#how long until privacy is purchasable

[eyedtheevidence]

Is there a term for the stage of capitalism where advanced technology combines with greed to create a nightmare panopticon.

Our local event center is changing out their metal detectors for AI security checkpoints and wow yuck. It's all coated in Secure your Children language like terrorism is something that happens a lot at the new Baby Shark tour.

Meanwhile I can't find anything about how these doodads actually work? Are they conducting body scans and storing a naked little 3D version of you and your toddler on some poorly protected local drive? Is your digital image being saved and tagged with the events you go to?

Are they hitting us with X-rays and thermal imaging and radar and building a dystopian mega image of us while we eat overpriced popcorn and watch a cartoon shark sing-along?? And then that data is being sold? Probably? One article I read says it helps event planners plan by collecting info on the demographics most likely to attend an event.

All I can find are meaningless terms like "advanced weapon detection system" and "sophisticated signal processing algorithm" and "sensor fusion" which is great. I personally love being tracked by a poorly-trained neural network owned and operated by shadowy tech and venture capital bros.

Also, lol, a quick search of news stories shows this expensive new tech actually kind of sucks at detecting weapons. But I bet it's great at generating marketable data while creating the illusion of security.

Anyway I hate it.

[4linos]

how they ask to marry you.

stray kids hyung line x gn!reader

synopsis: how stray kids hyung line proposes ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

wc: 1063 (maknae line ver.)

bang chan.. right from the start, you two decided to keep your relationship quiet and very private, with only a select few people—your parents, his parents, and of course the members—knowing. He had been able to arrange for your whole family to be flown from your home country to Australia, where you two had been going on "vacation." The night before your last day, he was sure that he had been acting weird to you, mostly because of nervousness, and he wanted everything to go as smoothly as possible. you two were taking a walk along a beach as the sun started to set, and you said, "oh look! someone looks like they're getting proposed to.” when you saw a long crimson carpet with candles and rose petals leading to a large illuminated sign that read, "will you marry me?" you exclaimed out. chan laughed and said, "let’s get closer?" with excitement, you nodded. until you realized he had started to walk ahead of you and you saw the familiar faces of both his and your families. when you got to him, he got down on one knee, held the ring, and began, "there are countless ways I could express my love for you, but I believe that what really counts is that I want to live out the rest of my days demonstrating to you how much you mean to me. I feel like I can handle anything with you by my side, even though I know life can be unpredictable and there are many obstacles in my path. Your love, your support, and your trust are more than I could have ever asked for. Will you marry me? For the remainder of our journey together, will you walk hand in hand with me?" you blurted out, "yes," without hesitation.

lee know.. everyone knew you two were going to be together for a long time from the minute you two became a couple. no one has ever seen minho so enamored of someone as he was with you. since you two started dating, you had taken vacations together, so when he told you he wanted to spend the weekend at a cabin, you didn't suspect anything. However, when he urged you to get your nails done and purchase a formal outfit for a dinner, you began to feel suspicious.

after finishing the meal that minho had cooked for you on the last night of your weekend, you were making your way back up to your cabin from outside. "That was delicious, Min. thank you," you said as you placed your dish in the sink. "You're welcome, love." You paused before kissing him when you heard a pop come from your cabin bedroom. "What the hell was that?" you shrieked in fear "You wait here, and I'll check." Before you could object, he hurried up to the bedroom and said, "Y/n!" He yelled from upstairs, startling you, and you snatched up whatever weapon you could just in case. When you entered, you noticed lit candles, white balloons, and petals spread out in a heart shape. "Oh my God, Minho! You—" "I want to go through every high and every low with you, even though I know life won't always be perfect. No matter what, I want to stay by your side forever. Will you marry me?” lowering himself to one knee and smiling warmly while offering the ring, and saying, "this is it, no turning back." before you said yes, you kissed him.

changbin.. had always been open about his relationship with you even though dispatch had knowingly exposed your relationship, he was the one who confirmed it and asked everyone to respect your privacy and his relationship with you. you two had been dating for five years, but he knew he wanted to marry you since you stayed with him despite all the bad headlines that had been written about your relationship. he had grown highly protective of you and quickly silenced any negative comments of you.

so for his proposal he’d definitely gone all out, he had to, it’s what you deserved. changbin chose a rooftop overlooking the city skyline, where the setting was exquisitely furnished to fit the theme, complete with fairy lights, candles, and calming music. he would tell you how you have helped him grow as a person, how he views you as his partner in everything and how he can't imagine going into the future with anyone else. It would be raw, emotional, and completely authentic. changbin wanted the proposal to be a moment you both share with the people you care about the most. when you answer "yes," he would have your closest friends and family members hidden nearby to join in the cheering and celebration. the air would be filled with love, excitement, and enthusiasm as you two shared this unique time with your loved ones.

hyunjin.. although you had known each other since high school, you didn't start dating until a few years after his debut. over the years, he had accomplished great success and was appreciative that you had remained by his side for so long, despite being convinced that he wasn't the greatest partner. he had a big proposal plan for you and wanted everything to be special for you, but his plans were derailed when he unintentionally sent you a text about the details that was meant for someone else. he put off his proposal for a while in hopes that you would forget about it, but one day he asked you to join him for an “event” in paris. although you had already visited with him there a few times, he assured you that this time you would have more time to spend with each other. during his "event," he would plan an intimate dinner at a modest café overlooking the night skyline of paris. following a memorable evening, he would take you to a beautiful, hidden spot with a secret garden nestled in the nearby area. the warm, poetic light of a neighboring streetlamp would illuminate you both as hyunjin took your hand and explained his desire to live out the rest of his days with you. then he would come down on one knee and ask you to be his lifelong partner with a gentle but sincere "will you marry me?"

—

nini’s notes 110524

hi hi 😙 definitely say this every time but i’m nervous about this one 😀 i hope you enjoy this? i’m sorry if this is bad it’s my first time writing something like this :>

asks are always open if you have a request, concern, or question!

-🎀

[astroboots]

Superhuman stamina

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: The dangers of dating a man with superhuman stamina is that it's going to leave you sore.

Content: Miguel is a demanding menace. Overstimulation. Multiple orgasm. Squirting.

Word Count: 1.4k

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

The thing about dating a man that has been genetically imprinted with the DNA of a spider is that one of the side-effects of such an occurrence means he has superhuman stamina.

It's something Miguel had told you in the early days of your relationship, listing out this characteristic as just another facet of his personality, much in the way someone would say that they're a Virgo on their Tinder profile.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time, too distracted by the list of characteristics that preceded it: retractable talons? telescopic night vision? ORGANIC WEBBING?!

In retrospect, that was naïve. The talons don't really affect your day to day. They do come out when Miguel's emotional state is particularly elevated, which has lead to incidents. Like that time you had to replace your new purchased armchair, when you were on top and post-sex your new armchair looked like it had been mauled by an escaped zoo lion.

The telescopic night vision? Incredibly convenient at night when there's a blackout and you need to find your cell phone.

And the webbing... the less said about that the better, really.

But now that you've dated as long as you have, the superhuman stamina, you realize is by far the one that has the most profound consequences on your life.

At the time you hadn't realized that those enhanced attributes weren't limited to aerial battles against the latest villain of the week when he was fighting mutant lizards, or rhino men. It also haunts you in the privacy of your bedroom.

Because this is what happens when you date a man with superhuman stamina: You'll often oversleep and barely make it on time to work. On most days you've lost your voice. You'll be sore a lot.

And the thing about dating Miguel specifically is that the man is stubborn, relentless, demanding and that too extends into your bedroom.

"Fuck, Miguel, I can't."

"'Course you can, nena, look at how well you're taking me," he says as he stares down at the space between your legs where you and him join. Where you're spread snugly around him. Where his thick cock, slick with you both, disappears into your cunt then re-emerges.

It's wet. It's messy, the sheets beneath you soaked and sticky, from the last three (four?) rounds. As snug of a fit his thick cock is inside you, he's filled you so full there's no space left for you to fit what he's spilled inside you, over and over again. It keep leaking out with each press and demanding thrust as he buries his cock inside you as deep as he goes.

You shake your head even though you know it's useless. Pleading with him has never gotten you anywhere before. You don't know why you think it's going to make a difference now.

"Please, I-I can't-- nngh, too much," you plead. You whine. You sob.

"Shh, nena, it's okay," he hushes. Again with the cooing. Again with the sweet little nicknames, but he's not showing mercy, his hand moving down from your hip, down between your legs, until his thumb presses down on your clit.

Electricity crackles through the length of your spine. Your back arches, lifting off the bed, you don't know if you are chasing into his touch or running away from it: the first? latter? both? neither.

You can't form a coherent thought anymore. It's good and too much, and your brain is short-circuiting from it all.

"There you go, see? Doing so good. Look how pretty you are taking me."

Even in the dim light of your bedroom, you can see his expression clearly. Eyes a piercing crimson red, the corners of his canine teeth peeking out from his self-satisfied smile.

He bends down, nearly folding you in half as he presses his cock as deep as it goes, until he's nudging at that sweet and perfect spot that has your vision go white and blinding behind your eyes.

Sweet, sharp ache scrapes close to your bones at the sensation of him filling you again. The way he stretches you to your limits, until you've forgotten how to breathe, and may very well be the death of you.

It's there again. The oppressive warmth that swirls sweetly in your stomach as a warning. Tears prickle your eyes as everything in you squeezes tight at the sensation.

Oh shit, it's--

"Fuck that's it nena. That's it. Come on my cock again. Come on it and I'll fill you up."

It rises in you. A pressure that builds and builds and builds, and robs you of your breath until you have nothing left to give. It's overwhelming, the way the pleasure burns at every one of your nerve endings, until your face tingles with a numbness and you can no longer feel your legs.

"Mi-Miguel," you stutter, "I can't--"

"Yes you can."

The pressure is still there, expanding with an ominous volume, and no, he's wrong. You can't. Something is different. This isn't like before. You squirm underneath him, feet planted against the mattress for leverage.

"Settle down," he says, but you don't know how you're supposed to do that when your entire body has been wounded so tight you think the whole of you are going to snap.

You shake your head frantically, sobbing with a raw burn in your throat as you thrash underneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation. Oh fuck-- it's too much.

Oh god, you can't-you can't-you can't--

You raise your palms against his firm chest, pressing back, in a half-formed attempt to make him ease up, but it only spurs him on. One arm loops behind your back, lifting you from the mattress to meet his hips as he snaps them into you. And oh fuck!

It hits something devastating inside. A pin prick of pleasure that strikes every nerve in your body. It hits a frequency that makes your teeth shatter, every cell in your skull vibrate. Your leg kicks out, body twisting and turning to get away from the overwhelming sensation.

"Callate," you hear his warm strained breath in your ear.

His free hand locks around your wrists, pinning them to the side, then he's lunging forward, his mouth pressed to your shoulders and you can feel the sharp warning of his fangs resting on your skin. "Calm down, or I'm gonna bite you."

You still, shivering as his hips pulls back, then he hits that devastating spot again and again.

Every muscle in you locks up tight until you can't move and for a moment you wonder if he really did bite down. But you can still feel his mouth on your throat, his tongue lapping gently at your sweat-soaked skin until the whole of your neck tingles.

He doesn't go easy on you, thrusting into you with the same demanding pace as before, and God. The sensation is heavy and ominous like nothing else you've felt before. Large and looming with nowhere else to go, and there's nothing you can do to prevent it, and you know that if this doesn't stop, if Miguel doesn't stop, then all of you are going to burst.

You open your mouth, trying to warn him, but all that comes out is the first syllable.

"Miii--" The rest dies in a wail, and you realize it's already too late. The pressure shatters and breaks.

You come with a rush of wetness that spills out of you. It soaks everything, your thighs and his, drenching his stomach and drips down against the sheets to join the mess that's already there.

Everything sounds distant like you're pulled under water. You can barely even register Miguel's voice in your ear. "Oh shit, are you-- fuck, that's --"

He sounds surprised. But he doesn't stop. Miguel fucks you through it. Your climax and his, with frantic thrusts, until finally he settles into a slow and gentler pace.

When you come back to yourself, he's kneeling above you, his large bodyframe looming over yours.

"Fuck, babe..."

He palms at his softening cock, glistening wet with your mess as he stares down at you with darkened eyes. Slowly jerking the length of it with a lazy pace that has you mesmerized. It twitches in his grip with interest, and you know it's not going to take long before he's ready to go again.

"One more time," Miguel says. "Let's see if we can make you do it again."

Jesus fucking Christ

Your head drops down to your pillow with exhaustion.

The thing about dating a man with superhuman stamina is that it may very well kill you.

Dedication & Credits: To my beloved @thirstworldproblemss who I hope is driving safely across the country through the mountains I love youuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

And to poor @guruan who I woke up with my other fic and robbed her of her beauty sleep.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[jinxhallows]

kinktober #o17 | glory

KINKTOBER 2023 || jinxhallows glory (praise kink) || chan x fem!reader summary: you and chan met as volunteers for the local cabaret theatre, working as stagehands, but when it blossoms into something more, and the temperatures drop below freezing, chan figures out a way to warm you up, and fast... warnings: praise kink, and all that entails, plot heavy, fluffy, lots and lots of praise, 'daddy' petnames, non-idol AU

word count: 4k masterlist - click here

The first time he let it slip, you two were still just friends.

You both volunteered as stagehands at the downtown cabaret theater, and you had been sent out to purchase some last-minute supplies. Your coat was dripping wet over your arm from running through the rain, a shopping basket hooked in the crook of your opposite elbow, and you held the phone to your ear, spinning around to decipher the location of the checkout.

"Did you get the safety pins?" Chan's voice came through the phone.

You nodded, even though Chan couldn't see you. "Yeah."

"And-"

"I also got the glue gun sticks, an extra pack of AA batteries, and a small can of black acrylic paint," you rattled off.

"Good girl," Chan responded, genuinely impressed.

At the time, he had no idea that his words had a much different impact on you than he could have ever imagined. The idea of him praising you under very different circumstances had ignited a fire within you, one you couldn't ignore.

The season progressed and Chan worked up the courage to ask you out for drinks and now you two are barely two months into a very new relationship. Still working together, now as hired staff seasonally, at the cabaret theatre, you two are now working together on helping out with the production of A Christmas Carol.  It’s two months until showtime, so you’re in the thick of things, managing a team of stage designers. Chan is managing the costume department and overseeing music direction. He has a brief gap between meetings, so he decides to surprise you by grabbing your favorite drink and muffin from the local coffee shop. After leaving a generous tip in the paper cup at the front of the register, he heads back to the theater through the brisk winter cold.

Chan enters the theater's workshop, finding you in your office. He closes the door behind him, greets you with a kiss and your drink, and then takes off his coat. As he hangs it on the nearby coat rack, you take a sip of the drink, savoring the warm, spicy flavors of your favorite spiced winter beverage. Opening the small, white paper bag, you take out your favorite muffin. "I needed this so badly. I was late this morning and couldn't grab breakfast."

"Why didn't you call? You know I could've picked you up," Chan says, sitting on the edge of your desk as you ease into your chair. You blow on your drink, preparing it for a sip. "Your car's been in the shop for weeks now. Any word on what's going on with it?"

You pause for a moment, taking a sip of your drink as you ponder how to address the issue. You've been avoiding Chan's questions about your mode of transportation since receiving the bad news. You're hesitant to reveal that you don't have everything under control, fearing it might push Chan away. After swallowing, you gather your thoughts and finally speak up.

"It's gonna be a while," you say, your voice tinged with a touch of uncertainty.

At this point, Chan has confirmed his suspicion that you're intentionally keeping this information from him. He nods, taking in your response, and glances at his watch. Fiddling with one of its links, he contemplates whether you've been together long enough for him to press you about these matters. He doesn't want to start an argument or intrude on your privacy, but he's genuinely concerned, especially with the weather getting colder and the distance you live from the theatre.

"That... doesn't sound good," Chan finally says, after you've taken another sip, looking back at you. You can feel the hesitation in his words and sense that he's holding something back. Your fingers nervously tap against your cup in an unknown rhythm that's stuck in your head. "Yeah, the engine, it's kind of... shot," you say, tapping the cup at a higher tempo. You find the lid of your cup more interesting than Chan's attempt to hide his shock. He knows he's not great at concealing his emotions, and he clears his throat, suddenly fascinated by his watch.

"Wow, that's... I'm sorry to hear that. Engine troubles can be expensive. You know if you need any help at all—"

"I'm just getting another car. I've been looking, but I haven't had the time yet, especially with the production coming up, so I've been taking the trains. I'm okay, though, Chan, really," you reassure him. Setting your cup down, you interlock your fingers, resting your chin on them, and offer him a disarming smile.

"Since you've had time to come visit me, I'm guessing you're ahead of schedule?" you inquire, relieved when you see his focus shift, steering the conversation in a different direction. 

For now, you've evaded his questions again.

"Like a well-oiled machine. In fact, there's a little bit left over in the budget to get the fog machine fixed."

"Chan!" you laugh, "How did you manage that?"

"A few people owed me a few favors. I know how much you wanted to give those Ghost of Christmas Future scenes more ambiance." Chan embraces you, and you eagerly rush into his open arms, hugging him tightly, the scent of his shampoo and cologne filling your senses. When you let go, he slowly turns you around in his embrace, his arms encircling your body, your back against his chest.

"Thank you for this. Oh, Hailey will be so excited to hear this, and Thomas, we'll have to space out the set for Act Three, but that's no problem. I—" You stop yourself, your hand on your forehead as you catch yourself from rambling again. Chan loves seeing you excited like this, so he never stops you during your enthusiastic outbursts. You turn around, your arms resting on his shoulders, and you kiss him, expressing your gratitude with a hundred silent thank-yous.

Chan finds the courage to speak out, his hands gently resting along your waist. "Please let me give you a ride, at least to and from here. You live outside the city, and I'd feel better knowing you're safe in this cold." He anticipates a rebuttal and adds, "Just for the cabaret. Whatever else you do is your business, but if you did need me for other rides, I'd be up for it—just needed to get that out there," nodding affirmatively to you and himself.

You decide to accept his offer this time. You had guessed wrong; it had never left his mind the entire time.

"Fine," you roll your eyes with a small smirk, "I just know you live in the city, and that's out of your way."

"It's not, honest," Chan stands up and leans forward, kissing your forehead. "You're really special to me." With a smile, he heads out and adds, "I'll meet you in the lobby after rehearsal."

"You're really special to me..."

Those words reverberate in your mind for the next four hours of work. They're louder than the hammering of nails into wooden boards, louder than saws cutting through plywood, and even louder than the timpanis in the orchestra pit.

As you work, your head down while distressing the paint on the side of a fake building, you can hear Chan stopping and starting the musicians, going over pieces meticulously. It's hard not to lock eyes with him when he glances over at you occasionally.

Unbeknownst to you, Chan is entranced by the way you bring a vision to life, ingeniously assembling pieces that leave him baffled. He observes you walking among other stagehands, adeptly adjusting a streetlamp, your gloved hands confidently resting on your hips, toolbelt hanging down. You point, shake your head, and oversee adjustments, stepping back and tilting your head, scrutinizing it from various angles before granting it a thumbs-up.

Every so often, you cast an inconspicuous glance over your shoulder, but Chan has already shifted his focus long enough to deceive you into thinking he wasn't watching. He splits his attention between you and the piano, directing the musicians, a sight he relishes.

At one point, a designer stands beside the piano with a partially costumed actor, waiting for the right moment to approach Chan. The designer holds up a piece of velvet red fabric against the navy blue costume.

"Was thinking maybe this material?" the stylist asks.

"Nah, not really, the blue is better against the gold buttons," Chan nods, providing his expert opinion.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Thomas' voice teases, breaking your focus and startling you from your reverie.

"Oldest one in the book. And corniest," you quip back.

"Don't do it, boo. I'd be distracted if Chan were mine too," Thomas remarks, and you both sneak another glance in Chan's direction. "He is a delicious piece of sweet potato pie, ain't he?"

You nudge Thomas playfully, and both of you head backstage.

As the day concludes, everyone gathers around for announcements and updates from the director. Afterward, people begin to disperse. You're embraced by hugs from Thomas and other crew members who've become like family. The holiday break is upon you, and some are leaving town to enjoy their vacation. The lobby teems with people, and amid the crowd, you spot Chan. You hear him chatting with others, and as he finishes, his expression brightens as he spots you.

You’re really special to me… You give Chan a warm hug. It's cozy inside, a welcome refuge from the cold winter winds outside.

"Ready?" he asks with a grin.

You nod, and together, you make your way to the exit. The bitter cold greets you as you step outside, and the wind feels like needles on your exposed cheeks. You tug your scarf up around your nose to protect yourself from the icy gusts. Chan holds you even closer as you both step out into the open, and he opens the passenger door of his nearby parked car.

The car's interior offers immediate warmth, and you welcome it with relief. Chan yawns as the silence settles in around you. He had a busy but good day, and now he's just as eager to hear about yours, especially after getting lost in watching you do your thing.

"Are you sure you wanna do this? Like, drive me all the way home?" you ask, your voice tinged with doubt.

"Yes, I want to drive you all the way home," Chan says with a chuckle. He starts the car, shifting it into reverse to back out of the parking space. "And then I want to walk you all the way to your door, and then I want to kiss you, like we're a couple of teenagers from the fifties."

You laugh at his sweet sentiment.

"I'm serious! You make this relationship thing feel like it's worth something, like it's something I can do... forever," Chan says. He starts to feel a little self-conscious about gushing and quickly dials it back. "You're just... really special to me." There it is again.

"Chan," you begin, and there's a moment of hesitation.

"Yeah?" Chan's gaze remains fixed on the road, but he's eager to hear your words.

"I love you," you say, surprising both yourself and him with the sudden confession.

Each quiet second Chan spends frozen on the road ahead makes you want to backpedal.  It’s too soon.  Are you dumb? He’s gonna think you’re crazy.  It’s not even three months yet.

“I love you too.” He says, and it comes out like his own kind of word vomit, at the tail end of his ruminating thoughts of whether or not you actually meant your statement.  Then he guilts himself for doubting the expression of your feelings. Chan would just like to get out of his own head for thirty seconds.

"Ok, now that that's settled," you say, your humor helping to break the tension, and you settle into your seat with a sigh. "I'm sorry I get so weird about you helping me sometimes. I just feel like you have your shit together, and I'm still trying to figure it all out. I know you didn't sign up to get a girlfriend with a bunch of problems—baggage."

Chan snorts, a mixture of amusement and relief. He's glad to hear that this is what's been on your mind, that you've been carrying a self-imposed burden. He appreciates the vulnerability in your words. Sometimes he needs to feel needed, especially in a relationship.

"I'm not sure what your definition of having my shit together is, but this version of me, isn't it," he says with a smile. "I didn't sign up for a girlfriend with a perfect life. I signed up for Y/N, and all that comes with her. How dare you short me the fries to my combo?"

You both share a laugh, and as the car settles into the quiet hum of the engine, you notice snow falling and sticking to the slushy roads as you leave the city behind and enter the suburbs. You check the weather forecast on your phone, prompting you to speak up.

"There's a frost advisory tonight, love," you muse. "You think you should stay over tonight? The roads are gonna be awful."

Chan hadn't planned on it, but he realizes he has nothing urgent to rush home to, and he's getting pretty tired too.

"Good idea."

It takes another thirty minutes, but soon, Chan is pulling into your driveway, turning off the car and walking you to your door just as he said he would. He waits patiently next to you, his hands warming in his pockets as he looks around at the snow falling and piling up, covering the black streets in blinding white reflected against the streetlights.

It's a perfect night to snuggle with a special someone.

You turn on the music, an old Aqualung album filling the former silence, making the blanket of white outside look even more magical. You had never found yourself enjoying the quiet company of another until you started dating Chan. It's a new experience for both of you since you can get lost in conversation for hours. But with Chan, there's no pressure to keep coming up with new topics. It's one of the many reasons why he enjoys your company. He can just be himself around you.

You come over to join Chan as he sits on the floor against the couch. He initially begins to unfold his crossed legs to make room for you, but you extend a leg over his, straddling him instead, holding two cups of hot cocoa in your hands.

"Oh, well hello, beautiful," he chuckles, taking one of the mugs from you.

The way he says it makes your heart flutter, and you can't help but tease him. You sip your drink, looking at him with a mischievous gaze. "There's just something about the way you say those things to me."

"What things, baby?" Chan asks, playing along. He knows what you mean, but he loves hearing it from you. "When I tell you how pretty you are? How I get caught staring at you at work at least five times a day by the other volunteers?"

