.

Despite being a rather heavy sleeper, you woke within a few hours to a sense of hefty paranoia. Your eyes couldn't even adjust at first to the darkness and the heaviness of them. Wiping your tiredness away, you peered into your mirror questionably.

The window you leave open, which usually shines in the dim moonlight, was almost blocked? Almost like a shadow. Slowly turning your head to your window to assume it was just your brain, you suddenly saw.

With your heart and sleepiness practically leaping out of your throat in a stiffled yell, shoved the covers off you, preparing to defend your every move. It wasn't just a fucking dark shadow, an entire, short, but rather wide looking silhouette of a man stood quietly, almost mannequin like, against your window sill.

“What the— What the fuck. What the fuck?!” You suddenly screeched out as loud as your throat could allow, the burning of your vocal chords was anything but sensational.

A deep chuckled emerged from the silhouette, shoulders bouncing somehow in a threatening manner. He held something in a pocket of a sweater, of course.

“You need to calm down before I slit your goddamn throat right here.” He suddenly sneered.

You were absolutely frozen, eyes wide with tears you didn't feel even forming. Hands bundled into fists in front of you futily, shaking like you were about to have a seizure.

He stood entirely still once more, practically observing you like some doctor. You decided haphazardly to stand onto your mattress, trying to get a better advantage of higher ground, more area to attack if he did decide to run at you.

“You— need to get the fuck out! Now!” You screamed at the end, trying to not simply break down sobbing. With purpose, your eyes scanned across your room for some weapon.

“I said calm down!” He suddenly grunted out, stomping with one long stride towards you. His palm latched itself to your ankle, dragging you from your sudden position, your head hitting the wall as you fell onto your spine.

A burning familiar to that of a minor concussion filled your senses, a stiffled sob leaving your throat as your vision filled with a dark white, if even possible. Ringing filled your ears as you felt yourself get dragged practically to lay on your stomach, facing your mirror.

He suddenly muttered almost to no one but himself, “You know, you're fucking pathetic. Can't even hold a good fight. All you do is sit—”

A grunt left his throat as he forced his sweater off, tosing it to the side. “And do absolutely nothing. You're a lazy bitch, you should be grateful I’m doing this.” He whispered into your ear, his stubble tickling along your jaw.

Desperately despite your mingling pain in your brain which seemed to radiate to your neck, you flipped yourself to your side, hands raising to try and fling themselves at him. You simply found his hand, calloused and rough, gripping a lump full of your hair, tangling it into his hand. He shoved your head into the mattress, unable to move.

“Stop fighting me, it's useless, whore.” He cursed out to you, a hint of lingering amusement in his poisoned words.

He certainly was talkative. “God, finally able to touch you after so long. You know, I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to do this.” He chuckled out, his voice was unforgivingly soothing while his hands gripped your head like a vice, and forcing the other to grope, pinch, and slap at your back and ass.

Wanting to have his fun, of course. “You need to do more. You're too… lazy. Maybe I’ll fuck a good baby into you, make you mine.” Sneering his voice next to your jaw, licking suddenly. The mixed smell of his aftershave and mahogany-esque cologne was all you tried to focus on.

Your head was utterly pounding, a slight ring in your eardrums forcuing yourself to feel even more of a head ache. Along with his snagging hand forcing you to the bed, and other groping you grotesquely, all you felt was utter pain and despair.

With as much energy as you could have put, you screamed out. Surely someone in this blasted neighborhood would hear. Screaming your pleas of help, Jackson tugged on your hair tight, snapping your neck back and cutting those yells off with a simple yelp into the air like an injured dog.

He dragged his hand from your lower back to your neck, shaking and wet from your tears which stained where he previously pushed you down. With force, he grabbed your neck tight, cutting your blood, but not air off.

“For someone so fucking lazy, only thing you can do right now is put your vocals to use? I will stab you right here and make it look like a suicide. Do yourself a favor and stop gambling with your life.” He enunciated, using his lips to drag themselves along the surrounding area of your ear.

A choke left your throat as the blood rushed back to your brain, the dazy and numb feeling leaving your pained head. You simply felt yourself get flipped to your back, finally being able to see some of the man's face.

He was unfortunately one of the most handsome men you had seen. A sharp jaw, stubbled beard he kept recently, piercing blue eyes. God, why did he have to be doing this?

“Stop it! I'll give you money! Please just stop!” You rasped out with desperate sobs, feeling yourself tears reach to your collarbones. Your nose was running heavy, and lips soaked with your own drool . You didn't care. You were focused enough the fact this man was in your home, hurting you.

His demeanor seemed suddenly much more gentle, but falsely. Like a lion acting gentle as it slowly prides itself up to its prey. His knees trapped around one of yours, holding you tight. With one of his hands, he held your chin now.

Leaning into your wet and puffy face as he smirked, he finally tantalizingly reached his lips to your jaw. “The more you plead, the harder I’m gonna get, and the longer I’ll use you.”

Finally leaning back, he raised his hand to your cheek and slammed it down, hard. A sound only described as a clap released itself along your bedroom walls, swinging your head to the side. Pain radiated harshly though your cheek, hot and burning.

He chuckled at this and leaned down his lips to your heaving neck, using his hands to stabilize himself on either side of your head. Wanting to have a bit of fun with his food so to speak, he licked. Starting at your collarbone, leading itself up to your jugular with silent breaths.

When he did reach, he bit down harshly, hard enough to draw blood, but not hard enough to severely hurt you. A loud shriek left your throat like some horror movie character, your hands flinging up to pull his hair away and desperately claw.

A pained groan left his throat, but he smiled. Finally getting a better view at his face, teeth slightly pink from your neck and his silky hair feeling like knives in your hands suddenly, you realized couldn't even fight him.

Pausing his actions, he developed a nasty sneer of his face, suddenly spitting a glob at your cheek, grabbing your wrists tight enough you knew it'd bruise. Crashing them down into the bed beside you, he dipped his head down once more to your bleeding neck.

Teeth sank into your skin like marshmallows in an out, ranks of pain radiating from your tailbone all the way to the top of your head like you were in a house fire. All you could hear was the ringing of your blasted ears, his heavy breathing and whines, and the shuffle of the duvet.

“God, you taste so fucking good.” He hummed out, licking up the residues and admiring your skin like some sort of art project he made, one he'd surely put on the fridge.

“You know…” he finally leaned back, resting on his knees which trapped you into his touch.

“I've been watching you for a while—before tonight.” Jackson hummed contently, his raspy whisper leaking itself into your ears like honey.

“Especially because… you don't know when—” he spoke, getting up to close the open window. You knew you should've taken it as a chance, but you were frozen. He adjusted your whimsy curtains above it.

“—when to close your goddamn window. It's been such a joy to watch you, you know that? Every morning, you laying in your bed practically refusing to get up… all the way to laying yourself down, leaving it open to feel the breeze.” He chuckled finally at his last words, almost as if to nonverbally stupidly you.

Your head was pounding, the previously persistent ringing now dying down to a simple static noise, deep in your brain. Choked sobs left your throat, your chest heaving with every breath. Barely even being able to see due to the cloudiness of your wet tears, you blinked frantically.

“My boyfriend will be home so—” you attempted to sneer out, getting cut off with a vocal scoff.

“You need to learn how to stop lying, baby.”

Almost as if tantalizing your stupid word choice, he grazed his fingertips up and down your torso, riding your tank top up slightly with every stroke. His breath—you noticed—was heavier, his chest rising and falling every movement.

With a solid hiss, he forced your tank top off you, to which of course to his not-so-very-big-suprise, revealing your bare chest. After watching you for a while, he noticed you would most of the time wear either nothing, or a tank top, maybe paired with some underwear, usually black or navy. Rare occasions, maroon.

A deep chuckle poured out his throat as his rough hands went to your breasts, cupping and kneading them like dough. It hurt, clearly because he had no intent of making you even feel anything. He just craved you like a wolf craved a little sheep. Cries of pain left your throat, trying to claw your hands at his to no avail.

Your hips and legs wouldn't budge as he sat right on them, your head hurt too much to move, your arms like noodles from the sheer anxiety and shock you felt. To this, he laughed in a false-lit pity. Pinching at your nipples, he made sure to leave you as sensitive as possible, with intent to make you cry even more.

Exult filled his icy eyes as his hands dragged themselves down your belly, massaging your sides and hips like fresh bread. It tickled, somehow—the way he moved his hands now around the waistband of your underwear.

They were a deep navy blue, however looked black in this dark room. Shakily exhaling, Jackson dipped his fingers across the line of your clothing, before quickly pulling them clean off, the fabric resting on your shaking legs.

Another shrill howl left your raspy throat, trying to wriggle your hips out of his body weight. He bellowed back quietly in mock, anger mustering his tone. Another hard, cranial slap landed on the side of your head.

“Shut the fuck up.” He berated now; amusement present.

“I’ve always dreamed of this… even nights I didn't sleep.” he cooed out, coaxing one of your hands to his crotch.

You sneered out a messy cry as he pressed your hand to his tented pants, feeling his cock practically throbbing. His breath left his lips shakily as he forced your hand to feel him. Conversely, he kept his hand tight on your hips, not covered finally.

Finally smacking your hand back, he shimmied off the pants he had on after unbuttoning them. He didn't care to pull them all the way down, why not make it a quickie—you know?