You can't contain your giggles, and he takes your mug and his, placing them on the coffee table as he cups your face. "I can feel how hot your cheeks are getting too."

"Because!"

"Because why? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't list every reason why I've fallen in love with you to your face."

You bite your lip, realizing Chan's winning the playful banter. He holds onto your hips, shifting himself underneath you and readjusting, all while focusing on being romantic rather than all the nasty things he wants to do to you with you straddling him like this.

He kisses you, gently at first, and then more passionately. "For one, you are beautiful. Anyone with eyes can see that..." You notice the drop in Chan's volume and the edge his tone gains, making you crave him in ways you haven’t been able t0 have him yet. “I like that.” “Yeah?  You do? You should, ‘cause you’re a pretty girl, my pretty girl of course.” Chan's eyes linger on your lips, and you lean forward, capturing his lips in a single kiss that leaves both of you lingering, breathing heavily, your faces close.

"Call me your pretty girl again, and you might start something you can't finish."

"Who says I can't finish it, pretty girl?" Chan counters with a sly smile, his lips dangerously close to yours.

Chan is the next to initiate another kiss, drawing you into a passionate embrace. His hands trail up the bare skin of your back, hidden beneath your hoodie, leaving a trail of sinfire in their wake. You lean your head back with a gasp as he hums against your neck.

"Listen to those breaths you take, so sweet for me," Chan says, eager to hear more of your reactions. He sucks hard enough to leave a bruise under your collarbone, making you gasp in response.

"Oh my God, Chan, I—" You start to express concern, but the juxtaposition of his arousal and your own, both concealed beneath clothing, interrupts your common sense. He shouldn't be marking you up like this. You realize you'll need to wear a turtleneck or a collared shirt to cover your collarbone.  “B-Be careful-”

"I'm sorry, baby. You're just so intoxicating, you know that?" Chan manages to peel himself away from devouring you for a brief moment, a feat that takes immense self-control. "And you have the most adorable smile."

You try to hide your smile, but he pulls your arm away. "No, let me see it. Look at how you get when I compliment you. I can't tell if you love it or hate it, but it's damn hot seeing you get all shy like this. Makes me want to say more, see how else your body responds to me."

"I think it's turning me on," you admit, your voice slightly shaky, and a coy smile forms on your lips.

“You think?” Chan states more than questions, running his nose and lips against your chest, peppering kisses up your neckline. He sucks again, leaving another mark, this time closer to your jaw. You moan in response, and he tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of your neck as he pulls you in for a kiss. Your lips bruise against his, swollen as he pulls back, looking up at you as if you were Aphrodite herself.

“Thank you, babygirl. I’m sorry I left a couple of marks.”

“It’s okay, you should leave a couple more.”

So Chan does just that.

You hold onto his neck as he moves forward, pressing you into the floor, lifting your hoodie up and sliding it over your arms so he can lay more open-mouthed, deliciously wet kisses down to your navel. He dips his tongue in, taking your piercing between his teeth. Your back arches, and he's going for your jeans, ready to unbutton them, but he stops, sitting up on his knees.

Chan knows if he goes any further, it would be akin to dragging him from quicksand.

He has to ask first.

“We’ve never gone this far,” Chan says, feeling somewhat awkward for not just outright asking you. You realize, of course, that you two haven't gone this far, but Chan wants to ensure you're comfortable. How much further are you willing to go? Chan can easily wrap things up right here, but the way you're writhing underneath his lips every time they press into your skin, leading further and further down south; Chan needs you to tell him otherwise. “I want to go further,” you say, your thumbs hooked into the top of your pants. “You told me you'd finish it, didn't you?”

You assist him in getting your bottoms off, and he nuzzles against the damp fabric of your panties, taking in your scent. “Had no idea you’d smell this amazing,” Chan says, pulling your panties aside to slip a finger in, curling it up. “You must really want me, hmm?”

“Mhm, I do.”

“Can you take more fingers, baby?” “Yeah, I can,” you nod fervently, vigorously, eager to feel him spread you further. Chan gets two more fingers inside of you, and he pulls the panties even further around your lips, leaning down to kiss and suck your clit. He enjoys the way his saliva catches the light as you buck your hips up.

“Prettiest pussy I've ever seen, babygirl. Are you going to let my cock feel it too?”

“Yes, please, daddy?”

Chan has to process the fact that you've called him this. He nearly short-circuits.

“You must want to be my good girl tonight,” he says as he pulls off his hoodie, tossing it aside and unbuttoning his pants.

“I'd give anything to be your good girl, Chan.”

“Anything?”

His fat cock slaps against your wet slit as he holds it firmly. “Anything.” you begin to twist your hips, attempting to grind in a way that will make him slide inside you. You're wet, it's spread everywhere, slicking your inner thighs and cheeks. All it takes is one good thrust, and he can –

“I want this, right here,” his firm taps stop you in place, and his eyes lock onto yours as he pushes his cockhead between your folds, stopping as soon as he's sheathed inside, feeling your walls begging for more. “You feel so wet, baby. Is this for me?” he asks, inching inside until he's halfway in. Chan wants to stop, but the sensation of your walls squeezing him proves to be too much, and he bottoms out inside of you.

“Yes!” You cry out, stronger and louder than you intended, spawning Chan to thrust again, rutting into you. He doesn't always go deep; in fact, he's stroking you at just the right angle to make you see stars as you drag your almond nails down his back, feeling his muscles tense under your touch.

“S-sorry,” you hiss, your head falling against the floor as you cum around his cock. “Keep it up, baby,” he encourages you, “You look so good taking me like this right now, so fucking good.”

"I-I look—"

His firm grip on the strands of your hair at the nape of your neck forces your gaze upwards, compelling you to meet his intense, smoldering eyes.

"Beautiful," he breathes as his thrusts take on a deliberate, measured pace. Each motion propels you closer to the precipice of another orgasm, and you can barely keep your eyes open. His hand presses flat against your head, angling it so you can witness the raw, primal connection between your two bodies. "You look beautiful, say it." You gasp and muster the strength to whisper, "Beautiful," as he introduces two of his fingers to your lips. You eagerly accept them, your tongue tantalizingly caressing the pads of his digits, still bearing traces of your earlier essence. He withdraws his fingers and expertly circles your clit with confident, steady pressure, evoking whimpering pleas from deep within you.

"Such a good girl," he praises with a low, smoky voice, pride lacing every word. "I'm so proud of you, baby. Can you cum again for me? I just wanna see that face one more time.” He wants to etch the vision of your blissed-out expression into the depths of his consciousness, ensuring it's the first thing he sees every morning as he awakens with thoughts of you.   Instinctively, you attempt to shield your contorted, furrowed brows with your hands, but Chan swiftly restrains your wrists, pinning them above your head with a powerful grip. His other hand intensifies its attentions to your clit, moving more vigorously.  He pairs this with shallow, accurate thrusts,each one striking your g-spot with unerring accuracy, causing you to unravel until you could think no more.  You’ve been fucked dumb, for the first time in your life.  As you gradually return to your senses, you struggle to find words or even make sense of how another human being can make you feel this extraordinary.

Amidst the haze of your post-orgasmic stupor, a lucid thought pierces through: sex is a potent, heady concoction, a force to be reckoned with.

Then, the second wave of awareness washes over you when you hear Chan's voice, close to your ear, whispering those two potent words, "Good girl." - fin

[late-to-the-party-81]

The King's Last Concubine

AN: Welcome, welcome to the short one-shot that spiralled a little out of control. I’m sure none of you will complain. If you like cheesy historical romance and Bucky then you’ve come to the right place. In all honesty I could have made this story much, much longer, but unfortunately I don’t have the time, so it’s wrapped up a little fast and without as many misunderstandings as the usual Harlequin/Mills and Boon normally contains. I hope you like it anyway.

Beta’d by the lovely @seriouslydex - thank you for your assistance in wrangling this into coherence.

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Bingo Fills - @buckybarnesbingo Square U1 - Kink: Concubine

Master list | BBB Master list

Summary: When Bucky takes over the throne after his Father’s death, he has better things to deal with than the group of concubines he’s inherited. He thinks the tradition is abhorrent and vows he wants no part of it. When he meets the newest member of the harem he finds his moral stance tested. How can he want the woman who was bought to please his father?

Relationship: King James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Female Concubine Reader

Chapter word count: 10.2k

CW: Historical AU, Flowery historical language, Angst, Servitude, Lust, Male masturbation, Fluff, Miscommunication, Self-loathing, Jealousy, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Attempted Sexual Assault, Explicit Sexual Content, Declaration of feelings.

A quiet tension filled the air as you wandered your way around the gardens and corridors of the place you’d called home for the last six months. That’s when you’d been purchased - a gift for the elderly and ailing king, meant to boost his spirits and reignite his youthful zeal. However, all the youth and beauty in the world could not turn back the sands of time.

For the last few weeks the king had been getting weaker, not leaving his private rooms or entertaining any guests apart from his long faithful Queen, his heir, Prince James and his daughter, Princess Rebecca. It was a waiting game now, for the Royal Family, the country, and for you and the other members of the Harem.

Entering the solar, where all of you could spend your days in conversation, needlework, painting and reading, you could see Merith, the King’s favourite in an agitated conversation with Katya, the next concubine down in the pecking order. They had the most to lose when the inevitable happened, because it would be very unlikely that the Prince would wish to keep them around. Not only were they older than him, they had both also borne the King numerous children - it would be very strange for a new King to keep the mothers of his half siblings as concubines for himself. At best, the two women might hope to be housed somewhere pleasant in their retirement, maybe with a semi-wealthy husband. At worst they could be turfed out of the palace along with any of their children that the King hadn’t yet made provisions for.

As for your fate, that was also completely unknown. However, due to your age and the fact that you had only been here a short time, with very few interactions with the King, there was a chance that the Prince would want to keep you. You’d never seen him in the flesh, but you knew he was handsome from the glimpses you’d had of his portrait when you’d been led to and from the King’s chambers on those few occasions he had requested your company. However, despite what you had been purchased for, you had never actually lain with the King. He had tried and, as it was in your best interest, so had you, but the King was old and tired. 

Instead you’d provided him with company as best you could, rubbing his back, stroking his hair and reading him stories until he fell asleep and you could call the guards to escort you back to the Little Palace.

Of course, no-one knew what had occurred within the privacy of the King’s chambers, and if other concubines had had similar experiences they didn’t talk of it openly - it wouldn’t do to discuss the failing manhood of the person who held your life in their hands. However, what this meant was that you were still untouched by a man, with no experience other than what you had gifted yourself.

With a sigh, you crossed to the far side of the room, taking your place amongst the other younger and newer members of your unconventional community, picking up the sampler you’d been working on. There was no music being played and all conversations were kept to a minimum and spoken in whispers, out of a combination of respect and anxiety. The limbo dragged on.

Suddenly, the doors to the solar crashed open, and the King’s Equerry walked in, flanked by several guards.

“The King has died,” he announced. “Long live the King.”

The ladies fell into disarray.

“I really have to deal with that now?” Bucky asked of Coulson, his father’s, and now his, Equerry.

“I’m afraid so, your Majesty. It’s been two weeks since the late king passed away and decisions need to be made about those whose services you do not wish to retain. There may be some obvious candidates, but with others you may not know how you feel until you meet them.”

Bucky, now King James, sighed. It hadn’t come as a surprise when his father, King George, had passed away. His various ailments had worsened over the last few months and Bucky had actually felt relief for him at the end. The funeral had been last week and since then he’d been stuck in back to back meetings with the men who were now officially his advisors, sorting out matters of state. Admittedly, the fate of those who resided in the Little Palace hadn’t really occurred to him as important. It was an archaic tradition as far as he was concerned. Servants were one thing, but owning women just so you have a choice about who to fuck without any repercussions, just struck him as something that belonged firmly in the past. He still couldn’t get his head around how his mother had never once complained or commented about the practice - had never flinched when another Royal bastard was presented to the court so his father could make provision for them as he saw fit.

There was no question that any of the women who had provided his father with children - he wasn’t going to call them siblings - would have to be looked after in some way. He wasn’t a monster. The problem would be the others. There were about twenty or so of them, his father collecting them like fine artwork over his years on the throne and a few - and this thought turned Bucky’s stomach a little - were as young as his sister Rebecca. He didn’t feel as though he could just turn them out, however he didn’t want to keep them either. Without some kind of royal approval the women could be ostracised from normal society if their past were to become known, but could he really justify supporting all of them from the Royal purse for the rest of their days? Although, undoubtedly, there would be some noblemen more than happy to have his father’s cast offs as wives, especially as there had been no lack of suitors for their daughters. Those that had offered for them had obviously been hoping it would grant them a modicum more influence at court. Little did they know that wouldn’t be the case with him.

It also didn’t help that while Coulson could understand wanting to remove certain members of the Little Palance, he didn’t understand why the new King didn’t want to ‘get to know’ the rest of them. According to the Equerry, they were all very beautiful, demure, and accomplished, any one of them a suitable companion for lonely evenings. Apparently telling the dour man that if he was that taken with them he should feel free to fornicate with one himself, was not the done thing, but Bucky thought the look on Coulson’s face had been worth it. He’d then tried arguing that the ladies of the Little Palace deserved better than what they currently had, but his personal advisor had brushed the comment aside.

“These women want for nothing, Your Majesty. They sleep in the finest sheets, wear the finest fabrics, and eat the finest foods. Some would say they have a charmed life and what they gave up for it is very little in comparison to what they gain.”

“Fine,” he said with a defeated sigh. “I will at least deal with Merith, Katya and the other few that my dearly departed father put babies into, and maybe speak to the others. Let’s get this over and done with.”

Coulson smiled, obviously thinking that he’d won this round, and Bucky decided not to disabuse him. You have to pick your battles, as his mother was fond of telling him.

This time when the Equerry appeared, a fortnight after the death of King George, he sent nearly all of you out to the gardens, only keeping Merith, Katya and a few other of the ladies inside. It was clear that the women who were mothers to the late King’s bastards were about to find out their fate.

You walked slowly between the roses with your friend, Lila, the concubine who’d been obtained just a few months before you, swapping inconsequential small talk, neither wanting to verbalise what was actually on your minds - to say it out loud would be to court disaster. When the Royal Guards suddenly came outside you all stopped what you were doing, wondering if Master Coulson was going to deliver news to you all as well, but when a different, unexpected man appeared, you all lowered your gazes and dropped into deep curtsies. The King - the new King - was here. 

Anxiety rode through you, and all you could hear was the pounding of your heart. You were vaguely aware, from your peripheral vision, that Master Coulson was introducing the King to each member of his harem. You caught snatches of conversation, when the King asked each woman in turn their name and how long they had lived here. When they got to Lila next to you, you heard your friend giggle when the King asked her the same questions and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You liked her, but she was always a little silly. Maybe she thought to flirt her way into the King’s affections?

When the two sets of feet stopped in front of you, you waited for Coulson’s say so before coming out of your curtsey and raising your head.

“And here, Your Majesty, is our newest young lady. You may greet the King, my dear.”

You stood, glad to get out of the deeply uncomfortable pose, and prepared to finally see him in the flesh for the first time.

“Your Highness,” you said, your voice a little more breathy than anticipated, but that was because it had been knocked from your lungs at the vision that greeted you. 

King James was tall and broad in the shoulders. It was clear that the painting you had seen had been created when he was still a young man, only just into his adulthood. The man who stood before you now was no stripling. He was fully grown and oozed confidence and authority. His eyes, a cross between pale blue and grey, which had not been adequately portrayed by the Royal artist. His cheekbones were high and pronounced, and his jaw exquisitely chiselled, even if it was partially obscured by his facial hair. The hair on his head was short at the sides, but fluffy and slightly untamed on top, just tempting you to run your fingers through it. Now you knew why Lila had giggled. 

He took your hand in his, and you marvelled at how large and strong it looked in comparison to your own. You could clearly see the resemblance to his father, but this was a man in the prime of his life and the thought that he would have none of the problems in the bedroom that had beset the late King flashed across your mind, unbidden.

When he asked your name in his deep but clear voice, you had to swallow before you answered so you didn’t stutter like a schoolgirl.

“Master Coulson said you were new. How long have you lived here?”

“Just over six months, Your Majesty.”

“And you like living in the Little Palace?”

You hesitated for a moment, working out the best way to answer. The other’s hadn’t been asked this question. “It’s very pleasant. Thank you for asking Your Majesty.”

His lips, full and pink, twitched, picking up on the diplomacy of your answer. “Only pleasant? Oh dear. Well maybe we can improve upon that in the near future.”

He skillfully removed his hand from yours and turned back to his Equerry, and you returned your gaze to the floor. As he walked away you realised your heart was still beating fast within your chest. However, it was no longer anxiety that made it do so, but rather the newly unfurled bloom of desire.

As soon as Bucky returned to the Palace proper, he dismissed Coulson and headed directly for his private chambers. His time in the Little Palace had mostly gone as well as expected, Meredith and her cohorts fawning over him dramatically in thanks for his generosity and then meeting what seemed like a legion of beautiful, yet dull as dishwater, young women, who his father had acquired to make himself feel young. What he hadn’t been expecting though was that last young lady - he didn’t even want to think about the word concubine and all of the linked meanings it held. He’d never seen someone so beautiful, and it had been clear from the short exchange of pleasantries that you had intelligence and humour to match.

He felt the rolling heat of lust raise its head and desperately tried to push it aside. As unique in his experience as you may be, he shouldn’t - couldn’t - think about you in this way. Not when he knew you’d spent time with his father. It was more than he could bear. But he couldn’t get the image of you from his mind. The curves of your body that deserved to be traced and explored with reverence. Your large, expressive eyes that tempted him to drown in their depths. Your lips that called him to kiss you over and over until you couldn’t speak or even breathe due to how much you wanted him.

Entering his room he shut the door harshly, but he didn’t care. He was unbearably hard within his trousers, and while not a new sensation by any means, it wasn’t one he’d felt in some time. As the Crown Prince he’d had to be circumspect in his affairs,but there was no-one he’d been actively courting. Now he was King the pressure would be on for him to find a suitable wife and start producing heirs. However, he didn’t intend to be like his father. Once he was married he would be faithful and treat his wife with respect. The devil on his shoulder reminded him that he wasn’t married yet and was free to do what he desired, but he tried to push it aside.

Bucky threw himself down on his bed but every time he closed his eyes you were there, hovering behind his eyelids. He palmed himself over his trousers, trying to get some relief from his state of arousal, but it was no good. Almost unconsciously he undid the fastenings, letting out a small sigh as the pressure was lessened, but then it was just too easy to take himself in hand. A few small strokes, just to take the edge off, became harder and longer, and the vision of you behind his closed eyes smiled at him coyly, tempting him to ruin her. 

He imagined kissing you and touching you. Tracing every peak and valley with his lips and tongue. He imagined you doing the same to him, taking him in your mouth, lips stretched wide and tears in your perfect eyes. He imagined driving into you, again and again, while you gripped his shoulders and tangled your legs around his waist. Marking you - claiming you - as you called out his name over and over and trembled around him.

Bucky came with a cry, his spend spilling over his hand and stomach, and leaving him with an aching, hollow feeling of disgust with himself. He needed to release you and the rest of the ladies of the Little Palace and there-by banish you from his thoughts.

The next day he put his plan into action. He set Coulson the task of going through the remaining residents, from oldest serving to newest and finding them a new situation. Respectable marriages were the first preference - the Crown could provide a dowry - but failing that independence and a stipend until they became financially solvent on their own. If this plan had the effect that you would be the last to leave, that was just an unfortunate by-product of the most logical way of sorting the whole thing out, wasn’t it?

The edict by the King that the Little Palace was being disbanded was met at first with some trepidation. The women were all of a flutter, wondering what it would mean for them, but when Marie, the most senior of the concubines now that Merith and the others who had children had retired, was informed that, should she approve him, a husband had been found for her, any anxiety morphed into jubilation. Over the coming weeks, the number of you dwindled and you couldn’t help but feel a little lost amongst all the celebration. You were a strange sisterhood, that was certain, and you hadn’t gotten along with everyone, but you wished them well with a smile, and mulled over your sense of unease in private.

You weren’t sure what it was that was making you worried. It wasn’t as though you’d be forced into anything you didn’t want. Letitia had rejected three potential husbands before settling on a fourth, much to Master Coulson’s despair, and Tiffany had outright declared she wanted no husband at all, her and Dana wishing to set up house together and start a school. This came as no surprise to any of you.

It also wasn’t because you were so entrenched in this life that the thought of anything else was scary - you’d had more life outside these walls than in it - however you had found a camaraderie here, a sense of belonging, as strange as that may seem, that you hadn’t had before. And despite the fact that the idea of being intimate with the old King had been stomach churning, once he realised each time that it wasn’t going to happen, you’d found you’d enjoyed providing him comfort and some sort of friendship. Maybe being here had spoiled you? You’d admit it wasn’t a hardship to live somewhere where all your meals and clothes were provided and all you had to do was entertain yourself unless your services were required, although you did wish for more sometimes - a cage was still a cage, no matter how gilded and glittered.

Maybe having a husband wouldn’t be so bad. Hopefully he’d let you have some freedom - have some hobby or interest to keep you occupied, other than keeping house and popping out babies. You couldn’t help but be nervous though, especially as the numbers of you lessened until it was just you and Lila left. 

Each time one of the ladies was preparing to leave, the King would come and thank her for her service. How any of you managed to keep a straight face when he said that was beyond you, but it did give you the chance to watch him unobserved. He really was handsome, and seemed so kind and earnest in his thanks. A true King and diplomat. But that wasn’t all he was. Every so often he would catch your eye and you would feel… something. And you couldn’t explain what it was, other than that you felt like a moth captivated by a flame, longing to get nearer and nearer, even if it would mean your doom. It wasn’t just physical, either - although you couldn’t deny that you’d had thoughts about that. You wanted to get to know him. The real him. His hopes and dreams. What motivated him.

You got your chance when you were sitting in the solar, enjoying the sun that streamed through the windows as you read your book. Lila was outside in the garden, taking a walk with her potential fiancee, a man named Lang who was apparently some minor aristocracy. Guards trailed them at a discrete distance, but you didn’t think there was anything to worry about. From the glimpses you’d caught of them, Master Lang appeared to be a convivial and respectful fellow. He walked with his hands behind his back, not trying to touch or grab at your friend, but he leant in close to talk intimately.  He also appeared to be letting Lila hold an equal part of the conversation and you watched as she giggled behind her hand at a number of points in response to what you guessed were jokes.

“They appear to be getting on well.”

A voice from behind you, made you jump and turn in your chair. At the realisation that King James was standing there, you leapt up and then immediately leant forward into a deep curtsey. 

“Your Majesty.”

How had you not noticed him enter? Why was he here?

“Please stand. There’s only the two of us here. I wanted to see for myself how Master Lang was comporting himself and this seemed like the best place to watch unobserved.”

He walked closer to the window and you continued to stand, your hands clasping each other, as you watched him from under your lowered lashes. Despite the number of times you’d seen him recently you were no less dazed by his beauty than you had been the first time. You allowed your gaze to travel over his body, admiring the way his clothes were cut to show off his defined figure. Silver threads were woven through the black fabric of his coat and they shimmered in the sunlight. You itched to smooth the cloth over the broadness of his shoulders.

As if sensing you watching him, the King turned back to you.

“Please don’t let me disturb you from whatever you were doing. Pretend that I’m not here.”

Your lips twitched. “That would be difficult, Your Majesty. You do stand out.” You gestured to the walls of the solar, a pale pink colour, and then at his attire. He looked down at himself and you were taken aback by the flush that made its way to his cheeks.

“Aah, yes. I see what you mean.” He moved away from the window then, and toward the chair opposite the one you’d been occupying when he’d surprised you. “Maybe then we could sit and talk for a while? What have you been doing with your days these last weeks?”

You gave him a small nod and took your seat. “Very little, Your Majesty, other than helping the others pack up their belongings as they leave. Some reading, some needlework. I have been practising my languages too. What have you been doing? Important affairs of state I would imagine.”

“It is not nearly as glamorous as people think. Lots of meetings that seem to stretch on forever, but that is nothing to the never-ending paperwork. I swear everyone in the country will have my signature soon. Lots of time to relax and do what you will, seems wonderful to me. I admit to being a little envious.” He smiled as he spoke, his face lighting up in boyish amusement.

“I assure you,” you stated, “that after a while even relaxing becomes as dull as any paperwork.”