“You look like such a whore right now…” he cooed out almost an octave higher, those threatening eyes gazing daggers at you.

An idea suddenly formed in his head as he looked up to himself in the mirror across from your bed. A toothy smile like a sharks spread across his jaw. Piercing his eyes back down, he grunted, flipping you into your stomach once more.

“I want you to see your stupid fucking face while I use you.” he blazed out, sharply snapping your head up by a chunk of your hair.

Your face was a mess. Puffy red eyes, red nose and cheeeks. Entirely wet with tears and snot. Not to mention, you looked absolutely devastated, which was expected, but not this bad.

A choked wail left your throat as you heard his pants shimmy down slightly, and felt his boxers, and clothed cock resting against your pussy. In response, he cooed under his breath. His hand pressed harshly into your lower back.

“It's a shame I haven't done this sooner, you cry like a fucking animal… it's so beautiful.” He mewled out to your face in the mirror rather than looking down at you.

Tearing down his boxers finally, you could hear his cock spring free and tap lightly on his stomach. He was of course hard, more than he had ever felt in a while. hence the fact he'd get off almost nightly thinking of you. Fucking into his fist with throaty groans, imagining it was your cunt instead.

A hearty sigh left his chest as he stroked himself a few times, the precum on his tip shining in the dim moonlight which simmered through the window. He made sure he was slow with his movements, not wanting to end this too fast.

“Keep your eyes on me, slut. I want to see your face while I fuck you.” He barked out once more, straining on your hair again as he pulled you up.

You let out a few whiny sobs, knowing you couldn't get out of this situation. Your scalp burnt. Gazing your eyes up to his face, you saw nothing but lust, and focus. The worst part was you knew he could get away with it.

“Please no— no, no, no, no!” You babbled out with purpose.l

"No, no, no, don't do this!” he mocked an octave higher, looking down to his leaking cock.

“Just sit still, you'll be fine, bitch.” He scoffed.

Lining himself up to you, he spat down on his cock, stroking himself a few more times to give less friction while he fucked you. Emitting a slight grunt, he finally leaned himself into your pussy, feeling your walls and savoring every inch he dove in.

A loud wail left your mouth, you felt like you were practically being split into 2 as he finally bottomed out. His cock was big enough to press hard against your cervix, the feeling was uncomfortable. Desperately, you tried to wriggle your hips off; nevertheless, he held your hips tight.

“I said be still, dumbass.” He hissed out, landing a loud spank on your ass, surely leaving it red.

“God, you feel so—” he enunciated his words, thrusting sharply into you. “So… fucking tight.” He finished his words, chuckling in the air at the end.

Placing his other hand on your hip and holding you steady, he started a rhythmic pace, slow and drawn out. Despite the slowness, he practically pounded into you as hard as he could, savoring your small cries with each stroke.

Craning his neck back to the ceiling, he gently shut his eyes and let his jaw fall open, babbling on in pleasure. A small curse left his lips, his eyes dipping back down to your ass which shook slightly with each thrust.

“Fuck… oh my God, you feel so good. You feel—” he enunciated his words more, sharply picking up the pace, the feeling of the tip of his cock hitting the bump of your cervix was intoxicating to him.

The pain was slightly settling down as he kept thrusting into you, your body naturally making yourself wet to lessen the friction. Almost shamefully, you couldn't lie and say it didn't feel good.

If anything, it felt phenomenal. After that pain settled, the feeling of his cock driving into you so deep—deeper than you'd ever felt—was shamefully pleasureful. Despite head still throbbing with his hand tight in it, and the fact you're still a sobbing mess, you couldn't help but whine out in this twisted pleasure.

You were ashamed, but it was better than feeling any sort of pain. To the sounds of your little cries turning into whimpers of pleasure, he laughed heartily, spanking your ass once more just to watch it shake.

“See? Now that you're being obedient, I don't have to hurt you anymore, bitch.” He leaned down, tantalizingly whispering.

As he kept his head next to yours, you couldn't help hear his heavy breath and the slight mewls leaving his throat, deep and pathetic, almost. From your hips, he ran his hands down to the small of your back, pressing your arch further down .

Darting out his tongue, he licked your jaw slightly, reminicsing his gaze over your bruised bite marks that finally stopped bleeding. Landing his tongue on your jugular once more, he planted rather soft kisses. Much better than biting, anyways.

He continued to kiss around the back of your neck and the sides, the stubble tickling you. The mix of this ticklish feeling and his hips pistoning into yours finally started to postpone your crying, leaving you in a whiny state.

“God, you really are a whore, huh? Getting fucking used and you're over here whining like a little puppy.” He slammed his hand down once more, making you yell loudly.

Grazing your eyes to the mirror, the sight you saw was definitely one you'll remember, both for the horrifying reason and one of the fact this man looked utterly pathetic for you. Higher sounding breaths, head dipped to the back of your neck with kisses, and hands kneading our ass.

His eyes pierced up to the mirror, making eye contact with your still wet and puffy eyes. Smirking softly at you, he turned his head from the mirror to the side of your face. Linking his lips with your earlobe, he started speaking.

“See how slutty you look right now? You love this…” he spoke in such a tantalizing way it made you shudder.

You could barely even keep your head up, resting it on the plush mattress as you kept letting you your small moans. Each thrust was pure and plain pleasure. Shockwaves sent up your spine and fogging up your brain.

It could've been the mix of anxiety and your head hitting the wall earlier, but you could barely do anything but moan out in bliss mixed with agony. He leaned back up, flicking his hair back with a jerk of his neck.

The idea popped in his head to reach his hand down finally under your hips, keeping one on your ass to hold you steady. Delicately, he rubbed slow, intricate circles with his index on your clit. Back arching further down with pleasure, you let out an almost pornographic moan.

“Oh, you like that…” he cooed rhetorically, cocking his head to the side as he observed your reaction almost clinically.

His hands moved almost masterfully on your clit, the nerves sending an overwhelming pleasure over your entire body. Your legs shook diabolically, toes curling. Trying your best to stifle how good it felt, you bit down harshly on your lip, feeling your lower stomach arise with a familiar feeling of pleasure.

A sudden, quiet moan left the bottom of his throat, an octave higher than any of the words he'd spoken to you. He even sounded hot, and it tormented you. You could tell he was close to cumming by the way his hips stuttered slightly, how vocal he was getting.

“Fuck… I didn't expect you to feel so— so good." he whined out, dipping down his head, holding your ass tight as he probably could've. It hurt, but not as bad as being bitten or slapped.

He quickly leaned his head back to the ceiling, mouth agape with small whines leaving his throat. With his hand still on your clit, you could actually feel yourself getting closer. The way he looked in the dark in that mirror was somewhat driving you crazy. Yet, you dared not look at yourself, feeling a shame that you think will never be cured.

“Oh— God… fuck, fuck, fuck,” he babbled out incoherently, suddenly burying his hips into you as deep as he could've gotten, dipping his torso down to bite harshly on your shoulder.

Somehow that was the tipping point for you, feeling that bite and his warm spurts of cum burst into you, foreign and good. Feeling your brain go numb and your mouth agape, your legs trembled heavily.

With that, a loud and drawn out whine left your puffy lips, your hands gripping the duvet sheets as tight as they could. He stood still besides the feeling of his cock still twitching inside of you.

His chest heaved heavily, pressing against your back tight as he popped his hips into you a few more times, just to fuck his cum into you. Leaning back up with a shaky groan, he examined the damage he did to you.

Bruised ass and hips, bites all over your shoulder and neck, slight blood, your crying face in the mirror, and despite all that: he made you cum. He was actually rather proud of himself for that, even though he swore he would just kill you after.

Biting his lip and pulling his cock out of you, stuffing himself inside his boxers once more, he began to speak.

“You're pathetic.” He hissed.

Buttoning his pants back up, he tore himself off that bed, leaving you alone in it. Picking up that sweater from off the floor and the knife he had stuffed in it, he examined you once more. He darted his eyes from the shiny knife to your body, shaky and limp, yet still crying.

“Can't even move now, huh? I dumbed you down real good…” he stepped over you, dragging the knife up and down your spine, watching the goosebumps it gave you.

“Too bad I can't kill you. Your cunt feels to good.” He whispered to your ear.

With that, he stuffed the knife back in his pocket and swung your bedroom door open. He would of course rather just leave through the front door. Turning back to your body, he chuckled.

“I’d prefer you leave your front door unlocked rather than your window.”

another a/n: i deeply apologize for how nasty this is! enjoy and take dark smut crumbs, my fellow jackson rippner lovers.

[notsocooljess]

dreaming of conversations we'll have tomorrow

hi there! i have finally finished this one-shot i've been working on for way too many months it's inspired by apartment by modern baseball (you can listen before without spoilers!) i hope you like it! :)

“Dude! Are you almost ready or what?” Finnick yelled up the stairs of their shared house.

“Just putting my shoes on,” Peeta mumbled in response.

Peeta wasn’t really in the mood to go out. He had a hellish week: a twenty-page midterm paper, a three-hour exam, and a painting for his art elective (which his professor swore wouldn’t take him more than three hours to complete, but his perfectionist tendencies made it take closer to ten) all due within a span of two days. Peeta would’ve preferred to just crash on the couch and catch up on the last few weeks of Abbott Elementary episodes he’d missed, but Finnick was invited to a party at Annie’s apartment. Finnick had gone on a handful of dates with Annie, and he wanted to impress her, so he insisted Peeta and their friends come to help him do so.

“And who else are you forcing to come?” Peeta asked Finnick when he was first told of his new Friday night plans.

“Thresh and Marvel,” Finnick replied, mentioning two of their roommates, “Thresh is the brauns, Marvel’s the brains, and you’re the funny guy. A perfect group to show me off.”

“So what are you?”

“The triple threat, obviously. Throw in a dash of charm and a whole lotta good looks and here I am,” Finnick finished with his award-winning smile.

“Interesting. Sounds to me like you don’t really need us then.”

“And I’m buying all of your guys’ beer, so you can’t complain.” Peeta let out a relenting sigh, and Finnick responded with a triumphant slap on the back.

Now, with exhaustion looming over him, Peeta really wished he had the personality of a dead slug. Then, maybe, he’d get to stay home like their roommate Cato, who couldn’t be trusted to help anyone make any sort of positive introduction.

Despite Peeta’s need for sleep, the walk to the party wasn’t too brutal. The crisp autumn air felt nice on his skin, and the sky was so clear that the stars helped illuminate their path. 

“Look alive, boys,” Finnick jeered as they approached the apartment, the top floor of a run-down duplex. He shot Peeta a quick look that indicated he was doing anything but. Peeta scrubbed his hand down his face to wipe away the tiredness etched into his features. 

Keep reading here :)

[yourpicasso25]

I will tell you a secret...

It's an easy but important one. So, question: Put 2 (or more) French people at a table. What are they going to talk about?

Fashion? It would depress most of us, especially not rake thin women 40s or older (and swimming costumes are NEVER to be mentionned, it's bordering on hanging offense)

Politics? first, we're irritable and sorta cranky by nature... but we're not crazy (mostly. Sorta)

Any ideas? (no peeking, and tell me what you guessed in the comments)

Done?

So let me tell you: Put 2 or more French people around a table, and what they will talk about is:

What they are eating right this minute, what they ate (any day any time from yesterday to 25 years ago), what they will eat in the more or less distant future.

Food (and drinks because they are related... no seriously) is a very VERY important business in France.

And one key element of that are the markets

Most small towns have permanent markets, mostly build in the 19th century in glass and iron structure like the Pavillons Baltard in Paris

There are permanent foodstall, jams and delicacy homemade cakes ans speciality local produces (and fish, of course!)

Then there are Market days. Twice a week.

And those are IMPORTANT days, people.

Because it's the place where you find the best produce, the tomatoes that graw up 2 miles away and the local honey that you can be pretty sure is actual bee vomit and not artifially colored glucose sirup (I was sooo angry when I learned that one)

So I'm giving you TWO markets. The everyday, business as usual one AND the market day one when everyone goes there with a couple of baskets to refuel both stomachs and conversation topics.

Next is this place, a big old town building

It has a shop downstair shop and a local on the first floor (I'm thinfing Yoga), a NPS lodging, an a big duplex appartment... with terrace, if you please.

The owners are well traveled, and settled in Voegel because they couldn't even dream to have that kind of flat in Paris (more like a broom closet)

There is an office, a VERY teenage girl bedroom with all sort of pop idols posters (mom despair... what happened to her little girl? Puberty, m'am), the aging (NOOOOO!) couple bedroom and a smallish but aquequate bathroom.

And a somewhat messy kitchen.

I'm getting vibes of a couple of 50 ish, Bobo Parisien, quite artistically inclined and maybe a bit snobbis, with limited artistic success so dad works as local newspaper photograph and mom mans the shop and gives yoga classes on the side.

Their daughter litterally CAN'T WAIT to leave that backmater island do go to University on the continent.

Isn't it funny how history can repeat itself sometimes?

[writers-potion]

Hi, I am trying to write a homosexual book that takes place in the 20s. I am unsure where to start and how bad the 20s was for homosexuality so if you have any tips it would be appreciated. Thank you for reading.

Homosexuality in Historical Fiction

I'm going to answer this in two parts: (1) Tips for writing queer historical fiction, and (2) the 1920 gay culture.

Get Your Language Right

Vocabulary is key to capturing how homsexual people identified themselves and interacted with one another at the time. Consider:

The kind of language/code used at the time. For example, gay men in the 1950-60s would have spoken Polari to skirt UK’s strict anti-homosexuality laws. This might mean your characters say seemingly ridiculous things like, “Bona to vada your dolly old eek!” (good to see your nice face)

Authenticity vs. Sensitivity. We don’t need to perpetuate old slurs just because they were used “at the time”. Would the readers of today (your target audience) be accepting towards use of such language? 

Is it really necessary? Just like in the case of foreign languages and dialects, it may be better to just refer to the code/secret language being spoken rather than overdoing it in dialogue. Also, does your character identify themselves as a part of this community at all?

Balance Between Struggle and Hope

Often in historical LQBTQ+ fiction, if the conflict is badly written, the readers are just going to feel angry and frustrated. Because:

Even the likable, otherwise reasonable characters won't be able to accept homosexuality easily, often opposing it downright.

Homosexual characters may be confused, struggle with self-doubt and self-hatred (which can't be fun to read, obviously)

The norms of the time make any “resolution” rather disappointing (compared to modern times).

Your goal is to juggle between these strong negative emotions to convey the central message and let hope shine through. Linger too much on negativity and your novel will be dark, but treating these themes 'lightly' will make you sound shallow.

So, treat oppression just as you would write a physical antagonist. It's powerful and a possible life-threatening opposition to the Lead, but it has flaws, loopholes and needs time to regroup before it hits our Lead again with increased force.

+ General Tips

Beware of giving your characters hindsight. As a writer, we know what happened both before and after the time period the characters live through, but they don't! The characters not being able to predict what comes can be a good tragic element.

The word “homosexual” wasn’t coined until 1869, and didn’t become common parlance until the early 20th century. From at least the very early 17th till the mid-19th century, the most common term for women was “tribade,” referring to the act of tribadism (scissoring). Some people used the term “fricatrice.” In the 18th century, “lesbian” and “Sapphist” started to become more common terminology. Men were called sodomites and pederasts (a word which didn’t have the paedophilic connotation it does today). The word “homophile” was coined in 1924 and was most commonly used by gay men and lesbians in the 1950s and 1960s.

“Gay” didn’t take on the almost exclusive meaning of homosexual until the 1960s, and even then, it was still used in the old sense of “merry” more than a few times. Only in the 1970s did it finally emerge as the most popular, mainstream word.

Less suspicions were aroused by a lesbian couple living together for decades than a gay male couple. Many people assumed they were just two very close spinster friends, not that it was a Boston marriage. There were many more questions about why two men would want to live together.

To avoid the very real risk of jail, lobotomy, conversion “therapy,” or the loonybin, sometimes a gay and lesbian couple would enter a ménage à quatre. Though it appeared on the surface as though two straight couples lived in the same duplex or right next door, they were actually just lavender cover marriages. Some had children (through various means) and co-parented.

Photo booths were seen as a safe space where a same-sex couple could kiss, cuddle, and embrace without fear of arrest or public suspicion.

Some lesbian couples were able to adopt children as single women, in jurisdictions which permitted that. More daring couples underwent artificial insemination and then went abroad to give birth, coming home with “adopted babies.”

Similar to the handkerchief code in the BDSM community, some gay men signalled to one another with red neckties and green carnations. Parisienne lesbians signalled to one another with violets in their hair.

There’s a long history of gay bathhouses, dating back centuries. Since male homosexuality was illegal and severely punished, a bathhouse was among the few places it was safe to meet potential partners and engage in sexual activity. Even the very real fear of police raids didn’t deter patrons. Manhattan, Paris, and London were home to many famous (and luxurious) gay baths, but there were plenty of lesser-known ones in other cities.

While not everyone was lucky enough to have a lavender ménage à quatre, many people had individual lavender marriages. Sometimes the spouse knew s/he was serving as a cover, sometimes not.

There were also more “traditional” ménage à trois marriages, composed of the lavender couple plus the true same-sex partner all living together. Sometimes these arrangements were composed of a bisexual plus a partner of each sex.

People did NOT casually out themselves! They could only confide their secret to other confirmed friends of Dorothy and extremely radical allies who had proven they could be trusted and wouldn’t turn on them.

You don’t have to make your straight characters raging, violent homophobes, but it’s completely unrealistic and historically inaccurate to show them all immediately, unquestioningly, lovingly accepting their friends’ homosexuality if the secret comes out. They might agree to not let anyone else know, but the friendship would probably be over. Other people, a bit more open-minded, might eventually reconcile but never be able to completely shake the belief that their sexual orientation is unnatural, strange, or wrong. Some people might only come around after decades of estrangement and realising gays and lesbians are just like everyone else.

To avoid discovery, some lesbians called one another by male names in their letters. Some liked those nicknames so much they continued using them in real life.

1920 Gay Culture

The United States - The Roaring Twenties 

As the United States entered an era of unprecedented economic growth and prosperity in the years after World War I, cultural mores loosened and a new spirit of sexual freedom reigned.