The King chuckled at that. “Does it now? I’ll have to take your word for it. Now, tell me, what languages do you speak?”

“French and Spanish. A little Portuguese. And I’m trying to improve my Greek.” You lifted up your book to show him the writing on the front. He smiled at you and your heart beat faster.

“Impressive, my lady. My Greek is somewhat rusty, although my Russian is still good. Come, read for me and we shall see if I can follow you.”

Feeling shy, you lifted your book and began, haltingly at first, to read out loud, your tongue trying to wrap around the unfamiliar syllables. It had been a while since you had spoken out loud, normally preferring just to read, but as you became more confident the words flowed easier and you managed to glance up at him now and again.

The King was sitting, relaxed in his chair, legs outstretched with his ankles crossed. His eyes were closed as he rested his head on the chair back, arms settled on his chest with his fingers steepled. For a moment you could almost pretend this was a domestic scene of a wife reading to her husband after a long day. However, you were not his wife and he was not destined to be your husband. That would be someone else.

When you reached the end of your chapter, you gently closed your book, placing it on the side table, and the King opened his eyes and sat up again.

“You have a wonderful reading voice and you navigated the words very well - better than I’d have done, I’m sure. I’ve always thought learning languages a worthwhile endeavour and it is my deepest regret that I do not know more. I’ll take note to ensure that my Equerry looks to place you in a situation where your skills will be appreciated. I have a feeling,” he said with a glance back towards the window where his friend was still busy gently wooing yours, “that you will soon be the only one here.

You felt heat rushing to your cheeks at the compliment. “That would be greatly appreciated, Your Majesty. I know that not all men wish for an intelligent wife, but it would be nice to not have to appear vapid just to gain favour with my spouse.”

King James snorted. “I’ll admit that I do not understand those who only wish for a doll for a wife. If you’re going to spend the rest of your days together, would it not be better to have someone to converse with. Someone to challenge you mentally. It would be rather dull otherwise.”

“I suppose,” you ventured, “that those men are probably the type to find other ways - other people - to keep them occupied.” A small smile crept across his lips at your statement.

“And I suppose you are correct, my lady. But if that is the case then those men have chosen poorly. I cannot imagine marrying someone, only to then spend all my free time avoiding them. Somewhat defeats the point of it all, in my opinion.”

“Well, I had guessed some of that about you, Your Majesty. What with you getting rid of this age-old tradition.” You gestured once again to the room around you but when you turned back to him, it was to see that the King’s eyes had narrowed slightly, studying you.

“And how do you feel about that?”

You sensed his words were a test and you licked your lips nervously before you answered.

“I have no real opinion, Sire. I live to serve and am happy to do what my King commands of me.”

There was a strange look on his face. He was no longer smiling and while he didn’t appear angry with you, his demeanor was now far more chilly than it had been a moment ago.

“And were you happy to carry out the commands of my late father?”

You hesitated before answering. “His Royal Highness was most kind to me. I was happy to serve him.”

You barely heard him mutter “I bet you were” under his breath before he suddenly stood, and you scrambled to your feet after him. 

“This has been an illuminating chat, my lady, and I thank you for your company. Soon you will be free of this place and can put this part of your life behind you.”

He nodded his head and once again you dropped into a deep curtsey, your eyes locked to the floor. You stayed that way as his footsteps retreated across the marble floor and you wondered what it was you had said that had turned him so cold.

Once again, Bucky found himself stalking into the sanctuary of his private chambers. Damn you, damn his father, and damn this ridiculous fascination of his. Whilst he’d tried to tell himself that the only reason he went to the Little Palace was to get a feeling for whether his friend was getting along with his potential betrothed, he also couldn’t deny the fact that he’d known you would be there as well, all alone.

He’d been enjoying your conversation until he’d been reminded why you were even there in the first place and sabotaged himself by bringing up his father. Then you’d all but admitted that you’d enjoyed doing what you did. Bucky felt sick at the thought. 

Images of you tortured him day and night, and spending time with you today had obviously been ill-advised because now he had more memories to draw on. The way you spoke so passionately and knowledgeably about the ways of the world. The way that you smiled and joked when you were relaxed.

Bucky’s fingers longed to pick up a charcoal and try to capture the way the sunlight had slid over the planes of your face, giving you an ethereal, other-worldly look, like some fae creature sent to enrapture him. Instead he tugged on the bell-pull, asking the page who appeared to go and fetch Coulson. He then paced up and down the room, chewing on his thumb nail for the few minutes it took the Equerry to appear.

“How can I serve you, Your Majesty?” Coulson asked with a low bow.

“I want the matters with Lang organised as soon as possible and the remaining occupant of the Little Palace resituated with all speed. It’s high-time this issue was finished, once and for all.

It had been a week since Lila left. A week in which you’d spent nearly every waking moment alone, other than when the servants were helping you dress and bringing you food. Although you mustn’t forget the omni-present guards stationed outside various doors. Which meant it was two weeks since the conversation with the King that had left you feeling more confused than ever.

Lila had returned from her sojourn around the garden gushing about Master Lang and his attributes. About how handsome and kind and funny he was, and how certain she was that they would suit. You plastered a smile to your face and said all the right things, but you couldn’t seem to concentrate on your friend’s happiness, your thoughts consumed by the memory of how the King’s face had looked at the end of your exchange.

He’d been so happy and relaxed, then suddenly so cold and closed. It was obviously no secret that he didn’t like the fact that his father had had concubines, but it had happened and to deny why you were living there would be foolish. Which is why you’d answered so diplomatically - he didn’t need to know what did or didn’t happen in the privacy of the late King’s chambers, and he probably didn’t want to know. What son would want those details? But he had asked a question and you’d answered the best way you knew how.

It hurt because you’d actually been enjoying yourself, and thought that maybe he’d been enjoying himself as well. There’d been a strange warmth inside you as the pair of you had talked and teased and joked, and over the last few days you found yourself wishing you could feel it again.

However, now you had something else to occupy your mind. Almost as soon as Lila had left to get married - and you were sad you couldn’t be with her on her big day - Master Coulson had come to tell you that arrangements were being made at pace for your own future. It was only mildly surprising then, when he’d come to you this morning to tell you that a potential husband had been found and you should prepare yourself to have dinner this evening. He passed you over some papers, giving you details of the man you were to meet.

Apparently he was a Baron, a widower, and a few years older than King James. His seat was on the other side of the country and apparently quite large, with the main house boasting stables, a library, and a formal rose garden. As you read through the information you pulled your lower lip between your teeth. It all looked good on paper, but you needed to be sure. You didn’t want to swap one cage for another - you had to at least like Baron Zemo, and him you. It seemed as though he spoke numerous languages, so at least you had one thing in common with him. Hopefully all would go well, and you could consign this place and thoughts of the King to the past.

A few hours later and you were putting the finishing touches to your toilette. You dabbed some rosewater behind your ears and smoothed your hands down the front of your gown. It was one of your favourites and you’d worn it every time you’d been to visit the late King. He’d always complimented it, saying that the colour of the silk brought out your eyes. You hoped the Baron would like it as well. With a gentle knock on the door, one of the servants let you know that your guest had arrived and was waiting for you in the solar. You took a deep breath and walked down the hall.

As you entered, you saw a man, dressed in deep purple, looking out of the window, with his back to you. 

“Baron Zemo, you are most welcome,” you said as you dropped into a curtsey. You heard him turn and then a be-ringed hand appeared in front of your eyes, offering to help you back to your feet.

“Thank you for having me here, my lady,” he replied as you stood. “I have been intrigued to meet you ever since the King wrote to me about your situation.”

You took in his features as he smiled gently at you. He had warm hazel eyes, straight, mid-brown hair that lay across his brow, and was clean shaven. He was slightly taller than you, but not by much and you pushed away the rogue thought about how King James virtually towered over you.

“Shall we sit and dine, and hopefully get to know one another better, sir?” you suggested.

“You’ve read my mind, my dear. There is nothing like good food, good wine, and good conversation, is there?” The Baron walked you over to the small dining table that had been set up and assisted you into your seat, and you felt like a grand lady.

The next two hours passed by amenably. The Baron was eloquent and charming, and when he found out that you spoke other languages he insisted on conversing with you in them, gently correcting your pronunciation and helping you when a particular word or phrase was outside your knowledge. At the end of the meal you were full, warm and a little tipsy from the wine - it wasn’t in your nature to imbibe often.

“Maybe,” Zemo suggested, “we should take a turn about the gardens? A walk in the cool night air would probably help aid digestion. What do you think, my lady?”

“I think that would be delightful.” You allowed him to help you with your chair once more and when you stumbled he linked your arm into his and walked you outside, away from the guards and servants who’d been present in the solar with you. 

The garden was illuminated with lanterns in addition to the lights from the solar, and the pair of you walked companionably along the pathways. So far he’d done nothing to worry you, and hadn’t been at all standoffish. You would have to give serious thought into accepting his suit, especially as you were unlikely to receive better. The problem with being the last to be situated was that it also meant that your options for a suitable marriage were narrower.

“You’re awfully quiet, my dear. What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?” You ducked your head at the compliment and couldn’t help but smile.

“In all honesty, my lord? I was thinking about how lovely this evening has been. I will admit to some trepidation, which I’m sure you can forgive me for. Things like this are all too new for me.”

“No forgiveness needed,” he said with a smile, one much wider than those he’d displayed earlier and you felt your heart pick up in your chest, although you couldn’t immediately say why. “It’s completely understandable. But can I say that you have vastly surpassed my expectations. The information given to me about you greatly downplayed your beauty and intelligence. And, if I may be so bold, I find myself captivated.”

You felt your cheeks warm, but you also felt a little uncomfortable, at his zealousness. Or maybe it was the wine? “That is kind of you to say, sir. However, I’m finding myself getting a little chilled. Maybe we should return inside?”

With a swiftness that startled you, the Baron took hold of your shoulders and steered you backwards until you came into contact with the wall. You gasped in shock at both the impact and his change in demeanour.

“Maybe I can find a way to warm you up?” He quipped before his lips came down onto yours, his tongue thrusting into your mouth and one hand falling to your leg, inching your skirts upwards. You tore your mouth from his and turned your head, but his lips just zeroed in on your throat instead, sucking and nipping.

“Sir! Get off me!” You tried to push him, but his bulk had you pinned. His questing hand breached the hem of your skirts and he started to grope at your thigh, and his lips trailed further down to the neckline of your dress. “I said get off!”

The Baron raised his head and stilled his hand, but didn’t move away. “Surely you must miss this? The touch of a man. And think how much better it will be with someone who is younger and knows how to please a woman.”

“I miss it less than you think,” you ground out between clenched teeth. “And I did not ask you for this. Let me go.”

He smiled predatorily and slid his hand up to cup your mound over your underwear. “Did you really think I would offer for you without seeing if you had all the necessary attributes I’m looking for. I need an heir, and intelligence and beauty can’t provide that. And let’s face it, it’s not as though you’re a missish virgin keeping herself pure for her wedding night.”

His hand started to tug at your underthings and you closed your eyes tight as fear started to take over. However, just as you felt the first touch of his fingers on your intimate flesh his weight was suddenly gone.

“I believe the lady said no, Baron Zemo.”

Your eyes shot open, and there was King James, standing between you and the Baron, who was now sprawled on the ground. The dim light of the lanterns partially lit his face and that, combined with his expression, made him look like an avenging angel. Then he turned towards you and his expression softened.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

Without the Baron’s hands on you, your skirts fell back to your ankles and you pushed yourself away from the wall to stand. 

You nodded and gave a little cough to clear your throat. “I’m fine, Your Majesty.”

The Baron scrambled to his feet and brushed the dust and gravel from his coat.

“Just a little misunderstanding between my fianceé and myself, Your Majesty. No harm done,” he said, his voice smooth and oily.

You took a step forward, your body trembling with anger. “I don’t believe that I’ve accepted your suit, sir. And after that display of ungentlemanly conduct I am now fully disinclined to do so.”

The Baron’s eyes snapped to yours, narrowing and he let his facade fully drop away. “Be quiet, whore. Who else would have you? You’re used goods, even if the one who did the using was the former King. You should be grateful I’m even considering you.”

You shifted, intending to step forward again and slap him, but the King held out his hand stopping you.

“You are out of line, Baron. No matter her history, the lady is still just that. A lady. And how you treat her is tells me that, despite your title, you are no gentleman.” His voice was steady, but you could pick up the undercurrent of rage - could see it in the way he was holding himself and the tick in his jaw.

Baron Zemo let out a bark of laughter, apparently oblivious to the danger he was in. “My dear James, I cannot believe how much you are defending one of your fathers handmaidens. She was obtained by him for one purpose, but you think it’s unreasonable for me to see if she lives up to that purpose before I marry her.” He peered at the King, then his eyes widened as though he’d made a startling revelation. “Do I sense some jealousy raising its head here?” He laughed again. “I should have realised there was a reason you kept her until last. Of course - she’s your whore as…”

He didn’t get to finish his vile words, because King James’ arm snapped out and he punched the Baron right on the jaw, then watched impassively as the man crumpled back to the ground. Then, just as suddenly, he turned towards you fully and without a word scooped you up into his arms. You squeaked and threw your arms around his neck as he walked briskly back towards the solar. As he made his way inside, the guards stood to attention but didn’t turn to look at you, however, you still hid your face in his neck from embarrassment.

“There’s some filth in the garden to be sent packing.” The King’s voice rumbled in your ear as he spoke to the guards, and then he was turning with you in his arms and striding down the corridor that led to the private chambers. 

“Which one?” he asked gruffly, and you uncurled from his chest slightly so you could point. He shouldered your door open and then kicked it shut before letting you down, your body sliding over his as he did so.

You looked up at him, eyes wide and heart racing, not even noticing that your hands still rested on the slope of his chest and that his hands were still on your waist.

“You’re sure you're alright?” he queried again, looking down at you with concern.

“Absolutely. You stopped him. You…” You started to shake then as you realised how close you’d come to real harm. Without a word, the king steered you over to the edge of your bed and you both sat down, your small hands held in his larger ones, one of his thumbs rubbing over the delicate skin near your knuckles.

“Just breathe, my lady. You’ve had a shock. I’m glad I was there…” he stopped mid-sentence and freed one of his hands to turn your head and bare your neck to him. You swore you heard him growl. “He marked you. I’m going to kill him.”

You took hold of his wrist and pulled it down so you could turn back to face him. “It’s nothing. Really. It will fade and in a few days it’ll be a memory. Then we can try again.”

He peered at you, confused.

“Try and find me a husband,” you clarified and then smiled in an effort to lighten the atmosphere in the room.

“No.” King James pulled himself away sharply and stood, his back to you.

Now you were the one who was confused. “What do you mean,’No’? ‘No’ to a few days or ‘No’ to a husband? I don’t understand.”

“Either. Both,” he snapped, still not turning around.

“Alright,” you replied. “We’ll find me somewhere to live, then. Discuss a suitable stipend amount like Master Coulson did with some of the others who refused a husband.”

“Not that, either.” He ground the words out and you felt your patience waning, frustration overtaking your confusion. You stood up and stepped closer.

“So no husband and no stipend. What are you suggesting? That I just leave?” You couldn’t keep the hysterical note from your voice.

He spun on his heel and moved into your personal space, just as the Baron had done only a few minutes ago. However you didn’t feel anxious or uncomfortable, and the warm feeling inside you was back, despite your anger at how contrary he was being.

“Not at all,” he said quietly, his eyes trained on you. 

On your face. 

On your lips.

“I thought you wanted me out of here. You don’t want any concubines, remember?” You arched your eyebrow, challenging him.

He leant forwards and your breath caught in your throat, his stormy eyes now all you could see.

“I still don’t,” he murmured and then pressed his lips to yours.

This kiss was entirely different to the Baron’s assault. It was soft and gentle. Coaxing, not claiming. The King’s hands came up to cup your face and you curled your own into the front of his jacket. The heat within you rose in intensity and you kissed him back, opening your mouth and letting him in. He moaned when you did, one hand sliding to your hair and the other to the small of your back, pulling you close to him. You could feel the evidence of his arousal, but it didn’t scare you. In fact it thrilled you. It was all the deepest thoughts you’d kept to yourself come to life, and they took you over. 

Your nimble fingers worked the buttons of his jacket and as they came undone the King let go of you to shuck it off. That was followed quickly by his cravat and waistcoat, thrown without care across your room, and then he pulled his shirt free of his trousers and toed off his shoes. He took you back in his embrace then, kissing you with more passion and your hands found their way under his shirt, stroking across the hard planes of his chest. He nipped at your lower lip in retaliation and you gasped as the brief stinging shot to your core.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathed into your mouth.

“I do,” you whispered back. You’d never been as sure of anything as you were now - consequences be damned. They were a problem for tomorrow.

Part of Bucky couldn’t believe what he was doing, because he really shouldn’t be doing it. He was a King and should be the better person. But, oh, how he wanted to be selfish for once and slake this longing he had for you. 

He hadn’t been able to stop himself from coming to see how you and the Baron were getting on, partially to assuage his guilt and partially to torture himself. When he’d found you both absent from the solar, one of the guards had told him you’d gone for a walk together. As he’d stepped outside and neither of you had been in the closer part of the garden a sense of unease had washed over him. Then he’d heard you shout and raced around a corner to see you pushing at the Baron as he held you against the wall, trying to violate you.

He’d barely been able to restrain himself when he saw that, only daring to separate you and check that you were alright. But then the Baron had started to spew his hurtful, cruel words and his resolve had crumbled. He’d had to make sure you were safe. He’d needed it like air.

Upon getting you inside, he’d told himself that he would just double check that you were alright and then leave, but then he’d seen the bruise on your neck and you’d tried to placate him with talk of trying to find a new suitor and he’d lost any sense of decorum. 

There would be no other husband, no grand house and pension, because you were his. You were his oxygen - his sunlight. His joy and his misery and his desire all rolled into one. So he’d kissed you, almost no better than the Baron, but then you’d kissed him back. Clung to him. You’d made it plain that you wanted him too, first with your actions and then your words.

Mentally calling himself a fool, Bucky spun you around and tugged at the closure of your dress, the multitude of tiny buttons that held it together flying across the room. He didn’t care, though. He could buy you a new dress. A thousand new dresses. He eased the open neckline over your shoulders and pushed the multiple layers of silk down your frame. Taking your hand, he helped you step out of the froth of fabric and you kicked off your slippers at the same time with a giggle that shot through him like a bolt of lightning. 

Bucky pulled you back to him with a groan and walked you towards the bed, laughing with you when you both tumbled onto it with a bounce. Your hands, so small and delicate, found his chest again, and he lent up and pulled his shirt over his head, watching you as your eyes darkened with desire as you took in what you saw. You traced your fingers over the definition of his abdominals and pectorals and Bucky shivered. 

“I want you, Your Majesty.” Your voice was low and breathy, and fuck did he just want to bury himself in you. Feast on you.

“Bucky,” he rasped. “Call me Bucky. There is no King here tonight.”

You came back together, kissing and touching and through it you both messily and awkwardly helped each other remove the rest of the clothes that separated you. As soon as your breasts were bared to him, Bucky couldn’t hold back, latching onto your puckered nipples, one after the other, drawing squeaks and moans from you, more intoxicating than any sounds he’d imagined in his private imaginings. 

His right hand skirted down your body, finding its way between your legs and you opened for him. He moaned around breast as he found your wetness and began to toy with you. Bucky teased your clit and stroked your folds, captivated by how more arousal spilled from you. When he slid a testing finger into you, you gripped his hair and arched into his hand, your soft mewl turning to a strangled gasp and he felt undeniably powerful, a small part of him, one he didn’t want to really acknowledge, feeling as though he was competing with the memory of his father. He was determined to erase it. After tonight there would only be him.

When Bucky added a second finger into your warm channel and circled his thumb on your clit, you whimpered his name. Not ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘Sire’, but ‘Bucky’ as he’d asked you. He lifted his head and rose back up your body, capturing your lips and swallowing your cries as he drove you higher and higher. Your hands now clutched his shoulders, your short, manicured nails digging into him, using him as an anchor, lest you float away into the ether. He felt your body quiver beneath him as you neared the precipice of your pleasure and then the next second you were tumbling over it, your body spasming around his fingers, your mouth drawing all the oxygen from his lungs into your own.

Bucky kissed you through it, slowing his hand before pulling it away slowly. He shifted on the bed, kneeling between your limp legs, and as you watched him with hooded, lust filled eyes, he brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted your essence. He groaned as he did so, promising himself that he would drink directly from your source soon, but he couldn’t hold back his desire to fully claim you any longer. 

As his hand dropped to his cock, your eyes followed it, and you took your first real look at him. He couldn’t help but smile as your eyes widened and you tentatively raised your own hand towards his erection. He took hold of it and wrapped it around his length, marvelling at how your fingers didn’t meet. Your gaze flicked between his face and his cock, unsure which you wanted to watch. However, after a few minutes it was too torturous, and he repositioned himself to kiss you again and run his cock between your wet folds. Your hips rolled beneath him as you let out small whimpers of need and desire and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Bucky reached between you, lined himself up and sank into your warmth.

The cry of ecstasy you let out caught him by surprise and he looked down into your eyes. The truth shone out of them as you pulled in breath after ragged breath, your body struggling to adjust to his size, despite what he’d done to you only minutes before. He couldn’t really process it, but an animalistic part of him howled in pleasure at the realisation that you’d been untouched and consumed any remaining restraint.

Bucky snapped his hips, watching in awe as your eyes rolled in your head and the breath was pushed from your lungs. It was an addictive sight and he thrust into you again and again, unable to stop, needing to see your reaction. You clutched his biceps as he braced himself, your head thrown back and he never wanted to see you any other way - debauched and ruined on his cock. 

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful. Can you touch yourself for me, sweetheart?”

You mumbled incoherently but did as he’d asked, your hand moving between you, and Bucky knew when you’d found your centre from the way you clenched around him. He groaned at the sensation and let it spur him on. He dipped his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts and when you let out a wail he knew he’d found the right spot.

“That’s it, beautiful. Come apart for me. Come on my cock.” 

You screamed and spasmed around him and his rational brain knew he should pull out and spill himself over the sheets, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t not have this. He cried out, throwing back his own head, and surrendered to the inevitable.

It took you a while to come back to yourself, because what you’d just experience was so different from what you’d been told about. The King - Bucky - was cuddled up behind you, his arms holding you close and his nose pressed into your hair, dozing. You turned in his embrace and his long, dark eyelashes fluttered open.

“Hi,” you breathed cautiously, unsure of how you should be acting. However, when he softly smiled at you, you felt your heart leap inside your chest.

“Hello, yourself.” He dropped a gentle kiss to your lips and you smiled in return and relaxed. He was obviously content to stay in your private, intimate bubble for at least a short time more and you were more than happy to indulge him. You didn’t want to think about how you’d feel when this ended, it would hurt too much.

Pushing yourself up onto one elbow you looked down at him and idly traced invisible designs across his chest with your finger tip.

“So, Bucky, huh? Where does that come from?” 

He chuckled at your teasing tone. “From my sister, Princess Rebecca. Or as I call her, Becca-Boo or Sprout. My second name is Buchanan, and when she was learning to talk she couldn’t say it. Whenever she said ‘Bucky’ it would make me laugh, so she kept doing it and then refused to call me anything else. Then my mother picked it up, because if she called me James, Becca would stamp her foot and tell her off. And I liked it. It helped me separate the two parts of myself - Bucky, the normal man with normal wants, desires and hobbies etcetera, and James, heir to the throne, with duties and responsibilities who has to keep himself apart from those around him.”

There was a melancholy tone to his words, and you couldn’t help but bend down and press a light kiss to his lips. “Well I like Bucky.”

He brought his hand up to the nape of your neck, returning the kiss, and you wished that reality could just stay firmly outside for the rest of time.

When Bucky broke the kiss, he looked up at you with searching eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked quietly and you immediately knew what he was talking about. You shrugged one shoulder.

“Does it matter? Would it have changed what just happened between us? Would you have thought differently of me?”

“No, it wouldn’t have changed what just happened, but I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t have treated you differently. I thought harshly of you, driven by jealousy. How could I allow myself to like you, desire you, when you had lain with my father? I was jealous of a ghost for having claimed you first, and I hated myself for feeling that way. That was why I acted coldly to you when we conversed in the solar. What you said. You made it sound as if you’d enjoyed being with him and ugly thoughts filled my head.” Bucky’s brow furrowed as he spoke and you itched to smooth out the lines that formed there.