Harlem’s famous drag balls were part of a flourishing, highly visible LGBTQ nightlife

"Pansy Craze”: gay, lesbian and transgender performers graced the stages of nightspots in cities

lesbian and gay characters were being featured in a slew of popular “pulp” novels, in songs and on Broadway stages (including the controversial 1926 play The Captive) and in Hollywood—at least prior to 1934, when the motion picture industry began enforcing censorship guidelines, known as the Hays Code. Heap cites Clara Bow’s 1932 film Call Her Savage, in which a short scene features a pair of “campy male entertainers” in a Greenwich Village-like nightspot. On the radio, songs including "Masculine Women, Feminine Men" and "Let’s All Be Fairies" were popular.

On a Friday night in February 1926, a crowd of some 1,500 packed the Renaissance Casino in New York City’s Harlem neighborhood for the 58th masquerade and civil ball of Hamilton Lodge.

Nearly half of those attending the event, reported the New York Age, appeared to be “men of the class generally known as ‘fairies,’ and many Bohemians from the Greenwich Village section who...in their gorgeous evening gowns, wigs and powdered faces were hard to distinguish from many of the women.”

The tradition of masquerade and civil balls, more commonly known as drag balls, had begun back in 1869 within Hamilton Lodge, a black fraternal organization in Harlem. By the mid-1920s, at the height of the Prohibition era, they were attracting as many as 7,000 people of various races and social classes—gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender and straight alike.

London - Balls and Adverts

Like other large cities at the time, London was home to many drag balls and nightclubs where the gay community could express themselves. 

"Lady Austin's Camp Boys" (1933): At a private ballroom in Holland Park Avenue, west London, 60 men were arrested in a police raid after undercover officers had watched them dancing, kissing and having sex in make-up and women's clothes. But despite facing a lengthy prison term and disgrace, the organiser, "Lady Austin", told officers: "There is nothing wrong [in who we are]. You call us nancies and bum boys but before long our cult will be allowed in the country."

Other gay men found partners through personal advertisements, which could be an equally risky strategy. 

In 1920 the publisher of a magazine called the Link and three gay subscribers were each sentenced to two years of hard labor on charges of indecency and conspiring to corrupt public morals.

Some adverts even appeared in the national press, such as the Daily Express, although they were not quite so blatant. People would ask for 'chums' of their own sex and offer to take people on holiday.

One man responding to an advert in the Link wrote that he was "very fond of artistic surroundings, beautiful colours in furniture and curtains, and softly shaded lamps and all those beautiful things which appeal to the refined tastes of an artistic mind". He added: "All my love is for my own sex", and wrote that he longed to give his love "in the most intimate way".

Gay adverts often had references to Edward Carpenter, Oscar Wilde and Walt Whitman, or would say 'I have an unusual temperament'.

Berlin - The Weimar Republic

The Weimar Republic, Germany’s first parliamentary democracy lasted from 1918 until 1933 and was a time of progressive cultural renaissance from cinema, theater and music, to sexual liberation and a flourishing LGBTQ scene.

Berlin was home to around 40 known queer bars, a number which had doubled by 1925. The cabaret bars and clubs like Eldorado were packed to the brim with lust, tassels, glitter and flamboyance.

Drag shows were the norm and stars like Marlene Dietrich (a Berlin-native) and Josephine Baker who were icons for the queer community, performed regularly in Berlin’s lavish halls.

Kiosks sold an array of well known queer publications like Die Hoffnung (The Hope), Blätter für Menschenrecht (Leaflets for Human Rights), Frauenliebe (Woman Love), and Das dritte Geschlecht (The Third Sex).

As homosexuality was still illegal, Berlin’s Tiergarten and other parks, Nollendorferplatz as well as train stations and the infamous octagonal public bathrooms

Underground spaces flourished.

Here's a list of books with an LGBTQ+ POV character, set at least partly in the 1920s:

Self-Made Boys: A Great Gatsby Remix

Dead Dead Girls (Harlem Renaissance Mystery, #1)

In the Field

The Lady Adventurers Club

Last Call at the Nightingale (Nightingale Mysteries, #1)

A Good Year

The Last Nude

The Sleeping Car Porter

Once a Rogue (Roaring Twenties Magic, #2)

Slippery Creatures (The Will Darling Adventures, #1)

Crazy Pavements

References

https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20180212-polari-the-code-language-gay-men-used-to-survive

https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2004/jul/03/gayrights.world

https://www.history.com/news/gay-culture-roaring-twenties-prohibition

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.170 One more thing

I probably should have waited to have the next conversation, but I figured since we were getting everything in the open, we may as well discuss finding a new house. Besides, she said she missed talking, right? Autumn in San Sequoia is beautiful. It's refreshingly cool in the mornings, and evenings, and warm during the day. I suggested we take Desi and hang out in our side yard for a bit. A little while ago, I packed up the yoga mats I had out there and set up a nice outdoor chill spot. It's clear I'm not gonna achieve my yoga dreams, if you can even call them that. We weren't using the space, so I turned it into something we will definitely use. Since Desiree will be walking soon, I'll have to get her some toys and things out here. But for now, she can take a nap under the sun in the fresh air while Sophia and I talk business.

It was a little cool, so Sophia lit a fire to keep the baby warm. I let us enjoy the weather and silence for a few moments before bringing up Alessia's conversation.

"So, ummm, after the memorial, Less told me she wants to move."

"Oh! That's great. So she's gonna live in your dad's house then?"

"No."

"Oh. So you're gonna help her find a place?"

"Yes, but not exactly what you're thinking."

She gave me that "Watcher, here we go," face, and I knew I had to sweeten this deal even before I presented it.

"Dub and Maia live in a duplex. They live on one side and rent out the other. I think a situation like that will be ideal for us. Less will be right next door if something happens. We'll share a backyard so the kids can grow up and play together. It's perfect for us. And if Less ever wants to move out, we can rent it to another family and have another stream of income. It's a win win for all of us."

"Wait," she said. "You want us to move? We just got here!"

"True, but things change. It's no big deal. We'll still be in San Sequoia. Just another neighborhood."

"But I love it here," she said. "We spent so much time and money making it our own. Luca, you proposed to me here! I gave birth here! This is my home!"

Sometimes I forget Sophia lived in one place for a long time. Plus, she's a lot more sentimental than I am. This house is the sixth home I've lived in. Moving is no big thing to me, even though this particular home is special to me too. I dreamed about living here; I longed for it. But life hasn't turned out how we thought it would, so my priorities are different now. While I could accomplish my goals perfectly from here, I'd be more at ease somewhere else.

"I understand. We've had lots of great memories here. And I know you're concerned about me being too involved in Less' life, but I think the best way to minimize my time away from home is to have her as close as possible. I promised Mama I'd look after her, Sophia."

She let out a looooong sigh and sat in silence for a bit. I wanted to know what went on in her head, but I knew I needed to let her work it out within herself first, so I waited until she was ready to continue.

"What about this house? What will happen to it?"

I honestly wasn't too keen on selling it. I worked really hard to get it, and I didn't want anyone else to enjoy the fruit of my labor.

"We'll keep it," I said, hoping we'll be able to afford to buy a new house without selling this one. "Less won't need us so close forever. This duplex situation is just temporary, so we can come back here when it's over. Maybe we'll rent it out while we're gone."

Sophia winced at that idea.

"Or it can just sit here until we come back," I said.

She nodded and sighed.

"I don't want to move," she said. "I don't think it's necessary. But everything you said makes sense. I do want Desi to be close to her cousins. The thought of her having easy access to them sounds nice. And I know how much you love your sister."

"Thank you. I'm sorry we have to leave here, but I really do think this will be good for all of us."

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Very nice 1890 factory loft conversions in Worcester, MA. 2bds, 2ba, $395K.

Enter the sleek modern black kitchen.

Love the brick. It's so interesting, architecturally.

The open kitchen is a decent size and has all the appliances. Full-size microwave tucked into the island. Look at the big exposed beams.

Then, step down to the dining area.

I wasn't aware that it's a duplex. Much cooler. On the other side of the stairs they have a smaller dining table. I would eliminate that.

The living room is in the corner, surrounded by brick walls.

It has a cozy feel.

Bd. #1 is very large.

It has walk-in closet.

And, a 3pc. en-suite.

Bd. #2, located down the spiral stairs, is very private.

Down the stairs they've located the washer/dryer. Not thrilled with that.

The bedroom's nice, but I don't think I'd want the washer/dryer in my room.

And, this is the en-suite. Love the sink bowl. I would've preferred one bathroom to have a shower, in lieu of a tub.

The halls are bright. My apt. is new and there are no windows in the halls.

Large parking lot.

Picturesque bridge over the Kettle Brook. (The building is called Kettle Brook Lofts.)

Nice.

The nearby Kettle Brook Conservation Area.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1511-Main-St-UNIT-C204-Worcester-MA-01603/90139223_zpid/?

[nonotnolan]

Cuerpo Inc: After Hours Perk

“Look, dude... I know you’re not really Jake.  The sooner you drop the act, the sooner we can have an actual conversation between us.”  I tried not to any trace of fear reach my smile as Jake’s neighbor continued to stare me down, his arms folded across his chest.  Thomas was right, of course-- Jake and I had swapped bodies with each other a few hours ago.  I wanted to take advantage of the pool in Jake’s suburban backyard, and he wanted to take advantage of my downtown apartment to have a few nights out on the town.  It wasn’t specifically against the rules, but since the office frowned upon non-work swapping we had promised each other that we were going to keep it on the downlow.  Did he know about Jake’s job?  He probably knew about Jake’s job..