“Well, it isn’t really the done thing to speak out loud about the King’s impotence,” you pointed out. “Especially with his own son. I was trying to answer truthfully, but without going into detail. And I suppose I did enjoy spending time with him. He may not have been the type of father you wished, or the husband your mother wanted, but he was still a man. We’d talk, mostly. I like to think that I gave him some comfort and companionship. I can’t say that I’m unhappy about the way things turned out.” You looked at him coyly from under your lashes and he laughed.

“You liked being claimed by me? You wanton wretch,” he teased.

“It was definitely different, and much better, than what I’d been led to believe.” He growled playfully, and in one deft move rose up and pushed you back to the mattress, caging you in with his arms. You brought your hand up and brushed the back of it over his cheek. “If I’m going to be a concubine, I’m glad that I’m yours.”

At your words, Bucky reared back, as if you’d slapped him and you immediately started to apologise. “I’m sorry, Sire. I shouldn’t have presumed…” Shame and guilt washed over you at how far you’d sunk into your daydream, and you fought your way out of the sheets. Rising from the bed, you found your shift in the heap of clothing on the floor and pulled it over your head. “I will leave you to your dressing and wait for instructions from Master Coulson later.” You bobbed a curtsey and turned toward the door, your hand reaching for the handle, eager to put space between you.

“Stop!” His command made you freeze mid step, your arm lowering back to your side. In a moment he was behind you, his hands firmly gripping your upper arms.

“You are not my concubine. I never wanted one, and I won’t start now.” He spun you, and when you didn’t raise your head, staring instead at a freckle near his collarbone, he tucked a finger under your chin and made you look at him. “You deserve more than that, my darling.” His tone softened. “You will be my wife. That is, if you will have me?”

You looked at him in shock. “What? How can I be your wife? You are the King and I am, well, just me.”

“And as the King, I can do what I want. And for anyone who gets pedantic about your previous status, there is precedent. Concubines have been turned into Queens before.”

You pulled yourself from his hold, raising your arms up in confusion. “You do not need to speak of marriage, just because you have bedded me and do not want a concubine.”

“This is not solely because we have lain together, sweet fool. I love you.”

His words made you stop and you wondered if you’d misheard, but he continued. 

“I fear I have done since I first laid eyes on you. And I just hope that maybe you can learn to love me too. Bucky, that is. Not just James, your King.” He reached out imploringly toward you. You looked back at him and then at his hand, before accepting it as you stepped forward, a broad smile making its way across your face.

“Learn to love you? That implies that I don’t already. How could I not, even if you were being grumpy and contrary.”

He wrapped you up in his embrace and looked down at you, eyes full of mischief. “Contrary? Is that anyway to speak to your King?”

“It is how a Queen speaks to her husband,” you joked back.

“Is that so? Then I must make you my Queen as soon as possible.” He closed the remaining distance between you, kissing you with vigour before lifting you and returning you both to the bed.

“However, nothing can be done until tomorrow. Whatever shall we do until then?” he drawled with mock innocence.

“I have a few ideas, Your Majesty,” you replied, mimicking his tone.

He shook his head. “Bucky, remember?”

“Bucky,” you agreed.

The End

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @sonatabee-blog, @goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots, @crayongirl-linz, @mrs-illyrian-baby, @wheezy-stucky, @km-ffluv

[robthegoodfellow]

3DPC4EVA

@harringrovezine submission! Billy and Steve take a backseat while their cars get busy. Crack taken seriously. Brace for puns.

Summary: When the Camaro rumbles into the Hawkins High parking lot, she catches the attention of a certain luxury vehicle.

Harringrove, Camaro/Beamer (or Bimmer/Beemer whatever you prefer)

Rated G | ~2.2k (slightly expanded version) | Alternating Car POV

thank you @adelacreations and the rest of the zine team for all your hard work!

~🛞~

A car never forgot the moment it came to—became aware. For PC, it was rounding a bend of the Pacific Coast Highway, to the left a sprawling sea, baked cliffs sloping opposite. And inside… was a boy, death-grip on the wheel relaxing, his stiff back gone slack on a long exhale.

He was gazing at the water, mesmerized. Revved the engine, a vicarious roar—but not of rage.

Exultation.

They meandered north for miles, blue horizon painted pink and red, glittering in the sinking sun. Veering onto a rocky shoulder, he hopped on the hood. Reclined, sighing smoke, until the sky had bruised purple. 

The boy’s mind wandered on the drive back, and PC got a sense of him then—name, where he lived. Enough to nudge reminders before he missed a turn. 

PC learned its own names, too—knew the boy thought of it as a she. Called her Baby. Or sometimes he’d smush the first part of her plate together, PCE, and think peace.

~🛞~

3D didn’t belong here, wasting away parked outside a school. A BMW E23 7-Series? Far more befitting the head of the Harrington family, not his spoiled Lothario of a son.

But no—downgraded months after purchase when the wife gifted her darling husband a Rolls-Royce.

Who could compete? So here it was, surrounded by malformed AMC experiments, rusted-out Oldsmobile barges, decrepit Pintos liable to explode if you looked at them wrong. Oh, and tractors—let’s not forget the occasional farming equipment caked in mud and manure ridden to school for a laugh. 

3D could have borne the shocks without blowing a gasket—it was a high-performance vehicle—but then… then the boy made it his mission to bed every girl in town. And 3D had spacious seats. Spacious and luxurious: black leather, gleaming wood trim—not that the paramours would notice, too busy humping while 3D stared out its headlamps at the lake or the trees or wherever it could fix its attention that wasn’t the pair of humans copulating all over its pristine interior.

Finally, the boy hitched himself to a girl with standards, one who preferred privacy. Granted, that relationship coincided with some rather strange occurrences—early on, the boy sped off to a remote property with faulty wiring, lights berserk, and ran inside to much screaming and cacophonous violence. 3D was certain that menace would emerge grievously wounded if he emerged at all, and do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of leather?

Well, 3D didn’t, either, but it was bound to be impossible.

Anyway—despite that bizarre hiccup, the boy seemed happy, and so too was 3D.

Happy its rear bench was a Motel 6 no longer.

~🛞~

The blistering hurt he'd stoked from San Diego to Indiana—this despairing, gnashing fury—had simmered to a low-grade pang when PC rumbled into the Hawkins High parking lot, blazing past milling students.

Billy slammed the door—pat the handle, apologetic, before striding off. Max wheeled away on her skateboard.

Though PC was facing the school, she wasn’t limited to staring dully at the brick. Sky through her windshield, a side-view out her windows, the lot behind via the tail lights. In no time, she’d taken stock: not too different from back home. Less pervasive rust from salty air, fewer finishes sun-bleached pale pastel… and the crusty tractor was new… but a parking lot was a parking lot.

That’s what she repeated, again jerking her focus from a gleam in the next row. A BMW—PC had a weakness for German makes. Her first crush was a cute Volkswagen bug that belonged to one of Billy's surfer buddies, but the Beetle couldn’t hold a candle to this burgundy beauty—shining in the sun, the lines of its hood so proud, so pert and compact compared to PC. The appealing rounds of its double headlamps, spider eyes on either side of those distinctive kidney grilles. Like bared teeth.

The plate read 3Ds46T2.

Its wipers twitched, annoyance loud and clear. What?

PC barely reined in the startled beep, hot underhood. But then—well… what else to do when caught so blatantly staring?

She flashed a taillight, a quick, cheeky wink, and the headlamps across the way flared—a bright flush, though brief, firmly repressed.

Didn’t want to push it—the blush perhaps more embarrassment than pleasure—but when she risked a glance, 3D was looking back, intrigued. 

At final bell, PC blared both taillights, a last gambit—and her fan belt fluttered when 3D’s wipers swept a wide arc. A farewell.

Half-expected to overheat on the way back to the new house. Like all the coolant in the world couldn’t help her.

~🛞~

A showy, brutish Camaro Z/28 wouldn’t typically warrant more than an irritated huff of exhaust, but a car like that had never been bold enough to… flirt? Just brazenly wink for the whole lot to see, gazing like you were the most riveting object in existence.

It was… well, flattering, obviously—a Camaro was a handsome make, whatever its faults—but more than that, it had thrilled in a way 3D couldn’t shake. So next time the boy pulled into the lot, it gently nudged the wheel, willing them to the front where PCE 235 was sitting pretty.

Maneuvering to park next to the muscle-bound stunner took more of a push—enough to trigger a frown—but the boy rarely fired on all cylinders. He shrugged it off.

3D never dreamed it could be so forward, but the Camaro didn’t mind. Quite the contrary: as the school doors closed on the last straggler, 3D spied its neighbor’s window cracking open. A loaded quiet—then the soft static of the radio searching for a station. Odd squeals, a cut-off twang, belt, chorus, then—

—too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you. Pardon the way that I stare—there's nothing else to compare.

An earnest crooning Oldie, and—it was like its undercarriage had bottomed out on nothing. 3D flushed hot as a busted radiator. 

If you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you.

Seeming to sense its struggle for composure, the volume lowered until the song clicked off. The window rolled up, parted lips closing, and the wheel spun, nervous. Crunch of gravel as the front tires turned its way: Your move.

3D choked, butterfly valve sealing shut. The boy’s tastes weren’t exactly varied. Hardly strayed from the local channels piping nonstop Hot 100. But the silence would soon ring of rejection, so it powered the radio, scrambling, poised to blindly crank the dial and hope for the best—

Miracle of miracles. Rushing to open a window, it lowered all four, silently thanking Hump Day Hits of the 60s.

—thought love was only true in fairytales—meant for someone else but not for me. Love was out to get me—that's the way it seemed. 

Spontaneity sparking, it left the windows down. Let the whole lot hear! What did it care what they thought?

Then I saw her face! Now I'm a believer. Not a trace of doubt in my mind…

Last bell, after hours of trading silly ditties, their batteries were dead, and 3D was in love—felt drunk on diesel, sappy sentiment gumming up its engine.

PC. How wonderful, those two letters. And a she. Fascinating.

Their drivers were baffled at both needing a jump—a much remarked upon coincidence. Waiting for their cars to revive, the boy made awkward small talk with PC’s human—a blond ruffian who smoked like a chimney.

The boy asked the ruffian—Billy—if he was going to the Halloween party later.

Billy was.

“See ya there, man,” he said, tapping 3D’s roof. It would have cringed at the fingerprints left behind, if not for a more pressing thought.

It would see PC that night.

Perhaps all night.

~🛞~

Billy was nervous—PC could tell by his fidgeting grip, Metallica blasting. Odd outfit, too: leather jacket, shirtless, with fingerless gloves.

He parked behind 3D, no encouragement necessary. Before he’d even disappeared inside the pulsing house, PC waved her wiper, overeager but suddenly—shy.

They seemed to mutually agree not to drain their batteries again. Instead, at the risk of coming on too strong, PC reached out with the nebulous consciousness linking her to her body, linking her to Billy… until she felt a psychic bump. Not enough to dent. Just… alert.

She’d never done this—gone beyond basic flirtation—but something about 3D made her bold… and maybe Billy’s loneliness, the aimless despair bubbling under his skin since the move… maybe that had bled over more than she’d realized.

A bump, and she almost ignited her own engine, so intense was the bolt of excitement. 3D was reaching back, willing to open to her—

She had no idea how much time had passed, so submerged in their mingled selves, when Billy stumbled against her with a grunt, a slurred curse. The icy jolt must have transferred before she cut off to focus on the problem sagging at her door—a problem she knew too well.

Billy unlocked her after a couple tries, more falling than sitting in the driver’s seat. Shoved the key in the ignition—groaned when the engine wouldn’t start.

“Not tonight, baby—I’m fucking fine.”

She remained unmoved, even as he slumped, forehead knocking on the wheel.

“Just start! We’re three streets away, for fuck’s sake.”

An insistent bump—so unrelenting that she reconnected, conveyed through images, flashes of memory, that this was just something they did: Billy would drink too much, and she wouldn’t start until he was sober. But that only triggered a renewed wave of concern, a series of impressions in return: pulling over to assist a family broken down, the kids shivering in the chill evening air of autumn; 3D’s human, breath misting, joking with a pretty brunette about drinking until they were warm, the girl informing him that booze made you more vulnerable to frostbite.

But… it wasn’t nearly cold enough for that, right? Although what did she know? It had taken ages to warm up this morning. How cold was too cold?

Maybe Billy would just… go back inside the house. Or she could—start the engine but jam the accelerator? Or—

Billy jumped when 3D’s horn blared, obnoxious in the still night, its headlights flashing with each trumpeting blast. 

Not a minute later, PC understood in a burst of gratitude: 3D’s human trotted from the house. He would help. Flinging open the door, she spun her wheel, sharp.

A grunt, and Billy spilled onto the pavement. “Bitch.”

The alarm died with a chirp. “Hargrove?” 

Billy sighed, flopping backward. “Fuck off, Harrington.”

Harrington did not—kept coming until he towered, hands on hips. Prodded Billy with a curious foot.

“You wanna be roadkill, or what?”

Bratty snort. “Or what.”

“Well, in the interest of not scraping you up tomorrow, how about I drive you home?”

Billy propped himself on elbows. A hum, considering. “Pass.”

PC resisted whacking him with the door. From his expression, Harrington felt much the same.

“Take you to mine, then.” Stooping, he stuck his hand out, waiting while Billy curled his lip, rolled his eyes—finally took the hand.

3D’s lights beamed worry as Harrington started the engine, Billy safe in passenger. PC twitched a wiper—shoo—and settled in by the curb. Small price for peace of mind.

~🛞~

At some point between disappearing into the Harrington house and emerging in the early dawn, something had happened—3D couldn’t begin to guess. The surly quiet of last night now buzzed like coins in a cupholder. Glances darted, never meeting.

3D resisted cranking the radio to drown out the awkward. Or redirecting the beads of condensation cutting through the misted windows so their dewy paths spelled HELP.

It rumbled with relief to see PC, glistening in the gloom, right where they’d left her.

“Last night,” Billy said, as they rolled to a stop. “We—it can’t happen—”

“You scared?” The arched brow was bluster, his frame rigid with nerves.

“You dumb?” Sneered it, scathing.

He was dumb, 3D would vouch for that, but the boy only glared. Billy huffed, paired an eye roll with a shake of his head, reaching for the door. 

A lesser vehicle would’ve missed the other hand pounce across the console, but 3D fogged the windows just in time.

No one saw the driver yanked sideways by the shirt, arrested by snarling lips pressed to his own—or the hands that grappled in reply, cupping cheek and chin, fingers sinking into hair.

No one saw, but PC knew—was practically dancing, wipers waving, front wheels pivoting left and right. And usually 3D would sigh, resign itself to rounds of necking and worse, but it couldn’t muster the fumes.

Because it would put up with anything—happily, no matter the wear and tear—for more time right here, sharing PC’s air. 

Since keeping one meant keeping the other, this would be no fling. Not if 3D could help it. 

What was it humans liked to say? 

My way or the highway.

~🛞~

Read on Ao3

[lottesreads]

Why Me? - Part 8

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Mitchell! Female Reader (Callsign Mantis)

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries, flashbacks, abuse, blood, violence, getting kicked out, forbidden relationship, swearing, pining

Word Count: 10k (i'm so sorry)

Summary: An insight to the past has you remembering just how hurt you were. You're still refusing to talk to your dad, and he isn't quite sure how to get you to open up. Even after a meeting with Cyclone, you're reminded you still have an entire team ready to back you up. Rooster is ready to apologize and welcome you back, but are you? (Also, can dogfight football really fix everything?)

A/N: Wow, I really didn't mean for it to get this long but here we are. But also I did procrastinate my homework to do this, and I don't regret it. I hope you all enjoy! Comments and reblogs literally make me cry tears of joy, happy reading!

Masterlist

10 years ago

Driving your beat up Toyota Corolla down the streets to your mom’s extravagant home was nothing new to you. The anticipatory anxiety wasn’t new either. You had memorized your mom’s work schedule to know when she would or wouldn’t be home when you got back from school, but lately it’s been a little erratic. Almost as much as she was. So was the real estate market you supposed.

You sigh in relief when you don’t see her car in the driveway. In these moments you thanked her husband for owning three cars and parking them all in the garage. You, of course, get to park on the street, which added a couple extra dents to your car that weren’t there before, but you weren’t one to complain. Disappointed maybe, that your pride and joy you spent your summers working at the local smoothie joint to afford, was a little more rough around the edges than when you purchased it.

You check the mailbox at the curb before going in. Of course it was empty. It became a habit ever since you applied to USNA to check the mailbox daily, hopefully to intercept the good or bad news before anyone else could see it. 

The house is quiet as you enter, all three of your step-siblings must be with their mom. And Bret, your step-dad, doesn’t get home until after 5:00 most days, leaving you to your own devices. Even if you wanted to do something fun with the house to yourself, you never dare. The second your mom comes home she would notice if a single crumb was left in the sink. You have been on the receiving end of her anger at the state of the house too many times to count, even if it was Bret’s kids who made it. But of course, she wasn’t going to get mad at them. It always ended up being your fault somehow.

Still, you grab a snack and try carefully not to drop any of the pretzels as you go to your room. It was homework all the time in your last semester of High School. You were still waiting to hear from the Naval Academy, but you wanted your good grades to follow through to the very end of the year. Hours of taking notes kept your hand cramped, but it would all be worth it in the end. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.  You had spent the last four years working ridiculously hard to maintain your grades, all in the hopes of getting the opportunity your dad and Bradley weren’t afforded. Of course, you’ll never know if Bradley would have been accepted anyway. Which is why you were all too happy to keep this little secret to yourself.

Only a couple short hours later you hear the front door unlock and slam shut. It rattles you out of the Physics textbook you were intently studying, as you straighten up. Whatever she was mad about, it wasn’t good. It was the sound of her heels clacking up the stairs that set you on edge. As they get louder and closer to your room, you turn to face her right as she throws the door wide open. Privacy not a concept she was familiar with. You don’t even notice the bundle of mail in her hand as her eyes glare absolute daggers at you.

“Hi mom, how was work?”, you attempt to start the conversation civilly. It paints you more as a mouse, the way it comes out in a squeak. Her manicured claws squeeze harder around the letters as she throws all but one onto the floor.

“What is this?”, she seethes, holding out the large envelope addressed to you. Your blood runs cold as your shaky hands take it from her and the USNA insignia in the top left corner is revealed.

“I-”, you swallow, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”, she blinks.

“I’m sure it’s some sort of recruiting thing they send to all seniors”, you try to reason. She clicks her tongue, folding her arms.

“Then open it and let’s find out.” There is no room for argument as she raises her brows for you to continue, her eyes still alight with pure rage. Your heart beats faster as your shaky fingers slowly tear open the envelope. They don’t stop as you withdraw the paper. Tears start to form in your eyes as you read the first line of the letter. The excitement you had for any of this is quickly overrun by fear as your mom interrupts you.

“Read it outloud.” Swallowing, you clear your throat without giving her a look and start to read.

“Dear Miss Mitchell, congratulations. We are pleased to offer you an appointment to the United States Naval Academy…”, your voice wavers off toward the end. The moment you had so looked forward to was being tainted as you spoke. You begin to chew on your lip as your eyes slowly make their way back to your mom. Her jaw is set as she stares you down. “Mom-”

“I don’t even know where to start with you”, she seethes. “After years and years of wasting my own life to give you one, this is how you repay me? By throwing it all away, and for what? The chance to be like your father? Or- or Carole’s kid who can’t even be bothered to talk to you anymore?” The use of Carole’s name has you snapping your head back from where it hung in fear.

“Don’t talk about them.” She scoffs at your tiny show of courage.

“I just don’t understand how you could do this to me! You’re not going.” She says with an edge of finality.

“What?”

“You aren’t going. That is final. No daughter of mine will be sucked into this trap.” Staring back down at your lap, you hope to find one last bit of courage sewn within the denim of your jeans.

“Mom, I’m- I’m going”, you manage to stutter out.

“No you’re not”, she bites back. “You know how I feel about your father, about this, and for some reason I just can’t get through to you.” She scoffs again and paces around your room, heels clicking with each step. You stand as she inspects the picture frames on your bookshelf, it wouldn’t be the first time she broke something of yours, and you want to be able to stop it if it happens again. “Do you know how much I gave up to raise you? How hard it was- is to be your mother?” What she says doesn’t hurt as much as it used to when you were younger, but it still stings every time. Like rubbing salt in an old wound that didn’t heal properly.

“I didn’t ask to be brought into this world”, you defend, your voice raising slightly. “And I’m sorry if it was so hard to be my mom, but you’re the one who brought me back after every summer. You could have left me with my dad if I was that much of a burden to you!” Before you’re able to register it, she’s moved closer and has her claws wrapped around your arms, pushing you against your desk. In her heels she’s only a couple inches taller than you, but it feels much bigger as she towers over you.

“Do NOT talk back to me you ungrateful brat!” Her fingers grow tighter as she shakes you. You blink rapidly as you wince in pain. “Your father is my biggest regret in life. I wouldn’t have wasted all those years raising his child just to know you would end up being just like him.” She steps away, gathering her thoughts as she turns her back to you. You thought it was only possible to feel fear when in your mother’s presence, even if you were ever angry it was quickly tamped down by the threat of her own rage. This feeling now is new. The one that has you clenching your fists, gathering the courage from the back of your mind to say something. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s all come down to this one boiling point. And you weren’t about to give up your dreams just to keep the peace one last time.

“Stop blaming me for all your downfalls, when you’re the one who slept with him in the first place!” You don’t see it coming. The backhand you had grown used to smacks across your face, causing you to fall back and slide to the floor. The taste of metal fills your mouth as you bring your hand to cradle where she just hit. The spot on your lip you had been chewing earlier has split from her ring, blood coating your fingers as you bring them away from your mouth. She eyes her ring, taking it off and pocketing it to clean later.

As your face starts to throb as your jaw wobbles, the woman before you crouches and puts her finger in your face while you cower on the floor. “When you leave, don’t even bother coming back. I mean it. Don’t come crying to me when you realize you can’t last a day, because once you exit this house, you are not my daughter anymore.”

You start packing that night. The rooms at the Academy aren’t available until a couple weeks before the school year starts, but you want to be ready when they are.

You go to school the next day, turn in your homework like you always do, and if people ask about your lip, you tell them the same little lie, “I was just playing basketball and it bounced wrong and hit me in the face.” They seem to believe it, even though you don’t have a hoop, or a basketball for that matter.

When you drive home the first thing you notice is all the boxes on the front porch. Your boxes. Scrambling to the front door, you attempt to unlock it with your key, but it doesn’t fit the lock. Your mom’s car sits in the driveway as you knock and knock, eventually pleading with her to let you in. The house remains silent, as if she isn’t in the kitchen nursing a glass of wine.

Realizing there’s nothing you can do, you pack your car with the few possessions you have and start driving. The tears start falling down your face as you look in your rearview mirror and see what little boxes your entire life has been packed into. You find yourself at a local park, one you’ve passed everyday on your way to school. The sun is shining as you pull out your phone and decide to make one last ditch attempt for help. Clicking Bradley’s name, you hold your phone to your ear and beg as it rings that he picks up. Just this once. The robotic voice tells you he’s unable to get to the phone as you hang your head, your split lip pouting until the beep indicates it’s your turn to talk.

“Hey Bradley. I know we haven’t talked in a while”, you sniffle, “but if there’s any chance you’re hearing this, please pick up”, you start to sob. “I really need to talk to you… I don’t know who else to- to call. Just please, please call me back.” You manage in between your cries. “I miss you, and I hope you’re ok.” You click the button to end it before you ramble on too much. Staring back up to the park, you watch the families playing with their kids. A mom chasing her daughter as she hides behind the slide, a dad throwing a baseball with his son. If someone were to look on they’d probably find it creepy, but you don’t care. You stay until it gets dark, and even after you end up staying your first night of many in your car.

-----------------------

Present Day

Cyclone’s office is unarguably the largest on base. The fact that he has his own waiting room and assistant is a testament to that fact. You’re sitting in said waiting room, across from Rooster, who is still sporting a large bruise. It’s starting to turn the slightest shade of green on the outside, but it’s still rather purple.

Your dad- or Captain Mitchell right now, is inside with Cyclone, discussing the potential for you to be punished. At least that’s what you’re assuming since you assaulted an officer. After dinner Saturday, your dad attempted to talk to you but you shut him out and stayed in your room all night. It wasn’t any better yesterday. He gave you your space, but you could hear him pacing downstairs the entire day, just waiting for you to come out. Bob checked in a couple times just to see how you were feeling, but other than that you kept to yourself.

You didn’t leave your room at all, even when your dad eventually came up to bring you food, he left it outside your door. All while letting you know he was going to be on base early tomorrow to talk to Cyclone, allowing you to drive by yourself this morning. You had barely stepped foot on base when you were intersected by Warlock telling you Admiral Simpson wanted to see you in his office. It struck you with panic causing you to start chewing on your lip, and it didn’t bode well that Rooster was also there waiting when you arrived.

Rooster clears his throat and your stern gaze shoots up to him.

“Sorry”, he quickly lets out. Taking a deep breath in, you let your head fall back to the wall and allow the awkward silence to continue. It occurred to you when you sat down how much this felt like being called to the principal’s office. Except in this case, the punishments were far worse than being put in detention.

The door to Cyclone’s office opens and the two of you stand as Maverick walks out. Clearing his throat he greets you, “Lieutenants.”

“Sir”, you let out in unison. He walks past the two of you as Cyclone’s assistant lets you know you can both enter. Straightening your khaki pants, Rooster allows you to walk in first and the two of you stand to attention in front of his desk. He sits in his seat, staring out the window, and turns to look at the two of you fully, doing a slight double take as his gaze washes over Rooster.

“I am going to tell the two of you what I told Captain Mitchell'', he starts, voice as deep and ruling as always, “The U.S. government does not sign my paychecks to be a god damn babysitter. If you cannot get along as a team, then you will not fly as one. I will send one or the other to another squadron faster than you can say ‘Yes Sir’. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir”, the two of you respond.

“Being on this squadron is a privilege, not a right. The two of you are on thin ice. If either of you have a problem, you better let me know now so I can find the next pilot who will gladly fill your spot in a second flat.” His gaze darts between the two of you as your palms grow sweaty. “Understood?”

“Yes sir.” He eyes Rooster’s face once more, and then back to you very briefly.

“Rooster, if there is anything you would like to let me know about I suggest you say it now.” Swallowing, you can see Rooster out of the corner of your eye do the same.

“No, sir. There is not.”

“You won’t mind me asking where you got the shiner from then?” He asks as he eyes you, you’re more thankful than ever your hands are behind your back at the moment.

“Tripped and hit my face on some stairs, sir.” Your breathing slows slightly as Rooster covers for you. It makes you feel the slightest bit guilty for hitting him in the first place.

“Rooster, you are dismissed.” Your heart tightens in your chest as Rooster exits, leaving just you and the fire breathing dragon. He turns his attention to a pile of papers on his desk as he fans them out.

“I have to tell you, I was initially surprised I hadn’t had to call you in here earlier, given your father’s reputation. But, taking another look at your records, I’m surprised you’re in here at all.” You remain still as stone, staring at the wall just above his head. “Top of your class at the Academy, as well as Top Gun, and yet, you’re still in my office.” Raising a brow, he brings his full attention back to you. “Why is that, Lieutenant Mitchell?” You scoff internally at him questioning you instead of Rooster.

“Things got out of hand, sir. It won’t happen again.” Sighing, he stands and faces his window, gazing upon his domain.

“I wasn’t hesitant when Admiral Kazansky suggested you be added to this detachment. Your records speak for themselves. The insistence on having Captain Mitchell in charge however, made me more skeptical. How would that look?” He turns to you once more. “Having a parent and child in the same squadron? Rooster might know your dad, but on paper you have more to gain. And your flying ability doesn’t mean anything when politics are involved. It doesn’t matter what was said.” Setting both hands on his desk, he leans forward, his piercing gaze burning a hole through your facade, “I am going to give you some advice, and it is in your best interest to listen and listen good. What happened last week cannot happen again. Tread lightly, keep your head down, and do what you came here to do. Your job.” Punctuating the last two words with his finger pounding on the desk, he finally takes his seat. “You are dismissed.” 

You hold your breath all the way to the hallway. Once out of sight from anyone, you take in a deep breath and let it out through your nose, collecting yourself before making your way to the women’s locker room. You know he’s right. You let yourself get comfortable, and once you get comfortable things start to crumble. It’s like everything you touch gets ruined and breaks right under your fingertips. This was no exception. You had to be better, do better. Emotions are where you lose control, say things you shouldn’t say, and you get justly punished for them.

You are still before the locker room door, taking in a breath before letting yourself in. Halo is lacing up her boots while Phoenix slips her flight suit on when you get to your locker. They both greet you with a small smile as you start to change uniforms.

“How was your meeting with the air boss?” Phoenix asks, already knowing all about it apparently. “Did he totally lay into Rooster?”

“If he laid into him more than you did, I’d be surprised he’s still standing”, Halo comments.

“Wait, what did you say to him?”, you ask Phoenix as she rolls her eyes.

“Something along the lines of ‘what the fuck is wrong with you’, ‘why are you being such a dicktroll’, and ‘I can’t even look at you right now’”, Halo lists off for her.

“Dicktroll?”, you laugh, “That’s a new one.”

“Yeah well, when I’m mad the words just start coming out of my mouth.” 

“He’s still your friend”, you mutter. “And I said some regrettable things, too.”

“Mantis. You’re my friend. I don’t even know if I would call him that after this. And yeah, I know you separately and out of whatever mess you’re in now, but I know when someone is being an asshole. And Rooster was being a major asshole. What you said didn’t warrant what he told everyone” She catches your shoulder as you finish zipping up your flight suit, “I’m gonna have your back no matter what, ok? And I guarantee everyone else in that room will, too.” You turn to Halo as she nods in agreement.

“I appreciate it, truly”, you thank them as you begin to tie up your own boots.

“What did Cyclone say to you, though?” Halo asks.

“Um”, you cough, “Basically I’m just happy to even still be here.”

“What does that mean?” Phoenix asks as her brows furrow.

“Doesn’t matter”, you reply, patting her back as the three of you leave the locker room.

Maverick is already at the front of the room, talking with Hondo as you walk in behind Halo and Phoenix. Bob smiles at the two of them, and you think for a second you see it get slightly wider as he spots you behind them. It almost makes you forget that everyone is trying and failing to hide the fact that they’re thinking about what Rooster said.

That fact alone has you crawling in your skin just a little bit. Bob turns to you as you open your notebook to where you were taking notes on Friday. You try your best to ignore the flits of eyes that turn your way, but you can still feel them on you.

“Hey”, he smiles.

“Hey”, you smile right back.

“How’s your hand feelin?”, he whispers.

“Oh that”, looking down at it, you stretch your fingers out and wiggle them, “Definitely feeling a lot better.” Phoenix turns at your own words, eyes widening as she looks at the discoloration on your knuckles.

“Jesus, what happened?” You’re about to tell her the same lie you told Penny, but before you’re able to open your mouth, Hangman whistles from his seat on the other side of the aisle. Everyone’s eyes follow Rooster as he makes the uncomfortable trek to the back of the room. Phoenix’s eyes quickly move from the bruise on his face back to your hand as you tuck it under your opposite one. A slow smile creeps on her face as she realizes how you stood up for yourself. “Nice shot”, she whispers to you.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”, you whisper back as you pretend to look through your notes.

“Rooster”, Maverick’s voice speaks from the front, “Take a seat up here please”, he asks as he motions to the vacant seat next to you. Your brows furrow as do Rooster’s.

“Mav-”

“Now”, he responds rather sternly. Rooster follows his orders and he sits next to you as you stiffen. The rest of the room is silent as they wait for Mav to start the day.

“It has been brought to my attention that there has been some hostility amongst this team.” If it wasn’t at all obvious he was talking about you and Rooster, the ways his eyes wander to the two of you confirm the fact to everyone. “If you can’t act as a team, it is incredibly hard to fly as a team, and when you don’t fly as a team, people get hurt.” He eyes the room as everyone looks on in anticipation. “That being said, we’re going to start today with a little… exercise.” He says the last word with a hint of a smirk on his face.

“I will ask each of you a question. If you get it wrong you will have to do 10 pushups. If you get it right, however, you can choose anyone in our squad to do those 10 pushups for you.” People start to groan around the room at the prospect of not answering a question correctly.

“Rooster”, your dad starts, “When did the U.S. land on the moon?”

“Um, July 1969”, he responds, no doubt he has the right answer.

“Wrong, the correct answer is July sixteenth, 1969. Drop and give me 10.” Rooster blinks in surprise, but does as he says. Everyone shifts in their seats, realizing how nitpicky he’s being about these answers.

“Phoenix, what year was Top Gun founded?”

“It was 1969, and I believe it was in-”

“Correct”, your dad interrupts her. “Who would you like to give your push ups to?” She smiles slightly and turns to where Rooster has just sat back down after finishing his pushups.

“Rooster”

“You heard her, give me another 10, Rooster.” He does as he’s told, once more dropping to the floor.

“Payback, when was the Declaration of Independence signed?” Payback laughs slightly at the question, before noticing the very serious look on Maverick’s face.

“July 4, 1776, sir.”

“Very good, who gets your pushups?”

“Rooster”, he responds immediately. Payback looks over, sending you a small nod and smile, and you give it right back. Rooster stays down this time, as Hondo, who is all too happy to be doing this, counts his pushups from the back of the room. You watch across the room as everyone’s eyes light up. Maverick continues to go around asking possibly the easiest U.S. History questions, and everytime a member of the squad gets their answer inevitably right, they assign their punishment to Rooster. Your heart warms that every time someone gives their correct answer, they spare you a glance or a nod, subtly acknowledging they’re doing it for you.

Rooster’s starting to sweat and slow down as Maverick finally gets to you. His eyes grow a touch softer as they look at you. He clears his throat, asking his final question, “Mantis, who was the first American woman in space?” A small smile creeps on your face at what seems to everyone else to be a surface-level question.

“Sally Ride”, you answer. The memory of being 8 with dreams of being an astronaut fill your head. One summer at the Bradshaw’s, a documentary about Sally Ride was airing on t.v. and thinking it would be good for you to see a female role model, Carole left it on for you to watch. Turns out, you got a little too obsessed, to the point Carole hand-made a NASA jumpsuit for you to wear on Halloween months later. Bradley even helped you memorize the planets in the solar system that summer, telling you that’s the first thing you needed to know if you were going to be an astronaut. He was 14 at the time, and could have been doing a number of other things than hanging out with an eight year old, but he stayed with you the entire summer. It was one where your dad was deployed the last month, but he stuck by to make sure you never got lonely. You still knew the planet song he made up to help you memorize them like the back of your hand.

“Who gets your pushups?”, he asks, even as a formality now. As you stare at Rooster, who is behind on his last two sets, you’re reminded of that 14-year-old, who stayed with you when you were alone, and taught you how to go after what you wanted. The memory causes a lapse in your anger, and just this once you decide to go easy on him.

“Can I give them to you, sir?” His eyes go a bit wide as he blinks away his surprise. “You are technically a part of this team, are you not?”

“I guess, yeah- I am. Alright Hondo”, he says as he situates himself on the ground, “Count me out.”

Rooster and Maverick finish their pushups almost simultaneously, which leaves the rest of the time in the classroom to go over more flight maneuvers for the following week.

-----------------------

Bob saves you a seat at lunch like he’s been doing it forever, and you are more than happy to sit next to him.

“Do you realize that yesterday was the first day in like 3 weeks we haven’t seen each other in person?” You ask, taking a chip off of his plate.

“Wow”, he remarks, watching you so casually sharing each other's food. “I mean I did notice… It was awfully quiet at my house.” He gives you a small smile as you lightly shove his shoulder.

“Shut up.”

“What were you doing yesterday?”

“Quite literally nothing”, you reply, taking in a deep breath. Bob continues eating as you mull over your next words. “Rooster was at dinner on Saturday.”

“Are you serious?” He asks, almost choking on a chip.

“Yeah”, you nod, “He told me he was sorry, again.”

“How did that go?”, he treads lightly. You sigh, glancing across the mess-hall to see Rooster eating at a table by himself. For once he’s the one who looks lonely, and you can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. But then again, he did this to himself.

“I don’t know, I think he was angry at me for the wrong reasons, which made him feel worse about what he said.”

“He should feel bad about it. It doesn’t matter if they were the wrong reasons, he shouldn’t have said it at all.”, Bob mutters, causing you to look back at him. He blinks a couple times under your gaze as you don’t look away. “What?”

“Thanks for having my back”

“Of course, I’ll always have your back”, his smile gets a little more full, a little more crooked the longer you two look at each other. And you can feel the same happening to your own smile before you look over Bob’s shoulder to see Phoenix heading your way. Dropping her lunch bag on the table has you scooting the slightest bit away from Bob, just to create a little more distance between the two of you.

“Soo”, she draws out, “I know it’s been a wild few days, but are you two still coming to my house this weekend?” Shit, you forgot all about the party she invited you to. “I’m officially uninviting Rooster if that sways you in anyway.” Chuckling slightly, you look over her shoulder and watch Rooster as he picks at his own food.

“It’s fine, Phoenix. Like Mav said, if we can’t work as a team it’s hard to fly as one.” You decide.

“This is a party, Mantis. One in which I would not like to invite losers and assholes into my home, and he fits into both of those categories.”

“So does Hangman”, you reply as she rolls her eyes. “He did apologize to me, and I believe him.”

“Did you forgive him, though?”, Bob chimes in.

“That’s beside the point. Whatever is going on with me and Rooster doesn’t involve the rest of you, and I never should have brought it into work.” Phoenix looks on in contemplation as Bob gives you an earnest look in understanding. “Plus, we have direct orders to be on our best behavior.”

“I’ll think about it”, she trails off. There’s a lull in the conversation as you continue to eat until Phoenix turns to Bob. “Rachel’s friend Emily is gonna be there, too.” You stop eating, trying to glance at Bob’s reaction through the corner of your eye.

“Phoenix-”, he groans, “I’ve already told you I don’t want to be set up on any dates.”

“And why not?”, she probes. “I just wanna see you happy, you’re like my little brother now.”

“I just…”, his eyes move quickly from Phoenix to glance at you once before she moves on.

“It’s not even a date”, she reasons, “Just come to the party and meet her. That’s all I’m asking.” The conversation ends with that as you ponder Phoenix’s words. You don’t view Bob as a brother at all, but you want to see him happy. You’re happy whenever you’re with him, and you hope he’s happy, too. But you know it’s not sufficient. Bob deserves love, something you can’t give him, and something you don’t even know he wants from you. Even if it was a possibility.

-----------------------

The next day, your father takes a strange but familiar route to get the team back in its groove. He lets you know that day before you leave to meet at the Hard Deck instead of on base, and an immediate buzz fills the air. Everyone already knows what’s going down.

“Your dad’s not one for talking is he?” Fanboy asks as you trudge your way through the sand.

“No, no he is not”, you respond while placing your sunglasses over your eyes. Your dad had explicitly stated to you the day before that he got permission this time for an entire beach day. This explanation had come no further than two seconds after you had asked if Cyclone was going to make a surprise appearance this time.

The San Diego sun is as harsh as ever as the sweltering heat threatens to melt the sun screen right off your skin. Following Payback and Fanboy from the parking lot of the Hard Deck, you meet your father and the rest of the squad closer to the water. Everyone else is already shirtless and ready to start, except for Bob of course. Much to your battling emotions of relief and disappointment. You catch his eye, and make your way over to him as he talks to Omaha and Phoenix.

“Are you ready for some team bonding?” Phoenix asks you sarcastically as you roll your eyes.

“So ready. What better way to get over a fight than throwing balls and tackling each other?” You add with a cheery fakeness that has Bob chuckling. Hondo whistles, taking your attention away from the tall WSO as the day commences.

“Alright, listen up!”, your dad starts, “Today’s training is dogfight football. I’m choosing the teams this time.” Rolling your eyes at the notion, you turn to Bob.

“How much you wanna bet he puts me on a team with Rooster and Hangman?”, you whisper through the side of your mouth. Glancing down at you through his tinted prescription lenses, he chuckles slightly.

“I’m not a gambling man, but I’d bet it all on that”, you smile and shake your head, catching sight of Rooster off to the side of everyone. He’s already looking in your direction, causing you to furrow your brows and look back to your dad.

“Starting with team number one, we have Mantis, Rooster, Hangman, Fanboy, Omaha, and Yale.” He announces as you scoff only loud enough for Bob to hear.

The teams move to gather in huddles before the game starts, and as Hangman and Omaha argue over who gets to be the quarterback, you watch as Fanboy and Yale attempt to come up with a solution. You don’t even notice Rooster at first as he stands next to you. He clears his throat, startling you slightly as you look in his direction, then back to the boys fighting.

“I wanted to say thank you for not giving me your push ups yesterday.” You know an olive branch when you see one, having offered him multiple over many years. Still, you don’t look away from the display of toxic masculinity in front of you before answering.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Seriously, I appreciate it.” You don’t respond to him this time, prompting him to fill the silence between the two of you. “Mantis, I really am sorry-”

“What are you doing, Rooster?”, you ask now, turning to face him. He’s taken aback by your abruptness as he stammers for a response.

“I just thought maybe since-”

“Since Cyclone told us to play nice?” You finish for him. “Don’t get it twisted, Rooster. My actions from yesterday are purely so that I can remain on this team. I worked my ass off to get here, and I am not going to let you of all people jeopardize that.” Walking away from him, you tear the football out of Hangman’s hands while he’s distracted. “Do we have a game plan or what?”

-----------------------

Bob is desperately trying to pay attention to Maverick reiterating the rules of dogfight football, but his eyes keep wandering back to you as you stand next to Hangman. You’re wearing a loose tank top and he can see your sports bra through the sides, leaving the tiniest sliver of skin available for his eyes to roam over. You’re trying your best to act interested even though you know this game front and back. He catches your eyes wandering over the squad, and through his sunglasses he sees you widen your eyes in fake agony. He smiles as you continue to roll your eyes, and as he shakes his head in an attempt to hide his laugh, he glances over and finds Rooster staring at him. Squaring his shoulders as if he’s been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, Bob turns his attention back to Mav.

The game gets ready to start, you and Bob being chosen to snap the footballs. “Get ready to go down, Floyd”, you joke as you bend forward, setting the football on the sand. He mirrors your actions, and as he bends forward, he forgets any response he was about to say. From where he’s bent over, he can see right down your tank top and sports bra, giving him the perfect view of your cleavage. Swallowing, and looking back to your eyes, you don’t seem to notice his miniscule distraction. He barely even hears the whistle before you’re snapping the ball to Hangman and attempting to block the rest of his team. His hands feel a little more clammy than before the game started.

In order to keep your team happy, the decision is made to keep switching positions. You think it’s a good idea at the time, but as you run slightly backwards in order to try to catch the ball, you don’t even see what you’re hitting until the wind is knocked out of you. In an attempt to catch the ball Omaha’s thrown, your arms are stretched out, but you ultimately end up with your arms full of Bob as the two of you hit the sand hard.

Hondo blows his whistle, signaling everyone to stop as Bob groans from beneath you. The vibration of his chest against yours distracts you from the ache in your temple as you sit up to stare down at his face, eyes squinting in pain.

“Oh my god, are you ok?” You ask, assessing for any injuries.

“I’m fine, are you ok?”, he manages to slip out. His face looks fine, but as you quickly sit off to the side of him to assess the rest of his body, his hand moves to his face. “Oh geez”, he mutters. Glancing back up to his eyes as he sits up, a gush of blood pours out of the hand now clutching his nose. The rest of the team has gathered around you, and a couple people wince through their teeth at the amount of liquid pooling in his hand.

“Oh shit”, you let out without really meaning to. “Does anyone have a towel?” The team scrambles at the urgency in your voice, and without having to say anything else, a towel is plopped into your lap. You immediately move to replace Bob’s hand with the beach towel, holding it right beneath his nostrils which are simultaneously releasing blood.

Mav moves to bend down next to the two of you, “Here, let me see.” You take the towel away just for a second to let your dad inspect Bob’s nose as he looks up. There’s blood dripping over his lips and chin, prompting you to place the towel back.

“Is Penny working tonight?”, you ask, glancing back from the Hard Deck just beyond the sand.

“Yeah she should be in.”

“Good, I’m gonna take Bob up there and try to get this to stop bleeding.”

“Yeah, we should probably call it a day”, Mav replies as he places a hand under Bob’s elbow to help him up.

“No, I’m fine really”, Bob’s muffled and now nasally voice replies. “You guys keep playin’, I’ll go and take care of this.”

“You are not doing that by yourself”, you reply, almost amused at the fact he thinks he can get rid of you that easily. There’s no room for argument in your voice as you throw one of his arms over your shoulder to guide him up the sand to the bar. Phoenix steps in front of you before you leave.

“You got him?” She asks, her features twisted in a grimace as she examines his face.

“I’ve got him”, you reassure her as she watches you pass. Your arm is around his waist while his lies across your shoulders, and you’re trying ridiculously hard to focus on the task at hand instead of his warm body encasing yours. Bob on the other hand wants to tell you he can walk perfectly fine, but he doesn’t want to risk you letting him go. His nose is starting to throb, but all he can feel is your bare shoulders against his skin as your smaller hand grips his waist.

Once arriving at the bar, you walk through the glass door until Penny sees the two of you and rushes over.

“What happened?”, she asks as she watches you help Bob into the air conditioned building.

“There was a small crash”, you explain. “Do you have any towels or ice?” It’s still fairly early in the evening, the sun not setting quite yet, but the first patrons who have sat down in the bar look at the two of you with wide eyes.

“Of course”, she blinks as she moves behind the bar. “There’s a couch in my office, you can take him back there and I’ll get you something else to clean him up with.” You do as she says and open the door to her office, gently letting Bob sit down on the small loveseat, taking the seat next to him. He’s still holding the towel to his nose as he tries to lean back.

“Wait, you’re not supposed to tilt your head back”, you tell him. Gingerly placing your hand on the back of his head, you tilt him so he’s leaning forward slightly. With your other you’re lightly pinching his nose to help stop the bleeding while he holds the towel. Bob can’t help but think how you seem to already know every trick and quirk to stop the bleeding. How you must have had to clean up your own nose bleeds. 

Your brows have been in a constant furrow since the collision, and he takes in the way your teeth chew on your lip.

“Hey”, he tries to muffle through the towel. Your gaze shifts from his nose up to his eyes. “I’m ok, really.” You give him a doubtful look as you pinch his nose. Your elbow rests on his shoulder, hand still cradling the back of his head.

“How’s your head?” You ask in earnest.

“Haven’t had any complaints yet”, he responds as soon as you’re done asking. His comment causes you to crack a smile, clearing the furrow out of your brows as you laugh.

“You did not just say that to me”, you laugh. Bob laughs along with you as he tries to breathe through his mouth. Using his shoulder as support, you lean forward and laugh closer to him.

“Ok I’ve got-”, Penny walks in on the two of you, causing her to pause in the doorway, “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah everything’s fine”, you wave off her concern

“Good… I’ve got some wet rags and a bag of ice.”

“Thank you”, you reply, still trying to stifle your laugh with Bob. Confusion is written all over her face as you turn back to her.

“Right, well… I’ll just be at the bar if you need anything else.” Your eyes are still crinkled from laughing, and Bob smiles at the notion. Your eyes meet his again through the same tinted lenses, warping the color of his irises. The dust settles from your laughing fit and it’s just the two of you in Penny’s cramped office, perched on the edge of the ratty old sofa she must have got in a garage sale. You’re still cradling the back of his head as your fingers absentmindedly play with the short hair. He sucks in a breath, stopping your movements.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, that’s not- No I’m fine”, you manage to hear him through the towel. Looking at the bright yellow tropical flowers of the cotton now stained in crimson, you slowly remove your fingers from his nose.

“Does it feel like it’s still bleeding?” Bob attempts to sniff through his nose as he takes the towel away from his face.

“No, I think we’re ok.” You wince at the sight of slightly-dried blood that is now smeared from his nostrils down his chin and neck. It’s soaked into the yellow of his t-shirt, leaving a stain you don’t think he’ll be able to get out easily. “That bad, huh?”

“No, not too bad”, you attempt to lie to him. Obviously not doing that great of  a job as he squints his eyes at you. Looking to get away from his playful glare, you eye a box of tissues just behind him. Reaching around him, you grab a few tissues and start to twist them.

“What are you doing?”

“We gotta plug you up.”

“Excuse- plug me up?” He laughs.

“Before we get all the blood off, we just gotta make sure it’s not gonna start bleeding again.” You hand him the first piece of tissue as he delicately places it in one nostril. “Otherwise you’re just gonna have to clean yourself up again.” He glances back up at you, this time with an unreadable gaze. Like he’s trying to study you. “What?”