“Why would...?  Thomas, my man... it’s the weekend!  Why the hell would I swap bodies over the weekend?”  I gave him a playful shove on the shoulder, like I had seen Jake do to so many of our coworkers back at the office.  “I spend enough time during the work week swapping bodies with people so that my company doesn’t have to pay for airfare.  After a solid week of swaps across the country, I’m gonna be spending the weekend in my own body, thank you very much.”

Thomas simply shook his head at me.  “Yeah, I dunno, man... being Jake’s neighbor, I can’t help but notice a few things.”  Jake had warned me that his neighbor on the other half of the duplex was weirdly nosy, but this was a special kind of intrusive that I hadn’t prepared myself for.  “It seems like Jake always swaps bodies with someone on Fridays, and he doesn’t swap back until Sunday afternoon or so.  Not everyone who wears that body is as good as pretending to be Jake as you are, stranger.”

His benign acceptance of Jake’s body swapping habits was starting to make me question just how often Jake was swapping bodies outside of work hours.  Jake swore that he only swapped once every few months, but there was no way Jake’s neighbor would be this suspicious if that were true.  “I’m not pretending, it’s really me in here!” I said, laughing as I slapped my chest for emphasis.  There really wasn’t any reason for me to double down on this lie, but... telling Thomas the truth felt like giving up, and I wasn’t about to take that loss.  “I’m Jake, dammit!  What do I have to do to prove it to you?”

“Take your shirt off,” he said, staring me down with a shit-eating grin.

I couldn’t help but laugh.  There had to be a catch, but I had no idea what it could possibly be.  Better to try and just bluff my way through it.  “You’re such a weirdo-- you know that, right?”  I peeled my tank-top off over my shoulders, trying to mimic the body language I’d seen Jake use before.  I wadded it up and tossed it over my shoulder, making sure to maintain eye contact with him as I did so.  “Are you happy, now, Thomas?  Do you believe me?”

He just smiled at me as his shit-eating grin got even wider.  “Quite the opposite, stranger.  The HOA around here gets very angry about partial states of undress, so the real Jake wouldn’t go shirtless unless he was behind a fence.  So.  Let’s head over into Jake’s backyard so we can talk about this further.  What is your name?”

“Gah, fine.  My name is Ethan,” I said, shaking my head.  Not that it really mattered that Thomas had figured out that I was lying, but it still felt weird that he cared so much.  I made my way toward the gate, and gestured him through.  Jake’s backyard had a nice, tall wooden privacy fence to keep the pool hidden from view, and there was a patio area with a few plastic beach chairs set up near a cheap outdoor table.  I’d expected Thomas to be gloating-- it’s what I would have done after calling out someone’s lies like that-- but instead he was typing away on his phone.

“Is this you?” Thomas asked, holding up a picture of a guy in a suit.  More to the point, it was a photo of me wearing a suit.

It took me a bit to figure out when that photo had been taken.  “Yeah, that’s my body,” I said, staring back at Thomas.  I wasn’t sure why he had a photo of me, but I didn’t see much point in trying to lie anymore.  “Assuming it’s a recent photo, that was probably taken last Wednesday.  I swapped with a guy out in Milwaukee who needed to be local, and he needed someone who was wearing something a bit nicer than business casual.”  It was a part of my job as an Accountant / Host.  Since my job was 100% virtual, my workplace also expected me to swap bodies with anyone who needed to be local for an important meeting.  I’d gotten used to filling out spreadsheets while wearing someone else’s body a long time ago, but not everyone was used to Cuerpo Inc’s casual approach to body swapping.  Maybe Thomas was one of them?

“Just thought you should know, he’s using a photo of you on his Grindr profile,” Thomas said, handing me his phone.  Sure enough, there was my name and my face on a profile littered with peach emojis, declaring that I was a hungry bottom eager for a hung daddy.  Well, that explained why he had a photo of my body.  “Jake does this a lot,” he added.  “He’ll find a guy with a young face and a slender build, and then spend the weekend knee deep in gay sex.  So, when your ass hurts on Monday, that’s why.”

“I appreciate the warning,” I said, giving Thomas his phone back.  “I’m a gay man myself, so I’m not too bothered by it, but... it is the sort of thing Jake should have told me before we swapped.”  I have to admit, I was not expecting Jake to be into that kind of thing.  When he told me he wanted to spend the weekend out on the town, I really did just assume he was going to get super drunk in my body.  Jake usually carried himself as a man’s man around the office, talking about beers, sports, or his most recent fishing trip.  True, he never mentioned a wife, but I assumed that meant he got burned in a divorce or something.  A thought occurred to me as I looked closer at Thomas.

“I can’t help but notice that you also have a Grindr profile,” I said, slipping my hands into my waistband.  “Perhaps you would like to enjoy me for some fun out here by the poolside?  Seems like this fence would give us a lot of privacy...”

Thomas stepped forward, close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath hitting my chest.  “So let me get this straight.  I come here to warn you about Jake’s plans to have sex inside of your body, and you decide to... try and have sex inside of his body instead?”

I looked down at him, staring directly into his eyes.  “I suppose that is exactly what I’m doing, yes.”  It was my turn to stare at Thomas with a wide grin.  “It only seems fair, after all.  What’s good for my body must also be good for his.  And I can’t help but notice that you haven’t turned me down.”

He responded by placing his hands on my shoulders.  “Well, now.  I suppose I haven’t.  But do you really think it would be a good idea for me to fool around with my neighbor’s body while he’s not inside of it?”

I responded by grabbing one of his hands, and sliding it down to one of Jake’s pierced nipples.  “I just asked if you wanted to join me.  Who said it was going to be a good idea?”  

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 4002

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, kidnapping, cannibalism, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, ignoring of sexual boundaries, dub-con bordering on non-con, (mostly humorous) gore, (mostly humorous) body horror

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

10. Acquired Taste

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

Bucky:

Bucky typically has two avenues, when it comes to acquiring new product.

1) Conduct recon, establish a relationship with her/him (though usually her), lure to a secluded location, incapacitate (usually via roofies)

2) Conduct recon, stab & grab on site (needle, not knife—jesus he’s not a monster)

Each avenue presents its own advantages and risks. Relationships and dates take more time and work, they don’t guarantee he’ll get the access he needs, and he runs the risk of someone else in the victim’s life learning about him before they’re disappeared. Stab & grab is by far his preferred method, but he has to be extremely mindful of security footage. Everything’s recorded these days, and in a city like New York, people live in each other’s pockets. Which method Bucky chooses usually comes down to how isolated the candidate’s life is. Carlo made his pick for who Bucky’s got to pay him with, so Bucky drives into the city early Monday to begin his reconnaissance process on Erica Buccanetti. He spends that Monday through Wednesday 7am-10pm, learning all about her.

Erica is twenty-nine. She’s a short, white, “curvy” woman of middling education who works at the DMV. Her job alone makes her deserving of what she’s going to get, Bucky thinks. Erica works Monday through Friday, gets in at 8:55, eats lunch at her desk, and clocks out no later than 4:50 every day. Erica goes to a gym after work and runs on the treadmill until she looks miserable and exhausted. Erica takes the train home to her duplex in Alphabet City, where she has a cat and drinks wine and…

Bucky tosses his binoculars aside, exasperated. “Dammit.”

Erica has three housemates. Fuck.

He can’t do a stab & grab when there are roommates, certainly not three. It’s too risky. Now he’ll have to put in the extra effort to try and run into her somehow, strike up a conversation, get a date or three.

He puts the car in gear and speeds down the block, eager to get on the highway and get home to Steve. He tunes the radio to an 80’s station he likes and taps out the beat as he navigates traffic.

This is the last time, he swears to himself, the absolute last time he lets a client pick their target. It’s too much pressure on Bucky, having to succeed with that one specific girl. Better to have a handful of potentials going, scoop up the one who makes herself the easiest victim. It’s not like most of them don’t do a bang up job of it.

Twenty-some years of “stranger danger” and true crime shows are usually enough to cement the “it won’t happen to me” mindset. Sometimes they’ll even find the right moment to throw out a lame, faux-suspicious “You’re not a serial killer, right?—haha just kidding!”

Bucky thinks it’s a hoot. Obviously these bitches don’t follow the eastern principle of karma.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights, he gets in very late, after midnight. But he still pops down to check on Steve. He brings them both a drink, hands Steve his, then slides down the far wall to sit. “Ugh.”

“How was your day, honey?” Steve asks. Sarcastically, but at least he’s making jokes.

“Long,” Bucky says, tipping back his old fashioned. They both like them. Maybe it’s become one of their things. “So for this payment, I let Carlo pick his girl,” he says, letting his eyes slip closed as he rolls out the tight muscles in his neck. “Stupid.” Steve is quiet for a long time, and Bucky suspects he’s staring at him. He doesn’t open his eyes to find out. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve says. “Just … wondering about the logistics of it, I guess.” He’s quiet for another long moment, the ice clinking in his glass telling Bucky when he takes another sip, and then another. “So … are you bi?”

Bucky opens his eyes. “What?”

Steve shrugs. “You date them to get to them. Does that mean you’re into women?”

“Well …” Bucky is, but … “I prefer men,” he says. “By far. But the clients want women, so that’s what I supply. It’s pretend, Steve.”

“Mm.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, sensing Steve’s judgment and not liking it. “I pretend to date them. Briefly. If I have to.”

Steve shrugs and looks away dismissively. “Seems kind of mean, to me.”

“It’s not!” Bucky scowls, straightening up from where he’s been sitting slumped against the wall. “I’m totally nice to them!”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, until you start harvesting their parts for food.”

Bucky glares at him. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this.”

“Yeah maybe we shouldn’t.” Steve sniffs and looks away. “Not exactly great to hear all about how my boyfriend’s a serial killer.”

Bucky brightens up some at the word ‘boyfriend’. “I’m not, you know. A serial killer.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise sky high. “Oh really? So what would you call it when you kill people, ya know, serially?”

“I don’t get a thrill out of murdering them,” Bucky insists. “I keep them alive as long as I can.”

“I’m sure they appreciate that so much.”

“I keep them comfortable!” Bucky defends. “This is a nice place! I give them gourmet food, they’re on tons of pain meds. They don’t feel a thing.” Steve isn’t even looking at him now, and Bucky’s mood sinks. “... They’re not nice people, Steve,” he says darkly. "They deserve a hell of a lot less than what I afford them.” He watches Steve for a reaction, but doesn’t get one.

Steve just tosses back the end of his drink and fishes out the cherry. He pulls it off the stem with his teeth, chewing it while staring Bucky down. “Done,” he says, pushing the glass in Bucky’s direction.

It’s like he’s saying the conversation’s done too. Bucky sighs and shoves up to standing. He goes over and picks the glass up and gives Steve a long, rueful look. “Eileen,” he eventually says.

“What?”

“The woman in the other room." He nods out towards the hallway. “The one you saw. Her name was Eileen. And that’s whose kidney I had for dinner the other night.” Steve’s eyes widen a little, and Bucky smiles placidly. “Yeah. Good old Eileen. She was thirty two you know. Divorced but seeing someone new. She had a daughter. Cute kid: Tracy. She’s like, seven, eight? Has freckles and pigtails, likes Pokémon.” Bucky shrugs, then lets the mild expression slide right off his face. “Eileen was letting the new boyfriend rape her.” He gets satisfaction from the way that Steve’s eyes widen further and his lips part without a comeback. “Hm, yeah.” Bucky throws back the end of his drink and crunches down on the pieces of ice that float into his mouth. “So, Steve, when I tell you that you really shouldn’t feel bad for these people? You really shouldn’t.”

He turns and leaves before Steve can think of any other arguments. It’s good, Bucky thinks. It’ll give him time to think. Bucky didn’t come to grips with all of this overnight, after all. He can’t expect Steve to, either.

Steve:

In the basement, Steve has lots of time to think. In fact that’s all he does other than sleep. He thinks about the chances of anybody ever finding him here, figures they’re probably low. Bucky’s done this before, maybe dozens of times. He knows how to get away with it. Steve thinks a lot about that, about how there are a bunch of rich as fuck cannibals out in the world, just existing and merrily eating people. How Bucky eats people and thinks that it’s totally fine. How he likes the taste of eating people. It’s nuts.

Steve does wonder, sometimes. What’s it taste like? He feels halfway sick with himself when the thought occurs, but it does occur. It must taste good, he thinks, to warrant such effort and risk. It must taste really damned good. At least to Bucky and his rich friends it does. Steve is sure he’ll never find out for himself. He wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

He thinks about the women who came before him, about how they must’ve felt, trapped down here while Bucky slowly sold off their meat. How many have there been? Steve wonders. And what were their crimes that got them sentenced to this? How did Bucky know they were bad? Steve can’t figure it out, but he also can’t forget what Bucky told him so seriously about Eileen the other night. It sits in his mind, coloring his memory differently. Now when he thinks of Eileen lying on the floor of her cell, begging him for help, he doesn’t feel as much pity for her as he used to. He doesn’t feel as much horror when he remembers her limbless torso wriggling pathetically under the sheet.

Bucky could be lying of course, just making it up so that Steve will accept him more readily. But somehow Steve doesn’t think so. Bucky’d had this look in his eyes when he said it. He’d looked vindictive, and vindicated. Steve shivers as he remembers it. Bucky truly does not have any compunctions about what he does, and he expects Steve to come around to it. Steve doesn’t think he can do that. He’s just hoping against hope that he can pretend long enough to convince Bucky. Long enough until he can get his chance for escape and take it.

He thinks about Carlo, working on the cell down the hallway. Steve doesn’t see him much at all, just hears the sounds of his tools whirring, the smell of fresh wood being sawed, concrete being poured, him taking a piss in one of the other cells' toilets every few hours.

At first Steve does wonder what he might be able to say to try and entice the man to help him escape. But he settles on a big fat nothing. There’s nothing Steve could offer him to get him to take that risk, no way. And it’d be too big a gamble to try anyways. He doesn’t want Carlo to alert Bucky to his attempts at scheming, which Bucky warned Carlo would do if Steve acted up. So Steve keeps his mouth shut when the man arrives and departs each day.

Carlo doesn’t say anything to him. He probably figures that Steve’s dead meat anyway.

Steve considers that maybe he is, and Bucky’s just lying to him to keep him calm. Maybe Bucky tells all the women that they have a chance for survival, if only they’re good and don’t act up.

It’s fucked, but Steve imagines Bucky doing it—taking little pieces from him until there’s nothing left to do but put an end to him. He imagines Bucky kissing him lovingly, then injecting something into his veins and harvesting his internal organs. He imagines Bucky working in the attractive kitchen upstairs; humming a tune, cutting Steve up, pan searing his kidneys and eating them with a Beaujolais.

Steve wonders if he’d taste any different than everyone else Bucky’s ever eaten. Probably not.

Stringy, he thinks, looking down and assessing his arms and legs and torso with a novel sort of appreciation. Steve’s so thin and so tough, he’d probably make a horrible meal.

Bucky:

He plans it out meticulously, just like he always does. But even after all these years (fifteen, to be exact) he still gets that nervous feeling every time he makes his move. Stab & grabs don’t get to him nearly as much. Those are easy, impersonal. It’s the women he has to introduce himself to and flirt with and feign interest in and good intentions for that cause the nerves. He’d call them butterflies, but that seems cruel to compare his meet/capture/kill nerves to first date nerves. When he met Steve, it was a whole other feeling. What he’s about to do now isn’t the same, it’s not innocent like that, and he doesn’t need to pretend that it is.

Bucky knows he’s actually like, the perfect guy for this. He’s good looking and a natural flirt, excellent at making conversation and getting people to like him and to want to open up to him. Women tend to feel instinctively safe around him, so normally he’s guaranteed success in the “meet cute” department. It’s just that ... well …

He’s getting on in age these days, alright? He’s a—very damn handsome—37 years old now, and unfortunately for him, his clients’ tastes tend to stay the same, meaning the pervy old leches keep wanting their women rare at 20-ish. Bucky still has a very high success rate, but there’ve been a few college-aged girls who he approached wrong and they turned their noses up at him.

But he dyes his greys now, okay? He does the whole skincare regime, does Botox (conservatively—he’s got taste). And he’s learned to dumb himself down a bit when he’s going after the younger ones; talk a little smoother, a little less cultured, dress more age-appropriate. Turtlenecks apparently send off the wrong vibe. Unless the girl is into the whole Daddy thing, then it works in his favor.

Anyway, it’s not that big of an issue. All he has to do is flash his car or casually wear a Rolex on a date and even the most dimwitted or discerning potentials fall all over him. Bucky could give straight guys lessons, he swears.

He drives into the city wearing joggers and sneakers and a too-tight tee shirt, hair artfully tousled and earbuds draped around his neck in show. He goes into the gym, into the locker room, spritzes water around his hairline and the neck of his tee shirt, then bumps into her outside—when she’s on her way in, not out. No woman feels sexy after a workout (at least not the kind Erica is torturing herself with)—and exclaims in concern when she stumbles. Ohmygod, I’m so sorry! He grabs her forearm and lets the other hand brush over her waist as he “makes sure she doesn’t fall”. Are you okay?

Her eyes catch on his smile and his biceps right away, so Bucky's confidence is bolstered. He spends the next twelve minutes flirting with her, telling her his name (James), and how glad he is that he at least bumped into the prettiest girl at the gym (not true). Her eyes light up when he mentions that he’s a doctor, and shortly after that he’s typing his burner cell number into her phone. I put myself down as ‘handsome stranger whom you’re definitely gonna call’.

She titters at his joke and smiles, obviously tickled pink as they’re saying goodbye. “Yeah. I’ll um, I’ll call you. Maybe we could meet up for drinks or something?”

“Great!” Bucky shoots her a wink to seal the deal and jogs off down the block. He stops once he’s around the corner and starts walking at a normal pace back to his car. He hums a tune to himself, pleased at how easy that’d been. Now he can get home and probably not have to go out again until Saturday. If Erica’s as easy as he thinks she is, he shouldn’t have to go on many, if any, other dates.

Steve:

“Hey.” Bucky knocks on the doorframe as he slides it open. He steps in, head tilted, cautious smile playing at his lips.

Unfairly handsome, Steve thinks. Those women don’t stand a chance. “Hey.”

“I was hoping you’d still be awake. Wanted to say goodnight.”