“Nothing.” You eye him suspiciously as you hand him the other tissue. His eyes move to your fingers stained with his blood, and he looks away again in contemplation as you grab the wet rag.

“Seriously, what is it?” He shrugs.

“Nothing.” Huffing out a breath of frustration, you reach into the pocket of your gym shorts, taking a penny out and placing it in the palm of his hand. He smiles slightly at the notion of you just having this in your pocket, moving the penny to his crimson fingertips. The hint of a smile on his face is quickly replaced with a lopsided frown. “I- I’m sorry you know how to do all of this.” Your shoulders slump as he avoids your gaze. “And I’m sorry you have to do it again.”

“Bob- it’s ok.” You tell him softly, he glances back up, eyebrows twisted.

“It’s not though.. You shouldn’t be an expert at this.” Chewing your lip once more, you stare deeply into his eyes as they gaze back in worry.

“Bobby, I’m ok. I’m ok now and that’s what matters.” Bob is trying his best to believe you, but the image of you crying on the floor of the women’s locker room comes to mind. Then the feeling of your tears soaking his flight suit. You squeeze his hand around the penny once, gaining his attention once more.

“Ok”, he responds just above a whisper. You grant him a small smile in the silence that lingers, reaching back for the wet rag to clean him up with. It’s dried more since you’ve sat down, but you’re still just as gentle with your swipes across his chin. Glancing at his face, you notice there’s a couple specks of blood on the apples of his cheeks, almost underneath his frames.

“May I?” you ask, motioning to his glasses.

“Sure”, he breathes out. Your hands slowly rise and slide the glasses off his face, folding them and placing them gently on the table next to you. The breath is just about knocked out of your lungs as his wide, sky blue eyes blink at you for the first time without a barrier. You’re stuck for a moment in time, just admiring the color and how intently they look at you. You’re broken out of your trance as a drop of water from the rag slides down your hand, dripping on your lap.

Continuing where you left off, you dab at what was previously covered by his glasses, moving down beneath his nose and around his chin and mouth. The rag you were using is now stained a light red and you switch it out with the spare one Penny brought. The bar has gotten a little louder now as the day turns to evening, but it’s still muffled through the door and hallway. It’s quiet enough you can still hear Bob breathing so close to you. Your other hand gently nudges his chin upward so as to gain access to his neck, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. Once you’ve ensured his neck is clean, you look back on his face, hoping to get the spots you missed.

“You can look down now”, you whisper. You don’t know why you started talking so quietly, maybe to preserve a moment of silence you don’t get to enjoy so much, but as he looks back at you, you understand it’s just to preserve Bob. If you don’t disrupt the bubble you’ve put yourself in, it won’t burst. And you can stay in this moment with him for as long as you decide to. He doesn’t tell you he can clean himself up, even though both of you are thinking it. And you’re glad he doesn’t say anything. Right now it’s just the two of you, in this stolen moment in time where nothing else exists beyond the four walls of the dingy office.

Your hand moves instinctively to cradle his jaw, just to get a better hold on him while you wipe around his lips. With the rag wrapped around your finger, you swipe underneath the plush of his bottom lip, then over the top. Your eyes move slightly up, to check for any more blood, but catch sight of the tissues sticking out of his nose. It catches Bob off guard as you start to chuckle.

“What?” He asks this time. You lean back slightly, both hands now in your lap, to get a full view of his face and start to laugh a little harder. “What is it?” He presses, starting to laugh as well.

“You look absolutely ridiculous.”

“You’re the one who said I had to ‘plug myself up’”, he mocks, not meaning to laugh at the end of his sentence.

“At least it’s not a tampon up your nose”, you mutter. His brows raise at your comment.

“A what?”, he stammers.

“Would you believe me if I told you that Bradley’s mom shoved a tampon up his nose to get it to stop bleeding?” He chuckles in surprise, but also at the thought of a now adult Bradley with a tampon dangling out of his nose. “That was actually the first time I saw a bloody nose, I thought he was dying”, you smile at the memory.

“What happened?”, Bob asks. Setting the now bloodied rag next to the old one, you grab the bag of ice.

“Back in his old neighborhood he had some really annoying neighbor kids. Brad took me to the park, and these three eleven year olds would not let me swing on the damn swings. Then they started saying some really mean things, and that’s when Bradley stepped in. He told them to apologize to me and share the swings and they refused. He-”, laughing at the image you continue, “he shoved one of them off the swings, picked me up, and started to help me swing.” Shaking your head at the memory, you reach up and gently rest the ice pack against Bob’s nose as he watches your face the entire time. 

“Not five minutes later, all three kids are back, this time with their older brother. Keep in mind, Bradley was only twelve, and their brother was just about to start high school and absolutely huge. Brad tried to calmly explain what happened, but before he could get a word in, this guy decks him. I ran to the house to grab Carole, screaming that this kid was going to kill him. We raced back to the park, and once this guy saw a raging Carole Bradshaw running full speed towards him he sprinted the other way”, you smile.

“Bradley’s nose was bleeding and I just started bawling, thinking that this is it. He’s dying.” Bob laughs with you as you readjust the ice on his face. “We walked him back to the house, and the first thing she did was shove a tampon up his nose, while explaining to me that he was going to be fine.” Your laughing subsides as well as your own smile as you reminisce.

“Carole Bradshaw sounds like a woman that should not be messed with.” Bob comments, bringing your gaze back upon him.

“Yeah”, you sigh. “She was a fierce protector. They both were.” Bob’s hand searches for your own, squeezing softly.

“Mantis-”, whatever Bob is about to say is cut short as someone clears their throat from the door. The two of you look up to find Rooster, only this time Bob’s hand doesn’t stray from your own. It holds your fingers more firmly at the sight of him.

“Sorry”, Rooster interrupts. “Mav wanted me to check in, see how Bob’s doing.” He glances between your connected hands, then back at where you’re icing his nose. You clear your own throat this time as your hand retreats from its place in Bob’s.

“Yeah, he’s good. Blood’s stopped.”

“That’s good”, Rooster offers, trying to and failing to make this small interaction less awkward.

“Was that all?”

“Actually, um, Mav wanted to talk to you. Privately.” He adds on after glancing back at Bob.

“Fine. I’ll be out in a couple minutes.” He taps on the door before leaving the two of you alone again. You turn back to Bob, not looking him in the eyes as you place the ice pack in his hand.

“I guess duty calls.” You start to gather up the rags, but before you’re able to stand, Bob’s large fingers caress the back of your wrist to get your attention. He’s very mindful to not grab a hold of your arm as the hairs on the back of his hand tickle you.

“Hey, thank you.”

“You’re welcome”, you manage to breathe out. “I’m sorry I ran into you.”

“I’m not.”

-----------------------

After running to the bathroom to wash your hands off, there is still a wide smile on your face as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You check for any more blood, but decide it’s all gone as you attempt to squash your smile. The rest of the squad is sitting in the bar, each of them with more clothing on then they had earlier. Your eyes roam the room for your father, but come up empty. Rooster is standing  on the back deck outside, and you begrudgingly walk towards him. The door swings open and shut, muffling the noise from within.

“Where’s Mav?”, you ask, getting straight to the point. Rooster looks over his shoulder at you, setting his drink on a nearby table.

“He took Penny for a bike ride.”

“I thought you said he wanted to talk to me”, you ask, placing your hands on your hips.

“About that”, he scratches the back of his neck, “I meant to say that I needed to talk to you.” Rolling your eyes and giving him a scoff, you turn around, hand stretched toward the doorknob. “Mantis- please. Just give me five minutes.” And for some inexplicable reason. You don’t reach any further. You turn around, fold your arms, and give him the floor. He lets out a sigh of relief as you walk closer to the edge of the deck and watch the golden sunset.

“I want you to know that I’m apologizing because I really am sorry. It’s not just to keep the peace for Cyclone. I failed you.. And I failed my mom.” You turn towards him, and just for a second you don’t see the stone cold eyes that were set upon you just days ago, you see the sandy hair and soft hazel eyes of a brother who would do anything for you.

“It won’t happen again. I won’t let it happen again.” He reiterates. Absent-mindedly you start chewing on your lip, and avoiding his eyesight. A part of you wants so deeply to forgive him and go back to how it used to be, but the other part is still hurt by what he did.

“Which is why I need you to listen to me. You can’t go down the path you’re already falling towards.” Your head slowly looks up as confusion clouds your features.

“What does that mean?”

“I know Cyclone chewed you out more after I left. We’re both on pretty thin ice here, and you worked so hard to get to where you are. I don’t want to see you throw it all away for someone else.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Your heart rate is steadily climbing, wondering if Rooster is about to go where you think he’s going to.

“I’ve noticed things. I’ve told you to be careful before, and now more than ever I wish you would please just listen to what I’m trying to tell you.” Swallowing, you turn back toward the coastline so he can’t read into what you’re trying to conceal in your face. “I see the way you look at him. The same way you’ve looked at boys you’ve had crushes on since you were little.”

“I am not some little girl, Rooster.” You seethe toward him, your face flushed in anger, embarrassment even at his accusations. “I grew up a long time ago, so whatever version you still have of me in your head, get rid of her. Cause she doesn’t exist anymore.” Shaking your head, you stalk toward the back door, catching a glimpse of Bob with his sunglasses on once again, the tissues since discarded, playing a game of pool with Phoenix and Fanboy. “And I don’t have a crush on him. Bob and I are just friends.”

“I never said his name.” Your blood runs cold at his words. You don’t dare turn back and give him the satisfaction of being right. “So you can keep lying to yourself all you want, but I already know the truth. All I’m trying to say is be careful, and remember why you’re here.”

You let Rooster’s words wash over you as you reach for the doorknob and let yourself back inside. How stupid could you be? Sure, you’ve perhaps come to terms that you maybe have more than friendship feelings for Bob, but you were never going to act on them. But now apparently Rooster can still see right through you. The mix of his and Cyclone’s warnings run through your mind as you get closer to the pool table and stand next to Phoenix.

You can tell she’s already a couple drinks in as her volume is a little louder than normal.

“Tell him, Mantis!”

“Tell him what?” She motions over to Bob as he watches Fanboy take his shot, shaking his head at her while he does so.

“Tell him to go on a date with Rachel’s hot friend!” Your eyes catch Bob smiling and shaking his head at her antics, obviously more amused with her drunken state than her words. His crooked smile makes you want to wrap him up in a hug so it never goes away, but you’re reminded of the warnings from Rooster and Cyclone. Repeating over and over in your head the longer you look at him.

“You should”, you tell him, as much as it pains you to say. He glances up at you, smile falling as his brows furrow the slightest bit. “Give her a chance at least.”

“Oh, ya think?” He asks, the slightest tone of disappointment in his voice.

“Yeah. It can’t hurt, can it?” And even though it is tearing you apart to say it, you do it anyway.

“I guess not.” You give him a slight smile, although it turns into more of a grimace the longer you hold it. He does the same to you, turning back to stare at the pool table with a hardened gaze, eyes not actually following where Fanboy’s ball runs to. Phoenix cheers out in glee at Bob’s acceptance, and you slip out the front door, saying your quick goodbyes. You pass Rooster at the bar, not giving him a second look as you make it to your car. Your heart aches at the thought of telling Bob to find happiness somewhere else, knowing damn well if the circumstances were different you would be first in line to offer it. Your brain reminds you however, you're making the right decision. It's the only decision. Right?

Taglist:

@lemmons1998

@itsmytimetoodream

@theamuz

@harrysgothicbitch

@mygyn

@luckyladycreator2

@marve2014

@wretchedmo

[zia-saturn]

TIME. [AU fic] Chapter 1: Reunited

SUMMARY: Frenemies becoming lovers later on in their adult years. A while after you and Dabi moved in together, becoming roommates, he comes across your diary and reads your deepest and filthiest of fantasies. It was certainly an invasion of privacy but, you were glad that he was able to get an idea of how sexually curious and experimental you could be. Dabi was willing to teach you and allow yourself to express yourself the way you wanted to with him. He wanted to experiment with you.

Soft! Dabi x Virgin!Reader

Sweet! Dabi x Virgin!Reader

18+ readers ONLY

❌MDNI❌

[DISCLAIMER: The characters respectfully belongs to the creator of 僕のヒーローアカデミア Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia, Kohei Horikoshi. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of the respective owners. The author of the fanfiction is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.]

MATURE CONTENT WARNING: This story contains explicit adult sexual content. If you are easily offended or are under the age of 18, please leave now. Reader discretion is advised. This fanfiction is intended for mature audiences only.

Another day. Another dollar.

It was only five minutes into the bus ride and your head was throbbing.

The back of your neck had so much tension from the added stress. You hardly had any time to sleep. The most sleep that you were lucky enough to get was about four hours. Your body requires more sleep. Your job was stressful but the payout was certainly worth it in the end. You looked forward to the money arriving in your bank account. You had many plans on how you would spend that money. Of course, the rent would be number one on your list of priorities.

You retrieved two pain reliever capsules from your purse and swallowed them with the help of a gulp of water that you purchased from the little mom-and-pop corner store located nearby your place of business.

It was difficult for you to take any medication dry. There was a time not too long ago that you made an attempt in doing so but, it resulted in you almost choking. After that, you swore never to try that method again.

The bus trip was silent and peaceful for the majority of the time you were on it. Most of the ride was spent with you scrolling through your phone, mindlessly checking your e-mails and social media. Afterwards, you logged into your online bank account and noticed that the payment from your job was posted as the most recent transaction. You felt satisfied about that.

You were so occupied with your screen that you weren’t able to hear your name being called out by someone that was on board the bus.

It wasn’t until you heard your name the second time that you brought your attention back to your physical surroundings.

“[Name]?” A very raspy voice called out to you. It had a strong hint of smoke and grit laced with it.

The voice tingled your ear just by the tone alone. You did not know anyone with a rough voice such as theirs. It felt strange and you did not feel comfortable acknowledging the person who kept calling you. With a shrug, you turned your attention back to your phone with the hopes that this random individual would take the hint and leave you alone.

“[Name].” There was that voice again. This time, it was a bit louder.

It caught the attention of a few passengers for a split second. The bus was almost empty except for about six people.

“[Name].” The voice grew sterner, as if this person was intent on getting your attention.

You lifted your head up to look around for the source of the voice. Your search ended in a nanosecond when your eyes landed on a rather tall young man. The first traits you noticed about him were his white tank top and tattooed covered arms. You were almost eye level with his steel skull belt buckle, which held up a pair of loose fitting black denim jeans.

Your eyes slowly panned from his belt buckle, up to his stomach, from his collar bone before your vision finally landed upon his face.

He had full sleeve tattoos that were inked from both of his shoulders to his wrists. And the tattoos did not stop at his arms. His entire upper chest was decorated with tattoos as well. Each piece of his body art was very well executed.

The 'stranger' stood in the open aisle right next to you where you were seated. He had the most vibrant turquoise eyes. They had slight dark bags underneath them. His eyelids were partially hooded over his eyes, giving him this sleepy 'laid-back’ vibe to him. There were three tiny nose studs and three upper helix piercings on both of his ears.

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?" Your [color] eyes met with his. His stare did not waver from yours, not even for a second.

The man's head tilted to the side. The corners of his lips curled into a sly smirk. "Really [Name]? Is that how you treat an old friend when he's trying to get reacquainted with you?" He leaned closer to you by approximately an inch. "C'mon, girl. Don't act like you don't know who I am."

At first, you assumed that this was some kind of manipulation tactic to get you to engage with him in order to persuade you to let down your guard. You were not about to fall for any of his tricks. You were too exhausted to deal with anyone's nonsense.

You squint your eyes as your brain rapidly files through your memories like a rolodex. Different names and different faces of the many people you crossed paths with were trying to make their way to your consciousness.

"Yo. It's me. Touya." A fox-like grin stretched his face. "Touya Todoroki. From our old high school.”

You squinted harder, observing his appearance from head to toe. Then, as you made eye contact with his teal blue eyes once more, that's when the pieces of those scattered memories came together. It definitely was Touya.

His natural spiky red hair that he once had was now dyed to a midnight black. It really complimented his features really well. He looked more mature and rugged.

There were noticeable muscular definitions to his previously scrawny physique. He buffed up while still maintaining his slender frame.

His voice was much deeper and raspier than you remembered. The man that stood before you was so fine as HELL.

Scratch that.

He was more than 'fine'; his new appearance made him look so damn sexy. He had this natural sex appeal to him that wasn’t contrived.

'Well, I'll be damned. It really IS him.' You thought.

It was a shame that he recognized you but you did not recognize him. However, he did not blame you one bit. So many life changing events happened to the both of you in all of those years since you parted ways.

You shook your head before you exclaimed, "Oh! Touya!"

"Yea…well….I go by the name 'Dabi' now."

"Oh? You changed your name?"

"I guess you can say that. It's a long story." This 'Dabi' individual yawned and rubbed the back of his neck, craning it in his hand.

Cordially, you offered him a seat next to you.

Dabi previously sat a couple of seats away from you, near the front. You guessed that his stop was coming real soon, compared to your destination which was about forty five minutes away so you had plenty of time to converse with him and catch up on old times. He accepted your offer and sat next to you with a gruff, "Thanks."

You could not believe that it was really him. You would be lying to yourself to say that you did not miss him because you most certainly did. There were so many things that you wanted to know about him and his life.

"Well. Well. Well. Little Miss [Name]. I didn't think I would see you again." It was Dabi's turn to eye your entire physical form.

You wondered what happened to Touya or — 'Dabi' throughout these past recent years. There was about thirty minutes left to your ride so it would have been a good idea to allow him the opportunity to catch up on old times. Maybe share a couple of brief laughs and casual jokes between one another.

And, Oh Boy! You were about to hear more than you bargained for.

He reached over your shoulder to rest his arm on the top of your seat.

There was a scent of spicy deodorant, mixed with cigarette smoke and a faint hint of his sweat that wafted past your nose. You sort of liked the odd mix.

Dabi managed to get a solid minute worth of a stare at you. It was amazing how much you blossomed from a dorky, adorable and shy girl into a beautiful poised woman.

A blushed warmed up your cheeks as you watched Dabi's long inked-up arm maneuver itself over your head to position itself on top of your bus seat. You could have sworn that he wanted to wrap his arm directly around your shoulder.

Nostalgia made its way back into your memories when you were both in high school. You remembered those days very fondly. The individual that you used to know as: 'Touya Todoroki' was your ex-classmate. He wasn't your friend nor was he an enemy either.

You were both 'frenemies'.

The dynamic between you two was hard to define.

There were times that the eldest Todoroki targeted you just for the sole purpose of antagonizing you. There were various instances where he did things to annoy you. Everything from snapping your bra strap from behind, flicking and pulling on your hair as he sat behind you in class, mimicking your voice whenever you spoke to him or throwing small pieces of paper towards you for no reason other than to cause constant aggravation in you.

However, there were times he would shield you from the other students that made an attempt to bully you. He would kick the asses of anyone who would even think to lay a hand on you. Touya's sudden switch from protector to nemesis and back to protector really confused the hell out of your little younger self.

Touya's emotions regarding you were very hard to pinpoint. He really liked you but it annoyed him at the fact that he had possessed those amorous feelings for you. It made him frustrated that he could not express his thoughts and words the proper way so, he usually unloads his confusion and frustration out onto you. During Dabi's later years, he realized that he was such an asshole to you.

As a matter of fact, Dabi would sometimes recall those moments and those memories made him cringe so hard. He would slap the shit out of his younger self for treating you the way he did.

Dabi's changed so much since you last saw him. It was almost seven years ago since he vanished from your life. He wasn't able to graduate high school with you.

And there was a reason for that…

A couple of months before graduation, he suddenly stopped coming to school. At first, you thought he ditched school to hang out with his friends as he usually did. But those days stretched to an entire month. That's when you grew a bit concerned.

Was he ill?

Did he pass away?

Out of concern, you tried to get answers out of the teachers, the principal and your other fellow students. None of them ever gave you a straightforward answer. They either gave you vague statements or cut the conversation short by pretending they were busy and had somewhere else to go.

You even tried to ask two of Touya's 'friends' of his whereabouts. They refused to talk about him at all. They acted as if he was some kind of non-existent entity, like a ghost. Any time you crossed paths with them, they would scurry off in the opposite direction. Their behavior was so skittish and shady that it made you feel so uneasy for a while.

Did they have something to hide?

It was a mystery that plagued your thoughts for a while after that.

NOW!

Onto the truth…

"Well, what the hell happened to you? I was so worried. You just up and left. Here one day and completely gone the next." You blinked at him, waiting for an explanation. The bus hit a couple of potholes and cracks in the road, making the entire vehicle rock and bounce up and down.

Dabi sat silent and stared ahead, looking at nothing in particular. He made a deep exhale as he rubbed his forehead and the bridge of his nose. You noticed his shifty and agitated body language and did not want to back him into a corner if he wasn't ready to talk. You were patient. "I mean, I understand if you don't feel comfortable and I won't pressure you–"

"No." Dabi just sighed and shook his head. "It's okay. I guess its time I told you the truth anyway. You're very astute and I know that I cannot keep secrets from you for too long. You could read me like a book."

Then another sigh came from him before he revealed what ACTUALLY happened to him before the high school graduation took place.

Dabi (or Touya as you knew him), went to jail for arson and armed robbery. He torched an old abandoned warehouse for unknown reasons. It was his idea. Him and his friends used that same warehouse as a hideout spot just in case the police searched for them. They were trying to rob a convenience store while wielding a couple of switchblades towards the owners, demanding the victims to give the thieves all of the cash that was in the register.

Touya and his accomplices got the money and they knew that the police would soon be on their tail. The surveillance footage caught the images of the 'would be burglars' and the law enforcement was able to catch them within a matter of hours.

Fortunately, there were no fatalities.

"But, those phony, pussy ass motherfuckers snitched on me. They were with me but they decided to throw me under the bus. They only got a slap on the wrist while I took all the heat." Dabi sucked his side teeth. It infuriated him even just talking about them.

So, that explained his friends' avoidant demeanors.

Dabi continued his small tirade. "Fuck those sons of bitches. They can go choke on a sick dick for all I care. If I see their sorry ass faces again, there's gonna be problems. Big problems."

You felt the anger coming out of his voice, even though his demeanor was mellow. There was so much heat laced with his words.

Instead of picking out a corsage and tuxedo for the senior prom, Touya went back and forth between his holding cell in the county jail and standing before the judge inside of a courtroom as twelve jurors decided his fate. The only thing he wore was a set of steel handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit to those occasions. A huge feeling of regret painfully kept looping through his thoughts.

Since Touya was eighteen years of age at the time, he was tried as an adult.

Touya was about to be locked away for years to come.

Seeing you in a beautiful dress as you dance the night away? Touya will never be able to experience that.

Him wanting to walk the grass with you during graduation was also something that he would have loved to do as well. The plan did not stop there. After the ceremony was over and after all of the graduates tossed their caps in the air as they cheered loudly in unity, he would give you a kiss as a way to apologize for all of the trouble he put you through.

But alas, these moments never came…

Those opportunities were snuffed out…

He would be ordered to serve a five year prison sentence. The pounding of the judge's gavel made the situation all too real.

He thought that he would never see you again.

After graduation, you never received the closure that you were looking for.

Both of you went completely opposite paths in life.

You tried to find him on every social media that was out there on the web but results showed absolutely no signs of his presence.

The one that he used to have was deactivated.

You would not hear from him in nearly seven years.

Not until that moment at your unexpected reunion riding on the city bus together.

Dabi missed out on so much of his youth…

….all because he was locked up….

He realized that he took so many things for granted. Most of his family pretty much shunned him for life. He brought so much shame to the Todoroki family. His father Enji, bitterly scorned him, telling Dabi that he was 'dead' to him. It was as if his own flesh and blood child did not exist to Enji in the first place. Prison was a very, VERY hard life lesson for him.

Dabi had a great amount of time to reflect on his life during the five year prison sentence. It took him some time to adjust to the outside world again once he was finally released. Everything felt so foreign to him.

He knew that he had a lot of work to do in order to rebuild his life. He was willing to invest the necessary time and energy into accomplishing his goals. Being a convicted felon meant that there were many opportunities that were closed off from him. His road to redemption was a tough one. He had to prove to so many people that he could be trusted to fly the straight and narrow path. Everyone from his parole officer, to his social workers, to his landlord and employers.