“You get her number?” Steve asks. Because he knows that’s what today was—bump into Erica day.

Bucky seems wary, but he comes in and engages anyway. Steve almost feels bad for him. “Yeah,” Bucky says, toeing at the carpet. “Taking her out on Saturday.”

Steve rolls his eyes, scoffing. “‘Taking her out’, yeah.” He sees the hurt flash across Bucky’s face though, and feels bad about it. Ridiculous, but he still feels bad. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking away. What else is he supposed to say? I understand? He can’t say that when Bucky’s holding him prisoner in his basement. Steve’s literally chained to the floor right now.

He sighs again, disappointed. He’s never been so disappointed in anything in his life. He fucking aches with it. Enough to cry, sometimes, if he thinks enough about Bucky’s smile over a martini glass, his bad dance moves in Steve’s apartment, his body in Steve’s bed. What they'd had together, how it'd felt like they were building something, something to look forward to. Steve bites his tongue so he doesn’t start tearing up when Bucky’s standing there. He doesn’t want to look like another weak victim, even though he knows he is. “You seemed like such a nice guy,” he murmurs, not looking at him.

Bucky comes over and kneels down in front of him. He looks so sad. “Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to palm the side of Steve’s face. He hums when Steve lets his eyes slip closed and leans into it.

Crazy, what a little bit of isolation will make you feel, Steve thinks.

“I miss you, Steve. I promise you this isn’t going to last forever.” When Steve just breathes silently, Bucky strokes his thumb over his cheek. Steve shivers. “Hey, would you want to go on a date with me?”

Steve’s eyes open. “What?”

Bucky smiles softly. “A date. You’ve been so good this whole time, and I miss you.” He leans forward and pecks a kiss to his lips. It’s brief, but it still makes Steve’s lips tingle. “I miss spending time with you.” Bucky’s eyes flick over his face. “So how about it, huh? You want to come up and just hang out one night? I can make us something. We’ll have drinks, maybe watch a movie?”

Steve blinks, feeling so odd at being asked a question like that. One of the things he thinks about to pass the time is what he and Bucky might be doing right now, in their new relationship, if Steve hadn’t opened the basement door. “A movie?” he repeats softly. The idea of getting to leave this boring room for anything is tempting. Steve wants to escape of course, but even if he knew he couldn’t, he still thinks it’d be nice to get to do something. Even if it’s with Bucky. “Yeah,” he breathes, hopeful. He hasn’t been allowed upstairs in days, not since he took a shower. “M-maybe I could …” he cuts himself off, remembering how Bucky had taken advantage of the last time, how he’d touched him. And Steve was weak. He’d let him do it.

“Maybe what?” Bucky asks, looking so kind. He always does, like he’s just a kind, caring guy who also happens to keep Steve chained in his basement. “Steve? What were you going to say?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “Mm, nevermind.” He doesn’t need a shower. “Nothing.”

Bucky seems unhappy about whatever Steve’s not saying, but he doesn’t press him any further. He takes a deep breath and stands back up. “I won’t be out so late anymore,” he tells him. “Just a trip or two more to the city. You can have your real meals back again, no more of this junk food.”

Steve nods. Bucky’s left him with plenty of snacks these past few days, but Steve has missed the hot meals. He’s missed seeing Bucky three times a day, even missed the attention Bucky gives him when he’s eating. “Okay,” he says.

Bucky stands there for a long minute, staring at him. Steve keeps his eyes on the carpet but he can feel the weight of Bucky’s gaze. Eventually he hears Bucky sigh, then leave through the door. Steve looks up to try and catch sight of him on the way out, but he’s already moved on down the hall.

That night Steve falls asleep thinking about what it’ll be like, once there’s another person in the basement with him.

Bucky:

Bucky meets her for the aforementioned drinks. He’s dressed nicely, in a black button down and slacks and nice shoes. He wears the Rolex, because Erica’s got three housemates so flashing his wealth at her can’t hurt. He greets her with a smile and a hug at the bar, and they both settle in and order their drinks. Bucky asks her about her life, quickly figures out that she’s body conscious and makes sneaky little comments about how he likes a woman that doesn’t slip right through his fingers. She eats that shit up, and before Bucky knows it, she’s excusing herself for the bathroom and leaving her third cocktail behind.

Too fucking easy.

Bucky picks up both their drinks and informs the bartender that they’ll be moving over to that table in the dark corner over there. The bartender gives him a nod, and Bucky nods back. He can’t have the guy seeing it, when he slips the roofie in her drink.

He’s learned to crush them up into a Splenda packet. It masks the bitterness and then if he does get caught, it just looks like he’s sweetening the drink. Erica returns from the restroom and he flags her down to their new spot. “More privacy,” he purrs at her, and she giggles and sits down next to him.

They continue to flirt and talk about pithy little topics until he can tell that she’s starting to feel the effects. “Hey,” he says, not wanting her to be stumbling before they leave the bar. “I know this is fast but… I dunno, I just really like you.” He says it all bashful, like he’s embarrassed of himself, and she eats that up, too. “Would you maybe wanna go back to my place? We could have another drink, talk and listen to some music, or…”

He trails off, and she gives him an enthusiastic, “Sure, okay!” sloppy at the edges from how the drugs are creeping into her system now. She hasn’t realized it yet. Bucky has to get her out of this public place before she does.

“Great,” he says, smiling. He offers her his arm like a gentleman (and to make sure she’s steady enough on her feet to not draw attention), and she simpers and holds onto him and they head out. Bucky sees her recognizing the type of car that he drives as he opens the door for her and she gets in. She tucks her lips in like she’s trying to keep herself from outright grinning, which makes Bucky chuckle as he slides into the driver’s side and shuts his door. “Buckle up,” he tells her sweetly. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

She giggles and obeys, and Bucky thinks about how she’ll probably be so easy, in the basement. Girls like her just want to be loved and approved of so badly. She’ll probably go from the Depression stage to Acceptance so fast, it’ll make his head spin. He’s glad. It’s always easiest for those girls. They suffer the least. And despite the fact that Bucky knows about Erica and her little brother who died under “suspicious circumstances” in 2009, he still doesn’t want to torture her. He’s not a sadist.

He’s karma.

She’s still conscious when they get on the highway, enough to look out the window and make a cute little confused noise. “Mm. You said your place’sin Tr’becca?” she slurs.

Bucky smiles and pats her hand. “Yeah. But I’m taking you somewhere else.”

It’s cute, how she pouts and tries to protest that. Bucky’s almost tempted to say something right then and there. But he doesn’t. He always likes to save the Big Reveal for when they’re settled in their rooms and fully sober. He likes to have a drink in hand, be relaxed in something comfortable. Really settle in for the show.

“Just close your eyes,” he soothes her, watching her fade out. “We’ll be there soon.” She passes out and Bucky smirks, thinking about how she’s about to get hers.

Because Karma’s not a bitch.

It’s a plastic surgeon who likes to cook.

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[winterspiderpurrs]

It's routine by now. Saturday mornings, Peter would return to his apartment, and if Sam and Bucky were in town, they would be there. Sam would be just getting up to go for his early morning run. Bucky would still be in bed sleeping. Once Sam was back from his run, Peter would be in bed, taking what he called a power nap.

Sam would shower, and by the time he got out and redressed, Bucky would be out on the fire escape smoking. Peter would be at the stove starting the massive breakfast. His hair stood up in all directions. Then Bucky and Sam would start assisting with breakfast.

Then, 20 minutes later, they would all gather on the futon couch, turn on the tv, and eat together. Making some casual conversation, how the last patrol or mission went. Plans for the weekend, etc.

The thing is, there is a lot unsaid. They just stumbled into this relationship. First, it was just random check-ins. Then dates that weren't dates. Peter wasn't sure if Bucky and Sam were together, especially since he had slept with both on different occasions.

Bucky and Sam were in an open relationship, but neither knew they were both seeing Peter til Sam showed back up after leave from D.C. to find Bucky at Peter's place. Sam normally stays with Bucky when he is back in the city.

Bucky stayed at Peter's more often than not. He didn't like staying at 'Steve's' even though it's been Bucky's for the past several years. Between missions and staying in D.C. and Peter's he doesn't spend much time there. Which causes the conversation to take a turn one day.

" Your lease is up in a couple of months, right Doll?"

Peter nods.

" Yeah, at the end of August, I will have to renew."

" Thinking about selling the place in Brooklyn and moving"

Sam and Peter turn to look at Bucky, who took another bite of his toast, trying to act nonchalant about what he just said.

"Oh? Well... I mean. You're here a lot. You could... ya both could just... stay here, then? It's no problem."

Now Bucky and Sam look at each other before Sam clears his throat and speaks.

" Well, Buck and I have been talking about getting bigger place on the edge of both Brooklyn and Queens. Actually, I found a nice duplex that would be perfect."

Peter looks down at his plate, pushing the eggs around.

"Oh... sure. I mean , that sounds great. I can help ya move. "

" You're coming with us, Doll,"

" What this ass means. We buy the place, and once your lease is up. You move in. With us. "

" Its master bedrooms will fit one of those king-size beds too. Got two guest rooms. Study. Even got a backyard."

Peter blinks and looks between Sam and Bucky before a big smile spreads across his face.

" That sounds amazing!"

And they spent their morning, finishing up their breakfast before they decided to put on a movie in the bedroom. Peter needed to rest more and the perfect way was cuddling up in bed with Sam and Bucky.