He told you all of that, making sure to not leave any details out.

Your eyes sprung wide for a second as Dabi finally revealed the truth about his disappearance and the questions that you had regarding his association with his so called ‘friends’. "So you were locked up this whole time?"

Just great. You were sitting next to a convicted felon. You tried not to cast judgment on him and write him off so quickly. Of course you thought he deserved a second chance at life but that did not stop you from feeling anxious and uncomfortable. You scooted closer to the window, tightly clutching your purse towards your tummy.

Your blood ran cold in your veins.

Yes. Cliffhanger. I originally posted this fanfic about three years ago but, I wasn't able to complete this story due to personal issues. But now, I'm thinking about returning to writing. Yes, there will be smut in the story. I hope I can make it super spicy. How do you guys like this story so far? Should I continue this? I also posted this fic on AO3 as well. Feedback is definitely appreciated. I thank you all so much for stopping by and taking the time to read this story.

[ihearthes]

Christmas Thyme part 1

Author: @ihearthes

Pairing: Harry x Reader Insert (1st person)

Rating: Smut (NSFW, 18+ Only)

Word Count: 2665

‘Tis a week before Christmas, and just as I am preparing to twist the “Open” sign to its “Closed” side, the bell over the door jingles. Inwardly, I groan. Outwardly, I paste on my brightest smile as I pivot towards my (hopefully) final customer of a very long, very exhausting day. 

I freeze. 

Because standing there in the doorway of my boutique is Harry Styles. THE Harry Styles. You know. As It Was. Watermelon Sugar. Sex on a stick. That last one isn’t a song. Just a description. 

“Um, hi,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say, but then I quickly tack on a “How may I help you?” 

His eyebrows draw downwards, and he looks around at the merchandise which, after a long day of Saturday sales in the last few frantic days before the most important gift-buying holiday of the year, is scattered everywhere. 

I’ve no idea if I want him to decide to leave immediately or if I should beg him to stay and shop. I do neither. 

But only because I spot another person on the street outside, pointing at one of the most sought after and most frequently purchased soy candles. She and her friend appear to be heading towards the door, so I summon the last of my energy and lunge for the door ahead of them, pulling the shade while simultaneously rotating the lock. My panicked movements mean I jostle the popstar as he stands nearby. 

“Oops! I’m so sorry. I just…” 

“Are you open or closed?” He asks, worry etched on his forehead where it peeks out underneath his black beanie. I take him in, recognising his face instantly. With a pair of joggers, he wears a black Pleasing crewneck, and I’m briefly jealous of how cosy it looks. I wouldn’t mind snuggling close – to the crewneck, of course. 

I am, after all, a competent businesswoman. Pfft. Okay, I’m trying to be one. 

“We’re closed now, but if you don’t have much to shop for, you’re welcome to look around while I tidy up in preparation for Tuesday’s maniacal clientele. 

He grunts, and I assume it’s affirmation that he’d like to look around, so I nod. “Are you looking for something in particular? Or shopping for a certain someone?” Wracking my brain, I attempt to recall if he’s currently dating anyone, but I’ve no idea. Since opening up my pop up last month, I’d not had time to do much more than work daily until exhaustion forces me to crawl into bed with a heating pad on my back and warm peppermint compresses on my feet. 

“Just looking…” He smiles, and I’m nearly blinded by the left dimple. 

Holy shit. No wonder he’s so popular. 

I have the silly idea that I should sniff him. It would be easy to make a tonne of money from bottling his scent and selling it. Then I would have enough money to set up a permanent shop to sell my organic candles, soaps, and lotions. 

Resisting only because I have managed to maintain some self-respect after being yelled at and cursed at by customers all day long, I decide to provide him some privacy. 

“Absolutely. Let me know if you have any questions.” 

He nods once, and I swear my insides melt into a puddle like Frosty the Snowman when the sun has come out. 

Stepping to the counter, I fiddle with the sound system, turning off the grating holiday tunes that permeate the atmosphere this time of year and sliding instead into some soothing jazz from Alfa Mist. As soon as the first song starts playing, Harry’s head whips around and he stares in my direction. 

“Excellent choice.” His voice is gravelly and kind with a bit of surprise in it. 

“It’s the kind of music I prefer,” I shrug, not knowing what else to say. 

“Me too.” 

It’s such a surprising thing for him to say that I do my own double take, but he’s returned already to smelling the candles on the wall display. 

Shrugging, I move to the first shelves to the right of the register, straightening products, and making mental notes of what I need to restock. When I move to the next set of shelves, though, it’s clear that a mental note isn’t going to be of any help. There are simply too many hand lotions, soaps, and other products that need to be replaced. Sighing, I move behind the counter again, withdrawing a pad of paper. Quickly, I jot down what I need to replace on the first two shelves. 

Turning my head, I see that Harry has barely finished sniffing one shelf of candles. “Um…” He glances up at my utterance. “...would you mind if I stepped into the back to grab some more stock?” 

“Whatever you need to do.” His voice is so silky that I could easily wear it and nothing else against my skin forever. 

In the small stockroom, I remove my shoes, wiggling my toes that have been screaming at me for the last two hours. Grabbing a basket I keep for just this purpose, I fill it with the items on my list before stepping back onto the main floor. The coolness of the tiles under my toes is soothing, and I sigh at the pleasure of it on my hot skin. Quickly, I restock the first two shelves, giving my feet a workout as I have to rise onto my toes multiple times. My knees also get to practise squatting so I can place items on the bottom shelf. 

After I slide my protesting feet back into my shoes, I sneak a peek to check on Harry. He’s moved on to the next set of shelves, opening the sample shampoos and smelling them one by one. 

At this rate, he’ll be here another hour at least. 

Surveying the third set of shelves, I jot down the merchandise I need to pull from the back for this one. It’s the shelf of eye compresses I’ve made that include differing herbs to soothe the skin around the eyes and quiet the mind. With a quick glance at Harry, I return to the storeroom, trying to recall where I’d placed the box holding more eye compresses. 

Spying it on a higher shelf, hiding behind a box of the scented rice neck pillows I’d designed to be heated and worn next to the skin, I stand on my tiptoes in order to reach. Just — one — more — inch — CRASH! Both boxes clatter to the ground, the sides splitting open on the box holding the neck pillows, and I sigh. 

“Are you okay?” 

His voice startles me, and I jump like that time I’d been forced to watch a horror movie by my previous boyfriend. The arsehole. 

Placing my hand on my chest to calm my pounding heart, I smile at where his head has emerged through the curtain separating the sales floor and stockroom. 

“Thank you for checking on me. I’m okay. Just knocked off a couple of boxes.” 

“Shit. That looks annoying. Let me help.” He muscles his way past the curtain, assisting me by setting the box right side up. I locate the roll of packing tape I’d used earlier to package some items for a customer who wanted them delivered, handing the tape to Harry as he repairs the box. “I’m Harry.” His introduction is endearing, and I share my name too. 

“No one else working tonight?” His hushed tones do things to my body that are inappropriate for work. 

“No one else is working ever. It’s my shop, and I couldn’t afford to pay for help this year.” 

“Damn. How do you manage?” 

“Well, I take it slow on nights like this with the restocking and tidying because I know I’ll get the next two days to soak my feet and relax.”

“But how do you do it during the day with all the customers?” 

“I think that’s clear from the state of the front. I muddle through.” My shrug is intended to communicate that there’s no real answer to that question. 

“Can I help?” 

“YOU?” I yelp, clamping both hands over my mouth at my shriek. 

“Why not me?” 

“Um, cause you’re Harry Styles.” 

When he smiles this time, his eye crinkles come into focus, and I’m lost in him. I could stare at those crows’ feet all night, I think. 

“And that means I can’t help?” 

“It means that you probably have plenty of plans that don’t include stocking shelves.” 

“Hmmm… tonight, I actually do not have plans. My sister and I were supposed to shop for our mum, and then my sister ended up ill, so…” Trailing off, he raises both hands to the side in imitation of a shrug. “You can pay me by helping me choose gifts for my mum and my sister. And my manager’s wife. And maybe the wives of my friends.” 

“That’s silly. I’d help you with that for free.” 

“Ah, well then, you can take me out to dinner after we’re done.” 

My jaw drops. Dinner with Harry Styles? 

Is he asking me out on a date? 

“Just as repayment, right?” I ask. 

“For starters,” he smirks, and my panties become uncomfortable as I rub my legs together. “I’ll take these boxes out front.” Bending his knees, he picks up the box of neck pillows with the box of eye compresses on top. Striding through the curtain, he drops the boxes on the floor and immediately starts artfully arranging the merchandise. Occasionally, he brings a pillow to his nose and breathes in deeply. 

Mesmerised, I watch from the door to the store room. After a few minutes, he removes his coat, carefully draping it over the counter, smiling at me as I straighten the bottles of lotion on the table, ensuring that the rosemary mint doesn’t get mixed up with the rosemary thyme. It’s easy to get them confused as the labels are similar. 

“How long did it take you to prepare all of this?” Harry asks, his hand encompassing the entire shop. 

“All year. My dad –” I pause as emotion invades my throat, layering it with sorrow. Finally, I swallow, clearing the grief. “My dad was ill for the last couple of years, so I quit my job to move in and take care of him. I started growing the herbs in his garden. And then I needed something to do with all of the herbs I grew, so I started making soaps and selling them at the local farmer’s market. Demand was swift, and I’ve been expanding the line for the last eight months or so.” 

“That’s amazing!” His face has lit up like the Christmas tree that’s in the corner of the shop, and his grin takes over his entire countenance. “And how’s your dad doing now?” 

I wince. “He actually died in July.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

My watery smile hopefully conveys my gratitude. “He was ready to go. At least that’s what he told me. And I needed a project after his death to keep me busy while I cleaned out the house and prepared to sell it.” 

“Sell it? Why?” 

Moving to the next table, I straighten the bars of soap. Wiping a tear from my eye, I answer his question. “Too many memories. I’ve had a lot of loss in my life, and now I’m the only one left in my immediate family. So when I’m in the house, all I can see are the people no longer with me.” 

“That must be hard.” His hand rests on my shoulder, and I’m startled because I hadn’t realised he’d approached. 

“It’s life. Lucky for me, I have my dreams to keep me going.” 

“Dreams of expanding beyond a popup shop at the holidays?” 

“Something like that,” I nod. 

“Sounds lovely. Listen, I’m done with these shelves, and those over there look pretty good. I, um, straightened them earlier when I was testing the product. Is there a broom so I can sweep up?” 

Astonished, I blink at him. “No. No. No. I draw the line at having a number one pop musician sweep my floor.” 

He giggles, his laugh growing until he’s slapping his knee, his full body moving with glee as he heartily releases his mirth. “So if I were the number one classical musician or number one jazz musician or number one country musician, you’d be okay with me cleaning the floor?”

Seeing the humour in my comment, I laugh along with him. “Okay. Okay. You’ve found me out. Only pop musicians aren’t allowed to sweep up. Everyone else is fair game.” 

Bopping me on the nose, he grins. “Good thing I’m not a number one pop musician tonight. I’m just a customer who is quite taken with your goods.” 

And the way he rakes his eyes over my body lets me know that he’s not talking about the merchandise on the shelves. 

Dammit. Why don’t I keep a pair of spare knickers in my bag in case I run into the handsomest man alive? Because the ones I’m wearing right now are ruined. 

Sticking his head through the curtain and peering into the back, he joyfully exclaims, “There it is!” Seconds later, he’s pushing the broom around the shop floor, and I am both pleased and appalled. 

Reluctant to let him do all the work, I watch him and squirm. Using the broom as a partner, he dances to the music, and I can’t help the giggle that escapes. 

“I remember when you couldn’t dance at all,” I reveal, then clamp my hands over my mouth at my rudeness. 

“Some would say I still can’t.” 

“Screw ‘em.” I grin. “Listen, I’m about to count up the money for a night deposit. Are you planning to pay with cash or credit?” 

Wincing, he bites his lip, resting his arm on top of the broom handle. “Oh yeah. I was having so much fun that I forgot I was here to shop.” He looks around at the merchandise. “You’re taking me out for dinner, right?” One eyebrow raises while the other stays in place. It’s a talent not many have. 

“I believe that was the deal in exchange for your labour.”

“Then let’s eat first. I can tell you about those I need to shop for, and you can decide what would be most fitting for each.” 

“Hmmm…” I tease, “Are you trying to get out of buying products from me?” 

“Nope,” he grins, stepping closer to me. “Trying to let you get to know me more.” 

“Who's to say I don’t already know everything about you?” 

“Ah, I see.” The expression on Harry’s face is smug. “You wanna have a quiz? Find out what exactly you know and don’t know?” 

“Sure,” I smile, “but somehow I’m not sure I trust you. You could easily say all of my answers are wrong, and I wouldn’t be able to contradict you.” 

“Let’s start. What colour are my eyes?” 

“Are you taking the piss? They’re green. That one’s easy ‘cause I can see them.” 

“Okay, okay. You got one right. What colour are my lips?” 

Which of course drags my eyes right to the body part in question. And they look lush. Soft. Slightly chapped, but not enough to keep me from… 

Shit. I’ve gotten lost in staring at his lips. 

“I didn’t hear your answer.” 

My tongue dips out to lick my own lips, and he steps closer, his eyes locked on my tongue. Shaking my head, I dart my gaze back to his eyes, and I can feel his breath on my cheek. Leaning forward, he reaches his arm to my left, and I briefly wonder if he’s going to wrap his arm around my waist and haul me to him for a snogging session. 

Which is when he grabs his coat from the counter. 

“Let’s count the money so you can make your deposit. I’m getting hungry.” 

Really? I'm experiencing a powerful thirst.

Author's note: Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed it, please reblog. I know not everyone reblogs, but it really helps writers out.

READ PART 2 HERE

[meyobee]

How would the brothers react to you hiding you’re phone from them?

Older brother edition

Lucifer

When he walked into his room he say you laying on his bed.

You had been kicking your feet and giggling to yourself.

He assumed one of his brothers sent you something.

Until, he walked towards you and saw you blushed.

You look at him and hid your phone under you.

He was never one to invade your space especially by going through you’re phone.

But you’d never hid your phone before.

“What was that” he asked, all expression gone from his face.

Before you had time to answer, he swiped the phone from under you.

You changed your passcode?

At this point he is thinking the worse.

Are you cheating on him? The Avatar of Pride himself??

He was enraged at this point.

He gave you one chance to explain yourself.

If it was a joke you’d better fes up before something serious happened.

You unlocked you’re phone only for him to see a picture of you wrapped around his arms while he was sleeping.

He could he your face peeking at the bottom of the picture.

You had been giggling at him sleeping?

He gave the most puzzled look.

You reassured him that you were admiring his beauty, even if he was drooling.

Mammon

You were waiting for him to finish up in the classroom.

Just as he was about to leave the class he heard you giggle.

Cute he thought.

You were facing the door allowing him to see your screen… or so he thought.

You have a blackout screen?

“Um Mc when’d ya get that thingy”

You ask him what thingy?

He shakes it off as nothing maybe you’ve always had that.

He’s walking you back home until you stop to type something and he tries to peer over at your screen but you hold your phone to your chest.

Something about privacy.

He stood quiet the way home.

Could you really be cheating , he thought the entire day.

He was quite at dinner, and went to sleep alone that night.

In the morning it didn’t feel right not having you by him but he didn’t know how to approach you.

Eventually you approached him.

He was silent.

“Are you cheating on me?”

His crooked voice broke the atmosphere.

“Ya been hiding your phone from me, not talkin to me or anything, if ya are I just hope you’re happy”

You quiet pulling out you’re phone to show him what you’ve been doing.

Planning a party? A birthday party? His birthday party.

He forgot his birthday was next week.

You had been trying to get everything in order before hand.

He cried in your arms and said sorry for saying that.

Levi

It was any other day like usual, joining him while he played games.

He had left to use the bathroom, leaving you in charge of the game.

You had beat the level and was waiting for him.

When he comes back he say you look at the door quickly before closing a tab.

He gave a very confused look.

Maybe you open an ad you didn’t mean to? He was hoping anyway.

He kept thinking about that tab though.

Even long after you left, he decided to try and revisit the tab.

But no, you deleted it.

He spent all night trying to find what you were hiding.

He didn’t confront you until a week later.

He ruled out all other opinions.

And when you rule out the impossible that only things that left is the truth.

He didn’t feel nervous of shy.

Now he was angry.

How could you?

After everything he did for you.

He slammed the computer on the table where you were seated.

“Mc I want to know what was so important that you had to delete the tab?”

This wasn’t like his usual self.

You gave him a grin and just about as he was going ti say something about laughing at a time like this-

You showed him a very rare Ruri-Chan figure. Under it is said purchased.

You explained that it was a surprise gift.

He immediately sank to his knees asking if you’ll ever forgive him?

A/n: Levi’s part isn’t a phone but wtv. And I’m restarting with this new account so all reblogs/comments/likes are very appreciated!!!🩵

Please read

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for getting upset over a sims game?

Some context. I (25nb, then 22f) used to have a very close friend (them 20f). I moved in with her and her family for the first few months of the pandemic, because she had a lot of mental health problems that she needed support for that her family didn't understand, and I was just discovering that I was queer and didn't want to be at home with homophobic parents. During this time, she suggested I share my sims 4 game with her. I didn't have a computer that could run it, and she did, and I accepted because it would give me a chance to play it. My understanding of it was that I owned it and was sharing it with her, and I believe now, in retrospect, her understanding was that we both owned it. It didn't take long before she started convincing me to spend money going in on buying expansion packs with her. I wasn't sure at first, because I didn't have a lot of money, but eventually I caved.

We always got packs she wanted, because (in her words) I would "like anything we got". At one point, she realized one of the packs was incompatible with her computer, and I was the one who had to spend days on EA support pages trying to get a refund. She did nothing to help, and kept telling me to stand my ground until we got it. Eventually we did get the refund, and since it was for a whole package of expansion packs as a part of a deal, she decided she wanted to switch out some of the packs, even though I really was looking forward to playing one of them and hadn't gotten the chance to (she had played through everything you could do with the pack already).

After I moved back home, she told me I could come over and play it at any point, but that never happened. She continued to play it though, in her own time.

In early 2021, I got an email (since the account was set up by me) saying that a new pack had been purchased. I knew immediately my friend had bought it, without asking me. I texted her asking if she wanted me to forward her the receipt, since she keeps good track of her budget, and she said yes. I forwarded it to her, and thought that was the end of that.

The next day, I woke up to a text asking for full ownership of the sims, saying she was the only one who played it anyways, and she was spending more money on it, so it wouldn't be fair to share it. She told me I could either buy her out, or she could buy me out. I wasn't happy with this and wanted the game, but a) I couldn't afford it, and b) I felt it would come off as petty if I asked for a game I couldn't even play, like I was just doing it to keep it from her. Anyways, I let her pay me back (which she did in squishmallows of equivalent value).

After a few days, the whole situation was still not sitting well with me. There were a lot of other issues going on (we were in conflict for other reasons that I have realized are mostly due to her being controlling and me reaching my limit, and her not being able to handle my limit. I don't want to rush out all her shit because I will offer her that privacy), but we had always had open communication where we could bring up when things were bothering us, and I told her that it kind of felt like I didn't have a say in giving up ownership of the sims game for reasons a) and b) above, and how originally it had been mine and it felt like through all the pack purchases and things, she was slowly taking it from me. She flipped out, and told me we couldn't be friends anymore. (Like I said, I think it was less of this particular issue, and more the other shit going on with this being the last straw). We haven't spoken since.

I have made my peace knowing that I am not the asshole in most of how our friendship ended (and how she had been pretty controlling of me), and have recognized areas where I may have been the asshole, or at the very least may not have handled the situation at their best in ways that had hurt her, but this is something I have not been able to work out. So AITA for being upset about the sims game situation?

What are these acronyms?

[depressedhouseplant]

🔞 In Darkness I Found You 🔞

Chapter 19

Tags: None!

A/N: This is it! The grand finale! Until I post bonus content that is

“I think you’re more anxious than me,” Jungkook looked over at Hobi. They were making their first official visit to a surrogacy center since both of them became certified.

“I keep going to the worst case scenario,” Hobi told him.

“Then let me do the talking,” Jungkook said. Hobi took a deep breath.

“Good idea,” he replied.

“Of course it is,” Jungkook laughed. The waiting room was clean and well lit. It was above ground with windows that let in plenty of light. That was the first positive Hobi saw. A petite Beta woman approached them.

“Good morning, gentleman. I’m Sana and I’ll be showing you around today. For legal purposes I have to confirm that you’re both Registered Inspectors,” she said. Hobi and Jungkook handed over their credentials. She checked something off on the tablet she was holding then returned them.

“If you’d follow me,” she said. They got up and trailed behind her.

“We’re the newest center in the system. There’s been a much higher demand for suburban and rural centers lately. Most of the Omegas are unhoused though a few do have their own residences. All of them are allowed to come and go as they please as long as they’re on time for their appointments. If they need assistance with travel, we also provide that. Every Omega is given a monthly stipend to cover unexpected expenses and personal purchases. That comes out of the fee we charge for our services. We provide maternity clothing and things like support belts, nursing tops, and any other orthopedic device recommended by the doctors,” she told them as they walked down a hallway. It was lined with doors, some opened and some closed.

“Are these the rooms?” Jungkook asked.

“Yes. All the Omegas are given their own bedroom and bathroom. There are no rules about keeping the doors open or closed. Some of them prefer privacy during later pregnancy,” she replied.

“How do you prevent multiple pregnancies within a few months?” Hobi looked over at Jungkook. This was where he knew better than any of them.

“Once an Omega gives birth, they’re given heat blockers for a full year from the date of the birth. After that, they can either place themselves on a reserve list or full availability,” Sana replied. “After 3 years, they’re asked to be put for full availability. We’ve found through research that heat blockers lose their potency by 75% at or after 3 years.”

“And what about Omegas with miscarriage issues?” this answer hinged on whether or not Jungkook would sign off on this facility.

“If an Omega miscarries twice then we do a full examination to determine the cause. If no physical cause can be determined then they’re given a hormone treatment to help them carry to term,” she replied. Jungkook nodded.

“The paperwork says this is a mixed facility?” Hobi finally spoke up.

“Yes, we have a 50 / 50 distribution of male and female Omegas. Medically there’s no difference, however some couples are more comfortable with a specific super-gender,” she explained.

“And you said no Alphas are allowed unless they’re picking up a pup or a medical professional?” Hobi continued.

“Correct. We also have a separate scent controlled area for the Alphas to give their samples for insemination. The Omegas have their implantation done at an approved hospital with a Registered Inspector present,” Sana had led them down to an area that required keycard access. Hobi and Jungkook looked at each other.

“This is our birthing area. We keep it controlled for the privacy and safety of the Omegas either scheduled for a c-section or in labor,” she smiled.

“What’s that?” Hobi asked. Sana looked over at the large tubs against one of the walls.

“Those are the birthing tubs. Some Omegas prefer to give birth in water. It’s best for ones carrying a litter,” she explained.

“I want one,” Jungkook chuckled.

“We’ve got a pool,” Hobi replied. Jungkook rolled his eyes. Sana led them around the rest of the building, the outdoor area, and exercise area.

“We offer prenatal exercise classes if the doctors have cleared them for activity,” she said as Hobi and Jungkook marveled at the fully equipped gym. Sana led them back to the lobby.

“Do you have any questions? I can always forward any issues to the director of this area,” she said. Hobi looked at Jungkook.

“I believe you’ve covered it all,” Jungkook replied. “I’m comfortable signing off if my colleague is.” Hobi nodded his agreement.

“Excellent! If you think of anything, don’t hesitate to contact us. Will we be seeing you next month?” she handed them the tablet to sign off.

“And every month after unless one of us is reassigned. Though I’ll be on maternity leave starting in June,” Jungkook said.

“Congratulations and if you need information on a birthing tub please let me know,” she smiled. Jungkook chuckled and Hobi gave him a dirty look.

“I will,” he smiled.

“So, how did it go?” Yoongi asked when Hobi got home.

“Jungkook signed off on it and I know he was in the same place you were so I’m fine with it,” Hobi replied.

“I told you that you could trust his opinion for both of us,” Yoongi poked him in the side.

“I feel like this is what your lives were supposed to be,” Hobi settled down on the bed next to Yoongi.

“Well if you’re happy with it, I was thinking we could have a surrogate,” Yoongi replied.

“But wouldn’t that only be my DNA?” Hobi asked.

“No, you fool. A surrogate only carries the pup of the parents. I’d have an egg retrieval and you’d donate your sperm. Then the embryo is implanted into the surrogate. Did you sleep through that part of the training?” Yoongi asked.

“I thought they were carrying their own pups!” Hobi replied. Yoongi did a literal facepalm.

“I think you might actually be stupid,” the Omega replied.

“Excuse you,” Hobi pouted.

“Anyway, if you’re amenable to the idea I thought once Jina is a little older we could use a surrogate,” Yoongi said.

“I’m open,” Hobi replied.

“Good,” Yoongi kissed him.

Two and a half years later, Hobi and Yoongi brought home another healthy baby girl. Jina and Sangyeon, Tae and Jungkook’s son, were thrilled to have a baby in the house.

“Are you happy?” Hobi asked late one night when they were up with Hyerin.

“Stupid happy,” Yoongi kissed him.

“Me too,” Hobi agreed.

“I love you, Jung Hoseok,”

“I love you too, Min Yoongi,”

[hastalikanhci]

A Little Privacy || Chae&Has

Hastalik's wrists still ached from kneading the traditional ink beneath his palms prior to this, wrists sore even as he now sat on the floor of the private room he had rented under a false name, giving false appearance to the taverns host as well. He had never used ink like this before, used to glass bottles of black but mental magic was, at least for his coven, a challenge that required finesse.

To enter the mind of someone you needed to make yourself invisible within it. To use his own traditional wet ink with reed or needle would announce himself to Chae's mind like a blaring siren of the unfamiliar, the Oh witch would be alerted immediately and be able to prevent the invasion, at least to someone like Hastalik who had not practiced his skills with as much aggression as his family would have liked. So Hastalik had sought the education of someone from Chae's region of Cheridi, bought the appropriate items and kneaded his own ink stick. It took two weeks for that to even finish and he'd told there would still be a chance it would break, so he made more. Each week he would make another.

It was the second that had worked and now sat beside him, along with the ink stone, and brush, also from Oh Chung Ae's region. The witch needed to focus on that intention instead of his pain. He had been so patient already, he did not want to wait any longer to see the other witch, he did not desire to wait until he was no longer sore, physically or mentally because in truth it had been the perfect excuse. The weeks he had spent working on this his Uncle and Father had admired. How dedicated he was into getting inside the Oh witches head. They'd given him some peace, insisted he might finally be seeing things their way and it made him sick. He needed to fill himself with focused purpose if he desired a moment to show the other witch he was worth what had happened desperately within his estate, to show himself...well, he truly wasn't sure.

The witch with his cinnamon skin inhaled the cool air of the room, scented with flowers he had been told grew around the Oh training buildings. Damp petals, like it had just rained as it was doing now outside. Even his pants, made from ramie, and his exposed skin still held a dampness so his dry form would not feel invasive to the mind of the witch. He had to act before the rained stopped and so calloused fingers picked up the ink stick and began the sharp motions to create ink on the stone, humming softly to himself numbers in Chae's native tongue, counting to ten and then recounting.

With enough ink he inhaled once more. The challenging part. Writing the spell in a language he did not know, and writing it well enough he would not give himself away. He had practiced while the ink sticks had been setting, practiced whenever he could not go to sleep. His hand leaving the ink stick and picking up the brush now. He could do this, forcing his hands not to shake as he dipped his brush in ink and began making large characters on the floor around himself, ink settling into the wood of the room, and, in turn, magic slithering into the mind of the Oh witch.

Each character was determined to reguide Oh Chung Ae's steps from whatever path he was on and direct him to the ritual's location without arousing suspicion in his mind, so long as Hastalik performed it accurately. If Oh Chung Ae were walking to buy flowers, if he were determined to seek food, or perhaps the company of a friend, he would find himself presuming that which he was on that path, even as he strayed from it. Indications of a lost path would become hazier, and ties in his mind that would typically form to say it was unusual to purchase flowers in a tavern, or strange to desire company in Rochielles but remain in Ashharren would not find purchase and drift away.

The ritual would not be a fast one, Hastalik's lower back stinging as he leaned over his repeated characters, writing the set around himself as he kneeled on the ground and then repeating said actions, his counting continuing each time he leaned back for more ink, the numbers making sure the spell held until he could continue his characters. It could be minutes, or hours, depending on how far Chae was from him, but Hastalik would not stop, the scaring across his back, and the wound still at his side was proof he could handle pain. No, he would not stop until he felt Chae blocking him or he heard the door to the small cheap room open.

@ohchungae

[llostwriter]

The Misery of the Songstress’ Child

Chapter 6: This venerable one’s mother

Include the backstory of Duan Yihan and Xun Fengruo.

Heavy TW.

Word Count: 3614

Any gender

Xun Fengruo, the former infamous songstress of House of Drunken Jade. As her first name began, she was infamous for her flute playing. Her instrument is a white flute, crafted from a smooth, polished material that gleams softly in the light. Followed by a delicate tassel dangling from the end of the flute. Xun Fengruo could also play other instruments; however, her talents and skills lay in the flute. The same goes for Duan Yihan with her pipa. Both have many customers daily, with most of the profits going to the madam. Even despite their popularity among the men, it was still a struggle for them to pay for their freedom. As soon as the prostitutes and the songstresses' popularity rises, the cost of freedom would also skyrocket.

The only other way for them to gain freedom is by growing old and unwanted. Nobody is willing to wait that long. So they attempted to try their best to get enough, through pleasing the customer. Any success in running away will get the person blacklisted from nearby businesses. Due to the recognition of the pleasure house among several rich folks, Madam Mo does have connections with a few owners around the location. It would be quite easy for Madam Mo to send the information about blacklisted people to the other organizations. The other organization will undeniably follow it since nobody would want troublesome workers in their fields. The risk was too much for them to take.

The madam took Xun Fengruo and Duan Yihan in, upon seeing the state that they were in. Xun Fengruo was formerly the daughter of a nobleman until her father was persecuted after he was caught doing illegal activities and all her family possessions were seized. Leaving her with her mom and an empty house. Duan Yihan was the daughter of a commoner family before she was sold into the slave auction by her family. During the time that the brothel was recently purchased, it was common for Madam Mo to look for prostitutes and songstresses in the black market. Most of the women were selected as prostitutes, and the songstresses are minor additions to prove that the brothel isn’t just a complete sexfest, which wasn’t much help.

Since the songstresses were so few, some males decided to make it a challenge to get the songstresses to sleep with them. That challenge did increase the popularity of the singers, which contributed to the hiring of more singers, making the brothel completely stuffed. Upon first entering such a place, the strong smell of sweat and sex would immediately hit the customer. Madam attempted to hide the smell by using incense; however, that didn’t help. The place didn’t have much privacy since the outsiders would see the shadows of prostitutes and customers. And sometimes even the size of the customer's “rooster” was exposed. If the size was small, the customer’s dignity was also gone among females. Sooner or later, it becomes a laughing stock. Those laughing stocks later on complain to the minister; if it wasn’t for the fact that the minister also takes some visits to the pleasure house behind the back of his wives, the pleasure house would have already been shut down.

As in any other place, businesses never write out their warnings and caution signs before sticking them onto the front of their door. It was common knowledge that it will drive profits away, and profits are what make a living. It doesn’t matter how smart people are; in this world, it is only how rich their status is. Wealth equals power; that’s how this world works. Nevertheless, it was true that the pleasure house needed improvement. In the end, Madam Mo decided to upgrade the small brothel into a large music building. Still being a pleasure house, but the music businesses were more popular in the place. There was more space and more windows to drive away the odor. The privacy was better, providing both the females and customers with an area to do their activity. Duan Yihan and Xun Fengruo were fortunate enough to be accepted after the renovation. Duan Yihan was the one that was purchased with a couple of other females.

Due to Xun Fengruo being the only one who brought money to the house. All the maids and servants left due to a lack of wages. Her mother soon got sick out of stress after her father’s persecution, making her bedridden. Xun Fengruo had to find a job to support her mother. The issue with that is that she has no work experience; oftentimes all the house chores are done by the maids. Therefore, all her job applications were denied, leaving her no choice but to work as a songstress since it was the only job that accepted her. She assumed that it wouldn’t be that bad after all; she wasn’t serving the customer in bed. She has had a talent for playing music and singing ever since she was a kid, and she was highly praised for it. She put her skills into her job as a songstress and soon enough became a courtesan. A courtesan is one of the highest positions that a worker in a pleasure house could ever be in. Courtesans are treated with more respect since they are the ones who are bringing in most of the income. But her mother wasn’t able to witness it since her mother soon passed away.

_

Duan Yihan, the older sister among her other siblings, was born in a commoner’s household. Their mother died early from a disease that was curable; however, the medicine cost was expensive. Leaving Duan Yihan to be the only one to care for her siblings since her father didn’t want to take on that role. The father ended up remarrying another female in under a couple of months. Duan Yihan, who didn’t want conflict in her family, taught her siblings to accept their new mother even despite the complaints regarding it. It was easy to convince the younger ones; however, the older ones not so much. Take Duan Cong, for example, the second oldest of the siblings. He was filled with grief upon the father’s betrayal of the mother and was easily irritated at even the slightest sight of their new mother. He was the hardest one to convince; in fact, he yelled the three words “I hate you” at Duan Yihan due to believing that Duan Yihan didn’t loathe their father at his betrayal.

Duan Yihan understood Duan Cong’s feeling toward it; after all, she was experiencing the same thing, but she knew that resisting would only make things worse. The three words yelled at her did make her realize that she couldn’t force things. In the end, she gave up trying to convince him. Their new mother convinced their father to marry off Duan Yihan for some dowry. It was a guy from a noble family who was interested in her beauty; he wanted to make Duan Yihan his concubine. Before the marriage, the couple should meet each other. Duan Yihan was accompanied by the other side’s servants to meet the man. Duan Yihan didn’t love the man; she didn’t want to marry a man that she doesn’t even know. But she doesn’t have a choice since her family needs that money.

During the way to the property, they encountered muggers. The nobleman didn’t assign any guards with them, due to Duan Yihan’s commoner status. The muggers, realizing that their targets didn’t have money, choose to not leave and decide to sell them to the black market for some extra bucks. The female servants were shivering from fear, crying as they secretly prayed to the deities from above, hoping that someone would save them. Nobody wanted to die or get sold. A hoard of guards came through and attacked the burglars. Seeing that the situation was escalating, one of the burglars held Duan Yihan hostage. The guards were deciding to continue even despite the hostage since their order was to kill the burglars and nothing else.

That was when she first met Xun Fengruo. She was mesmerized by her fearlessness and the aura of authority that she held. Xun Fengruo wears the robes of a noblewoman, making Duan Yihan easily identify their status. Someone headshot the burglar with an arrow, saving her. The surviving servants told the noble lady that they were on their way to bringing Duan Yihan to her future spouse. The lady assigned some of her guards to accompany Duan Yihan before leaving with the remaining guards.

Maybe it was then that she realized that she didn’t want to marry him. She wanted to be as independent as the one who rescued her. So she ran—ran as far away as possible. With no idea where she is even going. The servants and guards chased after her, but soon enough, they lost her. The guards reported back to Xun Fengruo. In the end, fate seemed to have its way; it was Xun Fengruo who found her before sundown. Duan Yihan didn’t want to go back to her home; she feels like if she did, she'd be forced to be betrothed to someone who she doesn't love. In the end, she still ended up going home.

Her stepmother was furious at her since they got the news that the nobleman no longer wanted her as a concubine upon seeing that she attempted to escape. Duan Yihan, on the other hand, was thankful that the nobleman respected her choice and stopped chasing it. She thought that she could live her peaceful life with her sibling, only for her dreams to be crushed upon getting dragged away by some men in black, watching her stepmother count the money that was given to her. In the blink of an eye, she was locked inside a room that was crowded with many other females. She witnessed some of the females who resisted get beaten with a stick. The ones that were crying were told to shut up. Everything was in chaos. The door was opened, and a woman came through it; she selected her among a few others. With that, she was told that she’d become a new songstress.

She was fine with that arrangement; after all, at least she got to keep her body’s purity. Once she gained a name inside the pleasure house, she was able to visit the outside without any suspicion of her escaping. She heard that her siblings were sold to other families that were unable to have children of their own. As long as her siblings weren’t sold to human traffickers, it was good enough for her. So she lost contact with them, believing that their new families would be able to provide for them better than she could.

“It was for the best,” she said to herself.

—-

She would have never expected Xun Fengruo to end up in the same state as her. She did hear some rumors about Xun Fengruo’s father, but it was still a shocker for her to see the one that she admired being dropped so low. Duan Yihan attempted to get closer to Xun Fengruo. Unsuccessful. She’ll try again later on.

_

The words of Xun Fengruo and Duan Yihan’s beauty caught the attention of a nobleman, and soon enough, they became captives of the nobleman of the Lian Clan, a wealthy family-based clan. Lian for the first name. The guy who held them captive was Lian Xiu—fathering an estimated 10 children, including one born out of wedlock. Lian Xiu has seven concubines and a legal wife. He was deemed quite attractive by his peers if it wasn’t for the fact that he has quite an insatiable appetite for women. Lian Xiu has two older sisters who have already been married off. Lian Xiu was the only son of the former leader of the Lian Clan.

Even before the existence of the cultivation world, some clans only included family members. As long as half of the family members are cultivators, it is qualified as a clan instead of a merchant guild. In ancient China, it was unacceptable for a woman to become a leader. Unless there was a special force supporting her by any means possible, including enforcing threats and intimidation upon the ones who disagreed with the new sovereignty. The women who were born didn’t have a choice in who they were to marry. It was decided by the parents to select the one who would benefit the clan the most. The oldest sister of Lian Xiu also inherited the family’s water element, the same as Lian Xiu. As a result of her gender, she still ended up becoming only a housewife for a nobleman.

By the time the oldest sister was married off, the second-to-eldest sister had already run away with her lover after stealing some of the family’s gold. In the end, she ended up getting abandoned by her lover after finding out that he was only using her for wealth. With that, she has no choice but to come back to her clan empty-handed, facing the fate of having to marry someone she doesn’t love.

The legal wife of Lian Xiu had fertility issues, and that was said to be the major reason why he ended up having concubines. But who is to say that he wouldn’t have concubines even if the legal wife did give birth to a son? Lian Xiu used to be a good cultivator and promised to be a devoted husband upon marrying his first wife. Behind the back of his first wife, he visited multiple brothels, and sooner or later, he accidentally got one pregnant without realizing it.

The pregnant prostitute told Lian Xiu about it but was told to abort the child. Lian Xiu handed the pregnant prostitute enough money to purchase a miscarriage medicine. In the end, the pregnant prostitute doesn't drink the medicine and instead finds the first wife. At first, Lian Xiu doesn’t admit it and tells the servants to throw the prostitute out, but he is stopped by his first wife, who decides to wait until the child is born. The child was born, and it shared similar features as Lian Xiu confirming the prostitute’s words. With that comes the first concubine.

The first wife was quite a considerate woman; after all, even despite the bitterness upon knowing her husband’s infidelity, it didn’t change the fact that a child’s life is still a life. The unborn child was innocent. Lian Xiu misunderstood that gesture and ended up bringing in more concubines and having children with those concubines as well. By the arrival of the seventh concubine, the first wife finally got pregnant and gave birth to a healthy son. The legitimate heir was showered with love. Things were going well for the first wife and her son until one day two songstresses caught the attention of Lian Xiu. One escaped, leaving the other behind. That remaining songstress was none other than Xun Fengruo. And with that, he vented his anger onto her.

As usual, a sperm came into contact with Xun Fengruo’s egg, and she was pregnant. She lost count of the times when she attempted to kill the unborn child in her stomach, but no matter what, the child was still there. Alive and inside her. It was repulsive, and she wanted it gone. It was a strong fetus that even the miscarriage medicine she secretly consumed didn’t work. So many attempts failed, and she later accepted her fate.

All the maids of the other ladies hated her, and maybe it was out of pity that later on she got assigned to an old maid. At first, she was cautious around the elderly, assuming that the maid was a spy of Lian Xiu. As time passed, she slowly began lowering her guard, but she knew better than to tell her private thoughts to the maid. When she broke her water, there was no midwife; in the end, it ended up being the old maid who assisted her.

She gave birth to a healthy baby. The newborn was left in the care of the elder maid, while the mother regained her energy through sleep. The only time Xun Fengruo ever saw the baby was when she had to breastfeed it; the rest of the time, the newborn was with the maid. The tension between her and the other ladies increased upon the birth of the newborn.

She knew one day she’d get kicked out, and she was looking forward to it. Anything to get out of this hell. And as expected in hardly a month, Xun Fengruo was kicked out with her newborn. Lian Xiu was out for a political errand, making it the perfect time. When she was kicked out with her newborn, she was planning to leave the newborn out on the street. Her heart hesitated upon seeing the heartwarming smile on her baby; maybe it was because of the remaining morals that prevented her from doing the unthinkable. She ended up taking the baby with her to the only place that she knew. House of Drunken Jade.

She was heavily indebted to Madam Mo after that incident. The fastest way to pay off that debt faster was to sleep around. Her body was already tainted and used as it is; there’s no way for it to be even more tainted than it already is. Upon receiving that news, most of the high-ranking noblemen all rushed into the front desk, pushing and shoving each other to get a night with her. Duan Yihan suggested giving some silver to her to help her pay it off, but she denied it, saying that she didn't need her pity. Xun Fengruo was the one who told Duan Yihan to run, but help never arrived. Any trust between them was gone.

Her meimei` and jiejie` inside the pleasure house assisted her in taking care of the newborn while she was busy working. After paying it off, she went back to her usual job as a songstress, much to the dissatisfaction of the customers. At this point, her meimei and jiejie spend more time with the newborn than she ever could, which was believed to be the best. She knew that she was a bad mother, and she was able to live with that. Her relationship with Duan Yihan was still rocky, and Duan Yihan seemed to have given up on trying to repair it directly, focusing their time on the newborn instead.

This carried on for one year, and Duan Yihan found someone that she was interested in. Xun Fengruo, even despite her still not forgiving Duan Yihan for the past, still wanted Duan Yihan to find her own happiness. So when she noticed that something was wrong with that man, the first thing she did was to talk with Duan Yihan. Duan Yihan was ecstatic since it was the first time in a long time since Xun Fengruo took the first step in talking to her after that incident, even if the topic wasn’t favorable.

Driven by lovesickness, Duan Yihan disregarded Xun Fengruo’s warning. She paid the price by getting impregnated by someone who already had a wife. From the day that Duan Yihan proposed to leave the pleasure house, Xun Fengruo never saw her ever again. Only about 4 years later, when the child turned 6 years old, did Xun Fengruo find the only thing that Duan Yihan left. A four-year-old son was the only thing that Duan Yihan left.

When Xun Fengruo first heard the child’s name, she said, “It was a good name.” The son of Duan Yihan found a companion during his time here, and they grew closer as time went on.

Every year, there is a Lantern Festival. This year, Madam Mo got a high offer from a nobleman for a night with Xun Fengruo. Knowing that she wouldn’t willingly accept it, Madam Mo used countermeasures. But who would have expected Xun Fengruo to run away, abandoning her child?

///

Realizing the lack of times that Xun Fengruo addressed the child as ‘hers’

In other eyes’ Xun Fengruo was the woman, who must have purposely seduced the clan leader and only to have the result backfire on her miserably. The existence of the by-product always reminded her of those nights. The product was the link between her and that despicable man. She couldn’t find herself wanting to be the mother of such a product. At the same time, she knows that the child is innocent. It was difficult for her to accept such reality. As a result, maybe running away was the best option she could have had.

No one would willingly work in a pleasure house unless they were out of choice.

The foul smell of the former pleasure house was so strong that it was still there. During one of Madam Mo’s punishments to Mo Ran, he was kept there, and the smell of the incense haunted him till now.

The first thing that Duan Yihan did upon escaping was run toward the brothel to ask for help, but she was told by Madam Mo that Xun Fengruo has already been rescued and no longer wants this job. As much as she had her doubts about it, she was in no position to do anything else. Without knowing that it was Madam Mo who planned it.

Misunderstandings and loss of trust.

Duan Yihan achieved her dream of being independent, but at what cost?

The situation between Xun Fengruo, Duan Yihan, and the nobleman is quite similar to another situation from several hundred years before this plotline. Would history repeat itself?

This is only part one of her story.

[hologramcowboy]

I have a question for my American and European friends. This is no slight or commentary on once choice. I just want to understand the reasoning ...So I just saw the property Jensen bought, and one thing that stood out was how secluded it is. It is not just Jensen, but I have seen a lot of celebs and other rich guys buy properties that are secluded. Now I don't understand why, I mean, where I come from, what makes a property, a prime property is how well connected it is to all the basic amenities. The most important thing is how close the hospital and school is. So, what Is a pull for such secluded properties?Also, what do people do if there is an emergency situation that needs immediate medical attention? Is there an on property doctor or something like that?

In today's hyperconnected world, choosing a home that is very secluded can be a serious security risk. I do think it boils down to privacy and prestige. The Ackles are trying to keep to with the Joneses, it seems. 🤣

Jensen does have millions of dollars but he is not as rich as he wants to seem, just take a look at all the spending he does and do the math. The biggest mistake a lot of celebrities make is living above their means for a long time until they completely lose their acquired wealth.

At first, I thought maybe Jensen wanted privacy but then again he is not sought after or famous enough for that. Then quite a few articles came out that revealed his address, which was odd because when big names want privacy they get it. So it seems he did not purchase this for privacy, he probably will do a repeat of what he did with his Austin and Telluride homes.

The pull of a secluded property is living in your own small, private world but to do so you also need high end security because, as mentioned earlier, such a home can came with a huge security risk. Jensen is not at a tier in his career that warrants such a purchase so I am truly baffled by the choice. This is just speculation, of course, but I suspect he will flip this one too or turn it into something business related. For the record, I hope I'm wrong because those poor kids deserve a stable home and family life. Let's see what everyone else has to say about it. 🧡

[clarafell]

@rotfallen has made a contract.          —         ★

Homura has gotten lost in the flow of the bustling Court of Fontaine.

The Court of Fontaine has swallowed her up, distracting her with every turn that she takes. How did people get anything done in the Court of Fontaine? She purchased a newspaper from The Steambird with the hope that learning the local news would give her some insight. Sadly, it wasn't as useful as she thought it would be. She did, however, take an interest in reading about an article on the Chioriya Boutique. She wasn't, however, here to look at pretty fashion.

She was supposed to find the Hotel Bouffes d'ete in order to meet with The Knave herself, but... Her sense of direction has, once again, failed her. She was relieved in the beginning that she no longer had to meet with Crucabena anymore until she came to the Court of Fontaine. There was still some uneasiness in her stomach that refused to leave her. Arlecchino is nothing like Crucabena, but she wasn't sure how Arlecchino would react to her being tardy... What if it took her all day until she found the House of the Hearth? Oh, why couldn't they have given her a guide?

She did duck her head when she spotted one of reporters from The Steambird, remembering that she must not bring attention to herself. She looked back down at the newspaper, hoping to gleam something from the paper. Her instinct is to look straight at the photographs. Reading has always felt calming to her, but she still wasn't great with the language of Teyvat. She was a lot better with her history of tutors over the centuries since her awakening, but she still had to adapt to the natural changes of the language over such a long period of time. She is a slow reader, but she takes the time to appreciate the flow of the sentences before her.

Homura was meant to visit the House of the Hearth in the City of Fontaine in order to help the weak members without visions since delusions proved to be too hard for them. She, however, could not do that if she is getting even more lost in the depths of the city. She looks back up, looking around for any signs of something familiar.

Should she maybe ask one of the Melusines for directions? She wondered to herself. It was embarrassing to do, but they did look quite friendly—

Homura freezes in her spot at the sight of a woman with pink hair.

She nearly drops the newspaper in her hand when a wave of dizziness strikes at her. She swiftly looks away to sit down on the nearest bench that she could find. She takes a deep breath, wishing for the dizziness to pass as soon as possible. Homura suspected that the sight of the pastel pink hair is the culprit for her dizziness, but she doesn't dare to look back up at the woman.

❝ Why... Why must this happen now of all times? ❞ She murmured underneath her breath, cursing her stroke of bad luck. She worried looking back up would cause another scene to flash back into her mind. The Tsaritsa welcomed her memories, but Homura knew that was only in the soft lull of privacy... Only within the walls of the palace, safe from unwanted eyes.

What Homura didn't enjoy is the dizziness.

It left her feeling... exposed.