Peter fell asleep 20 minutes in, Sam was sitting up and reading a book, Bucky was holding a sleeping Peter who was laying on top of him on this full-size mattress.

It was just a normal Saturday at a small apartment in Queens.

**************************

It's a little short and simple, but I still hope you like it @varayu-likes-marvel !

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The Hotel Chelsea (also known as the Chelsea Hotel and the Chelsea) is a hotel at 222 West 23rd Street in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan in New York City. Built between 1883 and 1884, the hotel was designed by Philip Hubert in a style described variously as Queen Anne Revival and Victorian Gothic. The 12-story Chelsea, originally a housing cooperative, has been the home of numerous writers, musicians, artists, and entertainers, some of whom still lived there in the 21st century. As of 2022, most of the Chelsea is a luxury hotel. The building is a New York City designated landmark and on the National Register of Historic Places.

The front facade of the Hotel Chelsea is 11 stories high, while the rear of the hotel rises 12 stories. The facade is divided vertically into five sections and is made of brick, with some flower-ornamented iron balconies; the hotel is capped by a high mansard roof. The Hotel Chelsea has thick load-bearing walls made of masonry, as well as wrought iron floor beams and large, column-free spaces. When the hotel opened, the ground floor was divided into an entrance hall, four storefronts, and a restaurant; this has been rearranged over the years, with a bar and the El Quijote restaurant occupying part of the ground floor. The Chelsea was among the first buildings in the city with duplex and penthouse apartments, and there is also a rooftop terrace. The hotel originally had no more than 100 apartments; it was subdivided into 400 units during the 20th century and has 155 units as of 2022. The idea for the Chelsea arose after Hubert & Pirsson had developed several housing cooperatives in New York City. Developed by the Chelsea Association, the structure quickly attracted authors and artists after opening. Several factors, including financial hardships and tenant relocations, prompted the Chelsea's conversion into an apartment hotel in 1905. Knott Hotels took over the hotel in 1921 and managed it until about 1942, when David Bard bought it out of bankruptcy. Julius Krauss and Joseph Gross joined Bard as owners in 1947. After David Bard died in 1964, his son Stanley operated it for 43 years, forming close relationships with many tenants. The hotel underwent numerous minor changes in the late 20th century after falling into a state of disrepair. The Krauss and Gross families took over the hotel in 2007 and were involved in numerous tenant disputes before the Chelsea closed for a major renovation in 2011. The hotel changed ownership twice in the 2010s before BD Hotels took over in 2016, and the Chelsea reopened in 2022.

Over the years, the Chelsea has housed many notables such as Arthur Miller, Bob Dylan, Arthur C. Clarke, Patti Smith, Robert Mapplethorpe, and Virgil Thomson. The Chelsea received much commentary for the creative culture that Bard helped create within the hotel. Critics also appraised the hotel's interior—which was reputed for its uncleanliness in the mid- and late 20th century—and the quality of the hotel rooms themselves. The Chelsea has been the setting or inspiration for many works of popular media, and it has been used as an event venue and filming location.

Over the years, the Chelsea has become particularly well-known for its residents, who have come from all social classes. The New York Times described the hotel in 2001 as a "roof for creative heads", given the large number of such personalities who have stayed at the Chelsea; the previous year, the same newspaper had characterized the list of tenants as "living history". The journalist Pete Hamill characterized the hotel's clientele as "radicals in the 1930s, British sailors in the 40s, Beats in the 50s, hippies in the 60s, decadent poseurs in the 70s". Although early tenants were wealthy, the Chelsea attracted less well-off tenants by the mid-20th century, and many writers, musicians, and artists lived at the Hotel Chelsea when they were short on money. Accordingly, the Chelsea's guest list had almost zero overlap with that of the more fashionable Plaza Hotel crosstown. New York magazine wrote that "people who lived in the hotel slept together as often as they celebrated holidays together", particularly under Stanley Bard's tenure. Despite the high number of notable people associated with the Chelsea, its residents typically desired privacy and frowned upon those who used their relationships with their neighbors to further their own careers.

The Hotel Chelsea has housed numerous literary figures, some of whom wrote their books there. Arthur C. Clarke wrote 2001: A Space Odyssey while staying at the Chelsea, calling the hotel his "spiritual home" despite its condition. Thomas Wolfe lived in the hotel before his death in 1938, writing several books such as You Can't Go Home Again; he often walked around the halls to gain inspiration for his writing. William S. Burroughs also lived at the Chelsea. While living at the Chelsea, Edgar Lee Masters wrote 18 poetry books, often wandering the hotel for hours. Welsh poet Dylan Thomas (who lived with his wife Caitlin Thomas) was staying in room 205 when he became ill and died in 1953, while American poet Delmore Schwartz spent the last few years of his life in seclusion at the Chelsea before he died in 1966. Irish poet Brendan Behan, a severe alcoholic who had been ejected from the Algonquin Hotel, lived at the hotel for several months before his death in 1964. Many poets of the Beat poetry movement also lived at the Chelsea before the Beat Hotel in Paris became popular.

Other authors, writers, and journalists who stayed or lived at the hotel have included: Henry Abbey, poet Nelson Algren, writer Léonie Adams, poet; lived with husband William Troy Sherwood Anderson, writer Ben Lucien Burman, writer Henri Chopin, poet and musician Ira Cohen, poet and filmmaker Gregory Corso, poet Hart Crane, poet Quentin Crisp, writer and actor Jane Cunningham Croly, journalist Katherine Dunn, novelist and journalist Edward Eggleston, writer James T. Farrell, novelist Allen Ginsberg, poet John Giorno, poet Maurice Girodias, publisher Pete Hamill, journalist Bernard Heidsieck, poet O. Henry, writer Herbert Huncke, poet Clifford Irving, novelist and reporter Charles R. Jackson, author Theodora Keogh, novelist Jack Kerouac, writer Suzanne La Follette, journalist John La Touche, lyricist Jakov Lind, novelist Mary McCarthy, novelist and political activist Arthur Miller, playwright Jessica Mitford, author Vladimir Nabokov, novelist Eugene O'Neill, playwright Joseph O'Neill, novelist Claude Pélieu, poet and artist Rene Ricard, poet James Schuyler, poet Sam Shepard, playwright and actor Valerie Solanas, writer Benjamin Stolberg, publicist and author Richard Suskind, children's writer William Troy, critic; lived with wife Léonie Adams Mark Twain, writer Gore Vidal, writer Arnold Weinstein, librettist Tennessee Williams, playwright Yevgeny Yevtushenko, poet

The Chelsea was particularly popular among rock musicians and rock and roll musicians in the 1970s. These included Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols, who allegedly stabbed his girlfriend Nancy Spungen to death at the hotel in 1978; after Vicious's death, their room was split into two units to prevent the room from being turned into a shrine. Numerous rock bands frequented the Chelsea as well, including the Allman Brothers, the Band, Big Brother and the Holding Company, the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, the Byrds, Country Joe and the Fish, Jefferson Airplane, Lovin' Spoonful, Moby Grape, the Mothers of Invention, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Sly and the Family Stone, and the Stooges. The Kills wrote much of their album No Wow at the Chelsea prior to its release in 2005. The Grateful Dead once performed on the roof.

[Chris Stein]

[extremereader]

My Hazbin Hotel Actor AU

Charlotte “Charlie” Morningstar: The heiress to the Hazbin movie company. She is recruiting celebrities, at first for The Happy Hotel, a movie she wants to make, but after a while, she starts trying to get them out of shitty contracts.

Vagatha “Vaggie” Beatriz: Charlie’s girlfriend and the writer of the movie. Her dad is Charlie’s mom’s ex-husband and she would kindly like to keep that quiet.

Alastor Hartfelt: The man behind the famous podcast Radio Demon and a few records. He is married to his best friend Rosie (for tax benefits) and is caught in a bad contract with a mysterious agent. Charlie wants him to make the songs for Happy Hotel.

Anthony “Angel Dust” Kovach: A porn star and singer who Charlie recruits to star in her movie. He works at a different company, Perez Studios, usually, but Charlie kinda talked him into Happy Hotel.

David Husk: Alastor's lawyer.

Niffty Glenn: Alastor’s maid.

Alex Pentious: Another actor. He’s not too fond of Alastor, but he’s got a pretty sweet role. He eventually begins dating Cherri as soon as she’s out of Valentino’s reach.

Cherri Bomb: Another actress. She’s also working for Valentino.

Emily Angelus: An openly lesbian actress who learns the hard way that her agent, Sara Duplex-Vexillium, is homophobic and that's why she's been signed up for so much stuff with male love interests - it's a subtle form of conversion therapy. She immediately tears up her contract and signs onto the movie.

Adam Eden: Charlie’s mom’s ex and Vaggie’s dad. He’s not Charlie’s dad, but he sleeps around and judges Angel for the same thing. He’s a very famous actor, and Lute is his agent.

The Vees: Velvette, a fashion designer. Valentino, Angel’s boss and abuser. And Vox, a tech CEO/reality show host who is madly in love with Alastor and is salty because he is 1) happily married, 2) aroace, and 3) not remotely interested in him.

Lucifer Morningstar: Charlie’s depressed dad who did acting back in the day and now doesn’t do much until Charlie drags him into the movie.

@slimysalamander1114